The Warehouse

The Warehouse, Chapter 9: Night and Day at The Warehouse

Mike looked over to the dining room, and saw David still sprawled across the dining table, awaiting his punishment. Mike pulled his belt off his pants, and swiped David's ass.

"Thank you for punishing me, sir!"

Mike laid several more lashes on David's ass. David began to whimper.

"Thank you sir, for correcting me."

Mike continued to beat David's ass.

David cried out, "Thank you sir!"

The belt continued to strike David's ass.

"Thank you for showing me the way, sir!"

Mike became bored with whipping something so subservient. He could easily beat this piece of property to death, but that would just be a waste of a puck that cost him money.

There was no point of destroying a valuable asset.

"Puck, find the man who purchased the worthless produce, and report him to your Overseer."

"By morning, sir!"

Mike took Pete to bed with him after Bull, Jack, and David left.

"Give me some of that mouth action you gave ape-man."

Pete sucked off his master, and both fell asleep.

Daylight came too soon. Mike woke up to find Pete sucking his morning hard-on.

"A clock cocksucker beats the hell out of an alarm clock. Every man should have one."

Pete took Mike's cock all the way in, and massaged the head with his throat. He gagged a bit, withdrew, took a deep breath, and went down again. Mike shot his seed down Pete's throat. Mike chuckled, thinking that Pete was getting an ample supply of protein these days.

"Call down and have my breakfast sent up. I'm going to take a shower."

Mike sat up, took a deep breath, and headed for the shower. As with every morning, as he was finishing up, Pete came in, and shaved his head and face. Mike could never figure out why some men were so afraid of going bald that they would rub chemicals onto their scalps. Mike loved getting his head shaved.

His morning ablations complete, Mike dressed, had breakfast, and walked back to the Training Center to check on Jack. Mike couldn't get Jack out of his mind. There were other apes as hairy as Jack at The Warehouse, but there was something about that big gorilla that left him weak in the knees. Jack seemed so vulnerable, even when he first inspected him. Sure, the prisoners about to be sold were terrified for the most part, but Jack had a certain resignation about him that usually came after their training, not while they were prepped for purchase or lease. Jack must have been beat up all his life.

Slick greeted Mike at the door.

"Is the gorilla still asleep?"

"I don't know, sir. I was told to leave him alone until you arrived."

"Let's go see."

Slick led Mike down the hall, and into the holding area. Only one cell was occupied. Jack was sitting on his bed, head in hands.

"Good morning, ape-man. That was quite a show last night. Are you ready for today's training?"

Jack jumped up, unsure of what to do. He knew he was to place his hands on the back of his head, but was he supposed to stand, or be on his knees? A look of panic came over his face.

"At ease, ape-man. You're doing good so far. Today's going to be a bit trying for you, but, if you keep the attitude you had last night, you'll be fine.

"Slick, it's time for you to teach Jack the rules of The Warehouse. Give him the standard training, but, if he is cooperative, don't abuse him. He seems to be a quick learner.

"Where's Paul?"

"I believe he's still asleep, sir."

Mike walked out of the room, back up the hall, and entered the staff barracks. He found Paul and Sam asleep in each other's arms. He exited the room quietly, and walked toward the warehouse.

As Mike walked across the yard, he thought about how he came to build this enterprise. His grandfather built the old brick warehouse in 1918 to house car parts destined for the nearby assembly lines. Mike's father took over the business, and carried on his father's tradition through the 1960's. Then, as the auto industry in the city began to wane, Mike's dad tried to modernize, and built a small steel warehouse on the property. Auto plants kept closing, and Mike's father died shortly before Mike turned 21. The business was a shambles. The property was worth a little something, located between downtown and the airport, but the business was dying. The large auto plant adjacent to the family property was shuttered while Mike was waiting to turn 21, and administer the estate.

Mike got an idea, when a large airfreight carrier came to town. All sorts of mports were coming in from Asia on jumbo jets every night, scarcely 5 miles away. He could buy the land next door, and build a large warehouse for the distribution of imported items. He hammered out a deal where the automaker would raze the plant, sell the property for next to nothing, and the city would subsidize the construction of a huge warehouse on the open land if would increase employment to 500 people. The freeway ramp was literally at his doorstep. So was his future.

At first, the going was rough. Large corporations built and staffed their own warehouses. Mike persevered, and eventually found a niche. There were several smaller, privately held companies importing products, and needed storage and distribution facilities that would charge less than the large air freight carrier at the airport. The Johnson Warehouse Company was reborn.

