THE STATE NEVER MAKES MISTAKES (Several M/M)

[blackbound]

Oh man, that sounds very unpleasant. I was initially going to make some flippant remark about sparing the rod.

[Xtc]

Never let that stop you. Many have tried!

[gag1195]

@Xtc you raise an intriguing point regarding Jeremy... Depending on how long the sentence actually is, will he still be there waiting when the time is up?

[Xtc]

There was a clue earlier on. (I hope!)

The way Jeremy has been treated so far is probably ambivalent but they have been together for quite some time.

[Red86]

Damn, what has this other prisoner done to deserve this? Atleast they took some pitty on him with that extreme gag. I know Patrick has almost been a model prisoner but hopefully he learns from this to be on his best behavior until his time has been severed. But I get the feeling he'd monitored for a while after release to and one little mishap could land him into more trouble. So many rules and regulations!

[Xtc]

. . . and so may agents on the lookout.

[Xtc]

THE STATE DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES (6)


The Sjambok

Time wore on and forced immobility had resulted in mounting pain in Patrick’s skinny frame. Unlike the smaller youth still bound to the caning horse, he hadn’t even been offered re-hydration. The Duty Corporal did make sure that the paramedic had plastered both the prisoners and even the draught beast in sun block but, not having been able to keep an eye on them because of the posture he was expected to assume, it could have been applied in a more timely fashion. Patrick knew why Spectators began to reassemble. He wasn’t the star turn of the day; the young blonde was certainly that. If, however, he had been a paid performer he would have considered the assembled company to be a respectable house. There were a few last-minute missiles thrown before the Duty Corporal took to his feet.

The Transport Corporal removed the instrument of chastisement from the safe and handed it to his colleague. That always brought an exaggerated response of “Oooh!” from the younger members of the crowd – or at least from the ones who had never had to suffer under it. There were even one or two noticeably sympathetic noises from certain spectators but it didn’t seem to dissuade them from staying for the upcoming spectacle.

The official sjambok is a modern device made to be sufficiently flexible to conform to the victim’s body on contact. It is probably about 70 centimetres long with a comfortable moulded grip at one end and which narrows from about three centimetres to about half that along its length. It causes pain and could break a victim’s ribs but, unlike the rod, it didn’t usually leave permanent marks. Patrick saw the thing and his breathing became erratic and laboured once more. He couldn’t help praying to a God in whom he hadn’t really believed since childhood that the Duty Corporal would interpret what the Director of Corrections prescribed as “No more than ten dorsal strokes” leniently. The sjambok was placed where Patrick could not avoid seeing it as he looked down.

The Duty Corporal checked the security of the pillory, not really a necessity but all part of the penal process, and gave the waist belt a hefty yank using the “D” ring at the back. Having managed to move it a minute amount, he tried to tighten it by one more hole but failed and returned it to where it was. He then lowered the clamps round Patrick’s wrists and neck slightly. That would give Patrick more chance of surging forwards with each blow without damaging his wind-pipe too much.

Patrick saw the black plastic device being picked up and removed from his sight.

The first blow landed across Patrick’s prominent shoulder blades, and his neck rattled in its clamp. His breathing difficulty became even more pronounced and noisier sounding to Patrick himself than it was to his audience. The Corporal waited as Patrick trembled. The next blow dug in just below his shoulder blades and wrapped round Patrick’s ribs. At least the Corporal had used his skill to avoid the tip cutting into his victim’s flesh under his right armpit. Even with that gag in place, Patrick’s chin and tortured lip managed to tremble. By now the bruising on Patrick’s neck was being further aggravated. The Corporal laid the sjambok on the dais once more.

-----00000==========00000-----

Patrick had seen criminals tortured like this before. He just wished his tormentor would get on with it but the next development meant that that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. A young slave ran up to the scaffold and waited for one of the Corporals to call him up to the platform. As was normal, the slave was naked except for the cock cage that had tormented him as he ran on his errand and the iron branks bridle that was pressing against his lips and holding the customary tubed gag deep into his mouth. It was the Corporals’ lunch time and he had brought a thermal bag containing their meals.

The slave, a late-teenager, looked nervously back and forward between the two convicts as he approached the seated Corporals. He knelt, opened the bag and produced two thermal mugs of soup. The Corporals took one each and the Transport Corporal demanded, “Hands.” The slave raised his cuffed wrists and presented his hands for inspection. Having decided that they were clean enough, the Corporal demanded, “Bread.” and the slave produced a baton loaf which he retained and from which he ripped chunks on demand. The Corporals started a leisurely lunch, dipping the bread into the soup in between taking draughts directly from the large mugs. The slave watched intently and with more than a little longing, as the Corporals lazily slurped their soup, in case they needed anything else. Giving slow service would have resulted in punishment and the public scaffold was not the place to get things wrong.

Patrick’s breathing had returned to normal by the time the slave had replaced the mugs in the bag and produced two steaming compartmented plastic plates followed by knives and forks. The Corporals took their food onto their laps and passed the dining time in small talk while both their subjects and the slave waited. As the slave replaced the plates and cutlery in his satchel, the Corporals wiped themselves with the proffered napkins prior to pudding being served. As pudding was finished and cleared, Patrick tensed up once more; it would shortly be time for his ordeal to increase in intensity again. Such anticipation proved to be in vain as his tormentors took hot drinks from the slave. Slowly Patrick’s muscles relaxed once more.

