The Lost Generation Chapter 13
Sorry everyone for the interminable delay -- and for the formatting snafu of the last chapter. Hopefully this instalment is better.
Thank you one and all for your patience and for your messages. I hope you find this new chapter worth the wait but whether you do or don't, I welcome all feedback, dialogue, criticism, proposals, death threats etc at kinked88@protonmail.com!
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13
Sam had no idea where the bedroom was in relation to the classroom they had just left, but from the time they spent walking, in awkward tandem, he guessed they weren't going back there. Frustratingly there were few clues to anything, bar the odd sign for a wing or block. It was simply door after door; corridor upon corridor; all the same - rough carpet underfoot; no windows; strip lighting; rings, loops and hooks at various heights and urinals at regular intervals. They encountered only one other pair: the boy in black nodded a greeting to Jacob; his follower in white, led by his junk, fixed his gaze on the floor.
"Jacob..." Sam started, before being cut off by the boy wheeling round, thrusting a forearm into his chest and slamming him into the wall. Jacob's other hand held the leash and he lifted it high, raising Sam to his tiptoes and eliciting a whimper of pain.
"Weren't you fucking listening? You call me Sir!" he hissed, getting right in Sam's face.
"Sorry! Sir," he croaked.
"Better," Jacob said, lowering the leash, stepping back and tugging. "C'mon, we're nearly there."
He wondered how Jacob knew his way so well. He wondered, even, if he didn't, and they were walking in circles precisely because he was trying to find the right way. He was not motivated to say this to Jacob, though. The opposite in fact. The skin behind his balls was already chafed and sore. He was ambling as quickly as the ankle chain would allow, to try and give his burning crotch whatever millisecond of reprieve he could. He was exhausted and he could feel sweat across his face, inside the stupid mask he wore.
When they finally stopped, they were in front of yet another anonymous-looking door. Jacob knocked several times, in a very specific pattern. After a long pause it opened and Jacob pulled him through. It appeared, at first glance, to be another large sports-hall space. Darker, though. Dim. And it felt colder - despite the apparent amount of people in there.
Jacob led him round what seemed to be a perimeter; people gathered two-or-three deep in pulsing lines a few feet from the walls. Reaching a gap in the throng, he filled it with a couple of chairs from against the wall and steered Sam into one of them. "Stay!" was all he said. Much as he resented being commanded like a dog, Sam looked round and decided he had no desire to move from the seat. The boys around -- mostly in black -- were animated and jostling; hanging off one another and raucously talking and laughing. Their pale unadorned genitals were conspicuous against their Lycra, and were hanging.. swinging.. bouncing.. with abandon. Even flaccid -- as most were, but not all -- Sam was aware of the different sizes and shapes that flailed by his face as he sat uncomfortably. He focused on looking forwards, to the central arena space that had been created within the four edges, and not much beyond (where more naked crotches crowded). It was strewn with crash-mats, a makeshift kind of flooring it seemed. He got a shock when Jacob reappeared on his shoulder and patted his head cockily.
"What the fuck is this?" he asked in a low voice as Jacob took his seat beside him.
"You'll see any minute -- it's starting," Jacob replied, pointing to other side of the room. The crowd had parted and six people in white came stumbling through. Their wrists were attached to either side of their collars -- an image of some hilarity to the baying black-suited crowd who roared and jeered. Sam felt very self-conscious suddenly, as one of the few other people in white suits. As the six boys neared his side of the room, Sam noted they had the things on their dicks like him, gags strapped in their mouths and crudely-written numbers stuck to their chests. They spread out, but not confidently, looking around at the crowd and at each other.
An intensified cheer swept the room and another gap formed in the wall of people. This time five boys in black suits came through onto the mats, arms aloft and clapping. At second glance, Sam noticed the chain between their ankle cuffs -- and that it seemed slightly longer than his own -- but the key detail, which was unmissable, was their engorged erections, swaying with each restricted step and glistening with a heavily-lubed condom and shiny ring at the base. Sam flinched instinctively.
The five boys spread similarly to the others and seemed to be staring them down. Sam had no idea what was happening but a whistle blew and the crowd started up again, hollering and cheering as the boys in black advanced towards those in white as fast as their chained ankles would allow. The six others, for their part, scattered in every direction, scampering and skipping around the makeshift arena. Two tried to hug the edge - one seemed to be trying to push through the first line of people -- but they were rebuffed; manhandled and shoved back into the open space. As Sam watched, his blood ran colder with every panicked dodge by a boy in a white suit. One or two were stood by him at various points, breathless; panting; trembling. Sam felt scared for them, even though he still wasn't sure what this all was.
