Stories of Tie Up Games

I am sure that the business managers will keep a careful eye on the value for money he might generate.

@blackbound, @Bradstick, @Caldo203, @harveygasson, @Jb99, @Red86, @Snozzberry , and @Wedgieboy69 .


The holiday camp continues:

The Foreman returned from “modifying the behaviour” of the unfortunate in the metal frame and Rhys could hear his voice in front of him. “While you are here, you will receive physiotherapy and your recovery will be monitored but you will also spend eight hours a day working. You have seen the other outlaws turning the handles and you have seen the treadmills. You will spend two hours on each before the physio even gets to see you. If your major wound opens once you’ve been on the treadmill, you will be confined to cranking the handle. Did you know that prison officers are called “screws” because of that device? No, no-one does. But, don’t worry, as long as you work hard, the screw won’t be too tight and the crank will be quite easy to turn. You have to crank that handle and build up an electrical charge. You’ll be safe all the while the device is charging. As soon as you’re not charging the battery fast enough, a switch will flip and your collar will discharge into your body. I’m sure you understand.”

Rhys nodded. “Take him over.” The clamps holding Rhys’s ankles immobile were released and Rhys was spun round and lifted to his feet. He was walked over to the nearest handle and his ankles were clamped with his left ankle about thirty centimetres in front of his right one and slightly to the left of it so that Rhys could adopt a stable and driving stance as he turned the handle. The clamps were firm but at least they were padded to avoid any unnecessary abrasion. The slave unlocked Rhys’s wrists and attached each one to a short chain at either end of the padded grip on the handle.

Rhys heard a “Mnnn, mnn” noise from the slave as he helped him to start turning the handle. Rhys immediately took the hint and started work. Being new to the ordeal, Rhys started off far too fast in order to avoid punishment and two hours of blindfolded toil was unmanageable at that rate and, before his time was up, Rhys suffered three electric shocks. He had a long time to learn to get it right.

“Ogh, ogh” Rhys felt a steadying hand on his arm and he was relieved when he received no further electric shocks as he tentatively slowed down and came to an eventual stop. His arms ached and his back ached more than it had ever done before. Christ, he needed a break.

Rhys felt his wrists being unlocked from the chains before they were almost immediately padlocked behind him once more. As he stood breathing heavily, he realised why his gag had not been so tightly applied, it was difficult enough to breathe as it was at present. Having been unable to move his legs to any extent for the past two hours, Rhys collapsed almost immediately when his ankles were released from their clamps. “Mnhh, mnhh.” And Rhys struggled to his feet with the assistance of the fingers inserted between his neck and the metal ring around it. He was led over a short distance until he felt that soft surface under his feet again. He seemed to have been returned to his cage. Before leaving and locking the door, the slave connected Rhys’s ankles again. Rhys slumped to the relatively soft floor and ended with his back slumped against the bars.

Rhys was left for about half an hour by which time he’d managed to stretch himself out and lie, more comfortably or, at least, less uncomfortably on his side. At the end of his break time Rhys heard the cage door open again and felt himself lifted to a sitting position and propped against one wall of his cage. “Mnhh, mnhh.” Rhys felt something being pushed between the bit in his mouth and his lower lip. He soon realised that it was a tube and he sucked gratefully on the water that it was delivering. After a short while, Rhys grunted in return and the slave withdrew the straw. Rhys grunted his thanks and nodded in the direction in which he hoped the slave was positioned.

As soon as Rhys’s ankles were unlocked again, he was pulled to his feet and escorted to his next task. He stubbed his toe against something and concluded correctly that he needed to take a step up. Having done so, he felt the “ground” to be somewhat unsteady underfoot. His next surmise, that he was inside the treadmill, was also correct. He was forced to turn right and he felt something being hooked onto his metal neck ring.

