The plomosa 6 (A father's fears): Solutions.

The olive buds had burst into full bloom, and strong winds sweeping down from the mountains battered the small plain of the property. Light drizzles, almost always in the morning, made my chores inside the house take longer because the boots that used to kick up dust now brought in mud, and I had to scrub and mop the floors with greater care: the commissioner took the cleanliness of this environment very seriously. Fortunately for me, the guards' dormitories were located in back-storage areas, and it was part of their discipline to keep them tidy themselves. This change also meant a slight adjustment in meal times. My work hours also shifted, as the days grew longer; thus, the only thing that got cut was my resting hours at night.

The lashings became more tolerable for me, both from the rods and the various types of whip used to keep me alert at work. However, their effectiveness had not diminished; what had initially turned into an effort of my will to try harder to stop the punishment had now become a response to a familiar signal encouraging me to put in more force and concentrate even further. My feet, which bled often in the first weeks, now had the thickness of rubber; and I found myself some nights pulling out thorns that hardly bothered me.

As for my life in the gloom; well, the truth is that the life of a slave becomes routine. Not even a terrible beating marks itself in memories as an important matter. Perhaps the last significant change was that episode of blood; but even that had become habitual. I learned that it was the commissioner's decision, on López's recommendation, to allow my son to extract half a liter of blood from me every two days. At first, I wondered what he intended to do with it; but in the end, I also assumed it was something I shouldn't care about. Moreover; when I made my donation, Benítez or Montes would always appear in my storage area, and I was entitled to a second food ration; as I usually could only consume that of the morning.

...

I licked the commissioner's boots while he panted and enjoyed a cigarette. I was very grateful to him; for since they put me in the chastity cage, I hadn't been able to relieve myself: that afternoon I had asked Montes to take me to the point of climax, and he took advantage to wear me out completely. It seemed unbelievable that at my age, I had never experienced a prostate orgasm: it left me stupid for almost ten minutes. The moon and stars shone; he remained bare-chested despite the cold wind blowing. I hoped he wouldn't catch a cold: I had gotten one three weeks ago and had to spend the following days with a grey cloth sack on my head, tied around my neck: of course, I continued doing my chores as if everything were normal. I was removing a piece of dirt when I felt his hand on my head. Despite the savage method of shaving me; some of my follicles had reacted, and I already had some sparse pricks that must have been less than a centimeter lo...