Date: Thu, 22 May 2003 09:26:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Shoe Shine Boy

SHOE SHINE, BOY!

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories


I had it all - well, nearly all.  All my life I'd
worked, really worked, to get to the top of the heap.
Straight 'A' student, class president, good college,
the right degree, on the football team... Then I made
sure I was picked by a Wall Street blue chip.  I
worked my connections, kept my eyes open, and saw what
you needed to do to get to the top.  I transferred
into the part of the business where all the action
was, and carried on rising. Sure, I didn't have too
many real friends, and there were quite a lot who
hated my guts (not that they'd dared to say so).

It all started to come right, and the money followed -
the bonuses were telephone numbers, and I bought the
loft in SoHo and the Porsche.  I had a lot of women,
of course, but when the firm told me that it liked
their fast-track executive material to have a "stable
home life", I picked the most eligible and lived with
her for a couple of years.  When the CEO's daughter
joined the firm, though, I ditched my lover and made a
play to get inside her panties instead - and it was
almost working.  She hadn't moved in with me (yet!),
but I'd been out to the family estate in Westchester
for a weekend, and got on well with her family: one of
her brothers even asked me for a drive in my Porsche.

In spite of the insane hours I worked  I'd never let
myself go physically as I knew that only guys who
looked fit and healthy got to the very top - the firm
had enough talent to choose from, and it didn't just
use work performance when moving you along that fast
track.  I sweated hours away in the gym, skied, swam,
and tried to fit in a run every day.  Even though I
say it myself, at 32 I was in great shape.

I was in line for my next promotion - to Senior VP -
when it all fell apart.  The Securities Commission
started to look closely at the firm, and, all of a
sudden, I seemed to be the only one in the wrong!
Sure, I'd done a lot of slightly questionable deals -
we all do, don't we, if we're ambitious and are
clawing our way up? Everyone else is doing so, so you
need to if you're going to keep turning in the
results.  But it was absolutely ridiculous to suggest
that I alone was responsible for the 100 billion
dollar "difficulties" they uncovered in the firm's
books.  Even as a VP I was still too junior to do
deals that big!

Somehow, though, it was me that went on trial.  It
went on for weeks and weeks - tens of lawyers,
mountains of documents, computers to keep track of it
all.  The firm mounted a "vigorous defence", as it was
called, and had some of the highest paid lawyers in
town.  They even paid for a counsel to represent me
individually.  I kept asking this guy why it was me -
if there were these problems, it couldn't be only me
involved.  He made a lot of noncommittal replies, but
told me everything would be OK as they rarely could
reach a judgement on cases like this - the mountains
of evidence were just too great and, he said, "we'll
bury the prosecution in paper."

But it all did go wrong.  As I sat there, day after
day, I kept getting questioned about the contents of
phone calls made years ago (who the hell can remember
what they said on the phone even last week?), and
whether signatures on documents were really mine (they
looked like it, but I scrawled my name across all
sorts of shit that came across my desk, and I trusted
my people to make sure everything was OK).  It was
apparent to me that I was being set up, and I told my
lawyer that we should dissociate from the firms' main
defence.  He said "no", and so I threatened to dismiss
him - it seemed to me I needed truly independent help.

That night I was alone in my apartment when the bell
rang.  To my amazement, the CEO was in the hall and I
at once buzzed him in.

He came straight to the point.  "Fifty million
dollars, Steve."

"I'm sorry, sir?  What fifty million dollars?"

"That's what we'll pay you the day you get out from
prison.  It will only be a few years - ten at most.
You couldn't save that much in that time.  You'll
still only be in your late thirties if you're lucky,
and you can live the rest of your life in luxury."

"I don't get it...."

"They're getting too close.  We don't like your
attitude - threatening to change your defence counsel.
 So we're prepared to pay you fifty million to keep
your head down and take all the heat."

"Sorry, sir, no way!  I'm not going to jail, not even
for one year!  I like the life I've got, and I'm not
guilty..."

