Part 1 of 2
Mr. Terrace Greenville owned the Greenville Computer Company in Ohio, which manufactured a particular computer part to which he owned the patents. He was proud of his achievements but understood that his five-million-dollar company would not advance much against the competition of today's huge, high-tech companies. He was doing ok, but the growth potential was just not there. And he did not have the financial backing to create the expanded company as he wanted.
Because it was considered a solid family business, one of the last things Mr. Greenville did before he experienced a devastating stroke was to place his 24-year-old son, Brad, in the company as vice president. Brad hesitated but accepted the position because he loved his father and respected his wishes. It was inevitable that the business would be passed on to him eventually.
Brad's resistance to accepting the position was due mostly to his lifestyle as a male model and an upcoming actor. He has been currently featured in swimwear catalogs.
He was considered very good-looking and had a nicely toned-up, muscular body. Not bulky, but proportioned nicely and athletic looking, a hunk of a sex symbol for those who knew him. Brad was not famous yet, but he envisioned himself progressing into a career as a celebrity and was never excited to help his Dad with his computer business. But following the stroke, Brad came to terms with his Dad's wishes and accepted his new destiny of owning and managing the company, which he knew little about. He was going to do what it took to be successful.
Unfortunately for Brad, he had been functioning as vice president for only two weeks when his Dad had the stroke that apparently reduced him to a quadriplegic. It was a terrible thing to happen to Brad, his family, and his Dad's business.
Because of Brad's age and inexperience, the company attorney, Bruce Turns, resisted young Brad being promoted to company president. Would Brad be able to take charge and run such a complex company?
Without the possibility of getting any tutorage or guidance from Mr. Greenville, Mr. Turns considered selling the business immediately. Mr. Turns had the Power of Attorney, so he was legally authorized to do this. He felt it was critical to do this immediately before the company began to flounder and lose value due to Brad Greenville's inexperience in the computer field.
Mr. Turns contacted Mr. Namurra in Japan, who owned an internationally known and respected company in the business world. It was a friendly business competitor who already knew and respected Mr. Greenville. At this time, Namurra could be the only buyer in the world whose company would benefit from such an urgent purchase. To the attorney's surprise, Mr. Namurra indicated he might be interested in buying the Greenville Computer Company and could fly to Ohio within 24 hours to check out the facilities. Based on that, he could be prepared to make an offer on the spot. But, Mr. Namurra made one request, "Please make sure, honorable son, Brad, is present. I have always been impressed with him and would like to meet that young man." So, the meeting was scheduled. The arrival of Mr. Namurra took place two days later.
"Mr. Namurra, welcome to our company's offices," Attorney Turns greeted the Japanese businessman and his entourage of five colleagues. The two financial assistants immediately disappeared with the CFO to examine the books privately. The other two were Mr. David Kenta, Namurra's secretary, and Dr. Jane Miki, a trusted confidant of Mr. Namurra's.
The attorney then introduced the Brad, "And this is Brad Greenville, the acting president of our company, whom you requested be present in our discussions today." Mr. Namurra shook hands with Brad but oddly did not release his grip as they exchanged pleasantries and smiles.
"I trust young Dorei-Brad will kindly to show us the facilities." Mr. Namurra stated in his broken English. Unfamiliar with the term "Dorei-Brad," Turns assumed it was a term of endearment or respect. He and Brad, with the remaining two members of his staff, ushered Mr. Namurra around. It was odd that Mr. Namurra did not seem interested in the facility's details. It seemed he had already researched the company's background and strengths, and his mind was made up to buy.
Upon completion of the tour, Mr. Namurra requested a private meeting with Mr. Turns in order to present an offer to purchase. Neither Brad Greenville nor any of his associates would be present. Namurra and Turns went into Brad's office, and each took a seat at the conference table. Mr. Namurra then handed Attorney Turns a folder of papers and, unlike most of us, Turns read every word of the twenty-some page offer. Turns was shocked at several items in the agreement.
The first item was a very pleasant surprise. an offer to pay ten million dollars, an amount equal to twice what the company was thought to be worth. The second surprise was the shocking and detailed requirements concerning Brad Greenville, who was required to stay on as Mr. Namurra wished. Despite the odd and disturbing language in the contract concerning Brad, Mr. Turns could not resist the 10 million dollar offer. He mentally blanked out that verbiage he just read about young Brad. The business would be transferred immediately in a one-day escrow, and Mr. Namurra would then become the new company president. With his hand noticeably shaking, Attorney Turns signed the agreement as Power of Attorney. It was a done deal.
