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Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination and bondage. If you don't enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don't look back! This story is NOT to be taken as an endorsement of the materials found on that site. Caveat emptor.

This story is dedicated to Hugh, The Player, www.muscle-bondage.com

My thanks, as always, to Dutch for his critique and great suggestions.

Mergers and Acquisitions - Chapter 1

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but like many such "good ideas", this one had backfired on him bigtime. This was the last thing he'd expected and that was undoubtedly what landed him in this position. And what a position it was! Never in his life, up to this point, would he have expected to be found like this. But here he was and, not only could he not deny it, he had the distinct sense that some part of him wanted it; no needed it. Who would ever have thought?

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Bradford McClintock was a real go-getter; a true Type A personality. Through his scrappiness, his smarts, his willingness to take risks and his aggressiveness, he'd risen to the top of his business. He'd married while in college but, when he told his wife he was going for his M.B.A. at Harvard, she packed her belongings (and some of his) and moved back home to live with her parents. She told him there was only one thing in his life that mattered to him and that was his career. She knew he would never change and she wanted a husband and family. So here he was, 20 years later, alone but successful.

He tromped over a number of bodies on his way to the top but that was the price of getting ahead "C'est la guerre!" he often said, smirking while his underlings just exchanged wary glances. Well, that was why they were underlings; they didn't have what it took to get to the top. Very few did; but he was one of them and, at the age of 44, he knew he'd arrived and everyone else did too. His photograph had been on the cover of the Business Weekly with a banner "The top of the heap" emblazoned across his chest. Yes, he'd made it.

To keep himself sane and healthy, he'd begun body building in his late 20s. He'd been at it over fifteen years now and had a pretty good physique, if he did say so himself. Sometimes he imagined a body- building contest for executives but knew there was no competition so he knew it would never happen. How could any of those old boardroom farts even consider stripping down to a posing strap, let alone climbing up on a stage to stand next to him and flex? It was laughable, really.

He did, of course, have other needs and, seeking some means of satisfaction that suited his aggressiveness, he had, on occasion, hired some high-priced escorts to get his rocks off. He'd tried a little kink, such as gagging the girls and then giving them an over-the-knee spanking but he found it just didn't quite do it. Oh yes, he'd gotten plenty hard as the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and their gagged squeals and grunts filled his ears but for some reason, it just didn't do it. And vanilla didn't do it either. So he'd sublimated his desires and focused on his work, using his long-deceased father as his score-keeper, the one whom he tried to measure up to, the one he tried to please. But he always knew there was something missing.

Then, one evening, he'd received a call from one of his competitors, one Jack Thornsburg. Thornsburg, like Brad, was C.E.O. of his own corporation and his principal rival. Jack said they'd never had a chance to talk and was he interested in sitting down and getting to know one another? Brad chuckled softly. Was he interested in getting to know his competition? Sure, what the hell? He already knew what his competition was doing and how much they were cutting into his market share and he had very good ideas about how to out-flank them. But what would it hurt to sit down with Thornsburg? So they made a date for the following Thursday evening at 10:00. Jack suggested an out-of-the-way bar down on the East End and, not knowing the area, Brad agreed. Seemed simple enough: better to meet somewhere out of the gaze of prying eyes who might wonder what the two main powers in their field were doing having drinks together? Some sort of anti-competitive scheme? No, better to remain out of sight for the moment.

Thursday evening Brad, dressed uncharacteristically in jeans, polo shirt and boots, took a train over to the East End. Having checked out the address of the bar online before he left, he made his way from the train stop directly to the bar. Outside, he stopped to case it. It wasn't at all what he expected. He saw some pretty rough trade going in and out and hesitated before making up his mind that he wasn't going to be intimidated by any leather queens and going in. He went to the bar and ordered a beer and sat at a table near the door, waiting for Jack to arrive. From the back, he heard noises that sounded like the sounds of leather and flesh on flesh and muffled cries. What sort of damned things was Jack into? Why the hell did he want to meet here? Brad was tempted to go through the door at the back, from whence the sounds were coming, and investigate but his gut told him to say put, even though it reminded him of his previous encounters with the opposite sex and the sounds set his cock twitching. So he adjusted himself and sat nursing his beer and waiting, reaching down every now and then to shift his hard cock in his pants.

