We were seen as delinquent. The scaly twins from the rough estate who were a law onto themselves. We had no need to follow laws and what society expected. We ruled the area through intimidation and fear. You did not mess with us. Women fell into bed with us. Men wanted a be us, or avoided us in fear. ....
I awoke with my head thudding in pain. Slowly becoming aware of my surroundings. Face against a rough wooden floor in the dark and the sound of the engine. I was in the back of a transit van. On the floor. And Damian was out cold beside me. What the...? Instinct kicked in and I closed my eyes as one of the thugs in the front seat turned around to look at us. Then cautiously I tested the cuffs pinning my arms painfully behind my back. ....
By the time Damian stirred, the ticking of the engine had ceased. We had been left here in the cold darkness of the van alone, cuffed to the floor. Our white trainers scuffed with marks and our trackies dirty from the filthy floor. Damian looked across at me with wild, fearful eyes, trying to remove the tape from his mouth. ....
Taylor was the most renowned villain in the city. A gangster much higher in the food chain than our local, modest pickings. A criminal way above the law, ignored by the police due to his apparent benevolence and support for the city's politicians. When the door opened and Taylor smirked down at us, my heart sank. When he laughed at our plight, taunted us as "chav no-marks" and spat in my face, I knew we were in deep trouble but couldn't understand why. When he - slowly and deliberately - informed us that we had threatened his son, a student in our neighbourhood, the fear rose up inside me. "So justice must be done boys. And be seen to be done," he drawled. .....
All of that was months ago. Justice has been exacted. In a brutal and terrible way that removed us from the streets. That shows us every second of every day how we fit into the hierarchy of society. That has transformed our existence in every fundamental way...... Taylor's mansion is in the foothills of LA. A large, sprawling estate in which lies his personal spa area. A tiled inner garden space with a neat and manicured square of lawn and a central fountain and bathing pool. Taylor regularly bathes here, away from the mean streets. Alone or with his inner circle. And now with both Damian and I. His power is immense. He can do what he wants. We have learnt this. Taylor's bathing pool is baroque. Designed in an ornate Roman style, tiled in a light seashell blue. In the centre of the pool is a magnificent statue and fountain. Damian and I face each other. Installed on diagonally opposite corners of the pool. Our smooth skin has been bleached and permanently coloured. The same seashell blue to match the pool. Our bodies now a part of the structure. Our bodies have also been modified to fit our pedestals on the corners of the pool. Our limbs have been removed. Mid way up the thighs, and arms removed completely. And so we are cemented in place onto the stone base of the pool. Like Roman statues. The pins attached to our backs twist our torso into an angle so that we are posed like a mock roman statue, one of our armpits pointing upwards towards the sky. The shock of being placed into our permanent positions was immense. Immovable. Facing inwards with the image of my twin brother twisted identically on display visible in the side of my vision. And there are other changes. Our tongues suppressed on the floor of our mouths with a plate, we are incapable of speech. Our eyes are fitted with a black contact lens cover that allows only a small circle of sight directly ahead of us. And finally our cock is locked away in a flat blue cage that pushes it permanently inside our body and removes any possible sense that we could be men any longer. This is how we exist permanently. A signal of our owner's power. A naked human object as part of his furniture, on display as a warning. Both Taylor and his son love to laugh at us as they bathe in their pool. The natural hierarchy of powerful men, ridiculing the chav teenage losers who now adorn their pool as ornaments. Our future is gone. Taylor has no intention of ever releasing us in any way.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
