By Steellock

Matt looked at his squad mates. There was a look of awe and respect on their faces. In front of them was a guy hanging by thick, muscled arms from a beam across the ceiling of the cellar. His head was down on his chest, and sweat poured down his body.

Around his wrists and hands were leather binders, secured by multiple straps and padlocks. The steel suspension rings on his palms were padlocked to the beam. Round his ankles were another set of straps, but they were not tied off and his feet were loose.

The bunched muscles of his back, from his neck to his lower rib cage, was shining red with occasional purple stripes. His butt, clenched and hard, shone in a similar colour. Red and purple stripes ran down the sides of his chest and thighs. The sweat shone in strong lighting, focused on him in an otherwise darkened room.

His balls hung low between his legs, held down by a steel band. They, too, were red and flushed. A chain was padlocked around his neck.

He was breathing hard after nearly an hour of whipping from a relay of leather-clad men. It had started with a leather strap on his butt. This had made him squirm and his butt flush with a pink glow. A trio of video cameras was trained on the scene, capturing every moment. The punishment had moved to his back as a heavy flogger was laid over his shoulder muscles. He had begun to heave in his bonds but had kept silent for what had seemed like an age.

Finally he had uttered a low groan and begun to grunt and shout as the beating intensified.

Alternating between his butt and his back, the pressure was increased and he began to sway, jerk and shout with the force of the impacts.

At regular intervals the leader of the group had called a halt and – putting his head next to the guy’s ear – had asked for a ‘stop’ word. There had been no response, just heavy breathing and muttered swear words, and the lashing had continued.

After one of these breaks, instead of starting again on the red and glowing back or striped butt they had worked his balls. A wooden strap, covered with leather, tapped against the hanging globes, steadily and with a regular pace. The impact was slowly increased until the hanging guy was jerking and shouting with each impact. He pulled himself up with bulging muscles, his biceps standing out, and he shook himself, trying to wrench free from the fetters.

After five minutes it stopped, and the whacker moved back to his butt.

Matt had gone to the club after one of his marine squad mates had told them about an open night at the leather club by the harbour. The guy had seen a poster in a harbour bar, and they had all heard about the place before. With a lot of joking and ribbing at each other, they had gone to see what was going on.

Dressed in jeans, white Tee shirts with leather jackets and their regular boots, they had been admitted. There was a bar in the first room. The bartender, himself dressed in a leather harness and chaps, looked them over and joked, ‘Must be your first time lads!’

He passed them a bottle each of Bud and pointed them down a passageway. They stood out in the crowd — fit, heavily built with buzz cuts, they drew admiring looks and shouts of invitation from many as they had strolled through the rooms, looking on at the scenes being played out in dark corners and back rooms.

They saw all sorts of new sights — men in bondage, sex of many kinds, and guys in ecstasy from both pain and pleasure.

There was a crowd in the end room, and a there was a feeling of expectation and excitement. All being over 6 feet tall, they stood at the back and looked over the gathering crowd, intrigued to see what would happen next. It was a real mix of types. Young, fit guys wearing leather harnesses or tight leather or rubber clothes. Big Bears in bike gear, some in denim or wearing neoprene. There was one figure in the corner standing dressed in a straightjacket over leather shorts. Apart from a ball gag, his head was free and he was looking on with obvious interest.

The feeling of a stage set had been enhanced by the lights shining down, and into the focus had walked a naked man. He was about 25 years old and weighed about 200 pounds of muscle and bone. Around his wrists and hands were strapped strong leather restraints. Four buckles held them tightly clamped, and he had a pair of strong leather cuffs around his ankles, padlocked on and with a thick steel ‘D’ ring on each side. He had stood quietly and looked at the crowd. Then he climbed onto a wooden step and, stretching onto his toes, he held his arms up. Padlocks were snapped shut by a couple of tough guys dressed in leather chaps and vests. The locks clamped his wrists directly to a thick, wooden beam. The step was pulled away so that he hung, swaying and ready.

