Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 23:12:11 -0500 From: Michael J. Griffith Subject: The Warehouse, Chapter 6: Bob Learns a Lesson Mike closed the apartment door, and called the elevator by pressing his thumb to a small pad. The locks throughout the compound were designed to read thumbprints, and new pucks were told the not only the thumbprint was measured, so was the pulse and temperature, just in case they got any ideas about trying to cut off someone's thumb. The elevator arrived, and Mike pulled the strap to open the gate. He liked the old freight elevators, one near both ends of the building. It gave the building a sense of history. He pulled the gate closed, and put his thumb on the pad inside the elevator, and pressed "1." The elevators may look old, but the machinery and controls were modern. The elevator descended slowly past the third and second floors. All he could see were the small lobbies, and large signs describing the barracks held within. The third floor held the fourth shift and office barracks, a common shower area, and quarters and showers for most of the support staff. The second floor had three barracks for the first three warehouse shifts, as well as a large common shower room. The elevator stopped at the first floor, where the dining room and kitchen took most of the floor, but left room for a lobby, where 600 men passed through every day, and was a place for public punishment, when necessary. Mike opened the door between the elevator lobby and the kitchen. It was noisy and had many men, most in aprons (and precious little else) scurrying about. Oh, how Mike loved the sight of all those hairy asses! Someone noticed him, and immediately put down what he was doing, faced Mike, spread his legs and clasped his hands behind his head. The acknowledgement that the boss was here spread through the room, and soon, everyone was in presentation position. Some of them had thrown off their aprons, but most knew better. If an apron hit the floor, it would have to be laundered, and that was a waste of money. Most of the kitchen staff knew that if Mike wanted to inspect anyone, he would tell him to drop the apron. "Carry on, gentlemen! There's hungry shift waiting to be fed." With that command, the activity began again. Mike headed through the kitchen to the lobby. Mike overhead one of the experienced cooks scold a server for dropping his apron. Mike chuckled to himself. It was good being the Master of so many men eager to serve him! Mike opened the door and stepped into the lobby. It was empty, save for one man strapped down to a black leather horse. Mike looked into the dining room, but tried not to be seen. The men deserved a fresh meal for hard work, and his presence would stop them cold. Above the man on the horse was a neatly lettered sign. "Please fuck me." The man was bright red on every bit of skin Mike could see, and Mike was certain his chest and belly were the same color. The man had curly salt-and-pepper covering his legs, ass, and back, and it appeared from the rear he had a flattop haircut, one of Mike's favorites. Mike came up behind the man, slapped him on the ass, and said, "So you want to be fucked?" "That's what the sign says. I'm pretty well fucked already." The man's head was turned to one side. Mike walked up to him, bent over and said, "Do you know who I am, puck?" "Oh my god, sir. I didn't know. I'm sorry. Would Master like to fuck me? Please fuck me sir!" Mike stood up and said, "Tell me how you came to be here in this position today." "The Security Guards grabbed me out of bed, sir, and took me to the Training Center to learn how to be a better puck, sir." The Security Guards were the men who kept the pucks in line. Every nook and cranny of the compound had cameras and microphones. No one, except Mike, knew how many guards there were, but the pucks felt they were being watched every minute. To some extent, they were. Most of the surveillance actually took place by sophisticated software that monitored the video and audio, and alerted the guards when something was out of place. Most of the pucks didn't even know where the Security Guards worked or slept. They were everywhere, and nowhere. The Security Guards kept the operation running smoothly, and Mike appreciated the fact they were actually very few in number, and were pucks themselves. Security Guards were selected for their ability to follow instructions, their musculature, and sheer cruelty. Most relished their position. Only a few did not live up to the standard, and had to be disciplined. Once made a Security Guard at The Warehouse, each man fully understood the gravity of failure. A failed Security Guard suffered a terrible fate. If he was lucky, his vocal cords