The Screw (Part 4)

Copyright February, 2000.
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The Screw (Part 4)

By ByrdMan



	Gabe and Cal were required to march in step with 
thirty-six other gay residents of Rosemary as they went to 
the Cafeteria for lunch.  Ushered along by guards Bill, 
Jerry and Chester, they marched in column, two by two, on a 
wide sidewalk around the edge of the quad. Gabe was lucky 
in that he had been a member of his high school marching 
band his freshman and sophomore years; he remembered how to 
march.  A tall, very masculine-looking Hispanic boy named 
Sanchez served as drillmaster and walked on the left of the 
column.  He shouted out the commands and numbers as they 
marched.  Typically he would order, "Right face! Forward 
march! Your left, two, three, four, your left, two, three, 
four---------- halt!  Left face.  Forward march!"

	Cal, who knew nothing about military drill, seemed to 
have trouble figuring out which foot to start on. His 
marching was somewhat reminiscent of Jerry Lewis' in a 
movie in which he spoofs the military. Starting on the 
wrong foot, he would have to skip a step to change feet, 
then would continue marching even after the drillmaster had 
ordered the column to halt.  When only one marcher in a 
column is doing this, he sticks out.  Some of the boys saw 
his antics, laughed out loud and received strong reprimands 
from the guards. 

	The comedy was certainly not lost on Chester, who had 
not been able to keep his eyes off Cal in the first place.  
His was now was the opportunity to meet with Cal alone on 
the pretext of punishment for sloppy marching.  Thus when 
the column arrived back at the dorm after lunch, Chester 
felt compelled to make an example of this undisciplined 
young clown.  All the boys remained standing in front of 
the dorm, waiting to be dismissed but knowing from Mr. 
Morse's expression that someone was about to catch hell. 
Chester stepped forward to speak.

	"Mr. Foster, you are clearly ignorant of the rules of 
military drill and a disgrace to your comrades.  Therefore 
you will remain behind with me for private instruction and 
discipline.  The rest of you will report to your afternoon 
classes and duties.  Dismissed!" he said, and then he 
escorted Cal through the front door and down a stairway to 
the basement.  As soon as his back was turned, he did not 
notice the sly wink that Cal gave to Gabe.
	
	As the other boys dispersed and went their separate 
ways, some of them groaned in sympathy for Cal.  They 
figured that Mr. Morse would probably use bastinado on him.  
Most of them had already experienced the excruciating pain 
of having the bottoms of their bare feet struck repeatedly 
with a rod or rubber hose.  

Bastinado was Chester's preferred method of 
disciplining new inmates, although some of the other guards 
preferred to use an old-fashioned spanking, a painful-
enough chastisement administered to the buttocks with the 
flat, sawed-off end of a canoe oar that had holes drilled 
in it.  The advantage of bastinado was that, although it 
was extremely painful, it usually left no visible scars or 
permanent damage to the boys' already-callused soles, 
whereas rigorous butt paddling could damage the more 
delicate tissues of the hips.  Some people considered 
either form of punishment cruel and unusual, if not 
outright barbaric.  Wouldn't it be better to try to 
rehabilitate and show loving kindness to boys of such a 
tender age?  

The answer was no, according to Warden Tyler.  He felt 
strongly that coddling the boys was a colossal mistake, and 
that experts with such an approach had been running the 
boys' penal facilities for much to long. Their permissive 
ways had got them nothing but more problems.  They had 
spared the rod and spoiled at least three generations of 
teenagers, unintentionally giving succor to a crime-ridden 
society that fed on itself, continuing to devour its young.  
Juveniles were released from such institutions after simply 
honing their skills as criminals, and they were usually 
returned to their former neighborhoods where they re-joined 
their gangs as heroes and continued to break the law.  

Warden Tyler was determined that at Scarborough Fair 
the vicious cycle would be broken.  At least the lunatics 
would not run the asylum.  And while the boys were there, 
he would make sure that they learned a new set of values 
and a completely different life style.  He had hand picked 
his staff and instilled in them his philosophy of military-
like discipline and mutual respect.  He was determined that 
his correctional facility would succeed where others had 
failed.  In the process, he knew he would make a few 
mistakes.  It was becoming apparent that hiring Chester 
Morse had been a big one.