A voice came over the PA system that explained that this was the annual club challenge. There was a $1,000 prize for anyone who would step up and volunteer for the same punishment about to be given.

Everyone waited, but no one stepped forward.

***

Being a Marine was all Matt had ever wanted. Naturally athletic and tough from a life of sport and the constant use of the local gym, he had joined up at 18. The camaraderie of the squad had drawn him in, and he had thrown everything into building his physique and developing his stamina. However he always felt that he was separate from the rest of the squad. Not fully accepted and never part of the core of joking, relaxed guys who set the pace.

As he lay on his bunk that night, he could not get the vision of the awed expressions of his squad mates from his mind. They had looked on at the courage and resilience that the man at the club had shown. All the way back to the base there had been comments about the way he had taken his punishment, knowing what was in store and facing it with courage. Matt wondered at the guy’s pain threshold. Being a Marine had made him accustomed to the day-to-day aches of exercise and the gym, the knocks and injuries of the combat training. However he knew that he would not have been able to take what had been handed out tonight without calling for a halt.

As he lay he ran his hand down over his belly, feeling the ridged muscles. Carrying on down he found his dick standing out hard. Strange – he had been stiff all evening since watching earlier.

The next day was a Saturday, and he had a day pass. Waking early before the rest of the guys awoke, he dressed in casual jeans, laced up his boots and slipped on his jacket. It was time for a break, time to spend some time on his own and think about the previous day.

Matt took the bus down to the harbour and walked for several hours. No one bothered him. The locals had more sense, watching him as he strode down the quay, deep in thought, with long, powerful legs striding out from his slim hips, his wide shoulders swinging.

After a couple of hours he realised that he was back in the same part of town they had been to the previous night. The club was in front of him across the street, and he saw that the ground floor of the building was a shop front, blacked out. Above it was a neon sign flashing ‘Private shop.’

Matt well knew what this meant – like many a healthy, young lad, he had been into similar places for magazines. He felt tense and knew that he needed the release of a good jerk-off session to relax and lose the hard-on that was still making his dick stand out in his jeans. Checking his watch, he realised that it was just afternoon and the lights were on inside. Pushing through the door, he stopped, completely taken aback by what he saw.

This was no ordinary, tacky space with racks of curled-up magazines. A huge, open warehouse opened in front of him. It was full of racks of things that Matt had only heard of, and some that he had to guess. Shelves full of leather gear — trousers, shirts, jackets and boots. A wall covered in bondage equipment – leather belts, straps, a shelf with various hoods made of rubber or leather. Another section with what looked like the world’s biggest range of whips and floggers was opposite another rack holding rubber dildos, all different sizes. Some of them made his eyes stand out, and he wondered if they were for real!

There was a guy behind a counter by the door who was working on a computer. He looked up and said, “Hi, can I help with anything?” It was the barman from the night before. He was still dressed in a leather harness showing off a strong, muscular chest, but this time it was matched by a thick leather collar and tight jeans. He could see that Matt was fazed and did not know what to say.

“My name’s Jess, have a look around and just call if you need help!”

Matt looked away, dropping eye contact and walked into the store. He stopped short, not able to believe his eyes. There was a display of gear on what Matt had assumed was a mannequin. It moved. It was a boy. He was wearing a tight pair of shorts; straps ran around the legs with small padlocks at each side. The top of the shorts was circled by another belt that captured loops from the top of zips that ran down each side of the front. This belt, too, was padlocked. The boy’s chest was pulled back, showing off his well-formed pair of pecs, crowned by thick rings through his nipples.

His arms were bent high behind his back, held in leather cuffs that were buckled to a strap that dropped from the back of a thick leather collar. It was obvious from the height of his wrists that it was not a comfortable position.

