A coworker found me in a BDSM chat room, and before I knew it, before I recognized him, it was too late, he'd discovered I was a perverted, masochistic, submissive old faggot.
At my employer, an insurance company affiliated with Pentecostal churches, this information would be fatal; the revelation could result in immediate and summary dismissal. I was the oldest employee, already approaching 60, and they were all in their early 30s.
So, my coworker began blackmailing me, ordering me to stay after work and abusing me as his slave and bitch. Soon, he invited several other colleagues to join what he called "their happy hour", or, as he put it, "my unhappy hour", or my hardest work hour.
They would take me to the company cafeteria, where the floor was easier to clean, order me to strip naked, get on all fours, put a collar on me, and begin beating me and shoving things up my ass. Some were so excited they'd shove their dicks in my mouth for me to give them blowjobs; others would stub out cigarettes on my nipples, back, cock, and ass, burning them repeatedly with sadism..
They loved to humiliate me. They'd bring me dog food, piss on it, and make me eat it like a despicable dog. They'd spit in my face, kick me, and slap me. I'd always end up bent over the table or on all fours, being raped by all of them, taking turns, dozens of times.
This became our weekly routine. Their happy hour was every Friday, and sometimes it extended into the weekend.
I can assure you that I was the happiest, and I had the best happy hour I could have ever dreamed of!
wow, very nice !
ReplyDeletethank you for posting again, my friend.
jan
It's not a bad deal. It should be close to retirement; so the idea is to find a small space on some highway or nearby town where they can set up a cage and use it as a torture site. Once the paperwork is done, it's just a matter of selling its properties, collecting its savings or investments, and arranging for its pension if necessary—and thus still having the faggot available to unwind from the weekly sermon. The faggot won't last long after that unless it's necessary to keep his biometrics active; otherwise, just use it until it collapses. And in the meantime, start training or looking for its replacement.
ReplyDeleteMy dear Mr. Brenner, you're absolutely right. Being placed in a dirty warehouse, naked and chained, to be used as a sex toy by sadistic young men is the exciting, dream-come-true fate of a bunch of perverted old faggots. Having their pensions withheld monthly by their owners to pay for their nights out, their beers and whiskey, and the bitch's cheap dog shit food is all part of the scheme. Only the end of the story could be more cruel: instead of the faggot dying under torture, which would be the shithead's dream, it ends up starving to death because his owners eventually lose interest in that old, decaying body. The young men's visits become increasingly spaced out, rare, and brief. Until, thinking one of them went there, none of them brought food to that despicable old man.
DeleteYou're right; but if the company forced me to attend Pentecostal services every Sunday, someone would have to pay the price. Some old beasts are lucky.
DeleteOh NO!!! I just discovered your work and LOVE it so I started reading Three Years of Slavery, anticipating a cruel and satisfying death for the beast and you let him live? Oh well, I suppose that is the prerogative of a gifted artist such as yourself, or is it your clever tick to torture us who were lusting for an agonizing end for him? Anyway, I absolutely LOVE the stories in which the family sells their faggot into sexual slavery. All so HOT!
ReplyDelete