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Jimmy Ruisdale looked suitably chastened. His handsome face was sexily swollen with exertion, dark, expressive eyes gleaming with tears mixed of anger and shame as he fidgeted with nervous anxiety, waiting, in a corner of Dobson’s eighth floor office. ‘Turn around, Jimmy, and face the wall.’ Without comment, the lumbering six foot stud obeyed, too dispirited to offer any resistance at what, considering everything else he had been through in the course of the long afternoon, seemed like just another petty humiliation. Dobson had mentioned going home and Jimmy drew on meager reserves of emotional strength anticipating that moment of release when he would walk, a free man, out the office door. ‘That’s good, boy- stand in the corner for a while and think things over,’ Dobson reveled in shaming the tall buck, treating him like a little boy…but, oh, you’re no little boy, Jimmy, and you and I both know that, don’t we??? He leaned back with feet up on the desk and lit a cigarette (Fuck the anti-smoking laws; I own too much stock in this company for that kind of crap) , daydreaming of the many exquisite moments that had filled this very special day. He briefly flashed on an image of Jimmy a mere half hour before, bathed in the sweat of recent agony, standing stark naked in front of the desk. His tall body was crisscrossed with welts, beautiful face a mask of shocked pain, humbly self-conscious as three sets of lascivious stares took in the wonder of his big cock and pendulous balls swinging in the fresh air between muscular, hairy thighs. Jimmy’s silent plea for surcease; for the expected boon of freedom, to finally be allowed to go home, would have melted the hardest of hearts but Wendell Dobson was immune to that sort of thing- he didn’t have a heart.
The contented VP blinked and focused on the present, gazing at Jimmy’s broad back under the green tee as he shuffled in place, facing the wall. Even after being put through some hard paces, the young landscaper offered a fine sight- impossibly broad shoulders squared despite his ordeal, long arms of rounded muscle at his sides, thumbs hooked in the frayed pockets of his jeans. Ah, those baggy levis!! Dobson drank in the high swell of Jimmy’s proud ass under the sagging denim, remembering exactly what it looked like jutting over the glass top of his desk…he blinked again and glanced at his watch; time to get moving, the day was far spent…but the evening approached and was filled with promise. Stretching languidly, the arrogant exec began to formulate a plan that had his itching prick as anxious for release as the big stud in the corner and, calling out to Jimmy, ordered him to turn around and once again approach the hated desk. Harriet Troutly watched her boss with narrowed eyes, hoping for one last show before the end of the day’s festivities. Dobson decided not to disappoint. He addressed his contrite victim in prime stentorian form, ‘Well, Mr. Ruisdale, have you learned anything today?’ Jimmy looked at him incredulously and, lowering his eyes, mumbled, ‘Yes, sir.’ You’d better damn believe it, fucking bastard! Learn something???? Oh yeah… Dobson continued, ‘Aside from the foolish infraction committed last Saturday that brought you to...ah…our attention, I couldn’t help but notice, Mr. Ruisdale, that when you came into this office- what, a few hours ago? - that you seemed imbued with a certain amount of…attitude; reasonable considering your age, but not in line with your role here at the corporation.’ Jimmy began to sweat again, rightly wondering where the barb lay in the pretentious sermon. ‘Obedience is a virtue highly prized in our organization and, sad to say, it seemed somewhat lacking as you resisted explicit orders in the initial stages of your discipline. So, you see my point, Mr. Ruisdale?’ Jimmy began to stutter, fully aroused now; not with any sexual buzz, but the resurgence of stark fear. Please, man…please!! I just want to go home . Dobson clearly had something up his sleeve and, reaching beneath the desk, adjusted his trousers and sprang the trap.
