A Game of Chance – Part 03

By Robmacz

After an electric afternoon in bed together Tom fell asleep and Chris took the opportunity to make a phone call to his special friend. It was a short call, for Chris had been planning this game for years and Tom seemed the ideal player. Chris’s special friend confirmed that he would be able to make the arrangements, but he needed Chris to do a couple of things first. So as soon as he had finished the call, Chris went through Tom’s suitcase and quickly found his passport. He photographed each of the pages and forwarded them in an email. Then he called Elliott, who told him that of course he would be delighted to provide what Chris asked for as a memento and would email it straight away.

His work complete, Chris took a shower and went back into the bedroom where Tom was still asleep.

‘Wake up sleepyhead, the cocktail hour beckons.’

Tom opened his eyes. ‘What time is it.’

‘Time to get up.’

‘I was having such a great dream.’

‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘Well basically we did all that we did this afternoon, but instead of being here in bed, we were in a jail cell. Man it was so hot.’

‘Well we’ll have to see what we can do about that. Now are you going to take a shower and get dressed? I need a drink.’

Tom took a shower, but it did nothing to cool off his libido. Nor did the sight of Chris in his cream linen suit with a Prussian blue silk shirt, and brown Italian leather shoes.

‘And I thought you travelled light’ said Tom.

‘I knew I would be staying here before we went to jail, so I had a few things sent on ahead. Now the valet has pressed your suit, your shirts are all laundered and your shoes polished.’

Tom dried himself off before starting to get dressed. He had to tuck his boner into his boxer briefs. He was surprised it was still standing to attention after all the activity it had had that afternoon. He put on a white shirt and his suit. He looked a bit formal compared to Chris but he wore a suit well and Chris seemed to approve.

Tom had a tremendous evening, fabulous food, good wine and great company in Chris. It was such a shame that he would have only one more day before heading back home. He felt a connection to Chris that he had not felt with another guy in many years and hoped that they would see more of each other in the months ahead.

‘What are you thinking?’ Chris asked as they were sipping their coffee.

‘Oh, I was just thinking what a great time I have had but I’ll be back home in two days and back to work in three.’

‘How do you feel about your work? I know you said when we were in jail that you felt you had done a proper day’s work and actually achieved something.’

‘That’s exactly it. We cleared a yard together. I won’t do anything that fulfilling for the next year at work. I guess prison puts things into perspective.’

‘It sure does, but the food sucks.’

‘It sure does, but hey they give you all a guy really needs.’

The following day was spent swimming and relaxing on the beach. In the evening they decided to forego the restaurant in favour of room service. Chris had ordered champagne and caviar and that eventually led them back into bed. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much sex and guessed it would be a while before he did so again.

The following morning Tom had woken early. He always did when he had to be somewhere. Chris had arranged for Joseph to drive him to Raleigh-Durham airport which, once he had changed his ticket, would allow him to fly to London via a one hour stop in New York.

Tom took a shower and then dressed in a white polo shirt and beige shorts with flip flops, putting the rest of his clothes in his bag and locking it closed. He made some coffee and took one into Chris, who was waking up.

‘You’re ready already?’

‘Yeah, I can’t sleep when I know I have to travel. Thank you for such a great week. You were an awesome cell mate and this has been a real treat to end the week off.’

‘So if I said you could spend a week with me next year either here or in Jail, what would it be?’

‘Well this has been lovely, but it’s so hot being locked up behind bars.’

‘Yeah man, I get you.’

Three hours later, having said his goodbyes to Chris and been driven to the airport by Joseph, Tom was getting out of the BMW. Joseph handed him his luggage and wished him a pleasant trip. Tom walked into the airport terminal, the cool of the air conditioning making a nice contrast to the heat of the outside. Tom picked up a couple of magazines from the newsstand before heading to the check-in desk for his flight. There was not much of a queue and within five minutes he had his boarding pass and was heading for the departure lounge through passport check and security.

The wait for the passport check was not so quick. Eventually Tom got to the front of the queue – before being called to one of the desks, where a man in uniform inspected his passport. Tom didn’t see the flicker of recognition in the man’s face as he reached down to press the buzzer.

‘What has been the purpose of your visit to the United States Mr Matthews?’

‘I’ve been on holiday.’

The main behind the desk spent some time looking through the passport before glancing up to see two of his colleagues approach Tom from behind.

‘Mr Matthews?’ One of them said.

Tom turned round startled. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you come with us please.’

One of the officers took Tom’s passport from the man at the desk. The other one unclipped his handcuffs from his belt.

‘Would you place your hands behind your back sir.’

‘What…what’s going on?’

‘You’re not under arrest at this time sir, but we are detaining you.’

Tom felt his hands being pulled behind him and the cuffs snapping round his wrists. He had been used to this. After all, how many times had he been cuffed over the last week? But this was different. Before, he had expected it, but this was unexpected, scary. And yet his dick was hard as it had been when he was cuffed before, twitching, excited, like a volcano as the magma bubbles away, but not quite ready to spew its lava.

