Part 4: The Cadre
In the dry hills of California, water is the factor that determines success or failure.
In June, the last wildflowers have gone to seed and the grass in the meadows is gold, dry and brittle. The brush begins to take on a grey tint, and even the huge oaks drop leaves under the hot sun to preserve their lives through the six months without rain. The valley beyond the Bear Trap Ranch begins to resemble a parched African savannah, and one might almost glimpse zebras and elephants milling in the midday heat ripples rising from the valley floor.
The importance of water had already been drilled into the slave over this first week at the Bear Trap. Drinking water had been carefully measured out and even showers had been a lesson in submission. At the end of each grueling day of hard labor, the slave had been dragged over to the outdoor shower set up at the edge of the small fenced garden surrounding the tiny cabin where the Captain lives. In the slatted wood floor of the open shower was a metal ring to which the slave would be chained by the neck, on all fours. As the Captain soaped and washed himself in the cold water raining down, the slave would have to wash himself as best he could. The slave struggled to clean away sweat, dirt, concrete dust, cum, piss and whatever else the slave had encountered that day. All the while the Captain straddled him, naked, bathing and watchful of any missed dirt the slave failed to wash away.
The Captain showered very quickly to conserve the few thousand gallons that the ranch well was able to pump into a huge metal water tank resting in a hollow about an eighth of a mile up canyon. That tank provided water for showers, drinking and for the two steers and the horse, irrigated a vegetable patch all around the cabin. Plus many tiny fruit trees that the slave had just dug holes for in the hot summer sun. The thin apple saplings needed a dose of water delivered slowly and carefully each day, and the slave had already felt the whip several times for being careless with the cans of water he hauled to each baby tree.
The slave had little time to reflect on the importance of water today, even though he was bound spread eagle against the massive hot metal side of the water tank baking in the midday sun. For today was the day that the Cadre had arrived.
Right now, he could only hear them chatting and laughing about 10 yards away as they drank and smoked cigars under the shaded wooden arbor the slave had been forced to build in the days before. The slave was spread eagled across the water tank’s side, hooded completely, his head baking inside the black rubber. The collar around his neck was locked to a ring on the tank, and his balls and cock — freed from the chastity device for the first time in a week — were tied off and pulled down to another ring bolted between his legs at the base of the tank. Attached to his nips were two electrified clamps cutting into the thick stretched pec meat slabs, while a pair of electrified rings gripped the base of his balls and the top of his shaft, standing painfully hard and constantly dripping juice down his legs to the dust. Another electro probe rested in the slave’s tight, clenched asshole.
The slave was panting and moaning into the gag in his mouth, his massive muscled body flexing and jerking involuntarily with each pulse of electricity through the various electrodes.
Sometimes the intensity was a steady pulse, others were quick jolts ripping through his tortured sweaty nips. Each jolt forced the slave to yank the chain stretching his balls and his cock jerked and spurted more juice.
The controls for the electro unit rested on the table among the drinks and food and cigars of the gathered men, seven altogether. Two were clad in desert BDUs, one in an all-black leather uniform, one in the tight khaki of the California CHP and tall boots, and then the Captain in dark blue and tall black harness boots showing under his pant leg. All of the men were powerful, strong and muscled, relaxing in the shade to share in the sadistic game that the slave was enduring. Resting at their feet were two naked muscled slaves, one about 25 and the other about 40. The leather officer’s boots rested on the back of the older one. This collection of soldiers, LEOs and firefighters were part the Cadre.
The leather-clad man was a massive, bearish man with smooth white skin that contrasted sharply with his shining black leather uniform, which was tight against his thick chest and arms. He set down his cigar and reached for the electro remote in the middle of the table. The others glanced at him casually.
“Seven,” he said and laid down his chips. The others laughed and looked over at the slave as the leather man turned the knob.
The slave’s body suddenly bucked and he flexed against his shackles as the electricity shot through his balls and anal probe. He screamed into his gag and thrashed futilely.