‘I think a small test- just to make sure that you learned this very fundamental lesson- might be in order.’ He paused as the security guard edged next to the skittish buck, instinctively sensing his precautionary presence might be a good idea (and wanting to get as close as possible to the looming action). ‘Yes, a small test…’ Jimmy was certain everyone in the room could hear his hammering heart. ‘Let’s go over some of the troublesome aspects of our initial encounter once again, shall we? Take off your shirt, Mr. Ruisdale.’ Jimmy wanted to scream. He briefly considered leaping across the desk and pummeling the smug bastard’s face into something unrecognizable, but the rank body odor of the company cop was a potent reminder of certain unpleasant consequences already encountered. With a sigh of pure desperation he slowly peeled off the shirt, once again baring his magnificent torso. Dobson smiled, ‘Very good. Now, kindly unbuckle your belt and spread the fly of your jeans- nice and wide.’ Jimmy glanced at the Troutly hag, fanning herself with an old office memo and looking slightly green under her powder. He might have laughed in other circumstances, but not now as the hideous reprise played itself out in ticking seconds. His shaking hands fumbled open the buttons of his pants. Dobson was impressed; maybe the cocky stock boy really had learned something! ‘Excellent Jimmy (and he meant every word). And now,’ he paused, a very real frown creasing his smooth forehead, ‘here’s where we ran into some trouble before, let’s see if things have changed…drop your trousers and shorts, please, Mr. Ruisdale.’ Jimmy stared at the exec with unfeigned amazement, frozen in shocked dismay. It couldn’t be happening again, had to be some kind of terrible dream, but Dobson’s edgy voice was real enough, ‘Did you hear me, Jimmy? Lower your trousers and place your hands firmly behind your head.’ He said it while looking at the guard and Jimmy, feeling like a man asked to cock the gun at his own execution, slowly pulled down both blue jeans and jockey shorts in one long motion pooling, once again, at his booted ankles. His bright red face offered silent testimony to the acute agony of a shamed young man in his late teens, standing with powerful, muscular arms raised and hands locked behind his head but he was, at least, the picture of unwilling obedience. Jimmy had learned a lot in the course of the long afternoon. Dobson let him sweat for a few minutes, savoring the perfect symmetry of the naked stud’s body as he stood, rigidly straight, and waiting for the next inevitable command. Jimmy was stunned when it came, fully expecting a terse request to bend over the desk for another fast ass whipping.
‘Are you a virgin, Mr. Ruisdale?’ Dobson was staring straight at the buck’s slack balls, which jumped with surprise at the invasive question. The secretary giggled behind her memo pad as Jimmy stammered a terse denial. ‘I’m surprised,’ Dobson said, shaking his head as if he had a hard time believing such a thing. ‘You see, it’s been clearly noted in the latest psychological journals that young men’s aggression or propensity for risk taking behavior in our industrialized society is often the result of diminished opportunity for sexual release,’ he sighed, ‘blame it on women’s lib…or something, but I have a suspicion that may lie at the root (his hungry eyes lingered on Jimmy’s twitching penis) of your problem, Mr. Ruisdale.’ Jimmy wasn’t the smartest person in the room, but he suddenly had a reasonable idea of where the bizarre conversation might lead. ‘Oh no, sir…(gulp), that’s not the case…really.’ ‘When was the last time you had sex, Jimmy?’ Mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper, the mortified young stud croaked, ‘Last week.’ It was a lie and he could tell that Dobson knew it. ‘Surely, then, you must masturbate to…ah…fill in the gaps?’ The oily remark sounded utterly reasonable, but Jimmy was too shocked to answer. ‘Show us how it’s done, Mr. Ruisdale.’
‘WHAT?????’ Jimmy, anger quickly rising despite lessons previously learned, was utterly nonplussed. Dobson pursed his lips and lit another cigarette. In measured tones, as if speaking to a dim witted school boy, he addressed the naked buck, ‘Grasp your penis with your hand, Jimmy…just like you do at home- in the shower, or…’ Jimmy’s massive chest expanded with a deep, pent up breath as a leaden hand circled the long rod riding between his legs. ‘Very good!!’ Dobson’s semi-sarcastic remark, delivered as if the boy had passed a home room spelling test, cut the tense silence that enveloped the office. Miss Troutly and the sweating guard watched the drama in a sort of reverent silence, wondering how far the boss would take things. ‘Now, Jimmy, the rest should be quite simple for a healthy young man like yourself and, I believe, it will provide a last…but very necessary…lesson learned today that may help you in the future. Please commence relieving yourself; yes, here in order that we may offer verification, so as to avoid those impulses that get you into, ah, trouble.’ ‘I…I don’t understand.’ Jimmy was near tears, forcing words from a gulping throat constricted with anxiety, looking down the long expanse of chest and flat belly to the suddenly numb right hand grasping his thick penis. Dobson nodded to the company cop who, ready and waiting, laid a single, but very hard, stroke with the leather strap across the stock boy’s broad back. Jimmy winced, but still stood there like a big, dumb animal; shocked out of comprehension and paralyzed with shame. ‘Lift your balls, Jimmy…that’s right, with your other hand. Good. Now, look at them.’ Somehow, Jimmy found the will to obey the simple command. Dobson continued, ‘Now, Mr. Ruisdale, what I want you to do is empty all of the burning juice percolating down there onto my desk.’ He smiled. ‘And don’t worry about making a mess, Miss Troutly will clean it up (he winked at his secretary). Really, is that so hard to understand?’
