by David Packer
First Week
In 1991 I was captured and swiftly shipped off to an internment camp for experiment purposes. I don’t remember exactly how it happened. All I know is I was walking down the street when two cops came up to me and started pushing me against a wall. I thought they were crazy and tried to pry loose but I was unsucessful. Soon they had me down on the ground and handcuffed, one officer’s boot on my back, and I was completely helpless. I felt a blow to my head with something hard and then I fainted.
When I came to I was still handcuffed, lying on my stomach on the floor of a large cage with about fifteen other prisoners in the same condition. It seemed we were on the back of a big military truck. Some of the prisoners were moaning in pain - I suppose they had been treated the same way I had. Three Officers in tall black boots and dark blue police uniforms were seated comfortably outside the cage. When they heard the prisoners moan, they stuck cattle prods between the bars of the cage and gave the unruly men a few seconds of electricity. Soon everyone was quiet, for fear of the Officers. The big, brutal guards laughed at our helplessness and pointed at us with powerful, gloved hands.
The truck eventually came to a halt and the doors were opened. One guard unlocked the cage and then there was a whirr of an engine and the cage tilted so that all handcuffed prisoners fell out of the truck onto the mud outside. The guards had been joined by colleagues and they stood in a circle around the prisoners and laughed when we cried out in pain. I was extremely frightened. Every Officer was at least six foot tall and weighed two hundred pounds. All of them wore sunglasses and Motorcycle Police uniforms with tall leather boots and massive gun belts. Some of them were chewing on some tobacco and others were smoking cigars.
‘Prisoners, strip!’ an Officer ordered. We tried to get out of our clothes with our hands still cuffed behind our backs. I was sinking into the mud while I struggled to take off my pants. The mud was at least four feet deep and soon I was up to my neck in it, like everyone else. The Officers stood with their shiny black boots planted on a red carpet that had been rolled out especially for them on firm ground.
All of the Officers were white men between the ages of 20 and 50. Some looked like Italian descendents and others seemed to be of South American or Spanish origin, but most of them looked like inbred, cornfed Americans. They were tanned and looked very healthy and relaxed, as opposed to us prisoners who were pale and sick and were wallowing in the mud. ‘Move it, pigs!’ the Officers shouted and used their cattle prods or nightsticks on us. I was shocked by a prod for about ten seconds and I screamed and sank further into the mud, so that it filled my mouth completely. The Officer laughed and told me to undress quicker.
I was completely humiliated the whole time. The Officers just stood in their big boots and Police uniforms and maintained total control over us without even breaking a sweat. After about half an hour we had managed to rip our clothes off and stood naked on our knees beside the mud pool.
One big Officer, at least 250 pounds, stood in front of us, so close that we couldn’t se more than his boots and black breeches. He had a horsewhip stuck down the shaft on his right boot. ‘Look around, pigs’ he said while puffing on a big, expensive cigar. ‘You will never leave this prison! You will die in here, and it will be when an Officer decides to kill you!’ We looked at each other in horror. What was this place? What had we done to deserve this?
‘You will learn that every second of every day in here means suffering and pain.’ He blew out a cloud of smoke and tapped the cigar so that some ashes fell on the first row of prisoners at his feet. ‘And you can’t escape. The prison walls are 500 feet tall and 40 feet thick.’ We looked up at the towering prison walls that encased the prison yard. At the top of the wall were big search lights and an impenetrable forest of razor wire. There was hardly any daylight getting in. It would be impossible to get out. ‘You are here to work, and to serve us Officers.’ He puffed on the cigar. ‘You thought you were men, but here you are nothing but animals. You will spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week cowering in fear of a uniformed Officer.’ Someone among us prisoners had a breakdown. ‘Oh God! Help us!’ he cried. The whole group of Officers laughed out loud. The big one with the whip too. ‘We are your Gods here! You will worship us now!’
The prisoner who had shouted was dragged off by an Officer in a green Highway Patrol uniform. Meanwhile it had started raining. The Officers went indoors and left us prisoners kneeling in the mud. We had been forbidden to move, and as it turned out the rain lasted nearly six hours. When the rain stopped the Officers came out again and laughed at the prisoners who were still kneeling obediently. From a door emerged the prisoner who had shouted with the uniformed Officer walking before him. When he came closer we could see a muzzle tightly sealed over his mouth and locked in place with several different padlocks. ‘He will wear this for one month’ the Officer said. ‘If he’s still alive then, I might take it off.’
‘Time for branding!’ a Guard wearing a leather jacket and extra tall motorcycle patrol boots said. The prisoners were herded off one by one to a room just inside the prison with some branding equipment. The same burly black-haired Officer had leather police gauntlets on and stood ready with the branding iron. The prisoners screamed out in agony as the red hot branding iron marked their flesh. I nearly fainted from the pain when the Officer gave me my prison number. On my forehead, on my chest and on my back he branded me with the same code: S9873C98ZXDF87-987SX. ‘Learn your number or die, pig’ he said, then he grabbed me by the throat and threw me in a heap with the other, already marked prisoners.
I could not believe that this would be my place for the rest of my life. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and the other prisoners seemed to look the same. We were all pale and sick and near collapse. The big, macho guards stood broad legged in their Highway Patrol uniforms, guarding us the entire time and laughing at our misery. I felt like a bug next to those enormous men with their bulging arms and beefy legs.
‘What are you looking at, pig?’ one of the guards barked to me. ‘Are you a faggot? I saw the way you stared at my crotch!’ He grabbed me by my bruised throat and carried me back to the Officer with the branding iron. ‘Looks like they’re faggots. Better cut their slimy little dicks and balls off,’ he told his partner with a snicker. They placed my naked, trembling body in front of a metal slab and ordered me to stand still. Their uniformed, massive bodies completely dominated me and I had no other choice but to obey. The big Officer with the leather patrol jacket and the tall motorcycle police boots took out a knife and heated it over the flame until it was red hot. Then he slowly cut through my penis and then proceeded with the testicles. The pain was almost too much for me but the other Officer ordered me to be quiet.
