Taking my life over

Further transformation

I didn't so much as leave the publishing house as simply fade away from it without ceremony or fanfare. From the time of my resignation I had really ceased to be part of the team anymore. As far as the others were concerned, I became invisible. So on the first of the next month I set out on what would become a familiar bus journey from Streatham to Wimbledon and Mr Woolmer's bookshop. Scott had made few adjustments to my wardrobe, except the introduction of white socks, which enhanced the look of a school uniform. So in winter and spring my work wear was a traditional parka with faux fur edged hood and the ubiquitous orange lining, poly cotton shirt in white or grey, polyester tie, blue or grey acrylic 'v' necked sweater, grey or black polyester and viscose trousers, white socks and a recently purchased pair of Dr Keller black mudguard school shoes with chunky molded rubber soles with deeply grooved treads. After months of wear the parka had a sheen on it from being rubbed by sweaty hands, The orange lining at the cuffs of my sleeves and inside where the garment rubbed against my body gradually turned black. The shoes were scuffed and unpolished. The trousers shapeless and soiled, as was the sweater. I had to wear these for six weeks before I could change them. As I had to wear my socks and shirts for three days in succession, these too became soiled and, in the case of my shirt, increasingly crumpled. In the summer it became worse. The long sleeved shirt was replaced by short sleeves in white or light blue. The sweater changed into a grey sleeveless sweater. Worst of all, the school shoes were exchanged for brown leather sandals. The ones beloved by Germans with straps fastened by a buckle over the base of the toes and around the ankle, worn with white socks, naturally. Dressed like this with short hair and unfashionable, black, plastic framed glasses, which were slightly too large for my face, with a strong prescription, I looked years younger than my age of twenty two. In fact I looked as if I was still at school. Scott was being deliberate with this. He wanted to undermine my self confidence and self esteem at every turn. Boy, he succeeded! He also succeeded in his choice of employer.

The bookshop could have existed in Charles Dickens's day. It was dark and oppressive. It was staffed with characters who could have come out of his novels. A feature it also shares with the novels is a continual unkindness to the young. It seems quite natural in the novels that children are the targets of cruelty. Somehow the bookshop continued this tradition. Jane who was only a few years older than I was ostensibly kind but unerringly she treated me as a child. "Be a good boy and run along and do this for me." She also praised the completion of the simplest task with effusive praise as one would praise a toddler. Whether deliberate or not, it had the effect of demeaning me and it never stopped. Tim was in his mid-thirties and was one of those gay men who was both precious and spiteful. We failed to hit it off the moment we met. He knew full well that my primary function in Mr Woolmer's eyes was to pleasure him and alleviate the boredom of his average afternoon. This gave him a licence to paw me suggestively when no one was looking and to make derogatory comments about being a fuck boy and all the nasty things that I was probably getting up to. Here he lacked no imagination. He had all sorts of irritating ways, like flicking my ear as he passed by or feeling my arse or pinching my nipples. Having felt my cage through my trousers, he rather avoided doing that again. Inevitably when Margaret was around he would find fault with my work, even if he had to make things up to do so. So all in all, he was a thoroughly disagreeable dickhead, who knew how to make me feel small and unwanted, whenever he encountered me. I had fewer dealings with Margaret, who kept to her own office for the most part. She also knew full well why I was employed and disapproved vehemently. This she made known by a constant disapproval of my standards of work. Everything was "typical", "sloppy" , "careless", "late". I became in her mind the archetypal youth who could not care less about anybody and was congenitally lazy. It was people like me who had brought the country to its knees, aided by immigrants. She had an issue with them too. All three of them were particularly dismissive of me when in earshot of a customer and unhesitatingly spoke over me whenever they could. What I had to say was of no interest to anyone.

Compared to this miserable lot, Mr Woolmer was reasonably kindly and I quite looked forward to my daily session with him. The sessions followed a very similar pattern. After I had locked the door I would start by removing all my clothes, my anal butt and my glasses, leaving them on a chair beside the door. From then on the room was a mostly a blur. I would approach him and give him a good opportunity to eye every part of me, turning around so he could do so. He was invariably seated in an easy winged backed chair. Approaching him, I would sit astride him, feeling his dick against my groin. We talked for a little as he stroked and fondled me. Then when I sensed he was ready, I removed his dentures from his mouth. They were damp and clammy in my hands. I licked them suggestively, which always made him smile, before setting them down on the table beside him. Without his teeth in his face immediately sank and he looked ancient. Yet there was something erotic and arousing about exploring his toothless mouth with its soft lips and smooth gums. It seemed cavernous so there was more to explore. After this petting I moved into giving him a blow job and, in doing so, I concentrated on extracting every pleasure I could for him. I also knew when to stop when he was thoroughly aroused and ready to cum. It was then I lubed myself up for the final act. We experimented on positions to see which he generally preferred. We soon settled on my lying on his desk with my legs in the air. It seemed that he preferred to see how I responded facially, as well as bodily, when he really thrust into me with all the strength he could muster. He may have looked old but he was full of energy. Sometimes I returned immediately to work and on others occasions we chatted for a while afterwards. The more we talked, the more interesting I found him to be. He may look like an old fart now but he had had a varied and interesting life.

I generally went to see Mr Woolmer after lunch at about half past two. Sometimes I would knock and enter only to find that he had a visitor. So I was ordered to wait outside. This too reinforced my lowly status within the firm. Nobody else waited outside his door. It reminded me strongly of being at school and waiting outside the headmaster's office. There was never a good reason to be there so I recalled the feeling of dread and helplessness as I waited for whatever punishment and tongue lashing I was about to receive. Often, if I was alone waiting and had nothing particular on my mind, I would play with my cage through the pockets of my trousers. Nobody could see me or so I thought. Then I heard the voice of the obnoxious Tim, "Having a little wank, bumboy?

