“Danny’s Ordeal” – by Steve McHalperin, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Danny Gets Trained Alright

Over the course of the next few days, Danny did well in hand-to-hand combat. His wrestling skills helped a lot. Training in the use of the surveillance equipment was simple enough. Payner used the best equipment. Danny particularly enjoyed the gun classes and spent a huge amount of time on the firing range. Every time he practiced shooting he got a satisfying hardon, which he finished off with a JO in the showers or messing around with the other guys. He often thought of the old Army saying: “This is my weapon.   This is my gun. One is for killing. One is for fun.” Or something like that.

One of the trainers was always with him, day and night. He had zero time alone. He slowly noticed that Jake – or Big Jake as Danny thought of him – was becoming the one spending most of the time with him. They both enjoyed rigorous wrestling bouts as well as heavy weight training together in the gym. And they slept together, enjoying other kinds of wrestling. Danny invariably was on the receiving end.

One morning, early in the game, Jake was having breakfast with Danny. (All the meals were high protein to support muscle growth.) It was Tuesday of the second week.

“So, Danny, here’s the plan for today. We have a surveillance class right after breakfast. I want to show you the new night vision goggles Payner just bought. Then there’s your gun class just before lunch. After lunch we’re going to wrestle. I want to show you a move Mike told me about for making an intruder unconscious.”

“Fantastic, Mr. Jake,” Danny replied, rubbing his jock pouch as his dick stirred.

They left the mess room and Danny went through the surveillance and gun classes and had a light lunch with Jake and one of the other trainers, named Tough Ted. Ted’s pecs were covered in black hair, which made him into a menacing figure. His thick ring nipple piercings shone brightly in the forest of fur. Danny had a minor jock pouch problem sitting across from the hairy giant. He was getting used to wearing a jock all the time. Boots and a jock. It was very sexy. The instructors invariably were shirtless.

He left the mess room with Jake and they headed for the gym. There were a few other guys working out, but the wrestling mats were off in a corner.

“OK, boy, strip,” Jake ordered. He himself was wearing only boots and tight, navy blue shorts, which he shed.

It took Danny all of four seconds to step out of the jock. “Boots off, sir?” Danny asked.

“No,” came the answer. “I like to wrestle with them on. More of a challenge that way,” he added.

“Yes, sir,” Danny replied. “Sir, you mentioned a special move Mr. Mike showed you?”

“Yeah, it’s brutal. I’ll give you a taste, if you want,” Jake said.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“Lie down on the mat on your stomach,” Jake ordered.

Danny complied directly, stuffing his half hardon and balls down between his thighs. Jake then sat on Danny’s lower back; Danny felt the big man’s cock and balls resting on his skin. Jake reached forward to his head. Grabbing Danny under the chin, he slowly pulled back. It was a classic back breaker done prone instead of over the knee. Danny quickly realized he was in deep trouble; the hold is impossible to break out of. Given half a chance in normal wrestling, no one in their right mind would let themselves get trapped like this. But he had volunteered himself. He tried to protest, but the pressure on his chin prevented him from opening his mouth. He could only grunt through gnashed teeth. He saw that the other guys in the gym had gathered around in a half circle.

Jake slowly pulled back farther. The pressure on Danny’s neck and spine was building up into real agony. The back breaker is well named. Jake moved Danny’s head back inch by inch, increasing the pain. Then Danny realized the circulation to his head had been cut by the compression on his neck. He was getting dizzy and had trouble focusing. The pain became a red ocean. He felt like a bobbing cork, unable to escape the agony. His eyes defocused and then he blacked out.

The gym was equipped for this. In the first aid kit was a small bottle of “smelling salts.” This was an old fashioned concoction of ammonia compounds that was amazingly pungent. The nasal stimulation of the fumes usually jump-started the brain to wake up.

Danny woke up, snorting from the noxious aroma stinging his nose. He was sitting on the mat with his head and back propped up against Jake’s legs.

“Welcome back, boy,” Jake smiled. “Sorry you blacked out. Effective move, though, isn’t it? Mike said it would work like a charm.”

“Yes, sir, it certainly works,” Danny replied wobbly. “Man, oh, man, that was brutal, sir!” he added.

“You’re good, Danny. You can take it,” Jake replied. “Stand up. There’s more in store for you and I want to bring you up to speed.

“Yes, sir,” Danny replied, accepting Jake’s hand as he helped him up.

