SOUND ADVICE–PART 1_(1)

CHAPTER 1

I had just walked into the house after a busy and tiring Friday at the store. “I’m home, Gail.” She walked out of the kitchen in response, wearing an apron over her tee and jeans. I leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned her head at the last second and my lips found her cheek instead.

“Go into the bedroom. Get cleaned up and change your clothes. We’re having company tonight.”

“Oh?” That was news to me, but—then again—maybe not. I’d been expecting Gail to start trying her hand at bossing me around. Maybe all my preparations would prove worthwhile after all.

“Hazel and George are coming over at eight.”

“Please tell me you’re joking. You know how I feel about Hazel.”

“I know, but she is my friend and I haven’t seen her in a long time. It won’t hurt you to sacrifice one evening for me. It’ll be over before you know it and then I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How about I just go down to the bowling alley instead?”

“Don’t you dare–I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“Basically, I hate that bitch. She’s an arrogant domineering and intolerant bitch. Those are her good points and her husband is the biggest fucking wimp I’ve ever met. Doesn’t he ever stand up to her? Call her and cancel.”

“I can’t and I won’t and please don’t use that language. Don’t I do a lot of things for you? I won’t invite her again, but…please do this for me tonight.”

“I have your word? Never again?”

“Yes…you have my word.” I’d soon learn exactly how little her word was worth. Unfortunately, I’d have to learn the hard way, but it was exactly what I expected—what I’ve anticipated for weeks. I leaned down to kiss her again and this time she did respond as I’d hoped—by kissing me back. Five minutes later I was in the shower; and thirty minutes after that I was at the dinner table with Gail. She’d made goulash, one of my favorites. I spread the meat and thick gravy heavily over the egg noodles and dug in. Even after having seconds we were done and the kitchen completely cleaned thirty minutes later. Gail showered and spent the next twenty minutes doing her hair and make-up. I used that time to make an important call on my cell, making sure that I deleted the call from its records.

I answered the door at eight on the dot. Hazel may be a complete bitch, but at least she was punctual. I did my best to smile even though one look at her brassy red hair and her blotchy face was enough to make me retch. Instead, I welcomed her and offered to take her jacket. She handed it to me with never even a thought to thank me as she walked into our living room. “Hi, George,” I said to her milquetoast of a husband. His response was a barely audible grunt.
Gail bounced out of the kitchen a few seconds later, hugging Hazel and completely ignoring George. “Mike, sweetie, would you get us something to drink?” She had just deposited her ass on the couch as she spoke.

“Sure, honey—why don’t you get us some chips and salsa while I’m dealing with the drinks?” Two could play this game. She glowered at me as she returned to the kitchen. “What will you have, Hazel?”

“Have any Chardonnay?”

“Sure. How about you, George?”

I couldn’t believe that he hesitated, even looking to Hazel for approval, before answering. “Have any ginger ale?”

“I believe we do. Okay…two Chardonnays, a ginger ale, and a gin and tonic coming right up.” Gail was waiting for me, a scowl on her face, when I reached into the refrigerator for the wine.

“I thought you were going to be a genial host.”

“I don’t recall saying anything like that. I said I’d endure one evening with them…that’s all.” I removed the plastic seal from the bottle’s top and plunged the corkscrew into the cork and twisted, sniffing it once it was removed. After placing the wine glasses on the tray I took two tall glasses from the cabinet, filled them with ice from the freezer and poured one with ginger ale and made myself a gin and tonic right down to the wedge of lime. Once I had served the drinks I returned the tray to the counter and joined Gail on the couch.

I was surprised at the lack of conversation. The silence was deafening as though they were just waiting for something to happen so I asked George how work was going.

“Okay—business is a little slow.” I found that hard to believe. George was a banker. When is banking ever slow? After taking another look at his wife I thought I’d probably work twenty hours a day or more if I was married to her.

For two people who were friends and had wanted this get-together so badly Gail and Hazel didn’t seem to have much to say to each other. I was pretty sure I knew why, but I’d have to see how things played out to be sure. They had been visiting for less than an hour, saying nothing of consequence, when Gail rose and took my still half-filled glass. “Let me freshen that for you, honey.”

“That’s okay…I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother. I’ll be back in a minute.” I looked up and I could have sworn that I had seen Hazel smirk. Sure enough, Gail was back shortly and my drink had more ice and, hopefully, more alcohol so I could forget this revolting evening.