"Fuck off, cunt", I replied, hurriedly taking my hands out of my pockets. With that he spun around and grasped my ears and banged my head against the wall. "Fucking dickhead", I hissed at him.

"Never ever speak to me like that again", he retorted banging my head hard against the wall in time with each word he uttered. His face was within a couple of inches of mine. His eyes were slanted and his lips were thin. I had never seen him look so menacing. He then spat at me and turned to walk away. "Never", he repeated as he strode down the corridor. I knew in my heart this was not the end of the matter.

The work itself was demeaning too. I was after all a graduate from a Russel Group university but to everyone here I was simply the office boy, a gofer. Whatever was menial, that was what I was asked to do. We had an appreciable mail order business so I was always deputised to go to the Post Office, often with dozens of books. I unpacked stock. I carried the books to the correct floor and placed them in shelves. If a delivery had to be made, I made it. The only advantage of this is that I could turn it into a smoke break. If a customer needed help with packages to their car, I was ordered to do so; and usually in fairly brusque tones. I was seldom let alone with a customer. I might have started assisting a customer, but Jane or Tim usually managed to head me of with a dismissive "Why don't you run along, Kevin?" I can't say I was that overworked but I did have the opportunity of reading many books as soon as they were published. I was given a tiny windowless, cubby hole of an office, basically a desk and a chair, but it was sufficient to allow me to read in peace.

I realised that my altercation with Tim would had started some kind of vendetta against me. It had triggered an enmity between him and which Tim was simply not going to drop. It allowed him to give vent to a bullying mean streak which he knew I was powerless to prevent. He was both taller and much stronger than I so I could not resist him physically. Also, he was my senior at work and was in a position to order me around. He had figured out my relationship with Scott, who he seemed to know without being a close friend, and tried in working hours to replicate that relationship with him in the dominant position with me as his sub. He started to treat me as a personal servant and, when I resisted, he slapped me hard across the face with a stinging back hand which snuffed out my efforts to disobey him. I was sent out to buy his lunch. If he had dry cleaning I would be ordered to take it to the cleaners and collect it from there. Once a week during my lunch hour I was required to wash and polish his car. He was for ever sending me on errands. Then one day he decided that I should take up the job of polishing his shoes. Having delivered back to him a gleaming pair of shoes, he looked down at mine and ordered me to polish mine. "They are an absolute disgrace", he said.

"Sorry, Tim I am not allowed to do that", I replied, "Sorry".

"Is that Scott's instruction?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes", I answered almost inaudibly.

"I thought as much you wretched slovenly worm. So you are Scott's little slave boy but your master is not here and, as long as that persists, you are also mine and will do exactly what I tell you. Do yuo understand, slave boy?"

I looked down but said nothing. "Can't you hear me, you disgusting piece of shit. Look at you...filthy...smelly...a complete misfit...Do you understand?"

Again I said nothing and just looked down at the floor, hoping the storm would pass. "Answer me you little runt", his voice rising in anger. With that he picked up the tin of black shoe polish and brush that I had been using to polish his shoes and digging the brush hard into the polish, he started to polish my face and, as I tried to stop him, he brushed polish on my hands and clothes as well. "Disobey me at your peril, you odious little creep", he spat at me in rage "or I will make your life even more miserable than it is now.." With that he stormed out of my little office.

Once I was sure he was out of sight I went to the toilet to see if I could clean myself up. I tried my best but I found traces of polish on my face and hands even after a through shower at home. My shirt was ruined but, as I had only started wearing it that day, I would have to live the its black marks on the collar and cuffs for another two days. This made it quite clear to Tim and others how infrequently I was changing my clothes and why it was best not to get to close to me.

Somehow this altercation set of an even more vindictive streak in him. Two or three days later Margaret called me into her office. "What do you think you are doing leaving the toilet in such a filthy state? Ii is disgusting and you are going to clean it up and make sure the toilet is always clean".

"What are you taking about, Mrs Cox?" I replied completely nonplussed. "I haven't made a mess of anyfing."

"Oh, don't play that game with me. There have been no customers in the shop this morning. Jane and Tim would not possibly do it, which leaves only you. You should be ashamed of yourself so just grow up."

"Honest, Mrs Cox I have done nothing", I stammered in reply.

"Just get out of my office and clean your mess up and any other messes you make and stop lying. I have had enough of you and people like you. Go!"

Shamefaced I left her office and went to inspect the toilet. Yes, it was a mess. Tim must have done it, knowing that the blame would inevitably fall on me. He had pissed all over the place, on the seat and around the basin. Anyone would have been appalled to find the toilet in this state. So I cleaned up his mess then and his messes subsequently. It obviously gave him pleasure. Sometimes he pissed all over the place, sometimes he made a mess of the basin splashing water all over the place and scattering the paper towels around. One time he defecated on the seat and the floor, delighting in the thought that I would have to clean it all up after him.

Then the harassments became worse. It happened one afternoon. As usual after lunch at around two thirty I knocked on Mr Woolmer's door. A familiar voice asked me to enter. Once in the room, Mr Woolmer was not there. He had a bathroom leading off his office and the door was ajar. From within a familiar voice instructed me to lock the door and to undress as I always did. Standing in the centre of the room completely naked, a figure entered the room from the bathroom. I could not see it clearly but even in a blur I knew it was not Mr Woolmer but Tim. He had made a very passable imitation of the fruity, slightly exaggerated way Mr Woolmer spoke and using his idioms like "old chap" and "my boy". As he approached me and stood inches away from me, I could see it was clearly Tim with an evil smirk on his face. "So we meet again", he chuckled, "Now what does Peregrine like to do first? Oh yes, he sits in this chair doesn't he?' I said nothing. "Come on, you know the routine. Don't be shy. You never were before. Come sit on my lap."