Jake stood in front and Danny and started to play with the young guy’s nipples. “You have nice nips, boy,” Jake said, still twisting Danny’s pec pegs. Danny winced from the pain.  “Payner’ll want you to get them pierced. We all have piercings. He likes that. You’ll also get a very small GPS implant in the back of your right leg. Doesn’t hurt a bit, and he uses it to make sure we do our rounds when we’re on the job. Yeah, I agree with the other trainers. You’re going to fit right in.”

Jake then clapped Danny on the shoulder: “We usually have a big dinner when a new recruit joins us. Payner’s treat. First we’re going to take you to the piercing shop and get those nips looking good. It does hurt to get pierced, so we’ll all be with you to hold you down. Then we’ll have a feast and get plastered on Payner’s dime.”

Then Gerry showed up. “Time to get fitted for your uniform, sport,” he announced. Danny reached for his jock and shorts, but Gerry countermanded: “You won’t be needing them. Jake’ll bring them back to your room.”

The fitting for the uniform was as Danny expected. The tailor measured everything skin tight, including his crotch and ass crack. When they were done, Gerry told him the uniform would be ready in a day. The tailor said nothing during the whole episode.

“You’ll be staying here for a few nights,” Gerry said when the tailor had left. “We often sleep here and there’s a vacant room upstairs with your name on it.”



Erik the Rebel, Part 2: Duke’s Quarry – Written by Commander_nl, Illustrated by AfterDarK – 11th Installment

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“Danny’s Ordeal” – by Steve McHalperin, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The Price of Discipline

Unlike Payner, Jake wasted no time. Danny was startled when he heard the woosh of the rod through the air and the sharp crack onto his ass cheeks, but his consciousness was shattered when the pain exploded into his brain. “A-a-a-a-a-g-h!” he screamed in mortal pain, making a deafening sound in the small room. The gag did not interfere with the young man’s cries of agony.

A brilliant red welt instantly puffed up on Danny’s ass, two red segments separated by his hairy ass crack. He pulled sharply on his arms, hurting his already bruised wrists and aching shoulders. His abs contracted into thick bands, all his big muscle groups mounded, cramped, and ached deeply.

Then the second blow: woosh, splaaat, PAIN, scream, gasp for air, scream again. Small tears were forced from his eyes as he closed them tightly. He almost did feel like crying from the pain and despair and helplessness. The wounded animal couldn’t escape. Neither fight nor flight were options. What can you do when your brain is filled with mind-bending pain? Nothing, except wait for more.

And more came. Two quick blows, two more welts, one continuous scream, punctuated by gasps for air. Another stroke of the rod, then another. He lost count in the agony. He had never felt this level of pain in his life. The shear intensity from the thin rod was so strong it could singe pain nerves raw. He again pulled against the pole bondage like a wild animal, bellowing from being caught in a bear trap.

Through the red mist of agony Danny heard Payner say: “An even half dozen. Well done, Jake.”

The rain of blows stopped, but Danny’s brain was still in agonized chaos, his ass burning intensely, his wrists and shoulders aching from the strain. He was on the defensive, trying to find some morsel of survival energy, waiting on edge for more. This time more did not come and Payner’s comments seem to imply that the caning was over.

“And well done, Danny,” Payner said, running his hand across Danny’s sweaty shoulders as the ball gag was unshipped from his mouth. “You took the demonstration well. Please understand it was just a demonstration. Actual discipline is longer and more intense. Just remember how you feel right now if you are ever tempted to disobey.”

It took all of Danny’s strength to reply: “Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

“Good, good,” Payner replied. Then he addressed his assistant, Gerry: “My dear boy, would you take a few pictures of Danny’s ass here? You can give them to him as a reminder.”

“Yes, sir,” Gerry replied. He took out his cell phone and photographed Danny’s ass. His ass cheeks were basically white, contrasting with the tan of the rest of his body, but the white was streaked with six brilliant red/purple welts, each one divided in two by his crack. Two of them had several drops of blood along the welt. One was weeping a tiny rivulet of blood. It combined with his sweat and ran down his right ass cheek onto the back of his thigh. Each guard in the company had a small picture of their ass from this first training session. They were required to keep it in their wallets as a constant reminder of what disobedience would lead to.

More than a few of them had lapses and were subjected to a punishment caning which was, as Payner had noted, long and intense. Several passed out during their sessions from pain overload. They were forcibly revived to receive the full complement of punishment due them. The welts from this caning melded to form red-purple bruises, which bled profusely. The beating was usually followed by a round of abuse from the trainers. The blood aroused the trainers and, like sharks, they went into a frenzy. The vics were given special time off for recuperation, which often took days. Back on the job, their behavior invariably improved.