He heard the Foreman again. “We find that criminals who work in the treadmill while they are blindfolded tend to trip and fall a lot. Imagine the stress on their necks before they manage to get to their feet again on an unstable surface.” As he said this, the Foreman rocked the wheel slightly with his foot. Rhys staggered. I am sure you won’t do anything to get your blindfold replaced once it has been removed; imagine how difficult it would be to do enough work to avoid that nasty shock collar.” Rhys’s blindfold was pulled down round his neck and the door to the wheel was locked. The first electric shock was enough of a hint that he should start walking.

The constant slightly uphill walk for the next two hours was demanding, especially without the assistance of his arms, but he was glad that he wasn’t working under the same conditions as the criminal beside him. He was about twenty-five years old and Rhys could occasionally catch a glimpse of a thick “7” tattooed on his muscular left pec. He, like Rhys, was somewhat lacerated but unlike Rhys he was blindfolded and, instead of being loosely tethered to the spindle by his neck, his wrists were drawn high and he was tethered by them. There was much loss of footing and subsequent muted screaming as his collar fired and his arms were stressed until he could resume his task. It reinforced Rhys’s conviction that it was better to try to cooperate than to risk being treated even more harshly.

Rhys heard the Foreman again. “Phys324, stop.” Rhys came gradually to a halt and clumsily ensured that he retained his footing as the wheel rocked slightly. By the time he was called to a halt, there can’t have been a muscle on Rhys’s body that didn’t hurt. “Wound OK. He’ll be back on the wheel later. Take him out and feed him.”





The gate to the treadmill was unlocked and the blindfold was pulled up over Rhys’s eyes once more before his neck was freed from the spindle. The room was large but with all the equipment it formed an obstacle course for the blindfolded criminal. He did, however, manage to recognise the routine as he was fastened to the bench and table at which he had previously been fed. The routine was repeated with Rhys eating in silence with his left hand and drinking some sort of fruit juice through the metal straw. Once finished, Rhys’s wrists were padlocked behind him again, his blindfold positioned and the gag buckled tightly into place once more.

After a very short delay, Rhys heard another voice he recognised as the physio came to collect him. His ankles were released and he was spun round prior to his being led out of the room and along a corridor for a short way into the physio room.

“You know that you are locked in and that you still have the shock-collar in place. I would advise complete co-operation. So far you have done well. I want to re-build your physique as your wounds heal. You will be a very valuable asset if you work hard. If you do not co-operate . . . I don’t think I need to remind you the consequences.”

The short, muscular man then removed the padlock between Rhys’s wrists and the blindfold and loosened the gag by about an inch. Rhys followed some very cursory instructions as the physio updated his notes and measured his recovery time. “That’s good. You are obviously still very fit. I want that time halved before you are released.” The rest of the two-hour session was spent in remedial and body-building work. About six hours of physical exertion between the hard labour and the physio had left Rhys exhausted by the time he was offered water once more and secured for his return to his cell.

A slave took Rhys back through the large room and sat him on the toilet. Not a moment too soon. From there Rhys was taken to the shower where he received the customary freezing inundation followed by a completely humiliating and rough towelling down. His back was treated more gently and more or less padded dry to avoid interfering with the wound dressings which would fall off gradually over the next few days all except the main one on his calf which stayed in place for about six days but, by then, Rhys had lost all track of time.

Following his cleansing, Rhys was locked in his cell once more and his ankles padlocked together. He was allowed four hours sleep.

That was the routine for the next four weeks: work, physio, sleep in twelve-hour cycles with little variation. Each recovering criminal followed the same routine but each was on his own time regime, which made it possible for the Foreman and his staff to administer the whole system. It did, however, mean that there was never a quiet period (in spite of the gags) and that sleep came to Rhys mainly as a result of exhaustion.

As the recovery and rebuilding regime ground on, Rhys did manage not to get himself stretched out in the metal frame and he became quite adept at working at a pace that would neither totally exhaust him nor cause him to suffer repeated, body-racking electric shocks. The physio’s technique ensured that Rhys increased his muscle tone and increased in fitness even over that short period. The minor scars almost disappeared and the gash in his calf gradually healed. The Foreman considered the investment that had been made in Rhys was money and effort well spent.

Then the routine was interrupted.

