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First impressions

White daylight flooded in through circular skylights. It immersed the entire room in milky brilliance. Not that there was much to look at in all this light. Or rather, the illuminated item was yet not under scrutiny. The floor was hard, but not chilly. He was sitting on his heels, knees spread. In the small of his back, his left wrist was clasped in his right hand. Unobserved, but never moving from the spot. Not that he could anyway.

Facing him, a single chair. Close, but out of his reach. Darkened wood. Comfortable armrests. Nothing fancy.

Relax already, it is just a chair.

He rolled his shoulders, longing to stretch his arms above his head for a moment. Perhaps even stretch out his legs for a while if he could. He wanted to do something, anything, to briefly break the immobility. He strained his hearing for sounds from the corridor, but there was nothing. Soundproof, probably. He would not hear them coming. Maintain the position. First impression, display impeccable posture. It beats being considered junk from the very beginning.

Initially he had believed that he was to be exercised as usual, but today they had taken him to the steam room, flushed him out, cleaned him, and finally oiled his skin. Even fluffed his chest hair. Ridiculous, as if anyone would notice. Oh well, all part of letting the merchandise sell itself.

A single bead of sweat descended from his pubes, irritatingly focussing his attention again on the weight at the tip of his cock. Still unfamiliar. There was still a moment of nausea every morning he woke up to it. The heavy steel ring that entered the urethra and exited through a hole in the glans. After the physical shock he had felt nothing but outrage and anger. How dare they invade his intimacy thus? How dare they attach it there, biting into his sensitive flesh, pulling him downwards, mercilessly gripping into his very vulnerability?

Now that the piercing was healing, the questions had taken over again. Had his new owner ordered it done without bothering to inspect him first? Was it just a casual piece of decoration? An indication of his assigned status? What would his duties entail? He had questions galore, but no answers. And every question remained unasked, except in the ever-shifting chaos that passed for a mind in this oh-so-disciplined body.

Should he consider himself lucky because nothing else had been done to his body?
His body. Not his body.

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Focus. Make a good impression. If you are considered worthless, you’ll get thrown away.

He lowered his gaze again to the spot between his legs. A single ring embedded in the floor. The handler who had taken him in had brought a manacle and chain to fix him pending the customer’s arrival, but then, with a smile at the ring in his penis, had ordered him down and had simply connected them with a lock. So there he was, cock anchored to the floor, awaiting a chance to leave a favourable impression with whoever would walk through that door.

It opened unexpectedly. No sound had announced their arrival. His hand holding his wrist clenched in reflex. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back, heart hammering in his throat. The handler entered and stood beside the doorway. Footsteps.


© 2005 Ranai Pahav. All rights reserved.
Thanks to Ruby for beta-reading this text.