Over the years a few subjected to discipline caning reacted in an unusual fashion and became what is called in the jargon pain pigs. These young men, for some deep psychological reason, craved intense pain. This created a problem for Payner’s security business because they would deliberately violate rules just so they would get punished. Payner had to take them off regular job duty for the sake of the business; client property had to be rigorously guarded. He kept them available, chained up in cages, for his trainers to hone their sadistic lusts. The “piggies,” as they were called, were also used for sexual release by anyone in the company needing it. Payner had a small side business renting them out.

As the guards were releasing Danny from the pole, Payner continued to pontificate: “This is your first lesson, Danny boy. Remember it well. Now the trainers are going to teach you the special skills you need: hand-to-hand combat, surveillance equipment, and gun use and safety. I am sure you will be a productive member of the company,” he added, patting Danny on his bruised ass.”

Danny winced from the pain, but simply responded: “Sir, yes, sir! Sir, thank you, sir!”

Payner tossed him a white jock strap. “Here’s your training outfit.”

Danny painfully slipped the jock on. Just moving his body made all the muscles ache. The jock was clearly a size or so too small. It fit tight and the pouch barely contained his junk.

“A little tight, sir,” he said to Payner as he adjusted the pouch the best he could.

“Not by accident,” Payner replied and left the room.

Danny painfully followed the guards out of the torture room and upstairs for the classes Payner had described.



Erik the Rebel, Part 2: Duke’s Quarry – Written by Commander_nl, Illustrated by AfterDarK – 10th Installment

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“Danny’s Ordeal” – by Steve McHalperin, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Training Lesson 1

Danny slept deeply. It’s the body’s reaction to an incredible ordeal. He did wake briefly when he stirred position during a REM event and his abs shot a pain message to his sleepy brain. It wasn’t so bad after all, and he fell back to sleep.

He woke up a second time when someone started jostling him on the cot. He saw it was one of the “testers,” one of the guys who had so brutally tortured him. It wasn’t Jake, the only one of the three identified.

“Wake up, buddy. You did good. Mr. Payner is very pleased and we’re all right proud of you,” the voice said, jostling him some more. “Time to get up!”

He got off the cot with help from Mr. X and then realized he was naked. He moved instinctively to put his hands over his junk, but Mr. X intervened: “Don’t worry about clothes. You won’t need them for a while. Now that you’re hired, Mr. Payner wants to start the training exercises,” he added.

He himself was shirtless, wearing only the tight uniform pants of the company. The man’s nipple piercing was a thick ring which glinted from the bare bulb light. He was one of the furry ones. Danny followed him out the door and down the dim corridor. He was apprehensive when they entered the same room he had been tortured in. Payner and the other three men from yesterday were also there. Mr. Payner was wearing a blue golf shirt and nice, business pants. The other guys were dressed like the guy who had just woken him up, shirtless with dark blue, very tight, company pants. They all greeted him, congratulating him on passing the concentration test. The thought crossed Danny’s mind that his treatment yesterday was more like a concentration camp, but he smiled his response anyway.

Payner lost no time launching into another speech: “You did indeed pass the test and a large sum of money will be given to you later today as your first pay, several hundred dollars in fact. But there is one more step we need to do before your regular job training starts.”

“Sir?” Danny asked dutifully, still bewildered to be back in the cement torture room and naked at that.

“We have a strict code of discipline in the company. It’s needed to ensure everyone of the guards continues to focus on the training they received and has the right attitude for the job. I mentioned total focus yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” Danny interjected, eager to find out what the hell was going on.

“So, to the discipline,” Payner continued. “You must obey every command you are given during training and on the job. To ensure compliance, if anyone does not obey, they are disciplined down here until they regain the correct attitude. You need to know what is in store for you for the slightest disobedience, so my trainers here are going to show you.”

He turned to the other men: “Prepare him for the demonstration” he ordered.

Danny was startled when the big men grabbed him by the arms and thrust him against the metal pole in the center of the room. What was this? More torture?

He protested when they cuffed his wrists, loosely this time, and lifted them up, stretching out his arms like yesterday, but not so high. They fitted the short cuff chain to a small metal hook and secured it with a carabineer.

“Whoa! Wait! What’s this all about? What the fuck are you going to do?” Danny yelled loudly as he started to struggle against the pole.