"You have no life any more, Steve.  We'll fire you,
irrespective of the outcome of the case.  And no other
firm will take you on, with the reputation you'll
have, win or lose.  And you're broke - all your
savings, this apartment, everything, will all go to
pay the lawyers."

"No, realistically, for you the only options are a
term in prison and fifty million, or pushing
hamburgers in McDonalds!"

"No!  I work hard, I...."

"You really are an idiot, Steve.  Like a lot of guys
like you we take on, you think you understand the way
the firm works, but you fail to see the big picture.
We, the real power, keep it to ourselves.  We employ
the bright, money-grubbing, hard workers like you.  We
let you think you can get on, think you can make the
running, and we let you work yourselves to death with
trying.  Sure, you'd make senior VP, but you'll never
make it to where the real power is, on the Board.
That's reserved for the old money, my sons and family.
 We all laughed after you'd come to stay with us that
weekend - the way you tried to ingratiate yourself
with the family, and boasted about your Porsche!  Just
toys - that's all you've got - the real powers don't
need things like that - I don't even know what sort of
car mine is.  And you upstarts, you're just toys to us
- to be used, then discarded.  We keep a number of you
on, letting you fight your way up, as you can be put
to some good use at times like this."

I was astounded.  I couldn't say anything.  He went on
"So, I need your decision - a guilty plea with fifty
million to come, or a real fight from our lawyers."

"Fuck you!  I'll show you!  I'm not guilty, I can't be
found guilty as I didn't do anything.  I'll get
independent counsel tomorrow, and then we'll see.  And
if you do try to fire me, I'll sue for wrongful
dismissal - with my earnings record, I'll probably get
more than fifty million anyway!"

He just looked at me, and I was so cross now that I
couldn't contain myself.  "And, what's more, your
daughter's a dreadful fuck!  I've had more fun in bed
with my secretary that I ever had from her!"

I thought he was going to lose his temper, but instead
he just shrugged, turned, and walked out.  The whole
thing hadn't taken more than a few minutes.

I couldn't sleep that night - I went over and over my
career, and the way others got on, and I began to
realise what he said was true.  All the bright "fast
track" guys like me worked our balls off to get
promoted - but I couldn't think of one person on the
board who'd worked his way up!  Surely it couldn't all
be a con?


The following morning I dismissed the counsel I'd had,
and tried to get the judge to stay the case whilst I
appointed another, and got him up to speed.  He
refused!  He made some comments about my case being
inextricably linked with that of my employer, and he'd
received a motion only that morning from my employer's
counsel demanding that they be allowed to continue to
represent me.

The next day, the case collapsed - or, rather, it went
catastrophically against me when some "startling new
evidence" was discovered in the Company's archive.  My
lawyer - their lawyer, that is, entered a bargain with
the government's lawyers to settle.  He said I'd
changed my mind and was pleading guilty in the light
of all this new material.

It was all rubbish, of course - I tried to tell them
that I hadn't plead out, but they wouldn't listen.  I
was remanded in custody, for later sentencing.

It's true - they do strip you, and search all your
body cavities when you're taken to prison. I had a
latex-gloved finger poking up my hole not more than an
hour after I was taken out of the court.  I saw a lot
of guys looking at me in the showers and I remembered
all those films I'd seen about life in prison - were
they sizing me up to fuck, or be used as some big
black buck's "bitch boy"?

The first time they came for me in the showers I had
no problem fighting them off - I'm tough, fit and
strong as I've told you.  But my cell mate told me I
might as well give in, as next time there would be at
least six of them, and they'd hold me down and rape me
in turn.

I was thinking of this when the guards came to get me,
as I had a visitor.

It was the CEO again, and he sat on the other side of
the glass window, holding the telephone, just as if he
was in his office.

"So, Steve.  Ready to  co-operate now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let it go.  Take the sentence.  And there'll be ten
million when you get out.  Make a fuss at the
sentencing hearing, and there'll be nothing."

"You fuck - you said it was fifty million."

