By Robmacz

After being told that he had no right to a phone call Tom turned around and looked at his cell. It reminded him of the cell he was in only a few days before, a bed, a wash basin and toilet, but nothing else. The one main difference was that there was a solid wall separating him from the cells either side and he could only look out of the bars and see a short corridor that led to the area where Charlie’s desk was. Only one of the other cells was occupied and that was by a drunk. Tom could smell the drink and sick coming from his cell, which was not helped by the heat of the place. It seemed as though this was the only part of the terminal building without air conditioning.

Tom spent the rest of the day and night in the cell. No one came to collect him. His only interaction was being brought some food and drink. This consisted of a sandwich and some water in the evening and a sandwich and some coffee for breakfast. For the rest of the time he was alone with his thoughts. He tried to make sense of what had happened to him, but couldn’t. He was sure that once the US Marshals arrived they would sort this out and he would be free to go.

The Marshals arrived at about 10am the following day. Two of them, dressed casually. One in a check shirt, chinos and brown boots, the other in a navy t-shirt, jeans and white trainers. Both wore jackets with ‘US MARSHAL’ on the back and both carried fire arms on their hips.

The two Marshals were escorted down to the holding cell area.  Charlie took them over to the cell that Tom was in.

‘Good morning Mr Yates’ said the one in the check shirt. ‘I’m Deputy US Marshal Peel and this is Deputy US Marshal Thompson. We will be escorting you to the facility in New York where you will commence your sentence. If you are fully cooperative with us you will find it a much more comfortable experience. If you resist in any way we are authorised to use whatever force is necessary. Do you understand?’

‘I do, but there has been some terrible mistake. My name is Thomas Matthews, I’m not this Yates guy, you can check…’

‘Let me be clear Mr Yates, we are not here to investigate any crimes, we are here to escort you to prison. Are we clear?’

‘But you don’t understand.’

‘Are we clear Mr Yates?’

‘Yes’

‘And are you going to cooperate?’

‘Yes sir.’

Thompson turned to Charlie and asked whether the prisoner had been fully searched. Charlie informed him that he had only had a pat down and that they had also pulled his suit case from the plane.

‘Okay we need to give the prisoner a full strip search, do you have a room we can use?’

Charlie showed them into a small room with a table.

‘This will do fine,’ Thompson said.

Charlie fetched the suitcase and brought it into the room and Thompson put on a pair of white latex gloves and opened it up and checked the contents. Peel went back to Tom’s cell told him that if he wanted to take a piss, now was the time, because he wouldn’t get much chance for several hours. Tom decided he would, but found it difficult to go while Peel was watching him. Eventually he did and was ordered by Peel to turn around and place his hands through the slot. Tom felt the cuffs snap round his writs. His dick was getting hard again.

Tom was taken into the room where Thompson had his belongings spread across the table. Peel uncuffed Tom’s hands and leant against the door, blocking any escape attempt.

‘Okay, strip off.’ Thompson said.

Tom knew what was meant. He kicked off his flip flops and removed his polo shirt and shorts. His light blue boxer briefs had a large wet stain of precum and his dick was erect. He pulled the boxers down and hoped there wouldn’t be a cavity search, given what had happened before.

Fortunately for him there wasn’t. Thompson inspected his mouth, ears, hair and feet before telling him to bend and spread and pull back his foreskin. As he did so, Thompson noticed it was leaking precum.

‘Okay get dressed.’

Tom asked if he could change his clothes as the clothes he was wearing smelled. Thompson agreed he could take what he wanted from what was on the table, which he had already thoroughly inspected.

Tom picked out some clean underwear, a pair of pink Ralph Lauren boxer briefs, not an ideal choice for going to prison, but he had limited choice. He put on one of his freshly laundered white shirts, carefully rolling the sleeves up to show off his thick forearms. He wasn’t quite sure why he was doing this. He hardly needed to look his best. Then he put on his suit trousers, a pair of black socks and his loafers.

Thompson started to put Tom’s belongings back in his case, while at the same time Peel was unclipping a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

‘Hands out in front’ he ordered.