It is totally electrifying what the manager is doing to Rhys. Although it is building him up for hunts 6 & 7 it's still shocking.

Boom-boom!

Rhys has been such a model prisoner. He's been on the mend and getting good exercise. And as such should easily fetch a good auction fee. Though it sounds like his rest, break, holiday or whatever anyone wants to call it, has reached its end. Curious if he's about to go back to the auction stand or has something else has come up?

Now what else could possibly be coming up, my dear @Red86? Perhaps tea with the King?

What now? Another plot against our favorite criminal/hero?

A plot? What are you suggesting? Merely justice taking it's course, surely.

Next part coming up, @blackbound, @Bradstick, @Caldo203, @harveygasson, @Jb99, @Red86, @Snozzberry, and @Wedgieboy69 .
I wonder what is going on.

Rhys heard the door to his cell opened and steeled himself for his next session of hard labour in spite of his sincere desire to sleep in, even cuffed as he was. The waking routine took its normal course and Rhys prepared himself to embark on another back-breaking session cranking the handle.

Instead, he found himself tightly gagged, not loosely to assist his breathing, and obviously led from the room where he had spent most of the last four weeks, and then completely outside the building. He’d never been led by a catchpole before and he didn’t mind if he was never led so again. The pole was about 150 cm long and had a metal collar with long spikes on the end; at least the shock-collar had to be removed to accommodate it! A slave held the other end of the pole and pushed Rhys along. As long as Rhys went in the desired direction, he didn’t suffer too much injury but, once again, he wished they’d just tell him which way to go so that he could comply without the need for the body-piercing he was experiencing. What had happened to the “no damaging the goods” instruction?

A stumbling walk of about fifteen minutes brought Rhys into another building and almost immediately into the examination room.

There was much discussion as Rhys was fastened into place. A slave had clipped the catchpole onto two vertical posts forcing Rhys to stand up very straight and to keep very still if he wished to minimise the puncturing he would otherwise experience. His ankle rings were padlocked to metal staples in the floor leaving Rhys’s ankles comfortably apart and his blindfold was slipped over the top of his head.

The first thing Rhys noticed was a table behind which the Salesman was seated with a metal bridle, a wrist clamp and a cock cage on it along with a computer console and various papers. Alongside one wall the Manager and Foreman were seated comfortably behind small desks also with computer consoles and the Doctor was seated on his left with the physio standing on his right holding a sheaf of notes. All the while Rhys stood up straight and kept still, the spikes would not even pierce him but he had to stand very erect and very still.

The Salesman addressed him. “Phys324, you have been given four weeks to see whether your value could be enhanced. Today your progress will be assessed and you will be graded.” Then, turning to a slave he ordered, “Release his wrists.” The slave unlocked the padlock.

During the next half hour Rhys was examined and the doctor was asked how his wounds had healed and whether there would be any advantage in taking another two weeks over him. The physio was also asked the same question following his report. The Foreman gave his report and the Manager was asked to give an “historic” account of the HC’s previous achievements.

Rhys spotted a pattern here. He had mixed feelings: should he hope to get things over with as soon as possible or should he hope for the two week delay. He only knew that he certainly was not going to get any say in things.

The Salesman had to make the decision; it was his job to maximise State profits. Would any extra effort put into this piece of merchandise pay sufficient dividends to make the investment of time and labour worthwhile? The Salesman stood and approached Rhys. He told him to perform various flexes, he prodded him and manhandled him none too roughly but he did make it difficult for Rhys to avoid the spikes round his neck.

It was decided that the minor wounds would further improve and that there could even be a measurable increase in the fitness of the merchandise over the next two weeks and the salesman thought that any improvement in the cosmetic appearance of an already desirable sales lot should ensure a top price at auction. There was also another consideration.

Rhys was to be returned to the service centre.

The next two weeks followed a similar routine to the previous four except that Rhys was worked less and allowed more rest. He gradually started to feel better about his physical state and even allowed himself to be optimistic about earning his last two tallies. That waking optimism didn’t, however, prevent the recurring nightmares.