"That was before we had to play rough. That was before
we had to 'find' more documents.  Due to your
stupidity, we'll probably get a fine, too - not huge,
but damaging to our reputation.  Now, ten million, or
bust?"

"Fuck you!", I snapped, and walked away from the
window, leaving him sitting there looking as if he'd
just dealt with something unpleasant.

They didn't get to rape me - the government lawyers
came to see me, and kept me for questioning most of
the rest of that day.  They wanted more information,
now that I'd been found guilty.  Their view was that
they'd go lenient on me if I gave them the real dirt
on the firm!  They just didn't believe me when I said
I really had nothing to give, that I was just being
used. Their lead counsel ended the meeting really
pissed off, and he told me that I'd see just how
unpleasant things could become as I'd decided not to
co-operate.

The next day I was back in court - I'd been allowed to
change back from the orange coveralls that were
standard prison garb, into my suit.

The judge asked me if I wanted to say anything before
sentencing, and I went into a prepared speech about my
innocence, how I was being used by the firm, how it
was their top management who should be on trial, not
me.....

Counsel then got to have their say, and "my" guy
didn't even put in a plea in mitigation - rather, he
pointed out to the judge how good the firm was to be
paying for my defence when I was trying to besmirch
their name.  Then the government chief counsel got to
his feet.

"This prisoner is unrepentant and unhelpful.  There
is more to this case than we have been able to
uncover, and he refuses assistance.  There is no
custodial sentence your honour can impose that can
ever adequately compensate for the loss of hundreds of
billions of dollars.  One 'rotten apple' in a highly
respected institution can turn the whole organisation
topsy-turvy, and this man deserves the severest
punishment the law can mete out.  More than that, he
needs to be made to serve as an example to the rest of
the community - all those hardworking men out their in
our great financial institutions need to be sent a
clear message, a message that says 'think again' if
you're ever tempted to be dishonest.  I respectfully
suggest that your honour makes use of the newly-passed
'public displays of offenders' act to make sure that
this man serves as a reminder to others in this city
of the consequences of financial impropriety."

"What's the 'public displays of offenders act'? I
hissed at my lawyer.  He leaned towards me and said "A
little used provision introduced a year or so ago
whereby an offender can be made to appear in a public
place,  near to the scene of the crime, and made to
serve as a salutary warning to others."

Well, that didn't seem too bad!

The judge now addressed me.  "Prisoner, you have been
guilty of the most brazen fraud.  You have abused the
trust of your employers, and of the public.  You are
unrepentant. I have no hesitation in passing the most
severe sentence on you."

"I am mindful of the government's arguments that
there's no term in prison that can adequately
recompense for the scale of the losses suffered as a
result of your actions.  I agree with them that
there's a need to send a strong message to others in
your position not to abuse the trust society places in
them.  I will therefore order you to appear in a
public place - which I stipulate shall be the shopping
mall under this building - for a term of ten years, to
perform a menial and degrading punishment."

He stopped, and said "Approach", gesturing to the
government lawyers to come forward.  They held a
whispered conversation, and he had his hand over the
microphone so we could not hear.  It was soon over,
and he started again.

"To save the public expense, as this location is not
properly equipped as a prison, I order that you should
be securely chained whilst working to avoid the need
for constant guards. And you will pursue the
occupation of shoe-shine 'boy' - cleaning the shoes of
those men who were your co-workers.  Under the terms
of the act I also order that you should be marked to
show your occupation, and that you are doing this as a
punishment."

"Dismissed!"

The bailiff shouted "All rise", and the judge swept
out.  The guards came to take me away, but first the
government lawyer came over and said "You'll wish you
co-operated now.  We, the prosecution, determine
exactly how the sentence is to be implemented, and,
believe me, we're going to use your intransigence as a
strong reason for making it as humiliating as
possible."

I was driven back to the prison, but went off to a
different part when we arrived.  I was stripped - I'd
expected that - but then they came to cut my hair.  I
didn't think they were allowed to do that, and shouted
as the clippers went through my hair, leaving a
quarter inch stubble behind.