I did as I was told and sat astride him. He then start to stroke and fondle me all over my torso working his way to my face, which he stroked and then holding my head firmly in his hands and started to kiss me in a rough and unaffectionate way. I could also feel, just like with Mr Woolmer, that he was fully erect and his dick was pressing into me. He was determined to enjoy himself.. Then leaning back he said "Sorry I can't take my teeth out for you but you know what to do next, don't you?" He had obviously spied on Mr Woolmer and me and wanted me to service him in exactly the same way. Getting on my knees, I unbuckled his belt and opened his flies. He was not wearing underpants and his penis sprung out hard and glistening with precum. He was very well endowed with a penis that was even thicker than Scott's and at least eight inches long, probably more. "That's going to hurt", I thought to myself. As with Mr Woolmer I set about licking his dick as enticingly as I could and then allowed Tim to force his cock rhythmically down my throat as he held my head firmly in his hands. He was groaning with pleasure and I could feel he was close to ejaculating but he stopped. "There's more", he said., "You know where the lube is. Fetch it and get up on to the desk. Isn't that the favoured position?. He the rose from the chair and approached the desk. "Bend those legs back", he ordered. As I did so he slapped me across my buttocks. "Up", I said and, each time he said the word, he slapped me again. There was nothing affectionate in this. He clearly intended to hurt ma and he was succeeding. He must have slapped me at least thirty times. I had stopped counting as my backside felt raw as each stinging blow landed. I could feel my eyes welling up with tears. I had never been assaulted like this. I did not want to cry out as I thought this sign of weakness would only encourage him further. Eventual he stopped. I feel weak from his brutality. Then I could feel him lubricate me and explore my crack arsehole with his fingers, first one and eventually three. Leaning into me and holding me by my ankles, he trust forward. I tensed but it made no difference. He was going to penetrate me whether it hurt or not. It did, I felt an exquisite pain as he forced himself inside me. It was excruciating. I felt like screaming but managed to control myself with a low pained moan. As he started forcing himself further inside me, I felt a mixture of acute pain and arousal at the same time. Although only a few months had passed since I lost my virginity, I had been fucked on many occasions. It had become commonplace. But this was different. It was far more violent and physical than I had ever experienced. Tim was not just being gratified sexually, he was making the point that he fully controlled me and could do with me what he wanted, provided neither Mr Woolmer or Scott found out. He had also incentivised me to keep this confidential for fear of what he would do to me if he was really angry with me. I had now seen his violent side but I was sure that he could go much further in brutalising me if he wanted. When it was over, I felt drained and barely able to stand my legs were weak and my buttocks were still stinging their their beating. Tim said nothing. He just pulled up his trousers, zipped them up and walked out of the room, I did not know quite what to do. I crumbled to the floor and started to cry. I had been violently violated; raped in fact. I also knew my working life was about to become much worse.

I was correct in this. Tim now felt that he had a licence to do anything to me he wanted. He knew that I could not leave the employ of Mr Woolmer because this had been done at Scott's insistence. He knew that I would not report me to the policegiven my role in sexually gratifying Scott and his friends. No policeman would take me seriously. Fortunately he never assaulted me in the same way again but he was a regular and unwelcome visitor to my tiny office and when he came he required me to gratify his sexual urges. While I knew I gave him pleasure, part of the pleasure came from him being nasty to me. This seemed to energise him. Often he with withdraw his cock immediately before ejaculating so he could spray his spunk over me and my clothing. I tried my best to clean myself up but there were an accumulation of telltale stains on all my clothing. Sometimes he was just nasty. I remember one evening on the bus home, I put my hands into the pockets of my parka only to finding that he had jerked off into both of them. It just reinforced the fact that he could do anything he wanted with me.

What was also apparent was that Scott was much more cunning and manipulative than he first appeared. The choice of Mr Woolmer's bookshop was no accident. He must have known that I would be bullied and demeaned all day long. What he might not have realised is that I found Mr Woolmer more agreeable than I had first anticipated. As the days and then weeks went by I could also feel that I was being gradually transformed by the relentless, daily assault. My confidence started to slowly drain away. Increasingly I looked down, avoiding eye contact. I made nervous gestures. I seldom spoke and, if I did, it was in an almost inaudible mumble. When I was nervous I unconsciously pushed my glasses up the bridge of my noise. It did no good, they always slipped down again. I rubbed my face with the back of my hand. Licked my lips. I scratched my head. Even scratched myself. I became quieter. I never started a conversation and tried to end one that someone else had started as quickly as I could. In a corridor I walked close to the wall so I never had to move out of the way of someone coming the other way. I apologised for things that I did not do. So I was always saying "Sorry". Sorry for what? Sorry for being just being a unassuming dorkish, nerdy lad who was evidently friendless. There was less and less to like about me. I was retiring. I had nothing to say for myself. I looked a thorough loser. Nobody dressed the way I was could be anything other than a loser. Nobody took me seriously.