The next interruption to Rhys’s routine left him in no doubt about his immediate fate. As usual, nobody was going to bother to explain anything to an outlaw but, as Rhys was hauled to his feet and felt the metal device clamped upon his private parts before he could even become properly hard, he knew the time had come.

His penis and scrotum were once more encased in their tormenting spiked prisons and Rhys knew it was only a matter of time before one of those rigid wrist clamps consigned his arms to almost total immobility once more. Even the pain of the bit-and-tongue type gag he was wearing was preferable to that which would be caused by having his jaws forced wide open for days by a metal bridle holding an enormous, tubed, mouth-filling gag in place. Rhys had difficulty controlling the trembling that had invaded his body in spite of the warmth of his surroundings.

Sue enough, before the removal of his blindfold or the freeing of his ankles, the rubber wedge was placed against his lips. With a despairing heave of his shoulders Rhys opened his jaws as wide as he thought he could and prepared for the coming torment. Even with his jaws as much agape as he could manage without assistance, the gag was even thicker and it forced Rhys’s jaws even further apart as the bridle was forced into place. Even Rhys could not suppress the yelp that resulted. The metal framework was soon in position and it pressed the front pad tightly against his teeth. Holes in the horizontal elements of the bridle were forced over a stubby, thick pole protruding from the metal strip that had been wrapped over the top of Rhys’s head. The hole in that pole could accommodate a padlock, as it did for slaves who might sometimes be needed to be able to talk, but that wasn’t the lucky fate of those outlaws who were to be sold as quarry. Afterwards the bridle was almost immovable. Rhys found his head forced to bow and something was stuffed between the bridle and the back of his neck.

For the first time someone spoke to Rhys. He was left in no doubt that, if he moved needlessly during the next process, he would end up being branded by a red hot rivet. He was made to kneel and felt the back of his bridle being manoeuvred into position. Even through the padding that had just been inserted between his bridle and his neck Rhys could feel the heat. He was determined to hold as still as possible as he heard the clang. A mighty blacksmith’s hammer blow flattened the protruding rivet against the pole. The only way out of the bridle now was to have it cut off. Rhys felt himself being pulled around by the ring on the top of his bridle prior to his head and his shoulders being plunged, without warning into cold water. Steam rose for a few seconds before Rhys was allowed to draw breath prior to being ducked again. Blindfolded as he was, he couldn’t possibly have guessed how carefully the slaves had to work to get the job done without hurting themselves or damaging the goods.

Rhys completely lost control of his bodily functions as he was ducked for the first time but he wasn’t even punished for it. It was obviously par for the course and he was simply dragged across to the shower and subjected to a freezing assault from a power hose. At least when it came to the wrist clamp, Rhys thought he would be prepared for it and that it couldn’t be too long now before he had to face up to that ordeal.

To his surprise, Rhys did not immediately find his wrists put into the usual rigid clamp but he felt something being fastened to his neck ring before his ankles were unlocked. Finally he could spread his feet comfortably in an attempt to restore some stability to his stance. He didn’t have long to stand there while he heard some instructions that he didn’t understand before the chain that had been locked onto his neck ring was yanked forwards.

Rhys must have been walking for about twenty minutes before he came to rest once more. He heard something about “float three” and a warning, presumably to the slaves who would be doing it, about the need to present the goods to their best advantage before someone’s knees went into the back of his own forcing him to kneel. No attempt was made to padlock his ankles together even though, after someone had been instructed to put something under his knees to “protect the finish on the exhibit”, he seemed to have been ignored for over an hour.

Rhy's must really like those cold showers, he takes so many of them. Only 2 tally mark to go young man, so be good. I bet your Biographer and the Salesman are plotting against you. The writer knows so much about you that I imagine he has a bet and possibly $$$$$ under the table from both sides) on whether you make it all the way or not. Signed: YOUR BIGGEST FAN 🌬

How nice of them to extend his original 4 week "repair" time to 6 weeks. Though what is puzzling me, why are they being so generous with the pillow under his knees and not padlocking his ankles together. Definitely not the normal auction. Must be for higher-end cleints. If that's the case, let's hope that doesn't spell disaster for him. He's gotten this far and I still have my doubts he's such a hardened criminal.