One of the guards said "That's only the start - we've
had special orders form the government about you.
There are VERY wide powers to deal with guys sentenced
to public humiliation.  Now, quit whining, and lie on
that table.

I was still naked, and acutely conscious of my body
and of having these guards look at me - don't get me
wrong, I'm used to being naked with other men, as I've
told you I went to the gym frequently.  But not to
being naked when all the other guys are clothed!

As I lay there he ran the clippers over my chest,
sweeping away the light-brown thatch I have there.

"Hey...", I started to protest.  But they just
laughed, and the next minute it got even worse - they
used the clippers to trim all my pubes, and to strip
the hair off my balls and from the base of my cock.
It was even worse when I was told to turn over, two of
them held my ass apart, and the clippers ran down my
crack!

They allowed me to get up, and I saw my reflection in
a mirror in the room - I looked totally different.
Gone was the handsome, confident 'winner' with well
groomed hair: what I saw now was a shorn creature -
almost bald skull, nipples sticking out of a bare
chest, and a dick looking almost comical as it poked
out from a tiny patch of close-cropped pubic hair.
Actually, I'm very well hung, and I suppose that, if
I'm honest, the loss of most of my pubic hair made me
look even bigger!

I was told to go and sit against the wall, to wait for
the next treatment, and sat down with my back against
the cool plaster and my naked ass on the concrete
floor.  I felt so different as I sat there, and pulled
my knees up towards me for comfort - but then I knew
that the guards were looking at my balls and my dick,
hanging down from between my thighs.

I sat there for hours - well, it seemed like that -
they'd taken my watch away, of course.

The door opened and two men came in and dumped a sack
down on the floor - it made a kind of metallic rattle
as it landed.  They carried a tool box, and looked
just like maintenance workers in their one-piece
uniforms.

"He's there", the guards said, pointing at me.

"On your feet, bud", one of the workmen said, and I
scrambled to get up, aware that they were looking
closely at my nude form.

They fished around in the sack, and got out heavy
pieces of chain.  One was put around my left wrist,
and a spare, open link inserted to hold the whole
thing closed.  They shifted the heavy chain
experimentally around my wrist "Not too tight- don't
restrict the blood.... But not to lose, so he can
slide it off."

When they were satisfied, they got a giant pair of
things that looked like bolt cutters and applied them
to the open link.  Both of them pushed on the handles,
and closed the link up so that the chain was
permanently fixed around my wrist.

"This toughened steel is a bastard to work with", they
told the guards.  "Do you see how fucking hard we have
to push to make it for a closed circle?  There's no
chance of him getting that off without a major piece
of workshop effort."

"OK, bud, now the other wrist", they told me, and the
process was repeated so that I now had a chain around
each wrist.

I had to lie on the table whilst they fitted chains
around my ankles, but stood up again for the last one
- a much longer one, that they draped around my waist
and spent sometime sliding it up and down to get "the
right fit".

"Good job he's got a bubble butt", they said. "See how
it lies on his ass at the back, and there's no way he
can slip out of it?  We had to do one of those twink
types last week and it was really hard - he could
slide his little bum through it unless it was so tight
that it rode right up and obscured his navel!"

The steel links felt cold on my bare flesh, and the
considerable additional weight at my ankles and wrists
fell really odd.

"OK, almost done.  Sit on the edge of the table!"  I
backed up to the table, put my hands on the edge, and
lifted myself up and back so my legs were dangling in
the air.

"Right, bud.  Grab that table tight.  This is going to
hurt!"  As they spoke, the men were fitting some sort
of attachment onto the end of the bolt cutter things,
and came towards me with it.
They nodded at the guards, and one of them came and
knelt on the table behind me.  He put an arm around my
throat, and pulled me back into this body so that I
couldn't move.

