A new story written by Pete Brown (Part 1 of 12)
We weren’t getting along too well, we both knew that. But when I came home from the site unexpectedly early one day and found her in bed with my best buddy, I completely lost it.
Working on the construction site had packed my 6’2” body with hard muscles – the kind you only get from real work, not the big puffed-up sort from the gym – and I smashed my fists repeatedly into both of them. And when my buddy tried to defend them both and managed to get off the bed, I knocked his naked body to the floor and smashed my work boots into his ribs over and over again.
Then I tore open my shorts, pushed my screaming wife back onto the bed, and thrust into her hard, over and over. I heard myself screaming “one last time, bitch!.”
When I had finished – and it only took about three thrusts, I was so charged up – I turned around and when my cock had subsided pissed over the groaning body of the guy who had been my best buddy. There was nothing else to do, so I slammed out, went to the local b ar, and started to get more drunk than I had ever done before.
The troopers found me there, and I was by this time in no state to put up any fight. They bundled me into the patrol car, and the next thing I remember was waking up with the world’s worst hangover, on the floor of the police cell.
They bought me breakfast, which I couldn’t eat, and about an hour later the desk sergeant came in and told me I would be tried later that day and asked me who my lawyer was. I told him I didn’t have one, and so he arranged for me to see a court-appointed one.
The lawyer was about my age – 26 – and sat opposite me looking rather distastefully at me. I still had on the T-shirt I had gone home in from the site, the shorts (stained with my cum and blood from my mate), and my work boots. By now of course I had a heavy five o’clock shadow as the last time I had shaved was the previous morning, and I stank of stale alcohol.
We introduced ourselves, and after listening to my story he said “Well, Steve, you’ve got a real problem. Although some people would think your buddy provoked you, he is very seriously injured and the prosecution will argue that this was a disproportionate response. And since your wife screamed at you to stop, fucking her is statutory rape even though you are married.”
I asked him what we could do, and his answer was very little. The State had decided to go for “quick justice”, as it had been decided that hanging around for weeks waiting for a trial did nothing for anybody – the accused was kept in jail unnecessarily, and costs mounted. In an open and shut case like mine, the Courts now simply heard as much testimony as they needed from witnesses – and in my case they had my wife, and a videotape from my ex-buddy from the hospital.
They dispensed with all the doctors’ evidence, character witnesses, etc., even though in my case they would have been hard to find anyway – although I had been a star student in High School, on the wrestling, track and football teams, and straight “A”s in class, I had gone wrong after first meeting my wife. Against the advice of my parents I refused to go to college, and went straight to work so that I could have enough money to marry her immediately away. Of course the only jobs that I could get without qualifications meant that I had to use my body rather than my brain, and I had ended up doing the really hard manual work on construction sites – the sort that the machines can’t do because the access is too small, or the work is too dangerous, or whatever. I didn’t really mind as I could use my body to its full, and I gloried in feeling my muscles straining to do the best job they could. And when I went home a night, I had no worries – I just slumped down with a few beers, went out occasionally to shoot pool with my buddies, and had great sex.
But all that changed after a couple of years when our first daughter was born. My wife turned into a nagging shrew, and went off sex completely. She wouldn’t even jerk me off or give me a blow job – something she had always been willing to do since our first date. I got really pissed off and frustrated, and one night in the bar I punched out one of my buddies when he made some innocent remark about our relationship. I got off with a fine that time, but of course I now had a criminal record for violence.
I forced myself onto my wife every month or so when I got absolutely pissed off with jerking myself off. And as luck would have it, we soon had another child – my son – on the way. With four of us to support on a labourer’s wages, there was no money for whores and for the last l8 months the only sex I had had was my own hand. My wife used to turn over in disgust as I climbed into bed and started to beat myself off – she made no attempt to understand the frustration I felt at being trapped on a dead-end job with no prospects.
I knew that things could only get worse. As I got older, my body would ultimately give in and I would no longer be able to earn the highest rates per hour because of my strength. I would sink down the ladder, doing more and more menial work. And there was no prospect of a reconciliation between us – she wanted a house full of fancy things, and a new car, and vacations to Florida, and all the other things I could never afford to give her.
