The Executive

"Quiet, dear. You'll just choke on your own drool. Besides, you wouldn't want me to make any mistakes, would you?" I fondled his most valued extremity.

He shuddered and went still, panting.

I resumed sawing through his suit and the ropes that bound him. Within a few minutes, he was lying naked and chained in a pile of frayed shreds.

"Good. Now you and Grunt match each other, slave boy. Why, I don't know how I'll ever tell you apart. Though actually... there is a difference, isn't there?" I giggled. "Grunt here hasn't been allowed to orgasm in... how long was it, Grunt?"

"Four months, twenty eight days, thirteen hours, Ma'am," he answered.

"Yes!" I rubbed my hands. "But you know that's about to change, don't you, boy?"

Grunt's permanent erection became, impossibly, even larger.

Slave boy, mouth stretched wide, took in this sight and cried out. He shook his head, groaning, and attempted to bury his face between his knees. His ankles tugged against the wall as he struggled to curl up into a fetal position that would hide his mouth. But his hair was perfectly exposed. I put a hand to it and stroked.

"Oh, come now," I murmured gently. "Scared? He's perfectly clean. Why, I seem to recall you had booked this as an interest with a young lady in Fresno who turned you down. Now's your big chance. No? Hm. Does it really bother you that much?" My slave nodded urgently, shivering.

"Well, then," I said, petting him, "we won't do it. There are always other things. No, no, don't fret." I hugged his shaking shoulders. "We'll take this nice and slow, only do things you agree to. Does that sound good?" My captive nodded slowly.

I stepped away and measured out the distance to the forward wall with a chain, adding two feet of slack for good measure. I locked the chain to a D-ring there. I beckoned Grunt and affixed the other end to his collar. From this corner, Grunt had a semicircular range of movement that just so happened to intersect with slave boy's personal space.

Slave boy's arms and back were straining by the time I was done. He held himself half upright, quaking with effort. "You really should have taken advantage of that gym membership, hm?" I busied myself with threading a rope through the back of his collar. "Not that it would even help much with this..." The rope slid through an anchor loop on the floor, and I pulled it tight. My captive found himself on his back again.

"Plan B, dear," I addressed Grunt.

Grunt approached, his chain skidding, and straddled my captive. He faced a different direction than slave boy probably expected: away. He squatted. Slave boy stared up, mesmerized, at the sight of Grunt's lowering asshole.

"It's much better for everyone if you don't turn your head, dear. Remember how you had to clean up the urine."

Catching on, slave boy screamed, wrenching to the side and thrashing in animalistic terror. "EH EH EH!" he tried to safeword.

"Hold him still."

Grunt sat, pinning my captive's head, and waited.

"Shhh. Look at me." I lowered my face to the floor. "Look at me. I know you can hear me in there. We don't have to do this. Yes. Sh. It's fine. You don't want to do this? That's fine. We don't have to. Are you more willing to suck my boy off, now, darling? Wouldn't it be so much nicer?"

My captive blinked at me tearfully, mouth stretched wide.

"Would you be willing to try that?"

A tiny movement that might have been a nod.

"That's my good boy. Grunt, reverse."

Grunt knelt, facing my captive, and grasped his hoisted legs.

"Lift your chin, dear. There's less gagging that way."

My new slave complied, tears streaming.

I nodded to Grunt. He smeared his length into the gaping hole. "Please, Ma'am, may I cum?" he pleaded in a strangled voice.

"So soon! No, dear, give him a few good thrusts first."

Grunt grimaced, thrusting into my captive's choking throat. Just for torment's sake, I whispered horrible things into Grunt's ear as he pumped. He groaned, straining. When at last I gave permission, his whole body twanged like a bow-string, wild and staccato, slamming in to deposit the most massive load of his life.

Slave boy coughed and gagged as Grunt slid free, then sobbed openly, like a bawling infant.

I reclined beside him, stroking his hair. "Good boy. Yes, you." I kissed away his tears. "See how quickly it's over with when you cooperate?"

He sobbed, gurgling.

I explored the taste of his mouth. God, I could feel my panties squelching. "Why, we might even do less strenuous things with you tomorrow, if only you start to appreciate your position. You do appreciate your position now, don't you?"

He gazed at me in awe, the sobs dying down.

"Well, you will by morning. Grunt knows he'll be put in chastity again tomorrow, and he'll want to take advantage of this little break."

Grunt had crawled into his corner to rest, I saw, but I knew he would crawl back again soon enough.