A fresh tear rolled down the side of Jimmy’s straight nose as his hand slowly moved up what seemed like the endless length of his flaccid dick, briefly wrapping around the smooth rim of the head, then travelling back where it started. Though everyone in the room knew differently, it looked as if he had never contemplated doing anything like that before. ‘Excellent, Jimmy- keep it up.’ Dobson was all solicitous encouragement. Still, if one were to consider the literal sense of the exec’s remark; Jimmy had a ways to go. The strokes picked up some tempo, and the tall buck began to sweat again in earnest, but the intense anxiety kept his cock stubbornly soft. Three sets of intent stares simply weren’t conducive to what Jimmy would consider a real turn on. He tried to imagine rolling around with his sometime girlfriend Mandy- what was it, a month ago? That helped a little and if he closed his eyes… The soft slapping sound of calloused palm on nineteen year old cock filled the confines of the darkening office as Jimmy’s hesitant prick slowly rose to the occasion, bobbing at a very respectable half-mast length of five, maybe six, inches….but it seemed to stall there even though, by now, the reluctant stud was desperate to get the whole operation over and done with…to put his clothes back on (again) and… ‘What’s the problem, Mr. Ruisdale? Need a little help?’ Dobson’s bitch giggled at the boss’ little joke (or was it?) as Jimmy grunted a rough denial and increased the tempo of his pumping right hand. Two or three more minutes passed with disappointing results; Jimmy’s thick cock seemed stuck in a strange limbo of embarrassed and unwilling excitement, stubbornly remaining semi-erect. Finally, Dobson ordered the panting buck to stop and, pushing his chair away from the desk, rose and moved next to his mortified victim. Without comment, he brushed Jimmy’s weary hand away from his stubborn dick and grasped it in his own, fingering the reddened head with a rough forefinger. ‘Shit, Jimmy! You’re not even leaking.’ Motioning to his secretary, Dobson was all business, ‘Harriet, the boy needs some lube. Would you be a darling and fetch that bottle of massage oil from the bathroom cabinet?’ Miss Troutly was back in no time, flanking Jimmy’s other side and her boss, in a suddenly expansive mood, asked if she would like to do the honors of ‘greasing the lad up…to help him along’. He didn’t have to repeat the request, as Jimmy stood in rigid humiliation, half-stiff dick back in the claw-like grasp of the executive secretary, who liberally applied the oil along the warm shaft, echoing his own frantic strokes with some slow, languid ones of her own. ‘OK!’ Dobson laughed, ‘Let’s see if that helps. Please resume, Mr. Ruisdale.’