Oh, I don't think the State believes in denying the plebs (Sorry, I mean the common people) their share of the excitement.
Never mind, whatever is going on, it might be a change for Rhys, bless him.

OK, @blackbound, @Bradstick, @Caldo203, @harveygasson, @Jb99, @Red86, @Snozzberry, and @Wedgieboy69, so this is what was happening. The people like to see what they are getting for their support for the new laws.

As he knelt on what he was unaware to be a folded blanket, Rhys worked out that he was still outside but in some sort of outdoor workshop area. In the time he’d had to try to assess his situation, Rhys remembered the word “float”. Now it made sense.

It was certainly that time of year when the Festival took place. Rhys was obviously destined to take part in the event. This was the third year of the Festival of Retributive Justice. It was staged initially so that the citizenship could see the results of the recent reforms to the justice system. They could witness the fates of outlaws and even more minor criminals. Even school truants were paraded for punishment as part of the opening ceremony. There is no time to do more here than to outline the nature of the Festival but suffice it to say that the initial event was so popular with ordinary, decent citizens that it was inevitably decided to stage a similar event the next year, even though there were far fewer young criminals to exhibit. Now, in its third year, there was still a few ill-advised young miscreants and first-time criminals to open the proceedings and, fortunately for spectacle lovers, sill enough Hardened Criminals to add excitement to the later stages. They always brought up the rear of the carnival parade before they were sold for the Festival Hunt, which was always televised. That was where the State made the real money.

Rhys waited. The Festival Hunt would probably be neither better nor worse than the hunts he had already survived and, if enough HC’s were to be used as quarry, he might even stand a better chance of surviving. The auction surely couldn’t be any worse than his previous ones and he only hoped that he hadn’t alienated too many of the sort of people who would make his progress to the auction an even more painful process than it was already bound to be.

Yes, that must be it: it must be Festival time. That would also account for the fact that his wrists had not already been clamped.

Eventually, two slaves lifted Rhys to his feet with the usual lack of communication and half dragged –half walked him across to his float. Being a HC with a tariff of seven, five of which were already spent, made Rhys one of the star exhibits of the carnival parade. He would get a float to himself.

The newly-repaired, athletic outlaw was lifted onto a special trolley. It had facilities for displaying exhibits and had been specially designed to enable lesser criminals to draw it round the carnival route. Rhys more or less knew what would happen to him, having seen the previous two events, but then he was watching and thinking himself lucky not to be part of the parade as he pelted certain passing exhibits with eggs and flour or worse. Once more he wondered how he had let himself get drawn into his present situation.

Rhys was made to straddle a metal hurdle and his ankles were clamped to the floor of the float about sixty centimetres apart. The hurdle was then adjusted until his legs were straight and the horizontal metal bar of the hurdle dug uncomfortably up between them. Rhys knew from what he had seen previously that there were two ways things could go from there: the uncomfortable way or the painful one. He heard some fittings being adjusted but still couldn’t guess which fate was to be his.

A vertical metal pole was pushed up against his back and his neck ring was clipped onto it. At least that was good news even though it would soon be pulled up so high that Rhys would be unable to drop his head. Next he felt his wrist rings being freed from the padlock and, even with his bridle in place, he couldn’t avoid a grunt of relief. His forearms were laid along two horizontal beams so that Rhys looked as though he was holding a steering wheel but, instead of a wheel, he was forced to hold on to two vertical posts protruding from the beams. Once his fingers had been wrapped round them, a two-part clamp was then fitted over each fist preventing Rhys from either letting go or moving his arms to more than a minimal extent.

Once he was secured to the float, the blindfold was slipped out from under his bridle. With his neck being stretched as it was, Rhys was dreading the fitting of the normal curved metal sheet to the front of his bridle. At least they seemed to be in no hurry to fit it.

