Temptation.
Well, there he was. Again. Once again, he felt what it was like to settle himself into the back of a cell, his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on those pretty bent knees. He let his fingers trail over the top of his feet, tracing idle lines around his skin as he watched, quiet for once. He felt rather lethargic instead of his usually loud, outgoing and personable nature; it was probably from the rejection that the couple who had just previously had him had returned him to have a cuter, younger slave. One that probably was more quiet than CJ was. He didn't know why he kept finding himself in this position; first with his father, then with Alvin, and then the couple -- now it really all depended on who decided they wanted him. He wasn't on sale quite yet, he had heard a man say. Or maybe he was just going to be tested to see if he fit in with anyone. Then again, he didn't really belong anywhere. He knew that. He knew that wherever he belonged, it wasn't here. It wasn't in a cell. He wanted to feel a whip against his back; he wanted the feel the pain he craved, the pain he needed to feel wrapping around his body, making him shudder and groan in esctacy. It was terrible. His body was trained -- he couldn't say no. The word "no" was something not rich in his vocabulary; neither was the word "stop." "No" meant "yes" and "stop" meant "more." It was a never ending loop with the young masochist, and while he hated and loathed it, he secretly loved and craved it. And that was no longer something that bothered him. But now, as he sat in the cell, surrounded by other slaves, and with people walking to and from, he felt rather ignored. Sure, he could make himself know, he could make himself be seen and heard, but what was the point in that? He didn't really want to find himself in another home that would give him up only a year or so later. He got attached too easily, and that meant that the final separation was almost heartbreaking. It was like falling in love and then having your heart ripped out, or at least to CJ it was. It was like a knife had been plunged into his chest and yanked hard. He didn't like it. It was one of the few reasons he made himself lesser of a slave, and more apart of the cell that he was kept in, hidden away from prying, wandering eyes and hands. He wasn't in the mood to be much of a good boy now, anyways.