The Contract

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The Contract Chapter 10 By The Mangler

"Okay, I suggest we discuss the real estate we saw today," Sam said.

"Why not wait until he has shown us all of the units?" Brad replied.

"If we do it day by day and write down our thoughts, it will be easier to remember things make it quicker when we start our final deliberations."

"Okay, sounds good to me. Do we want Loser to record our observations?" Marc asked.

"That sounds like a good idea," Sam said as he dropped into an armchair. "Get some pen and paper, Loser," Sam demanded.

Loser started to crawl over to the desk in the room.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Marc barked, shocking the other occupants of the room.

"Uh, erm, I'm getting some paper, Sir," Loser began.

"That's Master Marc. Another demerit and remember to keep track of the demerits you earn. And get your own damned paper. Brad and I aren't supporting you; YOU are supporting us."

"Yes, Master Marc," Loser replied as he turned toward the door and started to stand.

"And stay on your fucking knees, Loser," Sam yelled.

"But, Sir, er Master Sam," Loser whined.

"Don't fucking `but Sir' me. I said stay on your knees. Now get the fuck moving."

With a loud sigh of frustration, Loser knee walked to the door, opened it, and exited into the hallway dressed only in his chastity cage. He moved as quickly as possible across the hallway to his room, only to realize that the door was locked. As he swiveled to return back across the hall, two residents who were moving out walked by.

"Damned, Ethan, what are you doing?" one asked.

"Um, err, going to get my keys," Loser replied as he started back across the hall.

"Don't you think you should correct yourself," Sam demanded from the doorway.

"Correct myself, si.... Master S?" Loser inquired.

The resident looked at Loser and Sam with confusion on his face.

"Did you call him Master S?"

Taking a deep breath, Loser replied, "Yes, Sir, I did. It is the proper way to address him."

"Fucking weirdo," he laughed.

"Yes, Correct him. He called you Ethan, and you failed to call him Sir," Sam smirked.

"Isn't that his name?"

Sam looked at Loser but said nothing.

"No, Sir, Ethan is my old name. My new name is Loser," he replied with a hint of tears in his voice.

"You're kidding, right," the other resident asked.

"No, Sir, I am not."

"I don't believe it."

Sam looked at Loser and said, "Why don't you show him."

Sighing, Loser crawled into Brad and Marc's room, removed his wallet from the desk, and extracted his new driver's license. He started to turn back to the door before he also remembered to grab his keys. He shuffled back out into the hallway and offered his driver's license to the resident.

"Here is the proof my name is legally Loser Object, Sir" he said.

Both residents looked at the driver's license and broke out in laughter.

"You are one fucked up dude," one replied in disgust as he threw the license on the floor, and the two walked off.

Loser picked up the license and continued across the hall to his room. He grabbed an unused spiral notebook and a pen and returned to Brad and Marc's room, but fortunately, he didn't run into anyone this time.

"Hey, we are out of soda," Brad said as he opened the fridge. "I could use a little something to drink during our session."

"Oh, I agree," Marc said. "I was looking forward to a Gatorade."

"Well, the store across the street has that. I'm sure Loser would be happy to go get you one, wouldn't you," Sam asked Loser.

Loser turned red and looked almost as if he would cry. He finally strangled out, "Yes, Master M, I would love to," was the reply.

He also had enough sense to ask, "Master S, Master B, would you like me to get you anything?"

Loser noted Sam's look of disappointment. He was looking forward to sending Loser out again after he got Marc's Gatorade but failed to get anything for him or Brad.

"I think I'd like a Mike's hard lemonade," Sam said.

"But, er, I don't think they have those in that store," Loser whined.

Sam reached out and slapped Loser. "Again, you forget the Master. And if they don't have it is not my fucking problem. Do whatever you have to and get me a hard lemonade."

Loser opened his mouth to tell Sam to "fuck off" but remembered his place just in time.

"And you, Master B?"

"A rum and coke sounds good to me."

Taking his wallet, Loser crawled over, opened the door, and exited. He slipped on the green jockstrap and translucent shorts. He reached for his shoes when Marc said, "No shoes. Go barefoot."

"But they might not let me in the store," Loser retorted.

"Not my problem. And AGAIN, you forgot Master. What are you a fucking idiot?"

"I'm sorry, Master." Loser sighed as he picked up the crop top to put on.

"And no shirt," Brad shouted.

Feeling flustered at this point, Loser dropped the shirt and headed for the stairwell while hoping to avoid other people. The truth was that he now looked like any other typical college student on a hot summer day at this point. However, the image he had planted in his mind was much worse.