Even though looking round was nearly impossible in his situation, Rhys tried to take in at least some of his surroundings. He could see two other floats, one of which was unoccupied but Rhys was grateful that at least he hadn’t been secured to his as the criminal whom he recognised as the man whom he had seen in the metal frame had been fastened to his. He was also straddling a metal bar with his legs pulled straight but he had already had a wrist clamp fitted which had then been lifted high thus forcing the man to lean forwards with his arms straight. Someone was obviously trying to make a point; not only was the unfortunate man in an extreme strappado posture but had also been forced to lean forwards trapping his spiked cock cage, or – more to the point - the flexible spiked bag enclosing his testicles, between the hurdle and his abdomen.

Having prepared Rhys for the carnival procession, the slaves turned their attention to the next newly arrived exhibit. He turned out to be the criminal whom Rhys first saw being forced to work the treadmill with his arms forced up behind him. Rhys thought that, when they went to the hunt, one exhibit would be severely handicapped unless he was released from his float very soon. His hopes started to rise again.

Their job done, the slaves and supervisors withdrew leaving just an overseer armed with a taser and some more low-tech devices to help ensure the compliance of the exhibits. “So”, thought Rhys, “three of us. I wonder how many guns?” He wasn’t quite right about that: there was another exhibit out of Rhys’s sight. He only became aware of his presence when the overseer applied a hefty blow from a heavy leather strap for some infraction that Rhys did not witness. “Four of us. They don’t usually allow more than three guns. Depends how extravagant the bids are.” The odds seemed to be improving in Rhys’s favour.





Sometime later, the minor criminals who were to pull the floats round the carnival procession were herded in. All were naked except for the inevitable cock cages (ones that didn’t encase the scrotum this time) and the specialist head-gear that all draught-slaves wore; and they were fastened together in pairs. All eight were in their early twenties and had been specially selected from recently convicted criminals for their muscular builds. The drivers who delivered them didn’t seem to have been under instructions not to damage the goods and, by the time they arrived, all appeared to have been considerably battered in addition to the pain that must have been caused to them due to the way in which they had been led along. Each one had a ligature tied round his scrotum by which he had been pulled along to the marshalling area. Their ease of progress was not exactly facilitated either by being bound in pairs or by being completely unable to see where they were going.

The draught teams were forced to their knees and their restraints were checked prior to their being attached to the floats. Each well matched pair had their wrists chained closely to their waists in such a way that their arms could trap a metal pole in common between their backs and their elbows. They would use the pole to pull the float once it had been clamped onto its shaft. That done, the ligatures were passed between their legs and the ends were tied loosely to a ring near the seat on the front of the float where the driver would sit, and their head-gear was checked.

Each convict wore a sort of mask which left just the nose and mouth exposed but which, with its padded interior, excluded all light form the wearer’s eyes. Other than that, each draught slave was also forced to bite down on a fairly thick rubber bit onto which the drivers clipped reins for his guidance. The ligatures, which would eventually be held, along with the reins, by a driver, were crudely referred to as “emergency brakes”.

This was not a popular posting and followed several painful and humiliating weeks of “training”.

The masks made it difficult for the onlookers to identify the convicts thus taking an important element out of their punishment so, once all the teams had been hitched up, the drivers tied prepared signs round their necks and secured them round their bodies. Each sign bore the prisoner’s name and the offences of which they had been found guilty. The victims of their crimes had the right to be able to identify them and sometimes liked to give them a special “welcome” as they passed.

Four floats were prepared and now it was just a matter of waiting for the lesser exhibits to be brought to the assembly area and marshalled into their positions ready to start the procession.

Nobody seemed to be in any hurry.

@blackbound, @Bradstick, @Caldo203, @harveygasson, @Jb99, @Red86, @Snozzberry, and @Wedgieboy69,
Next part coming up. I wonder how much more Rhys will have to suffer.

Rhys continued flexing his muscles as best he could under the circumstances. As long as it didn’t look as if he was trying to escape (a truly futile enterprise), he knew he wouldn’t be punished for trying to present his physique as well as possible. He also knew that he had to look his best for the auction and, more importantly, that he needed to have his muscles ready to explode into action at the start of the Festival Hunt.