The knowledge that I was a loser followed me home. My friends had drifted away because I was embarrassed to see them so I was essentially on my own. Drifting around by myself in the evenings and weekends I was vulnerable too. Now I was usually wearing a battered tracksuit, replica football shirt, baseball cap and trainers. Lads dressed like this usually went around as a group, which gave them protection. On your own you were a target of a teenage gang. Several times I had been pushed around by a group of youths. I was not hurt but I was frightened inside and felt their insults acutely. One time they nicked my phone on another my wallet and cigarettes. These incidents happened frequently enough to make me very cautious were I went and when. My dealings with adults fared little better. By dress, comportment and accent, I was the opposite of an authority figure. People were naturally suspicious of me. I could tell that the Indian shopkeeper kept a very close eye on me as I wandered through the aisles of his shop. People tended to talk down to me. I in turn responded with the usual expletives and hand gestures. There were few conversations which ended without me calling the person with whom I was conversing a "Fucking bell end, dickhead" and by my giving them a middle finger gesture. That was who I had become outside my working environment.

To while away the time when I was on my own, I started to shop lift. Not because I wanted what I stole but as a challenge. I thought this would be a useful and convincing part of my new persona. But I set some rules about what I was going to do. I wanted to become proficient at this activity. For a start I did not want particularly to be caught. I felt that it was pointless just to steal something that is easy to steal but it had to be something that I needed to buy. This really confined my stealing to groceries, food, alcohol, personal toiletries and electronic products. Clothing was already provided so I could not wear what I stole in any event. Scott would not have countenanced this. I gave my self time to prepare. I cased all the high streets and shopping malls within easy public transport journeys from where I lived. I looked carefully at where the cameras were positioned and whether it was obvious whether they employed store detectives. I also decided that I would not nick from obviously family-owned or independent shopkeepers; my target was the multiple stores which populate every high street. I also practiced how to steal at home. I figured that what was likely to arouse suspicion is an overly attentive shopper. Most people when they shop do not really look at the other shoppers around them as they are very much more focused on what they are searching out in the shop. In addition at the moment of theft movements and gestures look the most suspicious. What I tried to do, as a magician would, was to misdirect attention. This is easier face to face than on a security camera screen but it can be done. A large hand movement can distract from a much smaller movement with the other hand. For example, if I wanted a can of something, I would take it off the shelf, transfer it to my other hand and then move the hand back to the shelf grabbing another can and apparently placing that back on the shelf. Obviously, if you were looking for it, you would spot it. If you are looking at a bank of screens, it is more difficult to spot as the movement itself does not arouse suspicion. With very little elbow movement, the retained can can be slipped into a trouser pocket. For this purpose, I altered the pockets of several track pants so they had elongated pockets. I also learned to use either hand so that my pockets could be evenly filled. Once I left the shop I would transfer what I had stolen to my backpack which was firmly zipped up. I also knew that there would be times that I would need to run to escape someone from the store trying to apprehend me. This gave me a motivation to go running each day and to practice my sprinting so that I would be less likely to be overtaken by someone trying to catch me. Except for sandwiches and a can of soft drink which I just lifted from the average small Tesco, Sainsbury's or M&S, I was very careful in how I approached my thieving. If I felt uncomfortable, I would leave and try another shop. Generally, I did not steal everything I left with from a particular shop. It is less suspicious, if you go to the cashier than if you are seen entering and then leaving a shop without a purchase. For supermarket shopping, I found reusing shopping bags gave me plenty of cover. Sometimes I just put goods into the bag, if they were small and relatively high value. I also brought in with me empty packages, which I had lined with cotton wool so I could put higher value goods in them which weighed about thee same and have them rung at a lower price. It was simply a variant of the switching the price tag trick. I appreciate that you cannot tell a shoplifter by their age, class or the way they dress. However, store detectives and shop assistants are more likely to keep their eyes on a young man in a hoodie or tracksuit with the hood up than an old granny. Notwithstanding this possible handicap, I knew that I could not change the way I dressed so I just had to be more careful. I also made sure that I had cash on me and no credit cards so it was much more difficult to reconstruct what I had actually purchased or taken without paying.

Electronic goods presented a far more difficult problem. Given that iPads and iPhones are much more expensive, retailers spend more resources in stopping them being stolen. My solution to this was pretty crude and exposed me to much greater risks. However, since this was a much more occasional activity, it meant that I only occasionally exposed myself to these risks. I just had to be patient. It was like fishing. Sometimes the fish bite, sometimes they don't. I needed to see if someone was buying what I wanted. I had to do this in a very inconspicuous way. I could not just walk around an Apple Store or Carphone Warehouse waiting for the right customer to come in. I had to pass by periodically. Once I could see I customer buying what I wanted. I waited for them to leave the shop. From there I followed them to a spot where I thought that it was safe to snatch the goods. In a shopping mall this was likely to be outside the mall or in the car park. For the high street I needed an escape route that immediately avoided crowds ahead of me. The speed of escape can be completely eliminated if there is some good Samaritan ahead of you. Generally, I waited to where there was a side street or alley which would make following me much more difficult. The people who are robbed are usually to shocked to react quickly but those around them are less so. Robbery of this kind can attract a custodial sentence on the first conviction so caution had to be exercised. But there was a compensation in taking a greater risk; there was a real thrill in carrying out a robbery successfully. When I judged the moment to be right, I grasped the handle of the bag I wanted to steal in my right hand and pushed the victim away from me as hard as I could with the left. I practiced this action to in my little studio flat with a bag hanging on a door handle , slamming the door with my left hand. As I pushed with my right hand I ran as fast as I could following my selected escape route but always alive to the prospect of having to change course.

Having acquired a taste for thieving I carried it on in other areas of my life. It was my quiet revenge. If I found that Tim had left his jacket in his office and was in another part of the building I invariably took some of the notes out of his wallet. I did the same when I had the chance, with some of Scott's friends, particularly those who did not tip me properly or not at all. And, I am delighted to say, it all added up. The only person in his circle I did not steal from, because I feared the consequences was Scott himself. Also I never had any inclination to steal from Mr Woolmer as he was at heart kind to me, a quality which was largely absent from my life, apart that is when I returned home to see my parents.