His anxiety proved overstated as no one said or even looked at him as he went to the liquor store. The bell over the door rang when he entered, and the clerk looked up to see who was coming in. He stared for a moment, looking at the hot muscular jock only in shorts before looking back down. Near a college, the clerk had seen it all and no longer reacted to most things.

The convenience store proved to be a little more challenging.

"Hey, you have to have shirt and shoes on to come in here," the attendant shouted.

"Why?" Loser asked.

"Because we have fresh food, so the health department says so," was the response.

Loser started to leave but then thought, "fuck it, what's he going to do? Throw me out?" He continued into the store and headed for the cooler. The clerk said nothing else. Once he got to the cooler, he looked at the various flavors of Gatorade and realized he hadn't asked which one. He counted and saw that there were six flavors, so he bought one of each.

"I'm not supposed to ring you up dressed like that."

"OK. I'm just going to stand here until you do. Either an inspector or a customer is going to walk in and complain. However, if you ring it up, I'll be out of here, Sir."

The clerk looked a little shocked at the Sir but reluctantly rang up the purchase.

"Can I have a bag, Sir?" Loser asked.

"We're out," was the reply, even though Loser could clearly see a stack of paper bags on the counter behind the clerk. Plastic bags were prohibited in this state, so many stores had turned to paper ones. At this point, Loser decided against arguing the point. He just wanted to get back to the dorm. It was somewhat tricky juggling all the drinks and the liquor in just his hands, but he managed by cuddling between his arms and his chest.

Once outside the door to the room, he put the drinks on the floor, stripped naked, knocked on the door, and assumed the "presentation" position. It was a few minutes before the door opened.

"You're back. What took you so long?" Sam asked.

Loser didn't say anything.

"OK come in," Sam replied as the door was opened.

Loser moved the drinks to just inside the door and then crawled in after them.

Marc looked at the choice of drinks and replied, "You seem smarter than we give you credit for. You got a choice of Gatorade and actually got the one I wanted." He picked up the lemon-lime version. Loser made a rum and cock and delivered the hard lemonade. He then sat back on his heels.

"Get your notebook and pen and get over here," Sam said as he pointed to the space in front of the loveseat he was sitting on. When Loser arrived, Sam said, "Get on your knees and forearms."

Loser complied somewhat confused by the request. The reason why became obvious as Sam leaned back before lifting his feet up and placing them on his back. Marc laughed but soon followed suit.

"Master S, I thought I was to take notes," Loser said.

"You can still take notes in that position," Sam intoned.

"Um, er, okay, Master S." Out of all the humiliations he had suffered today, Loser found that being reduced to an ottoman was the worst because he had been reduced to simply an object.

"The first place only had two garage spaces, but we could rent out another one. Loser's car could be in the parking lot. Also, there was laundry on the floor, so we wouldn't need to place one in the unit," Sam started the conversation.

"Also, there was a large closet space for Loser to sleep. It's even big enough for a crate if needed. But there was bad light," Brad contributed to the conversation.

"It was far from the university, which would give Loser here more time to exhibit himself as he went to and fro. Plus, there was a pool and fitness center," Marc replied.

"Yeah, but the long walk cuts both ways. It means more time that Loser isn't taking care of our needs. Plus, it would mean we would have to drive to the university and deal with the parking hassles."

"Or we could have Loser here chauffer us there and back. Once he dropped us off, he could drive back here and then walk over," Brad laughed.

"There are a large number of families in the complex, which is fairly large. I suspect that a majority are families. Plus, the guy on that floor wasn't very friendly. There are also more people per building, which might cause problems if there were enough objections to Loser here," Marc continued.

"Don't forget that it was also sorta dark. Not a lot of natural light. And all the outdoor space is communal."

Loser tried to make a column of pros and cons without moving around too much. It was getting tiresome having to hold the same position. At one point, he froze when he felt one of the Masters place a glass on his back. This was quickly followed by a second and then a third. No one said anything, but he intuitively knew there would be hell to pay if he spilled one. This slowed his note-taking down.

Marc started, "The second place was a lot closer to the university, so Loser here would waste much less time walking back and forth. Plus, we could also walk there easily and not have to fight the parking problems."

Brad continued, "There are also fewer apartments overall and per floor. Essentially, there are eight units in the place."

"Yeah, but only two private parking spots are available," Marc replied.

"But if we did like Brent suggested and got both apartments, that would cover that situation. Plus, we could set up the laundry in the second unit, so Loser here wouldn't bother us doing laundry. And it would give us a place for visitors to stay or a place to hide Loser if we didn't want him around," Sam added.