In the 90's, however, employee costs kept rising. Healthcare costs were eroding profits, as were employee lawsuits. Mike always tried to do well by his employees, but he began to feel victimized by lawyers and "managed" health care.

Then, the New Conservative Party came to power, and Prisoners Under Contract became available. Mike was quick to purchase pucks, while the big corporations continued suffering under the advice of company attorneys. Mike's costs were now well contained, while everyone else's continued to skyrocket.

Mike reached the door to the warehouse, and opened the door. The warehouse had 80 truck bays, and the activity was amazing. Forklifts everywhere. Pickers everywhere. And, since it was prime time, over 400 men, wearing nothing but cockrings, work boots, safety glasses, and bump caps. It was an incredible sight to see. Mike put on glasses and a cap, then stepped into the carefully choreographed madness. He was most amazed by the dedication of the pucks.

They knew the 13x6 workweek was hard, but the food was good, their healthcare was supplied by the state, and sex with men was provided release without all the complications of sex with women. Mike wondered how many of them knew why their dicks were perpetually hard. Or if they even cared. Most men between the ages of 35 and 65 seemed to just enjoy the fact they always sported hard-ons like they were 16 again, thanks to the magic of big pharma.

Mike was also amazed he had been able to assemble this many hairy men in one place. Who knew there were so many out there? Mike's cock came to attention quickly. He could stop any one of them, tell him to bend over, and fuck him right there and then. No one would even pay a second glance. The warehouse building was the one place where the pucks were not expected to present themselves in the Master's presence. There was work to be done.

As Mike made his way over to the truck drivers' lounge, he saw pucks looking at him, and then lowering their eyes going about their business. Mike was proud of the lounge. Most truck drivers were shuffled quickly to and from warehouses. Mike offered the lounge, and truck drivers were quick to falsify records to spend time at The Warehouse. The accommodations were far superior to any truck stop, and his lounge had become legendary among the drivers. Even if a truck driver wasn't delivering or picking up a load, he was welcome to pull off the freeway for a break.

The Warehouse Lounge was open to any driver. There was ample parking with easy entrance and egress. Once a driver came inside, he was treated like a king. The outer lounge had comfortable chairs, a TV, and Internet access. There was a dining room next door, where there was a buffet of good, hearty food, free of charge. There were no skanky waitresses with too much makeup and too few teeth, only trim, middle-aged waiters wearing thin trousers and T-shirts, all eager to make their guests comfortable. All had shaved heads, and all were grooms. For a groom, this was a plum assignment.

Each guest was offered a room to rest and clean up for $40. Many truckers took advantage of the cheap opportunity. Once a trucker was shown to a room, he was asked if he would like a servant to help make his stay more comfortable. If he agreed, a groom would be assigned, "for your convenience." The groom was careful to offer bathing services without being too suggestive. Most truck drivers were thrilled to have someone look after their every need that they were willing to overlook the fact a man was in the shower with them, gently scrubbing them down. They were also willing to be dried with warm towels, and have a man drop to his knees asking if the driver would "like some release."

"Let me suck you off, sir. Close your eyes, and imagine a blowjob from the most beautiful woman you can picture in your mind."

The straight porn movie playing on the TV, as well as all the porn magazines spread about the room, made the job easier. If the truck driver made it this far, the lips and tongue of the groom would finish the job.

Not one of them realized there were several cameras in the room, recording their little indiscretions. Mike used those recordings for many things. Some were posted on his "Truck Drivers Gone Gay" website. Others were used for blackmail. Still others, with date/time stamps, were used to convict truck drivers of violating Interstate Commerce laws, creating rental pucks for others to enjoy.

Most drivers came and went without a clue that their lives might someday be changed forever.

Mike walked into The Warehouse Lounge, and expressed his appreciation to the men there for their hard work. He invited them to enjoy the food, and encouraged them to rent a room to rest up before their hard work began again. The men thanked him for his generosity, and assured him they would tell others about The Warehouse Lounge.

Fools, every one.

Mike left the lounge, and headed over to the warehouse office. Outside the office, a puck was hanging from chains, his back and ass bright red from a beating. This puck was at least 60 pounds overweight, around 50 years old, and generally looked old and tired. Mike walked up to the man, and asked, "Why are you being punished?"

"I couldn't meet my quota.

"Why not?"

"It's more than I can handle, sir."

"Perhaps if you worked to lose some of that fat, you could deliver a good day's work."

"Yes, sir."

"I like my men big and beefy, but you're just plain fat. If I put you on a diet and gave you some exercise to tone you, do you suppose you could do the work?"