Watching Chester lead Cal away, Gabe's first impulse 
was to run away and hide someplace where the killer screw 
couldn't find him.  But he knew that he had to be visible 
and available to carry out his part in Cal's plan or else 
he would never have any hope of getting out of this place 
in the near future.  He thought of returning to his room 
but decided finally to visit one of the recreation rooms 
instead. That was his only other real choice since he had 
not been given a class schedule or assigned a job.  He 
wandered about the main hallway of the first floor until he 
found an open door leading into a large room that contained 
sofas, chairs, video arcade games, a Ping-Pong table, a 
pool table and a television that was already switched on. 
It appeared that he had the room all to himself.  He 
dropped into a beanbag chair in front of the TV, noticing 
that a soap opera was on.  The small set was attached to 
the ceiling, and there appeared to be no way to change the 
channel.  He yawned and closed his eyes.  He was not much 
interested in watching a fictional serial because he was 
engrossed at the moment in his own real-life saga.




Rich Garrett and two uniformed policemen from the town 
of Scarborough arrived at the warden's outer office almost 
at the same time. Rich had come to tell the warden that he 
suspected his apartment mate of being a murderer. As he 
walked up to the secretary's desk, he heard one of the 
officers ask the secretary for permission to see Warden 
Tyler on urgent police business.  The young woman seated at 
the desk was caught off guard for a moment and at a loss 
for words. Rich did not recognize her; she must be a new 
employee.  He thought she looked very sexy with her red 
hair, big lips and ample breasts.  

"Oh, I'm sorry; the warden is really busy at the 
moment, and he left word not to be disturbed by anybody.  
Can you tell me the nature of your business?" she asked 
politely and nervously.

"It's about one of the guards who works here.  His 
name is Chester Morse.  We want to ask him a few questions.  
If you could just tell us where he is, we could find him 
ourselves and not even bother the warden," said the younger 
of the two cops, a handsome young man with light brown hair 
and gray eyes.

Just as the secretary reached for a duty roster on a 
clipboard, Rich spoke up, "I know Chet Morse.  He's a guard 
where I work.  We share an apartment over at Rosemary.  I 
can take you right to him."

"And who are you, sir?" asked the older officer, 
turning to face Rich.  This officer was as ugly as the 
other was handsome: he was short, fat and bald. 

"Name's Rich Garrett.  I'm a screw here too.  Is this 
about the murder of a bartender in Scarborough?"

"As a matter of fact, it is.  What do you know about 
it?" asked the older man, who seemed taken aback.  He took 
Rich by the elbow and led him away from the secretary's 
desk so that she couldn't hear them.  Her mouth was wide 
open in astonishment as it was.

"Not much.  Only that he got a bullet in the head and 
had his cock cut off.  I heard Chet talking about it this 
morning, and so I put two and two together.  I didn't see 
him do it or actually hear him say he did it, but I will be 
happy to tell you what he did say.  Ordinarily, I wouldn't 
snitch on a friend, you know, but I draw the line at 
murder."

"That's good to know, Mr. Garrett.  Maybe you can help 
us after all.  I'll take you up on your offer; take us to 
him," said the older man.

"Just follow me," he said, leading the officers out of 
the warden's office.



Warden Tyler could not be disturbed because his full 
attention was focused on the screen of a closed-circuit 
video monitor in the main security center next to his 
office.  He was watching Chester and Cal, whose images were 
being captured by a hidden video camera inside a large 
basement room at Rosemary.  The security man on duty at the 
surveillance console that afternoon had alerted the warden 
as soon as he saw a light flashing on his console 
indicating that Cal had switched on the microphone hidden 
inside his first aid kit.  The picture was excellent, but 
the sound was now rather poor because Chester had made Cal 
take off all his clothes and drop them on the floor.  The 
first aid kit had fallen to the floor along with Cal's 
shirt.  The warden was grateful however that the words were 
still distinguishable and that both picture and sound were 
being recorded.

 Cal was nude, lying stretched out on his back on a 
long, metal table.  His arms extended over his head, and 
his wrists were fettered at the top of the table by wide 
leather straps.  His ankles rested inside the holes of a 
stock constructed from two by eight pine boards that were 
bolted perpendicular to the end of the table.  Chester was 
working on Cal's bare feet with a two-foot length of rubber 
hose.  Occasionally, he would hit both of them hard, and 
Cal would scream.  The pain was so intense, tears rolled 
down his cheeks.
 