His words were cut short when the ball gag was again shoved into his mouth and buckled off behind his head. All he could say now was garbled. He felt the chain going around his ankles again, but his cock and balls were not bound to the pole as they had been. Still, he was in inescapable bondage.

“The discipline we use,” Payner lilted, “Is very basic. It’s a traditional caning on your ass. The concept of caning is old fashioned, but we use a modern variant. Instead of a wooden switch or walking stick, we use a plastic rod.”

He held up the rod where Danny could see it. It was three or four feet long, fairly thin, clear plastic, with a thick, black plastic handle. Payner handed it to Jake, who swished it through the air a few times. The rod whistled as it cut the air.

“The idea of a caning,” Payner droned on as Danny’s stomach turned to ice in fear, “Is to concentrate the blow. A paddle or belt, even a fist or nightstick, distributes the blow across a wide area of skin. The paddle or belt hurts and raises a welt, of course, but the pain from a thin rod is much more intense. It causes deep welts under normal pressure. When used with force it easily bruises and breaks a man’s skin. Every one of the guards in this company has tasted the cane at the beginning of their training and everyone of them knows they will be back down here if they don’t obey the rules. We’re after muscular, aggressive men, like you, Danny boy, but that has to be balanced with absolute obedience. The caning option ensures that.”

Then Payner looked over at Jake. “Please proceed to show Danny here what the rod can do.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Jake replied, moving into position.



“Danny’s Ordeal” – by Steve McHalperin, Chapter 9

Chapter 9


Payner spoke up in his lilting, long winded way: “Ah, my dear Danny! You have passed the test. We are satisfied you have the right stuff to be on our team. I realize it was a bit rough and I’m sure you’re not in a condition to fully appreciate your victory. We will take you down from the pole and let you rest. Then we’ll discuss moving forward. AND the handsome salary you will now be getting!”

The other guys slowly removed the cuffs and the cord from around his head and neck. Then the cord on his cock and balls was untied, bringing great relief but also some pain as blood flow resumed. Two of them grabbed his ams to hold him up. The chain around his ankles was unlocked and unwound. He was slightly embarrassed as his now freed cock swelled up into a strong hardon.

Payner noticed it, of course. “A natural reaction to manly pain, my boy. It’s actually a good sign and means you’ll fit right in with our team.”

Danny saw the other guys rub their swollen crotches. He had always been fascinated and excited about physical pain ever since his father’s beatings when he was growing up. The agony of his ordeal, his pride in surviving it, activated some wiring between his brain and his crotch. He didn’t know the words sadist and masochist. He didn’t know that his sex needle had firmly swung to the maso side.

“There’s only one more task, dear Danny,” Payner crooned. “We are going to remove the clamps on your nipples. Unfortunately this will hurt. The little guys have been deprived of blood flow for a while and have gone to sleep. Removal of the clamps will wake them up and they will not be happy, if you will.”

He snorted a laugh at his own wording. It really did hurt when the clamps came off. Danny gritted his teeth and contorted his face in pain as his pec pegs swelled with blood and the nerves protested. The guys holding him tightened their grip, mashing their hardons into his hips. They were definitely on the sado side of the meter.

Danny looked down at his stomach. His skin was bright red from the tortures. There were wide lines of a deeper red from the nightsticks. His erection stood out from his crotch. There were red marks up and down the shaft from the cord bindings, and his balls ached. Somehow, however, there was sex electricity there. His hardon was a direct reaction to the pain he had undergone, just like many hardons in the past when he JOed and fantasized about men getting tortured.

The guys holding his arms escorted him out of the room and down the hall to a small shower stall. He cleaned himself up and toweled off. His torso still throbbed and his nipples were supersensitive. He was also still halfhard. They then led him to a small room with a cot against one wall. He slumped onto the cot and quickly fell asleep from exhaustion.

He didn’t hear the door lock click after the two big men left the room.



Erik the Rebel, Part 2: Duke’s Quarry – Written by Commander_nl, Illustrated by AfterDarK – 9th Installment

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“Danny’s Ordeal” – by Steve McHalperin, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ding! Round Three

Payner and the torture-testers came back riotously loud, jostling and laughing as they entered the small room. Danny’s level of alarm notched up at the thought of further torture, but this time from a bunch of drunks. There was just so much that could go wrong, even accidentally. He could be maimed, injured internally, damaged for life if someone made a mistake. In gut punching inches can make the difference between a “good” blow, inflicting pain, and a “bad” blow, pain again but damaging an internal organ.