However Matt could not see his face. The boy’s head was completely covered by a thick leather hood that shaped itself to his face, held tight by a lacing up the back. A piece of leather was buckled over the boy’s mouth, and Matt could see that his jaw was wedged open and must be filled with a gag. There were no eyeholes, and two narrow tubes stuck out from the nose for about six inches. Matt could hear the air flowing through as the boy breathed.

He was standing against a post, and a steel bar stuck out from this and disappeared between the boy’s legs, into his shorts through a zipped opening. Matt realised that this was attached to his balls, holding him still.

His legs were held apart. His boots, laced high up his calves with neat strips of yellow cord, were clamped a foot apart by a rigid manacle made from a flat steel bar, and loops hinged around the ankles were bolted. Those legs weren’t going anywhere!

Jess, behind the counter, grinned at him.

“Yeah, he’s one of our regular Saturday boys. He’ll be around all day! Someone will have some fun with him later!”

Matt felt himself blush; he went red to the roots of his Marine-cut hair. He was embarrassed; he had not done that for years!

He turned and almost ran out of the store. Calling his thanks, he pushed through the door and found he was breathing heavily. He really ran. He kept running. Pushing himself, he was back at the base in 40 minutes. Panting and sweating, he pushed into the bunkhouse. It was empty, as the rest of the platoon was out enjoying their Saturday afternoons. Going into the latrines, he shed his jacket and splashed water onto his face. His eyes looked back at him in the mirror; there was an expression there he had never seen before. His eyes were bright, and he was flushed. Then he laid on his bunk, put his head on the pillow and let his mind drift. So many new experiences, new feelings. He was so exited.

His dick would not stop standing up, strong and hard, pulling against his jeans. He loosened his wide belt, and feverishly he wrenched down his jeans, pushing them down his legs. Immediately his dick bounced up against his belly. Almost with a will of its own, his hand moved down and stroked the hard pillar. He rubbed it and felt the waves of pleasure spark and flow. Then he began to beat his cock. Up and down. His mind flashed back to the store, and he pictured again the boy standing, tightly restrained and obviously uncomfortable. Hard and fast. Almost immediately he felt his body focus, and it seemed like the very centre of his being exploded. His belly muscles spasmed. His butt seemed to clamp together. He felt a great surge through his penis, more than he’d ever felt before. It was incredible. The cum spurted out in a great arc and landed on his face. He felt it surge though his urethra, a glorious feeling entirely new to him. Shocked and disconcerted, he licked his lips and, for the first time, tasted the salty richness of a man’s juice – his own.

He heard a laugh.

Opening his eyes, he saw Wayne. Tough, loud and always the centre of things, Wayne was his worst nightmare. Wayne was about 6’4” tall, wide shoulders with muscle showing through the neck of his shirt. A strong rib cage pulled in to a narrow, slim waist and hips. He was standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking at Matt with a wide grin on his face.

“Now I know why you are such a loner! You don’t need help to have fun.”

Matt hated himself. Why could he not just relax and laugh it off?

It was Wayne who had seen the advert for the club the previous night, and he who had led the group down into the cellar bar. He had told the group about this place, reading from the flyer he was holding and ribbing the rest of the guys – “Come on! Let’s go see what this is all about!” he had shouted. Over the next couple of days the story spread, and Matt was ribbed about the pressure needed to spray cum that far. Guys asked: “How long had it been between cumming?” Barrack room doctors called over to him, saying how bad it was for a guy to leave things so long that the pressure became dangerous. “Was he insured?”

The worst week of his life eventually passed, and the attention of the group moved on. He felt alienated from the group, very alone amongst this crowd of tough, ribald marines.

He began to think. He remembered again the expressions on his team’s faces at the guy in the club. The way they had spoken of him. Even with their laughter and jokes about the rest of the sights they had seen, the guy, hanging there and taking everything with strength and courage, had wrenched their attention and was discussed again and again between bunks in the night. Matt began to long for the kind of approbation that this guy was getting. It would make him really part of the corps. It would be like being a legend.