Once the mugs and flask were replaced in the bag and Patrick had tensed up again, the slave produced a folded card, handed it to the Transport Corporal and bowed his head. That was the slave’s record card, rather like a school student’s report card, and if he didn’t get a satisfactory report, he could be assured of further torments when he returned to his barracks. The Corporal initialled a category, wrote down the time, folded the card shut and handed it back. The slave didn’t dare to inspect it before returning it to the pocket on the side of the bag and zipping it up. He threaded the straps between his arms and his body and over his shoulders and then pulled them tight and buckled them together so that the bag sat like an old-fashioned school satchel. The process would have been easier if the chain between his wrists had been longer but he was getting used to it. The slave bowed his head. “Very well, slave, you may go.” The boy rose from his knees, climbed clumsily down to the ground and ran for his barracks as fast as he could in the circumstances in an attempt to avoid further punishment.

As they digested lunch, the Corporals were still in no hurry to complete Patrick’s battering and the skinny youth was left with the sight of the sjambok unavoidable as he was forced to look down.

-----00000==========00000-----

Eventually the Duty Corporal took to his feet again and picked up the plastic baton. Patrick totally unnecessarily squeezed his eyes closed as his slender muscles unavoidably tensed once more. The Corporal positioned himself and delivered a body-racking blow just below the last one he had delivered. Patrick’s back was changing colour in a systematic, graduated way. He wished Jeremy had not stayed; seeing the tortured expression on his face looking up at him like that was nearly as distressing as the actual beating. The next blow landed without the usual delay only just above the restraint belt that was now protecting Patrick’s kidneys. The resultant convulsions as each blow landed reinforced the bruising round Patrick’s neck, wrists and ankles; the sjambok is renowned for not scarring its victims but is not renowned for being merciful in other respects.

The corporal laid the plastic whip on the ground again. Jeremy repeated his assurances to his boyfriend in spite of the jeering and jostling he was receiving from the rest of the spectators because his protective posse had departed after the “main event”. Patrick’s entire body was a sheet of pain and even the limited movements available to him sparked hurt in areas that had not even been beaten. Why didn’t that bastard just get on with it?

Following a break of about five minutes, the Corporal took up the sjambok once more. The next two blows sent Patrick’s shoulders ramming into the pillory as the Corporal landed them in parallel on his buttocks. Patrick’s rear end had little padding to protect the nether regions of his skeleton and the bodily twitching took longer to subside as the Corporals resumed their desultory conversations. After a break of about five minutes, the next (and worst so far) blow landed just about where Patrick’s buttocks joined his thighs followed almost instantly by another, almost mild in comparison, on his mid thighs. Once more, the black plastic torture device was laid on the floor in the view of the quaking victim.

As time wore on, it seemed to expand and there seemed to be no inclination on the part of the Duty Corporal to resume Patrick’s beating and the crowd gradually dispersed. They were convinced that the entertainment was over for the afternoon but neither corporal bothered to confirm or deny that to the sufferer.

The Aftermath

Eventually, the paramedic was summoned to the platform once more and he carried out the same initial checks on the skinny youth as he had on the muscular one earlier. He also prodded and manipulated Patrick’s body painfully before reporting to the Corporals. “Please, Masters, beg to report no broken bones and probably no ruptures. Please, Masters, may I remove his gag and administer water and some minerals?”

There followed some discussion and negotiation, which the paramedic had to conduct very carefully, before he returned to collect something from the safe to enable him to resume his task. He collected a key from the Transport Corporal and, following a gentle reminder to Patrick not to make a noise, he unlocked the gag and held the straps in one hand while pushing the other down gently on Patrick’s head. “Ready?” The over-large ball was forced from Patrick’s mouth.

The yell was epic!

The medic showed Patrick what he had retrieved from the safe and even Patrick could appreciate that having the thing inserted in his mouth would be preferable to having the tortuous ball inserted again. Although his jaws were still quite wide apart as they clamped down on the hollow wedge, some jaw movement was possible as the first strap was buckled into place behind Patrick’s neck but that wasn’t to last long. As the rest of the harness was locked over the top of Patrick’s head and tightened under his jaw, that jaw became immobilised once more. A final pull to the first strap pressed Patrick’s lips against his teeth and pushed the wedge even further over his trapped tongue. The paramedic checked the tightness of the tube gag he had just padlocked into Patrick’s mouth before handing the key to the Transport Corporal. He might have been a criminal himself but his calling was that of a medic and he wanted to be able to give some relief to his patient. Failure to tighten the gag harness sufficiently to satisfy the Duty Corporal would have caused both himself and Patrick even further distress.

A slightly flexible tube about an inch wide protruded from the front of the gag into which the paramedic plugged the tube form a hydration pack and raised it to assist the flow. He controlled Patrick’s access to the liquid and administered it in manageable draughts until Patrick had managed to ingest the entire pack. His need for such ministrations would probably obviate any need to suffer the humiliation of having to urinate in public. Before the treatment, the pain, the sun and the dehydration had all started to make Patrick light-headed and the last thing a prisoner in a pillory needs to do is to lose consciousness. The treatment did nothing to relieve Patrick’s pain or to stop the sun from shining but at least he felt he could still find renewed resources to retain consciousness. The feeling was reinforced by Jeremy’s constant presence even though he would happily have spared his lover the distress he was obviously feeling.