The narrow, pincer-like things at the end of the bolt
cutters went up into my nose, and the workmen suddenly
squeezed the long handles together.  I screamed!  And
I went on moaning, as the guard let me go.  Something
warm fell onto my naked thigh, and I looked down and
saw blood - streams of it were pouring out from my
nose and dropping on to me.

The workmen came back towards me, and before I could
react, a large ring - about an inch and a half in
diameter - was pushed trough the hole they'd punched
in my septum, and the bolt cutter things were used to
squeeze its open ends shut.  I couldn't believe it - I
could feel this big, heavy piece of steel flopping on
my upper lip. And the pain from my nose was
unstoppable.

The workmen were laughing, and told the guards
"They're all like this.  We've done several now...
They' can't believe they can be given a snout ring
like this.  We were curious at first, but we've seen
how easy it is to control a man ringed like this -
just hook something through the ring and drag min
along, and he'll follow you anywhere!"

I was told to go and sit by the wall again, and I sat
there in absolute misery, trying to staunch the flow
of blood from my battered nose, and fingering the ring
hanging down from it. I'd never dreamed it could be
like this - if they could punch a hole in my body and
ring me like this, what else were they able to do?
The frightening thing was no longer being in control
of my own body - they'd shorn me, fitted the chains,
and ringed me, and there wasn't a blind thing I could
do to stop them.

The tattooist who ultimately came took a couple of
hours - hours of discomfort verging on pain - working
on my back whilst I lay naked on the table.  Then he
started up again, and worked for a bit on my left ass.

They told me to roll over then, and the tattooist
spent about as long again doing something right across
my chest, stretching from above one nipple to the
other.

The guards let me look at myself in the mirror again
then.  Right across my shoulders, in huge letters, it
said "Shoe Shine Boy".  My ass had a neat circle on
it, with the letters "US Government" running around
the edge, rather like the government seals you see all
over the place.  And across my chest the legend
"criminal being punished" was emblazoned.

They led me off to a cell then - a bare cell, just
bars, a crapper in the corner, and a bunk without
blankets.  I was allowed to sleep, although I tossed
and turned all night as I just wasn't used to sleeping
without anything at all on top of me.  Oh, and, of
course, my nose still hurt like hell and the new
tattoos kept sending little twinges of pain through
me.

I was sitting there the next morning with my arms
wrapped around my sides, trying to get a bit warm,
when a young guy - about 26 - in a guard's uniform
came up.

"Steve, isn't it?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Listen, fella, you call me 'Sir'.  I'll punish you if
you don't OK/  Now, again, Steve, isn't it?"

I just shrugged.  He unclipped  a little stick thing
off his belt and poked it through the cell bars at me.
 As it touched my skin, I screamed, and almost vomited
as a blinding shock went through me.

"Modified cattle prod", he told me when I had regained
some composure. "Very handy for herding naked
prisoners. Now, let's try again.  Steve, isn't it?"

"Yes... Sir."

"Good.  Well, Steve, let me tell you about your new
life.  I'm officer Farrell, or 'Sir' to you, and every
day I'll come here, make sure you've crapped, see you
shower, give you your morning's chow, then lead you
off to your work place.  I'll collect you every
evening, and bring you back here, and give you your
evening chow.  Now that's simple, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..."

He poked the prod towards me again.  "Shut the fuck
up!  I gave you a simple explanation, and that's all
you need.  You only speak when you're spoken to.  Now,
on the crapper!"

"But I... don't want to..."

"Shut the fuck up!  That's your last warning!  If I
say 'on the crapper', that's what you do, understand?
You've got a long day ahead of you and no chance to
crap, so do it now, or hold it in until tonight.
Now.. Do it!"

Under the young guy's stare I went and sat on the
steel crapper.  It was awful - no one likes to crap in
front of another, after all.  Even when I'd been
living with women, I'd always shut the bathroom door.
Showering and bathing, that's different.  And even
pissing sometimes.  But crapping!  I strained and
strained, and I suppose I must have been ready as,
much to my embarrassment, I did drop a turd.