He wanted to ask if he had passed the test, but the ball gag insured his words were garbled. He tried to say: “OK, guys, that’s it! Please stop! I don’t care if I passed the test or not. Just stop and let me go!”

“Uh…ah…oh…oh” came out.

Payner read his mind. He ran his finger tips up and down Danny’s chest and stomach. “You can’t see it but your chest and abs now have a nice red color. You have done well, Danny boy. You have survived the test so far and I will put you on my team and pay you all that money. There’s just one more step. It’s not a nice step, but we have found that it can give us final proof of your abilities. For this test we are going to remove your gag and your blindfold, but I do want to tell you that we will ignore whatever you say. I told you at the beginning that we will go through the whole exercise, whether you want it or not. We remove the blindfold so you can better prepare yourself for the test.”

Hands unbuckled the strap on the gag and it was unshipped from his mouth. It was an enormous relief to close his lower jaw. The gag had forced his mouth open so wide his jaw had cramped.

As soon as he could, he launched into his desperate plea: “Please stop! Let me go! I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just stop!” His words were distorted into babble because his lips and cheeks were still numb from the gag.

There was no reaction to his pleas. All he heard was feet moving on concrete behind him. Then he was stunned as the blindfold was unbuckled and removed. Even the dim bulb over his head hurt his eyes at first.

He looked around. The three testers and Gerry were still bare-chested, but now covered in sweat. They also had taken their uniform pants off and were now wearing white jock straps. All the jock pouches had big bulges upfront. The white fabric was darkened with sweat.

Then he was horrified when he saw what the four torturers were holding: the police night sticks. Three of them were black, one was white. The white one was deeply stained red and brown. Blood? What the fuck was going to happen?

Again Payner read his mind. “This last test will involve using those sticks on your abs. It’s fairly brutal, but I repeat it is critical for you to concentrate and focus. If you pass this test, you will get more money than you can spend and you will have a good job to boot. Just think of that, if you want some motivation. I think you can take it. Show us you can.”

Two of the testers took up positions to either side. They both had black police batons and it was clear what was going to happen. Danny braced his abs for the blows. As he flexed, the pain from his thick musculature was enormous, but he knew he had to brace hard or else the sticks would do even more damage.

The first blow landed squarely at navel level. It was unbelievably painful and actually splattered sweat into the air. Now he could fully scream unfettered by a gag. And scream he did: “A-a-h!   A-a-g-h! No!! A-a-h!” filled the room. He gasped again for air which he needed to get in order to scream.

There was a long interval after the blow. The pain did ramp down and he was reduced to moaning with loud, heavy breathing.

Then the second brutal blow landed. The rhythm was the same: spl-a-a-t, scream, gasp, scream. The peaks of pain in his abs, the desperate need for air, the unstoppable need to scream, the chaos in his head. Then the despair, the realization he couldn’t go on. The desperate pleas to stop, ignored completely. The futility of struggling on the pole. The pain in his shoulders from the stretch of his arms. The sharp pain in his cock and balls. EVERYTHING hurt.

A third, blinding blow, harder than the first two. Then a fourth and a fifth in rapid succession. His consciousness was getting blurred. He was an animal, tied up, tortured, fighting for its life, and screaming in primal pain. The sixth blow almost made him pass out from the peak of pain.

But then the beating stopped as a new sensation manifested itself in his gut. His stomach was starting to quiver on its own; he had no control over the spasms. The torturers noted the ripples on his skin, which is why they stopped. The inevitable consequence of a nightstick beating was happening: the vic was going to vomit.

Gerry quickly reached for a small bucket tucked in a corner of the room and held it across Danny’s mouth and chin. The spasms increased and then the involuntary reaction took over and Danny upchucked into the bucket. As his stomach emptied, the contractions hurt unbelievably since the internal musculature had been so badly mauled, particularly his solar plexus, which is the driver of vomiting. He groaned in between upchucks. The stale, acid taste filled his mouth.

There were several waves of nausea, but eventually Danny hit the dry heaves. His stomached spazed and trembled, but nothing further came up.

He was surprised when the dispenser of a squirt bottle was forced into his mouth. The water rinsed his mouth and dribbled out into the bucket. Was this a touch of humanity? What was next?