Over the next two hours, the crowd had departed leaving just Jeremy still pushing himself as close to the crash-barrier as he could. He would have given anything to be able to embrace his bony lover and try to kiss his hurts better but he knew that he wouldn’t even be allowed to visit him once he had been returned to prison and would have to make do with the view of him he had at present. He wished the view could have been better.

TBC

[Red86]

These last few chapters have been intense! This would be a dream world to those that are either into inflicting or receiving pain. I don't exactly fall into that category. It's one thing to give someone red skin but I have to draw the line at blood. Even for "punishments"

This must have been extremely rough for Jeremy to watch. And he won't even get visiting rights after this. Hopefully he'll hang in there until Patrick serves his sentence and live a more low profile life away from crime!

[Xtc]

There was a warning about the nasty nature of this story. It was born out of two conflicting parents. A collaborator on DA wanted the unpleasantness, a thing in which he revelled. It also acted as a much needed catharsis for an awkward stage of my life.

The idea of violence in real life appalls me and I spent a lot of my professional life protecting children from violence. Being an old hippy, I am one who believes that we could save a lot of money by readdressing our defence strategy. I propose getting the words, "I surrender" printed on cards in several languages and issuing a card to each citizen. I always have been an idealist.

[Red86]

@Xtc, hopefully you caught that I was only referring to real life. I saw the note in the beginning and in no way was I bashing the story. Though it was nice to get the info on how this story came about!

[Xtc]

Thanks for your support, @Red86, I appreciate it.

[Xtc]

THE STATE NEVER MAKES MISTAKES (7)


The Return Journey

Eventually the Transport Corporal got lazily to his feet and inserted a new cable tie into the hood that he’d retrieved. The idle conversation between the two corporals hardly even faltered as he prepared his charges for transport. At least Patrick was the first to be released from the scaffold. The Corporal removed the tube protruding from Patrick’s gagged mouth and screwed in a solid rubber plug in its place. At least the thing still wasn’t as painful as the ball gag that he’d had to wear previously even though his breathing was hardly easier once the hood had been strapped round his neck again. As his world went dark once more, he despaired of ever seeing Jeremy again but at least, if he did, it would almost certainly be under better circumstances.

The Corporal released Patrick’s wrists from the pillory and re-attached his cuffs to the belt that had recently protected his kidneys from the beating. Patrick couldn’t even use his feet to brace himself as he sagged putting even more strain on his neck and the back of his skull. “That” almost automatic reaction manifested itself again. Jeremy was reminded sorrowfully about one of the many things he loved about his boyfriend. The Corporal freed Patrick’s hobbled feet from the clamps and he could finally shuffle a bit in an attempt to relieve his distress at least slightly but, upon having his neck freed, he immediately collapsed to the floor of the dais. Patrick knew that he was being treated mercifully; If his ankles had not been freed first, the sudden strain on his ankles would probably have broken at least one of them. He had seen that happen to a prisoner who had not been cooperative during his chastisement.

The draught beast became aware that he was about to be, possibly literally, whipped into action again because he felt the tumbrel moving as Patrick was dragged onto it and fastened as he had been on the outward journey. At least he would soon be allowed to rise from his knees and be able to move again even in such a restricted manner. His arms burned because of their prolonged immobility caused by the drag handle of the tumbrel. He hoped he had done well and that he would get a good report from the Transport Corporal. If so, there was a chance of having his hood removed overnight and his wrists might even be unlocked from his waist belt. The last time he had done well, his bit wasn’t even replaced until the next morning and, other than the spiked chastity cage he was wearing and the chain tethering him to the wall of his stall, he was relatively unfettered for the first time since he had commenced his sentence. He would just have to continue to maintain his immobility for a few more minutes.

This time the Corporal didn’t remove the stifling hood from Patrick; he simply produced another one for the blonde convict. The youngster’s tongue had been lolling from his mouth for hours but, following a quick examination, the Corporal made no attempt to relieve him of the swelling and pain that the clamp was causing. He slipped the hood over the convict’s head and fastened it closely round his neck. The paramedic was called to remove the drip from the boy’s arm and, even after all the abuse his patient’s tortured body had received, he still taped a cotton swab tightly over the tiny wound.

That was the last time the Corporals were going to require the paramedic for the day so he was told to complete his paperwork (although he did it on a hand-held electronic terminal) and present his report card. Unlike the slave who delivered the lunches, the Duty Corporal entered the paramedic’s report on the same electronic device and sent it before the subject could even snatch a look at it. The terminal was then locked in the safe along with the green box with the white cross on it and anything else that could be used again. The paramedic collected up anything that needed disposal and placed it in a leather satchel which he strapped on his back. Stopping for only a cursory grasp at what was on the inside of his red shorts in a somewhat vain attempt to relieve himself of at least some of the discomfort caused by having to wear a chastity cage, (At least his cage didn’t have spikes inside it like any ordinary slave's) the paramedic presented a padlock to the Duty Corporal. Following having his cuffs padlocked behind him, the paramedic descended the steps and started his run for his barracks.

