The Lost Generation Chapter 8
Firstly, I apologise for the tediously slow addition of chapters. Just... Life, y'know?
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8
Inside there were a few chairs, lots of mirrors and an absolute mess across most of the floor. The boy leading him -- his `Partner' -- steered Sam to one of the chairs and then weirdly set about fastening both ankle and wrist chains to it, all but immmobilising him.
A man appeared and wordlessly -- and quicker than Sam imagined possible -- produced electric clippers and sheared his whole head in just a few expert strokes. He struggled somewhat, startled more than anything, but made no difference. The chair itself did not even move. The man spent a few more seconds tidying round the ears then without warning, whipped Sam's gown up and over his head. Sam started trying to protest but a hand came down on the gown over his mouth. "Don't, mate," a voice said. Seconds later, Sam felt the clippers slicing through his pubic hair, followed by the man roughly lifting and pulling his genitals this way and that as he sought to attack every centimetre of skin in Sam's crotch. A different sensation came, which Sam realised by the scent alone as shaving cream. Sure enough, there was more tugging and the scraping of a blade, masterfully robbing the last remnants of his maturity. Beneath the obstructive gown; the restrictive hand; the cold sting of the air, Sam dared not try and picture what he now looked like. An utter fucking baby, he supposed. The clippers returned and swiped across his chest and stomach, then dug into his armpits.
"The back?" the man seemed to query, gruffly.
"No," came the simple reply.
"Yer done then."
And with that the gown was lowered again and the boy unfastened Sam from the chair.
They left the room and traipsed for what seemed like ages, finally stopping outside a plain brown door with brass numbers on it. Room 36. Sam still wondered -- privately -- if it was all a dream, and this was a warped facsimile of a hotel he was imagining in his sub-conscious. The boy leading him, though, swung open the door, ushered him inside and, as he slowly took it in, Sam felt sure that nowhere in his unconscious could he be conjuring some of the things he was seeing. He immediately felt a little claustrophobic; it was a stark contrast to the large, airy, impersonal halls he'd seen so far. It was not unlike an average hotel room, just a little bigger and almost perfectly square. It was full and windowless. Along the left-hand wall there was a small chest of drawers, a wash-basin and a toilet. A double bed, underneath a large rectangular mirror, occupied most of the room, and on the right-hand side there were two metal contraptions that looked very much to Sam like cages, one tall and narrow, the other seemingly for a large dog. It was to the right of the door, though, that the boy first reached to take a key from the rack of shelves laden with odd items, and moved behind Sam to unlock the shackles, first from his wrists and then his ankles.
Sam rubbed each wrist in turn and watched nervously as the boy closed the door behind them and went to lie on the bed. He looked at Sam intently. Sam flushed and felt even more uncomfortable than he had already. He didn't know what to do. And he still couldn't speak for the gag. He sat gingerly on the end of the bed. The boy immediately slid across and unbuckled the gag.
"Thanks," Sam said, looking away.
"So what do you want to know?" the boy asked, plainly.
Sam's mind reeled. He didn't know. Where the fuck did he start!? He stammered and faltered for several moments.
"Er... Well... Um... Like... Where am I?" he managed to mumble.
"Living Facility," came the response.
"Who are you?" Sam continued.
"I'm Jacob. T172. You?"
"Sam. B-something or other... What does that even mean?"
Jacob laughed. "It's really simple - T is for top, B is for bottom and the number is just random," he shrugged.
"Top what, though?" Sam asked, truly puzzled.
"Jesus," Jacob said, "You really are starting from scratch... Top as in `does the fucking', bottom as in `gets fucked'... Y'know?" he implored, in a tone that really suggested it was patently obvious and the most normal thing in the world.
Sam's insides tightened as one. "But... I'm not gay?" he stuttered.
"Doesn't matter," Jacob shrugged, "You've seen the spiel -- you're gonna be."
"So... You... You're...? But... I don't want that!?" Sam continued, horrified and trembling.
Jacob glared at him. "Like I said: doesn't matter. We're Partners, I'm your Top; you're my Bottom, that's just how it is. You need to understand that."
Sam had no thoughts: he was only aware of the physical sensations throughout his body; tension; sickness; he was flushed, sweating. There was a pit in his stomach, frothing with anger and confusion; probably despair mostly. Beneath each of these feelings was the reality that there was nothing he could do about any of it. Everything was hopeless and suddenly his mind exploded: This was the Government! He was... He didn't even know where he was, in relation to home... His parents... What? Would they be disappointed if he didn't see this through? There he went again! As if "not seeing it through" was an option!? This was his duty -- that's what the woman had said in the induction film. And everyone had to do it. He wasn't being singled out... Luke! Shit, Luke! Panic flashed through him as he thought about his brother; how uncooperative he would likely to be at the prospect of having something up his arse and what that might mean for Luke.
The opening door diverted Sam from his racing mind, immediately into self-consciousness as the man now standing in the room took in the sight of a skin-headed boy perched awkwardly on an edge of the bed, immodest in a flimsy gown. He handed Jacob a white cardboard box, which he opened and rifled through.
"What's that?" Sam asked, somewhat boldly.
