By rts
As I sat there cooling down in that spring I began to feel the water leaking into my suit through the rear zipper. This felt good so I reached down for the pull tab on my crotch zipper and fumbling for a grip in my thick gloves I managed to slide it open and lowered my butt into the water so that it could flow around my overheated balls and down into my legs filling the boots. I lifted each water filled leg letting the water wash out the accumulated sweat. I did this several times, then I turned around and lay down with my head downstream to the water flow and enjoyed its coldness as it began to fill the torso and arms of my suit.
The water washed away much of the external mud that had coated me the wet rubber shinning and when I stood up lifting my arms the water poured from my un-zipped crotch washing out the rest of the sweat that had been trapped inside. Stepping out of the stream I sat down and again lifted each leg high making sure all the water drained out then I closed the crotch zipper. I knelt down and drank as much water as I could, then filled both buckets. I had an idea as to how to deal with this ball and chain on my return through the mud hole. I took the chain between my legs up my chest and passed it looped around my neck, the 20 pound steel ball hanging down in front. My stiff posture collar offered some protection but the full weight of the ball and chain pressed on my shoulders painfully. I would have to be careful with my balance as I struggled through that mud carrying the two pails of water (another 30 pounds).
The light comes on, the cell door swings open, another day of hell begins after another miserable night in sweaty leathers with butt plug torment. A single skinhead steps in and says, “Fag prisoner #5, get your butt over the squat toilet and present your ass.” Jake crawls on hands and knees, chains rattling, over the dirt floor and waits by the pit. The skinhead unlocks and removes jakes’s muzzle and the crotch strap from the harness, unzips his butt access and proceeds with the enema.
My harness is restrictive, stiff and heavy. The tight crotch cradles my butt and affects my walking. The other prisoners all have shaved heads and look to be around my age and physical build. There are three skinheads walking with us, and each has one of those control-box shockers that seems to control two prisoners. A fourth skin (the one from the gas station) is definitely in charge of the others. All four of them are booted in 20-hole Rangers, dirty Levi’s bleaches held up and pulled tight on their butts by braces and showing significant bulges, mostly stained with piss.