All the while this was going on, the blonde convict was released from the horse and secured to the tumbrel alongside Patrick. The outward journey was bad enough as the convicts were forced to look at those witnessing their humiliation but the homeward one with all the uncertainties of being transported in the dark was sure to be even worse. The Tumbrel was freed from the dais and the draught beast was whipped into action. It was bad enough for Patrick when he was initially leaned against the post even before his elbows were pulled backwards but, once he was moving, each jolt aggravated his bruising even more. He only hoped that the Transport Corporal wouldn’t consider that his muffled screaming warranted any further sanction. At least the padded dressing protected the other convict somewhat but that clamp on his tongue continued to torment him.

Conditions of Imprisonment

When the tumbrel came to a rest at last, Patrick was unfastened and led once more to his cell, not that he could tell where he was. The usual hand-over formalities were completed and the Warder reminded Patrick why he had just suffered a public chastisement as he locked the custody cell and left without further ado. Patrick just stood where he was for some time before he sought out the bench and sat on it. That wasn’t the best decision he had ever made and he quickly laid himself face down and swung his shackled ankles upwards causing his feet to encounter a wall. A certain amount of wriggling soon allowed him to lay stretched out and prone on the slatted surface but with his mitted hands uncomfortably trapped underneath him. He guessed he was unlikely to be able to find much more comfort any time soon.

As usual, time slowed to a standstill until eventually Patrick heard his cell door being opened. He tried not to react.

“HP 10/02, the prisoner will stand.” The now familiar voice of the Warder demanded instant compliance so the bruised convict struggled to his feet. “The Director of Corrections has ordered me to explain the conditions of your imprisonment following your recent infringement. Nod if you understand.” Patrick did so. “Good. You know that yours is still an open sentence and that you are still due to suffer a further public chastisement.” At least that despairing, agonised sound wasn’t going to be held against him. “Don’t collapse now because I’ll not be explaining your future conditions again.” Patrick found himself being hauled to attention by the tie round his hood. In his current state, his body couldn’t even produce its customary reaction to having his breathing constricted.

“I may not tell you how long you have left to serve but you should remember that, before you spoke last time, you were about to be assessed for release. That’s all I can say about that but you know that your conditions of imprisonment have been altered as a result of your previous infringement.” Once more that wheezing sigh accompanied Patrick’s bodily slump against the hand holding him upright. “Your hands will not be cuffed together but those mitts will not be removed or, at least, not until you have earned an easement to your conditions of incarceration. Before you spoke, you were spared being gagged; in order to help you to avoid such an infringement in future, you will be gagged from now on.” The thought of having the tubed wedge in place for the foreseeable future didn’t fill Patrick with optimism but at least it would be better than that huge black ball that had only recently tormented him.

“You have not been granted the alternative sentence of enslavement but, if you are lucky, you might be offered the opportunity to provide some service to the community that might lead to clemency being extended to you to a certain extent.” As he spoke, the Warder emphasised the word “might” on both occasions but he did offer at least a glimmer of hope. As the Warder withdrew his fingers from Patrick’s hood, he slumped against the wall of his cell thus aggravating his recent injuries, and slid down to the floor. The warder withdrew.

Some unfathomable time later, the familiar tromp of boots announced to Patrick that he had company. “The prisoner will stand.” It was the usual Warder. Patrick staggered to his feet and attempted to face towards where he thought the voice came from. “Move forward.” Patrick shuffled until he encountered the bars of his cell and he felt the cable tie holding the hood in place initially pulled away from his throat and then, seemingly, released. The Warder reached through the bars and ripped the hood from the prisoner’s neck. Patrick retained his stance as he blinked in the bright light. “Hold still.” Patrick was determined to do so, especially as the Warder unlocked his cuffs from the waist belt and removed the chain between them. “Turn around.” Patrick was soon free of the heavy leather belt that had constricted his waist for so long. As he looked down, he could see the red, raw indentations in his sparse flesh where it had been so tightly fastened around him.

“Turn around. Face to the bars.” Any movement was still agony to Patrick, especially any movement that involved his back coming into contact with the bars, so at least that instruction would provide some relief to his severely bruised back. As Patrick forced his face against the bars, the Warder unscrewed the plug from the front of his gag and replaced it with a feeding tube. At least that would make breathing easier.

“You are to retain the hobble but I shall make sure that you get water. I recommend perfect silence if you want your conditions of incarceration to be eased. Do you understand?” Patrick nodded ostentatiously. “Alright, there’s no need to shout.” Patrick failed to see the humour. The Warder departed only to return very shortly with a dog-bowl of the usual gloop that passed for prison food and another, containing clean water, both of which he slid under the door. “Don’t forget: use it or lose it.” With that the Warder departed.

By that stage of his incarceration Patrick knew that, if he didn’t suck up the gunge immediately, he would have it taken from him and would probably miss the next “meal time” altogether. It might have been disgusting but, by now, Patrick had no bodily reserves to sustain him so he took to his knees and did his best to ingest as much as possible through the plastic tube. He dreaded what would happen if he started choking. Having hoovered up as much as possible of the gloop, I won't go into the disgusting details of the actual process, Patrick lowered the tube into the bowl of water. His attempt to drink was limited in its success and resulted in a lot of snorting. Was this all he had to look forward to during the rest of his sentence?