“Uggh, uhhhnnn! SIR! Please! Aaagh, uh! Please SIR!” he was able to beg through his gag. The slave’s cock jumped as the electro pulses throbbed again and more juice spurted out.
The slave had not cum in a week and was struggling to resist the electro torture milking he was being subjected to. The gathered men were wagering on how much electro milking the slave could take before cumming. The winner would get to use the slave all night back at the ranch camp, no limits. And the members of the Cadre were ready to wager anything to use this massive muscled slave long and hard. No one noticed that the tall young CHP patrolman did not wager.
“Nine,” barked one of the soldiers and grabbed the remote, eager to inflict the slave with a heavy dose of electro. He ramped up the pulse and the slave bucked and screamed, dick juice and sweat splattering out across the dirt and the hot metal. The soldier had set the remote on a pulse setting as well and now the slave’s nips balls and cock were being shot with intense throbbing sensations. The slave had no choice, his hips began to pump even as his nuts were stretched and tormented. The slave moaned and panted as his cock was mercilessly pumped with electricity.
The Cadre leaned forward now, setting aside their drinks to stare at the slave. His abs flexed and his legs strained. The slave’s hips pumped and suddenly his cock erupted in a huge flow of white thick cum. The slave screamed into the gag and drooled as his body convulsed in the throes of his tortured orgasm. More cum pumped out as sweat dripped out of his muscles and down his flexing abs and he arched forward to fully drain his ball sack.
But the electro did not stop as the last drop of cum shot free. The slave screamed more franticly as the electro continued to pump his cock and balls. He strained against the bonds and thrashed, barely able to make to beg for mercy.
The Cadre roared with pleasure and the men’s cocks swelled in their uniforms and leather. The soldier would get the slave tonight!
The Captain let the slave buck and scream for a while longer on the Nine setting and the slave pumped another load out of his tortured cock before he sagged exhausted and whimpering in the setting rays of the sun. The slave’s skin showed dark now under the shine of sweat, where a week ago it had been white. Already some of the work was showing on his huge biceps, triceps and legs. Also the pec meat was more striated and cut and his abs were starting to show lean under his skin, ripe for the gut punching workouts the Captain enjoyed.
The Captain took the gag out of the slave’s mouth and held up his chin to drain cold water down his throat. He then fished some pills out of His pocket and washed them down the slave’s throat, massaging his neck until he swallowed and gasped. The men had walked away with the two slaves back down to the camp as the Captain whispered words to the slave. The soldier and the patrolman remained.
The Captain unshackled the slave from his ordeal and let him fall to the ground, barely able to move in the dust. The slave moaned and rolled onto his back. The Captain opened his mouth again and poured more water down his throat until he sputtered and moved a bit.
“6 a.m.,” was all the Captain said to the soldier, who nodded and shouldered the massive slave’s body on his own strong shoulder and walked away, carrying the slave.
The patrolman stayed behind, staring into the eyes of the Captain. The Captain stepped close, staring up into the eyes of the 6-foot-4 younger man.
“You will be my boy from now on,” the Captain said, and Levi gripped him in an intense embrace, khaki against blue. Their muscled bodies gripped one another, and the kiss was as electrifying as the slave’s torture.
Part 5: The Workout
“Uggh! Uhhh uh uuhhh……” the slave panted, trying to catch his breath around the rubber ball gag gripped in his teeth. His lips pulled back and his jaw opened in a desperate attempt to draw in air, drool gushing out in thick ropes that dripped down his chest and abs onto his cock finally exposed after 3 days of confinement.
His muscled arms had been pulled back and stretched over a bar against his back and chained to the spreader bar shackled to the slave’s ankles. The slave’s balls were chained to an eyebolt in the ground, causing his nuts to be stretched and tugged with each new punch during the Captain’s workout. The slave’s head snapped back from the flurry of jabs directed at his punished bruised abs again. He growled deeply into the gag and more spit flew.
