Prison pt 1

This really should be continued.  Let me know if you want me to 
write more of it.

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	John held his head low as the guards led him out to the bus. 
 He hadn't fought much since they had taken him a few days ago.  The 
trial was fast and without any detail whatsoever; he didn't even 
really remember hearing his name mentioned - they just held him 
before the judge.  The judge asked what he plead, and when John 
responded that he didn't know, the judge passed down sentence.  He 
was to be rehabilitated in a youth facility, but John had no idea 
what for.
	On the bus John glanced around briefly at the other youths, 
all male.  Most of the looked as ashamed as John did.  He wondered 
what they had done - something awful, surely.  He had stopped 
wondering what he had done himself, however.  There must have been 
something.  He sat in the indicated seat, the prickly hot vinyl 
seats pulling at his skin.
	Once the bus shuddered into forward motion John settled in a 
little.  He didn't know how long the ride would be.  The windows 
were all blacked out with paint - he could make out light patches, 
dark patches through scratches in the paint.  Sometimes there would 
be a color but he could never tell what was beyond.  
	The engine droned on and on.  After forty minutes or so the 
driver stopped shifting gears and the hum became perfectly monotone. 
 John dared not look around; these others were criminals - who knew 
what they would do to him?  For an instant the thought of them 
raping him crossed his mind.  That led to the thought of a cock, 
Don's cock, erect and beautiful.  John slowly got erect and shuffled 
a bit in his seat to adjust.  A guard harumphed at him, and John 
stopped moving, afraid he'd be punished somehow.  The boner went 
away.
	With all the windows painted over the bus was dark; 
everything in shadow.  John's world had seemed this way the past few 
days - it had all happened so fast, and he had never really known 
what was happening.  Everything was mostly dark, details were lost 
and he could barely see anything at all.
	The darkness and the engine and the boredom caused his mind 
to wander, and eventually turn off.  John awoke later, his head 
leaning against the window and his mouth tasting funny.  His shirt 
and underwear were soaked in sweat from the heat and his hair was 
matted against his head.  The whole bus smelled like sweat.  
	John felt the bus turn, a wide arc on what sounded like 
gravel.  After a few seconds the bus ground to a stop.  The guards 
went to each seat in turn, pulling the prisoner up, handcuffing him, 
and shackling the collar around his neck to the prisoner in front of 
him.  Once they had all been done, John felt a tug at his neck as 
the line started to move.  He was jerked forward and down the short 
stairs to the ground.
	Outside John had to close his eyes.     Instinctively he 
tried to cover them with his hands but only bumped them against the 
small of his back.  After a minute or so he had managed to adjust 
and opened them slowly.  They stood on gravel, the bus pumping fumes 
out behind them and the sun beating down on his already sweating 
brow.  Near the gravel road were more vehicles - a pair of buses, a 
few beat-up looking commercial cars.  A small concrete building, 
about the size of an outhouse, stood next to a pair of very surly 
looking guards under beach umbrellas.  Those guards were shirtless 
in the head and drank from a pail, their mark of identification 
being the hats they wore with their ID cards pinned to them.  They 
looked strong to John; he didn't want to mess with them.
	The guards that had been on the bus were going down the line 
of prisoners, using scissors to cut away their shirts and pants, 
pulling their shoes off.  It didn't sound like anybody was 
resisting.  "Good," John thought to himself.  "Maybe they'll go easy 
on us."  When the guards got to John they cut his shirt away 
roughly, then pulled off his shoes and cut down his pants, leaving 
him naked in the sun.  When they finished the line the guards 
gathered up the prisoners' clothing and tossed it in a pile, soaked 
it in kerosene, and burned it.  During this, the bus grumbled to 
life behind them and teetered off down the road, spouting out black 
smoke as it went.
	The elevator opened up and a man in guard's uniform came 
out.  He was enormous, John noticed, shirt and pants full to 
bursting.  His chest alone stuck out a good few inches from the 
man's chin, and John doubted the man could easily touch his elbows 
to their sides with a back like that.  The guards at the elevator 
stood at attention, as did those who had just stripped the 
prisoners.
	"At attention!" he shouted.  John tried to snap to the way 
he had seen guys do it in the movies.  The large guard walked down 
the line, elbowing those who had not sucked their guts in, yelling 
at them to stand, feet together, arms behind them on their asses, 
looking straight ahead.  Once he was satisfied, he forced them to 
stand that way while he just stared at them.  John couldn't tell 
what he was looking for or even if he was happy, but with the scowl 
the man seemed to always have John doubted the man was ever pleased.
