By Joshua Ryan
The truck didn’t take me to the field hand barracks, where I thought I was going. It turned into the driveway to Mr. Hamilton’s house instead. I thought, this is probly what he does whenever he buys a new workie — he wants to see the goods. But — OK, this is just too hard to talk about, except just a little bit. We pulled up to the side door of the house and I was handed over to this old workie named Cicero, who’s the bigshot up there, and he gave me this funny look and said, “Yes, we’ve been expecting you. Mr. Hamilton is busy right now; I’ll take you to your room.” So right away, it was a room not a barracks.
So he took me down to the basement — which is really nice, for a basement — and he unlocked the door to a little room and told me to wait in there, and he closed the door and locked it, and yeah, it wasn’t a barracks at all, it was just like a bedroom, with a bed and a dresser and a little mirror and so on, so what the hell? It was almost like I was back at home! I did remember how Butch was living someplace next to the House, so maybe this was good, cuz maybe he was still there! Which would be SO great! But I never thought they’d keep him there. I always thought he’d get sent back to the coffle. That’s just what I thought, from looking at him.
Don’t really know how I ended up where I did. Sometimes I think i’m crazy to stay here, and other times I think i’m just where I should be. I didn’t plan this: I just sort of slid into it. Not even sure how much further into slavery I can slide. Maybe tomorrow i’ll decide to call it quits, but I might just decide to stay put and ride it out. Kind of surprised how far i’ve gone. It just didn’t happen by accident though, I think it’s a bit like a storm. You can sense that one is approaching, seeing the clouds gathering and all, and you can either head inside and batten down the hatches or you can stay out in the thick of it. I guess I don’t know enough to come in out of the rain but I like splashing around and getting wet.
But although he succeeds in opening the snaps on the fly of my leather jeans, he is frustrated and unable to reach my cock and balls as they are tightly contained by my piss-soaked leather jock. He moans, his body suddenly jerks with another shock, and bites down hard on my encased package. As I grunt with the sudden pain, the skinhead re-enters the cell, laughing at the sight. “Great to see two helpless leather faggots trying to eat cock.”