My best buddy from High School had remained friends and we usually went out for a few beers every week or so, and he was doing well. After College he had joined a big IT company and was now earning a high salary. He had moved into a flash new condo in the best part of town, and came over to see us in his new BMW. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised my wife found him attractive – he had everything she wanted: money!.
“So”, said the lawyer, “You won’t be able to bring character witnesses. You have a criminal record already for violence, your best friend will probably never fully recover from the beating you gave him, and there’s a statutory rape charge against you. If I were you, I would just plead guilty and ask the Court to be lenient considering you have been betrayed somewhat by your wife – although, of course, she had every right to sleep with whom she pleases. If you do that, you will probably get off with l5 years, which means you could be out in l0 years with remission. There will still be time to re-start your life at 36.”
I protested, and said I wouldn’t do that as it meant I would not see my kids growing up. “You won’t do that anyway.”, he said. “Immediately after the trial your wife will file for
divorce. With your record of violence, the courts will give her custody of the children, and she can easily ask for all contact between you and them to be severed as she fears your violent nature. We know that’s rubbish, but the Court will look at the record and see you have beaten up two men – one very seriously – and have been convicted of rape. She’ll be out of that Court in five minutes, with everything she wants.”
“If you don’t plead guilty, the Court could sentence you to life!”.
“But it’s not fair”, I said, “It was a moment of madness to kick the shit out of him so he almost died, and to force myself onto my wife. If I explain all the circumstances, the Court will surely consider my extreme provocation.”
“Look, Steve, I’m your lawyer. My advice to you is to be humble and sorry, and beg for mercy. If you go in saying you were right to do it, the Court will come down hard on you. But it’s up to you – just don’t blame me afterwards if it all goes wrong.”
I should have listened to him, of course. The Court hardly bothered to hear me, once they had seen the video of my buddy from his hospital bed and heard my wife sobbing.
Almost as soon as I had started to tell them about finding my best buddy in bed with my wife after she had denied me sex for years, in spite of staying with her and supporting her and the kids from my meagre wages, they cut me off. The judge said there was absolutely no provocation for what I had done, and trying to make excuses showed him that I didn’t really believe I had done anything wrong. Looking at my history of dropping out of school, and my previous conviction for violence he had no hesitation to sentencing me to 30 years to life. So the best I could hope for was to be let out when I was 56, and only then if I had led an exemplary life in prison.
I was absolutely stunned. In the cells afterwards my lawyer came to see me and said “I told you! Now, there’s only one other piece of advice I have for you – don’t ignore this like the last lot!”
“There’s a special programme being run down in Arkansas for lifers like you. In exchange for a loss of certain rights, your sentence is very much reduced. If you agree to ask to be transferred onto that programme, I can go back to the Judge immediately and maybe we can get the sentence reduced before all the papers are filed.”
I asked him what “rights” I would loose, and he said “None, really in practice. After all, if you’re locked up in a maximum security jail for 30 years you don’t have many rights. But some guys won’t volunteer for the programme as it sounds bad – you have to agree to work at a job that you’re directed to, and live on the premises. You have no choice of food or clothes, and of course you’re not paid. The people overseeing you at work have the right to administer light corporal punishment – like a light whipping – if you don’t work hard enough.”
“The Government has introduced the programme on an experimental basis as it desperately needs to reduce the numbers of men in prison to cut costs. They know it’s a waste to keep young, healthy guys like you locked away, getting frustrated. Most of you get so mad that you do something else in prison, and so never qualify for parole. And if and when you do get out as an old man, you’re no good for anything and are another charge on the State.”
“This way you get used to working – admittedly very hard, but that’s no different for you. But you are relatively free to move around and use your body. So you’re usually exhausted each night, and sleep well. So you’re less frustrated, and after an agreed period of years, you can be released back into Society. You’re used to discipline, and can be a good citizen.”