Five minutes later a satisfying, slick squishing sound replaced the chapped slapping heard moments before and Dobson noted that a thin drool of foam flecked precum added a potent, alkaline flavored aroma to the sweet smelling massage oil. Jimmy’s cock was clearly responding and showed its appreciation in tangible ways- rock hard, pulsing hungrily upward in a wide curving arc of at least eight glorious inches. The blushing stud was oblivious to the view, eyes screwed tightly shut, handsome face the picture of desperate concentration as he methodically stroked the meat jutting from between his shaking legs. Jimmy’s mind was a strange tapestry of both simple and complex design; part filled with the agonized, multi-faceted emotion that the situation entailed, but also strangely focused, at last, on the visceral reality of his throbbing dick. Thinking about Mandy’s pert curves, or diving into her warm depths, hadn’t helped at all…it just wasn’t the right time or place. Rather, to simply let go; to float on a river of fire centered on the raging conflagration- often banked but never extinguished- that burned between his legs. And, speaking of ‘rivers of fire’ or, more to the point, of letting go, it was obvious to everyone that the time had almost arrived for the long awaited eruption. Jimmy’s forced performance approached a crescendo and Dobson and his two avid minions leaned forward, not wanting to miss a thing. The first signs were tentative but unmistakable as the flow of sticky precum, already noted, increased. Jimmy’s six pack abs tensed suddenly then began to lightly convulse as breath pistoned from his deep, sweat-streaked chest. The blurred motion of his frantic right hand slowed noticeably even as his slick penis seemed to jump with a life of its own…and then, at last- long ropey ejaculations of hot juice burst, out of control, from the sputtering head. The tall buck uttered a completely unselfconscious cry, arching backward, blessedly oblivious of the awestruck observers. Spraying seed splashed random patterns on the glass surface of Dobson’s desk, but the first spurts, ardent as only a nineteen year old’s could be, were aimed at the ceiling and, flying beyond the desk, hit Harriet Troutly square in the face, branding a lightening fast design of pearly wetness in her lavender scented powder.
‘Damn!’ For once, Dobson seemed nearly speechless. He waited as Jimmy shook his head and relished the look on the buck’s face as full realization of what he had been made to do filled his reeling mind. Turning to his secretary, busily dabbing at her ruined makeup, the amused exec chuckled and, after allowing her a decent interval, ordered the woman back into the bathroom to fetch some cleaning supplies. The sun was setting and Dobson was anxious to lock up the office and return home. Bending toward the amused guard, he whispered something in his ear. A light seemed to dawn on the other man’s face as he fumbled at his belt and, extracting a pair of hand cuffs, moved behind the oblivious stock boy and quickly bound his arms behind his back. Jimmy felt the cold metal circle his wrists like a jolt of electricity and a fresh rush of adrenaline coursed through his system. His deep voice brooked no contradiction (he hoped) as, looking at the smug VP, he grasped the straw of reason, ‘I did what you told me to do, Mr. Dobson. Now it’s time to keep your promise- give me back my clothes and let me go home.’ Dobson ignored the remark and, glancing at Jimmy’s reddened dick, extracted some Kleenex from a box on the desk and ordered the beaming cop to get the sticky buck cleaned up. Jimmy, for his part, was done playing sick games and, no longer so acquiescent, backed away from the first dab, and swore as the guard grabbed his balls to keep him in place, grinding fine molars at the blatant humiliation of having his cock swabbed clean in front of the hated boss and his secretary. Deeply disgusted he lashed out, ‘Dammit, Mr. Dobson, what you did here today was wrong !!! Now, let me go RIGHT NOW or…or…I’ll go to the cops.’ ‘Your word against mine, eh?’ Dobson smiled, ‘Not to mention the kind officer here or Miss Troutly. Really, Jimmy?’ A desperate light flickered in the buck’s dark eyes as Dobson continued, ‘Besides, I am a man of my word- we are going home…but not to yours. You see, boy, there’s still a few things I want to show you and (he coughed) more than a few things for you to show me.’ ‘FUCK NO!!!’ Jimmy screamed, frantically straining against the cuffs that bound his hands, rendering him helpless. ‘Time to bag him, Bob. Let’s get this show on the road.’
