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personal experience. Copyright: This story is copyright 1995 by
the author, Doc Masterson, under the U.S. Copyright Convention
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Hollywood Hostage
by
Doc Masterson
CHAPTER FOUR
Still a prisoner, I awoke the next morning in my cell with a
hard dick. I wanted to get the ball ring and cuffs off so I
could masturbate, but that was not possible. The fire inside my
love trumpet had risen to a level that it had to be quenched. I
didn't care which of my captors was willing, but I wanted to
shoot inside one of them.
I realized that the mask that had been part of my life
during the punishment was gone. I could breathe fresh air and
see the world with a clear vision. My jaw muscles hurt. It
seemed like my mouth was still pried open for the penis gag. The
muscles were seemingly holding my mouth in an unnatural sucking
posture. I could see on my body the bloody reminders of the
hundred or more whip strokes I had been given.
"It's time for your workout," Breta snarled as she pushed a
box through the tray opening on the steel door.
"Use the key in the box to unlock yourself and get into the
outfit you will also find inside."
"Yes, mistress." I said remembering the pain of the previous
day.
It was a struggle to get the key and unlock the cuffs from
my balls, but I was getting better at the task. Once I had been
able to stretch a bit I took a look at today's torturous clothing
offerings. There was something metal and something rubber. What
a combination, I thought. A combination sure to be a new
unpleasant adventure. Damn, I wanted out of this slavery prison.
The metal device was a bra. To put it on was quite a
challenge. I found the sizing was very carefully selected. I
could only get it to lock in back after I had pulled my pectoral
muscles up to fit under its unyielding cup. It hurt from the
moment I had it in place. The areas of skin that had been scared
by the whip were particularly painful.
The rubber outfit was a kind of girdle. It was made of
extremely thick rubber and it took me almost fifteen minutes of
struggling to get it up on my hips. It had a hole in front for
my balls and still steel hard bush-whacker. On each hip there
was also a sculptured hole. The holes allowed my butt to hang
out on the sides and back in a very female pattern. It made my
buns look like a female bathing suit model's hips.
I was ashamed of the way I looked in the required outfit of
the day. I carefully looked through the bars of the door to see
if either of my captors was waiting outside. Thankfully they
were gone. I tried to adjust the outfit to make my body return
to the built tough football body I had strived for all during
college and the pros. I pulled on my pec's to try to make them
look masculine? Hopeless! Could I tuck some of my ass back into
the girdle and make it look tight and firm? No chance!
"Let's see you model it," Breta said as she opened the cell
door.
"It looks like you've a shape that is a little too manly,"
Trixi added.
"When we sell you to our client, your body has to be in the
shape she ordered," Breta continued. "Come on out of there. Its
time for your body sculpturing workout."
"Yes, mistress," was all I could manage under the
circumstances.
I wanted to go somewhere and hide. The pair was constantly
doing things to my body that I didn't like. Through it all my
dick stood at attention. It was like a flag waving my compliance
with their every wish. They knew that its resilient hardness
meant that they had my full concentration.
The gym was just next door. It seemed to have a complete
line of equipment. I would have given anything to have a gym
like this in my own home. The gym, however, in the hands of this
pair threatened to be just another torture chamber. I looked
about at the equipment only to imagine new ulterior uses for each
unit.
"Start with the treadmill. You need a good warm-up," Breta
said.
"Yes, mistress."
As soon as I got on the machine I realized it was different
from any I had used before. The controls, which were normally
straight in front of you, were not present. They were, I
discovered, contained on a hand-held remote control device Breta
had in her hand. The exercise training, like the rest of my
experiences on Breta's Malibo estate, was going to be on her
terms.
"This unit works a little differently than most," Breta said
moving toward the device. "We need to connect this before we
start."
She connected a plastic covered steel wire to the ring that
seemed a permanent part of my ball sack. The other end of the
wire was connected to the front of the treadmill. The distance
had been calculated carefully. I needed to stay in the center of
the treadmill to give the most slack. I could not fall too far
behind the set pace or I could have my balls pulled out by the
roots.
She started the device almost before I had both feet on the
rubber treadmill floor. I could see a display unit come alive in
front of me. The miles per hour reading moved quickly upward
from zero to four miles per hour. That was a respectable speed
for me on a good day so I had to strain to hit the pace so early
in the run.
The machine started with a flat run. The angle gage showed
a zero angle. That was good as I was having a hard time keeping
up with the demanded pace. I could feel my heart rate increase
immediately to the training level I had always tried to hit near
the end of each treadmill run. I was breathing very hard.
She changed the angle first. The gage moved to two degrees,
four degrees, six degrees and ten degrees with a fluid motion
that I could feel immediately in the back of my legs. I was
going to have to increase my pace and breathing to keep up. It
would be hard, but I could not let her defeat me. I didn't,
after all, wish to start her punishment cycle all over again.
I had convinced myself that I could keep up when the miles
per hour started up. It was a slow start at first, but I could
feel the extra effort required immediately. When she ten miles
per hour, I knew, I had 'maxed' out. The wire was pulling hard
on my balls and I was running at the best pace of my life. I
could not sustain this for long.
I looked at the two trainers and knew that they would not
lower the speed or angle of ascent if I asked. I had to maintain
my manhood. I would not plead or beg. I had to make this all on
my own. The sack on my balls was being stretched. A half-inch.
An inch. The pain was increasing exponentially. I would have to
give in.
"Please, mistress. That is too fast. The angle is too
steep for me to run that fast."
"Do you hear that Trixi, our Mr. Macho can't take it," Breta
jeered.