“Of course it offends the liberals, as it looks a bit like slavery! So that’s why the Government is piloting it down in Arkansas- it’s so rural and remote there, no East Coast or Wet Coast liberal is ever going to stumble across the programme in action. And the folks down in Arkansas don’t talk about it – they don’t like strangers interfering, and anyway they value the work they get from the people on the programme.”
“I only got to hear about the programme because one of my clients went on it a year ago. It sounds like the only option for you – perhaps l5 years on this programme, followed by freedom, or 30 years at least in jail with the possibility of freedom then only if you kept your nose clean.”
I thought a bit, and asked him to go and see the Judge. When he came back half an hour later he told me that the Judge had agreed, and I was signed up for l5 years to the Arkansas programme. He shook my hand, and left, and the guards came in and handcuffed me to take me off to the County jail.
When I arrived there, the Prison Officers looked at my records and one said to the other that I was only going to be there overnight as I was being collected the following day. They discussed whether I should be left as I was, or “processed”, and one said to the other “No, let’s process him – he looks like a good stud, and it’s been a bit slow here today. It’ll cheer us up before we go home to get a good look at a nice piece of ass”.
I was told to strip, and it felt very funny doing so in front of those two guards. I was of course used to stripping off in the locker room when I was a sports jock, and when I was working some of my colleagues and I used to go for a skinny dip in the creek near one of our sites at lunch breaks on very hot days. And I had always had a good body, and I knew it was now in superb condition following my life of hard manual toil. But hearing them discussing my ass made me feel less than human.
But I had no choice, and dropped my shorts, and started to pull my T-shirt over my head. The guards snickered when they saw I was wearing no underwear, but generally I didn’t when I was working as I found it constricted my cock and balls too much, and the sweat pouring off my body made it damp and unpleasant – better to have the air go up my shorts legs and keep me cooler and dryer. But they stopped their comments as I pulled my T-shirt over my head – as I raised my arms, of course, my stomach muscles tightened and that pulled my cock gently upwards, as it does. I have a big, 5” cock hanging in front of pair of low-hanging good-sized balls, and as I struggled to free my T-shirt from my head it swung gently, slapping into my muscular thighs.
Then I had to get out of my socks and work boots, and as there was no chair or bench, simply bent down to do so. The guards made a lot of remarks about my hard ass and muscular thighs, which were of course displayed to good advantage as I struggled with the laces.
Being in the shower closely watched by other guys was also a strange experience – of course I had showered many times before in a crowd: but in a “sports” situation, even though you see your buddies’ bodies, you really only take a casual glance to see how they compare with you. But here the two guards were watching me closely as I soaped myself. They were particularly interested as I shampooed my hair, as moving my arms above my head gave them a good view of my abs flexing. And they specifically told me to turn around so that they could enjoy the view as I bent down to soap my ass, thighs, and legs.
But it was soon over, and I was given a fresh T-shirt, and a pair of cotton shorts to wear. I was taken and put into a “holding” cell, just for the night, they said, and after the tumult of the day I was soon asleep.
In the morning the guards brought me a breakfast tray and told me that I was being collected at l0:00. They advised me to crap, as it would be a long journey to Arkansas and they knew that the guards didn’t like stopping on the trip!
I was taken from my cell and out into the prison yard, where there was a small white delivery truck waiting. Two guys in uniform were waiting – it was in a light green, and the shoulder tabs said “State Of Arkansas”. They were talking to officials from the prison, and I saw they were signing papers transferring me into their custody.
They looked me over and one said to the other “Shall we load him into the back now, or wait until we pick up the other prisoners?”
“No, let’s have him up front for a bit – he looks a decent guy”.
I was pleased by this, but was surprised when they told me to take off my T-shirt. But there was nothing I could do – I was in the prison yard, surrounded by guards, so I did as I was told – I didn’t want to get a reputation for being awkward!
I was told to get into the front seat of the truck, and when I was in the middle the guards lifted my arms along the back of the seat and fastened my wrists into cuffs at each end of the bench seat. The naugahyde felt warm and sticky behind my naked back.
Then the guards got in, one on each side of me, and we drove out of the prison gates.