Jimmy was unceremoniously gagged, hogtied and stuffed into a tightly zipped sleeping bag that Dobson had stashed in a closet. He eyed the burly guard, ‘Think you can carry him Bob? Boy’s got to weigh a good two hundred pounds of pure, dense muscle.’ The cop shrugged and, lifting the slack weight of safely cocooned stock boy, flung him over a shoulder and rasped his assent. Harriet Troutly was seen to the door with many thanks and a peck on the cheek from her grateful boss who then turned the key and shut off the lights. He nodded, once again, toward the guard, ‘Good thing one of the perks that goes with an eighth floor office is a private elevator,’ and, pushing a button, waited for the door to whisk open. A minute later Dobson turned a different key in the elevator door and stepped into the shadows of a subterranean garage. Looking around to see that there were no unwelcome observers, he was satisfied and motioned to the panting cop with a very bulky sleeping bag slung over his shoulder. Dobson had taken the precaution of parking his black van within yards of the private exit and it was a simple matter to cross the empty space unobserved. Jimmy was tossed in a heap on the floor behind the driver’s seat and, just to be safe, Officer Bob rode in the back seat along with the precious bundle, with Dobson behind the wheel buzzing with adrenaline. The drive to the VP’s sprawling suburban pile was uneventful and the van pulled into the spacious three car garage without incident. Dobson was slightly nervous, realizing he had crossed an invisible line that could land him in far worse trouble with the law than the Ruisdale boy ever dreamed of, but it was worth it. His dick throbbed heart felt agreement and the anxious VP heaved a loud sigh of relief as the electric door slid down behind the van. Jimmy, feebly squirming but mercifully quiet, was hauled out of the van and levered onto the concrete floor. ‘You know, Bob, for some reason I feel like a kid on Christmas morning…’ Dobson was beaming, ‘Let’s see what Santa brought!’
Jimmy was unwrapped in reasonable shape, considering everything; wild eyed with fear, bathed in pungent sweat and alternately crying or, when the gag was removed, swearing like a trooper. The kid was no fool and he realized that the rules of the dark game played all afternoon had suddenly shifted to a place where the stakes were infinitely higher. This was no punitive whim of some neurotic, self-important executive, oh no! There was a word for it and that word was ‘kidnapping’. Jimmy had grown up reading the newspapers and had a reasonable idea of what could happen to good looking young men who blundered into that unthinkable misfortune. If he had any doubts, the prelude in Dobson’s office had amply dispelled them. Jimmy’s lithe muscles quivered along the full length of his nude body as he was forced to stand. The rope was cut from his feet and the terrified buck was walked, like a dead man, to the center of the garage and positioned beneath a large iron ring at the end of a chain attached to one of the beams in the ceiling. Guessing what must come, he offered what resistance he could, but was soon strung up in a loose spread eagle position with hands cuffed wide to an iron bar suspended from the ring and feet similarly jacked far apart and attached to another bar, snug in buckled leather cuffs. It was Dobson’s innovation- all of the advantages of a classic X-frame, but allowing the victim some freedom of movement with legs spread but otherwise unattached and arms likewise; wide against the metal bar but suspended by a single chain. Dobson relished the opportunity to watch his victims dance. The two older men stepped back to review their handy work as Jimmy sputtered some kind of futile nonsense, horrified eyes reflecting the array of toys that littered the garage. Dobson turned to the cop and extended his hand. Bob seemed confused and returned a tepid shake, unsure about the nature of the greeting…or could it mean …?. Reaching into a pocket, Dobson extracted an envelop and handed it to his minion. ‘Thanks, Officer. Please accept this token of gratitude…I think you’ll find that the company can be quite generous in the right circumstances.’ The cop pocketed the cash, glanced longingly at Jimmy and waited with a gaze of entreaty in his hound dog eyes. It wasn’t to be. Dobson nodded impatiently and his eyes shifted toward the side door of the garage. ‘Go home, Bob. It’s been a long day, you deserve some rest.’ Extracting a twenty dollar bill, he handed it to the dejected guard, ‘Take a cab, with my compliments…and, again- thanks for everything. Bye!’ With a last look at Jimmy’s muscled perfection, strung up scared and naked just begging to be worked over, Bob turned and, crossing the threshold, disappeared into the twilight. For reasons impossible to fathom, Jimmy was sorry to see him go. He was alone in the presence of a madman and that seemed more dangerous and somehow more intimate than what had transpired earlier in the eighth floor office.
