By Pickle

~ Chapter 11 ~

Once secured tightly in the front seat of the SUV again, I was only half-listening to Hernandez and Gunnerson discussing how screwed I was going to be today, and that it was going to be chest day at the gym, and that Hernandez was going to put me through that.  The half of my brain that wasn’t listening to their constant banter was wondering exactly what shit they were going to do to me.  I was beginning to think of it as “extreme hazing” and I had to admit to myself a small dark and twisted part of me was liking the masculinity, toughness and brotherhood of what these macho behemoths were putting me through.  Even in as much pain as I am, I realized I was starting to look forward to them roughing me up, and having their sadistic fun with me.  I guess I was even beginning to realize these guys maybe even liked me a little … maybe they just enjoy knocking the crap outta me though, who knows?  Oh well, whatever, it’s now obvious to me that I don’t have a choice, and that this seems like it’s going to be my life for a long time.  It’s like being in a bondage prison but so far I get to go home at night.

I’m knocked out of my reverie when the truck rolls to a stop outside the barn and Gunnerson says, “Hey Pick!  Just got a text from “The Boss”.  He says to take it a little easy on ya today.  Just scarecrow you, take you to the gym, then bring you back here and put you on the rack to get two more years out of you.  We drew up the new contracts last night before we left, Dill.  We’re gonna enjoy breaking you again.  Hell, maybe we’ll even dislocate those shoulders for ya today, and let you suffer for a few minutes before we put ‘em back in for ya.  That’s actually part of the initiation for our Tier 1 Seals.  I know we’re not making a real Seal outta you, but there’s no harm in toughening you up like one, Pick!

I try not to show any response at all to his words, but I’m sure I shudder, even though I’m too sore to really tell.  This was the first I’d heard anything about “The Boss”, and I wondered who in the Hell he might be.

Hernandez unstraps me from the seat and the two Navy Seals drag me up the hill … each guy has me under the arm pit and my wrists are cuffed behind.  “Ok Dill, we’re gonna light you up like you were last night, the last time you were on the table.” says Hernandez.  Even though “The Boss” wants us to take it a little easy on ya, he still wants to see you really squirmin’ up there today, Bo.

With this they tie me to the crossbar that’s waiting on those sawhorses again.  They must have left it ready for me whenever they got the last guy down yesterday.  Seems they meant it when they told me they have a scarecrow up pretty much from dawn till nightfall.  Once I’m tied at the armpits and elbows they each take an end of the crossbar and pick me up, flipping me over onto my gut.  Gunnerson reaches around and undoes my jeans and yanks my pants down.  Hernandez has been lubing up the plug, and once my jeans are down doesn’t bother to prepare me, and shoves the plug in hard.  While I’m still face down they apply the pads to the back of my thighs and calves, and I feel four more go on my back.  Once that’s been accomplished, they again pick me up by the crossbar and flip me over belly-up and lay me flat on the ground.  They wire my nuts and put the sound into my cock slit, and then wire up my cock again.  I’m beginning to learn this routine.  Then they unbutton my shirt and place the pads on my abs and attach electro alligator clips to my nipples.  My shirt gets buttoned back up to just above my navel, and to my surprise when they pull up my jeans they tuck my shirt in before they zip me up.  I’m then lugged over to the big upright 8 X 8 and hung in place.  Gunnerson climbs the ladder this time, and bolts the crossbeam in place.  He skips the weights on my wrists this time and I remember them telling me “The Boss” wanted them to take it easy on me today.  I’m sure I must have smirked at the thought of “yeah right … no weight on my wrists … real “easy” … whoopee!”

I knew before they even began to put the weight on the spreader bar on my ankles, that I was well and truly fucked.  Hernandez says, “He had a hundred on him yesterday right? Let’s see how he does with a hundred fifty.”  And with that they add the weights.  The weight immediately starts pulling my abs and ribs apart and I try to lift my legs up onto the peg on the upright pole.  With a huge effort I didn’t even know I had left in me, I manage to just barely get the spreader bar onto it.  Gunnerson steps up and lifts it right back out again.  “Ok Smartass, try it again!”  They let me struggle to no avail for a few minutes and have a good laugh at my predicament before attaching the wires to two remote Estim units.  Taping one to each leg.  Before turning them on they tell me “The Boss” wants you really squirming today, Pick.  He said since this shirt you’ve got on has longer tails than any you’ve had on so far, that he wants to see how long it takes for your shirt to untuck itself. We’ll use the resulting time on you later.  It’s in your best interest to squirm ‘em out as fast as you can.  The electro and the hundred and fifty pounds ought to help you out.  Your four hours up there starts once your shirttails come out.  You understand boy?  I nod, and then Gunnerson turns the Estim units on.  I find out immediately that their dials are at least as high as when I was getting zapped last evening.