As we reached the highway the guard who was not driving reached down and started to tug at my shorts to pull them off. He told me to press down with my feet, to make it easier!
“Hey, man”, I said, “I’ve got nothing on under these shorts!”
“Shut the fuck up! “, the guard rapped. “I know you’ve got nothing on. And if you did, we’d have that off, too. My buddy and I like to see the stock properly naked from the moment it comes into our custody – you’d better forget everything you know about clothes, because the buyer who takes on your contract will almost certainly keep you naked. And if we leave these shorts on you, you might arrive with an elastic mark around your waist. You’d better learn that when you are given an order, you obey!”
And with that he jabbed down into my stomach with his elbow, hard. I screamed with the unexpected pain, and was gasping for breath.
“Under the rules for stock in the Programme, corporal punishment is allowed.”, said the guard. “So you’d better get used to the idea that you obey orders instantly or you get punished. Now raise your ass off that seat so I can get these shorts off, or my next jab will be into your balls”.
I was powerless to do anything about it, and so I wriggled upwards. The guard pulled my shorts down and then off my feet, and tossed them out of the window. I was sweating hard by now – what had I let myself in for? – and my naked ass felt strange against the plastic of the truck seat. When I sat down my balls were slightly trapped between my ass and the seat, and I started to wriggle to try to get them free. The guard saw me doing this, and casually reached down and pulled my balls loose, then picked up my cock and let it flop down.
I was amazed – I had never had another guy touch my cock or my balls before, and the casual way that the guard did it showed that he was used to handling men in this way. I blushed, and the guard saw me doing this and said “That’s another thing you’d better get used to. We don’t allow the stock to be modest about their equipment, or to have any feelings about being touched or inspected on any part of their body. Part of your punishment is to be deprived of any human rights, including those about control of any part of your body.”
We drove on, and soon I felt my cock starting to stir – most guys get lots of hard-ons a day, and I always found it particularly likely when I was driving along or in a bus. A couple of instants later, in spite of my nakedness and embarrassment, I was sporting a huge erection with my cock sticking vertically up from between my thighs. The guards started to laugh, and commented that it quite often happened to stock being transported this way.
The one who was driving took his right hand off the wheel and grasped my shaft, just below the head. “You want a little relief?”, he asked.
I told him to fuck off, and the next moment I was screaming in pain because his hand had moved down and was crushing my balls. “You’ve got to learn respect, son”, he said. “You always answer a master respectfully – especially when he’s trying to be nice to you!. Now, I’ll ask you again – do you want relief?”
Another agonising pain as my balls were gripped again.
“Son, you haven’t learned respect yet. ‘No, Master’ is what you say. Now, do you want relief?” “No, master”.
“That’s better”, said the guard, but then he started to jerk me off anyway. “You don’t really have an opinion about anything in future. Playing with your dick helps to take my mind off this boring freeway.”
Several times I almost shot my load, but he seemed to sense I was about to come and just as I got almost to the climax, he would stop rubbing me. But I was almost ready, and I felt ashamed as little rivulets of pre-cum trickled out of the end of my piss slit and ran down the cock shaft, covering his hands.
He got tired of this after a time, and suddenly held his hand up in front of my face. “Lick my hands clean, boy”, he said, “I don’t want to get the steering wheel sticky with your pre-cum”.
I resolutely refused to open my mouth, but his colleague leaned over and gripped my balls – I knew what was coming next, so before I could be caused any more pain I pushed out my tongue and cleaned up his fingers.
We drove on for an hour or so, and it was getting warm in the cab. Little rivulets of sweat were running from my armpits down over my naked ribs. The guard leaned over me and breathed in appreciatively “I always like the tang of healthy, fresh man sweat”, he told the driver. They then spent the time discussing various guys they had had sex with, and the ways that their sweat had slicked both bodies – I thought it was disgusting, and felt nauseous at the thought of two men being in such intimate body contact that they would slip and slide over each other’s bodies.
