Sukuu, Chapter 00

Sukuu
Prologue

The small figure of the boy lay huddled and shivering on the bed as the three men filed out of the room, laughing and joking. They were the last for the night, so the tall man with dark hair brought in the tall man with the strange nose who was supposedly a doctor to look him over. The doctor examined the boy’s bruised, chafed wrists, rubbed raw from the manacles he’d been forced to wear intermittently throughout the day. He poked and prodded at his bruised ribs as the boy hissed in pain. The dark-haired man grabbed onto his legs, holding them up and apart as the doctor stuck two dry, calloused fingers inside him to examine the damage. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth against the pain, but managed not to cry out.

"The usual tearing, nothing to worry about," the doctor announced. The other man nodded in acknowledgement. The doctor pulled supplies from the black medical bag he’d brought in. The boy felt a cold steel instrument shoved none-too gently inside his ass and winced. A few adjustments from the doctor and his sphincter was painfully stretched wide open. Tears pricked at the boy’s eyes as he tensed, knowing what would come next. Sure enough, there was sharp, stabbing pain as the doctor began to stitch the worst of the tears inside his rectum with thin, dissolving inner body surgical thread. The tears spilled from the boy’s eyes to mingle with the dried tracks on his cheeks. His fingers dug into the soiled sheets in a white-knuckled death grip, and he bit his lip so hard he tasted coppery blood in his mouth. Instinctively, his body tried to squirm away from the piercing agony, but the dark-haired man’s tightened grip on his legs was warning enough to stop. As the torture wore on for what seemed like an eternity, he couldn’t help but let out a few hitching sobs. The man smirked at him, amused by his distress. Finally, the doctor finished and withdrew the speculum. He declared the boy fit for tomorrow, and left the room.

The dark-haired man released the boy’s legs and using a small key, proceeded to adjust the lead on the chain shackled to his left ankle to its maximum length, about twelve feet. He half-dragged, half-carried the trembling boy over to the bathing area. It was little more than a recessed closet with a drain in the cement floor and a rusty showerhead. The boy was dumped on the cold floor and handed the scrubbing brush and soap from the small shelf in the corner. Stepping outside, the man punched in the code on the control panel to turn the water on. The boy now had five minutes to get himself as clean as possible before the water was automatically shut off by the timer.

The boy gratefully let the lukewarm water run over his head, soaking his long chestnut hair. Forcing his aching and bruised arms to move as quickly as possible, he lathered up with the soap and proceeded to scrub at the dried blood and semen that covered his thin body. Every second was precious, though he knew that he could scrub for an hour until his skin was raw and bleeding and he still would not feel clean. As he washed himself, he took the opportunity to swallow mouthfuls of the shower water, trying to ease the discomfort in his dry, parched throat, which was raw from screaming. The man watched quietly, a smirk on his face. The boy had just rinsed the last of the soap from his hair when the water stopped. He was handed a towel and a comb, and then left shivering on the floor to dry himself and untangle his hair while the man moved about the room, cleaning up. The "toys" were washed in the sink near the door and then put away in the locked cabinet. The floor was quickly and carelessly mopped. The chamberpot under the bed was exchanged for the clean one waiting outside the door. Finally, the soiled bedsheets were changed, the old ones set outside the door to be brought to the laundry.

By the time the man was done, the boy had finished with his hair as well, so he dragged him back over to the bed. The man paused, giving the shivering boy an appraising leer as he held him by his left upper-arm in a vise-like grip. With his other hand he reached up and softly, almost lovingly, caressed the boy’s cheek. He mused that even as thin as he was, and covered in bruises, welts, and scars, the boy was still beautiful, a fallen angel. That long, seductive fall of chestnut hair, those stunning amethyst eyes. It was like he was begging to be fucked.

Suddenly he backhanded the boy across the face, hard. The boy’s head snapped back, but he managed not to cry out. The man harshly tugged down on his arm, and the boy obediently fell to his knees. He stared at the floor as the man unzipped his pants, releasing his erection. The man sunk his hands into damp chestnut hair, pulling the boy’s head forward, and proceeded to violently fuck his mouth. The boy struggled not to gag as the man’s cock rammed the back of his throat again and again. Finally the man came with a shout, releasing his seed. The boy choked as his mouth filled with the slimy, salty fluid, but he managed to swallow every drop. He knew the man would be furious if he spilled any.

Sated, the man pulled him up and tossed him back onto the bed, the chain shackled to his ankle clanking noisily against the iron frame. Once again he adjusted the chain’s lead, leaving only a few feet, just enough for the boy to get up and use the chamberpot if he needed to. The man turned to leave the room, pausing in the doorway to give the boy, who once again lay huddled and shivering on the bed, one last appraising look.

"Sweet dreams, Duo," he smirked. With that he flipped off the lights and shut and locked the door, sending the room, and its quietly sobbing occupant, into pitch-darkness.