Finally, about twenty minutes past, Jack came through the door, dressed casually, in black jeans, a black tee and black boots. He surveyed the room until he spotted Brad.

"Hey Brad!" he exclaimed, taking Brad's extended hand and slapping him on the back. "Great to finally meet the competition, right boy?"

Boy? Brad offered a bemused smirk and said "Sure. Glad to meet you too Thornsburg."

"Come on back here," Jack said, his hand on Brad's lower back, steering him through the crowd toward the door in the back.

Brad resisted and turned toward Jack.

"What the hell is this place and why did you want to meet here? Is this some sort of leather bar? I thought we were going to talk business," he glowered.

Jack grinned affably. "Of course we're going to talk business. Why else would I invite you? But we can enjoy the evening right?"

"What makes you think I'm going to enjoy this sort of crap?" Brad shot back, unconsciously reaching down to shift his dick inside his pants.

"Well who knows? Have you ever tried it before?" Jack chuckled, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows?

"Well, no. Not really. Not into that sort of thing," Brad mumbled.

"Well then, you never know do you old boy?" Jack laughed, pressing Brad toward the back.

Brad gave up resisting and went along. As Jack said, who knows? Maybe he'd find a new outlet for himself. God knew he liked stepping on men in the pursuit of success; maybe it would be just as much fun to step on them in the pursuit of pleasure? Maybe that's why the whore's he'd hired hadn't satisfied him. Maybe he needed to work on men, just as he did in his business dealings.

"How'd you like to watch a master whip a slave?" Jack asked. "Kinda like going after one of your inferiors when they fuck up."

Brad nodded. "Sure, might be fun!"

"I thought so," Jack smirked. "Right this way."

Brad could hear the sound of a whip cracking on flesh and almost immediately, the sound of a stifled cry. Jack led him into a room where a well-built man was hanging by his wrists from a chain. There were red weals all over his body and he swayed unsteadily, trying to hold himself upright, although he was suspended so that only the balls of his feet were touching the ground. Each time the whip licked his body, he arched his back, threw back his head and uttered a cry through gritted teeth. Then he'd count:

"Twenty Sir, thank you Sir. May I have another Sir?"

The master was dressed only in black leather chaps and boots. His torso glistened with sweat and his dark eyes remained focused on his subject. His arm would extend back and fly forward, the whip following his motion and landing on the beaten man's body precisely where the master had intended, or so it appeared to Brad.

The whole scene fascinated him: he'd never seen anything like this in- person. He was certainly aware that such things went on but had never had the opportunity to witness it. Once again, he reached down and massaged his stiff cock. This was incredible. To see a man beaten and humiliated, gratefully taking the whip was his idea of how things should work. How he hated it when the inferiors who worked him whined when he chastised them for stupid decisions. He hated that: he'd fired a couple for it because he thought a man should take it, accept it and do what he was ordered, instead of whining about it and bitching to his co-workers. This, on the other hand, was exciting and satisfying. Beating a man and watching him dance as he accepted the whip and begged for more.

The master put down the whip and took a chain from the cupboard. He went to the slave and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close and kissing him roughly.

"Thank you master," the slave gasped as the master's flesh came in contact with his abused skin. "Please master, please," he gasped desperately, though Brad wasn't sure what he was begging for.

Did he want more painful contact? Less contact? More kissing? More whipping? Brad couldn't tell but the pained sound of his voice made Brad's hard cock begin to ooze. Jack sidled up beside him.

"Whatdya think Bradford? Hot enough? You like it?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah," Brad moaned. "God, I can't believe this. I can't believe I've gone this long without doing this."

"You want to try it maybe? You want to give it a whirl Bradford my boy?"

Why was Jack calling him Bradford? Yes, that was his name but no one called him that except his father and then only when he was angry. And what was the "boy" about? But Brad chose to ignore it

"Yeah, I want to do it. Let me have a go," Brad gasped.

