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

Chapter 5

Two-fer Torture

As directed, we both went into the same stall, dropped our pants and briefs and took off our Ts.  Both cell phones went off again.  I reached down to get the phone out of my jeans pocket as Gary did the same.  Mine read:  “Face the other guy and put a bear hug on him.  Get him in tight against you.  Then hold on.”

He clearly got the same message.  We put the phones down, moved in against each’n other, and reached around for a bear hug, locking our hands behind the other guy’s lower back.  Then we pulled the holds in tight, mashing our chests, stomachs, and crotches together.  The pain exploded in my chest and it was all I could do to not scream.  I hissed and grunted and twisted my face up.  Gary lurched as his device was activated.  He hissed and grunted, each of us doing our best to keep in control. 

The muffled sounds got a bit loud, but we didn’t care.  We were both in agony.  I had my eyes shut tight and sweat broke out all over my body.  I couldn’t double over because I was flat against Gary’s big chest and I had wedged myself into a corner of the tiny stall.  I think Gary’s knees were buckling; I could feel him sagging, slipping down a few inches, and I had to grip him tighter to keep him up.  Our cock cages clanked against each other, metal grinding against metal.  I could feel the vibrations from his nut crusher as the piston moved down the cylinder.    

We hung there, mashed against each’n other, as the torture continued.  As usual, I lost track of time, but I guess it wasn’t all that long.  Just seemed like it.  We were both on the verge of screaming out guts out, but somehow kept it to loud grunts and gasps. 

Then it stopped.  We were both left breathing heavy, trying to return to sanity, almost not believing the torment was over.  We were so stunned, we kept the bear hugs on, still mashing against our bodies against each’n other, muscles mounded to the point of cramping.  Sweat broke out on the both of us.  Our phones beeped again, but it took me a while to rustle up the will to pick mine up and read it.  “That was just the start, fuckhead” was all it said.  I presumed Gary got the same message.

We didn’t say a word as we got dressed.  We were spent, shaken by the pain, but mostly very scared over the new situation we then knew for sure we were in:  on-going torture, on-going pain, surely escalating, and the incredible realization that maybe, no, not maybe, for sure we were going to really be trained to become sex slaves to our new Masters.  These were Guys we worked for, no less, Guys we saw every day.  And these Guys all had small remote control devices that could drop us to the floor with the push of a button any fuckin’ time They wanted. 

My cock stirred as I finished putting on my T.  The cotton instantly plastered itself to my sweaty skin and felt a bit cool.  The pleasure of the sex surge was instantly countered by the constraint of the cock cage.  Pleasure and pain.  Pain and pleasure.  I was confused again. 

Somehow we made it back to the bar stools.  A few of the guys just outside the men’s room looked knowingly at us and nodded their heads.  We didn’t react.  Two leather guys approached us, but we just walked by like zombies.  We ordered up another round of drinks by tapping our glasses, gestures, no words.  The three of us were quiet for several minutes, lost in thought as they say.  I was in a pit of relief the pain was over, depression that I knew a lot more was to come, almost despair at my uncontrollable plight, quite fearful of what I knew was in my future.  And, yet, there was that tingle in my dick as a match stick sized flame of defiance suddenly appeared, the insane thought that They couldn’t break me.  I would resist Their efforts, I would take the pain, I would never submit to Their perversions.  Now I was really confused. 

We sat there for a good ten minutes without speaking.  Big Gary broke the mood:  “Come on, guys.  Let’s go.  Somehow I don’t feel like staying here.”

We agreed and settled up the bar tap.  I silently waved goodbye to them and got in my truck.  I drove back to my apartment like a robot, my emotional range flat after the extremes I had been dragged through.  I did have the presence of mind to stop off at the liquor store and restock some Jack and some beer.     

Sorry to say it, but I got blitzed again and passed out on the floor.  Hey, I earned it! 

NEXT: Ch.6, Back to Work  

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

  1. .”….the insane thought that They couldn’t break me. I would resist Their efforts, I would take the pain, I would never submit to Their perversions. ”

    THIS! I so want him to win never mind how insane that thought is.

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