"I'll try, sir."

"Trying isn't good enough! The Training Center can help you. You need time on the bike, don't you?

"Please sir, not the bike! I'll do better, I swear!"

"How many times have you been flogged?"

"Five times, sir."

"I'll have you sent for training on the bike. There's no point in pretending you can do your job anymore."

The puck began to cry. Mike slapped his balls.

"After some time on the bike, you'll be a good worker again. Without proper training, you end up in a mine, if I can find someone desperate enough for labor. More likely, you'll be sold for scrap.

"Do you want to be sold for your organs?"

"No, sir."

"Then the bike it is."

The bike was every puck's worst nightmare, but it shouldn't be. There were many worse tortures at The Warehouse. Located in a small room in the Training Center were four of these bikes. They looked like exercise bicycles, the kind where the handlebars moved back and forth, and one had to use one's arms and backs as well as one's legs. An electrified butt plug was placed in the puck's anus, then he was given a shock to get him started. The idea was to keep a steady rhythm. If the puck was too slow, he's get a shock. If he was too fast, he'd never make it through the 18-hour shift. Water was freely available through a tube hanging from the ceiling, and strapped to the puck's head. A catheter was placed up the puck's dick that drained into a bucket on the floor, so he wouldn't piss on the machine. The catheter was inserted at the beginning of each shift, and roughly pulled out when the shift was over. It was another way to remind the puck he was just an object. The bike powered a generator that was wired to the electrical system. A bike only supplied a small fraction of The Warehouse's electrical needs, but Mike didn't want the energy wasted.

At the end of his shift, the puck would be unhooked from the machine and taken to the next room, where he was given a bowl of kibble. He received another bowl of kibble before the next shift. After the evening meal, the puck was hosed down, hosed out, and placed in a 4 by 4 by 4-foot cage for a 5 hour rest. "The cage reminds the puck how good it will be to stretch out the next morning," Mike would say, with an evil grin.

Mike opened his phone and called the Training Center. "There's a puck hanging outside the warehouse office. Fetch him, and put him on a bike. Remind me to check on him in two weeks."

"Yes, sir, replied Paul.

"And Paul, call me when Bob is finished with this phase of his punishment."

Mike returned to his apartment to make calls to his customers. He liked to check on them to ensure they were satisfied with the services The Warehouse offered. All seemed very happy, particularly with the rates Mike charged. "My competitors would have to set up shop in this state to match my prices," mused Mike. Prisoners Under Contract laws had not been well-received elsewhere.

The phone rang. It was Gary, the Director of Support Services. Gary was one of the few employees at The Warehouse. Like all employees, Gary was expected to wear a revealing uniform, and was subject to punishment while at The Warehouse. Gary was a big man--tall, with arms as big as some men's legs. He had a deep tan, making his skin nearly the color as his brown hair, which he kept buzzed. The hair on his barrel chest went up over his shoulders and across his upper back. He was a nice guy, but new how to use his intimidating appearance to keep the pucks in line.

"Sir, Chef David asked me to report to you his findings. It turns out the lettuce that offended you was selected by Steve, our buyer."

"How has Steve's performance been?"

"Very good, sir. He has done an excellent job of keeping our costs down. I believe this is the first problem he's created since his arrival two years ago."

"So you think he should keep his job?"

"Absolutely, sir. He needs punishment, of course, but I think he can be corrected."

"Should I have someone from the Training Center pick him up, or will he go to his punishment willingly?"

"I believe he will cooperate, sir."

"In that case, I'll pay Steve a little visit. I assume his office is in the basement with the rest of your team.

"That's correct, sir. He's down the hall from me. He's in his office now."

"Meet me outside his office. I'm on my way down."

Mike picked up a pair of leather wrist cuffs and a stun gun, and headed to the elevator. Gary was waiting in the hallway, just to the side of the doorway to Steve's office. Pucks with administrative duties sometimes had personal offices, but the offices didn't have doors. Mike walked briskly into Steve's office, where Steve was on the phone. Steve immediately presented himself.

"Carry on. Finish the phone call and then present yourself to me."

Steve finished the phone call quickly, and stood with his arms behind his head.

"Step away from the desk and face the wall."

He was quick to obey. Mike buckled the wrists cuffs on Steve.

"Drop your arms, and put your hands behind your back."

Steve complied. Mike fastened the cuffs together.

"Turn around."

Steve turned around somewhat slowly, compared to his previous movements. He knew he was in trouble, but wasn't quite sure why. How had he offended his Master?" What was his punishment to be?