Date: Mon, 17 Mar 2008 20:07:54 +0000
From: white collar <white_collar@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mergers and Acquisitions - 01 (M/M, NC, B&D)

Any comments will be gladly received at white_collar@hotmail.com

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?

# # #

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.