“Have fun Dill!” Hernandez shouts, and they both chuckle as they walk away down the hill.  I’m left behind on the cross, in a world of pain and feeling like my brain is going to explode from the overload of horrible sensations. They are indeed training me to take pain.  I know I’m stuck here until the four hours PLUS is up, and wonder how long it’ll take before my shirttails are flapping in the pretty heavy breeze up here on top of the hill. Hanging high on the cross the breeze is just that much stronger.

It doesn’t take long before my ribs feel like they’re being separated and pulled down to my ankles, and my gut sinks in from the stretch the weights are putting on me.  My body is also involuntarily jerking from all the electro stimulation, “Fuck, it feels more like true electrocution today!” and I hope that one of my torturers are actually keeping a close eye on me, so they know when my four hours is actually supposed to start.

Through the Hell I’m experiencing I’m starting to wish I was dead.  Breathing is becoming more and more difficult as the minutes tick by.  It seems like a hundred years before one half of the front of my shirt is hanging out, and another hundred before the other half is out in front.  It’s then that I realize just how fucked I am, and that it’s going to take some real effort, or some real stretching for the back of my shirt to untuck.  I’m going to be hanging here a LOT longer than four hours.  “Take it a little easy on ya”, yeah right!  Bullshit!

The intense electro does make me thrash around and squirm, as much as dangling here with a hundred and fifty pounds pulling on me, and my restraints will allow that is, and eventually by some miracle my shirt is completely untucked.  I then hear a voice on a speaker somewhere on the ground say, “Your four hours starts now, Pickle.  And by the way son, you’re showin’ up real nice from the road in that shirt, just thought you should know boy.”

The early morning coolness quickly warms up and before long I’m sweating like a pig up on the post and feeling like I’m going to fry.  The exertion, the pain, and the heat cause me to go in and out of consciousness while I’m makin’ like a scarecrow.  The pain is far beyond anything I could ever start to articulate … bad enough if I was still fresh and not feeling the accumulation of the punishments I’ve taken over the past few days, but since I haven’t been given a chance to recover at all, it’s unbearable.   Thing is, somehow I have to find it in me to take it … I have no choice.

Four hours, plus however long it took for my shirttails to untuck felt more like four thousand years, but eventually I see Moore and MacKinnon climbing the hill from the barn.  I’ve never been so glad to see anyone.  The two Elite Seals get me down and with an arm over each of their shoulders I’m dragged down to the barn.

 

~ Chapter 12 ~

This time instead of throwing me on a bondage table in the “Resting Room”, they carry me down a set of stairs and into a small cell, one of ten I’m to learn later.  The cell is just large enough for a cot and a prison toilet/sink combination.  MacKinnon hands me a bottle of water and tells me to down it.  Moore enters the cell carrying a heavy duty set of five-point metal restraints.  Mac holds me down as Moore applies them to me.  At this point I had absolutely no strength and no fight left in me, so MacKinnon’s job is easy.  I do manage to take a quick glance around the cell and notice the cell door has a small metal window at face height but it’s closed from the outside of the cell, and a shallow slit at the bottom of it, which is also closed.

Once I’m in the shackles, they leave the cell and slam the door behind them.  I’m left in pitch darkness. In spite of the long ordeal on the cross and the roughness of being tossed in the cell and manacled, I’m horny, and since I’m in the dark, I unbutton my shirt and pull it to my sides and then pull down my fly to relieve my pent up horniness that day had left me with.  It doesn’t take long before the warm, salty jizz hits my chest, and chin.  Some of it even landed on my lower lip so I lick it off, then rub the rest into my face, chest and abs.  I clean it off my dick and I’m asleep before I even zip up my fly.