According to the next two "meal times" it would seem that it was.

TBC

[Red86]

If that isn't a kick in the nuts, knowing that you were about to be considered for release, but now that you chose to speak out not only caused the punishment but potentially a longer term. Poor guy!

[Xtc]

Serves him right for not behaving himself.
Thanks for continuing to follow Patrick's misfortunes, @Red86 .

[blackbound]

If that isn't a kick in the nuts, knowing that you were about to be considered for release, but now that you chose to speak out not only caused the punishment but potentially a longer term. Poor guy!

Unless they were just fucking with him, of course.

[Xtc]

I think you'll find that they have to be sticklers for the rules.
After all, they wouldn't want to get into trouble, would they, @blackbound ?

Thanks for the reply.

[Red86]

I think you'll find that they have to be sticklers for the rules.
After all, they wouldn't want to get into trouble, would they, @blackbound ?

But what if they we're fucking with him in the opposite manner? Say they could have lied about him being considered for release before the infraction. I mean that would be cruel but someone with a twisted mind could really use a piece of information like that to mess with the inmates hope. Not like the inmate would wanna speak out again to find out the truth.

So either way, @blackbound's comment is plausible depending on how you want to look at it.

[Xtc]

Surely you are not implying that our (I mean, 'the') guardians of the law might abuse their powers? After all, that has never been known anywhere else, has it?

[Xtc]

THE STATE NEVER MAKES MISTAKES (8)


A Change in Situation

Patrick was desperate to ingest sufficient nutrition by the time the Warder returned with more equipment. This time Patrick saw what was obviously a collapsible water bottle with a tube protruding from it being fastened at about head height to the bars. The end of the tube was capped with what looked like the teat from a baby's feeding bottle. Patrick thought it would be better not to approach the bars. Next to the "feeding bottle" was what looked like a large toothpaste tube. Patrick wondered how he was supposed to tackle them with the tube that was still hanging from his mouth.

"The prisoner will approach." Patrick climbed from the bench and stood in front of the bars. "Turn around." Patrick did so and felt his gag being unlocked and released. He managed to remain quiet. He was able to move his jaw for the first time in how long? "As long as you remain silent, you may exercise your jaw." Patrick's useless, mitted hands came up to his chin and helped with the massaging process. The warder waited for about five minutes before ordering Patrick to back right up to the bars.

Patrick knew it was too good to last as he saw the gag brought round in front of his face again. He opened up despairingly only to find a different device fastened onto his face. The strap and panel were padded, it didn't force his jaws anywhere near as wide as the previous wedge and he could even bite down onto it. Yes, the mouth piece was soft, even if it was still as wide as his mouth. He didn't try it for efficacy but it would have still rendered any attempted speech completely unintelligible. Not only was it obvious that he could breathe through it but he could even move his jaw to a limited extent. Patrick felt the strap tighten and heard the padlock snap into place. If he wasn't in quite such a poor condition, he would have wondered why the padlock was necessary all the while his hands were enclosed in those two globular mitts.

"Turn around." Patrick did as he was told just in time to see a naked man with his wrists chained between his shoulder-blades being dragged down the corridor and obviously trying to plead through whatever gag he was wearing under that hood. He knew that when - and if - he returned, his bruising would be even more extensive than it already was. "Push your mouth over that teat." Patrick did so. "Press hard against it and chew down on your gag. Good. Now suck." Drinking from what was, in effect, a baby's bottle was probably no more demeaning than having to eat like a dog but Patrick was just grateful to be able to take a drink, however slowly without all the unpleasantness that the previous arrangement had occasioned. The gag obviously fitted a standard baby's dummy perfectly.

Before he was satiated, the order to "back off" came. Patrick thought it would be better to comply. He was right about that! "Now try this one." said the Warder indicating the large plastic tube protruding about six centimetres into the cell. The gag had been designed to accommodate the end of the tube just a bit deeper into the wearer's mouth. As Patrick sucked, the "toothpaste tube' flattened. Patrick sucked the thing effectively dry of the heavily processed food it contained through the valve in its neck. Patrick kept sucking, desperate for more sustenance.

"The prisoner will withdraw." Patrick did so and looked desperately at the warder and pressed his mitts against the bars. "I am allowed to tell you that you will be fed every eight hours from now on instead of every twelve hours. You will be able to take in more food and water than you have been able to recently. Remember: good conduct leads to rewards. I suggest you finish that water." Knowing that he must not even attempt to say, "Thank you", Patrick gratefully nodded his head before doing exactly that. The warder removed the devices from the bars and Patrick was once more left alone.

The spaces between the next few mealtimes were interrupted only by the passings-by of Warders, sometimes with convicts in tow and sometimes without, and the occasional presence of the slaves who worked on their knees scrubbing the floor before being allowed to stand to polish the bars of the cells. At least they had been allowed minimal clothing and whatever dignity remained to them was preserved by the white cotton shorts they were wearing. Even though each of them was gagged and shackled while he worked, being a slave was considered preferable to the interminable tedium of imprisonment.

