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Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination and bondage. If you don't enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don't look back! This story is NOT to be taken as an endorsement of the materials found on that site. Caveat emptor.
Mergers and Acquisitions -- Chapter 7
Bill and Guy removed the straps pinning Brad's body to the bench and pushed him off the back end onto the floor. He fell into the already cooling puddle of his own semen and pre-cum. Covered with sweat, his own and Jack Thornsburg's, he crouched in exhaustion, every muscle aching.
"Lick it up dog," Bill ordered, pointing at his mess on the floor.
Brad spat at his face.
"Fuck off!" he rasped.
Faster than Brad could comprehend, Bill grabbed the back of his neck in his hand and shoved his face into the pool of spunk.
"I said lick it up dog. You do what you're told or you'll pay for it. Do you get it boy?" Bill yelled in his ear.
Then Brad heard the distinct crack of a whip snapped in the air and realized that he needed to obey or be worse off than he already was. Flushing with shame, Bill's hand still pushing his face into the slop, he opened his mouth and extended his tongue, dipping it into the spunk. The taste and texture disgusted him: acrid, bitter, slimy; it was like licking up mucus. His stomach began to heave but he forced it back down, setting his mind to the task put before him. The whip would be much worse than this and he knew that, even if he resisted and got himself a whipping, he'd still have to clean the floor. So he licked and sucked the fluids up, fighting his gorge to keep it down. When he'd sucked and licked up the pool, Bill released him, allowing him to sit up on his haunches.
"Good dog," Bill said, not smiling. "Now, clean your master's cock."
Oh God, thought Brad, not that too. Jack stood leaning against the wall, his soft cock hanging out, covered with Brad's shit and ass mucus. This was too much and he began to shake his head. Then he saw the whip: a nine foot length of braided black leather, tapering to a tip with the loose ends free to punish whatever flesh they came in contact with. He'd never been whipped before but he'd seen enough toga and cowboy movies to know that such a whip would cause severe pain and damage. He had to obey or he'd truly suffer. He began to rise to his feet but Bill pushed him down onto all fours.
"Dogs don't walk upright," he said, snapping the leash back onto Brad's collar. "Heel!" he ordered and walked across the room to where Jack stood.
By the time they arrived, Brad's knees were aching and his back was beginning to stiffen. But Jack obviously didn't care. He snapped his fingers and pointed at his filthy dick.
"Clean," he ordered.
Brad looked up at him, beseeching him with his eyes to release him from this hell.
"Clean boy!" Jack repeated and, closing his eyes, Brad opened his mouth and leaned forward to take the thing into his mouth.
Once again, he wanted to puke. It was bitter and earthy and smelled of musk and feces. Never in his life had he imagined he would do such a thing. The humiliation, the degradation were almost more than he could stand. But his own cock! His own cock was filling once again and rising up. Damned thing! Why did it do this? Why did it submit to this debasement? Why did it find pleasure in his defilement? In his frustration, he reached between his legs and slapped his own dick over and over again as he licked and sucked his own filth off Thornsburg's cock. He continued to punish himself, each blow bringing a grunt of pain the sounded around the cock filling his mouth while tears ran down his cheeks.
"No, no, no," he tried to say. "Don't do this to me. I can't do this. I can't be like this!"
Jack looked up at Bill and Guy and grinned. They all knew what Brad was thinking and feeling and they were filled with glee. Yes, he would go kicking and screaming the whole way, but he would go. His own base urges would take him there, whether or not his brain wanted him to go.
Jack's dick had long been clean but Brad kept working at it and punishing his own penis. Finally, Jack was bored and pushed the boy off.
"Enough," he said, wiping his dick dry and putting it back in his pants. "It's been a long session and I need some rest. Hose him down and chain him in his kennel boys. I'll see you in the morning."
"Yes sir, Mr. Thornsburg," they answered and grabbing Brad under the arms, dragged him out of the room to a room next door.
In the corner was a tiled shower stall. Bill and Guy dragged Brad into it and rolled him onto his back so that his feet were part way up the wall and his head and shoulders rested on the floor. Then they took a hose attached to the spigot and turned on the water. A frigid blast hit him in the chest and splashed over his body. He was seized in the grip of shivering tremors that incapacitated him as he gasped for breath and shouted his protests. Guy played the cold torrent over his legs, torso, arms and head, paying special attention to his shriveled penis and shelter- seeking testicles. Finally, the spray was turned off and Bill threw him a rough face cloth.