I have a dream about Moore in an electric blue shirt scarecrowed on the cross, sweating, suffering, screaming and squirming, looking studly as Hell up there … I awake to my cock pointing straight up to the ceiling, and rub another one out while I’m thinking about watching Moore getting tortured.  It’s kind of odd though because in my thoughts his face keeps switching back and forth between his own and mine.  I guess my subconscious is telling me either I want to be just like him, or that I’m already starting to be turned into that.  Again, it didn’t take long to wind up with a load all over my chest and abdomen.  I smear the stuff over my torso, clean off my fuck stick and rub it into my face … I’m surprised by the amount of stubble but then remember I hadn’t shaved in a few days.  Then blissful blackness.

 

~ Chapter 13 ~

(Day 4)

I have no idea how long I slept but I know I was totally spent, so it could have been thirty minutes, a couple hours, or a couple days.  I awaken feeling somewhat refreshed mentally, but my body is in agony.  I’m awake for a while before I realize there’s something on my cock.  I put a hand on my crotch and feel something unfamiliar.  I undo my jeans and check again.  There’s a short metallic cover over my penis and squeezing me around the base of my balls.  I start to get nervous, but with all the sensory and pain overload of the past few days my brain must be misreading things because my joystick starts to get hard.  Then my prick starts feeling like it’s wrapped up in a tight bed of nails.  “Holy FAAWK!  I’m locked in a spiked cock cage!”  just then a jolt of electricity surges from my balls to the tip of my dick, and seems to ricochet from one spike inside the thing to another.  Then another zap worse than the first but going from the tip of my dick to the base of my balls this time.  Then nothing.  They just gave me enough so I’d know this was a remote device, but how did they know I’d just discovered it?

I sit in darkness for what felt like an hour, but with the fear I now had in my gut, “how long would these sadists leave this contraption on me?”, it could have been five minutes or even less.  My sense of time was totally fucked up.  “Was this the same day they put me on the cross and tucked my shirt in for that little test, or had I been in this cell overnight, or longer?”

Just then the slit at the bottom of the cell door slides open casting a bit of light.  Even that small sliver of light hurts my eyes after having been in the pitch dark for however long it was.  I hear, “Nice show Pickleboy!  The Boss approved! ” and recognize MacKinnon’s voice.  A tray is then pushed under the door and into the cell.  Next the upper window in the door is opened, so at least I can find the food on the tray, unappetizing as it looks.  I wonder when I might see any light again, so I steal a quick look around my cell again, and this time I notice the cameras partially embedded in each corner of the ceiling.

I’m starving, so at this point I don’t give a shit that these guys watched me jerk off.  I wolf down the food and push the empty tray back out under the door before it dawns on me … OMG, they likely broadcast everything in the cells to their subscribers.

I hear footsteps, then the small window closes and again I’m left in the dark, but since I was stripped of my watch and phone before they strung me up on the cross, I have no idea of the time or even the day, so when they eventually come for me I’m hoping it’s to take me home.

It turns out to be Hernandez and Mac.  The upper window slides open and my eyes are met with the blinding light of a military issue LED flashlight.  I’m told to turn around, spread my legs as much as possible and put my nose on the wall … “and keep ‘em there Maggot shit!”  They enter my cell, MacKinnon who’s even stronger than he looks, puts me in a head lock and half-drags me up the steps, still sporting my five-ways, into the galley area.  There’s masculine laughter and a bunch of jokes about my “situation” in the cell yesterday.  I blush easily, so I know I turned beet red, and also realized that I had been here overnight.  My blushing just inspired more jokes out of my “captors” but in spite of myself I kind of liked the ribbing I was taking from them.  I can give back as good as anyone sends, but I thought it unwise in my present situation.  God knows, I didn’t need any more demerits!

I hear Hernandez say we’ll have to make up for missing his chest workout soon.  MacKinnon then unceremoniously plunks me into a chair at the side of the room and begins to unlock my shackles from my neck and wrists.  As he’s doing so I take a quick mental attendance of the guys in the room, and all the guards except for Sutherland are there. Since I’m wondering who all’s in the room I’m not really paying attention, and suddenly Mac’s big paws  lift me up by the front of my shirt and he screams in my face to freeze.  He pulls my arms behind me, re-locking my cuffs and then pulls the collar that’s been waiting on the chair back around my neck.  I’m still in the five-points but now they’re on with my arms behind me.  I’m standing, but have to bend my knees with the chains attached this way.