They threw me on the floor and continued to castrate the other prisoners. Soon there was a big group of naked, trembling prisoners squirming in pain at their booted feet. The Officers shook hands and snickered at our emasculated bodies. ‘Hardons are only for real men, like us Officers, you pigs!’ they said. ‘Your lives are going to be devoted to serving real men from now on. Don’t forget that!’ They threw us out into the mud on the prison yard and ordered us to stand at attention.
‘Now us Real Men are going to bed. You swine don’t deserve any sleep. You will stand at attention, completely still the entire night. Eyes down, heads bowed. We have cameras registering you. If anyone moves, they will be shot in the morning. Have a nice night, eunuchs!’
For fear of being shot I decided to be obedient. The pain where my penis used to be told me that I should keep my eyes down and always obey these Policemen, no matter what. It was almost impossible to stand still because the agony was nearly killing me, but I had to try. The hours went slowly by while the Officers slept comfortably in their beds. We stood with our heads bowed and our legs deep in the mud on the prison courtyard. Sometimes the night guards passed us and laughed at our situation. After about two hours one prisoner fell in the mud, then twenty minutes later another. After two hours, four people had fallen. My legs were shaking and I was freezing but I had to obey the Officers’ orders or I would be shot.
Sometime in the mid morning, the Officers came sauntering out after having eaten a big breakfast. ‘Disobedient prisoners crawl over here!’ they ordered, pointing with gloved hands at those who had fallen in the mud. I had managed to stay up, thankfully. The unfortunate prisoners crawled through the mud towards the Officers’ feet where they stopped. Relaxed, the Officers took out their guns from their shiny leather holsters and aimed them at the prisoners’ feet, then shot them. I was shocked! The Officers seemed pleased and put the guns back into their leather holsters. ‘Hope the rest of you had a pleasant night’ one Policeman said. ‘It was the last one spent standing up!’ The Officers smiled and I sensed they meant something sinister. ‘Line up for amputation, pigs!’ It was the Officer who had first spoken, with the whip in his boot shaft. ‘From now on you’ll spend your time down in the shit, where you belong!’
They forced us to form a line on all fours in the mud. One by one we were made to crawl up to an Officer who had a sledgehammer in his gloved hands. The Officer swung the sledge with his powerful arms and crushed first the prisoner’s arms, then its legs. ‘Thank the Officer, faggot!’ they ordered, and the prisoner, barely alive, had to thank the Policeman who had crippled him. Soon we all lay in a bloody heap in the mud and the Officers seemed pleased. They stepped over to us and, one by one, hit us on the head with the butt of their rifles. Soon all of us had fainted and were powerless to resist.
When we woke up we were in a cage on the floor somewhere. I discovered to my horror that I had been amputated while I was unconscious! My arms had been cut off at the elbows, and my legs at the knees. The stumps were crudely burnt to stop the bleeding. Before long, the sound of boots filled the room and the cage was surrounded by big Officers. ‘Look at you now pigs! Hope you enjoy crawling around down there in the shit and mud!’ They opened the cage and let us out. ‘Crawl on your stumps, pigs! We want to see you squirm down there at our feet!’
The pain was horrible as I tried to walk on the stumps. The Officers enjoyed seeing us struggle to obey them. ‘Move! Outside! Time for a bit of training!’ The forced us to crawl outside again. ‘Not the mud! That would be too soft on your disgusting little stumps. Hit the asphalt!’ Big Police boots kicked us towards an enormous asphalt courtyard. It was extremely painful to support my torso on my amputated limbs, but I had to obey the Officers. The asphalt was hard and ripped at our burnt flesh as we squirmed on all fours as ordered.
‘We’ll start off with a hundred laps! Now crawl, pigs!’ The Policemen took out their guns and fired them into the air. The prisoners squirmed obediently on their stumps along the sides of the courtyard. ‘Faster!’ One Officer kicked me in the ribs with a steel-toed Police boot. I crawled faster, obediently. ‘Not good enough, pig. Faster!’ My stumps were flapping like the wings of a bird as I squirmed along the wall. ‘Even faster! If you don’t obey you’ll be shot, cunt!’ I tried to obey him. I crawled so fast I thought I would die. Drool was coming out of my mouth. And I hadn’t even completed one fifth of the first lap yet!
The Policemen sat down in comfortable chairs with their boots propped up on soft pillows so as not to scratch the soles on the asphalt. One Officer had a paper with all the prisoners’ numbers. ‘You! S9873C98ZXDF87-987SX! Faster!’ That was me! I did my best to obey the order. My short little stumps hurt so much that pain was all I felt. The Officers lit expensive cigars and relaxed as they watched us run. Even though the prison walls were so high, hot sunlight managed to burn our skin as we squirmed around on the ground. It was the most terrible thing I had ever experienced.
‘That’s the first lap!’ an Officer shouted after a few minutes. ‘On the next lap you’d better run faster you little pigs or you’ll get a bullet in the brains!’ It seemed impossible, but all prisoners tried to crawl even faster to obey the Police order. Some prisoners failed to obey sufficiently and a few of the Officers stood up and loaded their guns. The shots echoed between the prison walls, but luckily I was not one of those who died. ‘When you squirm past our feet, don’t get any dust on our Patrol boots, pigs!’ they ordered, and we all tried not to stir up any dust when we passed them.
The morning passed slowly and a few more prisoners were shot for disobedience. One prisoner almost lost his balance, being unused to crawling on four stumps. ‘We told you not to get dirt on our boots, prisoner! Now look at these specks of dust that soil my comfortable leather boots here!’
The Officers stood up and took out their guns again, then shot him one time in each stump, arms and legs. ‘Now start squirming again. From the start - one hundred laps!’ The prisoner now had no stumps to crawl on either. On his bare belly he inched forward on the dirty ground. The rest of us had crawled at least eighteen laps, but that unfortunate inmate had to start all over again, and with no limbs!
