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

Chapter 6

Back to Work

I woke up drenched in sweat.  Despite the blitz, I had very troubled dreams.  People chased me, I was afraid, really scared, but also determined to get away.  There were lightning bolts nearby me.  Bolts of pain?  I didn’t care; my head was full of cotton, but I knew I had to get dressed for work.  It was the Tuesday after the torture weekend.  Monday was gone except for memories of The Rustler.  I winced without thinking when I remembered the pain, but I also remember the heat and sweat of Gary’s muscular body against mine and how our cock cages clanked together.  He and  Ray were now my pain buds, partners in whatever crazy scheme we were now subject to.    

It’s a short drive for me to get to the building where IT-TICKET has their offices on the third floor.  I walked like an automaton to my cubicle, nodding briefly to other people I passed.  It was sort of unreal.  Here were my fellow employees, talking and acting normal.  It was just another workday for them.  I, on the other hand, was in a mental fog.  I was back at my old desk, but everything seemed different.  I started to look around to see if I could detect any other guys who were under the control of some executive or other, any tell-tale bulges of cock cages.  There had to be other “slaves” around; the Masters had said so.  Almost all the engineers in my department were young, prime beef for someone like my boss, DieQual, to control. 

In my quest to identify other slaves, I looked around.  My cubicle mate was Richard Thompson.  I was Dick; he was Richard.  He was short in stature and had been a gymnast in college, state level I think.  He was a muscular dude who liked tight clothes and sported a military buzz-cut.  I enjoyed his tight clothes, too!  A slave?  Hard to tell and it was not the sort of question you could ask directly. 

Across the aisle from me was Gregor Petrovich Getsky, a big Russian, topping six four, and maybe just over two hundred pounds.  His tight shirt and pants proved it was all muscle.  Nice bulge between his legs, too, but was he cock caged?  Again, hard to tell.  A lot of young guys fit the mold for what DieQual and his pervy friends were looking for, but who had pleasure and pain all mixed up in their heads like me and my two new buddies did?   

I was surprised when Mr. DieQual himself showed up just outside my cube. 

“Hello, Dick.  How are you feeling today?” he said.  “I’m sorry you were sick yesterday.”

H was referring to my absence from work while I was blitzed out of my friggin’ mind, trying to recover from the weekend from hell. 

“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir,” I said, automatically shifting into obsequious mode.  He had one hand in his pocket, no doubt fingering the remote controller, and he made a point of ensuring I saw it.  I think I cringed a bit at the thought that my pecs could be zapped at any moment.  What would I do, scream right there in the engineering department?

“Please stop by my office in an hour, Dick,” He said, turning to go.  “There’s something we need to go over.”

“Yes, Sir.  I’ll do that, Sir.  Thank you, Sir,” I replied, hating myself for sounding so subservient.  At this point I was willing to do anything to not annoy Him.  That’s what gut fear can do to you. 

I fired up my work station and started to work through the usual blizzard of company emails.  Once immersed in my work, I did sort of forget the dire situation I was in, not just me, but my buddies in the mailroom.  The thought was still there, though:  There were three executive Masters out there with three fingers on three buttons.

NEXT: Ch 7, Change is Good.  Not!

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