“So Pickle!  How do you like your new gift from The Boss?”  It’s Moore chuckling as he asks.  “Just a little more needling than we’re givin’ ya, huh?”  The room erupts in laughter, and I blush even more than before.  I ask when they’ll take it off of me and suddenly get a jolt from the cock cage that knocks me to the floor.  Gunnerson lifts me onto my feet and says, “I guess that’s The Boss’s way of telling you it’s up to him.”  Again laughter from the entire room.

Fulton comes up behind me and suddenly I feel a strong, sharp buzz at the back of my neck.  “Fuck!  He’s zapping me!”  He zaps me again, and  yells “MARCH!” into my ear.  My patience is short and I’ve got a bit of a smart ass streak that’s on “automatic”, so without thinking I yell back, “APRIL!”  It at least gets a laugh from everyone but Fulton. I don’t have to guess he’s not amused since the prongs are pushed deep into the nape of my neck and I feel a long ZAAAAAP from the taser and also my cock feels like it’s lit up like 4th of July fireworks in some big American city.  I crumple to the floor and lie there for about thirty seconds till Fulton lifts me onto my feet this time, and asks, “Do I need to use it again?”  I snap back “Sir, no SIR!” sounding for all the World like a real military recruit who’d been brainwashed in Boot Camp.  I began to move toward the door with Fulton pushing the taser into the back of my neck.  When I felt both prongs it meant “go straight”,  the left prong meant he wanted me to turn that way, and the right prong the other.  He marched me down to the end of the driveway and had me turn left and walk down the public road fully chained.  I was terrified someone I knew might drive by and see me in shackles.  The thought of that got my cock active enough that I was feeing the pins all around my shaft and the tip.  I didn’t give a shit about being seen in my sleeveless shirt at this point.

Fulton says, “look up the hill, Dill” and snorts at his little rhyme, “See … Moore’s not the only one of us that gets the treatment.”  I can just make out Sutherland doing his best scarecrow impression … he’s wearing a very bright pink sleeveless shirt.  So bright that it’s impossible not to see the guy, and I’m hearing deep masculine screams coming all the way down the hill from the cross.  Fulton notices the look on my face, and he says, “Don’t worry Timbo, he’s just allergic to wearing pink!” and chuckles again.  I know he’s joking, and whatever they’re doing to the poor dude up there, has to be worse than anything they’ve done to me on it yet.

I start to feel the pins in my chastity device dig in harder at the sight of Sutherland’s plight and suddenly get a jolt that nearly makes me collapse again and I hear a hearty laugh.  “You get hard enough in that thing, and a notification goes out to the electronics of everyone in charge of the recruits … that’s us, The Boss, and Troy.  We sometimes auction off the chance to zap a guy for a certain amount of time to one of the subscribers too.  The winner gets a little blinking flag that comes up on their screen every time a guy’s cock starts to swell and is touching the pins.  Then they nail ya if they see the flag.  It’s kind of like that test the ophthalmologist gives ya, where you watch for the little blinking light in different parts of the screen.  Sometimes you happen to get a nice subscriber who takes pity on a guy and lets you off the hook now and then when they see the flag, but most of the subscribers tend to be pretty damned sadistic and nail ya every time and then some!”  I can’t help but snicker at this prick telling me the subscribers can be sadistic.

Fulton keeps one massive fist around my chains at the back of my neck, and pulls out his phone with the other,  He fiddles around with the device for a few seconds and brings up first a view of Sutherland from the foot of the cross to the top, and then zooms in further, so I can see what’s making the soldier scream like that.  First thing I notice is a belt of some kind around his waist at about the navel and then I see his junk is hanging out of his jeans and he’s got the same cock cage on that I’m wearing.  There are also weight plates hanging from his balls … from the phone I can’t tell how much weight, but Fulton informs me it’s three ten pound plates.  I can see wires protruding from the bottom of Sutherland’s jeans, so I know he’s hooked up for the full electro treatment beyond the cock cage.