Officer Farrell saw me finish, and told me to stand in
the middle of the cell.  He turned a control on the
wall, and water deluged out of the ceiling.

"Shower!  Get really clean -  we don't want the public
complaining!"

I wasn't given anything to dry myself, so planed mot
of the water off my body, and then stood there,
shivering slightly.  Officer Farrell pushed a steel
bowl into the cell, with what looked like dog chow in
it.

"This is standard prisoner rations.  Eat as much as
you like.  That's all you get from now on.  It will
keep you amazingly health - perfect balance of protein
and carbohydrates, and packed with all the vitamins
and minerals you need."

I chewed on some, as my stomach had been rumbling.  It
was neither sweet nor sour, and just had a fait musky
taste.  I didn't eat much!

"Right.  Come and stand by the bars, with your hands
behind your back."

He was still holding his prod loosely in one hand, so
I did as he said.

There were  a couple of little snicks, and then he
moved and unlocked the cell door.  I realised that
those little noises were the sound of some type of
clip locking the chains around my wrists to the one
around my waist.

As I watched, he hung this prod back on the leather
belt around his uniform waist, and unclipped a longer,
steel shaft.  This had a shaped handle on one end, and
a kind of hook on the other.  Approaching me, he
pushed the hook onto my nose ring and fiddled a bit so
that there was a "snick" noise that seemed to indicate
it was fastened.  He picked up the end with the handle
on it, and tugged gently.... I realised I had no
choice but to follow where I was being led, as any
resistance meant that my nose really hurt.

"Right, Steve.  This is your leash.  I use this to
take you to and from your workplace.  As you'll have
noticed, any  resistance and it hurts!  You obviously
can't escape, and you have to follow me,  but if I'm
displeased with your behaviour, I only have to twist
my wrist and you'll wish you no longer had a nose!"

"One more thing before we go", he went on.

A couple of steel hoops were unclipped from his belt,
and he approached me again.

"Kneel down, then stay still - unless you want me to
get my prod out.  This is tricky the first time. But
you'll soon get used to it."

I knelt in front of him, my eyes looking directly at
his bulging crotch.   There was that faint odour of
dried piss a lot of guys have on their pants.

He rested the end of the "leash" on my shoulder for a
moment, then fiddled, getting the steel hoop around my
head.  Something went into my mouth, there was a bit
of tugging, and a couple of little snap sounds.

"OK, Steve?"

I went to say "Yes, sir", but all that came out were
muffled grunts.

"Good.  This is your gag.  The government doesn't want
you speaking to the public in case you try to stir up
sympathy for yourself.  The metal plate in your mouth
pushes your tongue down, and the hoop around your head
holds it firmly in place.  I'll undo the catch at the
back with the special tool when you're back here
tonight - in the meantime, you can drink, but can't
eat - that's why you chow in the morning, and at
night, only."

"Now, we're ready to go."

He licked up my "leash" and tugged at it so I got to
my feet, and started to follow him.  I wanted to ask
about clothes, but I could only mumble.  Then I
thought about my tattoos - was I to be kept bare on
top, so that people could read them?  If so, what was
the point of the tattoo on my arse as well.... Oh,
no..... Surely I wasn't going to be kept totally
naked?

As we went along a corridor then up a couple of
flights of bare concrete stairs I began to realise
that this is what was intended - I was going to be
paraded naked like this!  Officer Farrell pushed open
a door, and we were in a shopping mall!  It must have
been early in the morning as there were only a few
people around, but even they all stopped to stare at
me as I was led, chained, tattooed and start naked,
pulled along by Officer Farrell and his leash.

We got to the centre of the mall, and there was a
little shoe-shine stand - you know the kind of things
- a couple of raised chairs, with a platform along the
front so that the shoes are about a foot or so off the
ground.  They were against the wall, and to the side
of them there was a little tap about three feet off
the ground, and a length of chain coming from a hasp
in the wall.

"On your knees, Steve", he snapped at me, and pulled
downwards with the leash.

