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

Chapter 22

Two Projects

We drove in silence to the office and I went to my cubicle, hitting the men’s room on my way.  I had to take a crap real bad.  Sitting in my workstation chair with no briefs on was sexy, but again I couldn’t enjoy the situation due to the tight cock cage – and the potential of a remote zap at any moment.  That kept me on edge most of the time.  Occasionally I got lost in my project work, which provided me the only peace in my new life.  I had lunch by myself; Terry was busy.  Without breakfast I was famished.    

I still wondered who else in the company had been to the “retreats,” fitted out with remote zappers, and enslaved to an executive.  Some of the guys looked like they had over-sized bulges, like a cock cage or something, but the maddening thing was that nobody said anything about “it.”  Kind of like Fight Club.  I did find out a few names, but that was much later in this story.

At five we met at Sir’s office and the three of us went back to Sir’s mansion.  Terry and I rapidly stripped and got into slave A awaiting the Master.  I had learned not to say a word during this time, but I slipped up when Sir came into the room:  I looked over at Him to see what He was wearing.  Today he had high rubber boots, hip waders, actually, and a tight-fitting rubber T shirt, which showed off his good build.  He had a rubber jock on also.  Big oops.

Slash!  Slash!  Slash!  I got three lashes from his single tail in rapid succession.  I yelled out from the searing pain.  Slaves were permitted to yell, at least, without asking permission.  The initial blistering ramped down to a bad stinging so I could stop yelling.  Sir waited until this step.

“I can see you are going to be a problem slave,” He said walking over to me. He put his rubber-booted foot on my neck and pressed down hard.  I struggled to hold my head rigid, but I grunted from the pain and humiliation. 

“That calls for some special training,” He continued.  “Tonight there are two projects for you.  The first is a severe whipping to try to convince you that the rules, all the rules, must be followed exactly or there’s more heavy pain in your future.  The second concerns dinner.  You will have supper, but not with us.  I am going to begin your dog training by feeding you delicious dog food along with a bowl of water.  Your hands will be bound behind your back, so you will have to find some way to eat and drink.  Terry will provide you with that very shortly.  The beating will be later, after our supper,”  Then they both left the room.  I stayed there in slave A.

Terry returned within a few minutes.  “You are permitted to get up now,” he said and I jumped up to the at-attention stance. 

“No need for that with me,” he laughed.  “Follow me downstairs.”

We went down to the dungeon.  At the foot of the stairs there were two dog bowls.  One had brown stuff in it and the other was clear.  There was a distinct odor of meat. 

“First, I have to put these on you,” Terry said, brandishing a set of handcuffs.  “Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered. 

I felt the metal cuffs close down on my wrists and heard the locks click shut.  It hurt to crunch my back which still stung from the most recent lashes.

“Sorry for that, but that’s what Sir wants.  Sir wants you to have your supper here and then get into slave A when you’re done.  We will have our dinner upstairs.  I guess we’ll be back in an hour or so.  Don’t forget:  slave A when you’re done eating.”

“Thanks, Terry,” I said.  “I guess,” I added smiling at him. 

“It’s actually not all that bad.  I know it’s degrading, but that’s part of Sir’s program,” he replied.  “Just do it.  That’s how you survive around here.”  Then he went back upstairs and I knelt down to have my doggy feast. 

As Terry had said, it wasn’t all that bad once you got over the idea of eating like a dog.  The mush had a strange taste, but vaguely resembled beef.  At least that’s what it smelled like.  The water tasted good, washing away the dog food taste.

I finished up my “meal,” and then decided to take a closer look at the toys Sir had on the equipment wall.  The assortment of paddles and whips and canes was extensive.  I twitched a bit imagining what they would feel like.  There were a few hoods, all of them elaborate with straps and metal studs.  Collars ranged from a huge one designed to immobilize a guy’s head to small chain links connected by a key lock.  Then there were the tools to torment a guy’s cock and balls:  plastic presses, odd metal and leather harnesses, a variety of long, thin rods, some with beads along them, clearly designed to go painfully up a guy’s dick,  Ouch on those!  There were loops of chains, coils of rope, leather thongs, and a small assortment of wrist and ankle cuffs, all with locks on the buckles.  My familiar heavy chain harness was there, hanging from its enormous metal collar.  Man, I hated that thing. 

Then I sauntered back to the base of the steps and got down into slave A the best I could with my hands behind my back.  All my forward weight was on my forehead, so I did slouch down a bit to rest on my legs.  I stiffened up into the proper posiion when I heard the door to the kitchen open.  Sir was coming back.

Let the tortures begin!

NEXT: Ch 23, The Cat-O-Nine Tails


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