Date: Sat, 25 Apr 2009 17:21:14 +0000 From: Dave Clarke Subject: Remanded to the Custody Part One Disclaimer: The following is an original work of fiction that contains graphic depictions of sexual activities and erotic abuse between males. All characters are portrayed as being over 18 years of age, as you should be to read this. If you aren't, or if such material is offensive to you or illegal to read where you are, then stop reading now. All rights are reserved by the author. Please download for personal use only. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters and real persons or places is purely coincidental. REMANDED TO THE CUSTODY By humilus One "The defendant will rise for sentencing," the judge said without looking up from the bench. I rose slowly from the chair at the defendant's table and tried to steady myself. "Drake Michael Green, you have been found guilty of violating United States Code Title 7201, Attempt to Evade or Defeat Tax; and 7203 Willful Failure to File Return, Supply Information, or Pay Tax. This Court hereby sentences you to be remanded to the custody of the Bureau of Prisons for a period of ten years to be served consecutively." He looked over his glasses at me and half-smiled. "Your bond is hereby revoked. This Court is adjourned." "All rise," the bailiff shouted." My knees buckled and I fell back into my chair. "We'll file an appeal Drake," my attorney whispered in my ear. I turned to her and fought back tears. The image of her perfect face blurred as I started to cry. "Stand up." A burley bailiff pulled on the back of my chair. He pulled my left arm behind me and closed the steel cuff around my wrist. He pulled my right arm behind me and locked the other cuff in one motion, like a man who enjoys his work. "Kelly, can I get bond?" I shouted at my attorney as two bailiffs led me to a side door. She opened her cell phone and didn't look up. The 2009 Corrections Reform Act passed both House of 111th Congress and was signed into law by the President. The hallmark provisions privatized the Federal Corrections System for all but the most violent felons. The concept of small regional holding facilities, some holding only a handful of inmates was introduced as a method of reducing the massive Bureau of Prisons budget. Private facilities compensated the Bureau of Prisons for each inmate they received. In turn, they were authorized to use inmate labor in manufacturing or service industries. In the midst of the economic depression, there was no outcry or accusation that the Federal Government had just legalized slavery. In quick order, several states followed the Federal Government's lead and adopted similar programs. I was remanded to the custody of Ignacio James Kirby two days after my sentencing. My cell door opened in the early morning. I didn't know what time it was. "You're being transferred." The guard said. "What about my appeal?" He dropped a set of white coveralls on the floor. "I don't give a shit about your appeal. Put the diaper on and then get dressed in the coveralls. Everyone else in this place is innocent too—just like you." He pointed at the pile on the floor. "Mr. Kirby doesn't like to have accidents in his vehicles." The cell door slammed and echoed as I bent down to pick up the clothes. I stripped down and turned the diaper to see which end was the front. It was too big, but I put it on and then the coveralls. I sat on the thin pad that covered the concrete bed and stared at the door for what seemed like an hour. At least I was getting out of solitary confinement. I tried to shield my eyes from the bright sun as they walked me into the yard. My wrists were cuffed to a leather belt around my waist. A tall, very black man in a navy blue suit and chauffer's cap stood at the open rear door of a Lincoln Town Car. I couldn't see his eyes behind his dark glasses, and then thought better than try to make eye contact. His and my guard's only communication was a nod. They left me standing next to the car door and went back into the building. He closed the car door and walked me back to the rear of the car. The leg irons forced me to take tiny steps and I was afraid I would fall. He punched the remote release on his key fob and the truck opened. He took a nylon strap with a rubber ball from his coat pocket and then stepped behind me. I felt a sharp stabbing pain when he punched me in the small of my back. I cried out, but he pulled the ball into my mouth before I made a noise. He secured the strap against the back of my head and pushed me forward into the truck. I found I couldn't swallow with the gag in my mouth and started to slobber. He spread an old towel under my head. The smile on his face as he looked at me and closed the trunk was the only expression I saw him make. "My name is Drake Green and what you are doing is illegal." A tall Germanic looking man stood at the back of the car when the chauffer pulled me out and removed the gag. He might have been sixty, or seventy years old. I couldn't tell. His close cropped hair was completely gray and he wore a closely trimmed goatee. But his tanned face was unlined except for tiny crow's feet at his eyes. The chauffer pulled on my arm, but the man raised his hand. He smiled. "I find it interesting that an incarcerated, twice a convicted felon feels the need to inform me that I am committing an illegal act," he said with a slight accent. "It would have been wise to consider your own actions before the Government was forced to imprison you." He clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly around me. "Manelesi, take him to Otto and have him cleaned up and fitted," he said when he was standing in front of me. "Mr. Green, and this is the last time you will hear that name for the next ten years at least... twenty