Tom did as he was told and the cuffs were applied quickly. Peel produced a black box to cover the handcuffs which made them rigid and then a belly chain which secured the cuffs in place. The chain was padlocked, so there was now no way for Tom to move his hands. Tom saw Peel now held a pair of leg shackles which he applied to his ankles.  Now Tom was doubly glad he had changed clothes and that he had socks on.

Tom was led out of the room fully chained. He was now quite scared about what would happen to him, but at the same time he felt very horny. He was glad his hands were cuffed in front as they helped to hide his boner, which was still raging as he was escorted out of the cell block and up in the elevator.

They were soon in the area where Tom had been brought the previous day. Peel stopped at an office and signed some paperwork and then both he and Thompson escorted Tom out into the main part of the terminal. Waiting for them was an electric cart, the type that’s used to drive the elderly or disabled around an airport. This time it was for a prisoner transfer. Tom was ordered on and sat next to Thompson in the back while Peel sat alongside the driver.

As the cart moved off Tom asked where they were going.

‘We’re taking you back to prison, or to prison, since you never actually got there.’ Thompson said.

‘Yes, but where is it?’

‘Listen to this guy. He never even bothered to check out the prison where he is to spend the next 20 years. At least!  If you fuck up in prison the way you fucked up getting to prison, you’ll be looking at a lot more time.’

Tom swallowed hard. He now remembered the plain clothes guy yesterday saying something about 20 years, but at that point he was concentrating on this being a mistaken identity.  Then it didn’t really register, but now it did, and Tom’s predicament seemed to get a whole lot worse.

‘We’re flying you to New York and you will be transported by road from there. We’ll be boarding the flight shortly before the other passengers get on. We don’t want you to frighten them, now do we.’

Already people were staring at Tom as he was driven to the gate, his predicament obvious to anyone who cared to look in his direction. They eventually arrived at the gate where a Boeing 767 destined for LaGuardia was waiting for them. Fortunately, the flight had not been called and there were only a handful of passengers hanging about.

What Tom didn’t realise was the guy sitting a couple of rows back wearing a t-shirt and jeans with trainers, baseball cap and dark glasses was actually Chris. He watched as Tom was helped off the cart and shuffled along with the two Marshals either side of him. Chris found the sight incredibly horny and loved the way that Tom was fully chained up. He watched until he was out of sight before returning to his newspaper.

Tom was led to a seat as far back in the plane as it was possible to be. He sat in between the two Marshals and the three of them were in the middle block of the plane. After about 20 minutes other passengers started to enter. No one took any notice of him. The other passengers were only able to see his head above the seats. The plane wasn’t filled to capacity and the airline had kept the seats around him free. It was not until about half an hour into the flight, when a passenger needed to use the toilet at the back of the plane, that someone noticed him sitting there in cuffs and shackles. From then on, a number of people made a visit to the toilet to take a look for themselves. Tom kept his head down. He didn’t want to make eye contact with any of them. This of course meant he missed Chris, who had bided his time and made his trip to the toilet only after several others had made their way to the back of the plane. He guessed correctly that Tom would not want to make eye contact with anyone and so he was able to see all he wanted to.

After the plane landed at LaGuardia, Tom and the Marshals remained seated while all the other passengers disembarked. As soon as he was off the plane Chris made a dash to ensure that he could get to the place his special friend had told him would provide a good vantage point. Not needing to collect any luggage, he was able to make it out of the terminal building with plenty of time to spare. He could see the US Marshals’ van parked towards the end of the road that led past the terminal building. He hurried along and managed to find a bench very close by. He sat down and took out his newspaper and waited.

About 10 minutes later he saw Tom being escorted by the same two Marshals who were with him on the plane. Tom was shuffling along in his shackles and the two Marshals were holding his arms. When he saw them the driver of the van jumped out and opened the sliding door at the side. Tom was helped to climb in and a seat belt was pulled across him. Peel jumped in the back of the van alongside him while Thompson rode shotgun. The van pulled away and Chris lamented that he wouldn’t see Tom again for another six weeks.

To be continued…