Signs for the jail in the next county started to appear, and after another half an hour or so we turned in through the gates. We must have been expected, because after the driver had stopped and gone onto the gate house, we were quickly waved through into a yard where there were two guards with three prisoners waiting. As I watched, the prisoners were told to strip out of their uniforms of T-shirts and jeans, and stood there in boxers. Handcuffs were produced, and each guys hands were cuffed in front of him, then one after the other they were led into the back of the truck.
Then it was my turn. The guard uncuffed me from the sides of the truck seat, and I was told to get out. All the guards looked me up and down as I jumped down, and again I was conscious that this was not the casual glance you might give another guy when you see him naked in the locker room, but rather a long, appraising look, as if they were judging my suitability for something. I was led around to the back of the truck, and the driver jumped down, holding three pairs of boxers in his hands.
I was told to get up inside, and then I saw the three other prisoners – all now completely naked, with their cuffed hands all hanging from the same hook in the truck’s ceiling. I was pushed together with them, and my hands similarly suspended.
One of the guys said to the guards “Hey, man, why have you taken our boxers? It’s bad enough being so close to these other guys, but without shorts, it’s disgusting!”
The guard only laughed in reply, and said “You guys don’t yet get it, do you? You’re going to the special facility in Arkansas for punishment. One of the ways in which that is done is to humiliate you, and it starts right here! You’ll arrive buck naked, and that’s how you’ll spend your time there. Better get used to it. And you’ll soon learn to be REAL close to your buddies!”
So there we were – four naked guys, forced into intimate closeness because of the way we were all hung from the same hook. The doors of the truck closed, and we were left in pitch blackness. Then the truck started off, and we realised that it was going to be a very rough ride as we started to sway and pitch against each other. The only way we could remain upright and not put a huge strain on our arms was to lock our legs around each others, so we ended up in a tight circle, facing each other, with our legs interlaced.
It was very hot in the truck, and sweat was poring off us. I could feel it trickling over my own body, and soon felt it mingling with that of my companions on either side. My hairy legs kept rubbing against theirs, too. In spite of my best efforts, the combination of the movement, the sweat, and the intimate closeness of the other guys started to give me an erection. The harder I tried to fight it down, the worse it seemed to get. My only consolation was that in the pitch black, the other guys would not see or even know that I was sporting a massive hard. But it soon became clear that they were in the same position, because my solid cock started to get hit by others, so closely were we all pressed.
The guy opposite me then started to talk, and said that his name was Mitch. He was 28, and was – or had been – in the US Marines, but had always been getting into trouble for insubordination. He had served a number of short spells in the glasshouse, and was almost kicked out of the Service. But he had seen active service and was such a good fighter that he had won an award for valour, and they thought that there would be a scandal if he was dismissed. But, he said, he couldn’t settle to “peacetime” life, and his general insubordination had continued. One day, instead of getting another spell in the glasshouse, he was told that he as being spend on a special government training programme – the “Arkansas experiment”, he called it. The Marines had said that this would get the wildness out of him, or, at least, give the problem to another branch of the government! He had been told that he would stay on this special training programme for the remainder of his enlisted period – l6 years.
The guy on my left was called Dave, and he was only 20. He had spent his childhood in children’s homes, then, when he had to leave them at l8, had mostly lived rough on the streets. He had been trying to get a job, but without proper education there was simply nothing, and he had had to beg. A cop had picked him up, and with only a cursory trial, he too, had been set to “The Arkansas experiment” for a period of not less than l0 years.
On the right was Jim, and, like me, he was a married guy. At 24 he already had three kids, and he couldn’t earn enough to support them. His whole family was on welfare, and he could see no way out – there just weren’t any jobs he could get that would pay him enough to support his wife and three children under the age of five. Then he had been offered a deal – if he would go “on the Arkansas experiment”, his wife’s Welfare payments would be doubled. He and his wife agreed to part, as this was the best thing he could do for the kids. The Welfare people had told him they were willing to pay his wife the extra if he left, because then “they wouldn’t breed any more kids that would be a continuing problem for the State”. He was very hazy about the details, but he thought that he had to stay on “the experiment” for at least l0 years.
