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11
When Sam woke the
next morning, he was alone in the bed and facing the other way. His first
thought was simple gratitude that he had eventually -- somehow -- managed to fall
asleep. He did not have chance to wonder for long where his abuser had gone, as
his head appeared and disappeared metronomically above the far edge of the bed,
accompanied by jangling. Sam's hole felt sore and it was only as he moved to
gently investigate it that he realised his wrists
were still by his neck. He felt stupid in more ways than one. He blinked a few
times and stretched his lower half. At least the bed was comfortable and warm.
He might just stay in it forever.
"Morning," said the
boy. Sam jumped slightly, suddenly aware he was making eye contact with him,
but said nothing.
"Alright?" the boy
asked, still rising and falling. Sam scowled, imperceptible in his spandex
hood.
"Why did you do
that? Last night?" he said, quietly.
"Cos I wanted to,"
the boy replied, breathless now.
`It fucking hurt!"
"Yeah... Well... Wait
til it's my dick," was all the boy said simply, rising to his feet and pulling
the duvet back. "Come on: up."
Reeling, fearful,
Sam swung his legs out the bed and sat up. He rattled his wrists and glared at
the boy in black.
"I need the
toilet," he said shortly.
"Yeah fine," Jacob
replied, coming round and unclipping the cuffs from the collar. Sam stood,
stretching and bending his arms to try and pump some life into them and shake
the cramp, before repositioning himself on the toilet mere feet away.
"You need to let me
know when you're done," Jacob told him. Sam glared again, what the fuck!?
"Why!?" he
demanded.
"Just fucking tell
me," Jacob snapped. Sam glowered. This was a fucking joke. Bad enough he had
to be here at all -- and away from his brother, his family, his mates -- but to
have some jumped-up arsehole thinking he was gonna run his life as well...!? Not
a fucking chance! He watched as his piss flooded the plastic device over
his cock and sprayed all over the bowl, and sighed. Fuck's sake, another
mop-job. He ignored it for the moment and focused on emptying his bowels
instead.
"Ok I'm done," he
said sullenly to Jacob, some minutes later. Jacob, who had been doing press-ups
round the other side of the bed, stopped and came to once again crouch in front
of him, take some toilet paper and quite thoroughly clean the cock cage of
urine.
"Right, stand up,
turn round and bend a bit," he instructed.
"What... What the
fuck? What for!?" Sam exclaimed, shocked.
"So I can wipe your
arse," came the calm response.
Sam exploded. "What
the FUCK!? NO!" he roared. "I CAN WIPE MY OWN FUCKING ARSE, YOU PRICK!" he
continued, growing more and more agitated. "I don't know who the FUCK you think
you are..." he started, jabbing the other boy in the shoulder, spittle flecking
his face, before a seismic interruption cut him off -- a loud, dull thump,
fabric on fabric, and a rushing ache in his cheek and jaw. Jacob had, with some
force, slapped him across the face. As his hand clutched instinctively at his cheek,
Sam's rage only heightened, incensed that this total stranger -- this utter
weirdo and fucking PERVERT -- had dared to fucking hit him... Barely a split
second had passed between being slapped and the bad decision he made next. He
unconsciously drew himself to his tallest stance, aimed both palms at the boy's
chest and shoved with as much strength as he could muster, sending him
stumbling backwards and falling onto the bed. Before Sam could advance and
further his attack in some way, Jacob was up in a flash, his eyes ablaze with
anger and indignation as he flew towards him. Sam didn't see the fist, nor even
feel the contact; he was aware only -- suddenly and with a dizzying panic -- of
being unable to catch his breath. He bent double, clutching his stomach, his
vision almost blurring. A strong arm encircled his neck from above and pulled,
wrestling his crumpling, wheezing body across the room in a headlock. As he
twisted to try and see his way, another blow landed in his ribs and he audibly
cried out. The arm released him; a hand jammed into his armpit and pushed him
forwards; he reached out and held the bars in front of him to steady himself.
Behind, the clang of a door; a rattle, a scrape, a click. Standing straighter,
he gasped deep lungfuls of air and turned, still holding the side. The boy
stood on the other side of the bars, panting.
"You're gonna
fucking regret that," he said, coughing into his fist. "Really fucking regret
it."
Sam still didn't
feel he could speak; didn't know what he'd say anyway.
"You can fucking
stay in there now," Jacob spat. "You and your shitty arse.
I'm going for breakfast." And with that, he turned and left, pausing only to
reach above the door and take down the clock on his way out.
Sam slumped against
the cage and puffed his cheeks. He half-heartedly reached through the bars and
yanked at the chunky, silver padlock. Unsurprisingly, it didn't yield. He tried
to sit down, but there was nowhere near enough space; he couldn't even squat on
his haunches.
`LET ME THE FUCK
OUT!" he bellowed into the room, shaking the door as hard as he could. The
metallic rattling bouncing between the bare, brick walls was the only response
he received. "AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!"
He dropped the
couple of inches the cage allowed him, his knees pushed painfully against the
bars, and rested his head backwards, looking at the ceiling. In his peripheral
vision he could see the unkempt bed, cruelly mocking him with warmth and
comfort. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to picture life from
just two days ago. Mum's face... Luke's voice... Lying in the back garden last
summer... Driving with his friends... Man, his friends... Some of them would be going
through this, too... They might even be here, he reasoned... Random conversations they'd all had peppered
his thoughts -- none of them had come anywhere close to guessing anything
like this. Did he have a best friend? he wondered... Alfie, probably...
