HOUSE ARREST
FOOT-SCENTED JUSTICE
CHAPTER 3
After having witnessed the brutish manner in which Officer Bob had force-fed his own impossibly foul-looking week-old work sock into bound Shane's protesting mouth, I fully expected the second prisoner - Caleb - to fall victim to a similar treatment. Much to my own imminent surprise though, the odourous-footed man of the house ended up dealing with his nephew in a somewhat more controlled fashion.
Poor Caleb looked absolutely mortified! His defeated accomplice, who had spent the last several minutes vehemently protesting their fate, was now far removed from reality and trapped in his own little nightmare. What's more, the once recognisable features of the troublesome teen's face were now shrouded beneath overlapping layers of frighteningly sticky duct tape; the totality of which had been hastily spun around his head and face a numberless plurality of times. Only Shane's unmistakably greenish hue and crosseyed gaze betrayed the hopelessly bound dweeb's state of utter shock and panic.
He was sucking on his father's sock, and for that, I felt truly bad.
I felt bad for both of them, but still found the whole exchange inexplicably appealing.
I watched as Officer Bob slowly closed the distance separating him from his hopelessly immobilised, chair-bound nephew. Caleb may have been a bit on the scrawny side, but I guess you could say he was of normal height and size for a seventeen-year-old. Neither big nor remarkably small. Next to his supremely broad-chested and profusely hairy uncle, however, the wiry teen looked positively twig-like!
The size difference between the two of them became even more glaring when the buff behemoth-of-a-man began verbally rebuking his prisoner; cupping one leathery bear-sized paw behind the young man's hairy dome and using his other gloved hand to point an accusatory finger down at the lad's fear-stricken face.
I could only make out part of what my friend's father was saying, but in short, he spent what seemed like several minutes paternalistically reproving his nephew; reprimanding him for his bad behaviour and informing him of the many consequences it would inevitably entail.
Caleb's wide emerald eyes kept nervously darting up and down; alternating between the hulking police officer's frowning face and the giant, leather-clad finger that kept pointing right at him. Or at least, that's what I initially thought he was looking at. It didn't take me long to realise that Caleb's attention wasn't so much drawn to the thick, sheening, accusatory jet-black digit as much as it was to the big, sweltering, putrid mass of fabric that was menacingly balled up behind it.
"I'm keeping you under custody until your father swings by to pick you up on Monday, and you boys can forget about that concert you were planning to attend tomorrow night." Bob went on, causing his son - the more troublesome of the two prisoners - to go on a sort of crazed rant.
Shane went positively berserk upon hearing that his dad planned on keeping them under house arrest. He struggled, coughed and sputtered behind his mighty gag; no doubt as a means of alerting his authoritative father to the fact that the concert tickets weren't refundable and that all of their friends were expecting them to be there...several of which actually needed a ride; a ride he and Caleb had unwittingly agreed to provide.
"Mmggghh ggghm pphhgg. Mmph mmpphh gghg uugghh pphh!" he screamed or rather tried to; breaking down into a surprisingly violent fit of rage upon coming face to face with his own inability to properly communicate his urgent message. The wooden chair creaked and groaned under its agitated prisoner's seemingly uncontrollable theatrics, but the excessive amount of unnecessarily strict ropework keeping him immobile didn't weaken in the slightest or show any signs of waning. And much to the deviant young man's unending chagrin, neither did his pungent-footed father's fat, speech-preventing tube sock.
There would be no mouthing off past Officer Bob's notoriously malodourous, puke-inducing, week-old work sock.
There would be no mouthing off, no negotiating, and most importantly, no possibility of getting a cry for help out.
An uncompromisingly effective gag, if ever there was one.
Of even greater interest to my young self, however, was Caleb's reaction, or should I say, lack thereof. Though his face bore clear signs of terror and distress, his attention seemed far removed from the verbal rebukes spilling out of Bob's scolding mouth. The weekend-long enforced grounding and the sudden news that he and Shane wouldn't be attending the concert they'd both bought tickets to didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. Even as the words sunk in and his fellow prisoner cried out beneath his speech-impeeding gag, the less boisterous chair-bound teen remained transfixed on the eye-wateringly strong-scented fabric contained in the hulking police officer's huge, glistening gloved hand.
The look on Caleb's face left little doubt as to the fiercely overpowering smell that his hairy-chested behemoth-uncle's sock was giving off. He was visibly terrified! And quite understandably so!
"You know where this is going right, eh boy?" Bob asked, keeping a firm grip on the back of the young man's head before unwadding his giant, offensive-smelling sock out from behind his accusatory finger and presenting it to his nephew's discernably terrorised face.
Caleb didn't answer. Not with words anyway. His neck muscles tensed up, his head fought to back away and his face, which was already a mixture of horror and disgust, went crosseyed.