Eventually the more minor criminals and youth offenders arrived, presented in ways considered appropriate to the levels of their misdemeanours, and the drivers mounted the floats, adjusted the reigns and the ligatures, and pulled the protective sides of their “cockpits” into place. It took a further quarter of an hour or so to marshal the entire procession before the draught teams were ordered to their feet. Not only being fastened to a metal pole in pairs but by now also having that pole clamped rigidly to the shaft of the float made getting to their feet a more than awkward procedure, even following their previous weeks of training, and there was much use of the cattle-prod-like electronic whips as they did so.

In spite of the dramatic drop in the crime rate since the new justice reforms had been implemented, there were still enough convicted criminals to make an impressive procession once the bands, etc had been filtered in. and it was at least a further quarter of an hour before Rhys found his float underway. Every bump in the ground jarred Rhys’s entire body even once his two “draught-horses” had managed to find some sort of rhythm. The procession route was known to take at least an hour before it reached the makeshift auditorium in the city’s main park.

During the procession it was common for the exhibits to be pelted by the bystanders with anything that came to hand. The star exhibits often didn’t suffer as badly in that respect as the lesser criminals because it was important to preserve them in good condition for the Festival Hunt and because most of the more youthful spectators had usually run out of ammunition by the end of the parade. There was, however guaranteed to be a renewed assault as the parade passed the stables. At least most of those missiles were soft. Rhys now regretted the way he’d joined in such assaults in the past two years. Modern justice has many aspects.

As the last four floats passed, people examined the occupants visually and tried to assess their likely fates before heading off for the bookies’. That was another way for the state to make the money to cover the costs of the event, not to mention also turning a hefty profit.

After the arrival of the procession and the parade in front of the grandstand, the public punishments of the lesser offenders took place and some of the criminals were released having served their sentences. These preliminaries lasted a good hour and a half before the massed bands struck up and the last four floats were paraded in front of an increasingly animated audience for the last time. Their crimes were detailed over the public address system and the assembled multitudes screamed their thoughts about the criminals and vented their opinions about what they hoped was about to happen to them.

The floats were drawn up in line and the television cameras panned across as the pictures were sent to the giant screens around the arena.

It was time for the Festival Auction.





A special dais was dragged into place by four draft slaves and the cameras closed in on it as the five bidders took their places. These were the four most experienced hunters in the community and even one American bidder. They had also already paid good money just to sit on the dais and needed to be able to offer even more for the privilege of hunting in the Festival Hunt. They would want the most experienced quarry and would want them in good condition. Sportsmen to the man – and even one woman.

The cameras returned to the exhibits. This time, the bids had to be for all the lots. There would be a reserve price on the whole Festival Hunt and the more any individual sportsman bid, the less chance there was of his (or her) having to share the event with other guns.

Subsequent to their hosing off and wiping down, the exhibits/quarry were described in detail to the crowds and the bidders along with descriptions of their crimes and the histories of their previous hunts. All four exhibits had been deemed to have survived five out of their allotted seven hunts; very few criminals ever got to be that experienced. They were very desirable lots indeed. Even the outlaw being tortured as he was paraded around would serve the purpose of providing an easier target for any bidder who was more determined to take any available trophy rather than to go home empty handed. Such lots did not often survive but they did usually have to endure the entire hunt before anyone came after them.

The bidders were introduced to the spectators, the more dedicated gamblers amongst whom continued to assess the possible outcomes of the hunt. The Salesman talked up the quality of the merchandise, the crowd got even more heated and it was eventually time for the bidding. Sealed bids were entered into electronic terminals and locked in. All bids lodged and five extravagant sums of money were displayed on the giant screens distributed around the arena.

The Salesman announced that it would take the top three bids to meet the reserve price and the two lowest bidders were disqualified. The remaining three bidders still did not know what the reserve price was but they knew that, with three guns still in, they would get a chance to improve their bids in order to eliminate one of their number. The crowd didn’t like that bit and, when the three bids were displayed with one of them displayed in red indicating that it was an unsuccessful bid, there was an even noisier than usual protest from the onlookers. They thought they had been robbed of part of the potential spectacle.