Then Fulton zooms in on Sutherland’s bare feet and I see there’s a wide strap across the top of each foot, it looks like some kind of sandal, and I can just make out some kind of metal sole on the bottoms of his feet.  Fulton explains that the apparatus is set up so it can push long thumbtack-like nails into any area of the soles of the foot.  The nails are dull so they don’t break the flesh, but they still feel like finishing nails are being hammered into the soles of your feet.  The device is WIFI controlled, and it’s The Boss who is presently having his fun with Sutherland.  I’m told that the device completely covers every millimeter of the soles, and each pin can activate alone, or in small groups, or random pins all over the soles.  It also can be activated for electro torture mode.

Fulton has obviously taken this torture since he tells me what Sutherland is likely taking right now is the finishing nail being pushed into the foot mode, and it feels like walking on a thumbtack but it keeps happening over and over. Each pin is electrified so you get a stinging zap from each pin too.  The pressure into your soles is random, so you can’t get used to how far the pin is going to jab into your foot, and obviously  … you can’t get away from it either.  I’m told that sometimes the pins push more forcefully than others, so you can’t prepare yourself for it. On the program it’s now on, he’ll have every nail on the thing rammed into his feet before the program finishes.  He tells me that The Boss might then decide to control it himself manually, or repeat the same program, or set it to run on the other mode.  I feel the pins in my new chastity device press into my budding boner and then … ZAAAAP!  If Fulton hadn’t had his mitt around the chain just under my heavy metal collar, I’d have involuntarily hit the dirt.  I can’t help but wonder who’s watching for my “little flag” to come up on their screen.

In the second mode the pins on the sandals press into the feet in pairs, randomly spaced … it could be half an inch, could be a quarter inch, could be an inch.  Could be two inches, or one in the ball of your foot and one on the heel.  It feels like you’re walking on electrified razor blades and your feet are being sliced over and over till the program finally ends, or until whoever is running the controls is done with you.

Fulton informed me that Sutherland was being punished on the orders of The Boss. He told me that Sutherland likes his beer, and he was late for his shift a few times last week.  With this he holds up his hand and shows me the black rubber ring on his finger … fitted so there’s no way it can come off over the knuckle.  “See Timbo, we get tracked too.”

“Since Sutherland enjoys his beer … he’s not an alcoholic, just a “hobbyist”’ he chuckles ….”we call him “Sudsy””.  He told me I should try calling him that sometime to see just how much he likes hearing it out of a recruit’s pie hole.  Fulton emitted a deep, masculine giggle at the thought of how that would go over, and what it might get a recruit like me.  With this he gives me a now familiar jab with the taser to get me moving back toward the long driveway, but instead of continuing to the barn and parking we take a left not far up the drive.  I’d only just noticed this narrow cowpath today on my way down the hill, while being jabbed with the taser.

 

~ Chapter 14 ~

Part-way down the lane Mac is waiting for us.  “So Pickle … what did you think of Sudsy’s reprimand?  See what happens to ya when you’re late a few times?”  He winks at Fulton and takes hold of me at the armpit.  Fulton then does the same on my other side.  They hussle me, as much as my fetters allow, down the path.  It opens to a flat field that’s cleared to the same public road.  I see several hefty looking structures made from 8 X 8 pressure treated lumber.  There are five single posts.  A thing that looks like it could be the frame for a gazebo built to withstand a hurricane.  Three structures with two posts and a crossbeam between them, all of different widths and all about ten feet high.  I then spy a mud pit with four winches that are attached to posts with arms extending over the pit, strengthened by a diagonal beam between the main post and the arm.  These are spaced around the pit at 12:00, 3:00, 6:00 and 9:00 o’clock.

The field itself is possibly ten feet higher than the roadside, with the rise up to it a gentle slope from the road itself.  These structures are positioned so they’re much closer to the road than the now familiar cross in the other field.  Fulton notices the look on my face, and the two behemoths realize my sudden struggling is involuntary on my part.  Just a reaction to the visual I’m taking in, and what I realize its total exposure means.  “Fuck! I thought I was on display on the cross … but this is crazy!”  I was horrified, but yet I felt my joystick begin to respond.  Again … ZAAAAP!  And my two captors laugh loudly.  No way they’re going to get away with attaching a guy to any of these structures without it causing cops to come investigate and shut down all of this insanity.  Any guy on any one of them is totally visible to the road without anyone even trying to look.