The bar behind the slave’s back was just high enough to keep the slave’s sweat and dirt streaked body stretched out and open to the Captain’s human punching bag workout. The first morning rays of the sun broke over the distant hills and reddened the scene on the bare hilltop. The Captain had rigged the bars and chains among the bare framing of the new compound He was creating.
The slave began to cough and gasp.
The Captain reached up and loosened the gag, allowing the slave to spit it out, gulping down air and spit. He grabbed the slave’s chin with one black-gloved hand and poured water down the slave’s throat. As He did, He produced a pill somehow kept at the ready even though the Captain had stripped down to a leather jock strap and his heavy black boots. The pill was swallowed with some stroking of the slave’s stretched neck. The effect was immediate. The slave knew what was about to happen and his sore cock stiffened and grew painfully hard in anticipation of the milking he would receive.
The Captain pushed the gag back into place and cinched it tight. The slave’s eyes closed as he tried to prepare for the next flurry of punches.
Over the weeks the slave had grown lean and dark from the constant labor on the ranch. And the Captain’s lust for torturing the slave had grown with each day as well. He now laid into the slave’s bound body with gusto, punching his abs and stretched pecs with increasing speed. Left, right, left, right, then pecs, then abs, and then pecs again. A quick stroke of the slave’s cock and a slap to his cum-swollen balls. Then another hit and another stroke to his cock. Then another stroke, and another, just slow enough to make the slave want more and strain to push his rod up toward the Captain’s hand even though it stretched and tortured his bound nuts.
“Ahhh unnghh S…SIR, ahh uhhhmm pl….please ahh unggh!” he gasped trying to form the words around the gag.
The Captain responded by resuming the barrage of jabs to the slave’s guts.
The slave’s head rolled back and lolled against his straining shoulders, his wrists being tugged down with each blow.
More strokes to the slave’s cock followed, the Captain lubing up the leather glove to make sure each touch send shivers up the bound body. The slave pushed his loins forward as the Captain began series of strokes, twisting as he rose up the shaft with the tight leather gloves slicked with lube massaged the slave’s purple straining rod.
Then His right fist made contact with the slave’s flexing abs again as the left continued to stroke his stiff dick. The Captain ground his right fist into the slave’s lower abs and the slave’s thick gut meat flexed tight in response.
“Uungghhh ahh! Oh Gooooddd” the slave bellowed as the first stream of cum shot out of his cock and the Captain continued to work his rod. The slave jerked wildly but the Captain was unrelenting, working the head mercilessly as more cum shot out. He slumped against the hanging bar and his nuts were brutal tugged by the weight of his own muscled mass but the Captain continued to stroke his head until the slave moaned and his rod stiffened again.
The Captain resumed a slow rhythm of punches to the slave’s upper abs now, hearing each labored gasp while the other hand worked the slave’s rod up and down. The black leather gloves were slick with cum and every fifth punch was hooked up to the slave’s balls.
“Ahh unggh ah p..p..please ah SIR” the slave gasped and more cum shot out. The slave now slumping further in his bonds, his legs stretched out and his body nearly doubled over. The slave’s hands were turning purple from the strain.
The slave was spent. But there was work to be done and the whole day was ahead of them both.
The road up to the hilltop was bordered on one side by a cut bank where some wildflowers still bloomed despite the desert-like heat that seems to intensify by the day. Scarlet penstemon grew underneath the spiny brush lining the road. Their trumpet-like blooms were arranged on long, bare stems, visited by hummingbirds. The tiny birds were blurs of green or brown with iridescent flashes of purple or pink showing briefly in the sun.
The slave would catch himself staring at such a sight, panting, his tired body allowing his mind to drift into daydreams easily. The beauty of the ranch could at times be overwhelming. Other times the slave would allow his own doubts and fears to creep in, the slow gnawing feeling in his gut about how his former life back in far off New York was falling apart during his protracted absence. Some nights he would lay awake, watching the stars wheel above the cage bars, concocting elaborate escapes in his mind.
He had often glimpsed the lake far off across the valley floor and thought that he might pass off his cuts and bruises and general lack of clothes in a scenario where he was a stranded lake visitor who had fallen off a party boat, swam to shore, then wandered for hours through the brush looking for the road.
