Strike three Ch. 04

"No one is above the law." Judge Adams' word kept ringing in my ears. It could only mean one thing -- in a short while I would be standing stark naked out on the courtroom floor. Just the thought of that humiliation made my pulse rise and I started to breath heavily. I completely lost track of what the judge were saying, but a comforting pat on by back from Eric brought me back to my senses.

Judge Adams had moved on to methodically dismantling Eric's argument that there were no hard "strike three" limit in the "Tier III Male Offender Accountability Act," and that the intent of the law provided room discretion. Adams said he had carefully reread the wording of the law, locked at past rulings and conferred with his colleges. Everyone agreed -- there law gave a strict limit of three crimes for when a punishment under the law would be given. No possibilities for discretion existed.

Besides, Adams continued, the revised "Tier III Male Offender Accountability Act" had been active for five years without any comments, specifications, or guidance from the politician's regard use of discretion. So, he completely dismissed Eric's argument and said he had been close to hold Eric in contempt for wasting the courts time on this matter.

Adams then went on to discuss my two previous convictions -- without any sign of mercy from his part. The fact that I hadn't taken the chance to change my life when I got off easy with only warning after my first arrest did not speak in my favor, Adams said. He also argued that I had gotten of easy after my second arrest, with only community service and no prison time, and he wondered if that had put a feeling of superiority in me even if had pulled my life together after that conviction.

He mentioned a Robert Smith who had been arrested together with me that time, and it took me a few seconds to understand that he was talking about Billy. Billy had been one of the ring leaders of the gang, had many encounters with the police even before I met him. Like me he was caught red handed with weed on the fateful day of my second arrest. He was living with his grandparents, who unlike my parents couldn't afford to hire a good lawyer and he ended up with a public defender. That lawyer didn't put much effort into the case, and Billy was convicted for both possession and use of illegal drugs and was, since he was 18 at that time, sentenced to two years in adult prison.

I knew Billy had been sent to prison, but I hadn't heard or thought much about him after I broke off with the gang and changed my life. But Adams could inform me that this arrest and conviction had not been the end of Billy's criminal career path. Apparently, he had received his "Strike three" sentenced under the first version of the "Tier III Male Offender Accountability Act", and while servicing his prison sentence naked and in chastity he got himself involved in a prison riot which handed him a lifetime "strike three" sentence and he had now been living permanently naked and chaste for over eight years.

So, unlike Billy I had gotten my second chance, and it was commendable that I had taken that chance and got my life back on track, according to Adams. But that made it an even graver offence that I had blown that chance thirty years on, Adams said. He also pointed out that I hadn't accepted the responsibility for my last mistake but instead had tried to talk me out of the situation by claiming that the "strike three" law didn't apply to my case. That did not count in my favor and was why Adams wasn't prepared to look by my past drug conviction, as the prosecutor had requested. The arrogant display of superiority, Judge Adams words exactly, showed that I was need for a though lesson.

It was painfully clear now that disaster was heading my way. The prosecutor was looking at me with huge grin on her face, clearly enjoying what was happening. Eric, on the other hand, had a desperate look on his face and was whispering "I'm so sorry" to me. I tried to act calm and give him a reassuring smile back, but I guess I wasn't too convincing.

Behind me I could hear the spectator seats started to fill up. Both yesterday and at the start of the session this morning, they had been nearly empty -- only filled with a couple of guys clearly looking for some male humiliation and few junior journalists. With the steady stream of "strike three" convictions, they had become so regular that no one paid much attention anymore and the news media barely reported from them anymore. It was only the high-profile cases that could draw attention, and I was far from a household name.

But as Judge Adams spoke, the rumors had started to spread. A respectable man in his mid-forties about to be stripped naked and put in chastity for something as little as a traffic violation and a couple of minor crimes in his teenage years, was clearly newsworthy. I hadn't got myself to tell anyone other than Eric about my problems, to embarrassed as I was about my stupidity, but any hope I had about breaking the bad news to friends, family and colleagues, myself seemed to be gone.

Finally, it was time for my sentencing, and it took me all my willpower to get my legs to work as I got up from my chair. I clung to the hope that Adams wouldn't be too harsh, despite what he had been saying. My good behavior and contribution to the society over the last thirty years had to count for something -- right? Sure, my life as I knew it would be over, but if my sentence wasn't too long, a few years, maybe as much as five, it was possible to come back. Move to the other side of the country and build myself up again.

"Christopher E. Olsen, born 19th April 1980," Judge Adams began, "you have now three criminal offences on your record, which is in violations of the 'Tier III Male Offender Accountability Act'. Despite the low severity in your last offence, and despite the long time between your first two offences and your last, the fact that you have received three criminal convictions shows a gross negligence on your part. Further, the way you have argued that the laws somehow doesn't apply to you also shows this court that you are a man in need for some thought guidance."

"With this in mind," Adams continued, "and your previous conviction for use of illegal substances, I therefore sentence you to twenty years under the 'Tier III Male Offender Accountability Act'. In this period, you are not allowed to wear, own, or bye any forms of clothing other than shoes and socs under your ancles, and for the entire time your penis will be locked in chastity. The verdict is to be affected immediately and is final with no possibilities for appeal. Mr. Olsen, I hope you use the coming years and the humiliation you will experience to reflect on your reckless behavior. Officers, will you please strip Mr. Olsen of his clothing. He is now in violation of his conviction."

When the verdict was read the room fell dead silent a few seconds before it erupted in a cacophony of sounds. The prosecutor couldn't hold back a raw laughter, clearly pleased with the outcome even if she had argued for only a six month sentence herself. Erics jaw literally dropped to the table when he heard Judge Adams said twenty years. He quickly rose and started to protest the verdict, but he didn't manage to say much before Adams gaveled him down, repeated the verdict was final, and warned him, he would have him arrested for contempt of the court if he didn't shut up immediately. Behind me I heard journalist frenetically calling their news desk explaining what had happened and asking for backup to the courtroom.

