By Arrest22

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was about noon on a Friday. I work overnights, so I was just beginning my weekend. I was flying down the highway on 680. I was wearing dark blue jeans, my Friday staple, a midnight blue polo, and birkenstocks. I changed into my sandals after hitting the gym at work.

Sometimes when the music hits, you lose track of time. In my case, I also lost track of my speedometer.

I saw the blue lights in my rearview before I heard them.

“FUCK!” I exclaimed loudly to no one.

I found a safe place to pull over. Doing so was not the easiest task as it was lunch hour on a Friday. I could hear the cop car telling me to pull over from their loud speaker. It was annoying because that’s exactly what I was trying to do.

Once everything was situated, a uniformed man approached my car. He was about six feet. Muscley, with tattoos. He was definitely someone I would swipe right on. However, these were different circumstances.

“Do you know how the fuck fast you were going?” he asked. His tone was very reminiscent of my high school bullies. In another life, I could hear him saying “You’re such a fucking faggot.”

“No, officer,” I said.

“You were going 85! This here is a 65. License and registration. NOW,” he said.

I inherently rolled my eyes behind my aviator sunglasses.

“Boy, don’t you roll your eyes at me,” he said.

It’s like he had X-ray vision.

I handed him my license and registration and stepped away from the car for about five minutes or so.

This is where things started to go bad.

He returned to my vehicle.

“Get out, NOW,” he demanded.

I opened the door and stepped out.

“HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!”

“What?” I asked.

“YOU HEARD ME. HANDS BEHIND YOUR FUCKING BACK. NOW,” he said.

I complied. He applied the hinged handcuffs. Cold metal feels inexorable against your wrists. I did get a little hard though.

He walked me back to the car. I was in shock.

“What’s this all about officer?” I asked, slightly scared at my predicament.

“Seems like you have a warrant out for your arrest. Armed robbery, three counties over,” he said.

“That’s impossible! I’ve never stolen anything in my life,” I said.

“That’s not what this warrant says. It also classifies you as a flight risk,” he said.

At that moment he went to the back and opened his trunk. I had no idea what was happening.

He came back with a pair of shackles and snapped them over my ankles.

“What the fuck is this shit?” I asked.

“What we do for all flight risks,” he replied.

“Come on dude, this is fucking ridiculous. You have me cuffed, where the fuck am I going to go?” At that moment, my boner strengthened.

“You know what, I’ve had enough out of you,” he said. He was really pissed at this point.

He then proceeds to lay me down in the back seat. In one swift motion, he grabbed another pair of cuffs and attached them to the shackles and the handcuffs. I was then in a hog cuffed position. My sunglasses fell off during this process.

During this process, one of my sandals also flew off of my foot.

I am now hog cuffed, in the back seat with one sole completely bare. The other soul inside of my body was getting there.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I exclaimed.

I couldn’t really see fully at this point, but I believe he grabbed my sandal that fell. He did not put it back on my foot, but I felt the weight of it after he tossed it in on my back.

“Don’t forget this, motherfucker. Get comfortable,” he said.

He slammed the door, and off we went.

The ride to the jail was at least 20 minutes. It does not sound like a long time, but when your hog cuffed in the back of a cop car, it feels like an eternity.

At some point, he radioed back to dispatch that he had me in custody.

We pulled up to the jail.

He opened the door. At this point, my limbs were in pain. It was like the worst yoga position you could be in.

Two other guys joined him.

“What do we have going on here,” one asked.

“This is Spencer Smith, wanted for armed robbery in Solano County,” he said.

That wasn’t my name. Didn’t seem like it mattered, but just for the record.

“He was giving me some lip, so I decided to teach him a lesson,” he said.

“Nice,” one of the guys replied.

“Are you going to come quietly, or do you like being in this position,” he asked.

“Fuck off, all of you,” I replied.

“Have it your way,” the original officer replied.

At that point, they pulled me out of the car, still hog cuffed, and carried me into the jail. One officer grabbed my left arm, another grabbed the right. My other sandal dropped.

I wasn’t really paying that close of attention, but the cell was maybe 500 feet away. My bare feet were dangling the entire time. They put me down on my chest.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” one of the men said. “Right now my buddy has a taser pointed on your ass.”

Indeed, I could feel this to be the case.

“I am going to release the cuffs connecting your arms and legs. If you give us ANY trouble whatsoever, get ready to ride the lightning,” he said.

I acquiesced, not wanting to get tased.

They did this. My hands and ankles were still cuffed, although it was good not to feel like a pretzel.

They stood me up.

“Sit down on the bench,” the original arresting officer exclaimed.

I did. This was the first time I got a good look at the other two guys. They were just as built as the other guy. One was blond. Short hair, but not buzzed. He looked like he could have been a model in his younger years. The other had red hair, and freckles. Both were jacked.