I gave my new slave one last kiss on his forehead. "Sleep well, my dear... when you can."

* * *

WEDNESDAY.

As the morning sunlight rolled up over my captives, I surveyed my work. Grunt rolled to face me, sullen at being awoken. My new captive's cheek rested in a puddle. His hair was a spiky mess. His feet were pale; time to move him.

"Hello, darlings," I greeted them. "Grunt, you're in time out for a while. Slave boy, you're coming with me."

I studied slave boy's face. He blinked blearily at me, hopeless resignation in his eyes. Not good enough yet. Not nearly good enough yet. But it was a start.

Trails of crusty drool striped each side of his face, remnants of turning his head to let the cum drain out. It looked like Grunt had given him a couple of face shots, too. Little punk.

I touched my captive's cheek, then unbuckled the ring gag. He let out a little mew and swallowed repeatedly. He opened his eyes again, not quite sure whether to thank me or curse me.

"What do you say...?"

"Th-ank you, Mm-aam."

"Good enough."

I lifted his penis. It had that overripe peach consistency that said it was time for a piss. Well, we'd get to that. I clamped a metal ring around his balls, turning it so the power pack wouldn't rub. He eyed the contraption warily.

I removed the rope cinching his collar to the floor, patted him, and stepped away.

The first zap made his back arch. "Je--" His teeth gritted on the expletive.

I laughed and clapped. "Very good!"

He recovered his breath. His testicles found retreat blocked. I smiled at this expansion of my conquered empire.

"Sit up," I advised. He hesitated just a little too long, so I zapped him in mid-rise. He cried out and bolted upright, head against his legs. I grinned.

"Now, we're going to take a little walk today. Won't you like that?" I fitted a restraint harness around his waist. "Sunshine, fresh air," I sniffed, "and you get to get away from him."

My captive's eyes shifted to the corner where Grunt lay. Slave boy seemed amenable to this idea.

Within a few minutes I had wholly detached my prisoner from the wall. I strung each of his manacle chains together and through his harness. He was forced to crawl on all... threes, since his puppy mitts were still hooked together. I locked the final chain to his collar and gave a tug. He shuffled forward.

I led him down the ramp, slowly and carefully. He seemed stable enough now that he had some blood pumping into his legs. But he might throw himself off, try to tackle me....

He stayed silent and complacent, but his eyes darted here and there, taking note of his surroundings, searching for methods of escape. The warehouse was bare. The skylight was too far out of range. The only possibility was the giant moving van. And the single door to outside...

I unlocked the alarm bar and led him through.

He stopped, staring.

"Not what you expected, huh? Come out a bit further and take a look around the place."

We cleared the shadow of the building, and he confirmed that he could see nothing on either side of it but miles of ancient sand. Empty, shifting desert spread in all directions, revealing no discernible roads. The warehouse was an anomaly, a man-made spacecraft dropped on the face of some alien planet.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering which way Peoria is. It's about nineteen thousand miles that way." I pointed helpfully. "Quite a long crawl for you. Death rides a fast camel."

He gaped at me, eyes huge -- partly because that last bit had been in Arabic. His mouth worked. "How--"

"Shush. You can talk in a little while. First, you need some breakfast, don't you think? And a bathroom break."

He closed his mouth. And nodded.

I led him toward a dark spot within eyeshot of the building. He crawled closer to my side, I noticed. I smiled.

"Your food contains a mild tranquilizer," I informed my captive. "But it doesn't really matter at this point, does it? Enough days without food, and you'll eat it anyway. Might as well get it over with now."

My prisoner kept his eyes lowered until I reached the stage set for his performance. A thick wooden pillar towered, affixed with an eyehook at the top and a trough at the bottom. A folding chair and toolbox sat within reach.

He hesitated at the sight of the hitching post, sensing the threat to his relative freedom. He failed to follow my tug on his leash. "Move," I growled, "or your testicles fry."

He whined but stayed put. I zapped him. He leaned forward, shaking. I turned up the juice, making him cry out. Tears filled his eyes, and he reluctantly forced himself into range.

"Good." I slid the chain through the post and locked it off. He had enough slack to sit but not enough to lie down. With his bent legs chained to his harness, there was no way he could stand up.

My captive panted, trying to regain his composure.

