Ding! Round Two
You could hear the men talking and laughing. “Pretty good, eh, Mr. Payner?” someone asked.
“Yes, yes, it is,” came the lilting reply. “I always like the red glow that shows up after round one. You did a good job. Why don’t you let Gerry and Jake take over for the next round.”
“Yes, sir,” came the chorus of the four men. Then a deep voice, presumably Gerry spoke up: “Sir, can I use the brass knuckles on him?”
Mr. Payner replied in the positive. “Sure, why not. Just don’t break any ribs. Takes too long for them to knit and I need him right now. Stay central and middle to low. Don’t go near his rib cage.”
Gerry responded with the expected: “Sir, yes, sir!” but now there was an enthusiastic edge to his voice.
Brass knuckles? Danny thought. How bad can this get? How much more can I take? He found out in short order.
Another voice spoke up: “Sir, why don’t we put the tit clamps on him. I think his nips are sensitive enough now. That could really put a hurtin’ on him.”
“Again, yes,” Payner said. “Use the ones with the bigger springs; they hurt more.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the voice. Jake? Who knew and who cared at this point. There was a slight delay and shuffling of feet on the concrete. Then Danny felt the clamp being positioned on his right nipple. This was followed by a lightning flash of pain from his pec when the jaws bit down. “Y-o-o-w-w-l!” he tried to yell. It came out garbled. Most of the pain from the earlier punches followed a pattern: splat, skin and flesh pain, scream, gasp, then deeper pain as internal structures were pounded. The pain ramped down slowly until it mixed with all the other residual aches in his torso, but it did ramp down.
The pain from the nipple clamps was different. It really hurt when the jaws bit into his pec peg, but this time the pain slowly mounted up and got worse over the next few minutes. Then he howled when the other clamp was mashed down on his left nip. This pain also ramped up and it seemed to join with the one on his right pec until his whole chest was on fire. It took intense concentration on his part to endure the pain without going crazy. He found new reserves and knew he could take it like a man.
The punchers always started with a single jab, like they were testing out the meaty target. This evolved into combos of two or three jabs, which then exploded into anything goes. The two new punchers were fresh and used intense force on Danny’s tortured abs, up and down, real low, then real high on his torso. At least there were no punches on his chest, which was still throbbing. He thought he could tell the difference between bare fists and Gerry’s brass knuckles, but it was a toss up.
Then, whoomph! A barrage of blows, cross-cuts to his lower abs, mixed with uppercuts to just below his rib cage, focusing on his solar plexus. “A-a-g-h! A-a-h-h!” he screamed into the ball gag, howls of the wounded primal male animal. He twisted wildly against the pole, a futile and stupid attempt to escape the blinding pain. It only aggravated the pain in his wrists and balls. The bondage to the pole was fiendish in its simplicity: wrists, head, cock and balls, ankles. His whole torso was open to the torturers, no ropes, no belts, no straps. Just bare, sweaty muscles fully available for brutal punishment.
Then a series of roundhouses, again to his sides, all carefully below his ribcage as Payner had directed. He was desperate for air, gasping loudly between screams. The harsh splatting sound of fist on flesh punctuated the screaming, which was getting a bit ragged. A man’s vocal cords can only take so much before they start to fail.
Then chaos. Unpredictable combos rained down on Danny’s body. He was getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. He couldn’t breathe but he had to scream from the pain. His insides were now in agony. His skin bright red from the abuse. The only consolation was a slight dampening of his chest pain as his pec pegs went numb from lack of blood flow. He hardly noticed.
Then the punching stopped again. The only sound in the room was his deep gasping, groaning. Drool was dripping from his forced-open mouth, mixing with sweat on his upper chest.
Then the dreaded lilting voice of Payner: “Very good, guys, very good. Look how red he is. Let’s take a break and get some beer. I’m parched. Gerry, take a few pictures for the album.”
There was agreement all around and Danny heard the metal door creak open again. They turned the light bulb off as they left. Danny didn’t know that. The blindfold had kept him in total, terrifying darkness.
He sagged against the pole, eternally grateful for the respite. He moaned from the aches and pain from deep within his torso. His skin felt like it had been sandpapered. The pain in his chest from the nipple clamps was reduced to embers from the initial fire, but the embers still flowed.
He toyed with despair but also tried to rally. This was becoming just too much. It had to be over. It had to be.