	John could feel his skin burning in the sun.  Sweat poured 
off him.  His balls were hanging low in their sac and the crack of 
his ass was wet.  Finally the man began to speak.  "We have few 
rules.  Do what we tell you to do without question.  Follow the 
signs.  No sexual contact between prisoners.  Follow them and you'll 
be a good citizen and out of here in a few months.  Don't follow 
them and you'll be docked.  
	"Escape is impossible but feel free to try.  The nearest 
town is two hours away by very fast car; on foot you'd be dead 
before you ever made it.  If you try to get out and I catch you, 
you'll wish the sun had got you first.
	"Dismissed.  The guards will show you where to go."  He 
turned on his heel and went back into the concrete elevator.  The 
guards watched him go.  The shirtless ones took swigs of water.  The 
ones from the bus looked like they could use some, as could I - I 
was dying of thirst.  Standing naked on hot sand didn't help much 
either.
	What happened next was unexpected.  The two guards from the 
elevator and the two from the bus each picked a prisoner and 
unlocked him.  The rest were chained to a post in the ground and 
told to stand there.  The freed prisoners were walked over to the 
parasols, given a drink of water, and then made to kneel.  John 
stared thirstily at the water, his tongue dry as sandpaper.
	The guards then each whipped it out and forced their hard 
manhood into the mouth of the kneeling man.  One of them resisted.  
"Do you want it in your mouth or your ass, boy?" the guard asked in 
raspy tones.
	John could see the look of terror on the guy's face from 
where he was standing, but he took the cock into his mouth and 
worked it, nervously at first.  The distaste was evident but the 
guard seemed to be enjoying it, grunting until the moment when he 
grabbed the back of the poor guy's head and held it against his 
groin as he came into the guy's mouth.  "Swallow it down," the guard 
ordered.  The guy couldn't, and started coughing, eventually 
spitting up onto the ground and dry heaving.  The guard looked at 
one of the others and called, "Toss me the marker!"  Another guard 
threw him a black magic marker and the first guard drew a large X on 
the chest of the heaving prisoner.
	One of the other guards appeared annoyed with his chosen 
victim as well.  "Man, this one can't get me off.  Toss me the 
marker."  That man got an X on his chest as well.  The guard who 
drew it pulled out, his cock still erect and came back over to the 
four prisoners still chained up.
	"You."  He pointed at John and unlocked him.  "You had 
better do better than that one did or you'll get docked as well."
	"I'll try," John muttered, subserviently.
	"What?" the guard asked.  "What did you say?"  He sounded 
pissed.
	"I said, 'I'll try,' sir."  John bowed his head.
	"Whatever.  On yer knees, bitch."  John kneeled down and got 
knocked back by the guard forcing his now slimy cock into his mouth. 
 John took to it as best he could, sucking and licking and doing all 
he could to get this guy off, even if he was a jerk.  The guard 
would mutter things like, "Like that don't ya, bitch?"  John tried 
to ignore them and bring the guy off quickly.  
	After a few minutes the guard bucked and his balls hit 
John's chin squarely.  Cum pumped into his mouth and John swallowed 
it as ordered, trying not to gag.  Once he had licked the guard's 
dick clean he was made to stand.
	During the cocksucking bout, John's own cock had become hard 
- reflex, he supposed, as he sure wasn't turned on.  "Marker!" his 
guard called.  The man an  X on John's left pectoral - "A fucking 
boner," he muttered, and then another on his right pec - "Talking."
	The guard muttered "Bitch," again and chained John back up. 
 The others had already been chained up, and were now forced into 
the elevator in fours, each with two guards.  John was in the second 
group, herded into the elevator, pressing against the other 
prisoners and guards, and descending slowly in the rackety, 
infernally hot metal box.  Once at the bottom, they were pushed out 
again and made to walk in lines.  The guards didn't bother with 
their shirts but put their caps on if they weren't already wearing 
one.
	When they got to the bottom the men were made to walk 
through a long series of corridors lit by low bulbs along the walls 
and into a room with a sign next to it reading, "Processing Center." 
 Inside, some new guards took clippers to their bodies, trimming 
down the hair on their heads, their groins, or anywhere else that it 
was longer than a quarter inch.  Once that was done, the guards took 
pails of nasty smelling green paste and painted it on the prisoner's 
bodies, covering large patches at once.  John was told to stand, 
feet apart, hands in the air gripping a bar above his head while he 
was painted neck to toe in the stuff.  The fumes were awful.  The 
guard stuffed tissue in his nose and painted the same stuff over 
John's face, stopping just short of the top of his sideburns.  "Stay 
like this," the guard ordered him, and moved to another prisoner.