"Dry yourself and make it snappy. We're hungry," Bill ordered.
Brad did the best he could with the scrap of cloth but it was soon soaked. He wrung it out and tried to soak up as much of the water standing on his skin as he could but he couldn't stop shivering.
"That's enough time," Guy said. "Stand at attention boy!"
Brad just looked at him, incredulous.
"I said stand at attention! What didn't you understand boy?" Guy demanded and slashed at Brad's dick with a riding crop that Brad hadn't realized he held.
Doubling over, Brad howled, grasping his aching dick, only to be given another blow to his already painful backside. That straightened him up and his desperate mind forced him to assume a position he hoped would satisfy his tormentors.
"That's almost acceptable boy but not quite. But you're new so I'll simply show you the right way," Guy said, hanging the crop from his belt.
Brad glanced down at the crop in fear, knowing that, next to the whip, whose kiss he hadn't experience, this was his worst friend here. He would seek to avoid the kiss of the crop at all costs. He permitted Guy to take his arms from his side and place them behind his neck, fingers interlaced. Then Guy pushed his head forward, making him bow.
"This is the proper position when anyone says 'Attention.' Got it boy?"
"Yes sir," Brad answered.
"Thank you sir," Guy demanded.
"Thank you sir," Brad echoed.
"All together now. Give me the proper response boy."
Brad paused and swallowed hard. He just couldn't. Then he saw the crop swinging from Guy's belt again.
"Yes sir, thank you sir," he responded weakly, feeling he was letting himself down.
"I didn't hear you boy. Try it again and with enthusiasm!"
"Yes Sir, thank You Sir!" Brad barked, sounding like a grunt in basic training.
"Good boy," Guy said, moving closer and stroking Brad's goose- pimpled flesh. "Very good. You'll learn. It just takes patience and patience is something we have plenty of. Because we know what the final outcome will be, don't we boy?"
Not knowing what he meant, but having an inkling, yet not wanting to risk the crop, Brad answered with as much enthusiasm as he could muster "Yes Sir, thank You Sir."
"Good," Guy cooed. "OK, let's get you ready for bed. First, we'll start training those tits. You need nice titties because they provide your master an extra means of handling a boy. That's considerate of him, isn't it boy?"
Brad was beginning to understand how these exchanges were meant to work and he responded appropriately.
"Yes Sir, thank You Sir."
"Good boy. Bill?"
Bill was ready with a small bottle and two small silicon cups. Guy uncapped the bottle and Brad smelled something like acetone, though he couldn't quite place the odor. Guy painted each cup on the inside and along the flared rim. Then he painted Brad's tits completely.
"Liquid bandage," was all he said.
He squeezed each cup and placed them on Brad's tits. There was a slight burning and Brad watched as his tits were sucked into the translucent cups. Guy helped them along but squeezing and rolling his nips inside the cups. Once the cups had returned to their original shape, Guy squeezed them again and repeated the process. This time, Brad's nipples were pulled even further into the cups.
"A couple of months with these and you'll have real nice titties that'll make any master happy. Isn't that right boy?"
Brad, who didn't really quite understand, still responded appropriately, "Yes Sir, thank You Sir," as his mind was beginning to conform to what was expected of him.
"Good boy," Guy said, gently patting Brad's cheek.
Guy cuffed Brad's hands behind his back and pushed him to his knees. Then he nudged him backwards into a cage; a cage with sturdy bars, not a commercial dog crate, though it was about the size of a crate designed for a large dog, such as a Great Dane. There was a blanket on the floor for padding but Brad wondered how he would get warm? With his hands cuffed in back, there was no way he could pull the blanket over himself. But he decided to wait and see what would happen. He wouldn't risk the crop.
Guy ran a chain through the cuffs and fastened it to the back of the cage, leaving Brad just enough room to edge to the door. But even if the door had been left unlocked, there was no way he'd be able to get out of the cage. Guy locked the door and slid a metal tray into a slot at the bottom. There were two depressions in the tray: one filled with what appeared to be wet dog food, the other filled with water. Brad hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he saw the water and immediately fell into it, face first, to suck up as much as he could to slake his thirst.
"Whoa, whoa. Hold it boy! Hold it!" Guy yelled slashing at the cage with his crop.