"He is probably afraid that useless appliance of his will be
torn off."
"Now wouldn't that be a shame."
"It would be, if it wasn't so small."
I knew what they were trying to do. They were trying to
make me mad enough to try harder. It worked. I was mad as hell.
I turned on the steam I had left and somehow the pressure on my
balls decreased a bit. The reduced pain offered hope and somehow
that allowed me to make it another ten minutes.
The effort, however, was not sustainable. I began to
stumble and the yanking motion on my balls almost ripped them
out. I had to get to a sustainable level that would not be a
firestorm of pain. I pumped my arms trying to get a little
additional forward momentum.
"Please, I just can't do it," I finally had to admit in a
defeat that took what was left of my manhood away.
"You haven't run nearly long enough, but if you are that out
of shape we'll give you a break."
Breta touched the remote control and the speed of the
treadmill dropped a little. She also reduced the angle a bit.
It didn't seem like much to me, but I was able to push the max
again and release the pressure on my balls.
Through out the whole run there had been one distraction.
Had it not been for the pain, I would have had to spend a lot of
mental effort trying to figure out what was going on. As the
speed and angle of incline increased, so did the throbbing dry
pump of my dick. I was so full of cum, the excitement was almost
enough to make me shoot. I don't know what prevented an
ejaculation, but it felt like I was on the edge of the cliff
without a safety rope.
"Are you ready for the next exercise?" Trixi asked as if it
was an option on my part. "This one will give you that pretty
ass we expect."
"Yes, mistress," I said disappointing them by not refusing
to do the next exercise.
I was really hot and tired, but I figured anything had to be
better than what I was doing on the treadmill. They didn't bring
the speed or angle down slowly and I damn near fell as the
treadmill came to a fast stop. I tried not to look defeated as
Trixi took the tether off my balls.
"Next will be the squat machine," Breta said.
"Yes, mistress," I said trying to hide my fear of trying
another leg intensive machine.
"Let's start at 300 pounds," Trixi said piling the plates on
the bar.
"I really only did squats that heavy during my pro
training," I said trying to keep out of the bounds that would
trigger more punishment.
"You are a professional," Trixi laughed. "A professional
slave."
"At least when we get you ready for sale," Breta added with
a snicker.
I took a position with the squat machine bar on the back of
my shoulders and tried to find a comfortable position to
undertake my first squat. I hoped I could regain control of the
exercises to make them a bit easier.
"Widen out that stance and keep the toes straight," Breta
barked. "This work is designed to work your little ass into
shapely hips."
"Yeah, we want those buns to stick out a little more
in the back there."
I started down with the first squat. The weight was really
too much for me to do anything close to the ten or so that would
be needed to give the leg muscles a significant workout. I would
just have to do as much as I could.
"Deeper," Trixi said. "Take the squat all the way down
until those ankles touch your pretty buns."
I did as I was told, but it hurt like hell. The deep
portion of the squat seemed to squeeze my ass out the openings in
the back of my rubber girdle. The focus of the effort was
definitely on my ass cheek muscles. As I tried to push back up,
the gluteus maximus muscles of my butt had to really work to
return to the standing position.
I managed three full squats before major fatigue set in. I
got down on the fourth squat, but I could not get back up. I was
determined to succeed. I redoubled my mental effort and finally
got back to the top. I turned the bar to engage the safety
catch.
"That's all I can do, mistress," I said in a half defeated,
half pleading voice.
"Oh, you can do more. Many more. We know how to give you
the help you need to do the number of reps required," Breta said
popping her whip with a simple wrist motion.
"I'll try, mistress," I said unlocking the bar again for a
fifth squat attempt.
The threat had its effect. I could remember the sting of
the whips the two seemed to love all too well. The scars were
still healing in too many places on my body. I had to avoid the
stroke of the whip. The fifth squat was amazingly smooth. My
muscles burned with the effort, but I was able to maintain a
semi-fluid up and down motion.
The effort was different for the sixth squat. I knew when I
hit bottom that the muscle energy were not there for the trip
back up. I could not even control the weight enough to prevent a
bouncing at the bottom of the cycle. I mentally engaged the
muscles for the up cycle, but all I felt was a general body
trembling. I was not going to make it. The muscles had the
normal failure you get when you have hit the end of your maximum
cycle.
I heard the bull whip long before I felt it. It kissed my
right ass cheek. It burned like fire, but the fire was catching.
I could feel the muscles working harder. I started up slowly.
The whip hit my left ass cheek. I had renewed vigor. I pushed
and finally reached the top of the rep. With Trixi's 'help' I
would eventually complete ten full reps.
"We've got to give those pecs a workout," Breta finally
announced. "We'll start that with a bench press."
I didn't argue when they stacked the barbell with 250 pounds
of weight. I knew it was too much, but I also was beginning to
realize they would have their way. They started me with a wide
grip press that I had always hated anyway.
"This one is the one we like because it gives your body just
the shape we want," Trixi said as she test snapped her whip in
the air over my head.
As I lifted the bar from the rest position, I knew there was
going to be a special problem. The steel bra I was being forced
to wear seemed to immediately become more restrictive. I lowered
the weight and I could feel my muscles form themselves to the
shape of the steel bra cup. As I pushed the weight back up the
muscles seemed to try to break through the cup to freedom. They
could only meet with failure and pain.
I knew the bra, like the rubber girdle I was wearing was
there to make my workout focus on the kind of shaping they
wanted. I also knew that my only alternative to the training was
to accept another punishment session like I had had the day
before. No, thank you. I would somehow make it through this
half-day workout.
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