Something New

Several days had obviously passed and Patrick had been hosed down with freezing cold water on two occasions before the Warder approached with a colleague who had an unknown youth in tow. It was difficult for Patrick to get an accurate idea of the age of the youth because of the usual type of black hood which, other than a pair of white briefs, was all he wore; but he was tall and athletic in appearance and seemed to be doing his best to behave. The red wheals on his thighs, his back, where it showed, and his arms might have had some influence on his demeanour. His wrists had been fastened behind him to a thick leather strap that hung down his back from a fairly strict collar leaving his hands in the small of his back.

The visiting Warder clipped his charge's collar to the bars of Patrick's cell in such a manner that he had to stand and would not be able to turn his head away from the cell once his hood had been removed, which it was almost immediately. Patrick had heard about such "visits" where youngsters who are officially considered to be "in danger of offending" are given the option of making a visit to a Guard House under very strict restraint to see what might lay ahead for them if they did not modify the projection of their conduct. Obviously, that isn't a very attractive option but the alternative is to have their activities carefully investigated and to have any consequent sentences doubled. The guilty, and those whose parents are concerned about them, usually accept the "offer" that is always made in person by a Guard carrying an impressive looking dossier and a laptop.

Law Officers claim that, due to such visits (and the increasing popularity of public chastisements) only ten percent of such "visitors" are actually convicted of an offence later. It just isn't worth suffering under the "Two Strikes and You're Out" legislation.

"HP 10/02, the prisoner will stand." Patrick was about to be used as a human ball-and-chain while the youth was given a tour of the establishment. He would NOT be seeing the facilities. "Approach the bars and turn around." Patrick flattened himself against the bars. His gag was removed and, before he could react in an ill-advised manner, another pushed into its place. This one was not as merciful and Patrick guessed that, at least the ball that had been forced behind his teeth was like the smaller of the ones he had experienced previously. More tight straps soon secured the ball in place and prevented Patrick from exercising what freedom the ball still allowed to his jaw. No one intended him to be able to talk to the visitor but, by the look of the similar harness on the youth's head, that worked both ways.

Patrick got a brief glimpse of the black fabric before his world went dark and he heard the familiar sound of a cable tie being tightened round his neck. His hands moved automatically, and totally uselessly up to his neck. "HP 10/02, lower your hands." Slowly, Patrick did so only to have his wrists grabbed through the bars and padlocked behind him. At least they weren't going to be hoisted up his back. About the only good news in Patrick's change of circumstances was when he felt his chain hobble being completely removed.

Patrick heard the door of his cell open and he was led out by his arm. At least the Warder had not subjected him to the embarrassment of having the "visitor" witness that bodily reaction that manifested itself whenever he had his breathing constricted. The youth and the convict were soon joined at the neck by the chain that had so recently been a seemingly immovable feature of Patrick's stumbling gait.

TBC

[gag1195]

Its nice to see Patrick starting to behave properly, and even earning some small rewards and a bit more information because of it! He can be taught!

[Xtc]

Yes, @gag1195, I wonder if he has changed his mind about rehabilitation since the opening of the story.

[Jb99]

@Xtc Great story, can’t wait to read the next instalment!

[Xtc]

Thanks for the encouragement, @Jb99 . Such responses are comforting.

[Xtc]

 

THE STATE NEVER MAKES MISTAKES (9)


The Visit

No one bothered to explain his function to Patrick as a chain was clipped onto the front of the visitor's collar but the two youngsters were simply pulled along with Patrick not being able to see to facilitate his progress. It was just as if the youth was dragging a ball and chain behind him. The tour must have lasted an hour and did not come with a commentary. Patrick was no more aware of how the Guard House worked by the end of the tour than he was before undertaking it. He did know that he wasn't fond of negotiating stairs that he couldn't see, and that he hoped that he wouldn't be subjected to whatever was making some of the voices he could hear yell like that.

Patrick felt the chain linking him to the youth released from his collar and, after he had heard a key turning, he found himself in his cell once the hood had been removed and the youth had his neck chained to the bars once more. The hood was replaced on the "visitor's" head and the chain was used to hobble him before his Warder announced that it was time for his interview with the Director of Corrections. He was led away and the other Warder addressed Patrick.

A New Regime

"The Director has decided to alter your conditions again. Keep cool and I should soon be able to present you to him again to get you assessed for release in a couple of days. BUT, if you do loose it again, you WILL end up revisiting some of the facilities that you have just visited. But you'll be staying a bit longer than you stayed today. I'll leave you to guess what that might involve." Patrick nodded.

"The Prisoner will turn around." Patrick felt the harness loosen and the gag pulled from his mouth and, for the first time, he managed to suppress the involuntary groan that usually accompanied that manoeuvre. "Stay there." The warden removed the padlock linking Patrick's cuffs and attached it to one of the bars before departing. Patrick's arms were obviously to remain free but he was still not to be allowed the use of his hands. He was, however, surprised that the Warder seemed to have forgotten to replace that special gag which was still looped round a bar.