Then, before he could move, a mask was clapped over his nose and mouth and his arms were pinned behind his back. He gasped for air and shouted but before he could finish yelling "What the hell?" the room went dark.

Mergers and Acquisitions - Chapter 2

Brad heard voices around him and gradually came back to himself. But everything was dark. What the hell was going on? He tried to move but found his range of motion quite limited. His hands were above his head and he couldn't bring them down. Then he realized that the only thing he could move were his feet. His feet were touching the ground, but just barely. And his feet were standing on concrete. He was barefoot. In the same instant, he realized he could feel cool air wafting over his body: he was naked! He tried to shout but his voice was muffled; there was something filling his mouth and he struggled to free himself. He heard and felt chains rattling and heard the sound of his voice inside his head. Then there was a hand on his face. Why couldn't he see?

"Well Bradford, I'm glad to see you're back with us boy?"

It was Jack's voice, low and insinuatingly menacing.

"I've been waiting a long time for this, you see. See, you've been a pain in my ass for years now and I finally decided to take proper care of you."

Brad tried to shout again. "Let me go you mother-fucking son-of-a- bitch!" But only muffled and unintelligible grunts came out from around the gag in his mouth.

"You see Bradford, some of those poor pissheads you fired came to see me. They told me what a son-of-a-bitch you were and how full of yourself. So I thought and thought until I came up with a plan. And you're going to go along with that plan, whether you like it or not. Do you see Bradford, my boy?"

Brad did not see and he knew he wouldn't go along with whatever the hell it was Jack had planned. Once again, he struggled to free himself.

Jack stroked his body and face and shushed him.

"Bradford, Bradford, calm down boy. There's nothing you can do. You realize, of course, that you're stripped and bound. And you asked for it. Yes, you did. You said you wanted to try this. So I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime. By the time we're finished with you, you'll be just another cunt slave for my organization and you'll be begging for the whip, for cock, for pain, for anything to feel that you're accepted and wanted. Because obviously, that's what you've needed so badly, even though you don't understand that yet. But you will, you will. Trust me Bradford, my boy."

Brad did his best to free himself but quickly realized there was no hope of his doing so and he struggled to calm himself. Best to go along for the time being and see when the chance arose to escape this hell.

"Take the blindfold and gag off him," Jack ordered.

In a moment, Brad felt hands on the back of his head unbuckling the blindfold and the gag. The blindfold fell from his eyes and he squinted in the light, though it wasn't really bright in the room. But he'd been in darkness for quite a while and his eyes had dilated. Then the gag was pulled from his mouth. He could see, as the slave took it away, that it was in the shape of penis and he felt his stomach turn over. He'd had a cock gag in his mouth! A cock gag! He was no faggot! What the hell was going on here! He spit on the floor in disgust.

"My, my," Jack said softly. "A boy spitting; that will never do. But we'll have you clean it up later; after you're broken."

"Get your hands offa me faggot!" Brad stormed. "And let me go. You'll be hearing from my lawyers when I get outta here! Now get me down!"

"There, there," Jack cooed, stroking Brad's chest and tweaking his nipples. "You need to learn your place boy, and I'm the one's gonna teach you."

Jack moved behind him and pulled Brad's swaying body against his front. He grabbed his nipples and squeezed hard, making Brad cry out in pain. Then, using his tits for handles, he jerked Brad's body against his own, humping him. Brad cried out in outrage and shock.

"Get the fuck offa me you fucking faggot! Let me go!"

"All in good time, my boy, all in good time. But first we have some lessons to learn, don't we?"

Jack pulled him back to the point where his feet were off of the floor and then let go. Brad swung forward and back, like a pendulum until the dragging of his feet on the floor slowed, then stopped him. The second he stopped, he heard the crack of a whip. In the split second it took the sound to fully register in his consciousness, he began to shake. He was going to experience it all right, but it wasn't the experience he was expecting. He was going to be on the receiving end and there was nothing on earth he could do to stop it. He was strung up, naked, barefoot and helpless. He heard the whip crack again and in an instant, felt its searing lick over his torso. He howled in pain but before his first howl ended, there was another crack and another scalding lick of the whip. He howled again and felt tears in his eyes. Why were they doing this to him?