What distressed Cal even more than the pain in his 
soles was the stirring in his loins.  It was almost 
incomprehensible, but his cock was getting hard and trying 
to escape the bond of glue that was holding it in.  There 
was already a noticeable hump above his balls and it was 
getting larger.  This was happening in spite of the double 
dose of medication Cal had taken at lunch to prevent such 
an event. Was it was because of the beating?  Cal had to 
admit to himself that the pain in his feet was giving him a 
perverse sort of pleasure.  But it had to stop.  If Chester 
found out that he had a cock, he was dead.

Chester put down the hose.  "There, that should do it.  
Do I have your word that you will make an effort to learn 
how to march?"

"You have my word, sir.  I'll get Gabe to teach me," 
said Cal, relieved that the beating had stopped and that 
Chester had not noticed the hump.

"Gabe's a cute kid.  Tell me something."

"Yes, sir?" asked Cal, hoping he could keep Chester on 
the subject.

	"Are you two lovers?"

	"Hell, no!  That twink?  He's got a nice big cock, but 
he's just barely weaned.  And not only that; he drives me 
crazy trying to convince me that he's been put in the 
slammer by mistake," said Cal, hoping the warden was 
listening.

	"Don't let that worry you.  Everybody in this place is 
innocent.  If you don't believe it, just asked them," said 
Chester with a laugh.  He unlatched the stocks and rotated 
the hinged upper board to free Cal's feet.  He then walked 
down to the other end of the table to undo the straps 
holding Cal's wrists.      

	"That's true, but this kid's got one hell of a story.  
He's in here because he pleaded guilty to manslaughter.  He 
was accused of getting drunk, rolling his lover's car with 
him in it then cutting off the guy's cock after they were 
both thrown out.  The guy bled to death.  Gabe claims he 
didn't do the cutting.  Says some dude named Chester came 
along and did it."

	Chester did not finish undoing the strap holding Cal's 
left wrist.  Instead, he shouted, "The hell, you say!  I 
thought I recognized that kid.  He was the one with Zack 
the night I ran them off the road.  I'll cut off that son 
of a bitch's cock too!" he shouted, running from the room, 
leaving Cal's wrist still strapped to the table.

	Cal reached across the table with his right hand and 
undid the strap to free himself.  He sat up on the table, 
rubbed his wrists and looked directly at the camera that 
was disguised to look like a fire sprinkler.  

	"Hope you got all that, Warden.  If you did, you can 
call in the cavalry." 

As he got up to get dressed, Cal's penis finally 
popped through the glue and stuck straight up like a 
flagpole.

"Well, hi there, little fella.  Where've you been 
hiding?" he said, laughing as he slipped on his pants.  His 
feet were too swollen to put shoes on them. 

	The warden thought Cal was talking to him until he saw 
the cause of Cal's merriment.

	"Damn.  That's one of the smallest cocks I've ever 
seen.  I don't know why he was afraid of losing it," the 
warden said with a chuckle just as he pulled the switch to 
automatically close and lock all the doors inside Rosemary 
dorm until he could get some men over there.  He had no 
idea that Rich Garrett and two armed policemen were already 
walking into the main entrance. 





	Chester had reached first floor hallway on his way to 
Gabe's room when he happened to glance through an open 
doorway.  There sitting slumped in a beanbag chair under 
the TV set was his quarry; he was fast asleep.  Chester 
drew his razor-sharp switchblade knife, pressed the button 
to make the blade pop out, and walked into the room.  Just 
as he took a couple of steps inside, the whoop, whoop, 
whoop of the lock-down alarm went off.  The wide metal door 
to the hallway slammed shut and locked automatically, as 
did every other door inside Rosemary.  Thinking he was 
saving Cal and Gabe from Chester's wrath, the warden had 
instead locked Chester into the same room with Gabe.  He 
also had locked out the four others who could have 
prevented what was about to happen.
	
	Gabe awoke with a start to see Chester standing over 
him with the knife in his hand. In Gabe's groggy state, the 
deafening alarm wails and the glare of the flashing red 
light above the door made his world surreal. Thinking he 
was having a nightmare, he blinked his eyes.  It was a 
nightmare, all right, but one he would live through 
consciously. He was paralyzed for a moment with fear and 
confusion.

	"Unzip your pants, kid.  It'll save me the trouble. 
I'm gonna cut off your cock now, just as I promised I 
would.  I know who you are, Gabriel Lamb.  If you put up a 
fight, I'll cut your throat, too," Chester said calmly. 

