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9
He stood in front of the
mirror, numbed. For the first time, Sam saw himself since being in the hands of
the Programme. He trembled and choked. His eyes
brimmed as he took himself in... Tall. Slim. White. Encased. Barely sight of any
skin save for the pale and pointless patch exposed at the crotch, above... Above
where his cock was, squashed into a translucent plastic shell with a hole at
the end. He sobbed a little. He was unrecognizable; not... Himself.
The black figure appeared behind him; reached for Sam's wrists and clipped
them together behind his back. He slumped as two arms snaked between his own
and folded over his stomach. The boy's mouth was at his ear; the hot breath
permeating the spandex hood.
"You need to calm down 661," it whispered. "I've got you."
After the trauma of the last however-many hours, exhausted from the
relentlessly heightened state of tension and worry, these words -- this
perceived kindness or warmth, from a total and semi-naked stranger no less --
were the final straw for Sam and he collapsed into great, wracking cries. Jacob
bore his weight, steadied him then withdrew his arms and turned Sam round.
Instinctively, Sam buried his head into the vacant shoulder and tried to stem
his tears. The gloved hands once more threaded between his powerless arms; rose
to rub his shoulder blades then glided downwards, to his backside, where they
stroked a little then dug in, squeezing uncomfortably hard.
At this, Sam looked up. The boy was staring at him. A shiny, featureless face,
but for two inquisitive brown eyes, a bump of a nose, and his small pink lips.
Sam stared back, trying to regain his composure and process the shock and
discomfort of having his barely-covered arse grabbed.
Alarmingly, the face slowly inched closer and gently kissed his nose.
"You look really good, 661," Jacob said, smiling. "Let's get going."
After fastening a chain
between Sam's ankles cuffs -- and looping a much shorter one around his genitals
to which he attached a dog lead -- Jacob reached for a small box on the `Fun
Shelf' (as he called it) and produced a little red disc, the size of a
bottle-top. He added it to a split ring and threaded it onto a D-ring on Sam's
collar. He volunteered its purpose before Sam could ask.
"You subs all have identifier tags -- there's a whole load of them. Red means
`no entry'... No-go... New; fresh meat; not to be messed with; not happening."
Sam had no real idea what
any of that meant, and was unable to process a response quickly enough as Jacob
tugged sharply on the lead and he jerked painfully into shuffling forward to
keep up with him.
"Where are we going?" he
asked through gritted teeth, Jacob keeping his genitals and the stupid plastic
thing pulled conspicuously away from his body.
"Dinner," was all Jacob replied.
Almost as soon as they left
their room and rounded the corner, Sam was taken aback and unconsciously slowed
his awkward gait -- inadvertently punishing his own crotch. There were other
people milling around, other pairs of black and white Lycra-clad boys trudging
the corridors, each identical to him and Jacob.
He tried to pick up his
pace, to spare his burning balls and also to catch Jacob up enough to ask a
question subtly.
"Jacob? Hey... Jacob," he hissed, scurrying as best as his shackles would allow.
Jacob did not slow, nor turn, but spoke back in a low, hard voice.
"Call me Sir."
"Er.. Yeah. OK. Sir. Why doesn't everyone have those things on their dicks?" he
queried.
"We're Tops," Jacob replied. "We don't have to have our penis locked away
because we're superior to you. We also use our penis more than you'll ever be
allowed to, so..."
Sam could hardly comprehend the sentence... Locked away? Use it? What... What
the fuck?
He looked keenly at every other boy in white but none would meet his eyes. Some
they passed were shouting and swearing, resisting being led painfully by their
cock and balls. Guards soon appeared and intervened, but how it was resolved
Sam never saw, as Jacob tugged him along by the lead, round another corner,
through another door. There were lots of doors. And metal rings dotting the
walls and various apparatus littering the corridors including, bizarrely, a
urinal mounted in almost every one.
Eventually they reached a
door with "Food Hall" printed on it stern red lettering. As Jacob opened it and
led him through, Sam was cowed by the assault on his senses -- the intense smell
of food; the warmth; the hubbub and clattering of metal; the mere sight of...
Dozens of boys, in black and white Lycra, sitting at tables, some with food
some without. It was surreal. Sam's mind raced. Where was the anger? Where
was the rioting? Why were they behaving like this was the most normal thing in
the world!? He stopped still, flushed and agog, the lead yanking painfully
on his genitals. Jacob looked round.
"Come on, move," he said, jerking
the lead.
Reluctantly Sam did so and
followed him to a long metal picnic table, with two attached benches. To his
horror there were already four boys in white suits sitting at it, with space
for a couple more. Jacob unclipped the lead from Sam's crotch then bent and
unshackled his ankles before steering him by the arm into one of the gaps. With
a forceful push, Sam understood what was being asked of him and awkwardly
obliged, stepping over and sitting on the bench. From behind, Jacob crouched
and reattached the ankle cuffs together, then unclipped Sam's wrists from
behind his back, bringing them forward and attaching each cuff to the table
itself via a short length of chain. Sam quickly worked out that this meant he
could use a knife and fork to navigate food but he would have to stoop and
crane his neck for it to reach his mouth. With a shake of the chains and a pat
on the head, the cruel black-clad boy left.
As Sam looked around
nervously at the other boys, only one met his eyes.
"This is fucking... Weird,
right?" the masked face said, his voice low and wobbly beneath the bustle of
the room.
"Yeah," Sam mustered,
feeling he might burst into tears if he spoke too much.
"I'm Ryan," the boy
volunteered.
"Sam."
"Ash," came a voice from
next to him, as Ryan switched his gaze expectantly.
"Layton," mumbled another.
The fourth didn't look up and didn't speak. Nobody challenged him.
"Are you... OK?" Ryan
continued, seemingly to all of them.
Sam shrugged. "I dunno."
"My balls hurt," Layton
said, shifting in his seat. This immediately made Sam feel simultaneously
self-conscious yet glad they were sat and nobody could see his balls.
Ryan nodded, "Yeah,
definitely. I don't even get it...."
"Did a doctor like... Wank
you off?" Ash blurted, then stared at the table embarrassed.
"With a machine, yeah," Sam
replied, quietly.
The others nodded and
mumbled.
Sam looked at each of them,
still numb. They were featureless; anonymous. Their eyes and mouths were
different but otherwise they were all identical, even down to their thick white
collars each adorned with a red disc.
The unceremonious clatter
of a plate in front of him broke his focus and he looked up to see a boy in
black at the table. It was only when he spoke that Sam realised
it was Jacob.
"Here, eat. Bedtime after
this."
Sam looked down: sausage
and mashed potato. Some broccoli and miserly dribble of gravy. It looked stodgy
and pale but even as he thought this his stomach growled and he was suddenly
very aware of how long it had been since he'd eaten. He started into it, his
wrist chains clanking and clattering. Plates soon arrived for the other
restrained boys, delivered by other boys in black, and the stilted chat was
done as they each tucked in greedily.