“Mac” reads my mind and says, “Don’t you worry Timmy boy, we’re going to plant a hedgerow along the road there, so eventually passersby won’t be able to see a thing.  For now though, till you recruits get it planted for us, we’ve got a few ideas on how to keep the curious public from calling the cops, and if they do, no real worries Pick, it’s no big deal.  We’ve had a little chat with the Chief, and told him we’re training some potential recruits from around the area to see if they’re made of what it takes.  Just basically guys from the gym who are curious to see if they’re man enough to get through some of the “R” part of SERE Training.  He’s instructed his force to ignore any calls pertaining to our little boot camp here.  A few of ‘em have stopped in after a report, out of curiosity, just to see what’s up, and what might be happening to one or more of you “volunteers”.  So far they just kind of get that funny smirk on their faces that says, “poor fucker!” but you can tell there’s a macho part of them that would sorta like to be in the same fix.  At least to give it a short try to see what they can take.  So they chat for a few minutes while watching you guys suffer, and then off they go. No problems at all so far.”

As he’s telling me all of that, the two gorillas are walking me toward one of the single posts.  It’s about twelve feet high and has a winch, at the top on each of it’s four sides.  I immediately get the picture and wonder what it looks like with a guy attached to each winch.  Before they push my nose against the side facing the road, Fulton begins to unlock my collar.  I notice some gear already placed behind the post, and something that looks like the back of one of those signs that sprout up on people’s lawns before an election, but one of the larger ones.

When my collar comes off Mac holds me in place by exerting more force than is really needed between my shoulder blades, basically gluing my chest to the post.  Again … ZAAAAP! Giving me away.  They both laugh and Fulton continues to unlock the rest of my cuffs after that.  Once the five-points are off, Fulton applies a hefty set of leather suspension cuffs to my wrists.  They’re well padded, enough so that even though he really cranks the straps tight I can tell the padding will prevent circulation problems.  They are almost like sleeves, and extend from the base of my wrist up my forearms about six inches.  They each have a heavy duty D ring at the top by the palms of my hands.  Mac then turns me around as Fulton lowers the rope and carabiner from the winch at the top of the post.  Mac raises my arms and I hear the click as the link closes.  Then there’s the “click … click … click” of the winch as my arms are pulled up.  They stop before I feel any stretch on them yet though.

I’m going nowhere now, so the two goons step back about ten feet and pretend to admire me.  “Yeah, you’re gonna look great from the road, Pick!  This bright mustard coloured shirt’s gonna catch lots of attention, boy.”  They both laugh at Fulton’s little poke at me.  “Guess we should finish the job here huh Mac!”  It’s more a statement than a question.

Mac grabs a wide spreader bar, again it’s a barbell that’s had attachment points welded onto it.  Fulton kicks my legs wide and each guy puts a leather cuff on my ankles and then hooks me onto the bar, with my legs spread out a good four feet.  It already stretches my inner thigh muscles and I figure there will be weights, just as while I’m scaredcrowed on the cross in the other field.

The winch clicks, and my arms are pulled up enough to get me about eight inches off the ground. ZAAAAP!  Again betrayed, but this time it’s all I can do not to shoot my load.  In the past few days I’ve discovered my cock seems to like something about hanging helplessly.  They put some plates on each end of the barbell and remove my shoes and socks.  They each grab a foot and begin to tickle and scrape my soles with their fingernails for a few seconds, just to see if they get any response.   … They do!!!

I’m not ticklish per se, but I can’t stand anyone touching my feet.  I once kicked a massage therapist accidentally when she went from massaging my calves to suddenly begin doing reflexology, without warning me first.  My reflexes just made me kick, and I got her in the nose.  I felt horrible about it, but at least I didn’t break it.