He hung there, his head thrown back, tears creeping out the corners of his eyes, trying to make sense of this. Jack moved close to him and wiped his eyes. Brad felt his warmth and tried to move closer to him, seeking any comfort in this storm.

"Now Bradford, here's the first lesson. When you feel the whip, the correct response is 'One sir, thank you sir. May I have another sir?' Do you understand that boy? Nod your head if you understand."

Brad shakily nodded his head.

"Now say 'I understand sir.'"

Brad groaned and said "I understand sir."

"Say 'thank you sir.'"

"Thank you sir."

"Good boy. Now put it all together. 'I understand sir, thank you sir.'"

"I understand sir, thank you sir."

"Good boy, Bradford. You learn fast. I figured you for a quick study. We'll have you in shape in no time."

Jack moved away and Brad felt the loss of his warmth. Maybe if he did what he was told; if he was good, they'd have a laugh and let him go. Maybe that was his escape. He vowed to himself to do what he had to to get through this. Anything, anything Jack wanted.

"Ready for more boy? Since you're just starting out, we're going to go for fifteen lashes. Now don't forget to count properly or I'll be forced to start again and that wouldn't make either of us happy, would it boy?"

"No sir," Jack answered, desperate to please.

"Good," Jack said and grunted as he unleashed the whip.

The hated crack followed by the blinding jolt of pain.

"One sir, thank you sir," Jack screamed out, barely able to control his voice. Then he remembered the man he'd seen whipped and added "May I have another sir?

Another blinding jolt.

"Aaahhhh. Two sir, thank you sir. May I have another sir?"

"Good boy. Asking for more; that's just the thing to do to please your Master," Jack chuckled.

Brad swayed at the end of the chain suspending him, fervently wanting this to be over; not just the whipping, but the entire experience. He wanted to be comfortably back in his penthouse, safe, warm and satisfied.

"Please sir," he groaned. "Please..."

"Please what boy? What are you trying to say?"

"Please go on sir. Please finish it..."

"Very well. Since you asked so nicely, let's continue. Do you remember the count boy?"

"It was two sir..." Brad paused and quickly realized he need to finish the thought or suffer even more. "thank you sir. May I have another sir?"

"Good boy. You'll make someone a great slave once we've finished processing you," Jack laughed.

Brad didn't like the sound of that at all but he dismissed the speculation. His only goal right now was to have this beating over with and then he'd face the next challenge. He heard the whip whistle through the air and strike him full force, wrapping around his chest and searing his nipples.

"Aaagggghhh. Three sir, thank you sir. May I have another sir?"

The whipping went on. Angry red stripes surrounded Brad's body and his mind and flesh were in agony. Finally the fifteenth blow sang through the air.

"Aaaaggggh. Fifteen sir, thank you sir," he gasped with a raw throat. But he needed to complete the mantra and ask for another. If he didn't, his tormentor might start the whole thing over again. How could he ask for one more blow to his tortured body? But he had to. "May I have another sir?"

"Well since you asked so nicely, sure; I'll give you another."

The whistle, the lick of fire, his mind screamed and he shouted his incantation.

"Sixteen sir, thank you sir. May I have another sir," he shouted, all the while praying to a god he didn't believe in that the whipmaster would decline his request.

"No, I think that's enough for now. I certainly don't want to kill you. You're of no use to me or anyone else dead now, are you boy?"

"N-n-no sir. Thank you sir," Brad answered with a hoarse voice and he sagged against his chains.

"Take him down," Jack ordered. "Take him to my apartment and put him in my special room. I'll be there shortly."

Brad had nothing left to fight his handlers as they took him down from the chains, cuffed his hands behind his back and replaced the blindfold and the cock gag. He sank into blessed oblivion and slept like a dead man: a dead man in hell.

To be continued.