if I can get your sentence increased for violations of prison rules during that time. Green is not your name any more. I shall think of an appropriate name sometime soon. He started back to the house but turned. "I'm quite good at giving people names that match their personalities and stations in life." He nodded to his chauffer. "Manelesi is the name I gave my chauffer. It means satisfier in Izizulu, the language of the Zulu. You'll find soon enough that it fits him like a well tailored suit. Manelesi can neither hear nor speak. But he reads lips quite well." Manelesi walked me into a small building between the garage and the stables. We stepped into an office with a desk, file cabinets, and several computers. An obese man in khaki trousers and a white dress shirt entered the office from a back room. He looked at me and curled his lips in a half sneer. "Ah Manelesi, so this is our new charge." He took a pair of hospital shears from the desk and began to cut the jump suit away. First he cut up both sleeves and then he knelt and cut both legs up the inseam. I started to pull my leg until Manelesi squeezed my shoulder. The fat man straightened and smiled when he saw the pain in my face. "You will find that Manelesi is quite adept at communicating in his nonverbal way. Did you soil yourself during the trip?" I didn't answer him. "No matter, we'll take off the diaper when we shower you. But first," he picked up a large stainless steel metal ring. "This is your uniform, or the better part of it." He held it up close to my face and picked up a small device that looked like a garage door opener. "Did you ever have a dog? An unruly dog that was hard to control?" He closed the ring around me leg and stepped back. I felt Manelesi release me and step away just as the bolt of lightning made my knee buckle and threw me to the floor. I screamed and convulsed, releasing my bladder and bowels and the same time. They left me on the floor for several minutes and then the fat man tightened the collar around my neck with a key wrench. He inserted his finger to test for tightness and then stood. "That should do it for now. Let's get these shackles off so I can get him cleaned up." They removed the cuffs and leg irons and left me wearing only the soiled diaper and collar. "Thank you Manelesi, I can handle him myself now that he has had his first lesson." The chauffer flashed his perfect white teeth and nodded, then left the office. "In case you get any ideas, the setting I used when showing you your collar was forty-percent," the fat men held up the remote control. "I'm setting to on full from now on." He led me to a concrete shower stall and pointed to a plastic trash bag and a liquid soap dispenser on the wall. "The diaper goes into the bag. Tie it tightly. You will shower as often as is necessary, several times a day if necessary. There is a syringe and a diverter valve on the shower to clean your anus and lower bowel. I'd suggest you pay particular attention to that." I felt a pit in my stomach and wondered if I'd wake up and end the nightmare. "I'd suggest you make haste," the fat man said. "We've much to do yet." I threw the diaper into the plastic trash bag and turned on the shower. I lathered up and tried to wash myself clean. The hot water beating against my skin was the first good feeling I had experienced in days. I used the liquid soap to shampoo my hair. When I opened my eyes after rinsing, I saw the fat man watching me from the door. "I think you'd rather clean your anus yourself, rather than have me do it," he said. I turned the diverter handle and flowed water from the chrome nozzle and then inserted in my rectum. I held it in for several seconds and then released the water. Then I repeated. The fat man watched me the entire time. It was the first time since the court room that I felt myself starting to cry so I turned away from the door. I heard the fat man chuckle when I turned off the water. "Dry yourself," he handed me a towel. Then he led me through the office and into another room. He pointed to a barber's chair. "Sit down. You're getting a haircut." He stepped behind me and attached a cable to my collar. "I'll be working close, so I'm going to strap you in for both of our safety." He strapped my arms to the chair and then my legs, and then cinched a leather belt around my waist. I watched locks of my hair cascade down my shoulders and chest as he ran the electric shears close to my scalp. He cut all of it off. "You will be sheared every week. Looks like we can skip your chest and legs. Your genitals will be shaved at least twice a week." He opened a drawer and I heard him removed several metal objects, I could tell by the sound. Then I heard the slap of latex gloves on his wrists. "Have you ever had a piercing?" He stood in front of me and held up a large needle. I started to scream. He forced a ball gag into my mouth and secured it to the back of the chair. I was totally immobilized and helpless. I heard him snicker. "I see you are no stranger to all of this eh?" I opened my eyes and saw my penis was fully erect. "That won't last long." He swabbed alcohol on my left nipple and clamped it. I felt a sharp burning pain as he inserted the needle. He inserted a ring with a small ball, twisted it tight and then clamped my right nipple. I screamed and gnawed on the gag. My saliva dripped down the center of my chest. "That's a good way to get infected, you know," he said. I felt his hand on my penis and tried to squirm. He held up the remote control. I froze. I closed my eyes as he inserted a metal tube into my urethra, and fought the urge to scream as he pressed a ten gauge needle through the head of my penis. He inserted a stainless steel ring and closed the ball. The he wiped all three sites with disinfectant.