“Executive Retreat, Part 2: Dickie-boy On the Job” – by Steve McHalperin

Chapter 4

Rest Room Spaze

The two of us waited in silence, sort of frozen in time.  It wasn’t long before we heard a muffled sound of pain from the men’s room on the other side of the bar.  It wasn’t that loud, but a few patrons looked over at the corner where the men’s room was.  This was not necessarily unprecedented at The Rustler.  There were some back rooms which could be reserved for special activities and occasionally it got a bit noisy when some young guy was getting whipped, plowed, or whatever.  Of course, we knew what was going on.  Ray had been fitted out with a large metal ball up his ass.  It was connected to his cock cage by a short metal arm, and the control box hung under the metal cage.  It was designed to shock both the cage and his ass.  He was probably doubled over in the stall from the intense pain. 

There was no more noise from the men’s room for a while.  A few minutes later Ray emerged.  His clothing was saturated with splotches of sweat.  His face was still white and he walked unsteadily over to us. 

“Jesus Christ” he whispered quietly.  “That was brutal.”  He sat down on his bar stool without saying anything further.  He did gesture to the barkeep to set up his drink again.  The kid poured his bourbon and he drank the whole glass in one gulp.  He tapped the glass for a refill, which the barkeep obliged directly. 

“You OK, man?” I asked him. 

“No, not yet,” he answered, his head hanging down.  “A few more rounds and maybe I will be, but not yet.”

Neither of us made any reply, giving him some space to recover. 

The silence was broken by my phone signaling a text message.  Gary’s went off a second later.  The message to me was terrible:  “Your turn, Dickie-boy.  But you and the other one are going in together, same drill, pick a stall and drop your pants.”

I didn’t understand this at first, other than realizing I had to visit the men’s room and take my lickin’.  Gary showed me his phone and it had a similar message. 

“Guess we’re in this together, man,” he said, an obvious look of fear of his face.  “Let’s go and get this shit over with,” he added.  “Fuckin’ pervs” he said under his breath.

I nodded and we left the bar for the men’s room.  It felt like a very long walk.  I almost upchucked my lunch. 

NEXT: Ch. 5, Two-fer Torture


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