Blogs » Nigel


  • Ok. SO….people have been asking why I am so self-destructive, do I have a death wish? No, I really enjoy being alive, actually. I enjoy being a smart-ass, too. But to truly explain why I seem to be so self-destructive to an outsider, I have to let you become an insider. That is not something I am very comfortable doing. Very few people ever get inside my circle. The majority of the people who are in my life are not inside my circle. Actually….now that I think about it…..there is only one person inside my circle……me.I don’t remember parents. I remember scrounging through trash piles and hiding behind hog pens to get slop. I remember being kicked and chased with brooms and shovels and even shot at occasionally. I remember cold, and hot, and hungry, mostly. Always hungry. Until I was so hungry that I couldn’t run fast enough to get away and he caught me. That was when my hell began.He caught me by the hair, snatching me literally off my feet and dangling me in mid air.  Cursing at me for stealing trash from his bin.  He threw me against the wall and demanded I clean up the mess where the bin had fallen over when I tried to run.  I couldn't move, so I just glared at him, still clutching the half eaten remains of a sandwich he had thrown out - my prize from the bin and the only food I had found in three days.  Suddenly, he laughed, but it was a scary, hideous sort of a laugh, the kind that makes your skin crawl.  Pulling a stool over from the porch, he sat, watching me.  After a long while, my hunger won and I slowly raised the sandwich to take a bite, my eyes never leaving him.  When he didn't snatch it away or smack me again, I quickly devoured it and reached a hand to grab another piece of meat that was lying within reach. His foot swung out and knocked the meat away.  He then informed me that I was now his property.  As a thief and an orphan I had no rights so he would do with me as he pleased. I would be fed whatever was left on his plate and would sleep tied to the leg of his bed.As I gained strength he would assign chores and they would be done or there would be consequenses.  Consequenses.  That was his word for whatever evil deed he would administer to my body.  At first it was just the back of his hand across my face, or the back of my head.  Frequently I was stopped or picked up or moved by my hair, and he refuses to let me cut it.  I learned to be always vigilant, watchful of his slightest weight shift.  Necessity taught me how to take a punch, roll when I fell, never to flinch.  As I grew taller, it became a boot to my shin, all of his weight on my bare foot, or even a fist in my gut.  Then the day came finally when He needed me to look presentable as he was expecting a visitor.  I was sent to the river to wash, and when I returned there were clothes that actually fit hanging on the fence.  I dressed quickly and braided my hair so it was out of my face before I knocked at the kitchen door.  He called for me to enter and I could hear voices talking inside.  I opened the door to find him sitting with his back to the door and a couple seated across the table from him.  He turned as I entered and his eyes grew large.  I wondered what was wrong but resisted the urge to look down and see if I had put the clothes on backwards in my haste.  His face quickly returned to normal and he growled at me to serve them lunch and be quick. He growled at me for the rest of the day, finding fault in every move I made, even when there was none to be found.  After his company (I decided from the overheard conversation that it was a business partner and his wife) had left, I heard his heavy footfalls behind me and braced myself for the hard jerk backward.  He had my braid wrapped around his fist as he swung me around the room, cursing me for attracting the attention of his partner.  Shouting nonsense about buggering and pansy-waists, he drug me into the bedroom and tied my wrists to the bedpost. Stretching my neck backward, he leaned close to my face and stroked my cheek gently.  "I suppose it be me own fault, what as I never had ye clean up before.  How was I ta know there was a handsome lad neath all that dirt". His hand stroked down my neck and shoulder, then across my back.  Confused by this new treatment and the accusations that made no sense at all to my young mind, I lay still, waiting to see what he had in store next. "I've been offered a pretty penny for ya, lad.  But ye needs special training now."  I turned my head to the side, trying to see what he was doing.  He was looking at me, staring, something he hadn't done since that first night he caught me.  It made me nervous.  What did he mean by his words?  Why would his partner want a child slave? To serve him and his wife as I did this man? Not exactly, as I was to learn over the next few weeks.  My new training started that night.  He stripped me completely, then tied me spread eagle across the bed.  I was not old enough yet for body hair or arousal, so cold was all I felt.  Cold, and confused.  How was I to learn anything while tied down? I could hear him moving around the kitchen.  When he returned, he had a ginger root in his hand that had been pared at one end.  The rules were explained. I was to learn pain tolerance.  He started with five minutes of insertion.  If I managed not to cry out, I could have a short break before a larger piece was inserted for a longer time length.  If I made any noise at all, the larger piece would be inserted immediately for twice the time period. It took me a few hours before I had enough control to not make a sound, no matter what he stuck in me, or attached to my body parts.  I was encouraged to writhe, twist, and otherwise attempt to remove or avoid.