But he knew he could not do it. The beating that the guy had taken, without calling for it to stop, was much too much. After a week of being the butt of the jokes, he again wanted time to himself on Saturday. Pulling on his jeans and boots, he thought about the shop and the boy, standing for what might have been all day with his arms stretched back. No sight or sound would have got through that hood. He must have had a very strange and intense experience. Matt slipped on a white Tee shirt and shrugged into his old denim jacket then set off back down to the docks.

Without actually making any actual decision, his legs took him through the door and back into the wide, high warehouse space.

The same guy was on the counter, and he grinned as he recognised Matt.

“Hi, staying for a little longer this time?” he asked. “Let me show you around.”

Jess left the desk and walked over to the racks of gear. Matt drifted after him without saying anything. Jess showed him the clothing area, leather and rubber ranging from briefs through to full suits. Matt noticed a rack of straightjackets and felt his dick jump in his trousers. Then a wall covered in restraints for wrists, ankles. Wide leather collars. Networks of straps that were obviously harness like the one Jess was wearing.

Then Jess showed him a wall covered with every type of whip, paddle, strap. They were made from leather, wood, even an aluminum paddle. Matt looked around, searching for the boy. Would he be here today? Surely it had sounded like he was a regular last week.

Then he saw him. He wasn’t sure it was the same guy. He was strapped down onto a leather-topped wooden stand. His chest and belly lay on a leather-covered bench. Bent at the hips, he was kneeling on a lower section of bench. There were leather straps around his boots, thighs, waist and around his shoulders. His arms were on another pair of leather-covered rests and were clamped down with more straps around his forearms and wrists. His face was buried into a padded hole in the bench, held there by another strap around the back of his neck. He was wearing a muzzle.

He was not going anywhere!

A sign stood on the top of the racks — “Try before you buy!” — and an arrow pointing straight at the bound boy.

Jess walked over and ran his hand down the boy’s back, round the smooth, slim waist and then, with both hands he rubbed hard at the tight bubble butt sticking up.

“Always makes for a good sales day when we have the demo stand available,” he said. He began slapping the tight globes of the boy’s butt muscles, increasing the pace and force slowly till the boy was jerking in rhythm to the strokes.

“Got to keep him warm and ready, we should get some customers in soon!”

Moving away, he took Matt by the elbow and led him back across to the area with banks of leather and rubber clothing. “Do you see anything you like? Feel free to try it on for size. You’re in great shape, most of this should fit you well and look great!”

Matt found his voice. “No. It’s not like that,” he stammered. “I came in to ask about the guy in the cellar last week.” He flushed again, hung his head and breathed deeply. This was it – he had to know. “How did he get like that? How could he take that flogging without calling a halt?”

Jess stopped and looked at Matt, then realised what he was talking about.

“Ah – the challenge in the club,” he said, and then grinned. That’s Chad. He’s been doing that for three years now, and no one has yet come forward. Not surprising really. Chad has been in training for that every week for the last few years, and he really get’s off on the pain.

Matt blurted out, “I need to learn. I need to do that next time. I need to be the focus of that crowd.”

Jess took a step back and looked Matt up and down. “You serious?”

Matt nodded and then looked up into Jess’s eyes. “The guys in the squad need to see that I am as tough as the guy last week.”

Jess grinned and nodded and walked over to a door at the back. Sticking his head through he shouted, “Jim, you got a minute?”

A deep voice came echoing down the stairs “Down in 5 minutes.”

Jess led Matt back to the racks of paddles and whips near the flogging bench and said, “Try a few of these out while you wait for Jim. He owns the place, and you need to talk with him.” Leaving Matt, he moved back to his counter.

Matt looked at the racks and identified a wide, leather-covered wooden paddle. It was one of the many used the previous week in the cellars. Picking it up, he weighed it in his hands and then began to tap his open left palm.