	"Yes, sir," said Gabe resignedly, having no idea that 
help was so near at hand.  He obediently unzipped his own 
pants and pulled his already-erect cock out of his 
underwear.

	"You win, kid.  You've got the longest one I've cut 
off so far.  I may have to get a bigger mason jar for this 
one," Chester said with a diabolical laugh.

	"Go ahead and do it.  It's yours, sir," said Gabe, 
looking one last time at his cock while it was still 
attached to his body.  He had already decided that Cal's 
plan would fail, and it obviously had.  Losing his penis 
was now inevitable: the sooner the better.

	He didn't struggle as Chester held the mushrooming 
head of the eight-inch cock with his left hand and pulled 
it outward.  With the knife in his right hand he slashed 
hard across the shaft approximately an inch above the base.  
Gabe screamed when he felt the searing pain of the blade 
going all the way through his flesh, but he didn't close 
his eyes.  Chester had cut it off quickly and neatly, and 
the searing pain was quickly replaced by a dull throbbing.  
Gabe watched in horror as the blood gushed from the stump, 
but he was somewhat fascinated to see Chester holding the 
severed cock in his hand and looking at it.  Understanding 
the enormity of what Chester had done, Gabe screamed once 
again, and this time the scream was so loud Cal heard it 
from the hallway.

	"Warden!  Are you still there?  If you are, open all 
the doors quick!  I just heard Gabe screaming.  I think 
we're too late.  Chester must have found him," yelled Cal 
into his first aid box. He was standing just outside the 
door of the recreation room.  Rich and the two policemen 
were standing next to him with their pistols drawn.  

	Almost immediately the alarm stopped and the doors 
opened up again, but Cal's fears were well founded.  As he 
and the other three men rushed into the room, they stopped 
abruptly when they saw Chester drop Gabe's penis to the 
floor and struggle to take out his service revolver.  
Before he could point it at anyone though, the younger 
policeman fired his pistol.  The bullet hit Chester in the 
forehead, killing him instantly. 

  





	That night Gabe spent the only night of his prison 
sentence inside the Rosemary dorm at Scarborough Fair, but 
not in his room.  He was in a bed in the infirmary.  Gabe 
had insisted that no attempt should be made to reattach the 
penis, so the prison's doctor had repaired the stump as 
best he could.  Gabe was given a full pardon by the 
governor the next day then taken the hundred miles back to 
the city by ambulance.  He remained in a hospital there for 
a week and seemed to heal quickly.  When he was released, 
Cal was kind enough to take him in at his apartment.  He 
stayed there until he healed up completely.  The lawsuit he 
filed against the state was settled out of court, and he 
moved into his own apartment after he was awarded two 
million dollars.    
	 Asked by a friend why he and Cal didn't stay 
together, he replied, "His cock's too fuckin' small."
 

   




  



The Screw (Part 4)

By ByrdMan



	Gabe and Cal were required to march in step with 
thirty-six other gay residents of Rosemary as they went to 
the Cafeteria for lunch.  Ushered along by guards Bill, 
Jerry and Chester, they marched in column, two by two, on a 
wide sidewalk around the edge of the quad. Gabe was lucky 
in that he had been a member of his high school marching 
band his freshman and sophomore years; he remembered how to 
march.  A tall, very masculine-looking Hispanic boy named 
Sanchez served as drillmaster and walked on the left of the 
column.  He shouted out the commands and numbers as they 
marched.  Typically he would order, "Right face! Forward 
march! Your left, two, three, four, your left, two, three, 
four---------- halt!  Left face.  Forward march!"

	Cal, who knew nothing about military drill, seemed to 
have trouble figuring out which foot to start on. His 
marching was somewhat reminiscent of Jerry Lewis' in a 
movie in which he spoofs the military. Starting on the 
wrong foot, he would have to skip a step to change feet, 
then would continue marching even after the drillmaster had 
ordered the column to halt.  When only one marcher in a 
column is doing this, he sticks out.  Some of the boys saw 
his antics, laughed out loud and received strong reprimands 
from the guards. 

	The comedy was certainly not lost on Chester, who had 
not been able to keep his eyes off Cal in the first place.  
His was now was the opportunity to meet with Cal alone on 
the pretext of punishment for sloppy marching.  Thus when 
the column arrived back at the dorm after lunch, Chester 
felt compelled to make an example of this undisciplined 
young clown.  All the boys remained standing in front of 
the dorm, waiting to be dismissed but knowing from Mr. 
Morse's expression that someone was about to catch hell. 
Chester stepped forward to speak.