I settled into the folding chair and crossed my legs. The hot metal nipped at my thighs. "Now, we're going to play a little game. If you please me, you get food. If not, you get a shock. Doesn't that sound fun? Hm?" I toyed with my zapper. He jerked some nods. "Yes, I thought it would."

I opened the box and extracted a bag of dry dog food, humming. "Since the foundations of a good D/s relationship are communication and trust, we're going to have a chat. You can ask me whatever you want to know, and I will answer you honestly. Scout's honor." I held up a hand. "Well, technically I wasn't a Scout, but you can trust me," I grinned.

He shook his head.

"Hmm? This is an open forum, dear. Say whatever you need to say. This is your last chance."

His voice was raspy and bruised. "Trust you? You nearly killed me!"

"Come now. Have I done anything at all that could have endangered your health? Liability, you know. There was the allergy check, the background check, medical records..."

"A gun!"

I leaned forward. "Listen, kiddo. I'm giving you your greatest fantasy. You've been kidnapped by an insanely gorgeous woman who is using you for sexually deviant purposes." I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Do you really want to know that there's not a bullet within a hundred miles of here?"

He stared, swallowing.

"Or there might be." I grinned, lounging back in my chair. "Wondering is half the fun. Next question."

His mouth opened. And closed. Finally, it opened again. "My job--"

I zapped him. He bellowed. "I told you, we're not talking about that any more. Ask me a different question."

He shifted uncomfortably, thinking. "You say I'm going to be here seven days?"

I tossed one tiny nugget of dog food into his trough. "Good question. And no. You're here for a minimum of seven days." I twinkled at him.

"A minimum..." he groaned.

I zapped him. "No repeating questions to get more food."

He shuddered, then quavered, "Would you please stop doing that?"

"No." I lifted the remote. He flinched. I giggled. "You're my slave, slave boy, and I get to do whatever I want to you. Hm. No food for that question. You need to please me, remember..."

"What do you want from me?" he wailed.

"Ah!" I added another nugget. "Much better. Well, slave, whatever I ask, of course. You can start by addressing me as Ma'am." I waited.

He considered. "Yes, Ma'am."

I smiled, and tossed another nugget in.

The sun beat down. I could almost feel my shoulders freckling.

"Where am I? Ma'am."

"Exactly where you're supposed to be, dear."

"But, where is this? M--"

I made him jerk in pain. "No repeating questions. In fact, you should learn never to question me at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he grunted, curling over his aching ball sack.

I smiled, waiting.

He looked up at me, started to speak, then snapped his mouth shut. He ducked his head.

I grinned and tossed a handful of food. "Very good. Actually, quite the turn-on. Good boy." I rotated my legs. "I'll give you three more questions, just to be nice. Better make good use of them. You'll never get any more."

He swallowed, thinking furiously. "Can I save them for later -- Ma'am?"

"No. And that's one. Two left."

I love that slapped expression when I haven't even touched them....

I watched his wheels churning as he stared at the endless horizon. Sweat stung his eyes.

Finally he offered, "W- please, Ma'am, would you give me some water, too? Regularly. Ma'am."

I gave him more food. "Nice. I do so like begging. Well, you'll need to earn your drinking water. Regularly. I bet you'd like to know how you can earn water..." I smiled at him, drawing the moment out.

His lips pressed shut.

I laughed at this tacit acceptance of my game. "You see," I continued, "I don't believe your mouth is quite dry enough yet. Why, you've been guzzling fluids all night, haven't you? You need to demonstrate to me just how parched your tongue is." I uncrossed my legs and extended a boot. "Kiss it."

He wavered over my foot, sweating.

"Show me you appreciate who holds the power of life and death out here. If you're smart, you'll start earning water now."

He pressed his lips to my boot.

"Lick."

He licked. First slowly, then faster.

"Yes. Grovel for me. Mmm." I fished a bottled water out of the toolbox. "Yes, your tongue is quite dry. And dirty now, too. My, my."

I gripped his hair, pulled his head back, and poured water over his face. He struggled, snorting and trying to catch the flow in his mouth.

"Aw, you missed," I sympathized, sipping the last of it. Bleh. Warm. "Would you like to try again?"

He nodded. I dropped his head and uncapped another bottle. It hovered above his face. "Well? Lick my boots, slave."

He dropped his face to my feet. I dribbled the water down his back and laughed.

"Please..." he begged.

"Awh, poor baby. It's alright, dear. Despite what you may think, I do take good care of my pets. You've earned your water. Here." I poured the rest of the bottle into his trough and added another 20 ounces for good measure. The dog food bobbed and circled.

