To The Estate
Five o’clock came and there was the usual bustle of my fellow engineers finishing up and getting ready to leave. I shut down the work station and followed the herd out of the engineering area. They all went to the staircase. I went to DieQual’s office. Mr. DieQual and Tyler were standing there waiting. I noticed that Tyler was carrying Mr. DieQual’s briefcase in addition to his own. He also had a small backpack on. The straps crossed his broad chest, just above his ringed nips. Man, he looked good.
The two of them walked away and I followed them to the executive elevator which led to a private parking area in the garage. Neither of them spoke, so I kept my peace.
We walked over to Mr. DieQual’s car. It was a big fuckin’ Mercedes, an S class land yacht. Tyler indicated I should get in the back, while he sat in the passenger seat in front. Mr. DieQual would drive the beast.
We left the exec parking lot and got onto what was mistakenly called an expressway. In Houston, as I might have mentioned, “expressway” is another term for public parking lot. We crept along with the flow until we left the city environs and the speed picked up. Master DieQual headed southwest towards Galveston. He and Tyler occasionally spoke about business matters, but no one included me.
All the major highways out of Houston are lined for miles with strip malls which service an endless stream of developments. But even that thinned out. He pulled off into an area of single homes spaced widely apart, not farm distance, but not development close either. The houses were quite large, estate-sized. He drove through the array of estates and pulled into a cul de sac. He headed for a large house at the end. One of the garage doors was activated (there were three doors in all) and He pulled in.
Master DieQual then turned to me in the back seat. “Perhaps you’re wondering about the size of the houses around here and how a department head could afford it. I get a good salary, but not on this scale. Likewise, perhaps you’re curious about the source of funds we dole out to our boys as compensation for their new lifestyles. All I need to say is that our club has a thriving video business online. I showed you two pieces of video earlier. Your whole visit with Us is hours long and, when chopped up, will probably sell for close to a million. Our rental of the retreat facilities cost us twenty-five grand, including meals and toy rental, so the net from you is very substantial. Add that to the videos of the other two slaves, and you can see where the money comes from. That’s all you really need to know, boy, at this point. Let’s go inside.”
I was stupefied at the scale of Their operation. And I had been a bit curious where the large sum of money Tyler had mentioned came from. I’m sure there is a huge market for genuine torture scenes, not the fake stuff you often find. And they had three studs to work over, not dewey-eyed twinks.
“Tyler will show you our arrival drill. I have to get changed before I join you,” Master DieQual said as we entered the large foyer. It was quite grand: spiral staircase winding to the second floor, a large table in the center with a huge flower arrangement, and all kinds of pictures on the walls, nice stuff, museum quality, I guess. Plus, there was a large, round skylight in the ceiling.
Tyler put DieQual’s briefcase down on the marble floor and motioned that I should follow him.
“The first thing we have to do is the arrival drill,” he said as we walked to the right side of the foyer. He opened a door and we went into a side room. It was quite small and barely furnished. There were several clothes trees on the far wall.
“Step one, Dick, is to strip down to boots,” Tyler said. He took off his boots, which were ropers like mine, and took his shirt off. Fantastic upper body.
“Wow, you got one hell of a torso!” I had to say.
He smiled. “I do a lot of exercising here. You will, too,” he said, removing his pants and very skimpy briefs. His cock cage gleamed in the ceiling lights.
“And you got your nips pierced,” I said with admiration. “Did it hurt getting them? They look fantastic on your chest.”
“Thanks,” he replied. ‘Yes, it did hurt. Sir has a special way of doing it. Most guys get pierced with a quick needle shot. Sir didn’t want to distort my pec pegs, since he trained them for three months, so Sir had the holes drilled out. I almost passed out, but the results look good, I guess. At least Sir likes it and after all, as you’ll come to see, that’s all that matters. Keep Sir happy, whatever it takes!”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said.
“You won’t have to remember it,” he smiled at me. “Sir’s whip will make sure you don’t forget!”
I caught up with him stripping my shirt and pants off. Then I put my boots back on. I was going to put my socks back on first, but Tyler shook his head.
NEXT: Ch 11, Arrival Drill.