	"Mr. Foster, you are clearly ignorant of the rules of 
military drill and a disgrace to your comrades.  Therefore 
you will remain behind with me for private instruction and 
discipline.  The rest of you will report to your afternoon 
classes and duties.  Dismissed!" he said, and then he 
escorted Cal through the front door and down a stairway to 
the basement.  As soon as his back was turned, he did not 
notice the sly wink that Cal gave to Gabe.
	
	As the other boys dispersed and went their separate 
ways, some of them groaned in sympathy for Cal.  They 
figured that Mr. Morse would probably use bastinado on him.  
Most of them had already experienced the excruciating pain 
of having the bottoms of their bare feet struck repeatedly 
with a rod or rubber hose.  

Bastinado was Chester's preferred method of 
disciplining new inmates, although some of the other guards 
preferred to use an old-fashioned spanking, a painful-
enough chastisement administered to the buttocks with the 
flat, sawed-off end of a canoe oar that had holes drilled 
in it.  The advantage of bastinado was that, although it 
was extremely painful, it usually left no visible scars or 
permanent damage to the boys' already-callused soles, 
whereas rigorous butt paddling could damage the more 
delicate tissues of the hips.  Some people considered 
either form of punishment cruel and unusual, if not 
outright barbaric.  Wouldn't it be better to try to 
rehabilitate and show loving kindness to boys of such a 
tender age?  

The answer was no, according to Warden Tyler.  He felt 
strongly that coddling the boys was a colossal mistake, and 
that experts with such an approach had been running the 
boys' penal facilities for much to long. Their permissive 
ways had got them nothing but more problems.  They had 
spared the rod and spoiled at least three generations of 
teenagers, unintentionally giving succor to a crime-ridden 
society that fed on itself, continuing to devour its young.  
Juveniles were released from such institutions after simply 
honing their skills as criminals, and they were usually 
returned to their former neighborhoods where they re-joined 
their gangs as heroes and continued to break the law.  

Warden Tyler was determined that at Scarborough Fair 
the vicious cycle would be broken.  At least the lunatics 
would not run the asylum.  And while the boys were there, 
he would make sure that they learned a new set of values 
and a completely different life style.  He had hand picked 
his staff and instilled in them his philosophy of military-
like discipline and mutual respect.  He was determined that 
his correctional facility would succeed where others had 
failed.  In the process, he knew he would make a few 
mistakes.  It was becoming apparent that hiring Chester 
Morse had been a big one.




Watching Chester lead Cal away, Gabe's first impulse 
was to run away and hide someplace where the killer screw 
couldn't find him.  But he knew that he had to be visible 
and available to carry out his part in Cal's plan or else 
he would never have any hope of getting out of this place 
in the near future.  He thought of returning to his room 
but decided finally to visit one of the recreation rooms 
instead. That was his only other real choice since he had 
not been given a class schedule or assigned a job.  He 
wandered about the main hallway of the first floor until he 
found an open door leading into a large room that contained 
sofas, chairs, video arcade games, a Ping-Pong table, a 
pool table and a television that was already switched on. 
It appeared that he had the room all to himself.  He 
dropped into a beanbag chair in front of the TV, noticing 
that a soap opera was on.  The small set was attached to 
the ceiling, and there appeared to be no way to change the 
channel.  He yawned and closed his eyes.  He was not much 
interested in watching a fictional serial because he was 
engrossed at the moment in his own real-life saga.




Rich Garrett and two uniformed policemen from the town 
of Scarborough arrived at the warden's outer office almost 
at the same time. Rich had come to tell the warden that he 
suspected his apartment mate of being a murderer. As he 
walked up to the secretary's desk, he heard one of the 
officers ask the secretary for permission to see Warden 
Tyler on urgent police business.  The young woman seated at 
the desk was caught off guard for a moment and at a loss 
for words. Rich did not recognize her; she must be a new 
employee.  He thought she looked very sexy with her red 
hair, big lips and ample breasts.  

"Oh, I'm sorry; the warden is really busy at the 
moment, and he left word not to be disturbed by anybody.  
Can you tell me the nature of your business?" she asked 
politely and nervously.

"It's about one of the guards who works here.  His 
name is Chester Morse.  We want to ask him a few questions.  
If you could just tell us where he is, we could find him 
ourselves and not even bother the warden," said the younger 
of the two cops, a handsome young man with light brown hair 
and gray eyes.