Erik the Rebel, Part 2: Duke’s Quarry – Written by Commander_nl, Illustrated by AfterDarK – 8th Installment

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“Danny’s Ordeal” – by Steve McHalperin, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ding! Round Two

You could hear the men talking and laughing. “Pretty good, eh, Mr. Payner?” someone asked.

“Yes, yes, it is,” came the lilting reply. “I always like the red glow that shows up after round one. You did a good job. Why don’t you let Gerry and Jake take over for the next round.”

“Yes, sir,” came the chorus of the four men. Then a deep voice, presumably Gerry spoke up: “Sir, can I use the brass knuckles on him?”

Mr. Payner replied in the positive. “Sure, why not. Just don’t break any ribs. Takes too long for them to knit and I need him right now. Stay central and middle to low. Don’t go near his rib cage.”

Gerry responded with the expected: “Sir, yes, sir!” but now there was an enthusiastic edge to his voice.

Brass knuckles? Danny thought. How bad can this get? How much more can I take? He found out in short order.

Another voice spoke up: “Sir, why don’t we put the tit clamps on him. I think his nips are sensitive enough now. That could really put a hurtin’ on him.”

“Again, yes,” Payner said. “Use the ones with the bigger springs; they hurt more.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the voice. Jake? Who knew and who cared at this point. There was a slight delay and shuffling of feet on the concrete. Then Danny felt the clamp being positioned on his right nipple. This was followed by a lightning flash of pain from his pec when the jaws bit down. “Y-o-o-w-w-l!” he tried to yell. It came out garbled. Most of the pain from the earlier punches followed a pattern: splat, skin and flesh pain, scream, gasp, then deeper pain as internal structures were pounded. The pain ramped down slowly until it mixed with all the other residual aches in his torso, but it did ramp down.

The pain from the nipple clamps was different. It really hurt when the jaws bit into his pec peg, but this time the pain slowly mounted up and got worse over the next few minutes. Then he howled when the other clamp was mashed down on his left nip. This pain also ramped up and it seemed to join with the one on his right pec until his whole chest was on fire. It took intense concentration on his part to endure the pain without going crazy. He found new reserves and knew he could take it like a man.

The punchers always started with a single jab, like they were testing out the meaty target. This evolved into combos of two or three jabs, which then exploded into anything goes. The two new punchers were fresh and used intense force on Danny’s tortured abs, up and down, real low, then real high on his torso. At least there were no punches on his chest, which was still throbbing. He thought he could tell the difference between bare fists and Gerry’s brass knuckles, but it was a toss up.

Then, whoomph! A barrage of blows, cross-cuts to his lower abs, mixed with uppercuts to just below his rib cage, focusing on his solar plexus. “A-a-g-h!   A-a-h-h!” he screamed into the ball gag, howls of the wounded primal male animal. He twisted wildly against the pole, a futile and stupid attempt to escape the blinding pain. It only aggravated the pain in his wrists and balls. The bondage to the pole was fiendish in its simplicity: wrists, head, cock and balls, ankles. His whole torso was open to the torturers, no ropes, no belts, no straps. Just bare, sweaty muscles fully available for brutal punishment.

Then a series of roundhouses, again to his sides, all carefully below his ribcage as Payner had directed. He was desperate for air, gasping loudly between screams. The harsh splatting sound of fist on flesh punctuated the screaming, which was getting a bit ragged. A man’s vocal cords can only take so much before they start to fail.

Then chaos. Unpredictable combos rained down on Danny’s body. He was getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. He couldn’t breathe but he had to scream from the pain. His insides were now in agony. His skin bright red from the abuse. The only consolation was a slight dampening of his chest pain as his pec pegs went numb from lack of blood flow. He hardly noticed.

Then the punching stopped again. The only sound in the room was his deep gasping, groaning. Drool was dripping from his forced-open mouth, mixing with sweat on his upper chest.

Then the dreaded lilting voice of Payner: “Very good, guys, very good. Look how red he is. Let’s take a break and get some beer. I’m parched. Gerry, take a few pictures for the album.”

There was agreement all around and Danny heard the metal door creak open again. They turned the light bulb off as they left. Danny didn’t know that. The blindfold had kept him in total, terrifying darkness.

He sagged against the pole, eternally grateful for the respite. He moaned from the aches and pain from deep within his torso. His skin felt like it had been sandpapered. The pain in his chest from the nipple clamps was reduced to embers from the initial fire, but the embers still flowed.

He toyed with despair but also tried to rally. This was becoming just too much. It had to be over. It had to be.

It wasn’t.