The Warder returned with a water bottle and a dog-bowl of food; yes, solid food! He slid the bowl under the door and clipped the feeding bottle onto the bars. Alright, there was still the humiliation of using what was effectively a baby's bottle and the ravenous prisoner would still have to eat like a dog but it was REAL food. Patrick obviously couldn't raise the bowl to his mouth but he made short work of getting onto his mitts and knees and devouring as much of the food as he didn't flick onto the floor. As the Warder approached, he held a finger to his lips before peeling a banana and feeding it to a grateful Patrick. He'd almost forgotten what real food felt like in his mouth. "Well, done, don't spoil it now. I've still got to help you remember about not speaking." So saying, the Warder unhooked a gag from his belt. It had a padded strap but only a narrow, rubber "U" shaped bar in front and, although it clamped the wearer's lips firmly against his teeth, it was by far the least painful gag yet.

As Patrick became accustomed to his new situation, a jet of cold water assaulted him, cleaning the debris from both himself and the cell floor. He was left to drip-dry.

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The next few days followed the usual routine but, after about six meals, the gag got even less strict as a light leather muzzle, without an insert, was strapped on between meals. Patrick's mitts were removed with the first arrival of the muzzle. Although such leniency did nothing to relieve the unmitigated boredom, at least he could see to his more personal needs more easily, if in no greater privacy.

In spite of his hooded tour of the establishment, Patrick was not much wiser about what happened to the prisoners he saw passing to and fro in front of his cell. He could guess from the bruises some of them were displaying that they had been beaten in different manners and certainly not one of those who were being taken to the cells displayed as much spirit as some did on their way out. The hoods that the convicts wore whenever they were out of their cells obscured a variety of the torments that prisoners could expect to endure in addition to their imprisonment if they transgressed rules that were not always made clear to them in advance. Some torments, however, remained all too obvious. Patrick was almost grateful that he had only had to suffer that body belt and various gags and mitts. Some of the metal restraints he saw seemed to have been forged onto the wearers; certainly Patrick could see no signs of locks on some of them.

After he knew not how many days, Patrick saw the Warder arrive with a familiar set of equipment. I don't think it could be said that Patrick was looking forward to having it used on him but, even so, he did experience a surge of hope. As far as he knew, he had not transgressed in any way since his previous public chastisement so surely he was about to be taken before the Director of Corrections again?

Once all precautions had been taken to ensure the security of the prisoner and the safety of the Warder, it took very little time before Patrick was ready for interview. He was expecting the hobble, the mitts, the body belt and the hood but after so long he could see no reason for the tortuous ball that the Warder had attached to his muzzle before bucking it on. At least he knew better than to expect the thing not to be buckled tightly. At least this time the Warder gave him a warning before dragging him out of his cell.

To his surprise, Patrick didn't feel any fingers inserted under his hood this time and the reaction in his groin caused by the anticipation of such a happening soon subsided as the Warder led him by the belt. It didn't seem to have been bucked as tightly as it had been the previous time but Patrick's gait was no less stumbling. He felt the sun on his naked body as he left the cell block, and the open air presented an unaccustomed aroma to his shrouded nostrils. The sensation was too good to last but the odour of the next building was at least not as foul as the atmosphere in the cell that he hoped he had seen for the last time. There was, however, one more aspect of his sentence that he had not forgotten.

The Director of Corrections Again

Once more, Patrick was forced to his knees and he heard a knock on a door.

"Enter."

This time the skinny convict expected to feel the Warder's knees pressing into the back of his own but at least this time his knees came down onto a carpeted floor. This time the Director of Corrections did not spare Patrick from having his ankles clamped.

“Please identify this prisoner.”

“Yes, Sir. This is prisoner HeinP 10/02/12, Sir. He was sentenced to an open term of imprisonment for drug possession without the option of enslavement. . . ." The Warder made his formal report which he was obviously reading. It detailed all of Patrick's transgressions and his subsequent tribulations and it even included a glowing good conduct report in spite of that little slip for which he had already been chastised. He then recommended HeinP 10/02/12 for immediate release following the prescribed public chastisement, which he suggested should take place immediately. Once more Patrick pictured the tumbrel and the pillory and remembered the pain inflicted by the sjambok. His hopes that his trembling was not noticeable were in vain.

“Thank you, Warder. I accept your recommendations and commend you for the way you have prepared and presented your report. You my now withdraw."

“Thank you, Sir.” Patrick heard the Warder withdraw before the Director called for the Corporal to attend and arranged for the details of his forthcoming punishment to be displayed on the public notice board. The technical specifications did not make sense to Patrick who merely understood that he was about to suffer further humiliation followed by more bone-jarring pain."

"HeinP 10/02/12." Patrick held up his head and tried to look towards where he assumed the Director's head to be. "In the light of Warder Fletcher's report, I shall explain the prisoner's situation. The prisoner must understand, though, that even now his conduct might jeopardise his imminent release. He should nod to indicate his understanding." Patrick nodded hesitantly but definitely.

"HeinP will be taken to the public scaffold where he will be subject to a chastisement the severity of which will be determined in the light of his original offence and of his previous chastisement." Patrick knew enough about the way such things worked to realise that he was unlikely to be subjected to the sjambok again; it was certain to be a more severe instrument. Once more he became aware of his own uncontrollable trembling.

"I must now offer the prisoner, HeinP 10/02/12, the opportunity to indicate his acceptance of his imminent chastisement; if he chooses not to accept, he will be returned to his cell until his appeal against it can come to trial." The authorities had been careful, ever since the new laws came into being, to make sure that everyone understood the implications of any such decision. The courts did not seem to be in any hurry to hear contested cases, especially appeals from those who had already been convicted. "If the convict HeinP 10/02/12 accepts the chastisement as decreed by law, he should now nod several times."

