“Party Animal” –by Amalaric, Part 5 of 6

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Part 5.

We were led to one of around a dozen stalls along a wide wooden corridor with an identification tag labelled 9d. I noticed a multi-strand whip hanging from a ring on the outside wall and reckoned that was a nice touch. Our minion removed the padlock from the door and beckoned to the inmate, who stepped out of his enclosure blinking in the unaccustomed light. He was a handsome young stud, maybe in his mid-twenties, shirtless of course, but otherwise dressed in crisp blue jeans and shiny black shoes. There was something about the guy- for sure his high and tight haircut, but also the black shoes, the crease in his jeans, the way he squared his broad shoulders, and a kind of demeanour, sort of like an overgrown boy scout, that just shouted military…and, sure enough, the ever-helpful minion was quick to explain; the guy was army or air force or maybe a navy flier or something- I can’t remember- and had been taken around six weeks ago from his base somewhere on the west coast. As far as anyone knew back home he had just gone AWOL; another deadbeat among the faceless ranks of guys on the run. I noticed right off that, other than the guys locked up in the lobster tank, this one was unfettered, free to move around- and maybe run or put up a fight- as there were no ropes or shackles at wrists or ankles. The minion was quick to explain that the ‘freedom’ of the commodity (yeah, he actually referred to the guy as a commodity) was one of the ‘charms’ of the stalls. Smirking, he explained; the guy had been taken, as we had already been told, somewhere out on the west coast…but it turns out that he had a wife- cute babe named Connie (or something…there was a pic of her pinned to the entrance to his stall opposite the whip. You guessed it, Ric; our young stud had a powerful incentive to behave himself, as the minion rambled on, because (he was told in no uncertain terms) that failure to obey orders might just be detrimental to the health of his unsuspecting wife…ah…back home. And it worked! The sucker was ours to command, though his gray eyes flashed murderous fire…but, hey, I like them that way!’

Brent had crossed the invisible line of any and all inhibitions, revealing who he really was…way deep down…and I choked back a tide of terror, but my interest was still piqued. ‘So what did you do to him?’ Hating myself for it, I nevertheless couldn’t resist asking the question. Brent exhaled a happy sigh. ‘Well, we just checked him out for a minute or two before ordering him to drop the blue jeans. Damn! You should have seen his hands shaking as he shucked his levis down around those shiny black shoes then standing straight and tall in nothing but his jock strap. One of the guys in our party, Tommy Forbes, lost it at that point and, grasping the young soldier by the nape of his neck, roughly jacked him down, idle hands now tightly grasping his ankles, bare butt pointed toward some far horizon in the vicinity of outer space. Tommy spread the deep cleft of the guy’s fuzzy ass and began to probe the puckered porthole clenched ever so tight and, doubtless, mortified by all of the sudden attention. Shit, the young stud mumbled something unintelligible- maybe a plea or maybe an expletive or maybe only a load of nonsense- but Tommy just chortled and dared to go where no man (except for the rare medic) had gone before; one finger and then three, right up to the second knuckle…man, you should have heard our boy yelp when Tommy upped it to three!’ I nodded, swallowed hard, and excused myself to take a piss…

When I returned Brent continued without missing a beat, clearly anxious to finish his tale. ‘The neat thing about the stalls was that you could play with the rental right then and there and, as I said, he was forced to cooperate with the fun and games- quite a combo, let me tell you!’ I nodded in dumb agreement and Brent continued, ‘See, the minion pointed out, somewhere in the middle of Tommy’s…ah…explorations, that the rental fee for our young soldier was $1200.00 an hour (on the premises; the price rose considerably if we wanted to take him home); not unreasonable and, besides, by that time we were totally hooked. Screwing up my nerve, I ordered the stud to shed the rest of his clothes and, pausing only a split second, he obeyed and soon stood passively before our little group naked as the day he was born, red with humiliation, brave heart pounding with well-deserved anxiety. The dude obviously knew he was about to be put through some serious paces.

We didn’t keep him waiting long. The minion handed Steve a pair of leather cuffs and, when ordered to do so, the soldier actually extended his wrists, breathing hard as they were buckled on. All I can say, Ric, is that that guy must have really loved his wife and kids because he knew he was in for some serious rock and roll- you could see the fearful expectation in those wide gray-blue eyes- yet he didn’t hesitate or flinch, even when Steve took a fast swipe at his balls, playfully slapping them against a hairy thigh. Sure, he winced with pain but never uttered any protest or, clearly exercising some major self-discipline, never put up even the shadow of a fight.

The final touch and, possibly, deepest humiliation came an instant later. With both wrists cuffed, the soldier waited to be immobilised and, inevitably, abused…but first, Steve nodded toward the multi-strand whip hanging from a ring to the side of the stall’s doorway and ordered the proud young stud to fetch it. Yeah! Gritting his even white teeth the buck obeyed that final order, detaching the whip from its iron ring, and shuffling back in place before Steve, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and all of the rest of our group vaguely conscious of spreading wet spots in any number of expensive tailored slacks. The handsome young stud held the whip out to Steve and looked confused when Steve, playing him for some kind of fool, asked what the hell he expected him to do with a thing like that? Of course, the rest of us sort of ruined the moment by bursting into laughter, but the captive soldier never cracked a smile. He answered with just the hint of a Midwestern country drawl that he expected one of us to lay the strands of the hungry whip against the tight muscles of his broad naked back. Steve frowned as if deep in thought and, running his hands over the buck’s chest and abs and then up the inseams of his muscular legs to cup his weighty cock and balls, mockingly asked if that was all? I swear, Ric; at that point I reckoned the macho soldier was going to burst into shamed, frustrated…fearful (???) tears. He shook his blond head like a stupid animal and stammered a submissive reply, naming the various parts of his body suited to the kiss of the lash. That’s right- all ours for the evening, bought and paid for (Steve’s Visa Platinum was burning a restless rectangular hole in his wallet); smooth rippling back, hairy chest, corrugated abs, flared pecs and rosy nipples, and oh so tender cock and low slung balls…you name it…all ours and a feast for the hungry strands of that sleek leather whip.