Despite the pain and the heat, the morning passed and it was almost noon. I had completed twenty-one laps without any mishap, but I felt the Officers were watching me - watching us all - for any signs of slowing down. ‘Time for a nice long lunch. You subhumans keep crawling! A mere hundred laps won’t be enough to teach you your place, but it’s a start!’ The Officers trailed off and left us with a few Guards and the scorching, unforgiving sun. The limbless prisoner now had scraped his body so bad he left a blood trail around the whole courtyard. All because he got dust on an Officer’s boots. I told myself I had to avoid that at all costs!
I lost track of time and space. All I did was crawl. I heard the Officers returning from their lunch, but I kept crawling at the same speed so as not to enrage them. ‘You’ve been slacking during lunchtime, huh? You’d all better be crawling faster if you want to live!’ The Policemen took their place in the comfortable chairs again with their Patrol boots propped up on the soft pillows. Now they had plenty of bottles of water and beer to cool themselves if they felt too hot. All of them wore mirrored sunglasses to shield them from the sun.
Noon turned to afternoon and then early evening. The uniformed Officers would not let us slow down even a bit. Two more prisoners had been shot, but the rest of us were crawling obediently on the hard asphalt as ordered. Eventually, to my surprise, when the sun had set and it was close to midnight, it seemed I had managed the one hundred laps, together with a few others. ‘Halt!’ one Officer shouted. ‘That’s one hundred laps. Time for you pigs to get some rest.’ We couldn’t believe our ears. Would we really get to rest? And something to drink maybe?
‘All prisoners out onto the middle of the courtyard!’ They kicked us toward the center and made us stop there. ‘Now you will stand at attention again - on your stumps! Heads bowed, eyes down!’
I took my place, nearly dead from exhaustion. ‘Head bowed lower, pig!’ an Officer barked and stomped the back of my head with his motorcycle patrol boot. I hit the asphalt with a hard bang and everything started spinning even more, but I managed to stay on the stumps and keep my head even lower. The Officer waited, his booted foot right under my face, until he was satisfied I had the right position. From the corner of my eye I saw the prisoner who had been shot in the limbs still crawling on his belly. He was only on his thirty-fourth lap!
‘You pansies remain in that position until morning. Time for the real men to relax after a hard day’s work!’ The Officers snickered and swaggered off to their comfortable quarters. Amazingly, I managed to fall asleep, or half asleep, in the ordered position. I suppose I might as well have collapsed without knowing it, but for some reason my body remained upright even when my mind was elsewhere. In my feverish dreams I saw only pictures of big men in Highway Patrol uniforms and tall, shiny leather boots on their big feet.
‘Pigs, wake up!’ a dark voice barked. The Officers were back. This time there were even more of them, in newly ironed and pressed uniform shirts and perfectly creased uniform breeches, and freshly oiled leather belts and holsters with recently loaded guns. ‘How did you like your first day as legless little worms? From now on it’ll get even better!’ Every prisoner stood at rigid attention, on all fours, when hearing the commanding voice of an Officer. Beads of sweat formed on our foreheads.
The Officer who had gotten some dust on his boots sauntered over to the still squirming torso that used to be a prisoner. He placed one size 15 EE boot on either side of the prisoner’s bloody face. If there had been any dust on the giant Police boots, it was gone now. ‘Halt!’ the Officer ordered. The bloody prisoner obeyed. ‘Look at my boots, pig!’ the Officer ordered. Slowly, the inmate raised his thrashed face a little and fixed his eyes on the gleaming leather boots under his nose. ‘I have had these boots polished during the night because of your insolence! What lap are you on, swine?’
The prisoner could hardly speak, and when he did, bubbles of blood and saliva formed at his parched lips. ‘Ninety-six, Sir’ he croaked. The towering Officer thought about this for a moment, then took out a cigar from one of the pockets on his belt. He lit it and tapped some still-glowing ashes onto the blood soaked body at his feet. ‘Start over and do a hundred more. Now!’ He snapped his powerful fingers and then stepped aside. The prisoner’s body was trembling violently for some reason, then it started moving forward again. The Officer looked at the squirming animal and shook his head. Then he took the gun out of his leather holster and aimed it at the struggling creature. He fired and placed one bullet in the prisoner’s right buttock. Then fired again and hit the left. The Officers laughed as the now even less human prisoner tried to squirm across the asphalt.
‘Follow me, gimps!’ another Officer ordered the rest of us, and we crawled behind his sturdy size 14 boots towards the muddy field again. There was an old barrel with sewage water in it, and one of the other Officers placed his foot on the side and pushed it over. Old yellow water and a few dozen cigar butts floated out into the mud and formed a little pool. ‘Breakfast, you hogs. Go ahead and drink!’ The sight of water, even disgusting water like this, made us nearly crazy. We all wallowed in the mud, trying to drink the filthy liquid. ‘You really are pigs!’ one Policeman smiled. ‘Grunt like pigs, you little animals!’ Immediately we obeyed the order, trying to sound like pigs. This made the Police Officers laugh. They stood on a platform raised above the mud and covered by soft carpet so that their boots would not get dirty.
I gulped down the filthy water as best I could, but I had not swallowed more than three small gulps when the Policemen ordered us to stop. ‘That’s enough you greedy assholes! Stand at attention!’ None of us had gotten nearly enough to drink! My lips and tongue were still like sandpaper. ‘Let’s get you swine collared now. Get your filthy bodies out of the mud! Heel!’ The Officers slapped their horsewhips against the shafts of their boots and we obediently crawled towards them, away from the delicious sewage water. Each Officer had a prisoner at his right foot, and then they marched us over to a shack near the corner of the prison walls.
‘Put you neck on the anvil, asswipe!’ I was ordered. I crawled over to a big anvil and placed my neck on the cold iron. The Officer put his size 13 E boot on my throat and held it there while selecting from a large number of steel collars that hung on a rack. He took his time, taking a few down then putting them up again. Eventually he chose a heavy collar, about three inches high and half an inch thick. It had sixteen sharpened spikes on the inside, and there were sturdy steel rings both on the front side and backside for fastening leashes. He chose a hammer, then took his boot off my throat. ‘Head up!’ he barked. I lifted my head and he placed the open collar under my neck. Then he stomped the back of my head with his foot, jamming the spikes into my throat. With a powerful gloved hand he closed the collar and then hammered it in place with massive blows.