“Alright,” said the blond. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We have to get booking ready. So you’re going to sit here until that happens.”

“What about the cuffs?” I asked. “And by the way, I don’t know who the fuck Spencer Smith is, but it’s not me.”

“Cuffs stay on while we get ready. And we are not judges, nor are we the jury. We just arrest bad guys like you,” the blond one said.

“Clearly, there’s been some mistake,” I replied.

“The only mistake might be the fact that we let you out of that hog cuff. If you want to stay out of it, I suggest you shut the fuck up,” the original officer with the tattoos replied.

The cell door closed. My bare feet on the concrete felt cold. My hands writhed, pointlessly, from time to time while I waited. I had never had shackles on before, and the only handcuffing I experienced was consensually in the bedroom. This was a new experience. I was not going to lie, I was a little turned on. I had gotten that boner in the back of the cop car. But when the guys picked me up, it went away just because of the pain my body was experiencing. Now that I was slightly more comfortable in my uncomfortableness, it was returning.

It was about an hour before the red-headed guard returned.

“Alright, Mr. Smith, please come with me,” he said.

He walked into my cell and escorted me up. I shuffled as best as I could with him to the booking area. At one point I tripped, he caught me.

“Get your shit together,’ he said.

He marched me to the booking area. Only then did he remove the cuffs. He knelt down and started with my ankles. He then finally took my handcuffs off. I had been in them for about two hours at this point.

I stood in front of a camera where we took booking photos. First the front, he then had me turn to the left, and then the right. I saw the name.

Smith, Spencer DOB August 6, 1988. I think I was possibly most offended at that moment that they thought that I was 37. I was 30. And this isn’t even my name, what the fuck?

He then led me to a fingerprinting station. They don’t use ink anymore. It’s all a digital process as I soon found out.

I was then taken into another cell.

“Take your clothes off,” the red-head replied.

“Officer, normally you have to buy me dinner first,” I said.

“Shut the fuck up smart ass! I will tase you,” he replied. “Here’s how this works. Your feet are already bare, so we’re good there. Take your jeans off.”

I did as I was told.

“Shirt,” he said.

I took off my midnight blue polo, not knowing when I would see it again.

“Underwear,” he said.

I handed him my black Calvin Kleins.

“Turn around,” he said.

I did as I was told.

“Lift up your left foot and wiggle it around,” he said.

My feet were freezing at this point. I did as I was told.

“Do the same with your right foot,” he said.

I repeated the motion.

“Kneel down,” he said.

I knelt.

“Spread your cheeks and cough three times,” he said.

“What, for real?” I said.

“Do it or you’ll ride the lightning and be hog cuffed naked,” he said.

For a brief moment, my boner considered returning. But I did as I was told.

“Stand back up and face me,” he said. “Lift up your nuts.”

I did it.

“Peel your shaft on your dick back,” he said.

I did that.

“Good enough,” he said. “Stand and face forward. Don’t move.”

He briefly left the cell and returned.

I was handed a black-and-white striped jumpsuit, wife beater undershirt, and plastic sandals. No socks, no underwear.

“Get dressed,” he said with no fanfare.

I got dressed. The black-and-white jumpsuit was a little snug, and a little short. I’m average height, about 5’10,” but there was a good two inches of each of my ankles showing.

“Great. Kneel down on the bench,” he said.

I did so. The shackles went back on.

“What, again?” I said.

“Yes, and guess what, they’re staying on. Prisoner rule, shackles stay on inside of your cell, we find it effective for dealing with flight risks, like you. Stand up.”

I stood.

“Hands on top of your head,” he said.

I put the hands on top of my head, and a belly chain engulfed my waist. Each hand was led down to the side and snapped inside of a handcuff.

“Turn around,” he said. “MOVE!”

I thought because of my predicament, I was getting more used to the shackles. Annoying, but no tripping the entire time he marched me to my permanent cell.

Once we arrived, he removed the belly chain, instructing me to then put my hands on top of my head again. The whole thing reminded me of Simon Says.

He then told me I could sit on the bunk.

“Like I said, shackles stay on Mr. Smith,” he said.

“Once again, that’s not my real name,” I replied, defeated at this point.

“Once again, I don’t care what kind of lies you tell yourself, they’ve apparently all caught up with you, so you can deny who you are all you want, but you’re in state custody now motherfucker. We will feed you at some point. Sorry, our chef is on vacation,” he said wryly.

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

“Any more commentary like that, I will hog cuff your ass again, lights out at 10 pm, It’s Friday, so you won’t see the judge until Monday. Have fun,” he said.

He stepped out of the cell, which was big enough for two, and the door shut behind him. By this point, I was looking for a release.

I jacked off and cleaned myself up with the prison toilet paper.

Little did I know at that point, I should have waited.

I was going to have a visitor.

Metal would like to thank the author, Arrest22, and welcome him to the Prison Library!