On his way back toward the city, Andrew was in a state of near remote control. His mind continued to play and replay the events of that extraordinary afternoon. Every time he would remember some sight or smell, and definitely when he relived sitting in the driver's seat with Blackie harnessed in front of him, his cock would rise again. He wished that he didn't have to worry about seeing people when he returned to the town because then he would just jack off in his pants and enjoy sweet relief. Somewhere back on a state highway, his brain clicked on again. He noticed that it was about pick-up time for the highway cleanup prisoners who had made the highways of the United States some of the cleanest in the world.
Prisoners were put into trucks early in the morning. Each prisoner was dressed in a traditional black and white striped uniform. Only seven links of heavy chain hobbled the prisoner's ability to move- running was impossible, and their wrists were also shackled with seven links of heavy chain. The state meant it when they told these prisoners that they would do their time in hard labor. The chains were heavy enough that just moving was hard labor. However, in addition to the labor of moving, each prisoner had to labor all day to keep clean one mile on one side of the road . The chains the prisoners wore were supplemented by other hidden controls. Perhaps the real control was the metal ring around the base of the prisoner's cock; and a second ring which stretched the prisoner's balls and held them tightly at the bottom of the prisoner's scrotum, and finally the real prisoner-stopper- the metal butt plug that was up the prisoner's asshole, and which was held in place by a flange which made it impossible to expel unless a guard would release the pressure mechanism.
Around 2014 almost every mile of highway had had something like the invisible fence that earlier had been put around the yards of wealthy persons in the 1990's to keep their dogs in the yard. Prisoners had installed these types of cables along all the roads, about five feet from the roadbed. Computers were set up to control the frequency of each section, and each prisoner had their control rings and butt plugs programmed with the frequency of the mile of road the prisoner was to keep clean. If the prisoner tried to go outside the prescribed area, these devices would quickly begin zapping the prisoner with increasing jolts of electricity. Even a few moments of the agony of the current slicing through the prisoner's most private parts, highway cleanup prisoners always wanted to remain in their assigned area.
Showing great cruelty many citizens driving past a prison truck picking up these government slaves, would go on down the road and deliberately throw out some trash beside the road, knowing that the prisoner slave would have no opportunity to pick up the trash, and that prisoners normally received one stroke of the whip or the punishment paddle for every item of trash found on their mile. Prison slaves sometimes could hear the freeworlders laughing and honking horns as they would shout to the guards things like "Beat that shit's ass for this!" or "Make that asshole really dance for not cleaning this up!"
Normally Andrew would never have done this, because he fundamentally was more horny than cruel, but his experiences at the farm had awakened a need to inflict pain on the prison slaves, and so he too looked for something to throw out the window. As he searched, he imagined the pain that the prison slave would receive. There was one additional reason that Andrew had been awakened from his wet dream, and why he wanted to cause some pounded prisoner butt. The prison slaves that he had just passed were not one of the typical highway slaves, older and somewhat ready to fall from exhaustion.
He had just passed a prisoner, and HE looked he was only in his early 20's. He had taken off his striped shirt, and his chest and back were truly magnificent. Andrew imagined that he could cause that magnificent prisoner back to be sliced by the whip by his action of just throwing one piece of paper out the window. Or perhaps those two massive mounds of ass would be made to quiver under the explosive power of the two-foot long and inch thick prison punishment paddle. Andrew grabbed a couple of sheets from the legal pad he kept in the seat beside him to write down business mileage and also to record any great thoughts he had, and shoved them out the window.
These two pieces of paper, even without writing would be two of the most significant pieces of paper he had ever handled in his life. Andrew looked in the rear view mirror, expecting to see the prison van stop to note the un-picked-up trash. However what he saw instead was a county Mountie with red light flashing coming up behind him. Andrew pulled over. "SHIT," he thought to himself, "if that cop sees my pants and recognizes me, I'll have to live with some real ribbing for weeks,"
After he stopped, he put the window down and awaited the arrival of the deputy. "Good afternoon, SIR," was the deputy's opening line. "I believe I saw you littering just a moment ago, and I wonder if you realized that one of the county's prisoner's could receive punishment for this trash since he was just being picked up, and would not have the chance to pick up your trash from his mile." "Yes," Andrew replied, forgetting that a law had been passed making this action illegal, although he had never known anyone who had been arrested or prosecuted under this law.
"Sir then you have admitted committing a crime, SIR, and I will have to ask you to step out of the car." the deputy said in a very calm voice, but one which vibrated with authority. Andrew stepped out. "Place you hands on the hood, and spread you legs." the officer ordered. Once he had assumed the position, he decided to try to throw some weight around. "Deputy," he said. The deputy stopped his patting down of Andrew butt and awaited Andrew's comment. "I am personal friends with many county officials, and although you may not recognize me, I am Dr. Andrew Warner, and a professor of economics and associate dean at the university." "I know who you are professor," the deputy said. "Let me tell you a couple facts also. Although you don't recognize me, I was a student in your class once, and once you found my major was law enforcement, you directed all sorts of ant-police comments and jokes toward me. Just today I was at the gate of Kevin's farm talking to some friends, and heard your remark upon entering.