Each blow made the spikes dig further into the flesh of my neck until I was bleeding all around. The heavy steel collar was now permanently fastened around my neck, and the spikes constantly digging into my flesh. The Officer grabbed the ring on the back of the collar with a gloved finger and pulled it. In agony I moved my whole body in order to follow his hand. The spikes caused an intense, lasting pain every second he pulled on the collar. I had to completely obey him and follow his every hand move or the pain would shoot through my body like lightning.
When the Policeman was convinced that the collar was satisfying, the next Officer moved in, and so on until all prisoners were collared. I stood at attention on all four stumps, as ordered, and discovered how heavy and painful the steel collar was even without anyone tugging on it. When all prisoners were assembled the Officers came out of the shack with heavy duty leather leashes and attached them to our collars. ‘Keep a straight leash! No slack and no pull or you will be shot!’ The Officers wandered off and we all had to follow their massive bodies on our amputated stumps. The Policeman holding my leash was swinging his muscular arm back and forth as he walked and I had to sprint forward and then slow down constantly to keep the leash straight without pull or slack.
In order to crawl as ordered, I had to fix my eyes on the massive, muscular body of the Officer to see how he moved - his powerful legs, the heavy leather belt with his loaded gun all ready in its holster, his big, slightly hairy arms coming out of his short sleeved gray uniform shirt, and the police gloves on his strong hands. And here was I, castrated, amputated and starved. Just a worm following this powerful Officer on my short stumps. And now it was afternoon, just the second day of my life sentence here at Camp 177.
We passed the asphalt courtyard where the punished prisoner was still edging forward. The punishing Officer stepped out of the group and headed over to the crawling heap. Again he placed a size 15 EE boot in front of the inmate’s face and ordered a halt. ‘What lap are you on, swine?’
The prisoner’s voice was barely audible. ‘Twelve, Sir…’ He seemed barely alive. The Police Officer seemed pleased. ‘Crawl over to that door. Now.’ The prisoner was flopping forward on his limbless body towards the door of a low storage building. He was surprisingly fast, perhaps because the Officer walked in front of him. The Police Officer opened the door and disappeared inside, then came out with a thirty-pound sack of fertilizer. He dropped it on the prisoner’s back with a heavy thud, nearly crushing the inmate in the process. ‘You like dirt enough to spread it all over my boots - well now you’ve got your own sack of shit to carry!’ He kicked the prisoner in the head. ‘You were on your first lap. There’s ninety-nine more. Move!’
I caught a glimpse of the poor prisoner trying to squirm, then I had to turn my eyes back to the Officer holding my leash. They took us to a concrete building with no windows, just a door. Inside was just a staircase leading down, and we were taken two floors down into the basement. A heavy steel door with locks on the outside was opened, and behind it was a narrow corridor leading forward. We passed several more security doors, then turned left into a small room with cages in it. The Officers unhooked the leather leashes from our collars and kicked us one by one into each of the steel boxes. They were so small that we had to bow our heads as much as possible to fit in. Just a few square feet, and maybe twenty inches high. The cage door had bars covered in many layers of sharp barbed wire, and when the Policemen closed the doors, the spikes cut into our flesh. There were solid security doors, too, but they were open at the moment.
‘Welcome to your new home, maggots. Hope you enjoy these prison cells because you’ll be spending a lot of time down here!’ The Police Officers laughed and kicked some of the cages with their boots. Then they put down the outer steel door on each cage, sealing us in completely. There were five separate locks on each cage door and no chance of ever getting out because the Officers carried the keys in their big black leather belts. The sound of the Officers’ boots faded and I was left in total darkness and isolation, my cheek pressed against the barbed wire. I immediately fell asleep.
I don’t know how long I had been in the cage when it suddenly opened with a big bang. An Officer in a deep blue Motorcycle Patrol uniform leaned down and hooked a leash to my collar, then pulled me out with full force. It was a Policeman in his forties, chewing on gum. He wore tight breeches with a light blue stripe along each leg. He lifted my entire body by the leash with one powerful hand and looked at me. The pain from the spikes inside the collar nearly made me faint. Then he dropped me and watched me fall on the concrete floor at his booted feet. He hooked the short leash to his leather belt and snapped his fingers. ‘Heel!’ he ordered. On my aching stumps I cowered next to his right boot, obediently. There was a powerful smell of leather and boot polish.
The Officer walked and I followed at his right foot. He took me up the stairs and outside to the asphalt courtyard again. There was some blood on the ground but no sign of the limbless prisoner who had been punished. ‘You pigs make a mess wherever you go,’ the Police Officer said. ‘Throat under my bootheel, now.’ He lifted his right leather boot slightly and I quickly threw myself flat on the ground and placed my neck under his bootheel. He stomped his foot down with full force, choking me completely. He unhooked the leash from my collar and rolled it up. ‘You will scrub this courtyard spotless. Any sign of blood or dirt and you will be shot.’ He took his foot off my neck and walked off.
There was a bucket half filled with some dirty water and a small rag that looked like a ripped up shirt - maybe one of the prisoners’. I took the rag in my mouth and dropped it in the bucket, then had to stick my head in and get it out again. I dropped the wet rag on the asphalt, then started wiping it, with some difficulty. It was extremely hard to work like this, but I had no hands so it was the only way! I wanted to drink the water but I knew I would be shot if I did, so I had to restrain myself.
After a few hours the Officer came back. I heard his heavy steps approaching but I was afraid to look up. ‘It’s not going so fast, is it boy?’ He stood next to me for a minute and watched me scrub the asphalt, then suddenly kicked me hard in the ribs so that I flipped once in the air and landed on my back. Then he placed his foot on my chest and leaned down with his nightstick tightly gripped in a gloved hand. ‘This courtyard had better shine by tomorrow, worm! We’re taking our Police Motorcycles out to get some sunshine, and the ground had better reflect our images when we do!’ He swatted the nightstick on the side of my mouth, crushing one of my teeth. Then he took his foot off me again and put the nightstick back in his belt and left. I threw myself back on the cleaning rag and began scrubbing even harder.