We waited while some techs strung him up from a wicked looking hook and Steve, ever the stickler for detail, waved them away before they could secure his feet to eye bolts mounted in the floor. Better to give the young stud some room to dance, you know?’ I could only imagine, nodding for Brent to continue. ‘We took turns with the first set, playing things traditional (Brent giggled); laying a bright ratta tat tat on that magnificent back and fuzzy ass. The young soldier grunted his dismay, sweat rising fast, running from matted pits down the arc of his rib cage…but we wanted to see him move, man, and maybe hear some more…ah…dramatic sound effects.’ Brent paused for effect. ‘Well, Ric, when we switched to electrics…fark! That did the trick! I mean, just the alligator clips- stainless steel with wicked serrated edges on fingers, toes, the lobe of one ear just for kicks and, yeah, cock and balls- that we used to attach the wires would have raised a yelp on most guys and our young soldier was no exception; especially when we clipped the sensitive head of his big dick! Each wire had its own little joy stick and, since just about all of us were video game junkies, the chance to indulge in some…ah…live action was just too good to pass up. At first we got a kick out of what Steve jokingly called tickling; you know, short bursts at random adjusted to a low voltage. Our boy would twist and jerk, blue eyes wide with anticipation and then surprise as the jolts hit various tender parts of his body…and so the jig commenced. The tempo and intensity increased along with the voltage. At medium our young buck was drenched in running sweat and hopping in place like a disco dancer on a triple dose of crystal meth…and the sound effects, Ric, were all you could desire! Inspired, we decided on a little mix and match, that is; resuming his whipping without letting up on the pyrotechnics. Chest and abs, upper thighs…careful not to dislodge the alligator clips, the slick snap of the whip acted like a sort of metronome, establishing a beat, a rhythm…to the twist and, yeah, definitely the shout. I’ll give our shy soldier an A+ in that area, and it wasn’t faked, no, I’m positive about that- the dude was in some serious distress and his groans, yelps, and eventual shrieks of purest agony came straight from the heart…just the way we liked it. Was he thinking of his wife? The hopeless horror of the then and there? Or just the raw energy of biting alligator clips, surging electro, and a slashing whip? Who gives a fuck, really? Not us, that’s for sure. We were having way too much fun…’ I swallowed hard and reached reflexively for my empty glass of whisky, more than ready to call it a night, but Brent held on and held out…determined to tell his story and I steeled myself to drink THAT cup to the bitter dregs.

‘To tell you the truth, Ric, when we jacked the electro up to maximum it was, ah, a slight disappointment. I mean, the whole point was the singing and dancing if you get what I mean? And when we turned up the volume…fuck it, things went flat.’ Brent paused to take a breath, looking reflective, lost in a distant reverie, and I stole a quick glance at the antique clock on the wall. ‘Of course, our little joy sticks’ ‘maximum level’ wasn’t set to be lethal (bad economics as the stalls were strictly rentals), but even so- the surge packed quite a punch. When Steve hit the guy’s beleaguered cock and balls, and I chimed in- just for kicks- alternating his big toe and ear lobe…with the full surge of electro-magic, well, it was impressive in a way, just not what we had in mind. See, our buck immediately went as rigid as a flag pole, kind of like he was standing at attention,’ Brent chuckled, ‘but, I guess, kind of not…like, his arms were raised and shackled to the dangling hook, hands balled into hard, white-knuckled fists, back arched painfully, belly flat and hard with every muscle of his fit young body locked in involuntary flex, picked out in stark relief and on the edge of convulsion. The soldier’s pelvis thrust forward in the grip of the surge like he wanted to fuck the whole damn world and, I swear, I half expected to smell the sizzling goodness of an old fashioned weenie roast!’ Brent sighed and continued, ‘His head was thrown back over tensed shoulders; lightly stubbled chin aimed upward at more than forty five degrees, cute blue-gray eyes glazed and rolled up into his skull, masculine Adam’s apple bobbing reflexively as the soldier literally choked on the coursing agony. It was almost like our boy was held in rigid bondage by invisible chains and I wanted to run my hands over those flexed, sweat-slick muscles, exploiting the forced passivity but was gently prevented by one of the attendants; it would have been like sticking my finger into a fucking light socket! And he just stood there…shaking like a damn leaf, sweat gushing from every pore, gargling shards of broken glass…until, bored, we let go of the joy sticks and left the dude hanging, broad chest heaving like it was his last breath and barely conscious. Tommy was pretty worked up at that point and, obviously, also really, really horny. He dropped his pin stripes in a flash and took the weary soldier straight up his tight ass, pumping like there was no tomorrow and cumming with a ragged squeak in less than two and a half minutes. Well, at least it brought our weary victim back to the land of the living! Still panting like a prisoner on death row, the macho marine, or whatever, finally broke down and began to sob…’ Brent,’ I interrupted, ‘It’s late and we really gotta be going…’ ‘Right Ric, we’re almost there…’ he trailed off, leaving me to wonder what time and place he was referring to.



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