But then it happened.
In the corner directly opposite him, the boy who had Number 3 on his chest was flung forward by a flailing arm in the crowd, straight into the path of someone in black who had sped up their desperate waddle and launched himself full-bodied at the boy. They landed in a twisted heap; the boy in white thrashed helplessly without the use of his arms as the bigger boy fought him. In what felt like the blink of an eye, he had wrestled him onto his stomach and straddled his thighs, forced his head down into the mat with one hand and with the other grasped his erection and thrust his hips forwards. Even in the din of the cheering audience, even behind the ball-gag, the boy's pained howl reached Sam's ears and his stomach dropped. He wanted to leave, to run -- and hide. Fear froze him to the spot and forced him to watch as the black-suited boy pushed faster and harder into his victim until he shuddered, flopped atop the motionless body beneath him, then drew himself up to the renewed clamour of the crowd nearest to him. Someone approached, peeled off the condom, and inspected it before raising it high and shouting "Number 3 is OUT!!!". Sam looked over at Jacob, who was clapping and leaning in to talk to someone next to him. How could he be enjoying this!? What the actual fuck...
The boy with his now-deflating hard-on shuffled into the crowd with back-pats and arse-slaps; his conquered target was hauled to his feet and dragged roughly from the room.
Over the next twenty minutes, as exhaustion set in, three of the white-suited five were caught by their black-suited opposite numbers and subjected to the same brutal and violent anal assault. One guy egged the crowd on as he pounded the defenceless hole under him. Then, though, there were just two in white, and one in black. 50/50. They circled the floor together, each wary of one another. And then in a flash the chaser moved, darting forward as quickly as his limited lower limbs would allow. In panic, the taller of the boys in white turned too quickly... tripped... clawed at the air as he fell and found the ankle of his white-suited ally who stumbled and and kicked out as he too went down, right in front of Sam. The first boy had scrambled, in an awkward caterpillar-like motion, to his feet and ran, stepping directly on his competitor, pausing momentarily to drag his foot between the legs of the boy and firmly into his balls. The boy's head reared, just as the black-suited tormentor lunged and threw an arm around his neck. In what seemed the blink of an eye, the boy was penetrated and being fucked aggressively, just a few feet from where Sam sat. Dazed, Sam watched in horror, his breath caught, his gaze moving from the rapid movement of the boy on top's hips to the flapping hands of his prey. Suddenly, amidst the speed, the volume, the fury, he locked eyes with the poor raped boy. His pain was evident and he was crying openly. Sam grabbed at Jacob's arm.
"I'm getting out of here, this is fucking..." he said, as he stood up.
"Nooooooot fucking yet, mate, sit down!" Jacob replied, pushing him forcefully back into the seat and returning to cheering on the action.
The boy in black stood up, breathless. He unrolled his own condom, thrust it at the boy by his shoulder and staggered away clapping. "Number 6 is OUT!!" the boy holding the condom shouted, and turned to the open floor. Spotting the last remaining white-suited boy crouched in the furthest corner, he approached him, hauled him to feet by his collar, held his wrist and yelled: "Number 5 WINS!!!"
"Wins? Wins what? What does he get!?" Sam asked Jacob, wondering faintly if perhaps it was a chance of freedom.
"He gets... To not be raped," Jacob replied, laughing darkly as he high-fived one boy and made an `L' sign to another. "C'mon: up," he said, picking up the leash still attached to Sam's crotch. Sam stood, stretched imperceptibly, and ambled behind Jacob and the others as they filtered from the room back into the stark corridor. He chanced a quick look over his shoulder. In the empty space, the broken boy still lay where he fell, heaving with wracked sobs. The door closed behind Sam and his heart pounded with fear and grief. Jacob said goodbye to a few others then tugged Sam along after him as they set off down yet another long, barren walkway.
"Jacob..."
"Sir!!!" came the snarled reply. Sam cringed inwardly. He wasn't sure sure he'd ever pick this up.
"Sir... What the hell was that?' he asked.
"Esc-rape," said Jacob, simply. "I'll tell you more tonight, we're here now."