Sometime late that night I finished scrubbing the asphalt. The Officer wasn’t pleased but he let me live. He picked up the empty bucket and hit me over the head with it several times until I lay still in a heap at his feet. Then he took the leash from his belt again and attached it to my collar and ordered me to heel. He dragged me so hard the spikes threatened to rip my throat apart and I followed as obediently as I could. I was taken through the entire prison towards a large building with big garage doors on it. Inside stood ten or twenty Police Harley Davidson Patrol Motorcycles lined up. The room smelled of gasoline, oil, and steel. Officers were strolling around, fiddling with their bikes.
‘Now you’ve cleaned the parade ground, let’s see some gloss on those tires. Down!’ He stomped me on the back, forcing me to lie on my belly on the garage floor. He grabbed an adjustable workbench and rolled it over in front of me. Then he lowered it all the way to the floor. ‘Put your head in the vise, turd!’ He snapped his fingers, and I had to inch forward and place my head in the powerful vise. With a gloved hand he tightened it until I screamed out in pain and horror. ‘Quiet, pig.’ He tightened it quite a bit more until my skull was nearly crushed and I lay helpless with my face at floor level.
Then he walked over to a big Police Harley Davidson and fastened his gloves a little. He lit a cigar and then sank down on the bike - his butt slowly relaxing on the shiny padded leather seat of the enormous motorcycle. He started the bike with a roar, then put it in gear with his boot and drove towards my helpless head. The enormous Police Motorcycle closed in on me as tears ran down my cheeks. With expert control of the powerful machine between his muscular legs, he drove the bike until the front tire was nearly crushing my face, then he stopped and parked it there. My face was crushed against the dirty rubber and my mouth was filling with something that tasted like horse manure that had attached itself to the tire.
He stepped off the bike and took off his gloves. ‘Now lick it clean!’ The Officer took one step over my head and then leaned down and set the wheel spinning with his hand. The Police Motorcycle was parked tilted, so that the front wheel was free for spinning. As it did, my face was nearly torn apart by the tracks from the heavy rubber tire. Eventually it stopped and I could start licking it. My mouth filled with horse manure, mud, dust, dog shit and tarmac. The enormous wheel was so dirty that my stomach seemed full after just a minute. I had to use my tongue to try and rotate the wheel to reach more dirt. I could not believe this was just one of the first days in this hell! I cried silently as I licked the dirt off the Police Motorcycle tire. Maybe it would be better to be dead!
After two hours I had licked both tires clean of mud, but before I had a chance to breathe, the next Officer drove his bike over and placed it in the same way and I had to start all over again. By now my mouth was so sore that every time I stretched my tongue out, flashes of pain shot through my body. The Policeman was sitting relaxed on his motorcycle while I cleaned the tire, and he was reading a magazine. After him came another Officer with a new bike, and then another. After ten hours I was ready to die from exhaustion.
Thankfully, I was released - a heavyset, patrol uniformed Guard with a round face and shaved head released the vise and my head fell down with a hard thud. ‘In position behind my feet, maggot!’ he ordered, and I struggled to take my place at his police shoes as instructed. He unhooked a leash from his belt and attached it to the collar, then dragged me out of the garage. I was taken to a part of the prison where I had never been before. The place was brimming with activity, with normal, two legged prisoners hauling big logs of wood back and forth. The Officer ordered me to take my place in front of a big cart where one other inmate was already chained, then he attached me securely by my steel collar with two heavy padlocks.
‘Prison activities - you’re gonna be hauling wood for making boot blocks. We wanna make sure our patrol boots keep their shape even when they’re off our feet!’ He cracked a whip and directed us to a big pile of logs. A prisoner wearing an orange jumpsuit loaded log after log onto the cart until it was completely and fully stacked. ‘Pigs, the wood goes in the big pile all the way on the other side there! Move!’ He had taken out his cattle prod and stuck it between my ribs, keeping it firmly in place there on medium setting until we had gotten the cart rolling. Then he took it off and hung it back on his belt, choosing to kick me with his steel-capped shoes instead.
‘Faster, assholes! Faster!’ His big foot hit me in the same spot every time, increasing the pain tenfold with each kick. We both tried to move faster on our sore stumps, but the enormous cart was so heavy it seemed impossible. The Officer kicked me even harder for a few minutes until I could hear my ribs crack, then changed position and started whipping our backs with his horsewhip. It split the air before it ripped deep cuts on both our backs. His powerful arm kept the whip going and I felt blood dripping off me and into the mud. ‘That’s better. Keep up this speed or I’ll have you both gutted!’ He hung the whip back on his belt, then stepped up and sat on the cart so that we had to pull his big body also.
He forced us to take the long way around the whole work site. At the other side, another prisoner unloaded the cart, and the Officer supervised us while keeping his hand on his gun. ‘You look tired, swine!’ he told me. ‘Maybe you need some inspiration to help you move faster?’ I heard him walk over to the big pile of wood, and he came back with a big, knotty stick. It was about two feet long and an inch and a half thick, with splinters and sharp thorns all over it. ‘Stick your ham up, pig!’ the Officer ordered while inspecting the stick in his gloved hand. I tried to stand on the very tips of my back stumps to obey the order. The Officer then jammed the stick into my ass, inch by inch, until only a little bit of it was sticking out. The thorns were ripping at my insides like red hot glowing needles and I wanted to scream out loud.
The Officer demanded I move faster this time, and I had to use all my force to pull the cart back to the new logs again. The other Guards laughed when they saw me struggling with the stick inside of me. For the rest of the day I had to struggle twice as hard to manage to keep up the same speed with the pain of the rough thorns ripping at my guts from inside!
At the end of the day the prisoners were taken back to their cages, but I was ordered to stay along with three other inmates. ‘You’ve been slacking off all day, pigs!’ we were told by a group of Motor Patrol Officers. They stood broad legged, wearing dark green motorcycle uniforms in front of our trembling bodies. ‘Looks like you need a bit of punishment exercise. Hit the asphalt, now!’