That got Brad's attention and he pulled himself back from the tray, water dripping down his face.
"You got to say thank you boy. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?" Guy admonished, looking slightly disappointed.
"I'm sorry Sir. Thank You Sir," Brad said, sitting back on his haunches.
Guy looked at him a minute slapping the palm of his hand with the crop, until Brad realized that his returning the look was a direct challenge and dropped his eyes.
"That's better. That's a good boy," he said. "Good dog. OK, now you can eat and drink. Good night boy. Sleep well," he laughed and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Once again, Brad fell into the water and drank until it was empty. Then he sniffed at the food. It stank; it smelled like dog food. But he was ravenous and it was obvious there would be no menu presented for his perusal. There would be no waiter he could treat with contempt, that could be forced to grovel and bow and scrape in hopes of getting any tip whatsover, let alone a good one. This was what he had to dine on and if he didn't, he knew he'd go hungry and probably feel the kiss of the crop as well. So trying not to breathe, he took some of the food in his mouth. It didn't taste as bad as it smelled but it didn't have much flavor either. It was basically meat of some unknown variety and some sort of vegetables and cereal. Probably well-rounded as far as the basic food groups were concerned but not the least bit appealing. Nevertheless, he ate it and licked the tray clean.
Finished with his tray, he shifted around, trying to find the most comfortable position he could to sleep. As the lights went down, apparently controlled from somewhere outside the room, he realized that the room was well heated so at least he wouldn't be cold. He settled his head on the floor of his kennel and felt the suction cups on his tits bending his nipples downward and keeping them in his awareness. Finally, Brad closed his eyes, praying to no one in particular that he'd wake up and find himself back in his own apartment, in his own bed and finding this had all been a bad dream.
Mergers and Acquisitions -- Chapter 8
Brad had terrible dreams as he slept. He was kneeling naked in front of his employees, his hands bound behind his back. The men stood in line, their dicks hanging out of their pants and he was forced to suck each of them in turn. As each one moved toward him, he tried to speak, to protest, but no words would come. He'd open his mouth to shout that he was a man, not a faggot but, rather than words coming out, his tongue lolled out and the man would place his cock on it and Brad was forced to swallow it. Over and over again, man after man, dick after dick in a never-ending line. In his dream, Brad tried to pull away, only to awaken himself as he pulled on the chain that fastened his cuffed wrists to the bars of his kennel. His kennel! He looked up through the bars, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach on top of the panic that had been there a moment ago as he dreamed. It was his kennel, not just a cage in which he was being imprisoned. As the dread sank in deeper, tears welled in his eyes and he wept, for he suddenly realized there might never be an escape from this. This might be his life now, as long as he lived. And as he wept, he felt his penis stiffening between his thighs.
"No, no, no, dammit. Stop it! Stop it!" he shouted, wishing he could punish it for what it was doing. "Damned faggot cock! You damned thing! Stop it!"
But it didn't stop; it merely got harder and he could feel that slickness on his smooth, hairless thighs that only yesterday had been the envy of men who'd watched him in the gym as he moved like a dark predator, the muscles rippling under their covering of fur. But no more. He could feel the air moving over his denuded body, shorn of its masculine covering. He shivered, not from cold, for it was warm enough, but from humiliation and shame: humiliation that he was naked, shaved, had been forced to suck cock and forcibly fucked and shame that his godamned cock was hard and oozing because of it. Brad groaned aloud.
He had no idea how long he crouched there but eventually, the door opened and the lights came on.
"Good morning pup," said Bill, walking into the room.
He carried another food and water tray and replaced the empty one with the fresh one. Brad, realizing he was famished and thirsty moved toward it.
"Ah, ah, ah," Bill admonished. "What comes first pup?"
Brad stopped himself and then remembered last night's lesson.
"Thank You Sir," he said and touched his forehead to the floor as an additional act of humility, hoping that would satisfy his keeper.
"Good boy," Bill said. "I like the head on the floor; nice touch. Remember that from now on. I'll let your master know about it so he'll expect it."
"Yes Sir," Brad answered, sensing that this might not have been such a positive thing. Stupid to give them more than they expected!
"You can eat and drink now pup, and don't shilly-shally. Master wants you in the training room in half an hour and we have to get you prepped beforehand."
Brad finished his breakfast, which was very much like his supper the night before, and was catching his breath, not used to eating hunched over on his knees without the use of his hands, when Bill returned.