"We just put him in the laundry closet if we don't want him around," Marc laughed.

"True," the other two said at the same time.

"Remember, there is also some so-called private outdoor space, even though other units can look down into it, but since we are on the second floor, that would not be as much of an issue. And the guy across the hall didn't seem too put off by Loser here," Sam said.

"But remember, if we got both units, we would be the only ones who could look down into that space. And since it was an end building, only the building next door could possibly see into the yard, so we could keep Loser naked down there," Marc said.

"Not so fast there. Maybe no one could look down, but the first-floor people could look out their windows and see into the backyard."

"I'm not sure about that. I thought they didn't look into the yard," Brad said. "Let me call Brent and ask about that." Brad exited the room as he made the call.

Sam and Marc relaxed and talked about nothing while Loser tried to remain still even as he felt himself stiffening up. He began to fidget a little.

Sam looked at Marc. "Should we have a little compassion for the loser? After all, it is only his first day."

"My inclination is no, but yeah, a little compassion but only for today." With that, they both removed their feet and glasses and gave Loser an opportunity to sit up and stretch.

About thirty minutes later, Brad returned.

"Looks like the coffee table is broken," he laughed.

"Yeah, well, Marc here is a pussy and insisted we give Loser a little break," Sam laughed.

Marc punched Sam in the shoulder and said, "Fuck off. Resume your position, Loser."

Loser lowered himself back to his forearms and the feet went back up onto Loser's back.

"Brad said that the setup is such that the only people who can see into those private outdoor spaces are the two condos on the second floor. There are no windows in the first-floor condos that overlook that space. So, if we got both condos, it would truly be private space to do as we wished without worrying about other people."

"Excellent," Marc said.

"Hey, Loser, what do you think?" Sam asked. "He has to decide if he is willing to go for both units or not. But he doesn't get the final say about the larger unit; we do."

"Looking at pricing and economic situations alone, Masters S, B, M, I think the second option is probably the better option because (a) it is near the university, but separated by the park it would also appeal to city residents (especially as there are no rentals allowed on this side of the university), and (b) it would be in demand for students who are purchasing a condo. The downside is (a) there could be a lot of turnover as parents may buy for 4-5 years then sell, and (b) there may be a "party" atmosphere as many students live there. However, as you are probably going to be selling in a few years, that would not be much of a problem."

"The first option probably has a long-term population renting, so there are fewer students and a stable environment. But as was pointed out, distance becomes an issue and the people living there might have some objection to our lifestyle."

"Parking is still an issue. Would you be willing to buy the two units to solve that problem?" Brad inquired.

"Um, I would but only if the smaller unit is placed in my name, Master B."

"Not sure about that. I don't like that you would have somewhere close to run away to," Marc said.

"Master M, I could give you control of the unit for the same length as my Contract."

"Speaking of which, what happens if the arbitrator rules in Loser's favor and he buys out of the contract?" Sam wondered. "Do we lose out on the condo?"

"Per the contract, that should not be an issue as it would be in force for 30 days. Plus, Master S, if that is the case, I will voluntarily live up to the economic provisions in the contract and would be willing to sign another contract to those terms."

"I think we should take option 2," Sam said.

"Without looking at the other options Brent has lined up for tomorrow?" Brad asked.

"Yeah, I don't think we are going to get much better than #2 for our purposes and I think it is a good investment."

"Okay, that is what we will do IF Loser also takes the one-bedroom apartment," Marc said. Are you willing?"

"Yes, Master S, B, and M. With your permission I can call Brent tonight and get things put in motion."

"That should be Mr. Morris, so there is another demerit," Brad said as he and Sam removed their feet from Loser's back.

"Okay, crawl over to our room, call Brent, and get things moving. You are to remain naked and stay off the furniture," Sam told Loser. "NO! Stay on your forearms and knees until you get to the room," Sam yelled as Loser started to rise to his knees.

"Yes, Master Sam," Loser said with reluctance.

He crawled to the desk, picked up his phone, and crawled out of the room to go across the hall. To his embarrassment, he left Brad and Marc's room just as a large group of students came by. Whistles, cheers, and insults flew as he moved across the hall, and he turned redder with each movement.

Once in the "safety" of his room, he collapsed on the floor, rolled into a fetal position, and lay there willing himself not to cry. He lay there for 15 minutes before getting his emotions under control, calling Brent and getting the purchase started.

At least the day is over, he thought, forgetting that he still had punishment due. But hopefully, this would all end tomorrow.