Dobson sat down on a nearby bench, gazing at the prize stud twisting helpless in the center of his garage. Jimmy had ceased his swearing and cajoling and realized that pleading was pointless, so a strange silence pervaded the grease and gasoline scented atmosphere. The contented executive casually studied the exposed landscape of the younger man’s naked body, relishing the flex of massive, stretched muscles as Jimmy tested his bonds, pulling reflexively against the leather cuffs that kept arms and legs spread wide against the steel bars. His handsome cock and low hanging balls swung freely between muscular thighs, centered by a luxuriant patch of softly curling pubic hair that spread dark tendrils from the deep carpet around the boy’s penis, to a feathery treasure trail reaching for his navel and, in a southerly direction, nesting some fine fuzz at the base of his dangling testicles. Jimmy stared at the floor, a picture of terrified dejection or (as Dobson fantasized) of resigned submission, but his head shot up at the unexpected sound of a ringing cell phone. Dobson smiled and, reaching into his pocket, withdrew the device, flipped the lid and spoke into the receiver. ‘Harry? Yeah, thanks for returning my call.’ He looked over at Jimmy who, in turn, was watching his captor intently, listening to every word and, no doubt, weighing the advisability of crying out for help. Dobson turned on his brightest smile, winked broadly and quickly disabused the lad of any misguided fantasies of rescue. ‘Harry- guess what I’ve got hanging here in the garage… That’s right…what?’ He paused for a second, checking Jimmy out with a clinical eye, and continued, ‘Oh, I’d say around six feet tall, maybe a little more. Dark hair, almost black, beautiful face…big hands and feet.’ Jimmy could vaguely hear excited chatter spilling out of the receiver as Dobson theatrically held the phone a few inches away from his ear and grimaced. ‘Sure, Harry…yeah, got him stripped down in my office; buck hasn’t got a stitch of clothes on him now.’ Another short pause, then, ‘Fuck yeah! You wouldn’t believe this guy. Nineteen and already in his prime, solid muscle…and I’m telling ya, Harry…I know what I’m talking about because I can see every inch of him (Dobson winked again at Jimmy and laughed). Yep, got him spread eagle on parallel stretcher bars and sweating buckets already, right in front of me. Kid’s got a cock like a battering ram and balls that would ballast a ship and, Harry, you’d love his ass- round and hard with a cute trail of hair along the crack. Yeah, really!!!!’ And so it went. Jimmy felt sick, trying to choke back a leaden desperation that threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, Dobson checked his watch and muttered into the receiver, ‘So, get your horny self over here and let’s have ourselves some fun. OK, no problem, I’m ready for some dinner anyway…right, see you in around an hour.’ He clicked off the phone, sauntered over to Jimmy and, patting him on his much-discussed hairy ass, told him to ‘hang around for a while’. Still laughing, Dobson turned off the light and left the garage.
An hour and a half later, Jimmy was rousted from his agonized stupor by the sudden glare of a switched on light bulb. His body was already a sheet of shrieking pain, joints screaming for relief as he writhed against the stretcher bars. ‘Rise and shine,’ Dobson shouted, and entered the garage followed by a stranger that could only be Harry. The two men circled their victim with gleaming eyes, possibly hopped up on some kind of stimulant, chattering away with gleeful abandon. Harry looked a few years older than Dobson, with a sour, cruel face that ripped the last, futile, shreds of lingering hope straight from Jimmy’s racing heart. He held a finely crafted wooden box in one hand like a briefcase and, kneeling on the floor, released the clasps and levered it open. Jimmy’s audible groan as he took in the gruesome sight was heartrending, but Harry danced to a different tune. ‘Brought a few of my own toys, Wendell…hope you don’t mind?’ Dobson didn’t mind at all and, passing the struggling prisoner, gave him a tight squeeze on a flexed bicep as he crossed the garage to peruse Harry’s toys. At first glance, Harry’s collection looked like the finely crafted contents of a tool box- all shiny metal, glinting serrated edges, sharp points and threaded screws. And, considering everything, that’s exactly what they were- tools of a very special trade. Jimmy’s eyes were riveted on a small saw and, in that moment, he became convinced that he wouldn’t live to see the morning. He thought of his life and the ideals that drove him, of Mandy (most likely partying without a care in the world with his best friend Kyle), and a fine hatred, budding all afternoon, burst into glorious bloom. ‘YOU SICK BASTARDS!’ He gave a mighty pull on the chains binding his spread arms, ‘Fucking…sick bastards…’ and his voice cracked as Jimmy shook the sweat out of his eyes and felt the short hairs prickle on his dangling balls. Ignoring the outburst, the two men were still engrossed in the contents of the box. ‘Tell you what,’ Harry smiled at his friend, ‘Why don’t we start with something simple? Yeah, like maybe a few clamps? Been meaning to try out these babies for ages.’ He extracted a set of small, stainless steel items that jingled pleasantly. ‘May I?’ Dobson nodded and the older man approached the struggling victim. ‘Save your strength, boy! It’s gonna be a long night.’