"Ah, Mr. Turns, now that all settled, please have facility closed for rest of week to give wonderful employees rest of week off. You assure them I intend to keep everyone in employment in my new company. I return to Japan on Monday. Existing managers here will continue running the facility." Then, turning to the attorney, Namurra said, "You may leave as well. Please have Dorei-Brad come in here after everyone has left. Tell him I new owner, but say nothing else of contact details. Thank you, Mr. Turns." Attorney Turns then left and did as instructed, but wondered how young Brad would respond to all the conditions of the sale of his Dad's company, the company he was to take over and eventually inherit.
In about 40 minutes, the factory was quiet. All the employees happily took the rest of the day off. Brad knocked on the door to his former office door as instructed. It felt odd now, needing permission to enter. Mr. Namurra, with his entourage – the CFO and his two financial whizzes, the male secretary, and Dr. Miti – all sat along one side of the narrow conference table. Mr. Namurra sat, not in the middle, but at one end. The other side of the table had no chairs. As Brad entered the room, he thought how odd that no chair had been provided for him to sit on. He stood awkwardly facing his new boss, not knowing Japanese customs and not wanting to offend. The feel of this arrangement reminded him of some sort of a disciplinary committee that was eager to rule on someone's fate. Brad laughed that thought off and stood there quietly.
"Ah, Dorei-Brad, welcome to my new company. I rename it Namurra Corporation, USA. Headquarters remain in Japan. I so pleased to have you with us on new journey. As part of purchase agreement, and in order to preserve company secrets, you obligated by contract to work with us."
"Oh, but Mr. Namurra, I actually haven't worked here very long, just a little over two weeks, so I don't think I can be of much help. The department managers, foremen, and engineers would be better…"
Mr. Namurra cut him off, "Oh, Dorei-Brad, you have very, very important service to provide. You know, it was Greenville name that familiar to me. I knew of important work of your honorable father. So sad about his horrible state. Because of your name, I have followed your budding career as a famous model and movie star." Brad blushed, knowing it was a huge exaggeration. "It is this career as world-famous celebrity that we wish use your handsome talents."
Brad seemed more puzzled than ever. "You mean like an ad spokesman or a company greeter at a major marketing event? I don't think that's my thing. I'm not good at showing myself off and being some sort of a featured employee. I really think there is no place for…"
"Dorei-Brad, please remove shoes and socks. It Japanese custom for dorei to have naked feet here." Brad, of course, never knew that "dorei" was the Japanese word for "slave." He removed his footwear as requested. Namurra and his five assistants calmly observed.
Brad stood there with his sock-stuffed shoes in one hand, wondering where to place these. With a nod from Mr. Namurra, the male secretary stood up, walked over to Brad, took his shoes, and left the room. Brad heard the sound of the industrial shredder in the next room come to life, grind a bit, and then abruptly turn off. He wondered if there were still a few workers left in the building cleaning up. But he felt it was not his place to ask. The man reentered the office and returned to his seat, of course, with no shoes in his hands.
"Yes, Dorei-Brad, your modeling career so catches my attention. Seeing you in swimsuit ad photo. I intrigued that you so tall, so… how you say… well-toned. A perfect body."
"Well, thank you, Mr. Namurra," Brad blushed, "but what does that have to do with helping my Dad's com… I mean, your new company? I really don't have a perfect body. I mean, that's all ad hype. You know how they air-brush photos and…”
"Why, Dorei-Brad, you mean you phony? You not real? I surprise you try to fool your public. I very disappointed, Dorei-Brad. I know you honorable father, by reputation. How you not be honorable, too? I very disappoint in you."
"Please, Mr. Namurra, please. I did not mean that I was not real. Of course, I have a good body. It's just that all those photos are always touched up. You know, Mr. Namurra…”
"Dorei-Brad, it not polite in my country for a dorei to call boss by his name. No, that reserved for those equal to me. You call me, 'Sir.'”
“Oh, yes, Sir, of course, Sir. But I was…”
“Dorei-Brad, I think you not tell truth. I think maybe you not real as in photos I see for last few years. Take off shirt, Dorei-Brad. Seeing is believing. Is that not your saying? I want to vision you in swimsuit.”
“But, Sir, we are discussing the work of this company and how I may be of service to you. I can’t….” Brad was just not getting his point across to Mr. Namurra.
“No, do not tell how you will serve me and my associates. We use you as I declare you be used. Now, remove shirt so can tell if you untruthful. Do it now, Dorei-Brad.” Mr. Namurra was staring directly at Brad’s face and requiring him to comply.