Wonder if Alfie is wearing one of these Lycra suits... Wonder what he looks like...
Just his eyes, and mouth, and...
There was a clatter
at the door. Sam had no idea how much time had passed -- it could have been two
hours for all he knew -- but it felt like a long time so he was pleased, sort
of, that Jacob had come back. The door opened and Sam steeled himself for more
confrontation, but it was not Jacob who entered the room. The figure froze in
the doorway, looking at Sam. It was a boy, wearing the same as Sam but all
blue. The Lycra suit; the cuffs; the collar; even the thing round his dick --
all navy blue. Which made the red tag on the collar all the more obvious.
Having considered Sam in the cage for a moment, the boy reached behind him and
wheeled a trolley inside before softly closing the door. Sam stared openly.
"Who are you!?" he
demanded of the stranger.
"Ben," came the
curt reply as he fussed about the trolley, picking bottles and cloths.
"I meant what are
you doing here..."
"Cleaner," he said,
his warm Scottish accent more noticeable now.
"Can you let me
out?" Sam implored him.
"No keys," was all
he replied.
Sam watched as the
boy worked methodically around the room, dusting, cleaning the toilet and sink,
making the bed, emptying the small bin. Reaching the upright cage with Sam in
it, he confidently wiped each and every bar up and down, totally ignoring Sam,
and moved on.
"Why are you doing
this?" he asked, feeling very unsettled and weird.
A long pause. "It's
my job."
"Yeah, but... You're
just... Doing it. Why? Why aren't you kicking off and telling them where to go!?"
Sam continued, growing more confused.
"Training," the boy
shrugged. Sam was frustrated.
"Can you talk like
you're not a fucking robot!?" he snapped unkindly.
The boy -- Ben --
stopped and looked at him, blinking slowly.
"Has he fucked you yet?"
he said eventually, returning to dusting the equipment shelf.
This rocked Sam:
the directness, the imagery, the explicitness, the unspoken tacit understanding
of that being a thing at all... He looked away, at his enclosed feet.
"Hm, you're lucky,"
Ben said, wiping the door handle. "Lots of them think a first-night fuck is a
good start to breaking you."
"Well I'm not gay,"
Sam said weakly. The boy chuckled.
"Haven't you got the memo yet? None of us were when we came."
"But you are now?"
"Yes, I am proud to
be a gay man and serve the needs of other men," Ben said, as though from a
script, "and all I'd say is that there's probably a reason you've been assigned
as a bottom. Anyway, I'm done. See you later." And with that, he grabbed the
trolley and left, closing the door behind him.
Alone again with
only the passing hubbub from the corridor, or random electrical whirring, for
company, Sam reeled, an odd sort of panic twisting his insides. Was there
something he'd given away? In his questionnaire, maybe? Time drained
invisibly away and his turmoil continued to bubble; his thoughts flew this way
and that, swelling into defiance, crashing into despair, melting into fear.
Aching soon set in physically too. Young and fit as he was, his body was
unaccustomed to standing in one position for so long. He shook his legs,
reached his arms through the roof of the cage and stretched, trying to ease his
shoulders. He turned, his back to the door, and leant his forehead against the
back of the cage, pressing the soft flesh of his buttocks against the bars
rather than his knees. This widened the opening at the rear of his suit,
though, and the coolness of both the air and the metal against his skin meant
he soon returned to facing forwards and standing more upright.
Just as he finished
counting the second row of bricks of the wall opposite him, the door opened
again and he was almost pleased to see it was Jacob -- or at least, he assumed
it was, and not another stranger, in black Lycra. He went straight to the
toilet roll and brought it from the holder.
"Ready?" he said,
simply.
"For what?" Sam
scowled, fairly certain of the answer.
"To have your
shitty arse wiped," Jacob said bluntly.
As resistant as he
remained to the idea, Sam didn't want to spend a moment longer in this fucking
cage; he wanted to bend, stretch, lie down...
"Fine," he snarled
quietly.
"Good lad. Turn
round then and push your arse to me. Hold the roof of
the cage."
Sam did so and
burned with shame as he felt Jacob's hand abruptly invade the cleft of his
buttocks for the second time in less than twelve hours. He flinched as the
rough paper was dragged across his hole, still tender from the night before.
Three swipes and his humiliation was complete. Jacob went to flush it then
unlocked the cage, reaching for Sam's collar to pull him from it.
"No more fucking
around," he warned in a firm voice, drawing Sam almost face-to-face.
"Understood?"
Sam hardened his
face and glared; a temptation rose to punch the boy speaking down to him but he
decided against it. His hold on the collar was tight, and tugging at an awkward
angle.
"Fine," he said
again, begrudgingly.
"Good. Let's get
going then."
"For breakfast?"
Sam asked, unable to disguise the hope in his voice. Jacob just laughed in his
face.
"No chance, you've missed that now. No, we're going to Class... Stand there a
second..."
Sam
stood, somewhat dumbstruck, as Jacob once again fastened his wrists behind his
back, a short chain between his ankles and the leash around his junk, then
tottered obligingly behind him out of their room and into the warren of
corridors.