The two men pulled up stools, eye level to Jimmy’s exposed groin, and each attached his own screw clamp to one of Jimmy’s captured balls. The flat heads of the threaded clamps were tightened just to the point where the frantic stud couldn’t shake them off; a dull pain of mixed physical pressure and gathering dread emanating from testicles to the pit of his stomach. ‘Better rope them as well,’ Dobson said and Harry, ever resourceful, pulled out a rawhide strip and bound the victim’s scrotum tight below the base of his penis. ‘How about a little game?’ Harry smirked, ‘You know, a wager.’ Intrigued, Dobson shrugged his assent, waiting for an explanation. ‘OK,’ Harry said, clearly warming to the subject as he stroked the long shaft of Jimmy’s dangling cock. He pulled a pair of dice from his jacket pocket, ‘Goes like this- High roll wins, and that’s good for a full turn of the screw against one of the boy’s balls. First one to make him scream gets to fuck him.’ He looked up at Jimmy’s outraged face, ‘Of course, boy, you could throw the game by yelling for which ever one of us you care to have ream your ass…but somehow I doubt that’s gonna happen.’ Jimmy groaned and spit in his direction. ‘You got some spirit, man!’ Harry’s admiration seemed unfeigned, ‘Tell you what; if you survive ten rolls, well, your ass remains inviolate…but I doubt that’s gonna happen either!!’ and he laughed. ‘Ready, Wendell? Roll em!’ Dobson threw the dice- a two and a four. Harry blew on his, gave a good shake and came up with a pair of fives. ‘Fark, yeah!!!!’ he shouted and, hefting Jimmy’s taut ball sack, tightened his clamp. Jimmy immediately felt a sharp pain scissors upward from his left testicle and ground his teeth, swallowing reflexively. Dobson won the next throw with a pair of sixes and, beaming, tightened his clamp as tears of frustrated pain leaked from Jimmy’s tightly shut eyes, but he managed to remain scrupulously silent. Harry took the next roll and, anxious to win, tightened his clamp by a turn and half, hoping his partner wouldn’t notice as Jimmy’s mind wrenched with sickening pain, tears running freely down the broad planes of his face and a panting wheeze of desperation tickling the back of his throat. Dobson noticed but decided not to say anything. Trusting, instead, to blind luck he tossed the dice against Jimmy’s cuffed ankle and won the round with sixes and fives. Winking at his accomplice, he twisted his clamp a turn and a half and Jimmy groaned with agony, sweat dripping from exposed armpits and running down his side. ‘You cheated,’ Harry said matter of factly, ‘rules say- one turn per win.’ He threw the dice and grimaced; a one and a three. ‘Fuck you,’ Dobson flashed a mirthless smile and threw another pair of sixes. ‘Ahhhhhhhh!!’ Looking straight into Jimmy’s stricken face he hefted the stud’s aching balls and slowly tightened the screw two full turns. Harry’s outraged protest was drowned by a verbal eruption that began as a long, tearing groan deep in Jimmy’s throat, rising to the surface and ejaculating from his mouth in a high pitched yelping cascade of lacerated animal sounds interspersed with frantic, barely articulate pleading, ‘Stop….PLEASE…don’t crack my balls…please, I’ll do anything…’ and so it went. Dobson stood and, giving Jimmy a playful punch in his rippling abs, kicked the dice into a corner of the garage, silenced his sputtering friend with a dangerous look, and removed both clamps and the rawhide cord from the prisoner’s balls.