Brad, of course, was wearing a suit and tie. So he removed his coat, tie, and finally his shirt, revealing a very nice chest and abs. His nipples stood somewhat erect, maybe because it was cool in the office. He felt awkward holding his clothes. He did not want to place them on the floor and thought setting them on the conference table in front of his new boss would not be polite. So he held them neatly over his arm. Mr. Namurra again nodded to his male secretary who then rose and tried to take the clothes from Brad.
“No, wait, please. I can hold these. Please, Sir. My iPad, it’s in the inside coat pocket. May I…” Brad tried to clear up the confusion. He was there to discuss the computer projects currently going on in the company, so he thought, but now he was caught up in a discussion about his body appearance. He did not want to insult or show disrespect toward Mr. Namurra, so he held back.
“Dorei-Brad, have much to learn. This is office, my office. It not dressing room or closet for your clothes. Your clothes, whatever I require you to wear, not allowed here to mess up very nice space.” To which Brad sighed and replied with an exhaustive, “Yes, Sir.”
Brad, in his former office, stood in front of Mr. Namurra and his associates to discuss his new role. Mr. Namurra’s team all sat along one side of the conference table while Brad stood because no chair was provided for him. Oddly, Brad removed his shoes and sock, as he was told it was a Japanese custom of some sort. Next, Mr. Namurra asked – no told -- Brad to strip off his coat and shirt and expose his chest in front of Mr. Namurra and his staff. Brad did not understand why, but he did not want to disrespect the new owner of his former company. He now stood barefooted and naked to the waist, nervously holding his clothes. The secretary took the armful of Brad’s clothes from him and left the room. Just as when his shoes were taken from him and into the next room, Brad heard the industrial shredder go on, grind, and then turn off. But he still hadn't made the connection between his clothes being taken and the shredder and that his clothes, and everything in his pockets, were being ground up.
“There, Dorei-Brad, I see your chest not as full as in fashion photos I remember. Almost, but I not sure you not deceived me. In model magazine photos, I see you perfect. You have a… a… ah… what you call basket? But I see no basket. You know how much I pay for this company. Ten million dollar. That more than enough to cover the cost of all company’s assets and for one perfect built dorei and to pay major medical expenses of your serious ill honorable father. I am told he recover if all his stress and worry is removed by selling me the company. It like I your father’s only real medical solution. But I back out of deal because you fool me.” Mr. Namurra was understood completely, even if his English was not perfect.
“Ten million dollars?” Brad never dreamed the company would fetch such a high price. “And my Dad would recover if he is free of stress and …?” Brad was stunned. Of course, Mr. Namurra would never cancel the purchase and, in fact, could not. It was a done deal. Also, he was lying about feeling fooled and deceived by Brad’s photos. Mr. Namurra was fascinated with Brad’s very hot body from all the international magazines he was shown in. Other than his close associates, no one knew that Namurra was gay. But that was the basis of his fixation on Brad. To Mr. Namurra, Brad Greenville was as perfect a male specimen a “trophy," he was only pretending that he felt cheated or disappointed in Brad. This was just the setup to lead Brad, his dorei, down the path to his emotional and psychological transformation into his plaything.
He did not intend to let Brad Greenville go. He owned Brad, even if Brad was unaware of it. As for Brad’s father and his recovery, well, it was not in the cards. But Mr. Namurra did purposely stir up wishful thinking in Brad’s mind.
“My Dad can recover? Fully?” Brad’s eyes stared intently into the face of his new boss. For the first time, Brad connected the need to comply with all Mr. Namurra’s requests and his Dad's ability to recover. He concluded that he could put off his fashion career for six months or so, and do whatever his new boss wanted, no matter how strange his Japanese traditions may seem. “Sir, please don’t cancel the deal. Really. I never deceived you or anyone. Please. This is all me. I am no phony, Sir. Please. Yes, photos are touched up, but it is not to deceive, only to enhance photographic images. It’s an industry thing. I am exactly what you see. And .. and … without your purchase, my Dad … well … he won’t be free of all this business stress. He won’t recover. Please, kind Sir.”
“No! I can no hire phony. It is no importance to me if you have big basket, as shown in your swimsuit modeling photos, but if you don’t have…, then you are liar. You will lie always. You cheat and trick me and everyone. You are liar. I canceling purchase. I cannot trust you. I cannot help your poor honorable father. Now out!”
“No! Here, for real, you judge me!” With that, Brad unbuckled his alligator belt, unzipped his slacks with lightning speed, and then hurriedly pushed his slacks down to the floor in a heap, puddled around his ankles. Stepping two feet closer to Mr. Namurra face, Brad stepped out of his fallen pants. He was now wearing only black fancy underpants. “Please, Sir, just look, I have a bulge. Don’t I. Sir, just like in my swimsuit photos?”