They kicked us to the big courtyard again. ‘A hundred laps. Heads bowed at all times. Move!’ They watched us scuttle on our stumps on the unforgiving tarmac. ‘Heads down lower! Move faster!’ We lowered our heads and tried to crawl faster. I still had the stick inside me and it was torturing me relentlessly. ‘You! Faster!’ an Officer ordered me. I was a few yards behind the other two prisoners who didn’t have anything tearing at their insides. The Officer walked up to me and stomped me to the ground with his size 14 E Motor Patrol boot on my neck. ‘Looks like you can’t obey orders, worm!’ He grabbed some steel shackles from his belt and put them on my rear stumps. Each steel cuff was fastened in place with tight screws, nearly crushing my already sore limbs. The chain between the cuffs was only about a foot long, and when he took his heel off my neck I discovered I could only take miniature steps.
‘Now get going. From the start, head bowed!’ He kicked me hard in the ribs and walked over to the other Motor Officers. I started strutting forward on my even more restricted limbs, and my rear stumps tightly shackled. The Officers watched me and laughed as I tried to keep up with the other prisoners. Then they headed for the Policemen’s Quarters for relaxation, their knee-high black boots gleaming in the moonlight as they walked. I cried silently as I jerkily hopped forward on my amputated limbs.
After a few hours the Officer with the shackles came back with one of his colleagues. They seemed happy and drunk. ‘You! Stickboy! Heel!’ he ordered and snapped his fingers. As the other inmates continued doing their laps, I jerked myself over to the big Policemen on the other side of the courtyard. ‘What lap are you on, turd?’ he demanded. I tried to reply even though I was panting hard. ‘E-eleven, Sir…’ My answer earned me a kick in the ribs. ‘Still slacking off, eunuch?’ He flipped me over with the toe of his boot, then put his foot on my chest and attached another set of shackles, this time to my arm stumps. This chain was even shorter, just a few inches. Then he stood up and kicked my body so hard it rolled over several times.
‘Back doing laps, you dickless bitch! A hundred laps, head bowed lower!’ The other prisoners were on their thirty-second lap but I had to start all over again. My arm stumps were so tightly shackled I had to hop forward like a rabbit instead of scuttling on all fours like before. It was horribly exhausting, much to the enjoyment of the Officers. ‘Faster, maggot! Head down lower!’ They picked up rocks from the side of the courtyard and threw them at me for fun. Every time a rock hit me it struck up a big wound and knocked me over, so I had to get up again.
Sometime in the late morning I had done all hundred laps. I was ordered to stand at attention, together with the other prisoners who had long since finished their punishment. We stood still in the middle of the courtyard while the sun scorched our beaten skin. Noon and afternoon passed and our bodies were trembling from exhaustion and the heat under the relentless sun. One muscular Officer in a blue patrol uniform passed us and watched our agony with a smile. He was carrying a large blue gym bag on his shoulder. ‘You thirsty, girls?’ he said. Our heads still bowed, we answered him: ‘Sir, yes, Sir…’ our voices cracking in the heat. The Officer put down his gym bag, opened it and took out a pair of big black hightop sneakers. He stood in front of us and turned the hightops upside down, and a trickle of sweat began pouring out of the enormous gym shoes and onto the asphalt before our faces. ‘You can eat that off the ground if you wanna survive,’ he said. Then he put his workout sneakers back in the gym bag and watched us lick the sweat off the ground like pigs. He snickered to himself, then took his police gym bag and left us in the sun.
Late in the evening we were taken off the courtyard and into a prison building. The Officer who held me by the leash had laughed out loud when he saw the shackles and the twigs sticking out from my behind, and had left them like that. It was a young, round faced man with brown hair and stubble on his cheeks. He wore dark blue uniform pants with light blue stripes along the sides and regular leather patrol shoes on his wide feet. ‘I need my boots cleaned,’ he said, casually. ‘Move!’
I was dragged through a corridor and told to wait outside a door. When the Officer went inside I caught a glimpse of a locker room with hundreds of pairs of uniforms, riot gear, boots and guns. He came back out with a pair of black leather motorcycle patrol boots, muddy all over.
There was a row of small cells in the other end of the building. The Officer grabbed one of the rough brown sacks hanging on the wall. He lifted me up and stuffed me inside with only my head left outside. Then he strapped three wide leather straps around my throat and fastened them tightly with three different padlocks. Now I was just a little bundle on the floor. He gave me a violent kick and I flew inside one of the cells and hit the wall. Then he took out a soft blue pillow with a Police logo on it and placed it in the little cell in front of me. He put his size 14 EEE Police Motorcycle boots carefully on the soft pillow before my face. Then he threw in a small Q-tip and slammed the door shut.
‘You’ve got the tools, now start cleaning my boots, worm! Don’t touch the leather with your dirty mouth!’ He lit a cigar and walked away, leaving me to work on his boots. I squirmed forward and managed to fetch the Q-tip off the ground with my lips. Holding it nervously in my mouth, I began to carefully polish the leather of the Officer’s size 14 boots. The cell reeked of leather and foot sweat from the well-worn boots. I had to twist my neck in impossible ways to clean the leather creases where the Police boots had formed after the Officer’s big feet. The enormous leather boots completely dominated the whole cell, and I felt really small in their presence. Even my shackled stumps were useless now that I was strapped inside a sack. My body ached and I sobbed silently, but I continued to obediently shine the Patrol boots that rested comfortably on the pillow.
The next morning I had just managed to clean the boots when the Officer returned. He inspected the boots thoroughly for any signs of dust or mud, and made sure he could see his face perfectly reflected in the black leather. ‘I won’t shoot you, pig, but you’ll have to do better next time!’ he said. Then he dragged me out of the cell, put his foot on my head while unlocking the padlocks, and yanked me out of the sack and onto the concrete floor. I was forced outside and kicked up against the wall. ‘On your leg stumps! Stand up, pussy boy!’ He made me hold my arm stumps out and placed the pillow on them, then put the newly cleaned Police boots on the pillow. ‘I’ll be wanting these tonight. Until then you’ll hold them completely still on your little disgusting stumps. Don’t even blink, shithead!’ He watched me for a moment, then took his whip and swatted my face fifteen or twenty times. ‘Lower your head in the presence of my boots, pig!’