I had taken three or four sips when my eyes had trouble focusing and my hand began to shake. I knew in an instant why Gail had wanted to fix my drink. I’d
been drugged. I looked at her as she removed the glass from my hand. “You fucking bi….” My head hit the coffee table as I passed out.

Of course, I woke naked and restrained in the basement. What a cliché! Even I had read some of those cheesy amateur stories about femdom and male slavery online. Where else would I expect to be? There was a little light coming through the small windows on the opposing wall so I looked around to check my situation. There were tight knots tied behind my wrists where I couldn’t reach them with my fingers. The ropes went up at about a twenty-five degree angle to the house’s main support beam, the rope running behind and around one of the floor joists. The ropes were tight, placing a lot of stress on my shoulders. Ropes tied to my ankles were wrapped and knotted to the vertical steel supports with my legs spread just about as widely as possible without causing me serious injury. I wasn’t going anywhere so I decided that I would just wait to see what those bitches had in mind. I stared straight ahead and grinned. The tiny red light flashed twice in response. All was going according to plan.

George was the first to appear. “George,” I whispered, “Untie these knots or cut me loose, will you? I can’t imagine this was your idea.”

He appeared to be terrified, looking to the stairs while he contemplated replying in a whisper. “I can’t. Mistress will hurt me. She likes to hurt me. You’ll understand once they come down here. I was told to give you some water.”

“And get drugged again? No thank you.”

“It’s okay…honest. See…the bottle’s sealed. Want me to drink first?” He opened and took a quick drink, again looking fearfully to the stairs. Finally, he held the bottle to my mouth and I drank, finishing it in a few seconds. A few minutes later Hazel and Gail walked slowly down the stairs, laughing all the way.

Hazel smirked as she got into my face. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? That’ll change real fast…you’ll see. I know you hate me. Once we’re done with you you’ll hate me even more, but you’ll also fear me just as you’ll fear Gail. You’ll be completely under her control by the time we let you go and there’s nothing you can do about it.” She started to laugh, but stopped quick enough when I pissed all over her. Apparently, there was something I could do after all. “You’ll regret that, you bastard.”

“Get your clothes off, you worthless worm.” I took notice of George for the first time since the bitches—I couldn’t think of either of them as a woman—had appeared. He was kneeling behind his wife and trembling when he began to strip. He was as naked as I was in a minute. Well…not quite as naked. “Stand here in front of the new slave and show him what’s in store for him. Here, put this in place.” Seconds later there was a big stainless ring that hung all the way to his chin through his nasal septum. There was a brass coupling that screwed the two ends together. I noticed then the rings through his nipples. They appeared to be glued tight. Then I looked down, noticing the metal collar that hung around and just above his balls.

“Gail, why don’t you clamp his nipples while I get the parachute? We’ll get them nice and swollen for the piercing.”

Gail slapped my face, hers showing a hatred I’d never seen in her. “You couldn’t put yourself out even a little for my friend, could you? You said she was arrogant, but you’re the one with the arrogance. By the time we’re done with you you’ll be even more humble than George. You’ll grovel at my feet for any crumbs I decide to throw you. You’ll eat my pussy on command and you’ll clean me after I’ve had sex with a real man. In time you’ll also clean my lovers and even give them blowjobs and swallow their spunk. Hazel knows some really hung black men who cum buckets.” She pinched my tiny nipples between her fingernails, holding them there for more than a minute.

I wanted to provoke them so I sucked some phlegm from my sinuses and spit it into Gail’s face. “You fucking pig!” She released me to wipe her face, but returned with two small clamps like those I’d seen near the cash registers at Home Depot. I recalled that the springs were extremely strong. This was going to hurt, but I’d been hurt before. That’s why I had been asked to do this. I accepted because I was pretty sure this was going to happen regardless of what I did. The only alternative was to leave Gail and without any real evidence of wrongdoing by her I’d be taken to the cleaners in a divorce action.

I had graduated high school in 1990, joining the army only two weeks later. I was sent to Fort Jackson in South Carolina for Basic and then to Fort Benning in Georgia for AIT—advanced infantry training. I had only one expectation—do my three years and get out so I could take advantage of the G.I. Bill and attend college. I had been a good, but not spectacular, student in high school when old Doc Tobin took me under his wing.