	As John stood there, the paste hardened and dimpled a little 
on his skin.  When the guard returned the goo was all hard but 
flexible, like plastic or latex.  The guard told him to grit his 
teeth and then yanked the stuff off John's neck.  He nearly screamed 
in pain as the stuff pulled the scratchy stubble John had grown in 
jail out of his skin.  The guard continued to pull the stuff off in 
sheets, yanking all the skin on John's body out.  Once that was 
done, the guard rubbed a lotion into John's skin that burned a 
little.
	When all the men had been processed, they were bare as a 
baby's ass and sore enough to cry about it.  They were ordered to 
queue up along one wall and put their necks through a hole in the 
wall.  John was second in line, and watched as the first man did so. 
 The wall closed around the man's neck and held it firm.  There was 
a hiss and a k-chunk noise, and the hold widened again.  The man's 
neck was now ringed by a shiny metal collar, about an inch tall and 
maybe a quarter inch thick.  The metal appeared to be one solid 
piece.  That guy stepped away and John stuck his head into the inky 
blackness, feeling the heat as the collar clamped down around his 
neck.
	John stepped away after being released and pulled at the 
collar some.  It moved with his neck and was not uncomfortable - it 
was like wearing a watch.  One of the guards came up to him with a 
device like a pencil, pressed it against his collar, and pushed 
twice.  John wasn't sure what it meant, but the other men with X's 
each got one - it marked him for later punishment, he supposed.  
John worried how bad it would be.  
	Next they were led into a shower area and made to scrub 
hard, which hurt immensely to their burnt skin.  The X's came off 
John's chest and he wondered if the hair would ever grow back.  He 
tried not to scrub too hard, but the guards, now nude as well, would 
come up to them and scrub for them if they didn't, and they were 
rough.  One man got an erection, and then a punch on his collar.  It 
didn't leave a mark, John noticed.
	When they had been dried, John just wanted to go lie down 
somewhere.  Instead he was made to continue standing, this time in 
line while a doctor checked them all out, grabbing their balls, 
making them cough - all that stuff.  They seemed to check out okay. 
 Two of the men were uncircumcised, and the others were made to 
watch as those two were cut.  The doc put a clamp around their 
foreskin, drawing as much into it as he could, then used a scalpel 
to cut around it.  He used no painkiller.  When the cut was done, 
the doc stiched them up neatly, leaving no play whatsoever in the 
skin.
	John now saw the doc pull out a little scanner thing he held 
up to their collars.  The ones who had not received X's were 
escorted out by guards, but the four who did remained.  When the doc 
read John's collar he looked him in the face and nodded back and 
forth, slowly, a disappointed look.
	There were six operating tables in the room, and they were 
all restrained to one.  Two guards remained behind to assist the 
doctor.  First, each man was given a shot in their groin region to 
numb it, then painted with an orange disinfectant solution.  Their 
legs were spread apart and then raised into the air, their feet in 
stirrups.  John had an uneasy feeling that he knew what would come 
next.
	The first man had to be gagged.  John couldn't see what was 
going on but evidently it was enough for the man to cry.  The second 
didn't cry but the look on his face made John want to.  The third 
they had to put completely under as he wouldn't stop struggling.  
John still couldn't see what was going on, but it had something to 
do with the men's genitals and he could see some flesh being taken 
away.  Were they being castrated?  Was this what the warden had 
meant by docking?
	They came to him last, the other men unconscious or crying 
softly.  Apparently he was to be done differently than the rest.  
One of the guards put a catheter in him, and then John closed his 
eyes, afraid to look as the doc flashed the scalpel.  When John 
opened them again, it was as a weight liften from his groin.  John 
saw the doctor working his now severed cock up the catheter and off 
the end of it, leaving John's testicles still dangling and a void in 
his groin.  The doctor did more things that John couldn't see, but 
when it was all over he had a catheter sticking out of a new hole 
between his balls and asshole and a line of stiches instead of a 
penis.  
	John was stunned by all this.  His cock was gone.  He would 
never fuck again.  All because of a rogue erection and an attempt at 
good behavior.  How could this have happened?  He didn't even know 
why he was here.  "Never," he thought to himself.  The image of the 
warden appeared in his mind.  "I'll never obey him.  He will never 
break me."