He brought the end of the wall chain and fastened it
to my nose ring, then released his "leash".

"No do-gooder can get this off", he said
conversationally.  "It's needs a special tool to
release it, and only I have that.  Now... Let's finish
you off...."

As I knelt there, he bobbed down and knelt beside me.
There was a slight rattling noise, and a few more
snicks, then he stood up, saying "There... All done."

I realised my arms were free, and stretched them out,
glad I was no longer confined.  But when I went to
stand up, I couldn't."

"OK, Steve, here's the picture.  Your ankles are
chained to your waist by short chains, so you have to
stay kneeling.  That's good, as you need to be down
there to shine shoes!  Even if you try to crawl away,
there's a limit of ten feet imposed by that chain to
your snout ring.  You can drink from that tap there.
Underneath it is a drain, so you can piss if you need
to.  You're not allowed to crap, as I said earlier.
But, if you're really desperate, there's a big red
button under the seats - press that, and someone will
get here in seconds.  It's intended for emergencies,
in case any stupid kids try to kick the shit out of
you, for example. But if you really have to crap, you
can call help - although I warn you you'll then get
several tastes of our prod, too!"

"There's a slot between the seats, and as you'll see
from the notice, the customers are expected to drop
two dollars in for a shine.  You can't make them, of
course, and the government isn't really after the
revenue - it wants you on public display like this,
naked and humiliated, to deter others!  There's a
complaints slot, too - make sure you're really careful
not to get any polish onto guys' socks or slacks, as
any complaints result in punishment with the prod.
Now, have I forgotten anything.... No.... It's seven
thirty now, and I'll be back at seven thirty tonight.
Fucking long day I have to work, looking after you
animals!"

And that's it, really.  That first day was sheer hell!
 There were big crowds, who came to stare at my
nakedness.  I had endless customers, and my arms ached
from the polishing.  Even worse was the incessant pain
in my knees and legs, from having to kneel all the
time on the hard marble floor - I learned later that I
was deliberately not given a kneeling pad, as they
wanted to make sure I kept moving constantly to try to
ease the ache:  it made my body "more interesting" to
look at.

When Officer Farrell came for me that evening I was
absolutely exhausted.  Fortunately once the city crowd
went home the pace of work had slackened, and I'd been
able to kind of half sit on the ground for a bit.  I
don't know if it was the men or the women who were the
worst for staring at my dick - but after the first
hour or so, I didn't care.  Of course I'd had to piss
- it was warm in the mall, and I sweateda lot working
away, so I needed to drink. And once you've drunk, a n
hour or so later, you need to piss.  I hated having to
shuffle toward the wall, then kneel in front of the
drain and piss, knowing that there was little crowd
standing behind me, watching - you know how the muscle
in your ass contract when you're squeezing the last
drops of piss out: that was the worse time, knowing
they were seining me doing all these little
intimacies.

I could barely stand up, when Officer Farrell released
the chains holding my ankles to my waist, and he had
to help me to my feet (my wrists were once again
attached behind, so I couldn't use my hands to help
myself).  On the way back to my cell we stopped in a
room where there was a treadmill - you know the sort
of thing, in use in all good gyms.  He told me to get
on the rubber band, then attached my snout ring to a
chain on the front.

"Just five miles, Steve", he told me cheerfully.  "The
government doesn't want those leg muscles of yours to
atrophy.  We need to keep you in good shape in case
some do-gooding organisation complains about inhumane
treatment of prisoners.  Be sure not to fall behind,
or trip - beware of your nose!"

It's one thing to exercise in a gym, where yo can set
your own pace, and, actually ,being a pretty "driven"
guy I used to run fairly fast.  But it's different
again when you have absolutely no choice - I just had
to stand there and race and race, at the pace he had
chosen.

I was really glad when he came back and switched the
machine off - the sweat was pouring off me, my heart
was pounding, and my chest heaving.  I staggered back
to my cell, and knelt to have my "gag:" removed, and
was immediately given another bowl of "chow".  I
hadn't eaten much of it that morning, but now I wolfed
it down!