Just as the secretary reached for a duty roster on a 
clipboard, Rich spoke up, "I know Chet Morse.  He's a guard 
where I work.  We share an apartment over at Rosemary.  I 
can take you right to him."

"And who are you, sir?" asked the older officer, 
turning to face Rich.  This officer was as ugly as the 
other was handsome: he was short, fat and bald. 

"Name's Rich Garrett.  I'm a screw here too.  Is this 
about the murder of a bartender in Scarborough?"

"As a matter of fact, it is.  What do you know about 
it?" asked the older man, who seemed taken aback.  He took 
Rich by the elbow and led him away from the secretary's 
desk so that she couldn't hear them.  Her mouth was wide 
open in astonishment as it was.

"Not much.  Only that he got a bullet in the head and 
had his cock cut off.  I heard Chet talking about it this 
morning, and so I put two and two together.  I didn't see 
him do it or actually hear him say he did it, but I will be 
happy to tell you what he did say.  Ordinarily, I wouldn't 
snitch on a friend, you know, but I draw the line at 
murder."

"That's good to know, Mr. Garrett.  Maybe you can help 
us after all.  I'll take you up on your offer; take us to 
him," said the older man.

"Just follow me," he said, leading the officers out of 
the warden's office.



Warden Tyler could not be disturbed because his full 
attention was focused on the screen of a closed-circuit 
video monitor in the main security center next to his 
office.  He was watching Chester and Cal, whose images were 
being captured by a hidden video camera inside a large 
basement room at Rosemary.  The security man on duty at the 
surveillance console that afternoon had alerted the warden 
as soon as he saw a light flashing on his console 
indicating that Cal had switched on the microphone hidden 
inside his first aid kit.  The picture was excellent, but 
the sound was now rather poor because Chester had made Cal 
take off all his clothes and drop them on the floor.  The 
first aid kit had fallen to the floor along with Cal's 
shirt.  The warden was grateful however that the words were 
still distinguishable and that both picture and sound were 
being recorded.

 Cal was nude, lying stretched out on his back on a 
long, metal table.  His arms extended over his head, and 
his wrists were fettered at the top of the table by wide 
leather straps.  His ankles rested inside the holes of a 
stock constructed from two by eight pine boards that were 
bolted perpendicular to the end of the table.  Chester was 
working on Cal's bare feet with a two-foot length of rubber 
hose.  Occasionally, he would hit both of them hard, and 
Cal would scream.  The pain was so intense, tears rolled 
down his cheeks.
 
What distressed Cal even more than the pain in his 
soles was the stirring in his loins.  It was almost 
incomprehensible, but his cock was getting hard and trying 
to escape the bond of glue that was holding it in.  There 
was already a noticeable hump above his balls and it was 
getting larger.  This was happening in spite of the double 
dose of medication Cal had taken at lunch to prevent such 
an event. Was it was because of the beating?  Cal had to 
admit to himself that the pain in his feet was giving him a 
perverse sort of pleasure.  But it had to stop.  If Chester 
found out that he had a cock, he was dead.

Chester put down the hose.  "There, that should do it.  
Do I have your word that you will make an effort to learn 
how to march?"

"You have my word, sir.  I'll get Gabe to teach me," 
said Cal, relieved that the beating had stopped and that 
Chester had not noticed the hump.

"Gabe's a cute kid.  Tell me something."

"Yes, sir?" asked Cal, hoping he could keep Chester on 
the subject.

	"Are you two lovers?"

	"Hell, no!  That twink?  He's got a nice big cock, but 
he's just barely weaned.  And not only that; he drives me 
crazy trying to convince me that he's been put in the 
slammer by mistake," said Cal, hoping the warden was 
listening.

	"Don't let that worry you.  Everybody in this place is 
innocent.  If you don't believe it, just asked them," said 
Chester with a laugh.  He unlatched the stocks and rotated 
the hinged upper board to free Cal's feet.  He then walked 
down to the other end of the table to undo the straps 
holding Cal's wrists.      

	"That's true, but this kid's got one hell of a story.  
He's in here because he pleaded guilty to manslaughter.  He 
was accused of getting drunk, rolling his lover's car with 
him in it then cutting off the guy's cock after they were 
both thrown out.  The guy bled to death.  Gabe claims he 
didn't do the cutting.  Says some dude named Chester came 
along and did it."

	Chester did not finish undoing the strap holding