The two successful bidders shook hands and posed for the cameras, and a considerable number of spectators went to visit the on-site bookies while nearly everyone else descended on the junk-food stalls and souvenir stands.

The quarry were fed and watered through their gags and the criminal who had been forced into the strappado position was re-fastened like the other three. Many of the spectators approached the floats to examine the quarry and some of the younger ones even had badges or t-shirts with their “favourite” convict’s name on it. That hadn’t stopped them from being used as target practice during the procession but, now that the crowd’s fury had been vented, there was a certain sneaking admiration for criminals who had managed to survive so many hunts.

Judging by the relative distribution of favours, Rhys appeared to be only third-favourite. The muscular prisoner from the treadmill seemed to be favourite with the tall, lean, black criminal, whom Rhys could not initially see, a close second. This was a knowledgeable crowd and things weren’t looking too good for Rhys.

Over the next half-hour the carnival atmosphere prevailed and people either settled ready to enjoy the interval entertainment prior to watching the hunt on the giant screens or disappeared to do so in the comfort of their own homes. The draught teams were whipped to their feet and the quarry was paraded twice more in front of the remaining spectators before being disembarked and led away.

Before being disembarked, the metal plates were attached to the fronts of the criminals’ bridles and a metal belt was locked tightly round each of their waists. Rhys could feel the edges of the belt digging into his hips and constricting his abdomen. His wrists were then clamped into rigid cuffs that formed part of the belt, leaving his hands far enough apart so that his finger tips could not quite touch. It would have been possible for Rhys to wrench the belt round with effort but not only would its sharp edges probably cut into him but the rigid nature of the restraints would dig even more painfully into one of his wrists than they already did. This was the Festival version of the more common wrist clamp.

A driver clipped a chain onto Rhys’s neck ring and dragged him down from the float leaving him kneeling on the ground. There was then a short delay as the four quarry were coffled for their passage to the Hunting Ground. All Rhys knew was that there was at least one other prisoner behind him and at least one in front. The coffle was led past the grandstand again. This time amongst the booing and disapproval, Rhys could hear just some youthful and some female voices calling his name. Being the only young quarry inevitably encouraged a certain “fan-club”. It wouldn’t, however, prevent them from enjoying the hunt.

Oh a parade! One where the spectators can throw items at criminals..... perhaps this is would be an incentive it today's time again to prevent repeat minor offenders from continuing their ways before they get even bolder and end up doing even more serious crimes.

Given the circumstances, Ryhs seems to be avoiding anything to bad at the moment. But this upcoming festival hunt doesn't exactly sound to promising. They are all experienced quarry but also the hunters are more experienced as well.

And I feel as though you have been shedding some light onto some questions I've had and about the possibility for corruption. Crime went way down after the new laws were implemented yet they seem to still have a steady flow of hard criminals. What better way to have just enough hardened criminals, then to frame an otherwise lesser criminal. I obviously don't know if this is true but it's definitely something I've been thinking about.

@chairboy read and learn what can happen to a Hardened Criminal Slave Boi.

🖐🖐

Yes… sir

@Red86, you are surely not suggesting that our judiciary is corrupt? Although, they do seem to have become rather better off lately.

Yes, @ChairBoy, do as @Snozzberry says. (What the hell is all that about? )

Uh oh. Hopefully things don't end here for our favorite hardened criminal! But I have a suspicion they won't...

Thanks for staying with it, my friend. I could do with the support at present.

I JUST LOVE A PARADE OF HELPLESS BOUND AND TIED JUVENILE DELINQUENTS.

Offers the highest bidder 10,000,000 Vermicious Knids for Rhys and Rhys alone. Throws tomatoes and cow pies at the younger misunderstood miscreants. Throws tomatoes, elephant pies and Sabre Tooth Huffalumps at Rhys' competition.

I JUST LOVE A PARADE OF HELPLESS BOUND AND TIED JUVENILE DELINQUENTS