Mr. Namurra turned to his assistant, “See, he no learn. He still make mess in my office. Go fix.” The male secretary went over to the slacks on the floor, scooped them up, and left the office. Again, the grinding noise of the shredder was clearly heard by all through the closed office door. A moment later, it was silent. Then in came the secretary to reclaim his seat.
“Dorei-Brad, you stand here in your undergarment trying to convince that you are honest and worthy to be used by me. But you have not even agreed to the purchase. You just wasting my time.”
Although the company was already officially sold to Mr. Namurra, the part of the agreement where Brad was to stay on and be under Mr. Namurra's control had to be specifically agreed to by Brad.
“Sir. I do agree. I agree with everything. Why not? My Dad's recovery depends on his having a new state of rest and tranquility. That can only happen if you go through with this deal. Why do you think I do not agree with you buying the company and all your conditions?”
Mr. Namurra said something in Japanese that caused one of his assistants to produce the folder with the purchase agreement in it. He handed it to Mr. Namurra. “See? Dorei-Brad, you talk, but you not officially sign the agreement. I guess you refusing to sign. I guess you don’t like conditions.”
For the first time, Brad, standing there only in black briefs, interrupted Mr. Namurra, “But I will. I will sign. Please give it to me. Please let me show you that I agree with everything.”
Mr. Namurra asked Brad, “Don’t want to read it all? Maybe you don’t trust me. This agreement based on traditional Japanese customs you may not be aware. Would be wise; this is binding, non-cancelable contract. These days, young people do not know value of trust. It can be cancelled by me, the buyer, but not by you, the seller.”
Brad felt like he needed to show that he trusted Mr. Namurra and, therefore, had no need to read the entire document. Brad simply took the pen on the table and signed the last page, just under the phrase. “By signing here, I acknowledge I have read this agreement, and I legally and willfully bind myself to all terms of this non-cancelable contract.” He signed on the provided line that indicated, “Brad Greenville, Company Dorei.”
Unbeknownst to Brad, his signature was not valid. No one can sign over their human rights, as this agreement dictated. His signature carried no legal weight at all. But it looked legal, giving Mr. Namurra a powerful, psychological advantage over Brad.
“As I saying all day, you the company’s new dorei. That is very traditional position, which normally reserved for well-built, athletic Caucasian young men. Dorei-Brad, turn to Page 17, Section 5, and read, out loud, point number 21.” Brad was puzzled and hadn’t a clue of what was going on. He nervously fumbled with the stapled contract pages, flipping to the part in question, then skimming down to point number 21. He read aloud, “21. The company shall provide a uniform to each dorei. No dorei may wear any article of clothing that is not expressly provided by the company.”
Brad scratched his head. “Sir, I don’t understand.”
“Dorei-Brad, I explained you that you new dorei. Correct?” Brad nodded. “And you sign legal document binding you to obey all rules. Correct, Dorei-Brad?” Again, he nodded in agreement. “Well, Dorei-Brad, you just read you must only wear approved uniform.” Brad nodded, now feeling a bit dizzy. “You, my dorei, officially, for only moments, but you no respect our rule.” Brad was and remained confused even more.
“Dorei-Brad, I give you permission to correct this insult. You ask secretary to receive your illegal undergarment now.” Brad, the former supermodel, and celebrity-to-be, the almost-head of his own computer company, trembled and looked down at his only clothing item, his fancy black briefs. He was trying to figure out what to say.
“Take these off? Yes, Sir, but where is my uniform I am to put on? As soon as I get it, I will be happy to promptly go and change into whatever…”
“So, Dorei-Brad, you want me to void this agreement? Honorable father be vegetable in hospital warehouse place. You think that best, Dorei-Brad?” Brad stood still, thinking. “We do have uniform for you, but you must remove offending garment first.” Brad, chalking up all his confusion to his lack of knowledge of traditional Japanese customs, put his fingers in the waistband of his underwear, slid them down, and stepped out of them. Now, totally naked, he was holding out his underwear to Mr. Namurra.
“No, Dorei-Brad, that too offensive to touch. You need to dispose of that yourself. Go with secretary to other room, please.” The male secretary stood up and escorted Brad out the door, but this time he left the door open. As if on a dog's leash, Brad followed the man like a lost puppy over to the industrial shredder in the adjoining room.