“I meant try them on the boy, not yourself!” Jess called.

Moving over to the bench, Matt began to swing the paddle, getting the feel of it. Then he swallowed a couple of times and began to tap the hard butt that was offered up in front of him.

“Harder!” he heard.

Working one side then the other, he increased the power behind his stroke and the boy began to wriggle in his bonds.

Un-noticed behind him, a tall, heavily built man had come down into the store and was talking quietly with Jess at the counter. He walked over to Matt and stood behind him. He was dressed in a tight leather Polo shirt and leather Jeans. They emphasised the heavy musculature, his thick shoulders, the arms knotted with muscle and his forearms that were corded and hard.

He watched for a while, sizing Matt up and liking what he saw. A tall, very fit young guy, marine buzz haircut in jeans and denim jacket who was starting to swing the paddle harder as he got used to the sound and feel of the impact.

“Keep going,” he said.

Matt jumped and dropped his hand.

“Keep the rhythm and build the intensity over time.”

Matt raised his arm again and started swinging again. He heard a muffled moan from the muzzled head.

“Ignore that,” said the big guy. “It’s irrelevant but does tell you that the effect is working. The idea is to slowly build the pain level. By doing that, you can get to a level that is well above what people expect.”

Matt turned and said, “That is what I was asking the other guy. How can I learn? I need to be ready for next year in the cellar.”

Jim looked into Matt’s eyes and said, “If you’ve got the courage, we sure can help! It will take your spare time for the next year.”

“I can do Saturday through the day and the night,” answered Matt. “We are stationed as guards to the academy across town. It’s closed up at the weekend, so we get regular time off.”

“Well, let’s see about the courage and check what you can take now,” said Jim. “Meanwhile we need to just finish with the boy, you can’t leave a job half done.”

He went over to the racks and picked up a flogger. A thick handle on a swivel fitted into his large hand and 10 or 15 strips of leather dangled down from his fist.

He began to wheel it over his shoulders in a circular motion, then letting it land on the boy’s shoulders. The muscles in the boy’s back, arms and legs went tense. Jim slowly increased the tempo and began to use the full force of his arm as he moved the impact point across the shoulders and upper back.

The boy began to moan and wriggle but could do nothing about it. The muzzle stopped any words from coming out. His back began to turn first pink and then a deeper red.

After about five minutes, Jim stopped and then rubbed his large hands over the boy’s back.

“That’s got him warmed up and ready for the next customer!”

A long, loud moan came from the muzzled mouth, and Jim laughed.

Jim put his arm over Matt’s shoulders and led him over to the door at the back of the store. On the way he lifted a heavy piece of leather down from a rack. It was covered in straps and had two rows of rings down one side with lacing through it.

He led Matt into another large room. It was full of all kinds of equipment — benches, slings, pillars. A staircase led downstairs to the cellars Matt had been in last week.

Brick walls contrasted with a concrete floor that had a large drain in the centre.

“There’s two kinds of pain,” he said. “There’s fast pain like we were giving the boy out front, and slow pain that can build over time in the muscles. How you handle it is a combination of your pain threshold and mental attitude. How strong the mind is and how it fights. Let’s see what your starting point is. Slip your jacket off.”

Matt swallowed. This was going fast. Taking the plunge, he slipped off his denim jacket and laid it onto a bench beside him.

Jim picked up the heavy black leather. “This is a single arm binder. It holds your arms together behind your back. Sounds simple, huh?”

He turned Matt around and pulled his arms behind his back, slipping them into the leather binder. Matt felt his hands slide down through the cool leather tube and then had to wriggle them past a narrow part.

“Clamp your fingers together,” said Jim.

Matt put his hands together and linked his fingers, then felt a strap tighten around his wrists. Then his arms were pulled together and he felt strain in his shoulders. Steadily the pressure increased, and he felt his forearms getting closer as he heard the laces being pulled tighter.