Sam's gaze moved from Jacob to the room they'd just entered. Thank fuck! The Food Hall!
He was positioned once again at a metal table, his shackles adjusted to be fastened to it and the crotch leash removed, and left with two other white-suited boys. One was looking around nervously; the other met his eyes easily.
"Hey, you OK?" the boy said.
Sam shrugged and rattled his wrist chains.
"Ha! Yeah, fair point. I dunno if we've met already cos... Y'know..." He bent towards the table to wave his hand across his smooth, masked face. "... But I'm Peter."
"Sam," said Sam.
"So how is it for you? I can't lie, I'm loving it! Surrounded by all this dick? Yes please! I mean, I'm vers -- well, I thought I was but I guess the suit don't lie, right!?" Peter babbled, gesturing at himself as much as his own chains would allow. "So yeah, I guess I'm ok being bottom -- are you? Or are you vers too? I mean, I guess we haven't really got much choice, so... If I simply HAVE to take it up the arse I guess that's just what I'll DO!" he concluded, sighing with a dramatic, exaggerated shrug.
Sam, stunned a little, grasped at words.
"Er... Yeah. Well... No. I'm not gay. I don't think. I mean... There've been some thoughts... I did wonder... Like, a while ago... I dunno. No. I don't want to be gay..."
Peter snorted. "Ahahaaa! Nobody WANTS to be gay! But when you realise you are -- or might be," he added, winking at Sam, "you just gotta own it and be your proud gay self!"
Before Sam could ask this weird stranger where he'd found his self-awareness and confidence, food arrived in the shape of formless lasagne, dropped unceremoniously in front of him by a boy he assumed was Jacob. A glass of blackcurrant squash was plonked down beside it and the boy left without a word. Peter squealed a little as he pointed at the neon green spiral straw it came with.
"Oh my god, literally dead right now!" he giggled.
He laughed again when his own food and drink arrived, and also had a neon spiral straw.
"That's Matt," he said, of the boy who brought his food. "Matt," he repeated, in a deeper, gruff voice, then laughed again. "I don't think he's very intelligent but it looks like his dick is big, so... That's probably all that matters!" he added with a cackle.
"Have you had a class yet?" Sam asked, curious about Peter's freewheeling language.
"Class?" he replied between greedy forkfuls of food. "Oh! Yeah!" he grunted, swallowing. "Yeah, fucking... Vocabulary!? Bitch please! I call a spade a spade; I'm definitely calling a dick a dick!"
He guffawed and Sam smiled ever so slightly. It was really weird hearing someone speaking so... positively... about their situation. The cage around his dick was still rubbing; the collar round his neck was stiff and unyielding; the Lycra bodysuit pulled taut with every movement; the cuffs felt so... Present, and obvious... Sam was, generally, in great discomfort: how did anyone ignore that enough to be actively pleased to be here!?
He was going to ask Peter this specific question but couldn't really get a word in. Peter talked endlessly -- seemingly effortlessly -- and Sam was almost glad when Jacob came to unclip him from the table, fastened his wrists behind his back, reattached the leash and led him from the room.
The walk was silent again. Sam didn't really dare speak for fear of getting something wrong again -- though he also felt really silly trying to call Jacob "Sir". They passed another few people, including two fully-dressed men in checked shirts and ties. "Staff," was all Jacob had said once out of earshot. Sam decided he had worked that out for himself but withheld a sarcastic response. Thankfully, they soon reached a door that he recognised as the bedroom. Following Jacob in, he suddenly felt awkward; unsure once again of what to do or not do in a space. He simply stood still.
"Toilet?" Jacob said, as he flopped on the bed.
"Er... I dunno..." Sam faltered, having not given it much thought. "Yeah?" he offered.
"Go on then."
But... My arms..." he said, half-turning to Jacob.
"You're fine. Go sit down."
Reluctantly -- and glowering inside his Lycra hood -- Sam did so, peeing forcefully through the plastic cage over his dick, his bladder more full than he'd realised. He finished and stood, only to be abruptly admonished by Jacob who slid across the bed, grabbed the toilet paper and once again set about dabbing at the cage. When it was deemed clean enough, he pushed Sam round and unclipped his wrist cuffs before jumping backwards onto the bed. "C'mon, lie down."