When I was in the right position he left, and I was wailing quietly in fear of dropping the boots. My arm stumps trembled under the heavy weight of the leather boots and I wasn’t sure I could stand like this until evening! Other Officers passed me and smiled at my predicament. ‘You’ve found your place, boot stool!’ they joked. One of them poked me with his big foot to see if I would fall over, but I managed to remain standing with the boots balanced upright. Beads of sweat were running down my bruised face as the hours slowly ticked away.
After many more hours and countless near-collapses the Officer returned and grabbed his boots. He dragged me inside, behind him on the leash, to a rec room with some magazines, a fridge and a few comfortable chairs. He eased his muscular body into one of the chairs, kicked off his patrol shoes, and slowly pulled the motorcycle boots onto his feet. ‘Inmate, at my front! Hold the pillow up!’ he ordered. I sat on my back stumps and held the soft pillow on my outstretched limbs in front of the seated Officer. He lifted his muscular legs and put his big size 14 EEE feet up on the pillow one by one in front of my face. ‘If you move, you die!’ was all he said. Then he picked up a SWAT magazine and opened a beer and relaxed.
With clenched teeth, I struggled to hold still. The Officer’s enormous feet completely blocked my vision and I heard the leather in his boots creak as he moved his toes a little inside. Sometimes he shifted his legs, nearly kicking me to the ground in the process. But I managed somehow to remain in the ordered position and obediently function as a footstool for the Policeman. After about an hour he had finished his beer and put the magazine aside. Instead, he took up a remote control and turned on the TV, relaxing even more in the comfortable chair. A few other Officers came into the room and they talked to each other for a while as if I wasn’t even there.
After another hour and a half, the Officer took his big feet off me and stood up. ‘Neck under my heel!’ he ordered and I squirmed in place under his foot. He put his boot down, choking me, while attaching the leash to the collar again. He took his foot off me and kicked me in the face. ‘Move, you swine! To the cages!’ He continued to kick me in front of him with full force until the leash was tightly stretched and my throat was punctured by the spikes in the collar. Still shackled, I wobbled forward as fast as I could and he led me through the camp back down to the cages. Some cages had prisoners collapsed inside of them and he kicked me into one of the empty ones. The cage door was closed and the barbed wire once again ripped at my face as my body contorted to fit in the small space. I fell asleep within ten seconds.
The next day a bunch of us were dragged off by a group of Officers wearing beige Highway Patrol uniforms. They herded us towards the Officers’ quarters and we all trembled in fear at the sight of the imposing building. ‘Don’t worry, pigs, you won’t set your dirty stumps inside our quarters!’
They took us around back and down a set of stairs to the basement. Deep inside, under the building, we stopped. ‘Time for toilet duty,’ they said, then each Officer lifted us easily by the collar. I was dangling helplessly, a mere worm in front of the massive Policeman who held me in his gloved hand. There were meat hooks fixed at mid-height on the wall and the Officers carried us over there and hung us there, the steel ring on the back of the collar fitting perfectly on the hook.
The Officers grabbed some thick rubber tubes that came down from the ceiling and made us open our mouths. ‘You still got your teeth, maggot?’ an Officer asked me, then took out his nightstick and punched me in the face with it. He struck me again and again. My face was just a mangled mess.
‘Don’t drip on the floor, pig. Swallow your teeth. You won’t need them!’ I tried to obey, and then he took the three inch thick rubber tube and jammed it down my throat. I could hardly breathe! The tube filled my mouth and throat completely. The Officers laughed at our red faces. ‘Each tube is connected to four Officers’ toilets and one Guardroom urinal. These are our private toilets so you’re getting some exclusive shit. Remember that, you worms!’
They all took out their nightsticks and tightened their gloves. ‘You’ll be glad to eat the shit of Real Men. Anyone vomits or tries to spit it out and you die. Got it?!’ Then they hit us with full force on the sides, in our ribs, and on the leg stumps with their nightsticks. My shackle chains rattled as my body swung back and forth by the Officer’s powerful blows. The light gleamed on the Police patch of his bulging, powerful arm as he lifted the nightstick over and over again and hit my helpless body. Eventually they stopped and put their nightsticks back in their belts. On the wall next to the steel exit door was a red switch, and one of the Policemen pressed it with his gloved hand as he passed.
Suddenly the locks opened and all the stored urine and shit came rushing through the tubes with full force. I thought my body would explode as a flood of old piss forced its way down my throat. Then I felt a thick mass of turds forcing themselves into my mouth. Big, heavy logs of shit pressed themselves down my throat and I nearly choked. There was shit coming out of my nose, and I thought some came out through my eyes as well. I tried to bend my head up so that the vile brown mass would drip back into my mouth, because who knew what they’d do if I soiled the floor?
After half an hour or so the first attack had died down a little. But not for more than a minute. Then came about twenty heavy, solid turds through my tube and nearly blew my head off! I felt the shit pressing into every cavity of my skull and there were big chunks of it pouring out of my nose. I twitched helplessly and feebly attempted again not to let anything fall on the ground. My stomach had previously been totally empty. Now it was swelling up like a balloon. No sooner had I swallowed all the shit than there was another rush through the pipe. This time mostly piss, but there were several cigar butts and something that scraped my throat, perhaps toenail clippings. Then came about thirty even bigger turds, violently forcing themselves into my mouth. I swallowed obediently.
The next morning the Officers returned. They didn’t switch off the pipes but watched us struggle with the shit for a few minutes. ‘This shackled one has some wet spots under it on the floor,’ one of them said. ‘The other two are clean - we’ll take them up.’ The other prisoners were taken out of the room, but I was left hanging. ‘You don’t like our shit, do you?’ the Policeman said, broad-legged in front of me with his gloved hand fingering his gun. ‘You’re full of shit, and I’m gonna make sure it stays that way!’ He walked closer to me, inspecting my puny body. ‘Is that shit coming out of your eyes?’ he asked. Then he shook his head with a smile.