“Just get the straps tight first,” said Jim, and Matt felt the pressure harden around his upper arms. Then he felt and heard the laces being pulled steadily tighter again. Two straps were led over his shoulders, and Jim crossed them over his chest and buckled them back onto the lower side of the binder.

“That stops you getting out!” he said and chuckled.

“Shit,” thought Matt, this is really happening! His chest was stretched tight, he felt his nipples harden and rub against his Tee shirt. His shoulders were tight back.

Jim led him over to a leather-covered table. “Bend over and lie on the table,” he said. Matt swallowed and did as he was told. He felt his boots being lifted and then a tightness around his ankles. He realised that a pair of wide cuffs were being strapped on over his boots. Then he felt one boot being pulled back toward his hands and heard the snap of a padlock. Then the other followed. Another padlock snapped.

He was hog-tied! His boots were shackled to the end of his arms. His back was slightly arched.

As Jim let go of his boots, he felt the pressure on his shoulders increase. He twisted his head around and looked at Jim, who was grinning as he surveyed the immobilised marine.

“So,” he said, “now we test both your mind and your tolerance levels. You need to tell me when you’ve had enough. But at that point I will leave you another hour, so you need to imagine how you will feel and then call the shots on how long you can take it. By the way, the boy out in the store can do this all night! I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Matt lay and began to explore the feelings coming from his body.

His shoulders were pulled way back, his chest was tight and the muscles stretched. His upper arms were held wrenched together by the top strap around his biceps. His elbows were nearly touching, as another strap around his forearms was pulling them hard.

The tightness in his chest was being enhanced by the way his body was arching from the pull on his legs. His belly was tight.

This was no joke!

He was already aching and uncomfortable. How long had Jim said? The boy could take this all night? How long could he do this?

Then he realised – it really was a test. If he flunked it, then he had no chance of getting the training and experience he needed for next year. He set his teeth. He would show this Jim guy, he was a marine and no wimp!

After a short time the tightness in his shoulders started to build. They started to burn, and stabbing pains began to run across his chest and into his shoulder joints. “Fuck!” What on earth was he doing? Why was he here?

He focused his mind, putting an image of the guy hanging from his bonds and taking slice after slice of the flogging. “That’s what it’s all about,” he said to himself.

Time passed, and the stress in his shoulders built. It became real pain. It throbbed across his neck and into the tops of his arms. Looking around, he could not see a clock or any sign of how much time had passed.

He began to explore how much he could relieve the tension. By lifting his feet and arching his back, he could reduce the pressure on his arms, but not for long. His back muscles would give out and his feet, weighed by the heavy boots, would drop, and the full pressure came back into his arms. He could wriggle from side to side, taking more pressure on one side and then the other. He began to rotate through the movements, holding each one for as long as possible.

After what seemed like hours, he heard the door open and Jim walked in front of him.

“Well that’s your first hour,” he said. “Remember – when you tell me you’ve had enough you get another hour just like that one!”

Matt swore at him, telling Jim to “Fuck off and leave me be!”

Jim laughed. “OK, I will be back in another hour.”

Matt felt his heart began to thump. Another hour – he would have to take it! No way would he admit this was too much for him.

His shoulders began to spasm into cramps. He had to grit his teeth to stop himself from calling out and making this stop! He felt his mind begin to float. The pain became general from shoulders right across his chest. His elbows were sending shafts of pain back up his arms. Even his knees were starting to fight back. He closed his eyes and began to think of his squad mates. What they would say when he walked up to the front next year? He kept pushing that image to the front of his mind.

Then he felt his dick harden. What was this? Why was he feeling that way? Then he remembered the orgasm the previous week – could he do that again, here, now? As he writhed on the table, the movement kept rubbing his engorged cock and sent wild signals back to his brain. Then suddenly he realised that if he came now, the pain might get worse. He new that the feelings that were coming from his groin were part of what was keeping him going.

