Reb couldn’t
believe it. He was being sold. So that’s how the fat little greaser planned to
get rid of him – and make a neat little profit. Reb should have thought of
something nasty like that.
Nothing he could
do about it, though. After a very long ride, the truck had finally arrived.
Where? Reb didn’t know, but it was definitely south of the frontier – he’d
heard nothing but Spanish spoken. By then, he was weak as a kitten, and the
welcome committee – a couple of mean looking hombres – had had no trouble
stripping him naked, chaining him and putting him in a holding cell. It looked
like a regular prison cell, and maybe it was, South of the border, anything
went. A week or so had gone by, with Reb been given just enough food and water
to keep body and soul together but not enough to get his strength back. He had
to get that from a dog bowl on the floor, after kneeling down for what felt
like a couple of hours. At first, he had tried to resist but his captors had
beat him with some sort of zap wand. Reb had soon given up the fight.
Then, a few hours
ago, they had come to the cell and shaved his crotch. Then they had put a sort
of ring on his cock and balls, they had secured his arms in some kind of
sheath, gagged him with a ball gag right out of a fetish catalog and put a
collar and leash on him. He had been allowed to sit on the bench in his cell,
which by now was a privilege – most of the daytime he had to stand up, chained
to the wall. Something was about to happen…
And it did. After
a while, the guards had come back, but there was someone with them.
Incredulous, Reb recognized the fat little truck driver, whom he hadn’t seen
since his arrival. He was dressed all in white, looking quite dapper.
“You see, gringo,
here I am again. Are you happy to see me?”
All Reb had been
able to manage for an answer was a grunt muffled by the ball gag.
“Ah, I guess you
do not like this place very much? Well, I have good news for you. You’re going
to leave it soon.”
He took the leash
and pulled on it.
“Get up.”
Then Reb had been
led through long dark corridors to a big room where a dozen men were sitting on
chairs. A bright light was shining on him and the fat driver. He could just
about make up the silhouettes of the men and the smoke of their cigars. The fat
driver was giving a little spiel in Spanish. All Reb could understand was “mean
hombre” and “biker”. He was talking about him – although Reb didn’t feel very
mean just then. He wanted this to be over, this whole humiliating charade. But
at the same time, he feared what was going to happen next. What was he going to
be bought for?