However careful you are, there are going to be times when your luck runs out. After a while it is a statistical certainly, particularly if you spend much of your weekend stealing. Fortunately for shoplifting the penalties are not very high, certainly not when you start with a clean record. But being caught has its own humiliations. When you are first confronted escape is generally not easy. What is clear is that everybody else in the shop is aware of what is going on. The hooded youth has been caught to most people's approval. Obviously I played the confused innocent as long as I could. Then you are led away to a back office until the police arrive. At law you may be innocent until proven guilty, in the eyes of the police you are a criminal and treated as such from the start. So it is into the police car and off to the station. Then the police have no incentive to deal with you quickly so you sit around in drab rooms or a cell waiting for the interview. In the first instance, you may receive a warning; possibly a caution. Eventually on the second or third occasion it is off to the magistrates court a number of weeks after the event. Here too you are made to feel worthless and small. What low life cannot stop his urge to take somebody else's property. You are junk. I suppose every petty thief's career is a variation around a constant theme: fines, orders banning you from certain shops or shopping areas, curfews, fines and then, as night follows day, the first community order with supervision by a probation officer, my first one was called Brian, I ask you, and an exclusion order. Since I was in work my unpaid work requirement was fulfilled during my Saturdays, clearing up litter along various roads and painting various council owned buildings. This was the only time Scott did not dictate what I wore. I had no option but to wear the overalls provided. That alone was a relief but the work was boring and mindless and none of us in the work crew had any incentive to do the work well. My first community order was for sixty hours and two further orders followed of the same length so my free time on Saturdays was curtailed for months into the future. I am getting ahead of myself but it was becoming apparent that I was sailing very close to a custodial sentence notwithstanding the obvious leniency of the court.

Following my leaving the publishers Scott also started to take more interest in me or more properly the services I provided him and his friends. Sometimes it was planned in advance, sometimes it was on the spur of the moment. Invariably I received a message ordering me to a certain pub or club at a specific time. With a meeting in a pub I generally joined Scott's group and tried as best as possible to be helpful getting the drinks and snacks, and fetching additional chairs when latecomers arrived. What was definitely not expected of me was to join in the conversation or actually get to know some of Scott's friends on a personal level. I was not there for that. I was the entertainment or the light relief. Periodically during an evening one of his friends, but never Scott, would give a signal, a little flick of the head in the direction of the toilets, and I knew that it meant that I was to lead the way. Then in one of the cubicles I gave them what they wanted: an increasingly professional blow job and the opportunity to fuck me rigid. Some were quite gentle; others not. That was not my business, I had no choice except to give them pleasure. When Scott and his mates met at a club, I was often asked to wait outside in the street until they were ready for me. In some ways that was easier as I did not have to spend time trying to be inconspicuous until it was my time to perform. I was quite happy smoking and watching the world go by. I was often propositioned but I could not respond because I was already engaged. But it did give me the idea that this too could be a source of income in the future on the nights Scott did not need me and there were many of these. It was at one of these pub gatherings that I finally said goodbye to the world in which I lived in before I encountered Scott. Scott seemed to avoid ostentatiously gay bars and this one was certainly fairly regular with customers of every persuasion. I had arrived at the venue and could see that Scott and his friends were assembled further into the room towards the back. As I started to walk towards them a friend caught my arm and greeted me. He was with a number of friends I knew, having made friends with them shortly after arriving in London. At least two of them attended the riverside lunch when I was forced to appear in a tracksuit, which caused such embarrassment to me and merriment to the others. This time they were less surprised to see me dressed the way I was in track pants, Chelsea FC shirt and a hoodie with the hood up. They seemed also to accept the way I spoke as my estuary accent had become completely second nature so that is the way I spoke to everyone. We talked for a little while, almost as if it had been the old days. Then Scott sent over one of his friends to fetch me which he did in a manner which left me little time to say goodbye properly. It was quite clear that I was being dragooned over to Scott's group of friends, whether I liked it or not. Later in the evening, when one of Scott's friends and I emerged from one of the stalls in the men's toilets, we walked straight into one of my old friends. He said nothing. He did not have to. He knew exactly what I had been doing and I could see he thoroughly disapproved. He had probably never realised that I was gay, unless you were one it was not that obvious. Now I was just a rentboy, which is far too low down in the pecking order for either he or my former friends to have anything to do with me. When I returned to Scott's group I could see my former friends looking at me and I knew in my heart what they were discussing. I could sense a door close on my former life. I was becoming friendless and more and more dependent on Scott. I think he planned this too.

I knew Scott had an extensive property in Virginia Water with several acres, stables and other outbuildings but I had never been there. I really only knew his Central London house in Notting Hill Gate. Just like evenings in pubs or clubs I was ordered over to his house whenever he wanted me. At home with him, he liked me to be dressed just in a T-shirt and shorts, typically football training kit in polyester, of course. I wore nothing else so I padded around his luxurious house bare foot. Here I was part of the serving staff, handing around drinks and snacks, helping to serve at luncheon or dinner and clearing everything up so the kitchen was spotless when the entertainments were over. Doing this I was conscious of being a real turn on to some of his mates. I knew that my caged cock was quite prominent beneath the silky polyester shorts and they accentuated my tight glutes rather well. I played up to it. After all I was the rough twink from the wrong side of town but Scott's upper class friends found that in itself to be intriguing. With sly glances and a smile or a little gesture, a stoke of my groin or the slow suggestive licking of my lips, I could sense I was enticing some of them. I was introducing them to a world they really did not know, publicly condemned but with which they were secretly fascinated. Also, being alien from their world, they were less constrained with what they felt they could do to me. It encouraged rough abusive sex. After all, why care? I was nothing. When dinner was over and everyone was mellow with the wine, I was led in to be selected by any of his friends who were randy enough to want me there and then. They were a dirty lot, I was always in demand. The routine was pretty conventional. We used one of his guest rooms and I performed in what any way his guests wanted. I knew I was becoming more and more skillful in my performance but it made me realise that it was nothing about me. Scott's friends could not care a stuff about the bumboy that they had fucked. I was just flesh to them. Beyond immediate gratification, nothing else mattered.

What surprised me was that Scott did not appear to be interested in having sex with me when his friends were around. He stood aloof as his friends did what they wanted to the lad they knew almost nothing about. Instead of masturbating they had me instead: a much greater pleasure which needed no fantasising to be completely enjoyable. Also, it was without commitment of any kind. They did not even have to know my name. Certainly they knew nothing about me. Sometimes, Scott would wait until his friends had left to have me to himself before sending me off home. He never seemed to want me to stay the night. What he had not done for a while was to make any effort to see me on my own. I was essentially a plaything for others. Then during work one day, I received a text from Scott telling me to meet him at the Italian restaurant where we first met many months ago. I thought that he had some kind of reunion in mind. He told me to go to the restaurant directly from work. When I arrived the man at the door was in two minds to let me in. I took off my parka and handed to him. He took it gingerly as if it was infectious. Rather than putting it on a hanger and hanging it on a rack like all the coats, he simply shoved it behind the others so it was out of sight. As more coats were added to the rack, the parka slipped further down so that it eventually fell to the floor. On entering I was lead to the table that Scott had booked. Evidently I had arrived before him. When asked I refused to order anything until my host arrived. I looked around and thought of the other time I had been in the place. Then I was a cocksure, up and coming publishing executive. I was nattily dressed. It wasn't that many months ago but I was unrecognizable. The self confidence had gone and in its place a shabbily dressed overgrown school boy sat feeling thoroughly out of place. Having waited about twenty minutes, the head waiter approached the table to stay that Mr McAlister apologised that he could not make the appointment and had booked an Uber to take me to his home in Virginia Water. He then handed me a piece of paper with the Uber's registration number on it. He moved behind my chair making it clear that I should leave and wait for the car outside, even though it was pouring with rain. On the way out a different man was standing at the entrance. He looked at me quizzically when I asked for my parka and made as if there was no such thing. I then had to describe it more than once and point it out on the floor under all the other coats. When he handed it to me it was with all the ceremony of taking the rubbish out at night and in an unspoken way told me that I was not the kind of person he wanted to see at the restaurant. Another door was closing.

Even though the rush hour traffic had calmed down, it took about an hour to reach Virginia Water. Scott's house was quite what I expected. It was red brick and timbered, surrounded by high brick walls and the entrance had imposing wrought iron gates which were controlled by a telecom system. Once inside, the drive opened out to a large graveled area in front of the house. Although it was now dark I could see extensive garaging to one side of the house and further buildings on the other. This was a property of a man who had made it or wanted to tell you that he had. It must have cost millions. I climbed the steps to a colonnaded porch and rang the bell. Then I waited. Two or three minutes must have passed when I rang again. This time I heard movement within as Scott approached the front door and opened it.

"Hi, Kevin, come in. I hope the Uber found the house easily enough. They are inclined to get lost"

"No, it was fine," I answered as he put his arm on my shoulder, not in a friendly way but much more how a guard would steer a convict towards his cell, and guided me into the house and towards a small study to the right of the entrance hall. I was out of place here too. The room was paneled with shelves of leather bound books. Scott pointed to a wing-backed chair upholstered in leather so that is where I sat. He, on the other hand, sat on a partner's desk facing me, his legs astride. Since the desk was higher than the seat of the chair, he looked down on me, which made his interrogation more forceful.

"How do you think you are getting along", he asked in a blunt, quite uncaring tone.

"It's hard", I replied.

"But you knew that from the beginning. That's what you told me you wanted. You're not trying to chicken out now that it seems", he paused, "hard? And by the way, if you have ideas of quitting, you can't. You signed up to me on a permanent basis."

"I'm noting fuckin' trying to wriggle out of anyfing. I said it was hard cause it is fuckin' hard. I knew it would be hard being shat on from a great height all fuckin' day long. Made to feel small. I knew that and that is what I wanted. Not a game of pretence, of fantisising, but for real. I have got that now but it's hard. Look you're being hard on me now. You're enjoying it, it's a fuckin' turn on for you. The book shop is mostly a misery. I'm paid a fuckin' pittance. You must have selected it very carefully. It is ideal to kick the self esteem and self confidence out of me. And it fuckin' has. I'm a fuckin' loser. Everyone can see it. You fuckin' knew they would. I quite like Mr Woolmer but, except for my sessions with him after lunch, he is never there. Jane is so ingratiating and condescending. She drives me insane. Tim is a fucking bastard. I don't have any friends now so I taken to thieving to fill in the weekends. Then there are your friends who are mainly pompous dickheads" While I was talking, I knew I was exhibiting by my comportment how uncomfortable I was. I never looked up to catch Scott's eye, I spoke in a low hesitant voice. I wrung my hands, straightened my glasses. scratched by head, rubbed my mouth and nose with the back of my hand and squirmed in my chair. I was also feeling hotter and hotter. Scott had not even bothered to suggest that I take my parka off. With the fire on in his study the room was becoming really warm. The heat of my body and the perspiration made me realise how strongly I smelt having not changed any of my clothes for at least three days. I looked looked down at my trousers. They were shapeless and stained. Nobody in their right mind would continue to wear them to work. Then I looked at my shoes: hardwearing, practical and neglected.