He stiffened when I put a hand in his hair. But I merely held him over the water. "What do you say?"

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Good. Drink."

He slurped.

I gave him a few moments to clear the trauma out of his mouth. "That's enough. You can drink more later." I sat him back on his heels. "Last question?"

He closed his eyes in despair. Opened them. Looked around as if for clues. Swallowed. Finally he offered, "You said I would get a bathroom break?"

"This is your bathroom break, dear." I giggled and stood. "You'll figure it out...."

"Please, Ma'am, another question, please--"

I chuckled, leaving a trail of heel divots in the sand.

A few minutes later, a large black man carried away the chair and toolbox.

A few hours later, I stopped by for another boot lick. My captive earned half as much water. I zapped him. He learned to stay quiet.

Alone in eternity, my slave boy baked in the sun.

* * *

THURSDAY.

The scrunch of my heels woke him.

My captive struggled from his seat against the post to all threes, grimacing in pain. He bowed his head and crawled toward me, straining against the chain.

I extended the toe of my boot to him. He licked frantically.

"Good morning, sport," I greeted him. I pulled the foot back. He tried to follow. "Lovely. Let's have a look at you, now..." I took his chin in my hand and lifted his head.

His eyes were hollow, desperate. Heat radiated from his burning skin. His lips cracked and flaked. I tipped a bottle of water to them and he shivered in ecstasy.

"Slowly, now. We wouldn't want you to get sick..." I gave him a couple of gulps and removed the bottle. He whimpered. "No, no. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Ma'am," he rasped. His tone told me he barely clung to sanity.

"Perfect. Now, since you've been such a patient boy, I'm taking you inside, where it's nice and shady. Would you like that?"

"Thank you, Ma'am." He shivered again. "Thank you, Ma'am..."

I unlocked him from the post. He stared at my feet. When I loosed the chain, he dropped and kissed them. He heeled, struggling to lick as I strode away. I kicked him and shortened his leash, hefting his neck. "You'll get more water inside," I assured him. He scrambled to follow on all threes.

I led him around the side of the building, to my command center. This office area of the warehouse

resembled my old dorm room -- fridge, couch, televisions -- with a few extra goodies.

"Up here, dear." I draped my captive along the spanking horse. The chains lifted his feet and arms from the floor. "Just relax."

This last was scarcely necessary, as he slumped in dehydrated exhaustion. He watched, zombie-like, as I donned gloves and wiped down his arm.

"Saline IV. Much more efficient than drinking." I tied a tourniquet and palpated a vein. "You did say you were interested in needle play...."

Soon, I had him hooked up and resting. I checked his pupils. His eyes were distant with pain, but wavered to focus on my face. Total dependence on me had begun to shape his reality.

"Oh, nice," I said. "You've earned a treat." I cupped a hand full of water to his lips -- so much more psychologically effective than a saline drip -- and let him slurp it gratefully. "In fact, you've been such a good boy, I'm going to take care of those burns for you."

"Thank you, Ma'am..."

I hummed, collecting supplies. I checked my monitors. Grunt was currently getting much the same treatment he'd recently dished out.

Slave boy cried out at the shock of cold lotion across his back.

"Shh. Just relax and enjoy."

I sat, watching the monitors, rubbing ointment into my new slave's skin. Never before had he had such a gentle massage, nor one that hurt so badly. Red painted him from his toes to his ears and tinged his underbelly pink. He whined as I touched it.

I worked lotion in, and he whimpered. His fevered skin drank my treatment thirstily. By the third application, the anesthetic drip had really kicked in, and my slave slumped along the bench like melting butter.

He twitched when my fingers wandered to his crevices. I explored delicately, watching his lungs rise and fall. Gradually, his hips began to do the same. I smiled and teased my way inside. He moaned. I slowly introduced him to the joys of his prostate. His sphincter relaxed, accepting, and I explored the walls more deeply.

"Good boy. Take it all in..." I purred.

He clenched around my fingers and moaned, then spread wider.

"I have discovered," I informed him as I squeezed more lotion, "that keeping men in a near-constant state of erection, with regular suction, tends to make them larger. It's a bit of a competition among my boys, you see, because the most virile... well. He gets privileged duties, of course. You," I murmured, adding another finger, "have some catching up to do, poor boy..."

A knock rapped the door. I checked the cam and punched the release button. Slave boy tightened around my hand, the spell broken.