I lived with my mother, a single parent, in a tiny one bedroom apartment because that was all she could afford. I worked doing odd jobs after school and on weekends to help out from the time I was ten. That’s how Doc Tobin had found me. I was sixteen and looking for odd jobs and lawns to mow. Instead, he took me to his pharmacy and gave me a job there, overpaying me for stocking shelves and sweeping up. I thought at the time that he wanted to see if he could trust me. There were tons of drugs that I could have stolen. I never did. For one thing, my mother would have killed me if I ever embarrassed her in any way. For another, I never hung with any druggies in school and I found the whole drug scene repugnant.

Long story short, Doc Tobin encouraged me to become a pharmacist like him. The Army was only a means to an end—a way to get Uncle Sam to help finance my education. That was the plan, but then we invaded Kuwait and Iraq. While masses of our troops were liberating Kuwait I was part of a team of five sent into Iraq to reconnoiter and gather on-the-ground intelligence for the imminent invasion.

We had parachuted in to the desert in the early morning just twenty miles north of the border with Kuwait and had slowly worked our way to what we had thought was a small knoll as the sun peeked over the horizon. It would have been an excellent spot from which we could have seen for miles…if only it had been a knoll. Instead, we learned as soon as we had arrived that it was a concealed bunker loaded with members of the Republican Guard. We were taken prisoner in seconds. They had spotted us while in the air and tracked us all the way to the capture point.

They were sure we had all kinds of information so when we refused to talk they resorted to torture. They could have beaten me or burned me with cigarettes, but that would have been too easy. Instead, they tortured my genitals. This one sergeant made me his personal project, spending eight or more hours every day squeezing my balls between two wooden spoons, one to hold my tender testicle and the other to apply pressure. I had to hand it to the man—he could apply steadily increasing pressure for hours at a time. The pain was incredible, but I didn’t talk. I couldn’t. I didn’t know anything. I’d come from Georgia to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany to some unnamed base in Saudi Arabia in only three days. I was an E-1, just one level above a raw recruit. I was only there to carry the radio and radar equipment.

A week later he was talking to himself as he paced in front of my cell—deciding whether or not to kill me—as our tanks and troops advanced on their position. Finally, he just opened the cell door, called me out and handed me his pistol. “We are alone here. My comrades have fled. I surrender to you. Now you must follow rules of Geneva Convention.”

I ejected the clip, finding it fully loaded. Returning it to the Polish-made Makarov 9 mm pistol I racked the slide, slid the safety off and fired into my pillow just to make sure it actually worked. My captor/captive stepped back, hands up, his face showing the terror he felt. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to torture you.” Instead, I fired three times into his chest, killing him instantly.

Apparently, he had been truthful. I walked through the bunker finding no other person—living or dead– there. The door located at the rear was open so I retreated to the small room they had obviously used for meals, finding a working refrigerator with a few cold cans of Coke. I sat at the table and took a deep slug, placing the pistol in front of me and breaking it down so it would not be seen as a threat to my approaching allies. I was almost finished with my first decent thing to eat or drink in days when I heard a commotion coming from just outside the entrance. “COME IN,” I shouted. “ Don’t shoot. I’m an American prisoner and I’m the only living person here.”

The coalition troops showed expected caution entering, but five minutes later the bunker was filled with infantry. I rose and saluted when a Captain entered. “What happened to that Iraqi soldier?”

“He surrendered to me, giving me this pistol. Then I shot the motherfucker.”

“You must have known that was a violation of international law and you’d be charged with murder. Why would you do that?” I didn’t answer right away. Instead
I dropped my pants and boxers, exposing my swollen testicles. They were at least five times bigger than normal and were red and bruised.

“Want to talk about international law? That bastard tortured me…probably ten…twelve hours a day…all times of the day and night. He squeezed my balls between two big wooden spoons while I was strung up spread eagled. Nobody deserved to die more than him. I’m only sorry I couldn’t make him suffer. Do what you want to me. I don’t care…sir!”

I was evacuated to a hospital in Germany where I spent the next three weeks before being given a medical discharge and a medal for killing an Iraqi officer in a hand to hand struggle. Honest…that’s the way that captain had written it up. I turned it down. I was a civilian again with no need for a medal that I didn’t deserve. Five months later I was enrolled at the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy.