and the white sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. He came in smiling again. 'All right, Elliott,' he said.
'We're eighteen hours away from port. You're not to speak at all unless you're spoken to. And just do as you're told.' There were two other men with him, But I didn't really see them. Instantly, they had swung me around, pinning my hands behind my back. I got a glimpse of a white leather blindfold before it was slipped into place. Secret panic. If only they wouldn't use the damned blindfold. I felt my pants being unsnapped, and the shoes being pulled off my feet. It was all beginning, really happening. My cock was immediately hard. But it was hell, absolute hell, not being able to see. I waited for the gag to come but it didn't and as soon as I was stripped, my wrists were being shackled with leather cuffs and lifted over my head. Not too awful. Nothing as awful as being tied up tight. I was led into the corridor, and in spite of all the training I'd had, I was sort of stunned.
But it was like an aphrodisiac had been pumped into me. When they hung my wrists up on a hook above me I was sorry I'd played by the rules all those nights in the cabin when I was alone. I didn't know where I'd been taken, except that for some reason it sounded like a large room. I could feel the presence of others there. I could hear them making small sounds. I could hear a sort of whimpering as though one of the slaves was about to cry. I realized it was a woman slave. So we really were mixed together, males and females, just like they'd said we'd be. I couldn't picture it. And the sound of the woman confused me. Maybe I felt more powerless because I couldn't protect her. Or it tantalized me to know I was suffering silently in the same manner that she was suffering. I just couldn't tell. I hated the blindfold. Couldn't stop hating it.
I rubbed my face against my arm trying to get it off but that was useless. And I had to make myself quit. And it crossed my mind as it would a hundred times that maybe Martin was right and I'd made an awful mistake. Training in Martin's house in San Francisco, what was that? And the brief stays at the country place, scary as they were, what had they been compared to this? But with the strongest, sweetest sensation of relief, I thought: 'It's too late now, Elliott. Can't say, "Let's call it quits now, gang, and all go out for a steak dinner and a couple of beers."' I mean it's over because it's begun. That's the beauty of it. It's for real, as Martin had said. There was this glorious sense suddenly of really being in it for the first time over my head. I'd done this inalterable violence to my own life, and this was exhilaration, this feeling. I wouldn't have gone back then for anything in the world.
The sounds I heard undoubtedly meant that more and more slaves were being brought in. I heard the pat of their bare feet and the click of the heels of the handlers. I heard a groan here and there, the creak of a chain or the chink of the metal of the buckle sliding over the hook. The leather cuffs were tight around my wrists. There were mostly small sighs, moans. Both male and female noises. And it seemed some of these cries came from behind gags. I was sure that some distance away someone, a man, was struggling, and a scolding voice confirmed this immediately, calling him by name and telling him to 'behave'. It was almost cajoling. The 'you know better than that' tone of voice.
The sharp crack of a strap sounded and I heard a loud moan. Then came a real thrashing, sounds so keen they were like fingers stroking my skin. I was trembling. It would be awful to be punished like that for bad behaviour. It wasn't like being humiliated for someone's pleasure, being an exotic champion of pain. No, it was being a failure down here in the hold of the ship, a bad slave. The thrashing seemed to go on forever. Then I heard random cracks of the belt drawing nearer, grunts, groans. I could feel movement around me. And the belt