The Warehouse
The Warehouse
Cunningham levelled his revolver at the Brigadier. The officer was the only UNIT soldier left alive and, as Cunningham’s men gathered up weapons and converged on the metal stairway, the ex-sergeant nodded with satisfaction. “Good job, lads,” he called, “How about we have some fun with his nibs here, before we report to the General?”
Before the Brigadier had chance to realise what was happening, the men had seized hold of him and, jeering and laughing, began to unfasten his clothes.
“Stop it!” Cunningham heard the Brig protest, “Get off me! Don’t…!” He was thrashing and kicking as he realised the men were trying to strip him, but there were just too many strong young guys for him to have a hope of pulling free. His jacket and boots were tugged off of him and thrown aside, his shirt followed. By the time Cunningham had descended the metal stairs and moved across the warehouse floor to stand in front of his prisoner, the Brigadier had had his wrists tied behind his back with his own tie, and his trousers were round his ankles. Crimson with anger and humiliation, his chest heaving with his exertions, the bound man glared at Cunningham and said, with all the conviction he could muster, “Let me go while you still can, there are UNIT reinforcements on the way.”
Cunningham smiled and pushed the revolver into his belt. He wouldn’t be needing it just yet for a while. “Bollocks,” he said, “You had your bloody chance. You know, my mam used to give me a good hiding for telling lies. I think that’s a good place to start off with you.” He addressed his men. “Don’t you think so, lads?”
Cheers greeted the suggestion, and the Brigadier was half-dragged, half-carried to one of the crates, and pushed face-down onto it, with his legs – still tangled in his trousers – trying to kick as they hung over the crate’s side.
“Bert, Jerry - hold him tight,” said Cunningham to the two men holding the prisoner’s upper arms, “Ben – gag him. I don’t care what with.”
Ben, a brawny Scot with curly ginger hair, smirked and pulled off his neckerchief. Tying a knot in the middle of it, he pushed the knot into the Brigadier’s mouth, and tied off the ends behind his head, before stepping back and nodding to Cunningham.
Cunningham ran his hands admiringly over the prisoner’s rump, and pulled at the briefs, bunching them upward and inward to expose the buttocks. “Nice, “ he said, liking the sound his palm made as it connected with the warm flesh in a couple of experimental slaps, “Very nice.” He pulled the back of the briefs down slightly, then adjusted his own position so that he could rest one hand on the prisoner’s back. He brought his other hand down smartly, first on one ass-cheek then on the other. He waited a moment and repeated the smacks, then began to spank in earnest, enjoying the way his victim’s muscles moved as he tried to writhe away, and grinning as the first squeals and moans began.
“How many’s that?” said Cunningham, as the buttocks began to redden.
“Thirty-six,” said Ben.
“Nah, thirty-eight,” said Jerry.
The other five men came up with various numbers between thirty-four and forty.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” tutted Cunningham, in mock disapproval, “Now we’ll have to start over again. Count out loud this time, eh lads? One – two – three….”
When he reached forty, he stopped and flexed his fingers. “My hand’s getting tired.” He ran his hands over the cherry-red arse, squeezing the cheeks and savouring the amount of heat that was coming from the sweating skin.
Then, with a grin, he bent down and pulled the leather belt from the loops of the Brigadier’s trousers. “Let’s give this a try, shall we? Start counting, boys.”
By the time they’d reached twenty-five, the prisoner had stopped struggling, and his moans had turned almost to sobs.
“Get him up,” said Cunningham, dropping the belt to the floor and stepping back out of the way.
Bert and Jerry hauled the prisoner upright and turned him around, holding on to his bound arms. Cunningham moved around in front of him, slid a hand down his torso, and pushed his fingers down into the briefs, wrapping them around the Brigadier’s cock and balls. “Pull his panties down, Joe, and get his trousers off,” he said, as he began to tease and rub the limp dick. He tightened his grip as he felt his victim pull his hips back, and rubbed harder, smiling with satisfaction as he felt the cock’s autonomic response make it stretch and harden.
“He likes you, boss!” said Joe, with a dirty laugh, as he stripped the last of the Brigadier’s clothes from him.
“Yeah,” leered Cunningham, “Bare-arse naked in front of a bunch of fit guys, having his cock jerked by another bloke, and he’s hard as a rifle-barrel. Who’d have thought he’d be such a slut? Here, fetch us that ball of twine from the office, Sid, will you? You’re nearest. Oh, and the Stanley knife.”
When the twine was brought, Cunningham wrapped it tight in a figure-of-eight around the base of the engorged genitals, then stood, and held up the knife. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said to the panting prisoner, “I’m going to take your gag out. You’re not going to say anything. You’re going to get on your knees, open your mouth, and suck cock. If you don’t do as you’re fucking told, or if you so much as nip any of my lads while you’re doing it, I’ll geld you. Got it?”