Officer Bob knew full well the potency of his clinically diagnosed foot odour, not to mention the unbearably acrid stench that plagued his perpetually sweaty and very much freakishly oversized soles. He knew that the sock he held in his hand had been worn almost twenty-four hours a day for the past week or so, but he just didn't care. The uber-masculine goliath-cop moved his big fuming stink bomb directly in front of the captive teen's panic-stricken face and held it there.
"That's right. Take it all in and get a good long look at it, 'cause in about a minute from now this'll be going inside your yapper." he warned, to which the already frightened teen merely whimpered in fear.
"D'you have anything to say before the gag goes in?" Bob semi-benevolently offered, allowing the dweeb to potentially get some sort of final plea for mercy out. The young prisoner's much-anticipated laments, however, never came. The sheer size and smell of his uncle's putrid sock was such that the threat of being intimately acquainted with it left him paralysed in fear and utterly speechless. Only the sound of a desperate groan left the kid's mouth, something which Bob quickly interpreted as being a "no".
"Alright, then open up. You boys have caused enough trouble as is, now the two of you will be staying put and you won't be making a fuss or complaining about it either." he grumpily ordered; something which initially went unheeded by the wide-eyed, petrified captive.
"Open. Now!" the burly police officer commandingly repeated, knocking Caleb out of his fear-induced paralysis and prompting the terrified lad to immediately open his mouth up.
Still, the frowning leviathan remained seemingly unimpressed with the gaping mouth being offered by his prisoner.
"Wider, boi. Tongue flat down." the hulking Alpha-brute impatiently scolded.
I watched as the excessively well-restrained prisoner obediently widened the entrance to his speech-capable orifice, and then watched as the giant wad of moist, indescribably foul-smelling fabric immediately rushed in to clog his vacant cavity.
The hairy-chested policeman's sheening black gloves creaked rather noisily as his very large and remarkably thick fingers worked in unison to forcibly push the mighty stuffing in.
"There we go...down the hatch." he calmly mumbled, his deep tone and low baritone voice barely registering in my ears.
Much to his own credit, and unlike Officer Bob's very agitated son, Caleb took the gagging like a champ. Though the huge hand draped around the back of his hairy dome no doubt played a role in ensuring his continued compliance, the young man offered no semblance of resistance. His cheeks bulged and his facial orifice stretched around and struggled like mad in an effort to accommodate his uncle's big, putrid, oversized tube sock. But even so, he remained quite cooperative.
A series of muffled coughs at one point made their way out of the poor teen's amply-packed mouth, but nary a hint of sympathy cracked the stern mask on his frowning captor's bearded face.
"Yeah, that's right, boi. Choke on uncle Bob's big fuckin' fat gag. Eat it." the jumbo-limbed muscle cop uncaringly murmured, using his thick leathery black fingers to force-feed more of the poignant-smelling fabric into his own nephew's noticeably bulging mouth.
Caleb remained silent throughout the entirety of the ordeal. But even though his newly speech-proofed gob provided our ears with no audible cries or protests, his worsening facial expressions and cross-eyed features spoke aplenty. His toes curled inwards and his hands and fingers flailed around powerlessly as the supremely muscular officer's creaking fingers forced more and more sock in. The strict chair-tie left him utterly defenceless and incapable of mounting any resistance, but the heavy-handed gagging was still carried out with unnecessary force and brute efficiency. In other words, Caleb was being treated like a criminal.
With that being said, you should have seen the look of disbelief on my face when, seemingly out of his own volition, the young man tried closing his lips around the uncompromisingly cumbersome gag his own uncle had force-fed him.
Officer Bob concluded the stuffing process by pulling his tyrannical fingers away, but instead of reaching for the tape, he just stood there; holding the back of his prisoner's head in place while victoriously eyeing the teen's inability to cope with the steaming hot ball of foot-odour-infested fabric that now clogged his orifice.
The towering policeman and I both watched as Caleb tried closing his lips around it again, but no matter how hard he tried to contend with the gag's size, part of the mighty stuffing always managed to remain impervious to his efforts.
"Yeah...that's a big gag, ain't it?" Bob eventually mused, the sudden lightness of his tone instantly betraying some of the pride and amusement he felt at watching his nephew try and fail to tame the tremendously generous stuffing material he'd fished out of his own trusty old police boots.
"You boys won't be planning anything shifty, and you won't be mouthing off anytime soon...not with those gags anyway." he added, emphasising the fact that he knew his socks to be insurmountably silencing.
As it turns out, big Bob's thick, speech-impeeding stink bombs would come in quite handy.
Much to Shane and Caleb's imminent disbelief, something even direr would end up befalling them that day.
Officer Bob had another trick up his sleeve; one that neither of his bound captives would soon be able to forget.
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I'm not quite sure if these boys are receiving justice or just plain torture
