The room they are in is plain as well, the floor concrete, a drain set in the middle of it, steel rings embedded into the walls at even intervals. The older boy's collar is chained to one of these rings with perhaps two feet of slack. Suspended from the ceiling above the drain is a circular steel piece with more rings set into it, and chains reaching from each ring nearly to the floor. Near the room's only door there is a cupboard of plain, unvarnished wood and a small, utilitarian sink firmly attached to the wall. The bowl of the sink has a few rust-lines from where the faucet has dripped over the course of what must be several years, but otherwise, like the floor and the cupboard, seems clean.

I can easily picture walking over to the pair, and snapping my fingers, beckoning the younger one toward me. Just as easily, I can see the look on the older boy's face, frustration, a hint of anger, and quite a bit of worry... for a moment he tries to hold on to the youth he is so obviously trying to protect, but the other boy shakes his head, murmuring something reassuring as he disentangles himself, expression brave until he is sure the older boy cannot see his face. I smile. He shivers.

It doesn't take more than a moment to have his hands unbound from the collar, attached instead to one of the dangling chains, high enough that he can't take any position but standing, arms raised over his head. He keeps his back to the older boy, not wanting him to see the fear he's showing now, trying to keep him from worrying any more than he already is. It's only partially successful, of course. Less so once I spin him around to face his friend, my hand in his hair, forcing his head up until the other boy can see every emotion that crosses his face. For a split second I think the still-kneeling boy is going to protest, his mouth opening slightly, angry... but the moment he begins to speak I tug roughly on the hair I still hold and he falls silent, knowing that anything he says will only earn the boy he is trying to protect even more pain.

It's sweet, really, watching the older boy as I begin to hurt the younger. For whatever reason, he seems to think the boy I'm toying with now is his responsibility; I silently bless my supplier for finding this pair, wherever and however he managed it. Each scratch of my fingernails across his bare back, each yank at his surprisingly well-kept hair, each time my fingers dig into his flesh or my teeth leave a new mark, he flinches, whimpering, trying to keep silent. Eventually the pain adds up though, and it's a scratch down one bare arm that brings the first sob, his eyes beginning to tear up.

The older boy is looking away now, the sight of those first tears enough to leave him trembling, shaking his head slightly as if to deny what he's just seen. Rather than order him to watch, I decide on something else, and before he realizes what's going on I have the collar-chain in hand and am tugging him over to the center of the room, fastening it swiftly to the grate on the drain, ensuring he can't rise off his knees. His options are simple, I explain in an almost gentle tone. He can continue trying to hide, leaving the younger boy to suffer alone... or he can try to distract his young charge from the pain, giving him something else to think about, something else to feel, some way to take pleasure from this. His eyes widen at that and before he can stop himself he cringes, head down.

I smile, and return to what I'd been doing, slowly covering the standing boy's body with reddened marks, tiny bruises, hurting him oh-so-slowly. I already know what his protector will choose, it's just a matter of time, and I'm looking forward to watching their faces... since one of the qualifications I insist on in my purchases is innocence, virginity. This should be quite interesting indeed.