Suddenly he was wrenched back from his internal world as he felt someone rubbing his shoulders and running their hands over his chest. He opened his eyes, and there was Jim.

“Had enough yet?” he said.

Matt shook his head, turned away and closed his eyes again. Jim was impressed. This kid was serious. By this time, most guys had been weeping and calling for release. It was now two hours down the line and no sign of giving in!

Matt felt tears starting to form in his eyes. He tried to brush them away by rubbing his face into the leather of the table. It was no good. He was near the end. Had he done enough? Had he passed the test? He didn’t know. His mind started to float.

When he next felt Jim rubbing his arms, he opened his mouth to shout out for release, and then doubt ran through his mind – all night? Did Jim really mean that the boy could do this all night? How could he be taken seriously if he gave in now? No. He would hold out.

Turning away again, he began to pull his arms, yanking them back to release some of this damnable pressure.

Jim was astounded but left him to it. Then Matt suddenly remembered – after he gave up he would have to take another hour! SHIT! Panic struck, and he started to writhe to and fro. He opened his mouth and shouted – “Come back! Let me out of here now!”

Jim stopped, turned back and walked round in front of Matt. He looked at the young man in front of him – he was twisting and turning and shouting, clearly now over the edge and out of control, his face was writhing with the pain of his arms. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

God – he loved his life!

“Remember, I said another hour, then I let you out. But I will let your legs down.”

He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and went round and opened the padlocks holding Matt’s boots to the ring at the end of the arm binder. As his legs went straight, Matt felt his back muscles cramp together. A new pain!

It hardly seemed to help. His shoulders were raging at him. He drifted.

Then he felt a pull on the strap round his biceps – it was being tightened! He began to squirm and shout.

He heard Jim’s voice – “Stop it, trust me.” Then the pressure reduced. He heard and felt the lacing being undone. The strap around his forearms went slack.

PAIN

Blood was flowing back through his muscles and into his shoulders. This was worst of all! He felt the big hands massage the muscles around his neck. Then his hands were loose, and he felt the binder being pulled off. It was over. But had he passed the test? Was he a wimp or a man?

He opened his eyes to see Jim. “Lie on your back and I will give you a massage,” he said.

Matt rolled over, pulling his shoulders forward against the tightness across his back and felt the strong hands move over his arms, chest and shoulders, helping the blood surge back. He gritted his teeth, and more tears sprang from his eyes. He felt ashamed. Then elated as he heard Jim speak.

“You did well.”

Had he heard that right?

“Yes,” said Jim. “Very well for a first time – we might be able to get you ready in a year.”

Matt lay back and closed his eyes. His shoulders burned, and he felt a flush as the words sank in. He opened his eyes and looked around. Jim had gone. He slid off the table and began to swing his arms around, wheeling them from side to side to get the blood moving better. He tried a few of his morning exercises, press-ups with first both arms and then 10 each with one arm only. He felt the usual burn, but it helped to get the blood flowing. After 10 minutes, he felt able to move and, slipping his jacket over his shoulders, headed out of the door into the main store area.

Then it struck him – it was dark outside! How long had he been lying there on that table? There were about 20 people, mainly guys but also some girls, wandering around the big space fingering the merchandise. Someone was more than fingering the boy – he was still on the bench strapped down. The cheeks of his backside were now glowing red and there were steaks across from a cane. A biker in full leather gear was working away by the boy’s butt. Matt was intrigued and moved over to see better. The biker was slowly pushing a large butt plug into his arse. It had a wide body that narrowed to a thin neck with a flat round plate at the end. Steadily pushing and turning it, the biker worked it in further and further. Suddenly the boy gave a loud shout, and the butt plug slid in past his sphincter.

Matt felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Jim.

“Well – are you coming back?” he asked.

 

To be continued …

 

Note from Metal: This is a re-posting of a story that originally appeared under the author name of Sailing Master. Keep checking back for more chapters.