I thought Officer Farrell would go off duty then, but
there was one more thing - he told me to lie on my
back on the bunk, then the chains on my ankles and
wrists were used to hold me there, spread-eagled on my
back.

"Sweet dreams, Steve", he said, and went out, turning
off the light and leaving me in pitch darkness.

I suppose I slept - yes, I must have, because when the
lights went on again it was a real shock.  But all
through the night I'd wanted to move around, couldn't,
and so had woken up and then fallen back to sleep.
Even worse was the insistent messages from my cock - I
was rock hard, achingly so, and really wanted, no,
needed,  to jerk off - I hadn't been able to do so for
over 24 hours, and usually I'm a twice a day man.

Officer Farrell looked down at me, and my erection.
"Oh, yes, Steve - that's another part of the
punishment, and the humiliation.  The government
doesn't allow you any self-relief.  So you'll have
those erections every night, and, worse, they'll
happen all day, too:  how do you like the thought of
all those men and women seeing you sport a hard like
that?"

"But", he went on, "Be careful that you only
spontaneously ejaculate here in your cell at night.
If you do that out in the mall, and anyone complains
about your disgusting animal behaviour, I'll punish
you with the prod."

I've been here for a year now.  Every days is the
same.  EVERY day - the mall is open seven days a week,
and I'm on display for twelve hours on all of them.
I'm sick of shoes, I'm sick of the smell of polish.
I'm sick of guys from my old firm coming and laughing
at me as they see me naked.  I particularly hate the
guys who slip a shoe off as I'm cleaning their other
one, and use their socked feet to caress my balls -
there's even a competition running, I know, to see who
can make me cum that way - they see my erection, and
the pre-cum running out, and they try to make it worse
by stimulating me.

Of course I'm still in great shape - the balanced
diet, the hard work, the running every day, all see to
that.   And I suppose I'm not stressed at all - that's
really making my life longer.  But I can't stand the
boredom... I can't speak to the clients.  Officer
Farrell "prods" me if I don't just answer is
questions.  There's no TV, I'm not given any books.
I'm not even allowed a little sexual pleasure - my
cock aches constantly from being erect, but I'm never
allowed to do anything about it:  chained up at night,
and with Officer Farrell watching me as I shower to
make sure I only soap it, not jerk off.  I have "wet
dreams" all the time, just like when I was a kid
before I discovered jerking off - but that's not any
pleasure, is it?

I've just been turned into a human machine, a shoe
polishing machine.  I don't know what will happen to
me in nine years time, when I'm released from this -
no money, nothing.  As I said, I thought I almost had
it all.....

Of course I do hear bits of news - guys read the
newspapers as I polish away, and I try to read the
stories.  And sometimes there are exhibitions in the
mall, with big TV screens that occasionally show
events of the day.  It's amazing how I've ceased to be
an attraction - the crowds that used to come and stare
have mostly gone, and I just have regular clients!

 It might be that they're all watching the two new
"cleaners" in the mall now - two big blacks, naked,
like me, being punished for drug dealing.  They are
permanently cuffed to their shovels and brooms, and
their waist chains are locked together so they have to
go around like Siamese twins!  They're in the cell
next to me at night and I hear them groaning as, like
me, they can't get to jerk themselves off.  We tried
talking, but we've got nothing in common to talk
about.

It seems the government thinks the public humiliation
of offenders thing really is working, as crime rates
are dropping.  The only worry now is that I read the
other day that there are so few new offenders who
qualify that some senator is proposing to extend all
existing sentences indefinitely "to ensure children
can continue to see that crime does not pay."  There's
quite a debate - but the Supreme Court has already
ruled that keeping men chained naked, like animals, is
not "cruel and unusual punishment" - so what hope is
there, really?

Fuck me - what did I do wrong?  I only wanted to be up
there, with the real rulers, and now I couldn't be
lower.

THE END.