Leaving Greenford House and a drive to Dalston
It was Wednesday 1st July, my final morning at Greenford House. A hot 24 degrees celsius, with a low, grey July sky outside the barred windows. Three months, three endless months of medicated haze, beatings, slaps, Marcus, smokes, football. Then Arien’s training sessions, the piss and the cum I had to swallow every day and that relentless chant of 'Jayden' until it echoed in my dreams. And always Marcus. Now, release. But to what? Marcus's domination? His flat, his rules. I stood there in my standard-issue but too-tight tracksuit, the fabric worn from endless toilet scrubbings and spills, my body a canvas of ink, scars, and piercings that said ‘this one is street trash.’
Marcus came beside me, smirking, clipboard in hand as a nurse handed over some plastic bags. 'Here you go, his meds for the next month. And some new clothes.’
Marcus pulled out the new gear: another overly tight grey tracksuit. 'Strip, put it on now, Jaydie,' Marcus ordered. No privacy, no shame. Shrugging my shoulders, I peeled off the old clothes right there in the common room, my cock half-hard. I pulled on the tight boys' underwear first, the white fabric squeezing my balls and shaft, riding up my arse crack and rubbing against my anal lips. Without thinking, I rubbed them through the material. Then the tracksuit. It clung everywhere, the jacket zipped down to show the outline of my pierced nipples through the thin shirt beneath, pants riding low on my hips, arse crack on show. A spare tracksuit followed, folded neatly, plus two plain t-shirts, and another pair of those constricting undies.
Arien sauntered in then, all easy grins and muscled arms, clapping Marcus on the back. The nurse handed over one last item: the tracksuit I had worn on admission night, three months back, with its fake designer label.
‘Mate! That's your Sunday best, Jayden,' Arien laughed, holding it up like a trophy. Arien fished two roll-ups from his pocket, lighting them both and passing one over. We shared it in silence at first, the smoke curling hot in my lungs, that nicotine rush just about easing the knot of anxiety. I exhaled slow, watching the ash drop. Arien stubbed his out half-smoked, turning to me with that big-brother stare. ‘Your Boss tells me your first appointment is the sexual health clinic? Be a good lad, take the meds the Boss gives you, and the meds from the clinic? Promise me, Jayden?'
'Yeah, Arien, I promise. I'll take 'em all, every pill, be proper good.’
'That's my lad,' Arien murmured, hand sliding down to rub my arse lips through the tight pants, a quick grope that made my hole clench. ‘Look after that cunt Jaydie!’ He laughed, pressing a fresh packet of roll-up tobacco into my palm, ’Gift from me, Jaydie. Keep the habit going, yeah? Smoke when your Boss says, earn your keeps.'
I clutched it, the weight a small anchor in the storm. 'Cheers, bro. Won't let ya down.' The hug lingered in my body as they wrapped up, Marcus slinging the bag over his shoulder.
Outside, the warm drizzle slicked the pavement as we climbed into Marcus's van. It smelt new. I slumped in the passenger seat, and as Marcus set off for Dalston, his hand dropped casually on my knee. 'Got you sorted proper, Jaydie. Not just the clinic and the punters, I’ve got you in a local football team too. It's all lads like you: ex-care, young offenders, a few dodgy boys, all hustling on the side. You'll blend right in, make a few mates, score a few goals maybe! Training’s twice a week, matches on Sundays. Keeps you busy, out of trouble, Boss’s rules, innit?'
Jacob learns protocols, domestic duties, submission to Marcus and settles into a routine.
I stared out at the streets, ’Football?’ But the thought sparked something, mates, goals, a crew? Not freedom, but a place. My cock twitched under Marcus's hand.
'Sounds mint, Boss. I'll smash it.'
The van pulled up to a well kept three story block in Dalston.
‘Home sweet home, Jaydie. My flat, my rules, yeah?'
I nodded, ‘yes Boss’ clutching the plastic bag of gear, the tight tracksuit already chafing as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. The door swung smoothly open to a bright two-bedder: nothing special, clean white walls, a faint smell of nicotine and laundry. Marcus's room was big, well lit, but mine was the box room at the end with a single mattress on the floor, no lock on the door. 'Strip down here boy. We'll get you sorted. Shower, now. Then protocol. Once you’re dry, put these knee pads on and get your arse in here, quick!’
I took off the grey tracksuit, folding it neatly as Marcus watched with eyes on my tattoos and piercings, his look lingering on my arse cheeks. ‘Mmmm, fucking sweet in there boy,’ murmured Marcus. I showered, dried off and presented myself just wearing the knee pads.’
‘Ok boy, kneel, legs spread, wider, that’s it, hands behind your head, that’s ‘present’, good boy. When I say, ‘present’ you take that position. Now, hands behind your back, that’s ‘present relax’. Now, put your arse cheeks down on your heels, back arched, shoulders back, hands behind your head, spread your legs wider, face forward, that’s ‘present ideal’, good boy! Now, stand up, at ease, hands behind your head, look straight ahead, that’s ‘present standing”. Put your hands behind your back, that’s “present standing relax”. Practice them, learn them Jaydie boy. When I give the order, you move to position, quick, and stay there in silence. Ask permission to speak.’
He showed me round the small kitchen, ‘this is yours boy, you cook here, you clean, you wash, you leave it spotless. Lights out at ten-thirty, up at six-thirty for the grind. You get up before me Jaydie, shower, douche thoroughly, lube up your cunt, loosen it, then take the position present ideal by my bed until I give orders. Got it?’ ‘Yeah, Boss, I got it.’ ‘Got to get you back to being fucked regular Jaydie, back in the groove.’