But every time he thought of this plan, it ended with a cop pulling over to rescue the near naked man on the side of the road, cuffing him and having his way with him on the hood of the patrol. Ben shook his head, suddenly growing cold as he thought of his own name. Even he had started calling himself “slave” in his mind, to condition himself to his new life that he wanted and was afraid of at the same time. No, not Ben, slave, slave, slave.
His current reverie was cut short by the familiar sound of the ATV grinding to a halt not far above him on the road.
The Captain was glaring. Time was being wasted. The Captain had an overwhelming obsession with time it seemed, in 15-minute increments, no less. Any instance where the Captain was kept waiting was a punishable offense more than any other. He likened it to stealing. The slave breathed deep, gathered up the shovels and slung them over his shoulder, resuming the half-mile hike up to the hilltop.
The routine of life at the Bear Trap was setting in just like blue shadows of nightfall were filling the canyons like cool water from the distant lake.
Part 6: Punishment
The slave turned over on the floor, pulling the thick blanket close against the chill at the foot of the Captain’s bed. He was trying to get his sleep-addled brain around what was happening.
The Captain had jumped out of bed suddenly, quickly as a cat, and was now standing in the open door listening intently and scanning the midnight darkness of the Bear Trap Ranch. A silvery light outlined the edge of the canyon high above and was moving along slowly, dropping down towards the camp. A low engine rumble could barely be heard over the chorus of crickets and cicadas in the chill air. A truck was making its way along the road above. Intruder!
Even as the slave tried to rub the sleep from his bleary eyes, the Captain had already pulled on his dirty Carhartt pants, scuffed boots, and slipped a wrinkled tee over his head. His handgun was out and strapped to his leg in a quick movement. He slipped out of the door and through the camp gate, disappearing into the trees, his movements marked only by the flicker of his flashlight.
The rumble of the truck engine came closer and closer and the slave was now crouching breathless behind the glass, knowing the truck was coming this way!
The headlights lit a cluster of grey manzanita at the edge of the camp and barely missed the Captain dodging into the brush. The truck stopped abruptly, just a few hundred yards away, dust kicked up into the beams of white light. The slave’s eyes were clued to the spot of light and his heart pounded. Behind the glass he could not hear anything but the rumble of the engine. Minutes ticked by and nothing happened. Did a shadow flick across the road? Was someone coming? Where was the Captain?
Ben began to think about the humiliation of being discovered in his naked and chained state for the first time. The outside world seemed suddenly not so far away as it had for the last month of hard work and training.
Time ticked by very slowly and the slave began to cramp in his crouched position, but still there were no sounds or signs of movement. The clock read 12:32, 20 minutes since the Captain had left. Then suddenly, the truck began to move, pulling forward, turning, and disappearing up the hill road towards the new compound site.
Had the Captain warned off the intruder? Or had he been overpowered and dragged off by the group of drunken, trespassing soldiers that he had warned off the property the day before? Were they enacting some revenge on Him right now, overwhelming him with their young, strong, battle-ready bodies?
Each irrational thought in the slave’s mind was followed by another, more wild idea. Without the Captain to order him, the slave was suddenly totally alone after a month of constant contact with his Master. The slave was chained to the base of the bed. How would it get way? The slave crouched over the eyehook in the floor, pulling on the chain, trying to unscrew the hook. The slave began to sweat and shake, how long had it already been? What was that noise? Were the soldiers coming back?
The slave managed to turn the hook a bit and felt a rush of hope. Ben wrapped the chain around the hook to get a grip and strained to turn it again. The hook was moving! Cold sweat covered his naked back.
It must have been an hour at least before the slave managed to turn and yank at the hook enough to pull it out of the floor leaving a torn hole in the wood. The slave’s desperate escape now seeming a reality, he grabbed a pair of the Captain’s boots and a fresh pressed uniform hanging by the door. The slave stumbled out into the yard, gathering up the long chain around his neck in his arms. Ben paused, panting, trying to collect his thoughts.