For my part, I just collapsed back in my chair and couldn't hold back my tears. This was far worst than even my darkest nightmare. Until I received the notice of my sentence hearing a couple of weeks back, I had lived a carefree and steady going life, and now I was condemned to live in humiliation and shame, walking around wearing nothing but a chastity belt and with my naked ass on constant display -- for the next twenty years. I would be near retirement age before I could wear clothes and touch my dick again. There was no way back from this -- to me this it was by all practical means a life sentence.

The moment of truth arrived when two officers grabbed me by my arms and dragged me out on the courtroom floor. I was still sobbing and had to be held up by one of the officers, but when they turned me around and I saw the packed spectator area and all the cameras pointed towards me, ready to capture my humiliating fall from grace, I managed to pull myself together. At least I wouldn't give them the joy of watching me being stripped naked by the officers like a little crying baby boy.

I took a deep breath, straighten myself up, pushed the officers away, and told dem I would undress myself. One of the officers gave me sharp look, said it was fine, but pointed to his stun gun and warned me against trying anything stupid. Then he held out a plastic bag and asked me to empty my pockets and remove my watch and any remove any jewelry I was wearing. This was the only items I would be bringing back home later today.

After I had put my phone, wallet, keys, watch, and my necklace into the bag, it was time for my transformation into a naked and chaste freak. The outcast I until now had secretly enjoyed watching and publicly despised as stupid idiots for putting themselves into this situation. The large clothe shredder was already brought into the courtroom, ready for the symbolic destruction of my clothing.

Before I left for the court this morning, I had thought about wearing one of my new tailormade suits to show that I wasn't afraid of the outcome, but in the end, I decided against it. Even if I would never see my expensive suits again, there were no need to destroy them.

First, the officers directed me to remove my jacket and put into the shredder. With a load buzzing sound, the jacket was sucked into the shredder and turned into dust in just a few seconds. My tie went the same way, before I was instructed to remove my shoes and socks. The feeling of the cold marble under my bare feet was the first indication of what was about to happen. In just a short time I would be standing stark bollock naked in a public space.

I had never been into sport and was not an athletic type but was not ashamed of my body. I tried to stay in shape, with regular visits to the gym, and some swimming and bicycle riding, and even if I often carried a few kilos extra and have reached an age where the gravity slowly starts to kick in, I always showered at the gym and though I'm not a nudist I have had a few visits to the naked beaches. But that was voluntarily nudity, and this was different. I was slowly being forced to undress in room packed of clothed people -- and I wouldn't get dressed again for twenty years.

But even if I felt the panic coming over me again, I forced myself to stay calm to preserver my dignity as long as possible. My letter shoes was no match for the shredder and was quickly made to dust just like my jacket and tie. My shirt was the next to go and was soon ripped to pieces by the shredder. I was wearing an undershirt and still wasn't feeling too naked even if felt strange standing bare feet and with only my pants and undershirt on.

The officers were moving quickly. My pants met the same fate as the rest of my clothes, and I was down to wearing only my underwear -- but that didn't last long either. My undershirt was fed to the shredder, and I was standing in the packed courtroom in only my tight briefs.

And there it was -- the moment where I would take of the last piece of clothing, save from footwear, that I would be wearing for a long, long time. It was an electric atmosphere in the room -- pure excitement for what was about to happen, and all I wanted to do was to crawl into a cave and never come out again. Still, I was determined to do this with as much dignity as I could. With shaking legs and an all over blush, I stepped out of my briefs, put them in the shredder -- and all the clothes I had been wearing was destroyed. Worst of all, this was not one of the dreams where I was naked. It was very much real -- I was stark naked in a courtroom.

Instinctively, I used my hands to cover my dick, but one of the officers quickly slapped them away and sharply warned me against covering up again. I have a fairly average dick, maybe more of a grower than a shower -- but noting to be ashamed off and nothing to brag about. But when I was instructed to put my hands behind my head and slowly spin around to show off my naked body to everyone, I felt my dick starting to raise to the occasion.

I was sweating, blushing, shaking, my hearth was ricing, and now my dick had decided to add to my humiliation. When I had done the full round, displaying every angel of my naked body, in the courtroom I was spotting the hardest erection I had had for years -- and from the cameras I spotted in the courtroom all was broadcasted live on national news. I have no idea why this happened, I'm no humiliation fetishist. Probably the feel of the air all over my body and the absurdity of being on naked public display made my body betray me.

So, when one of the officers brought out the temporary chastity belt, I was actually relieved. If not much, at least it would provide some cover for me. The belt had a form of a jock strap with a cup of see through metal bars and adjustable leather straps. One of the officers held up the chastity belt so I could step into, tucked my raging hardon into the metal cup, adjusted the leather straps, and locked the belt in place. Luckily, this happened without my dick erupting in a massive cum shot.

And with that, my initial transformation from a respectable citizen and a corporate manager in a nice suite, to a naked convict in chastity was complete. Judge Adams instructed the officers to escort me to my final processing, before repeating his encouragement to me about reflecting on my behavior while serving my sentence and reminded me that the punishment was for my own good. Then he dismissed the court.

Eric rushed over to me when Adams had left the courtroom, and immediately blurted out how sorry was, that it was all his mistake and that he never should have suggested to argue against the "Strike three" law, and that it he would do anything he could to have the verdict overthrown. It wasn't much I managed to say, other than that I didn't blame him, before the officers started to drag me towards the courtroom door.

As the officers pushed me through the now packed spectator seats in the courtroom and towards the door, I realized my new, and drastically changed, life was about to begin in earnest.