It took a while, even after the clamps were removed, for the groaning to cease but the night was young and Dobson was a relatively patient man. A minute or two of tense silence was broken by the silky sound of the exec’s descending zipper, followed by the low, plaintive sobs of the strung up buck, waiting for what had been promised. Harry sat back in a lawn chair to watch the proceedings as Wendell Dobson indulged in some fast foreplay; sidling up to the tall stud, nuzzling the frantic pulse in the hollow of his neck, gently sucking a salty nipple… Jimmy’s squirming was ritualized at this point; he knew perfectly well that there could be no escape. Like a cat, finally bored with the preliminaries of torturing its prey, Dobson sighed and moved to the back of his victim. Jimmy’s smooth musculature took his breath away; from the broad triangle of his rippling back topped by raised, impossibly rounded shoulders and biceps, to the twin dimples surrounded by peach fuzz heralding the deep crack of his twitching, meaty ass centered over flexed thighs desperate to slam together but helplessly spread wide…Jimmy was pure perfection. The terrified stud’s eyes widened as Dobson levered the nozzle of a grease gun between his sweat-flecked cheeks and pulled the trigger. Harry, despite his disappointment, smiled- clearly enjoying the show. ‘It’s only the warm up, boy. Get ready!’ Dobson inserted a trembling hand between the yielding slabs of flesh and languidly worked the melting grease around the buck’s puckered hole- slammed shut against the anticipated invasion. Finally, realizing that he had to act or send his wad flying onto the concrete floor, Dobson grasped Jimmy’s narrow hips and thrust. The big stud’s scream, as the clenched bastion was breached, echoed off the walls; different in quality to what had been coaxed out of him by the ball cracker, somehow deeper, less frantic but far more desperate and that, Dobson thought, was somehow fitting as he shot his scalding load, thrusting to the rough sound of Jimmy’s music.
The rest of the evening passed in similar and ever more creative pursuits as the exhausted young buck was put through paces he had never imagined possible. Of course, Harry eventually had his turn in the warm, if slightly less tight, comfort of Jimmy’s ass. Cursing, sobbing, pleading or threatening; all eventually gave way to grunts of shamed exhaustion as various exotic devices were used and commented on then put away only to be replaced by others. Four in the morning and Dobson felt as if he could go on for a week, but it was obvious that Jimmy couldn’t. The point was driven home as he barely reacted to a light flogging, great head hanging slack between his shoulders, no more tears, but a glistening drop of sweat dangled from the tip of his nose. Jimmy was clearly used up. Dobson put the whip down and glanced at Harry. ‘Time to call it a night, bud.’
Though Jimmy didn’t know it, the light of dawn suffused the world beyond the confines of the windowless garage. Such was the state of the buck’s exhaustion that he had actually slept- still bound spread eagle against the parallel stretcher bars- after Dobson had a last cigarette and, leaving, turned off the lights. They came on again three hours later and Jimmy groped upward toward unwelcome consciousness to the horrendous sight of the smug executive, hands on hips, surveying the contours of his nude, muscular body. He feebly twisted, as he had a hundred thousand times already, against the unyielding chain and whispered, ‘Please, man…I’m begging you…please, let me go now. Home…’ Dobson pursed his lips and, stepping forward, laid a cold hand against the magnificent sweep of Jimmy’s chest. ‘The whole thing was a set up, Jim.’ Though Dobson, in reality, felt nothing for anyone but himself, he almost pitied the bruised innocence strung up before him. Almost. ‘Yeah…’ he shook his head, stroking the quivering torso of the nineteen year old landscaper, ‘None of this had much to do with what you got up to down on the golf course last Saturday…though I guess you could say that kind of triggered things.’ Jimmy, fully awake now, listened intently as Dobson continued, ‘See, though it’s true that I wanted to have some fun with you (Jimmy visibly winced), well, I’ve got sort of a business on the side…’ He paused and, shrugging, reckoned that it didn’t matter much, at least as far as Jimmy Ruisdale was concerned, if he continued. ‘You can’t go home, Jim…not after what’s happened and, even if you could…ah…that was never in the cards.’ Jimmy started to protest but was cut off, ‘See, guys like you are in sharp demand…yeah, you’re a commodity, man! Um, anyway, down south, off the coast of Mexico we have a very private island, sort of a resort if you get my meaning? All sorts of facilities, though I doubt that you’ll care for them much (he smiled). Well, there’s a lady exec we’re trying to recruit from another corporation with some fucking weird tastes- what she’s into makes what happened last night look like kid’s stuff…and…well, you’re the perk, Jim.’
THE END