"I thought you would find Tim a challenge", he chuckled. "Yes, quite a difficult character. Finding him just a little vindictive, are you?" he said laughing. "You must really look forward to seeing him everyday, creeping up on you when you least expect it."

"Part of your plan was to have Tim torment me, wasn't it? You're come across the dickhead before?" I muttered back. "Dickhead." Looking up from the floor, but not to catch his eye, I noticed that Scott was totally erect. He could not conceal it. The unprepossessing, unconfident nerd before him was definitely arousing him. "He's as happy as I am with what I am becoming", I thought.

"Fuck you're sexy. Sexier than I ever thought you would become", he answered, his tone completely changed. Instead of being harsh and interrogatory, he sounded soft and affectionate.

"I had some power over him. It's not all one way", I thought. "There is some affection left."

"Yes, you are sexier than I remembered', he said smiling. "I was going to give you are hard time. That's why I invited you out to dinner and then cancelled. I wanted you to appreciate what you have left and what you have become. The restaurant was no place for a low life life you had become: a complete loser. By the way, have you eaten?"

"Of course, I fuckin' haven't. I thought you were going to feed me but you backed out. I'm fuckin' starving."

"Well let's order something in. Do you like pizzas?" I nodded. "Then pizzas it will be." With that he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and called a take-away.. I noticed he was still erect. "Come let me have a closer look at you before the pizzas come. The light isn't good enough here. The kitchen may be better.

This time affectionately he put his arm around my shoulder and walked me to the kitchen to the rear of the house. It was vast with a large table in the centre of it which could seat at least ten.

"Take you clothes off. I want a closer look. Take the plug out too." he instructed. I did what he asked, leaving mu clothes in a heap on the floor. "Stand up, let me have a close look." . As he said this, he ran his hands slowly and softly over my upper body. He was certainly aroused now. When he reached my nipples, he gave them a squeeze. I recoiled in pain. "Tender, eh?" he smiled. "They're more pointed than I can recall?'

"Yes, I've noticed that too", I replied, my nipples still sore from Scott's attention.

As his hands moved down towards my groin, he gently pushed my cage to one side, letting it swing back. My dick seemed lifeless inside it. Dead. He then started fondling my testicles. "They've got small. Out of practice, I guess".

"Yes, I've noticed that too", I remarked.

"I don't think you need the cage any more", he said, and taking out a small key from his pocket he unlocked the cage and put it on the kitchen table. "On the weekend go back to the piecing shop and get the man to fit you with a slave ring for your Albert piercing and get a larger gauge so you stretch the opening more. Thinking of enlarging things, remind me to get you are larger butt plug. I don't want you to be too comfortable, do I? Also, I think you should get nipple rings. I think that will really suit. Yes, ask him to do that for you too. It shouldn't hurt too much. Not like your last piercing." He then started to fondle my penis. It stiffened a little but it was by no means erect. He grasped it and started to move his hand up and down. My body twisted in reaction but still I was not anywhere near fully erect. He stopped and my dick immediately became flaccid again. "Yes, really out of practice. Have you noticed that you are not getting an erection as often as you did? Like when you wake up in the morning? he asked.

"Yes, I had but I thought it was the effect of always been caged up", I replied.

"That might be", he observed. "by the way, do you want a drink". It seemed that he wanted to change the subject.

"Fine, have you a larger?", I replied.

"Not sure that I have a larger, would a white wine be OK?" he asked. I nodded. As he was pouring out two glasses of wine, he turned to me and said, "If you would be happier with something on, you could put on your parka."

I did as he suggested. I felt completely exposed with nothing on, particularly as he was still fully dressed in a business suit. The parka covered me and its polyester lining felt good against my smooth, hairless body. I felt cocooned in it, warm and safe. I also liked what it said about me. Nobody would wear such a garment unless they had no dress sense whatsoever and was the sort of person who would be the object of bullying and unkindness; that is, just the person, I always aspired to be.

Slipping his wine, he turned to me and said, "Do you know you look about fifteen years old? If I didn't know how old you really are, I would be worried that I was molesting an underaged boy. It's good, I am not".

"So he has always been in for unprepossessing twinks", I thought. He seemed to particularly appreciate the greatest social distinctions between him and a lad like me. I enjoyed it too.

Soon afterwards the pizzas were delivered. I was by that time ravenous and I ate far more than I should. We talked easily, just like the time I first met him. Somehow I felt that I was enticing him by what I said and my way of expressing things both in words and by movement. He seemed intensely interested in me physically. The wine flowed too. The first bottle was soon emptied so he opened another. I was starting to feel quite mellow and so, I suspect, was Scott.

"Let's turn in", he said rising from his chair and indicating that I should follow him. We left the kitchen and reentered the hall which opened out to a grand double staircase to the first floor. He beckoned me upstairs and into his bedroom. Instinctively I slipped off my parka and started to help him undress. His body was taut, virile and muscular. He was lightly tanned with a covering of dark hair on his chest and lower arms. and with a thin line of hair linking his public hair to his belly button. Kneeling before him I took his completely erect penis into my hands and caressed it with my tongue. Then putting it in my mouth , I moved my head back and forth, thrusting his manhood deeper and deeper down my throat. My actions may have become commonplace for me; I did this all the time. But this time I did it with a passion that was absent from my normal performance. I wanted him to be inside me. Standing up, I walked towards the bed and lay down on it, my legs bend upwards over my chest my hands grasping them by the ankles, my arse inviting him in. I wanted it and I wanted it now. Scott accepted the invitation readily. Wetting his glans and my crack with his spittle. He slid into me. I could accommodate him more easily now so it was painful only momentarily. He slowly but forcefully thrust deeper and deeper into me. I arched my back at the pleasure of it. It was intense. I wanted him to go on and on. He tried to hold out as long as he could but came sooner than either of us wanted. As he relaxed, he leaned over me, holding my head in his hands, and started to kiss me passionately. For the first time since I arrived in London, I felt wanted and loved. "Thanks, Kevin, that was very special", he whispered in my ear."

