The Lost Generation Chapter 10
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10
Sam had asked, as they walked together back to their room, to use one of the urinals they passed. The boy once again leading him by the balls had snorted derisively and said there was no chance with the cock cage and he'd have to wait. Back in the room, he released the chain from around Sam's genitals, and his wrists from behind his back, then pointed towards the toilet in the corner of the room.
"I'd sit down, if I were you," was all he said, as he busied himself at the shelves. Sam scoffed to himself, shaking his arms out. He didn't need to shit; he wasn't going to sit down.
As he stood at the bowl, awkwardly holding the plastic shell encasing his cock, he checked over his shoulder. The boy wasn't paying any attention. Slowly... Uncomfortably... He released his bladder -- a short squirt at first. It failed to clear the slot in the end of the plastic shell, spraying up the toilet seat and dampening his gloved hand. "Ugh, fuck..." he muttered under his breath. A short chuckle from behind his back followed. He ignored it and tried again, the pressure in his bladder too urgent to ignore.
The stream was longer this time; he was slower to react and stop it. The same thing happened -- his piss had exploded through the gap and landed across the toilet, the floor and his legs. He cursed more loudly, bringing the boy to his side.
"Fuck's sake, I did tell you, " he snapped, grabbing at some toilet roll and wiping round the toilet seat. "Here, just sit. The fuck. Down. Like I told you."
Sam turned and did so, his face burning with embarrassment and his dick burning with desperation. The relief that subsequently came, though, quickly gave way to deeper embarrassment as the boy approached him again, tore some more toilet paper and manhandled the device around his genitals, dabbing and poking at it. Sam was frozen, as he spoke without looking up.
"Need you nice and clean for bed -- do not want piss in my bed."
Once he was satisfied that the cock cage was dry, he pointed to the sink and told Sam to brush his teeth. Having done so, he was led to the bed, where one side of the duvet had been thrown back.
"You're on the left side, hope that's alright. I always sleep on the right," Jacob said, pushing him by the shoulders to sit. Sam, who had never shared a bed with anyone before this point, could only gape and murmur acknowledgment. He sat, rigid, while the boy moved around him, clipping his ankle cuffs together then manipulating each arm in turn to clip his wrists to either side of his collar. Stepping back, Jacob beamed. Sam instantly felt self-conscious, to add to the discomfort of his wrists pulling at his neck. With little warning, though, his legs were swept up and onto the bed, tipping him backwards. His head landed on the pillow and his body immediately registered the difference in circumstance -- the softness, the warmth, the sweet smell of the the linen -- and released tension Sam hadn't even realised he was holding. Jacob replaced the duvet on top of him then got in the other side, flicking a switch on the wall that turned off the overhead light and left only a dim, yellow wall light that cast intimidating shadows from the tall cage.
Sam was immediately hot and the weight of the duvet seemed to both comfort and oppress him. An arm was suddenly flopped across his midriff, and he grew conscious of the material against his face as his fingers idly nudged the back of his encased head. His biceps were starting to ache. The boy was breathing loudly. Occasionally there was murmuring as people passed in the corridor. The plastic shell on his dick was tugging, and rubbing on the skin behind his balls. It was sore. Sam felt alien. He'd never had anyone put their arm over him in bed... Not even Luke, for a long time... Fuck: Luke! Sam's stomach dropped as the thought of his twin flashed into his mind. He needed to find out where he was... He'd ask someone tomorrow... The boy, perhaps... Or a... What? A grown-up? What the fuck? He didn't know. But he was sure someone would understand that he wanted to know where his brother was, and that they'd probably get him to Luke.
He jumped slightly, as a hot breath struck his ear.
"You ok?" said the low voice.
"When can I put my arms down?" Sam croaked, his throat dry.
"That's you for the night, mate..."
Anger flared in Sam. "What the fuck!? How am I supposed to sleep, it's killing!?"
A gloved finger rose and pressed his lips. "Don't fucking swear at me. It's not my problem, you just have to manage. You'll get used to it soon enough and eventually when you can be trusted not to go psycho, you can come to bed restrained normally," the boy explained, his voice soft and deep against Sam's covered ear.
Sam exhaled, trembling.
"Tell you what," the boy said, "lying on your side makes it a bit easier." He slid an arm under Sam's back, pulled his right hip and simultaneously pushed his left elbow, forcing Sam onto his side facing away. He was right, Sam found: his arms fell naturally and removed a lot of strain from both his biceps and the collar round his neck.
An arm was draped, again, over him and the boy's body was nearer than ever. Sam could feel his heat, radiating against him through the flimsy Lycra. Sam stayed as still as he could, his breath hitching, his gaze fixed on the toilet barely six feet away. They lay for what felt like hours; not speaking; not moving. His mind raced -- this all felt too weird. Too unreal. But too much to be a practical joke; too tangible to be a dream. His thoughts flitted and flew, darting this way and that, never quite settling on just one picture, nor one feeling. He thought of his parents, and what they must be thinking... He saw flashes of Luke, hugging him in the kitchen... Memories swelled of driving with mates, the chattering, the laughing, the... Simplicity of it all... Suddenly he was aware of something else behind him -- the boy had a fucking erection! Sam cringed inwardly. Soon, the arm over him left its position and he could feel the boy grabbing himself, stroking himself, whacking it against Sam or poking it into his buttock. Sam quickly grew terrified that he was looking for... Well, the middle bit, and quickly grew upset.
"Please..." he sobbed. "Don't."
The prodding ceased and a thick, silent tension hung in the air. Eventually the boy spoke: "Stay there." The movement of the bed told Sam he'd gotten up. He could be heard scuffling and rustling in the gloom before dropping back into bed and shuffling under the covers. Still on his side, anticipation and fear gnawed at Sam. He didn't have to wait long before fingers were once again at his lips, this time probing for entry. He opened his mouth slightly and they rushed in, reducing quickly to just one. The smell of a dentist's gloves filled his nostrils. The solitary finger swiped round his mouth, inside his cheeks, and laid fat and lazy on his tongue, stroking and scraping. It tasted vile.
"Suck it, boy" came a growled, breathy instruction at his ear.
Sam, almost instinctively, backed his head away from the intrusive digit instead and tried to firmly say "no" around it. This angered the boy and he simply started forcing it in and out of his mouth like a hammer drill. Sam's lips betrayed him, defaulting to a small `o' to better contain it. Tears built in his eyes, laid fastened and helpless. Worse followed, however, when the boy removed the finger and, sliding an arm under Sam's head, replaced it with a rubbery hand clamped tightly over his mouth. The slick finger retreated into the bed and Sam felt it wriggling its way between his buttocks. Without warning or subtlety it pushed straight into him with a short, sharp pain. He jumped in shock. A leg arched over his own, pinning him down, and the hand pressed harder against his face. The finger found a rhythm sliding in and out of his sore hole, occasionally twisting and turn, speeding up and slowing down; cruelly violating his greatest intimacy.
Sam cried openly. It really hurt. And it wasn't supposed to happen like this.