From his belt he unhooked a small black device. ‘See this? It’s an amazing portable sewing machine. Now let’s seal you up, swine!’ He pulled the tube out of my mouth and ordered me to press my lips together. Then he put the machine to my face and let the needle work its way through my flesh, slowly but steadily. I wanted to scream, but my lips were already sealed. After about a minute my lips were sewn together with two layers of extra strong thread. ‘Now your eyes. Hold still, prisoner!’ I tried to scream, but there was nothing I could do. The needle punctured my eyelid again and again as it tightly sealed my eye shut with double stitching. Then he moved to the other eye, and within a minute I was both blind and mute. I had nothing between my legs anymore and there was a thick branch stuck up my behind, so my nose was the only hole left.
I was breathing hard through my nostrils. I heard him take out his whip, and then he gave me a few hard lashes across the face, drawing deep wounds in my flesh. ‘Good. Looks like the thread holds up.’ Then he took out a smaller tube and attached it to the one in the ceiling. He inserted it into my nose, nearly cutting my air off totally! I heard his boots on the floor, and then his gloved hand pressed the red button again. ‘Have fun, pig. Try not to suffocate!’ He chuckled and strolled up the stairs. Meanwhile, the turds were pressing through the thinner tube and into my nose! I was totally helpless and had to swallow every piece of shit before I could breathe again! Whenever an Officer went to the toilet, I was begging that he hadn’t eaten too much or the shit would choke me and I would die!
Many hours later I heard boots again and the Officer’s laughter. ‘You fat pig - look at you all swollen!’ He pulled the tube out of my nose and then took out his nightstick and started beating my bloated body. ‘You don’t feel a thing, do you, maggot?’ he asked. But the pain was horrible! After a dozen more blows he lifted me off the hook and dropped me on the concrete floor at his boots. I was totally disoriented and my swollen belly even more restricted my movements. The leash was fastened to my collar once more and he pulled me with him through the corridor and upstairs.
Back in the courtyard he kicked me hard in the rear and snapped off the leash. ‘Time to work off some of that fat belly, gimp!’ I was ordered to run laps again. ‘Two hundred laps, cripple!’ He kicked me again in the ribs and I hopped away on my stumps, blind, mute and helpless. ‘Faster gimp!’ the Officer ordered. I obeyed him, moving my limbs as fast as I could. After about a minute I felt a sharp pain in my head and fell over. I had run into the prison wall, blind that I was. The Officer laughed. ‘Guess it’s gonna be a painful two hundred, worm!’ I had to get up on my stumps again and continue along the new wall at full speed until I crashed into the next one. ‘Mmmmph,’ I sobbed. My tightly sewed lips let nothing through.
The next morning I was a bloody, near dead mess. My belly was just as big as before since everything was sealed up on me except my nose, and just a few trickles of shit had managed to come out that way. Just when I had finished the last lap, the Officer came back for me with a group of his Police colleagues. They wore their steel capped boots and leather riot shin guards for protection, comfortably strapped on their muscular legs. ‘Heel, maggot! Time to kick some sense into you!’ The Officer snapped his fingers and I moved towards his voice. When I came close he lifted his boot and kicked me with full force on my shoulder. I flew several yards and rolled over a couple of times.
The other Officers had spread out in the courtyard. Now from the exact opposite side, another Officer ordered ‘Heel!’ I got up on my stumps and squirmed towards his boots and when I was close enough he raised his foot and planted it with full force on top of my head, crushing me into the asphalt. I vomited, but nothing came out since my lips were sewn shut and I had to swallow it all again. Another Officer barked ‘Heel!’ and snapped his fingers. I wobbled over there and received a hard kick to my ribs again. ‘Heel!’ I rose to my stumps and obeyed the next order. This time the Officer managed a perfect hit with his steel toed boot right in the middle of my face, crushing my nose and breaking my jaw. The other Officers applauded him and then the punishment continued.
The ring of Officers got tighter and tighter until I was lying on the ground right in the middle. Now they were just kicking me violently wherever they could. Still kicking me, they took out their nightsticks, and a few of them their cattle prods, and began using those too on my body. I was caught helpless in the middle, forced to endure the violent beating and unable to shield myself with my bruised stumps. After nearly an hour, they planted the last boot sole in my face and pushed me away from them.
‘Up on your stumps, piggie’ the Officer ordered. Somehow I managed to obey.
‘Stand at attention!’ he said. I stood as still as I had learned with my head bowed obediently. I heard his big boots coming closer and then stopping, right at my face. He raised one muscular leg and planted the boot on my bruised back, using me as a footrest. Then he took out a cigar from one of the leather pockets on his belt and lit it with a few puffs of smoke. ‘Next time, maybe you’ll learn not to spill any Police shit, retard!’ he told me. I cried silently, and no tears escaped through my sewn up eyelids. He let the cigar ashes fall into the deep bloody cuts on my body and watched to make sure I stood still at attention as ordered. After about fifteen minutes, he had nearly smoked the entire cigar.
‘Raise your head, turd!’ He took the still smoking cigar butt with his gloved hand and slowly inserted it into my right nostril, the glowing end first. Then he took his boot off my back and wiped his gloves, and his bootsteps faded as he left me standing there.
I was no longer a human. Inmate S9873C98ZXDF87-987SX stood obediently as it had been ordered, its thoughts and mind clouded and its body remodeled. Suddenly a size 16 EEE leather Police boot stomped me to the ground and held me there. A muscular Officer with a leather Police jacket and padded Police gauntlets looked down on me. ‘No slacking off, worm!’ he barked. He planted both size 16 Patrol boots on my back and his full 290-pound muscular frame pinned me to the dirt.
‘First week playtime is over, maggot! Now we’re getting serious!’ His right boot crushed my head against the ground and his left one was planted on my back. ‘Time to go to the gym, but I need to get my gear bag first. Giddyup!’ He slashed my sides with his horsewhip and choked me with the leash in his other gloved hand.
And as the second week of my life sentence started, I began squirming over the pavement like the worm I was, the beefy Officer on my back and a life of torment ahead of me. All of it to be spent in Camp 177.