"Fucking housewarming gift, shithead," the man sneered, and left.
"Ignore Murphy, he's a dick," Jacob said. "It's your Uniform Kit."
He glanced at a clock above the door.
"We should get changed," he said, emptying the contents of the box on the bed, and pulling a similar one out from under it, to empty in a separate pile. He set about laying everything out neatly then slipped off his gown. As he moved to hang it on the rack of pegs next to the cages Sam didn't know what to take in first -- the oddness now spread across the bed or the pale flesh of the naked boy padding unselfconsciously around the room. He fixed his gaze on the bed.
He had, in his twenty years, seen enough websites, porn and Family Guy to work out what some of it was. There were five white leather cuffs -- a large one and four smaller ones, a white rubber ball-gag on a wide black strap, some lengths of chain and several small brass padlocks, each with two keys. What he was less sure about was the tangled mess of white leather -- all straps and buckles - the curved white thing attached to a ring and the length of white material that lay next to it all.
"Take your gown off," Jacob said.
Sam froze. He really didn't want to. He'd already been naked unwillingly in front of the doctor...
"Mate, come on," Jacob chided, exasperated. "Me seeing your penis is honestly the least of it..."
Though this hardly eased his nerves, Sam slowly shrugged off the gown and stood with his hands cupping his genitals -- the smoothness of which did not go unnoticed beneath his fingers. Jacob simply laughed -- not cruelly, but... Not warmly either, Sam felt.
He approached Sam with the material, now unrolled and evidently a long bodysuit made of Lycra and handed it to Sam.
"This is your Skin, mate. White cos you're a Bottom; mine's black cos I'm Top. And it stays on all the time. Only time you take it off is for the Groomers."
"Eh? What about like... Sleeping? Or using the toilet!?" Sam queried, baffled. The boy just chuckled again.
"Get it on and you'll see," was all he said, cryptically.
So Sam sat down on the bed and started putting on the weird garment, which only got weirder the more he managed to do. Firstly, it very obviously had socked feet with small, thin rubber bits on the bottom. Next, as he shimmied it over his waist his privates weren't covered - he twisted the material this way and that to figure out how it should work properly but then noticed, in the stitching, that it was an intended hole. He tried to point out to the other boy, too, about a rip in the back, just below where the zip ended, but the boy took no notice, busying himself with putting his own weird Lycra thing on. As Sam slid his arms into the sleeves, he noted that they too were enclosed at the ends; long, spidery gloved fingers. And finally, once over his shoulders he discovered surplus material that confused him for a moment until he caught sight of Jacob pulling his up over his face. A mask. Reluctantly he did the same, relieved to find holes for his eyes and mouth. Suddenly the other boy was behind him, and pulling down a zip from the very top of the mask. Narrowing at the neck, it traced his spine all the way down to the top of his backside, tightening every seam. There was a little fidgeting, then a soft `click' and the boy stepped away.
"What did you do?" Sam asked, the feeling of constriction and claustrophobia reaching a fever pitch in his head.
"Just zipped you up," he replied, shrugging. "And the zip is lockable, so... Just a little padlock on there, too."
Sam reeled. "So... What!!?" he said, aghast. "I can't take it off!?!"
"No. Only I can take it off. Well, or Staff. But like I said, you don't need to take it off. It's your Skin. Look at it, it's fine."
Sam did, reluctantly, look down at himself. His body was... Hidden. Replaced with shiny smoothness. He ran his gloved hands down it and shuddered. It felt weird. His privates were, indeed, no longer private, poking -- shrunken and scared as they were -- through the hole in the front. His hands flew to the rear, to see where that tear was. What he found was a narrow slit that ran from his tailbone to between his legs. He turned and looked at Jacob.
"Yep," he said, nodding. "... Perfectly able to piss and shit without taking it off."
Sam's eyes widened. Then focused to take in the sight of Jacob, covered head-to-toe in black, with only his eyes, lips and genitals visible. He looked... Intimidating. Sam didn't linger too long on the boy's dick, but it appeared to be bigger than his.
Jacob approached him with the remaining apparatus from the so-called "Uniform Kit" and set about applying it. A cuff for each wrist and each ankle; the wider strap revealed to be a collar that fastened snugly round his neck, preventing him somewhat from lowering his chin. They were thick and sturdy, but padded. The white curved contraption was cold and plasticky as it was dissected and reassembled around his balls and over his soft, terrified cock. Each component was individually secured with another small padlock. He felt... Weighted. Clunky. Unwieldy. He moved his limbs awkwardly, both feeling and hearing the metallic rattling of his locks. Jacob must have noticed his discomfort.
"Honestly, mate, it gets easier, I swear. You just stop noticing they're there soon enough."
Sam looked over to him, stunned. He was putting on his own collar and cuffs, black to match his Lycra, and did not look up as he spoke: "This is all part of your training, to be honest. Learning to be submissive isn't easy or nice, so... You have to be able to be restrained."
"Plus, I can't have my new Partner running off on me either!" He added, as he clicked his final padlock into place and grinned at Sam.
Sam wanted to just... Curl up. Go to sleep; shut everything out. This couldn't be real... Couldn't be happening...