"Thanks", I replied, "That was fuckin' incredible, thanks."

Scott then lay down on the bed and I moved to lie next to him. He then lent over and started to jerk me off. It was strange in that I never became fully erect and the feeling was different to when I last masturbated. Rather than feeling the arousal in my penis, it was as if the arousal was more defused and I felt it all over my body. I groaned and twisted with pleasure. Although I would have expected to climax almost immediately. That did not happen. Scott had to work at it, not that I minded at all. Eventually I did climax and felt my penis convulsing. However, nothing came out except a little liquid, like precum. "What was happening?" I thought, "I should be producing ribbons of spunk."

"You're not producing any semen", commented Scott, "That's what I wanted to see. That's what the pills have been for."

"What do you mean?" I was starting to feel panicky.

"You have been taking a hormone treatment, increasing your estrogen and blocking your androgens, your testosterone. That is what the pills are doing. You must continue taking them. You see you can still enjoy sex but it will be different. Erections will be a problem and you are unlikely now ever to be able to product sperm. You are impotent but that is no bad thing. That is what I have always wanted you to be: androgynous, not one thing, not the other. That's what I find really arousing."

I sat bolt upright. "What do you mean? It is like I've been fuckin' castrated. I'm fuckin' nothing. A freak!"

"Lay off, Kevin", Scott replied calmly. "It's nothing like that. I am turning you into one of the sexiest lads around and you are complaining? I didn't tell you beforehand because you would have become anxious about it and I wanted to avoid that. Let me tell you I had it in mind to give you are really hard time this evening and to send you away with your tail between your legs. I can be much nastier than your colleague Tim. I was minded to be physically cruel to you. That's why I invited you to diner when I had no intention ever of going to the restaurant. I wanted to stand you up and then debase you when you came here. I'm sorry but that is what I had in mind. It all changed when I saw you, Kevin, you were just so attractive and not being able to have sex in the normal way makes you more so. You must have known that I did not want you to have sex or I wouldn't have caged you. You submitted to that readily enough. Now you don't need a cage, you are free. Come on, lie with me. I want you to stay the night and share my bed." With that he embraced me and gently lay me down beside him with his arms around me. I was still in a state of consternation but, at the same time, I felt secure and loved. That calmed me. We lay together in each others arms until I eventually fell asleep.

The next morning when I awoke, Scott had already risen. Instinctively I started to fondle my dick as I used to do before it was encased in a chastity device. It felt good. It was not hard, but it was not completely soft either. It was just pleasant. So pleasant that I could not stop. It was as if, having been imprisoned for many months, it was celebrating its liberty and wanted to draw attention to itself having been neglected for so long. It invited me to touch and caress it all the time. It kind of tingled. I found after that I played with dick all the time; often completely unconscious I was doing it. When I had my hands in my pockets I played with it. When I was wearing tracksuits it was easy to put a hand down the front of my pants and get a hold of it. In conventional trousers I massaged it through the fabric. I realise now it was quite a turn on to Scott's friend. The bare foot lad in shorts and T-shirt, who could be seen in the kitchen giving himself a good rubbing, oblivious that anyone was watching, seemed to arouse them. They could not take their eyes off me and when I gave my private parts a familiar fondle, I could see them react. Was there a little tent being erected in their trousers? I think so.

While I was lying there in a state of reverie, Scott burst into the room.

"Hurry up and put your things on. I need to go and I will drop you off at Peregrine's. There's toast and coffee in the kitchen."

I got up slowing and wandered downstairs. My clothes lay on the floor, exactly where I had left them. I dressed quickly, wolfed down some toast and juice and then followed Scott out to his car. As we were driving along, unthinkingly I put my hands in my pockets and started to play with my cock again.

"Please keep your hands still or else I will crash the car", he barked. I stopped immediately only to start again a few minutes later. I hadn't realised I was doing so.

"Kevin, you are doing it to turn me on. Stop it. I can't concentrate. Keep you hands out of your pockets or you'll have to get out and walk." I did what I was told, determined not to put my hands in my pockets again. I resisted the temptation but a few minutes later without thinking I started again to play with my dick through the fabric of my trousers. Scott slammed on the brakes of the car.

"Kevin, get in the back. If you want to try to jack off, even if it is now pointless, do it there." I did what I was ordered and the rest of the journey continued in silence. It was like being driven to school by my mum. When we arrived at the bookshop I got out of the car and walked towards the driver's window. "Thanks Scott and for last night, it was incredible. Sorry putting you off driving. It wasn't deliberate", I said.

"It was a pleasure, Kevin. Oh by the way, I'm sorry but I made a few changes to your flat. I shouldn't have done but then I was intent on giving you a hard time. Not know. Give my regards to old Peregrine', he replied. And then he called me back to the car. "I almost forgot, put this in you." With that he handed me an anal plug, larger than the last one. My period of complete freedom would be soon over.

"Cheers, mate", I answered as I turned around to enter my place of torment.