"Come on boy, time to get ready to begin your training for the day."
He unlocked the chain holding Brad's cuffed wrists to the cage but let the chain locked to the cuffs so that, as he pulled him out of the cage, the chain hung down his ass crack like a tail and dragged on the floor. He found the feel of the cold metal and its weight pressing against his exposed flesh profoundly humiliating, reminding him of one of those toga movies from the 50s where men were enslaved against their will. Spartacus, Ben Hur, The Ten Commandments... He'd never understood why he enjoyed those movies so much but he had. He'd always thought he was destined to be one of the Roman or Egyptian overlords or emperor or pharaoh even. He'd had found his young dick getting hard at the thought. But now... He was confused now. Why did his dick betray him like this?
Bill led him to the shower stall.
"Squat and do your business. You have two minutes. Any longer and it's punishment."
Brad scowled up at him.
"What was that boy?" Bill yelled. "What part of this aren't you getting. The only good response is 'yes Sir, thank you Sir,' and you do your business and make it snappy. Got it? Ten strokes for disobedience. They'll be added to your tally."
Brad had to hold his ego in check. His wont was to lunge at the man and take him down but with his hands cuffed behind his back, he'd only have made it worse for himself. So he swallowed hard.
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," he said quietly and moved over the drain hole.
He expected Bill to turn away but the man just stood there watching him.
"C'mon boy. Get a move on. If you take too long, it'll be ten more strokes and if you keep master waiting, I don't want to think about it. You won't be able to sit for a month your ass will be so hot."
Realizing that he'd get no privacy here, flushing from head to foot in embarrassment, Brad sat back on his haunches, hoping he was in the correct position and concentrated on loosening his bladder. Finally, he felt a pulse of piss, then another. Then his need overcame his embarrassment and the piss began to flow. His bowels quickly followed suit and relaxed, letting the shit plop onto the floor. Some stayed there, some found its way into the drain hole. After a few more contractions of his pelvic muscles, draining his bladder and emptying his bowels, he felt better and began to relax. But Bill was right on top of him.
"You missed the hole pup. Bad dog! Shitting on the floor is bad! Get around here."
Bill yanked on his leash, pulling him out of the shower stall and turning him so that he was facing the drain.
"Bad dog! To teach you how good dogs do it, you're going to have to push the shit on the floor into the hole with your nose. Now clean it up!"
Brad couldn't believe his ears! He wanted him to put his nose in the pile and push it to the hole? But he had no time to respond or think about it because Bill was at his backside with the crop, which Brad hadn't seen and had forgotten up to that point.
"Get to it pup. Hurry up!" he yelled, slashing at Brad's ass with the wicked leather implement. Brad yelped in shock and pain and quickly did as he was ordered. Not even wrinkling his nose at the smell because he was too overwhelmed with the pain, he placed his nose against the turds and pushed them toward the hole.
"Use your tongue too dog. I want to see some of that shit on your tongue!"
Brad was beyond questioning at this point. He extended his tongue and used it to push as well. He could taste the shit and it turned his stomach but he fought the nausea and the desire to gag and worked to complete his task as quickly as possible: anything to stop the pain.
Crying out with the pain, Brad pulled away from Bill, swinging around to try to get his backside against the back wall or the stall in an attempt to evade the blows. Bill saw that the shit was gone and stopped beating the whimpering pup.
"OK, that's better," he said. "Now turn around and get your head on the floor so I can clean you up."
Obediently, Brad did as he was told. He flushed again as Bill wiped his ass with toilet paper and then felt that pressure against his rosebud as Bill pushed a metal tube into his hole. He heard the tap turning and, almost immediately, felt the rush and push of cold water flooding his gut. Bill bent and massaged his inflating belly as it filled.
"Gotta make sure we get you completely clean inside and out. Master doesn't want to work with a smelly pup," Bill chuckled, seeming to have forgotten the violence of only moments ago.
Bill turned off the tap but left the nozzle in place, stroking Brad's bulging belly and, occasionally, brushing his erect dick.
"What a horny puppy," he whispered. "Good puppy. You're a tough one but you'll come around eventually. They all do."
In spite of the pain in his gut, Brad instinctively pushed his pelvis forward, seeking relief from the ache in his balls. Bill grabbed his hard prick and pumped it once, twice and then slapped it hard with an upward swat, making it bounce against his swollen abdomen.