I told them my story, and we clung together in hot, sweaty closeness. I had never been this close to other guys for so long before – our faces were close together and I could smell all their individual breaths. And our bodies were rubbing against each other, driving the smell of warm sweat up into our noses. As time went by another smell became apparent – like me, they were all sporting erections and the ammoniacal smell of pre-cum started to mingle with the lush moistness of the sweat from our bodies.
I don’t know how long we all hung there in intimate closeness, but the van did ultimately stop and the doors were thrown open. The driver and guard were standing there, and they laughed when they saw our erections. “Another bunch of guys too horny for their own good”, they said.
The guard unhooked us, and still cuffed we stumbled out of the back of the truck. We were in front of a low, concrete building with a US flag on a flagpole – the sort of building that unmistakably says “government”.
The guard shepherded us up the entrance, and we went along a corridor with cool thermoplastic tiles on the floor. In the air conditioning, my sweat-soaked body started to feel cold. We went into a room that had a tiled area in one corner, with a couple of shower heads over it. The guard undid our cuffs, and told us to go and shower.
Dave and I went to go under the two shower heads first, but the guard said “Now, boys, don’t be shy! All four of you together now. And the first lesson you have to learn here is that you don’t wash yourselves – slaves wash each other. Now, get scrubbing!”
I ignored the guard, and started to wash my hair with shampoo from a dispenser, and the next minute I was rolling on the floor in agony. The guard was standing over me with a small wand attached to a little black box. “Listen, boy, and listen good”, he said. “You do as you’re told here, first time, every time. You’ve just experienced out little obedience device – we call it the tickler – on one quarter power. It’s enough to knock you over with the pain. Don’t make me do it again, with the power turned up! Now, get up and back with the others, and wash each other!”
I had never had another guy shampoo me before. In the early days of our marriage I used to love my wife massaging my scalp when we showered together, but this was different. Mitch’s strong fingers rubbing the shampoo into me were quite different from the memories of my wife’s soft touch. And then, of course, I had to do the same for Mitch, and I rubbed the shampoo into his military-cut short hair.
But that was nothing compared to having another guy wash you. Of course you sometimes touch other guys accidentally in communal showers, but being pressed tightly together, with four guys under two shower heads, and having another man rub soapy hands all over your body is quite a different matter. And I had never really felt another man’s body myself, either – it was very strange to feel taught hard muscles under my hands, rather than a woman’s smoother, more silky body.
When we were mostly clean, I naturally reached down to soap my own cock and balls, but the guard gestured menacingly with his “tickler” and we all realised that we were meant to do that intimate service for each other, too. Jim had curly black hair, and I gently reached down and gingerly rubbed my soapy hands over his 4” uncut cock, then cradled his low-hanging balls in my hand. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be – it just felt like warm flesh – but then I realised that I was expected to clean under his foreskin, too. As gently as I could I pushed it back off his cock head, and ran the tip of my little finger underneath it to clear any lurking traces of smeg. I was uncircumcised, too, and I know that this always gives me a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach – probably because the bottom of your cock head is particularly sensitive if you’re not circumcised. I knew Jim must be feeling something similar, because there was just the trace of a little wriggle as my finger finished probing.
He then did the same for me, teasing the skin down from my head and ever so gently allowing the shower water to wash under my foreskin. But then he put his arm down behind me, and I felt his soapy fingers sliding between my ass cheeks. I blushed, for two reasons – another guy had never done that to me before, and I was still embarrassed by it. And because I knew I needed to do that for Jim, too. The crack between his cheeks was filled with his wiry black hair, and it felt rather like it does when you rub your own hand roughly up your own forearm, against the arm hairs.
The water then stopped running, and all four of us stood there dripping wet. We were tossed very small towels, and told to towel each other off. Rubbing another man’s body with a small scrap of towelling was another new sensation for me, as was having another guy pat my cock and balls to dry them, and rubbing a rough towel between my ass cheeks.
We were led off out of that room, down another corridor, and in to a door marked “Director”. There was a normal office inside, with a couple of secretaries sitting at PCs, phones ringing, and the walls lined with filing cabinets. Being naked in the truck was one thing, and having male guards watch you as you shower intimately with other guys was a new sensation too, but being naked in this normal “work” environment was quite another thing. All of us obviously felt the same, because we all instinctively reached down to shield our genitals with our hands.