Sam did so, clumsily, laying stiffly with his arms by his sides, staring at the ceiling. It was bright in here... Not very warm... That lasagne wasn't very...What the Hell!? Jacob had, in one swift motion, rolled closer, swung a leg and mounted his thighs, sitting high over him. He dug his knee into Sam's right hip until Sam shifted instinctively. This put him more in the centre of the bed. Jacob reached down next to him for each of Sam's wrists, drawing them upwards, past his head and attaching them to a clip on a ring, fixed to the head of bed. Sam blinked at him. "Why?"
"Because it's time to teach you a lesson," Jacob replied blankly. "Who am I?"
Sam was instantly confused. What?
_"_Jacob..." he said.
Jacob slapped him firmly across the face. "Who... Am I?" he growled.
"I.. I don't understand! Your name is Ja-" Sam stuttered, shocked, before another slap landed, this time the opposite cheek.
"What kind of thick... Pathetic... faggot... Little fuck, does not even know their Owner's name, boy?" Jacob snarled, hitting every syllable and emphasising the homophobic slur. Sam shook and twisted in his restraints in panic.
"I... What!? I don't know... You told me you were cal-" he didn't get to finish the sentence as Jacob laid into him, slapping his face left and right, left and right. They grew more forceful, the intensity more frightening. Sam tried to turn his head into his stretched arms but Jacob simply pinned him by the forehead and delivered slap after slap to his left cheek. Against every desire, he started to cry as his cheeks stung fiercely.
"You... Call... Me... Fucking... SIR!" roared Jacob, punctuating each word with a blow to Sam's face.
"Y-yes... Sir..." Sam sobbed, sniffing and gasping.
"Who am I!?" Jacob demanded once again.
"Sir! You're Sir, Sir..."
`Good. Good fucking boy. Finally!" Jacob said, rolling off and laying next to him again. He thought for a moment then reached to unclipped Sam's wrists from the headboard above them. Instinctively Sam touched his own face, tenderly. Both cheeks were sore. He wondered idly if the thin fabric -- two layers, really, of gloved hand and masked face -- would have lessened the redness of his skin. The thought passed fleetingly: he knew he'd never really know.
Jacob thrust an arm out, under Sam's neck, and drew him closer. When only his upper body moved awkwardly across the bed, Jacob's other hand reached and pulled his hip, rolling Sam onto his side, into him. Picking Sam's arm up, he placed it carefully across his own midriff then shuffled his chest and shoulder until Sam's head was resting on it. He stroked Sam's back lazily with one hand; the other tended to his stinging cheek, caressing gently across the smoothness. It was, Sam quickly realised, quite comforting.
The room was silent for what felt like a long time. Sam stayed as still has he could, unsure now of Jacob's mood. It grew almost relaxing, just listening to him breathe; his head rising and falling with Jacob's chest. Even the hand at his back, sometimes stretching to tickle the top of his backside, felt... Reassuring. Warm.
"Sorry," Sam said softly, suddenly, almost surprising himself.
Jacob rubbed his head as though ruffling his hair. "Yeah... Good. It's OK really... It's kinda the point... Y'know? You have to learn... I have to teach you... This is us now..." he said, quietly. "You're my Bottom; I'm your Top... Partners... It's really important you call me `Sir', OK? To me and to them..."
"I get it... I will," Sam said. "... Sir," he added quickly.
Jacob chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "For now at least, you can call me Jacob when we're in our room. But not if there's anyone else in here too, OK?"
"OK," said Sam. Another soft kiss followed. "Sir...?" He ventured, the word feeling funny in his mouth but his brain somehow soothed by it.
"Mmhmm?" Came a sleepy reply.
"You were gonna tell me about that thing earlier? Rape Escape or something...?"
"Esc-rape," Jacob corrected him. "Close, though. Yours is probably better actually." He yawned and stretched out on the bed. "Yeah... It's a game we made. Well, that someone made. Six Bottoms, five Tops, last Bottom standing... Wins," he shrugged.
"But they don't actually win anything?"
"No."
"Have... Um... Have you ever been in it? Like... Done that to one of those boys?" Sam asked, tentatively.
"The Bottoms are different every time, for one thing..." Jacob corrected him. "And secondly, no, I'm not big enough. You have to be 7 inches or more to play."