"You don't remember, but you told the class one day how you liked to use that word to make fun of policemen. I remember what the word means. After you left, I told those guards what the word meant and how you used it to insult and denigrate them, and I think that some of them might some day want to work with you about your trying to make jackasses of them." Andrew started to protest when just a tiny part of a second he heard the wind whistling around some object before he felt that object, the deputy's baton, connect with his ass.
"What the hell.." he began, and then felt a second blow. "If you don't keep that mouth shut, you'll not be able to sit for a month," the deputy said with clear malice in his voice. Andrew shut up. Things were going wrong. That young prisoner was supposed to be going to get his butt smashed, but instead Andrew's butt had received the blows. "Now you just stand there like that while I explain how things are going to go," the deputy said with an even more ominous level of quiet menace. "I'll not make you go through the justice system if you will agree to take that prisoner's place tomorrow. I think that one day's community service will be sufficient. Do you agree to these terms?"
Again Andrew thought over all the fun that would be poked at him for being the only man alive to be arrested for deliberately abusing prisoners, and told the deputy that he would agree. "Fine," the deputy said, and there seemed to be a lightening of his tone. Andrew thought maybe the deputy was just trying to make sport of him and would really let him go. "I want you to drive to the impound yard at 3rd and Main, and drive all the way to the rear of the yard. Get out of your car, strip to your shorts, and lock your clothes in the car. You are to report to me wearing only your shorts and carrying the keys to the car. NOTHING ELSE. Do you understand?"
Andrew managed only a timid, "Yes SIR."
All too quickly the distance to the impound yard was done, and the deputy must have radioed ahead as the gate opened, and he was waved through as he approached the fence and gate. He drove to the back, parked, stripped, placed his clothes in the car, and carefully, because he was not used to walking in bare feet, walked to the deputy's car parked about ten feet away. As he approached the deputy said, "Assume the position over the hood." With practiced efficiency he was handcuffed and placed in the rear seat cage. In a few minutes more, and with no comments by either of them he was deposited at a door marked "PRISONER ENTRANCE" and in smaller words underneath "No exit." "Sick humor" Andrew thought.
The deputy stopped the car and again with the smoothness of routine, Andrew was hauled out of the back seat, and through the door, which opened as they approached. "This the day fish?" some voice inquired. "Yah" said the deputy. " I radioed ahead for special incarceration orders for this one. He'll be Ryan tomorrow." "Right. Just lock him on the bench, and we'll take care of everything."
Andrew found himself sat down and his wrists removed from the deputy's handcuffs, which were tossed back to the deputy, and Andrew's wrists were quickly attached to new cuffs, which were attached to the heavy timber planks which formed the seat of the bench. His hands were thus held between his legs, and he was forced to bend over slightly. It rapidly became uncomfortable. However in a few minutes he was released, told to strip naked, taken into the shower room, forced to shower as the jailer watched, then told to assume the position, which even though his brain was reeling at his change of importance and control, he knew to be hands grasping his ankles and in a moment he felt the expected finger up his asshole. After it was removed, he started to rise, only to get a hard swat to his ass. "Prisoners are NOT to move unless told." the jailer said and then he moved around in front of Andrew and put his shit covered rubber-gloved finger into Andrew's gaping mouth. "Clean" he was ordered. Andrew immediately recognized just how far and how quickly he had fallen as he cleaned his own shit from the finger of his MASTER, the jailer, on the same command as the stable dog had been trained to do earlier in the afternoon. Andrew did not find doing the cleaning himself as sexually exciting as watching another being forced to do so. He was taken naked to another room where a steel collar was put around his neck. He couldn't believe he would have to wear that. Those collars were welded on. However he was facing a huge sign that proclaimed that "PRISONERS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TALK." and he didn't even want to imagine how that order would be enforced. The cold collar was around his neck. He was told to lean back, and a piece of cloth was inserted between his skin and the collar. Then he felt the heat, and he knew that now the collar had been welded in place. "What should we etch into the collar for this asshole's number and level." said a voice behind him. "Just use FELON, Andie, and 46-4475-6 as the number."
The jailer seemed to read his mind and said to him, "Since you're taking a felon's place you have to be identified as a felon on the collar since each level of crime has some difference rules." In a couple of more minutes Andie was taken down the hall, and into a cell which was about the size of his hall closet at his home. "Whenever you hear the door being unlocked, you are to immediately go to the rear of the cell, and place you hands and feet on the marks. Get it shithead?" Andie nodded and received a blow into his stomach which told him that nodding was not the correct response. He tried "SIR yes SIR," and was rewarded with the jailer's leaving and Andrew thinking that two sheets of legal pad had changed his day from the greatest experience of his life to the most fearful of his life.
He had always wanted to be a prisoner; that was true, but in a dungeon, with a prearranged set of experiences, and with safe words. This was real, and he definitely had no control and no safe words. After exploring his 3' by 6' cell, which took probably one minute, he curled up on the floor as there was no bed or cot, and tried to rest, " Tomorrow would be a memorable day," he thought as he dozed off. "Try to enjoy it as a free sexual fantasy, and after twenty-four hours you can return to your former life. Perhaps never quite the same...but not the existence he was suffering through now.
End of Part 3