would be cut, his balls sliced off, and he lived out the remainder of his life as a groom. Others would be sold off for their organs, having pieces of their bodies sold off, as slowly and painfully as possible. Mike liked the uniforms he selected for the guards. He liked to keep everyone as naked as possible, but, to symbolize authority, certain pucks had to have some sort of identifying uniforms. The Training Center staff wore black jockstraps. The Security Guards wore tight, brief, black leather shorts with detachable codpieces and rear zippers. They carried stun guns, and had constant radio contact with other guards in case of emergency. The stun guns could be disabled remotely, if a Security Guard were to go down. "So, the Security Guards took you to the Training Center. What did you do that was wrong?" "Jason wanted to fuck me, and I didn't want to be fucked." "Have you fucked Jason?" "Yes, sir." "But he's not allowed the same pleasure. Do you think that's fair to Jason?" "No, sir. I see that now. I was tired, and just wanted to sleep." "If the Security Guards noticed, you must have put up quite a fuss. Did you hit Jason?" "No sir, but I was yelling at him." "I see. What happened when you were taken to the Training Center?" "They cleaned me out, stuck a butt plug in my ass, strung me up, then flogged me. It was awful, sir." "How long did they flog you?" "They wouldn't stop, sir. When I thought I would pass out from the pain, they would just move to another part of my body, and begin again." "Did you pass out eventually?" "Yes, sir. When I came to, I was strapped to this horse, sir." "It looks like someone took a cane to you. Is that the case?" "Yes, sir. Five strokes for missing my shift while I was being flogged." "And, now, you're available for anyone to fuck. Do you wish you had been more considerate of Jason?" "Yes, sir! Please help me, sir. I'm scared!" "As well you should be. Do you know what's going to happen next?" "No, sir. They just left me here and said they'd pick me up later." "What's your name?" "Bob, sir." "Well, Bob, here's what's coming next. You'll be left here until your next shift begins. Then, you be taken back to the Training Center and, because you missed the beginning of another shift, you'll receive 5 strokes of the cane, and ten lashes of the whip on your back. Then you'll go back to work, hopefully more considerate of others." "Yes, sir." "And, since you were rude to me, I'm going to give the men a little extra incentive to make sure you've learned your lesson." With that, Mike walked to the dining room doors, and closed them. He then went back into the kitchen. "Everyone continue working. Will the head chef please step over?" A man ran over and presented himself. "At ease. How quickly can you set up the ice cream cart we use for special occasions?" "Twenty minutes, sir!" "When will the men be finished eating?" "The first of them are nearly done, sir." "Set up the cart in the lobby, and do it quickly." Mike walked back into the lobby, released the locks on the wheels of the horse, wheeled it next to the dining room doors, and locked it down again. Mike threw open the dining room doors, and stepped in. The pucks immediately stopped eating, got up, and stood with hands behind their heads. Over one hundred beefy men, naked, with their cocks and balls thrust forward by leather cockrings, stood quietly, awaiting Mike's next word. "Men, you work hard, and I want you to play hard. Bob is strapped to a horse outside the door. Everyone who fucks him gets ice cream! "Go back to your meal, and enjoy your desserts. Both of them." With that, Mike turned around and walked out, enjoying the cheers coming from the dining room. Stupid pucks. They had no idea why they were constantly sporting boners. Only a few members of the kitchen staff knew about the "little blue pills," now off patent and much cheaper, mixed in with every entrée. That, and the cockrings, kept them horny. "Hear that sound, Bob? One hundred twenty men eager to stick their dicks up your sorry ass. Think about that the next time you are rude to your Master." Mike walked back into the kitchen and saw the ice cream cart being set up. "Keep working, gentlemen!" He then walked over to the server scrambling to get the cart ready, and said, "Give anyone who fucks that sorry bastard on the horse a nice big helping of whatever flavor he wants. When you go off duty, pass the cart off to the next shift. Keep that ice cream coming!" Mike walked out the door, and headed over to the Training Center. He had a new puck to inspect, and had some special instructions for Bob's handling. --End of Chapter 6-- Your comments, suggestions, and complaints are always welcome. Please email me at baldmickeyg@sbcglobal.net