Since I try to pull away, they mess with my feet longer and they both get this shit-eating grin on their faces.  “Bo my boy.  I’m afraid you’re really NOT going to enjoy your morning, bud.”  Fulton disappears behind me and he produces the fiendish apparatus that I just saw on his phone when he zoomed in on “Sudsy’s” feet.  I start to squirm vigorously, even though I know I can’t escape this sadistic fate.

Each guy takes one of the “sandals” and attaches it to my feet.  It’s clamped on, much like ski boots and I can feel the edges of the sides of my feet pushing against a narrow shelf inside the device.  Fulton says, “So now you see why I showed you Sudsy’s punishment!”

I’m cringing at the thought of what’s about to happen to me and squirming hard as I hang there, much to the delight of Fulton and Mac.  “Seems like he really doesn’t like this morning’s activity, huh Fulton?”  They laugh and Mac grabs the sign I saw.  It had been lying face-down in the earth behind the post.  Before he uses a large mallet to install it into the ground beside my post, he shows it to me, with a huge grin on his face, and tells me to read it out loud.  I hear myself saying, “Dill Pickle lost a bet … So don’t help him out.  Just let him “DILL” with it!”  Both guys laugh, but I’m not laughing at all.  I notice my cock twitch though, and damn it … ZAAAAAP!  Somebody’s paying attention to that little flag on their screen.  Mac then pounds the sign into the ground, a few feet off to my right and a little in front of the post.  As he’s doing this Fulton says to me, “this way any curious town folk who might stop, will hopefully mind their own business, and just leave ya hangin’ up there, Timbo.” He chuckles out, “Guess Dill Pickle’s got himself in a real pickle, huh Mac?”

He returns to the rope on the winch and starts raising me to the top of the post.  “They’ll see ya better like this, Timbo!”  Once I’m hanging in place, Mac tells me that I’ve got a hundred and fifty pounds on the spreader bar, “so it’s gonna be a great core workout for ya, Dill!”  He then further explains the “sandals” operation, telling me that they are controlled from a computer in the barn, or an app on their phones, and that The Boss also has control of them.  They’re set up just like my cock cage.  “The Boss should be just about through playing with Sudsy by now, so you’re next on his agenda Dill!”

They begin to walk back to the cow path and Mac calls out over his shoulder, “Have fun Pick!  We’ll be back in a couple hours or so.  Remember you still owe Hernandez that upper body workout this afternoon.”  They’re maybe twenty feet toward the path when a car goes by.  It slows down and gives a couple honks.  The guys both give them a hearty wave and big, affable grins, and the car honks again and keeps going.  A few seconds later and I’m left hanging there alone, already suffering from the weight that’s ripping me apart, and wondering when the sadistic sandals are going to start up.

I count eleven cars going by.  Eight of them slowed down to get a good look, and half of those honked at me. Three more honked but kept moving.  I can’t believe people’s mentality … can’t believe that nobody was upset enough by what they were seeing to stop and try to help me.  I know in large cities people often don’t want to get involved in the plight of another human being, shutting their eyes to things, often stepping around and sometimes over the homeless, ignoring a woman’s screams from a parking lot, etc.  Outside a relatively small town, I didn’t expect people to be this indifferent to my predicament though.  I can’t believe I’m in full view like this but basically being ignored by any possible help.

 

~ Chapter 15 ~

I figure I’ve been hanging there at least ten minutes when I hear a couple now familiar voices approaching from the distance and recognize them as Moore and Gunnerson.  I think “Thank God!  Maybe they’ve changed their minds and have decided not to do this to me today after all.  Maybe they’ll have a heart and give me a break.  Maybe this is all a horrible mind fuck!”

When they come into my line of vision I see Gunnerson holding some sort of belt.  When he sees me watching them advance toward me, he holds it up and waves it, as he says, “the boys forgot this little item, and we can’t have that now can we, Bo?”  It’s then that I remember seeing a belt on “Sudsy”, but I forgot to ask Fulton what it was all about.  I guess I thought they were maybe just giving his torso some extra support on the cross.