Brent and Loser took about 45 minutes to finalize the deal for the two condos. Loser asked that a rush be made as he was willing to go all cash. He thought the holdup would be for an inspection, but Brent informed him that he already had an inspection from another client who had changed his mind at the last minute. The inspection revealed no significant issues and Brent could email it to Loser if he wished. Loser told him to go ahead and send it.

Once the email arrived, Loser reviewed the inspection reports and agreed that nothing significant was noted--just some minor cosmetic things. Loser asked Mr. Morris to go ahead and let him know when closing could occur. The sooner, the better.

Loser walked over to the door, opened it, looked in the hallway to make sure it was empty before walking across the hall and knocking on the door.

"Come in," a voice called out. Loser opened the door and walked in.

"Masters, Mr. Morris is trying to expedite the purchase as quickly as possible. Usually, there would be a delay for inspecting the properties, but that happened last week, then the buyer backed out. I have read the reports and found nothing major, just cosmetic issues. I will send you a copy of the reports to look over if you wish."

"Do that," Sam said. Shortly, all three Masters heard a ding on their phones.

"Why don't you resume your useful duty as a footstool," Brad smirked.

Loser walked over and assumed the position without saying a word. Sam and Brad propped their feet up. Marc pulled his chair over and joined the other two, not wanting to be left out. All three laughed.

About thirty minutes later, Marc said, "This looks good to me. As Loser here said, some minor issues, but he can get those taken care of."

Both Sam and Brad agreed with him.

"Okay, it looks like we will have a place to live. So, let's move on to more important issues," Sam said.

"And what might that be?" Brad asked.

"Punishment time for Loser here," Sam smirked.

Loser let out a loud moan as he had forgotten the 100 swats he was due. At least they would be in the privacy of the room and not in the lounge as threatened.

"I think we should divide up the swats between us. 33 for Brad and myself and 34 for Sam," Marc said.

"Just curious, why does Sam get the extra swat?" Brad asked.

"Because he has lived with Loser here for the entire year and put up with the arrogant prick."

Loser fumed when he heard those words and almost spoke out to defend himself but managed to quell that desire. After all, no sense in pissing off the people about to "spank" him.

"I like that idea. Okay, Loser, why don't you drape yourself over my knees," Sam snickered.

"What? Drape myself over your knee? Like a child," Loser said in disbelief. "Er, Master Sam," he added when he saw the look he was receiving.

"Yes, just like a naughty little child. After all that is the way you behaved. Being insulant to your superiors, trying to hide that fact from your masters, and being slow to follow the rules, although they are clearly set out for you."

Loser's mouth opened and closed several times without saying a word before he walked over and reluctantly draped himself across Sam's legs. His face turned beet red as he did so. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse or more embarrassing, they did.

Sam rubbed his hand over Loser's right ass cheek before lifting his hand and bringing it down with a resounding slap. Loser jumped slightly with surprise.

As Sam readied for the next slap, Brad interrupted. "Don't you think Loser should call out the swats? After all, I wouldn't want him to think we gave him too many."

Marc joined the conversation with, "And I think he should also thank you for each one. After all, we are doing this to improve him. We obviously have better things to do with our time than monitor his behavior." The three smirked as Marc said the last line.

Loser just lay there, not saying anything.

"Well?" Sam asked. "I believe your Masters gave you some orders."

"One. Thank you, Master Sam," Loser said in a low voice.

"A little louder next time," Brad said.

Sam brought his hand down for the second time.

"Two. Thank you, Master Sam," Loser said slightly louder. As he was facing toward the window, Loser failed to notice Brad turn the doorknob and crack the room door open. Not enough for anyone to see in, but enough that sound would exit more clearly.

Sam continued with the swats, and Loser counted them down. By the time he reached ten, his ass cheek was beginning to burn. He was so focused on counting that he failed to hear the noise in the hallway.

"Sounds like someone is getting an old fashion ass whopping?" the voice said.

"Yeah, it does," someone else laughed.

The second voice penetrated Loser's mind, and he looked toward the door.

"You said this was going to be in private," Loser whined.

"It is in private. No one can see in. We can't help it if the walls and doors are so thin," Marc laughed. "And once again you forgot the fucking Master. Already building up demerits for the next go round."

Loser was about to argue when a loud slap reverberated from his ass.

"Eleven. Thank you, Master Sam."

Giggling could be heard from the doorway.

"Oooh, Master Sam," someone repeated in a snarky voice. "Wonder who it could be?"

"My guess would be Ethan Winthrop, as he has been acting weird the last day or so and hanging out naked, or nearly so."

"Twelve. Thank you, Master Sam."