He needed to get the collar off right now.
Tool shed! The slave whipped around to the back of the cabin, tripping over shovels and picks resting along the wall. The shed door was unlocked but the slave realized he had no way of seeing the tools in the dark. He dropped the boots and uniform in the dirt and ran back to the cabin. Flashlight, flashlight … where is it? He fumbled along the Captain’s desk, papers, and books cascading to the floor. The slave never needed a flashlight of his own, the Captain always kept the necessary items at hand, always. Ben found the flashlight and raced back to the shed, leaping over the fallen tools. The bolt cutter was right where it was supposed to be on the shed wall. The slave grabbed it and opened the metal jaws. He turned as he tried to position it on the hardened steel of the lock at his neck. His hands were shaking and his mind was a blur. The slave closed his eyes and felt the cutters bite into the lock shank.
The last thing the he heard was the chuckle of the Captain.
* * *
The stars were finally dimming in the dawn sky when the slave finally broke. Blubbering into the gag in his mouth, he tried to form the words to beg for forgiveness. He had already endured the longest session of punishment the Captain had ever inflicted on him and truly regretted his panicked action of the night.
“24. The slave damaged the bolt cutters,” said the Captain, reading off the next offense from the slave’s attempt to escape. He gripped the switch in his gloved hand, some sweat trickling into His eyes as he pulled back and laid the length of the flexible rod across the slave’s red streaked back muscles.
Whack! The slave jerked weakly, hanging spread eagled from his massive muscled arms. He was strung up in the timber framing of the unfinished compound, where only a day before he had enduring the Captain’s new boxing workout. But this dawn was different, now another muscled man, wearing desert boots, and desert bdu’s was bound shirtless, hooded and gagged, on the opposite wall of framing. The slave tried to focus on the muscled, bound soldier with dark curly hair to try to pick out what was familiar about the other captive, but the tears welling from his eyes obscured his vision.
“awwwgghhhh awawahhhh” the slave bawled, “ahh p…ppplleease SIR! Ssss top! Awwahh!”
“25. Stole and soiled an official uniform of the County Fire Agency” Whack! The switch came down across the slave’s tight buttocks. The slave thrashed and jerked wildly, screaming in the gag. He continued to thrash, screaming and choking on his own spit.
“Stop! Stop! Stop! Oh SIR please stop, slave dddiid … not … want … to … go! Please Stop!”
The gag had come lose and the slave gasped for air, gulping hard and jerking his arms in the shackles.
The Captain stepped back to survey the scene. The slave slumped in his shackles and panted. The other captive shifted in his boots and his cock, pointed out from the fly of the bdu’s was erect and dripping copious amounts of juice. He panted a bit and drool dripped down his whiskered chin. The Captain walked over to the captive and surveyed the bound muscle meat. The captive could hear the fall of His boots and his cock jerked again. The Captain reached up and rubbed the side of the captive’s head and the captive responded by nuzzling the black leather glove. He then rubbed the bound man’s neck and moved towards the black short hairs of the stretched pecs and then down the trail of hair on his abs that ended below the belt. The Captain stroked the captive’s ab ripples up and down. The tenderness of the touch was in stark contrast to the brutal punishment of Ben, a point not lost on the sobbing, pain-wracked slave.
The slave moaned loudly and began to sob and cry even more from watching the Captain cup the soldier’s chin in his hands and plant a deep kiss on the whiskered face. The slave realized suddenly who the other man was. It was the handsome muscled CHP officer who had raped the slave in the back of the truck weeks earlier! Despite his pain and the numbness creeping into his arms, the slave bellowed like a buffalo and jerked violently at the shackles on his arms and legs. The slave was now enduring the ultimate punishment: the loss of the full attention of the Master.
To be continued …
Metalbond would like to thank FirefighterSIR for the latest chapters in this story. And … for those who have been emailing Metalbond asking for more details about the author, the answer is YES. He is definitely for real. If you don’t believe it, click here.