I was sent to the cellar, and after his trip to the infirmary the other boy joined me. We were stripped of our clothing and had our hands bound above our heads. For what must have been hours we both just stood there on our toes like pigs at the butcher. He was sobbing into his bandage while I tried to free my hands from the binding leather. With no signs of success, I stopped my squirming as we heard the eminent footsteps echoing down the stairwell. The other boy must have already experienced the cellar. His fidgeting was only outdone by his pitiful squeaks.

I am a man who has never enjoyed coupling with a woman. Mutual exploration of inner folds is exhilarating. But after the whippings and before the march through the bay of eldest boys, I experienced for the first time by sheer agony what would later be an avid joy.

Slavers would come too. They’d pick the stoutest, giving us the added chore of balancing nutrition for self-defense and appearing just sickly enough to avoid being sold to a waiting oar-chain. The same boy who ate my star muffin left us wailing out from the iron bars of a carriage. I gave him a flouting wave, but I’d wager his tears prevented the full fruition of my passive-aggression.

Making it to adulthood and being released was a dim far light. Many ran away. It was my good sense that knew a runaway would just as easily suffer the fates on the streets that they fled from at the orphanage. This kept me there, but nothing else.

Several years later, a well-dressed man roostered in. He swung a cane and was outfitted like he’d just walked off a stage. All of us who were nearing manhood were lined up. He strolled up and down the file until at last coming to me. Clicking his heels when he halted, he inspected me from head to toe.

The boys in the line by that time had forged mighty friendships. It was our turn to exploit the dirt-faced youngsters and run amok throughout. I’ll always remember those dearest friends, our savage rise and survival, the secret meetings followed by carnal expedition.

The Lord bought me. Lord Stanifer Voss, was of moderate wealth, but was so embedded in the spectrum of Pelliul exuberance that to many he was as envied as a king.

As he and I made our way in his carriage to Pelliul, I looked back at the frowning monster that had kept me swallowed for so long; I turned my head and uttered an oath.