"No, no pup. Master would have my hide if I got you off. Now turn around and empty yourself. And make sure you hit the hole!"
Groaning inwardly, both from the frustration and the pain, Brad slowly, carefully turned and aimed for the hole.
"No, not bent over boy!" Bill exclaimed. "Kneel up. That shit's gonna shoot out of you like water out of a hose. Get yourself right over the hole and aim into it."
Brad understood and knelt up, hoping that his hole was aligned with the hole in the floor. He didn't want to think about what further degradation would be visited on him if he missed. Closing his eyes, he released his anxious sphincter. He'd aimed well! The jet shot from his ass into the drain and he felt a rush of relief as his gut emptied itself. Bill wrinkled up his nose at the smell.
"Not clean enough. Need another one," he said. "Get in position pup."
Not even considering resisting, Brad moved himself into position and bent his head to the floor as Bill filled his bowels once again. This time, he was move business-like and went about his business expertly and efficiently. As the cramps built, sweat beaded on Brad's face and he prayed that he'd be given permission to evacuate soon for he knew that if he let go before permission was granted, he'd be rewarded with the crop again -- a thing to be dreaded. He could feel his sphincter pulsing, aching to relax and a trickle dribbled down his thigh, making him even more anxious. Finally, Bill ordered him to get in position and release. With a huge sigh, he did as he was told and felt a sudden chill as the nervous sweat rapidly cooled on his skin.
"Open your mouth pup," Bill ordered and used the hose to wash Brad's face and mouth, using his fingers to scrub his tongue clean. "Master isn't going to want a shitty-mouthed pup sucking on his cock," he laughed.
After he'd thrust his fingers into Brad's mouth, stretching his jaw and making him gag and choke, Bill slapped his face lightly with his wet hand.
"Bend down, head on floor," he ordered
"Oh no, not again," Brad thought. "I don't think I can take another one."
But rather than the nozzle entering his anus, he felt Bill's finger, cool and slick as it pushed inside him.
"Gotta get you lubed right. Your Master doesn't want any injuries." He withdrew his finger. "Good. Now stand so I can inspect. Hands behind your neck. Stand at attention."
The beatings had driven the proper posture into Brad's memory and he quickly stood and positioned himself as required: legs spread, hands behind his neck, head bowed. He still found it profoundly humiliating that he should be forced to exhibit himself in this way, especially naked and shaved in front of a man he considered a mere grunt, a factotum, who was fully clothed and apparently had his body hair, at least as evidenced by the hair on his arms and the tuft peaking out of the top of his shirt.
Bill ran his hands over Brad's body, apparently checking for smoothness: chest, with special attention to his tits, arms, legs, pits, pubes. He hoisted Bill's tackle with both hands, squeezing and stretching, stroking his stiffening penis. Just as Brad felt himself ratcheting up toward a possible orgasm, Bill slapped one hand down on the other, hard, with Brad's testicles and dick in between. Brad gasped and instinctively pulled back. But Bill was prepared for that and had already circled his genitals in a strong grip. Brad gasped again as his reflexive action caused his cock and balls to be stretched from his body.
"One thing you need to learn boy: never, ever try to defend that body or pull away from a master. Your body belongs to your master to do with as he chooses, whether it's to hurt or give pleasure. Understand boy?"
"Yes sir, thank you sir," Brad answered almost automatically.
"Good pup. You're beginning to learn and learning is the beginning of wisdom. One day, you may be a wise pup. But you've got a long ways to go. Now turn around, bend over and pull your ass apart so I can check your crack."
As he bent and reached back to part his cheeks, it filtered through Brad's mind that they'd shaved him thoroughly only yesterday. Body hair doesn't grow back that fast does it? But he also found the inspection deeply humiliating and it struck him that perhaps that was the goal, not simply to check for stubble. It reminded him of his new place. Bill pried his cheeks even farther apart and examined his hole and perineum before giving each globe a hard swat.
"Good. You're completely clean inside and out. Well, at least your body is. Your brain, I can't speak for. But your Master will get that cleaned up during your training, however long it takes. And believe me, your Master is a perfectionist and an expert. He'll convert you into one of his best dogs; you can count on that. Now, back down on the floor. We have an appointment."
Brad dropped to all fours and Bill hooked the leash to his collar and led him out of the room and down that hall once again. What further humiliation awaited him today?
To be continued.