“Hands behind your heads”, the guard rapped, and slowly we all obeyed. I could feel my cock stirring, and knew that it was only a short time before I would be sporting a raging erection. But the strangest thing was that the secretaries hardly looked at us at all- they went on typing and answering the phones just as if we were normal visitors, not four good-looking guys standing there totally nude!
We stood there for a few minutes, and then one of the secretaries said to the guard “The Director is free. Take them in now”, and he ushered us through the door into the inner office. There, behind a desk flanked with the US flag and the Arkansas state flag, was a guy in his mid forties. His desk was clear, except for a small block saying “Director” in crisp letters”.
“Ah”, he said, “The new recruits. I always like to look the new entrants to the programme over before we start work on them. And I like to explain what this programme is achieving. So listen carefully, because I will repeat nothing. In your new condition, you do not get to ask questions, so you had better hope that I cover everything in this briefing for you.”
“You are all on ‘The Arkansas Programme’, which has been set up by the Government to help us cut the numbers in prisons across the USA. We do this in two ways: firstly, you will be working here, and so you are not actually locked up. But the important way is that it will send a clear message to other young men not to offend, because they, too, might end up here! The programme has been running for five years already, and so far we have shown the life here to 8000 of the most hardened prisoners just before they were released from their normal sentences – we ship them in, for a day’s inspection tour. Re-offending rates amongst those 8000 are only l0% of the rates in a control group of similar prisoners who were not shown the programme.”
“We only have 750 on the programme currently, and as it has only been going for five years, we have had no “releases” so far. But all the indications are that we do convert hardened criminals like you into hardworking, obedient members of society. We expect that the re-offence rate when you do get out will be zero, as you will not want to return here.”
“So the Government wins every way. We do not have to house 750 prisoners in a jail.
Re-offence rates amongst other prisoners have been dramatically cut. And we get useful members of society when you do eventually leave. And whilst you are here, you work – and work hard! The work you do more than pays for your keep, and so the whole ‘Arkansas Programme’ actually costs nothing.”
“Let me tell you about the programme. You will be processed to ensure that you cannot escape. We do this in two ways – electronically, and by marking your bodies. Then you will be auctioned off to local companies who need workers. They can bid for your services for periods of between one month and one year. During the time you are with a company, you will work seven days a week. The have the right to administer corporal punishment if you are not working hard enough, and generally those that use us a lot employ guards to oversee you and mete out the punishment as necessary. They are not allowed to damage you physically permanently, so they cannot for example cut off a limb if you fail to work. But whipping is permissible, and is indeed the option we recommend”.
“At the end of the work period, you are brought back here and entered into the next auction, where you may go back to the previous employer, or to a new employer. We hold one auction a week, and generally we have about l0 men in each because of the arrival of new workers like you, or the turnover of contracts. You do not, of course, have any say in the type of work you do or who employs you – it is purely a matter of the auction price.”
“All this talk of hard work for different employers, seven days a week, and with corporal punishment if you do not work hard enough is not the reason why our programme is so successful, however. The real reason that it is such a deterrent is that you are utterly humiliated whilst you are taking part. You will remember that I said we tagged you electronically and marked your body to prevent escape. That body marking is designed to be humiliating and in order that it is most effective, we require your employers to keep you naked at all times. We also control your sexual life, and you are only allowed to jerk off when your employer gives you permission to. Penetrative sex with women is absolutely forbidden, but your employer has the right to use you for his own sexual pleasures in whatever way he chooses.”
“The seven days a week work, punishment, sexual control and humiliation add up to a unique way of reshaping fine young man flesh like you so that you become subservient and lose any hint of rebelliousness. As a shorthand, we refer to you simply as ‘slaves’, because that is the closest analogue to the way in which you will in future live your lives.”
“Now take them for their medical.”
And with that, he waved to the guard in a gesture of dismissal and we were led away out of his office.