Sam's gaze fell upon the exposed area below Jacob's stomach; almost as smooth as the Lycra surrounding it and punctuated by his dick, flopped lazily to one side. Sam had no idea if it was big or not, he had nothing to compare it to other than his own. And that was currently locked in a plastic shell. And he hadn't seen Luke naked for years... Fuck: Luke! His stomach lurched. How was he? Fuck he missed him so much... Suddenly he was aware that Jacob's hand that had been stroking his head, was now behind it, pushing gently.
"Go and say hello..." he said as Sam's head moved effortlessly down, his lycra hood frictionless against Jacob's own lycra suit. He stopped pushing just as Sam's cheek made contact with his skin. Jacob's dick was... Right there. Strangely fixated, Sam froze and simply looked at it. It was pale and his foreskin was all bunched, and wrinkled. His warm breath, heavy with fear -- or was it anticipation? -- seemed to stir it and he watched as it swelled and rocked against Jacob's crotch. It grew thicker and longer and pitched side-to-side like a drunk trying to stand. Sam looked on transfixed. Unconsciously his tongue darted across his bottom lip. As it stood to its fullest, the dick rested against Sam's nose. He closed his eyes and slowed his breath. There was a scent. He couldn't place it, but... He didn't hate it... Was it Jacob? His dick? He quickly became aware of some discomfort in his own crotch. His dick had filled the cage, which was being pulled away from his body, accompanied by the burning sensation behind his balls. He tried to subtly shift his lower half so as not to move his head from its position or disturb Jacob, but to no avail. The pain remained. And then Jacob moved from under him and the erection vanished from in front of Sam's face.
Unsure where to put himself and feeling slightly embarrassed at his reaction to the dick, he straightened himself up and returned to laying on the pillow. Jacob took each of his wrists in turn and once again clipped them to his collar, followed by another to clip his ankle cuffs together. He then abruptly yanked the duvet from under his legs and replaced it across his body. Wait, what? It was bedtime...? Sam could only watch, still somewhat dazed, as Jacob rose, went to the Fun Shelf and flicked the overhead light off on his way back to the bed. He shuffled in next to Sam and immediately shimmied on top of him. He placed his hands on Sam's. Interlocked their fingers. He was heavy on Sam's chest, forcing him to breathe strained and shallow breaths. In the low, warm light of the wall lamp across the room, Jacob's face looked so round, and smooth, and blank. Sam met his eyes -- they were wide, filling their gaps in the hood, and so brown. He tingled: something about their softness made him feel less scared. The eyes flickered downwards once or twice. They blinked gently. Slowly, Jacob stretched forwards and pressed his lips against Sam's. Sam closed his eyes and murmured against them, flexing his fingers too. Jacob pulled away, looked at him, smiled and rushed forward again, less delicate this time. He pushed firmly into Sam's face, gripping his hands as he did so. Sam's dick thickened in its plastic prison and he could feel, against his thigh, that Jacob's had grown too. His hands moved to Sam's face cupping it as he delivered quicker, more forceful kisses; suddenly a jolt ran through Sam -- Jacob's tongue had flickered across his lips. This was further than he'd ever gone with anyone, intimately. He froze: he had no idea what to do. The tongue kept coming, pushing between his lips as Jacob mouthed and twisted at his face. Sam opened his mouth a little and raised his tongue; it was immediately swamped by Jacob's. Amidst the heady daze of frenzied kissing Sam became aware of Jacob's hips grinding into him lower in the bed. Grinding quickly became thrusting as Jacob's passion intensified, his kisses growing sloppier, rougher; his hands circling Sam's head, grabbing and rubbing at the indistinctive smoothness. Faster and faster he bucked his hips, until the moment came -- he pressed his forehead into Sam's and growled, panting, while spurt after spurt of wetness seeped through Sam's lycra suit and settled, cold, against his skin.
He patted Sam's cheek and rolled off, exhaling deeply. Sam lay still, exhausted emotionally more than physically. His head spun as he tried to process what had happened... He had another guy's cum on him..!? He'd fucking kissed a guy... And his dick tried to get erect during it... Fuck... Was it... Nice? Good? Did he want... More_? ... the fuck...?
_Without warning, he was tipped over onto his side again. Jacob wriggled a little and adjusted the duvet violently. "Night."
With a damp and tender face and uncomfortable stickiness across his waist Sam stared out into the dim room and tried to slow his breathing until finally... Eventually and gratefully... He fell asleep.