Patrick nodded.

Transport For Three

During Patrick's "hearing" a Corporal arrived ready to transport the prisoner to his ordeal. No details were exchanged; it was not necessary as he had obviously read the specifications on his tablet before setting out. Once more, the prisoner was not to be allowed the "comfort" of knowing the nature of the trial before him. He could only expect the worst.

Patrick's ankles were freed from the clamp but the short hobble remained in place and, once again, he felt fingers inserted under his hood before he was dragged outside once more. At least this time the Corporal did not see fit to strike his newly enlivened appendage. Just as had happened previously, Patrick was lifted easily onto the tumbrel and was forced to kneel. The Corporal deftly fastened him in place before curtly addressing someone whom Patrick assumed to be a fellow sufferer. He heard what were obviously two blows followed by two separate, indistinct squeals. Although the nature of his fellow passengers puzzled him, Patrick took comfort from knowing that he would not have to wait for anyone else to be secured.

With his hood removed, Patrick could see not one but two other passengers. Seeming to be only about sixteen years old, they were not exactly the type with whom he expected to share the cart. Having seen them, however, his automatic selfish reaction was to thank his stars that he was probably not sharing his journey with hardened criminals. The good citizens of the town were, therefore, probably going to be less determined to express their disapproval physically as the tumbrel passed. It was not unusual to have juvenile offenders given a short sharp shock for such heinous misdeeds as truancy. Apparently, it has proved a very efficient disincentive to antisocial behaviour as well.

The two youths beside Patrick were sharing a stake so had not been fastened in the customary way. They were back-to-back with the stake in between them and had been allowed the dignity of rather brief white aprons that just about covered any embarrassment most of the time. As was common with youths who had been convicted of minor misdemeanours, they had black plastic bits pulled painfully back in their mouths. The bits would do little to muffle any cries of anguish but the wearers would certainly want to do nothing that might prolong their insertion.

Very little rubbish was thrown at the three defaulters but what there was seemed to have been directed at the more strongly built, darker youth by the younger members of society. Judging by what he heard as he passed, Patrick guessed that bullying had probably played a part in his offences.

The painful journey was over soon enough, the tumbrel was fastened to the dais in the Town Square and the draught beast, who seemed to have been more skilful than the previous one, knelt. The Duty corporal approached the tumbrel with two hoods in his hand.

Three For the Scaffold

The shorter, brown-haired youth was soon hooded, a process that involved an initial clip round the ear as he vainly tried to avoid the black bag being slipped over his head. Just to balance things up, the other youth also received an initial slap before he too was dispatched into darkness. With the youngsters having been hooded safely, it was time to remove the straps that were securing them to the tumbrel. They were not attached to their common stake by individual body belts but a wide strap encompassed both their waists, digging into them and causing obvious abrasions as they were thrown around during their journey. Another wide strap entrapped their necks. It had not been tightened completely but each time one moved either voluntarily or otherwise, the other was caused more distress.

To ensure that the youngsters could not change the directions in which they were facing, each one's right ankle was attached to the other one's left with straps which also enclosed metal staples protruding from the floor of the trolley. Patrick had no idea how long they had been kneeling like that but they were both noticeably bruised wherever the straps bit into their flesh. Each boy had leather cuffs on his wrists that had been padlocked overhead and behind the intervening pole before a transverse rod had been passed through it preventing them from lowering their wrists and forcing them both, but particularly the shorter one, to maintain a very upright posture. It had not been a fun journey.

Patrick looked round with increasing trepidation as he saw the set-up of the public scaffold. It was equipped with what resembled a football goal but an oversized and very substantial one. Patrick had seen this set-up many times before. The worst bit about it was that, unlike the pillory or the horse, the victims were not able to make a reasonable guess concerning the nature of their forthcoming ordeals. It could be used in so many ways. All he knew at the time was the purpose that the two substantial timbers hanging from the crossbar via block and tackle arrangements were likely to serve; they were a common sight when juvenile offenders were due to be publicly chastised. It was the vacant space beside them and under the third block & tackle that Patrick would soon occupy but the nature of that tenure was completely unclear.

There was less of a crowd around the dais than there had been for Patrick's previous visit but the average age of those who were present was noticeably younger. However, even from the back of the dais, Patrick could see Jeremy where he had claimed a place close up against the crash barrier at the front of the structure. He had been to the Square every day well before the time when information concerning the day's chastisements was published on the bulletin board. He knew that there would be no "extras" accommodated after the 09:00 hours posting and, whenever he had not seen his boyfriend's name by then, he would return to his desolate home with mixed feelings until his visist the next day. He did not look good.

Patrick's heart sank. Jeremy looked distraught and had obviously not been looking after himself and the convict could not even say anything to comfort him. Their eyes hardy parted until Patrick was taken from the tumbrel.

TBC

[Red86]

Oh boy, can Patrick keep it together for the main chastisement or blow it and have his sentence extended? And poor Jeremy doesn't seem like he's taking life well without Patrick. One's actions does often lead to other's being punished to, just in different ways. Idk, this could go more then one way from here!