Several feet away, they too stopped to take a good look at me.  I feel as if I’m being scanned up and down several times, especially by that laser beam stare of Gunnerson’s, but Moore looks like he’s really enjoying the sight of me.  “Dill, you really do make one good-lookin’ country boy.  Might just have to get you singing a few country tunes for us on entertainment night.  Get ya to memorize ‘em, and every time you fuck up the words or the tune, we keep track of it and add ‘em to your demerits.  Hell cowboy, we might even make ya work ‘em off at the end of the evening!”  They both let out a small guffaw at that, and Moore gives me a big wink.  “Gotta say Dill, you show up really well in that shirt.  You’re more attention grabbing than a flashing yellow light hanging over an intersection.”  Again they laugh at my expense.

For some reason these statements outta Moore get my meat jumping even more to attention.  I’m still new enough to all of this that I’m surprised by my dick’s reaction to this stuff, let alone advertising to everyone else that I must be liking the shit they’re putting me through, even though I’m in so much misery.  It can’t be that I actually do kinda like it in a way, could it?

While these thoughts are going though my head Moore disengages the winch and lowers me to the ground.  I’m thinking they really are going to let me go, and feel a huge amount of relief , but then I realize they’re not undoing my restraints yet.  That can’t be good!

Gunnerson holds the belt up in front of my face.  I see a leather belt, about four inches wide, with some sort of buckle I’ve not seen before … Gunnerson grins and looks me straight in the eyes and says, “There’s an App for that, boy!”  I get his drift and realize the belt is somehow controlled by WIFi like the sadistic shoes I’ve got on my feet and the Iron Maiden-like device that’s making my hard-ons so agonizing.  Gunnerson flips the belt around to show me the back side of it.  It’s got a device that’s about the diameter and shape of a baseball at it’s base but it tapers up about four inches to a rounded tip.  Kinda of looks like the nose cone of an Apollo rocket.

Gunnersone tells Moore to give me a demonstration, so Moore pulls his iPhone out of the back pocket of his camos, messes around bringing up the App until I hear a “whirrrr”.  Gunnerson presses it directly into my navel and asks Moore to turn it up and add a little something special.  The thing vibrates wildly in my bellybutton and then I get a huge, stabbing shock that feels like it goes right through my spine and into the post behind me.  “Change the setting, Moore!”  A few seconds later I feel the front inch or so of the nose wriggling around in erratic circles, still vibrating, and then a shock stronger than before,  then another … and another, and I’m reminded of a Tesla coil with bolts of electricity firing off in every direction.  I blurt out, “Ok you cocksuckers, I get the idea!”  Gunnerson doesn’t even have to say it, but he does.  “Guess we’re gonna have to fuck you up big time again today, huh Dill!”  Again, it’s a statement not a question. “Hernandez might have to wait till tomorrow to put you through upper body day.  By the way Bo, every day you miss a workout you get 200 more demerits.”

I’m raised back up the post and locked there.  Gunnerson places a ladder behind me and positions the demonic nose cone in my navel.  He grabs both ends of the belt and pulls it snug around both me and the post.  He then descends and removes the ladder and comes around in front where he can watch my expression as he pulls out his phone, opens the App, and tightens the belt till it feels like the cone-shaped attachment is going to drill through my spinal cord.  “Ain’t technology great, Dill?”  He smiles as he starts the cone’s nose circling again, and begins to dial the electro again.  The nose feels like a demonic thumb pressing into and back and forth across my spine.  “We noticed you kinda respond to navel stimulation, so we thought we’d give ya this little distraction from how much you’re going to hate these stylish new shoes you’re sporting.”  He continues.  My dick is again as fully erect as the cage will allow, and not only are the pins digging in more than they have as yet, but I also get a huge ZAAAAP! from the cage, just as the demented sandals begin their torture.

“FUCK ME!” I scream, and Moore says with a huge wink, “Be more than happy to, Timbo!”  Again he and Gunnerson share a laugh, but I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not.  I beg them to let me out of this torture, telling them I’ll do anything they want, but they just look at each other in mock disbelief that I’d even want out, and then Gunnerson says, “Sorry Pick, you earned this boy!”  Gunnerson messes with his phone, and I feel the maniacal belt tighten again and ram the cone further into my navel.  They stand and watch for a time before heading back toward the lane.  Gunnerson calls out, “Enjoy your morning, Dipshit!  As amusing as this is, we’ve got a few other recruits we need to deal with this morning too.”

Metal would like to thank Pickle for this story!

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