There was hatred in the prisoner’s eyes as he glared at Cunningham, but all the ex-sergeant cared about was the reluctant nod.
“Good boy. Alright, Ben, take his gag out.”
Moving around behind the prisoner again, Cunningham couldn’t resist giving the striped and reddened bottom another little smack. “On your knees, bitch, and open your mouth. Alright, lads – who’s first?”
******
Cunningham leaned down, gripped the prisoner’s damp hair and pushed him further and faster onto the erect cock he was sucking. Covered in sweat and drying cum, with dust and dirt from the warehouse floor adhering to his skin, the Brigadier had been giving head for over an hour, but Cunningham hadn’t yet had a turn: he wanted to save himself.
“Alright,” he said, once Joe had dumped his load down the prisoner’s throat, making him choke and cough, “Get him on his back on that crate over there. Let his head fall back, that’s it – and hold on tight to his legs, he’ll kick when I pull that cord off.”
Moving around behind the crate, Cunningham unzipped his trousers, and eased his cock into the Brigadier’s upturned mouth, then slid a hand down the heaving, sticky belly to undo the cord that was still wound around the trapped genitals. As he unwound the cord, the prisoner’s hips jerked and bucked, and Cunningham felt the screams of pain right through his cock. He waited till the worst of the yells and the writhing had stopped, then began to rub the Brigadier’s engorged dick.
“Two minutes,” he heard Joe say.
“Three,” Bert replied.
“Five and a half,” said Ben.
“Stop squealing,” he said, as he began to thrust himself further down the man’s throat, “You’ve got a nice cock to suck on, and a bunch of horny guys watching your naked arse squirm, and betting on how long it’ll take you to spunk. Shut up and enjoy. “
Ben won the bet and Cunningham pulled away, nodding to the men holding the prisoner's legs to indicate that they should pull them up and back. Time for the icing on the cake. Or should that be the cherry, so to speak, on the top?
Dropping the underpants onto the Brigadier’s belly, Cunningham used them to mop up the spunk, then pushed them into the prisoner’s mouth and used the neckerchief they’d gagged him with earlier to secure the underwear in place.
He rubbed and teased at prisoner's tight little hole for a few minutes then slowly eased the wet finger into it, enjoying the feel of the muscles pressing around the digit, anticipating how it would feel to have his cock up there. “Like that, bitch? Yeah, course you do, else why would you be wriggling about like that? You want some more? Shall I put another finger in?”
He sawed and probed for a few more minutes, then leaned forward to wipe his fingers on the gag. As cheers and encouragement from the other men echoed around the warehouse, Cunningham pressed his cockhead against the prisoner’s hole and pushed it slowly up him.
He spent some time lazily sliding in and out, adjusting the rhythm, while the Brigadier moaned and writhed and tried to pull away from the men holding him firmly in place.
"Man,you look so fucking hot. You like that shaft in your pussy?" Cunningham slapped the balls under his hand and squeezed him, drawing a squeal from his victim and a delicious squeezing against his throbbing cock. "Slut," he said, landing another slap, “You are one bad bitch.”
Gripping the Brigadier's hips with strong, rough hands, he began to thrust deep and hard, upping his tempo and pistoning in and out. The men began to chant "fuckim! fuckim! fuckim! fuckim!" in time with his rhythm, their yells mingling with Cunningham's grunts, almost drowning the sound of the prisoner's shuddering groans and bleats.
Spent, Cunningham eased himself out, wiped his dripping cock on the discarded trousers of the Brigadier's uniform, and zipped his fly. “Take the lid off one of those slatted crates, lads," he said, when he'd got his breath back, "and take out whatever’s in there. Leave the straw. Chuck these trousers and his jacket in there, yeah?”
While the men were sorting that out, Cunningham picked up the discarded belt and used it to tie the prisoner’s ankles in a crossed position. Then they lifted him feet-first into the crate, pushed him down into a sitting position and shoved his head down so that they could get the lid back on.
“Comfy? “ called Cunningham, looking through the gaps between the slats. Straightening up, he rapped his knuckles on the crate lid. “Right, get some more crates piled on top so the lid don't come off. That's it. Lovely."
He took a step back. If anyone bothered to look closely, they might notice that the contents of the crate were flesh-coloured; and if they got close enough they'd likely hear the faint moaning. But Cunningham doubted anyone would be doing that any time soon.
"Fun's over, lads," he said, "Let's get to the rendezvous." Without a backward glance, he spun on his heel and led the way out.