Later, I lay on the thin mattress, the concrete cold through it, mind racing. This is it? No more Greenford, but the Boss's eyes... he's owning me, the protocols, serving him, getting fucked. Sleep came quickly, medicated, foggy dreams of football pitches, men, cocks, kneeling and smoke-filled lungs.
Day two kicked off early, 06.30 sharp, prep quickly, the protocol, present ideal by the bed. Marcus, in a sleepy voice, ’suck me boy, get me hard.’ Lick my balls, lower. Keep licking until I say stop.’ Half under the sheets I could smell Marcus’s musky arse, and I touched my own, now dripping, cock.
‘What the fuck did you just do?’
‘Boss??’ Marcus was suddenly emotional, wide awake, and I didn’t know why.
‘On the bed, now!. On all fours, grab your ankles, between your legs, arse up, higher! Spread your knees, wider, present that arse.’ Marcus took a cane from beside the bed, ‘Four,’ he said, in a very matter of fact voice, the emotion all gone now. ‘I’m not angry with you Jaydie. Just don’t touch yourself without my permission. Four this time. You’ll learn because you’re a good bright boy.’ It was over quickly. Afterwards, I was tearful, shocked, breathing heavily. Marcus hugged me, long and hard, then looking me in the eye, wiping my tears, ‘it’s the only way to learn discipline Jaydie,’he said softly. Now be a good lad, make my breakfast.’
Breakfast was in silence, Marcus eating, me at present standing, opposite him. After eating Marcus smoked, looking at me. He smoked half the cigarette and got up. ’Get yours Jaydie, then everywhere tidy, sorted, dress, then you can smoke that, then we’re out, be ready when I’m ready. Now, jump to it!’
I was ready before Marcus, and, without being asked, was at present standing. Marcus looked pleased. ’Clinic first, then clean the bogs at the rec centre, you earn your keep before the punters come along, you need cash Jaydie boy.'
The sexual health clinic was predictable: the male nurse prodding my arse, making no comment about the four fresh red marks, lingering over my anal lips as they all always do, swabbing my throat, prescribing more pills for the 'high-risk lifestyle.' I sat mute in the waiting room, tracksuit zipped tight, the tight undies squeezing my balls, waiting for Marcus.
Back at the flat, I served out lunch and stood, as before in position, present standing. I noticed a single roll-up had been put by my place. ‘Good boy! Smoke it slow Jaydie. Earn the next.' Later, I lit up by the window, inhaling deep, the nicotine haze settling my nerves. Afternoon: scrubbing toilets at the rec centre, knees aching on tiles, piss splashing my hands. ‘Hate this shit, but better than the threat of Akinlode's cane.’ Then I remembered the morning’s caning, four sharp strokes, ‘not as bad as Akinlode. Boss went easy on me, to teach me. To make me better. Obedient.’ Evening came, I cooked again, served, present standing, silently waiting on Marcus, anticipating him, then cleared away and washed up. Everywhere tidy, spotless. Perfect.
By day three, the routine dug in. Wake early, prep for Marcus, douched and showered, present ideal by Marcus’s bed, sucking his cock if ordered, then fucked if Boss wanted, he almost always did want it. Then the meds, then breakfast. Then everywhere, the whole flat, neat and tidy, immaculate.
Later, Marcus drove me to the local football pitch, a muddy patch behind the estate ringed by chain-link.'This is Jaydie,' Marcus announced, slapping my back. 'New blood, plays up front.' The lads eyed me, carbon copies of the blokes at Greenford, ’fresh meat, innit?!’ I laced up, same old second hand boots and the shiny blue kit, provided by Marcus. The clothes always too small. Post-match, showers in the freezing block: lads soaping up, cocks swinging free, I rinsed off, feeling the pull of this crew, ‘it's mine now.’ Then Marcus waiting outside, nodding approval.
That evening, as I lay on my mattress, Marcus entered with a small box. ‘Present standing!’ I jumped into position, hands behind my head. ‘Something for you, Jaydie. Can't have you playing around, got to keep yourself disciplined and obedient.’ He opened a small box: a clear plastic cock-cage inside, rings and bars designed to lock my shaft down tight. My eyes widened, but the week's rapid changes, the meds, skunk, and my deepening submission, kept protest away. Marcus knelt, tugging my pants down, cock flopping soft. 'Hold still.' He fitted it: base ring snapping around the balls, tube sliding over the head, locking it. 'I'll keep the key,' Marcus said, dangling it on a chain around his neck, then leaned in, kissing me rough, tongue invading. 'Now you're mine proper. No wanking to your old memories, just work, football, skunk, and me, your Boss.’ I nodded, the cage a new weight, pulling me deeper into Jayden's skin. ‘Locked. obedient. This is my life now.’ That day ended with skunk, smoke filling the room. Marcus’s arm heavy around me. ‘Thanks Boss,’ I murmured.
The next week the same routines, mornings up early, douched and lubed, fucked by Marcus every day now, flat made perfect, then later scrubbing grime from the rec centre, two afternoons drilling on the pitch with the lads, evenings passing skunk joints by the sofa, at Marcus’s feet, in silence, while Marcus mapped out the next day. My skin itching under the tight tracksuit, the cock-cage a constant, but the skunk smoothed the edges, a lot, turning anxiety and a sense that things just weren’t right into a horny acceptance of things as they were.
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