As Sam continued his blows, Loser ignored the sounds from the hallway as he concentrated on keeping count and on the increasing discomfort and pain in his right ass cheek. By the time Sam reached 34, Loser had to bite his lip to keep from screaming out because Sam was not holding back. Loser's right ass cheek was beet red.

"Whose up next?" Sam inquired in a louder voice than necessary. The laughter from the hall was louder and sounded like more voices than before.

"That would be me," Marc said as he sat at the other end of the room. As he did, he slapped his hands on his legs and said, "Crawl over here and get in position, Loser," he said loud enough that it could be heard in the hallway.

"Oh, a loser is it," someone said to much laughter.

Loser's face turned even redder as he realized that he was becoming the entertainment for those in the hallway. He realized that he should have taken the public swats in the lounge. At least, there would be fewer of them. He slid off Sam's lap and slowly crawled over to Marc. Each time he moved his right leg, he could feel the pain in that ass cheek.

When he arrived at Marc's seat, he draped himself over his lap.

"Are you sure you want to be facing that way?" Marc asked. "That means my blows will probably land here." As he said that, he rubbed his hand over the reddened right cheek, eliciting a loud moan from Loser.

"No, Master Marc, I am facing the wrong way," he replied as he slid off the lap and repositioned himself. He could feel the heat in his face.

Marc proceeded to deliver 33 very robust swats to the left cheek as Loser counted them down and thanked him. Marc made sure to vary the rate and tempo to keep Loser guessing. By the time this round of swats had finished, both of Loser's ass cheeks were well reddened and sore. And the audience in the hallway was having a grand old time.

At Brad's invitation, Loser slid off Marc's lap and moved over to Brad, where he positioned himself.

Brad had positioned himself near the door so those hanging outside could hear his conversation better. Brad looked up at Sam and Marc and winked as he said, "You do understand, Loser, that we are doing this for your benefit? It isn't something that we enjoy."

The three teens barely managed to suppress their laughter at the last comment.

"Yes, Masters, I understand," emanated from Loser's mouth with obvious sounds of discomfort and disbelief.

"Okay, then let's get this over with."

Brad began to deliver the last 33 swats. As the loser counted them off, the distress in his voice became more evident, and toward the end, he was crying out in pain with each blow. The laughter from the hallway was ever-present.

"FUCK," Loser screamed as Brad put extra effort behind the final blow. "100, thank you, Master Brad," Loser counted. It was obvious from his voice that he had tears rolling down his face, which turned deep red when he heard laughter and applause from outside the door.

The three Master's looked at Loser's ass, and it was apparent there would be bruising tomorrow. But that was his choice, so they didn't feel any guilt.

"Anyone up for some beers and music?" Sam asked.

"What do you have in mind?" Brad asked.

"I was thinking about going over to the Hideout. That's always fun and a great place to pick up some girls," was the reply.

Loser moaned when he heard this. He wasn't sure that he could take anymore.

"Don't worry, Loser. We aren't inviting you tonight. We've already wasted enough of our time with you today."

Loser wasn't sure why he didn't feel relief at those words. Indeed, Sam was up to something else.

"I think that you should go over to our room, SIT at your desk," (a round of snickers could be heard from the hallway), "and write a 500-word essay on how grateful you are that today has come and how appreciative you are to the three of us for taking the time to help you live your dream." All three smirked at these words.

Loser looked at his three masters and mumbled, "Yes, Sirs, Masters." He slowly got to his feet and opened the door only to be met by a chorus of insults and snide remarks from the crowd in the hall. He did his best to ignore them as he headed across the hall and opened the door to his room. A couple of people took the opportunity to slap him on the ass -- a painful experience but he ignored them and the pain as best he could.

Once in his room, he closed the door. He picked up his computer and sat it on his desk. He pulled the wooden chair up to the computer and sat down. As soon as his ass hit the seat of the chair, he shot back up and said "fuck." He thought about just standing but remembered Sam's emphasis on the word sit. He pulled a pillow off his bed, placed it on the chair, and gently sat down. The pillow helped but didn't relieve the pain. This was going to be torture.

The door to his room opened, and Sam walked in.

"When you are finished, you can tidy up the room and then go to bed. You sleep on the floor tonight."

"Yes, Master Sam," Loser replied.

Sam gathered what he needed and left the room. Loser stared at the blank computer screen and tried to decide why he was grateful to his three Masters. With the pain in his ass, the words were slow to come.

It was going to be a long night.

But it will be over with tomorrow, he thought as he began to type.

[With appreciation to Sir Calvin and slave william for their proofreading and story suggestions!]