With an officer at each side of him, Tom was escorted past the waiting onlookers. He could hear people discussing him, asking what they thought he had done, was he a terrorist or a drug smuggler. Eventually they came to a plain door with a keypad. One of the officers pushed some buttons and the door released. Once inside he saw a corridor lined with doors. Other guys, in the same uniform as the officers escorting him, were walking up and down the corridor and in and out of the rooms on each side. The officers stopped at a room about half way down. There was a window into the room showing a table and a few chairs. One of the guards punched some numbers into another key pad and Tom was led inside and seated on a steel chair behind the steel table.

‘You’d better get some shackles’ one of the officers said.

The other officer returned within seconds carrying some leg shackles. Which he bent down and snapped around Tom’s legs.

‘I demand to know what all this is about’ said Tom, sounding most indignant, though the leg shackles were doing nothing to hold back the volcano.

Tom’s hands were uncuffed from behind his back and he was told to sit. In the middle of the table was a D ring with a pair of hand cuffs fed through the middle. As Tom sat down these cuffs were locked on his wrists. The officers then left the room. Tom was in a state of shock, he could not comprehend what was happening to him. It was not for several minutes that he realised that the mirror he was facing was in fact the window he had looked through earlier. There were likely to be people outside watching him, but what did they think he had done?

There were indeed people looking at him from the other side of the mirror. A man in a white shirt, red tie and rolled up sleeves held up a photo that had been circulated that morning.

‘Well, it definitely looks like him, let’s get him finger printed for a formal ID.’

By this point Tom was very confused. Surely, he thought. there wasn’t anything illegal about what had happened at the roleplay jail. Everyone involved were consenting adults. Who, he wondered, did they think he actually was?

A few minutes later Tom was being uncuffed from the table. His hands were then cuffed again in front and he was led out of the room, taking small steps due to the shackles, and down the corridor and into a small room. Here he had his finger prints taken on a scanner and made to stand against a height chart for a mugshot. He was then led back to the room, the shackles now biting into his bare legs as he took each step. Once inside he was again cuffed to the table and waited.

‘We’ve got a match Sir, it’s definitely him.’ One of the officers said to the man in the white shirt and tie. ‘His details were only released this morning, giving us his alias, so a good result.’

‘Well I think it’s time we had a word with Mr Yates.’

Tom was sitting facing the mirror, his hands cuffed to the table in front of him, his legs shackled. He was scared, not knowing what was going on. It must be a mistake whatever it was. But at the same time he was sexually excited, his dick hard, wondering how long he could prevent the inevitable explosion in his boxers. As he had demonstrated when he came during his strip search, he was never very good at controlling when he was about to shoot a load.

The door opened and the man in the white shirt and tie came in with one of the officers. The officer stood against the wall while the other man took a seat in front of Tom.

‘Well, well Mr Yates, it seems that we’ve caught up with you.’

‘Yates? There must be some mistake. My name is Matthews, Thomas Matthews, my passport proves it.’

‘Well no doubt in due course they will add travelling on a false passport to the escapee charges, but for now we need to get you transported to the prison you were meant to surrender yourself to.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘John Philip Yates, born 22/05/1984 in Nottingham UK, Joint British/US national living in New York, convicted of wire fraud, tax evasion, and bank embezzlement two months ago and sentenced to 20 years in prison. Given bail to put his affairs in order, was due to report to the Federal Penitentiary last week but failed to do so. Your finger prints prove you are indeed John Philip Yates.’

‘There must be some mistake, I want to see a lawyer, I’m entitled to see one.’

‘No, you are being held here as a fugitive from justice. You have no right to an attorney. You will be held here until the US Marshals send someone to pick you up, which could be later today, but most likely tomorrow.’

Then turning to the officer in the corner of the room: ‘You’d better lock him up.’

The officer came over and unlocked Tom’s hands from the cuffs on the table and cuffed them in front of him. He led Tom out into the corridor slowly, as Tom could only shuffle along in his chains. At the end of the corridor there was an elevator. Tom stepped inside, followed by the officer, who pressed the B button on the floor selection panel. Tom felt the lift descending. His throat was dry, he couldn’t comprehend what was happening to him.

As the elevator came to a halt the doors opened and the officer escorted him out into a brightly lit room with white walls. In the centre was a desk with another officer in the same uniform sitting behind it.

‘Hey Charlie, we got a fugitive here. Marshals will come for him later today or tomorrow. You got a cell for him until they arrive?’

‘Yeah, sure Pete. Put him in number 2. What’s his name?’

‘Yates, details all here.’ Officer Pete said as he handed over a file to Charlie.

Tom emptied his pockets and took off his watch and signet ring – the ring he had inherited from his father on his death and was now the fourth generation to own. Officer Pete led Tom over to Cell 2.  Before he entered, Pete removed the shackles that had been biting into the prisoner’s bare leg. Tom, now a practiced inmate, automatically held out his hands to be uncuffed, but Officer Pete ushered him into the cell before letting him put his hands through the slot. As Tom put them through, he asked if it was possible to have a phone call. At present no one knew where the real Tom was, or so he thought.

About the time Tom was being locked in his cell Chris received a phone call from his special friend to say that all was going to plan. The game had commenced.

To be continued…

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3 thoughts on “A Game of Chance – Part 03”

  1. I was once detained at JFK Airport in NYC – they were looking for a fugitive felon and zeroed in on me, even though I looked nothing like the guy. I wish I had Tom’s experience – all I had was some idiot kid who took me to the security office and some lumpy old guy who looked at my passport and told me to go home.

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