The secretary told him, “You may drop garment in the shredder and turn the machine on.” In a daze, Brad dropped his expensive fancy briefs into the shredder but was hesitant to turn it on. He knew he would be shredding the last vestige of his clothing. He thought that soon Mr. Namurra and his colleagues would all be leaving, and he’d be able to regain his self-respect and some new clothes. So he pushed the “ON” button. The machine quickly gobbled up his shorts and then turned itself off. Brad just realized that all his clothes had been shredded. He briefly wondered what had happened to his iPod and wallet that was in his suit. As Brad reentered the office now with his dignity and self-respect gone, Mr. Namurra fully appreciated Brad's wonderful and magnificent body.
Brad was six-feet tall, 195 pounds of exquisite, toned, athletic body, with more of a swimmer’s build, and no one could possibly escape noticing his flaccid, six-inch perfect cut cock, naturally displayed in front of his two plum-sized, low-hanging balls. His feet were perfectly proportioned in both size and shape, and his ass showed a nice bubble-butt contour.
“Ah, Dorei-Brad, I see you remove your offensive garment. That is good start. And all your clothes now shredded into tiny bits. But learn how to present self. Place your feet wide apart, hands behind back, and thrust out chest like a proud dorei. That very good.” Mr. Namurra spoke, so pleased he had guessed right that Brad Greenville would be the perfect dorei for him to train and use in his new company. Such a fine, muscular, how you say … hunk. Brad was not aware that “dorei” was Japanese for “slave.” He was still thinking that he would eventually be viewed, respected, and treated as upper management – as the primary advisor to Mr. Namurra on all pending company issues.
“Sir,” Brad spoke in a pleading voice, “I don’t understand why my clothes were shredded. I don’t have a second set here. My iPad had every important company and personal contact and… and… Could someone fetch me something to wear, please? I’ll wear whatever uniform you have for me And, Sir, my wallet, with all my identification in it, was in my pants, and my credit cards, all my… everything was shredded. I don’t know why. I mean… how am I supposed to get home? All my contacts and emails and… Is someone going to take me home? And where is my uniform and… and…” Brad was shaking and mumbling like a little boy.
“So many question, Dorei-Brad. I answer every important question you ask. But you not asked a single question that important. However, Dorei-Brad, I enlighten you. Your uniform will be provided. You must be patient.” Naked Brad was stunned and confused. He only wanted to get dressed and go home, hoping this will all make sense in the morning. “Dorei-Brad, you in your home right now. You already are wearing your uniform. As per agreement, we own you until we no longer have any use for you.” The Namurra continued, “Now. Let us train you on proper behavior.”
Namurra Corp.
Part 2 of 2
“You look weak, Dorei-Brad.” Mr. Namurra spoke in broken English to the naked man before him, Brad Greenville, the former owner of this company. In selling this computer company to this wealthy Japanese businessman, Brad was unaware that a clause in the agreement required him to stay on as a servile assistant. He was also unaware that the Japanese term “dorei” meant slave. He foolishly thought it was a term of endearment. To make his point, Mr. Namurra had Brad strip naked as he talked to the confused former, dignified owner.
Then Mr. Namurra turned to his associate, Dr. Jane Miti, and spoke in Japanese. She then stood up and went to the coffee maker on a side counter. “We have energizing tea for you. Perhaps that strengthen you for moment.” Then Dr. Miti filled a coffee cup with a warm, reddish liquid from the pot and presented it to Brad, who thought it did not look like any tea he was familiar with. “We Japanese have many special remedies for fatigue or weakness. Drink this up, and you will have no problems. All your issues and questions will disappear.”
Brad was so out of it. He simply took the cup, tasted it to find it not too hot, and drank it in one series of gulps. “Thank you, Sir, but… may I have some clothes now so I can get dressed, and we can discuss this in comfort, please?” Mr. Namurra, with the 4 members of his private staff, only looked at Brad’s handsome face, saying nothing. It was as if he was waiting for something to happen. Mr. Namurra smiled at Brad and told him he was already quite comfortable.
“May I please sit down now? Sir? Somewhere?” Brad asked politely, but no one said a word. “I think I need to pee… I mean… go to the bathroom. Is that OK?” Again, the four men and one woman just looked and smiled. Brad was starting to rub his arms lightly and slowly as if he was cold, but he was not cold. In fact, he was feeling warmer. He felt some minor tingling in his arms. Not unpleasant, but a warm fuzzy feeling gradually spread to his chest, back, belly, and down his legs, all the way to his sexy toes, which he curled in reaction to the odd sensation.
“Dorei-Brad,” Mr. Namurra finally spoke, “You feel need to scratch top of your head? Your hair… kind of… itch. Does not it?”
“No, Sir, I was asking about my clothes, and…” Brad’s hands went to the top of his head and gently rubbed his hair, unaware he was doing it. “No, Sir, I was just asking about my… my… I was asking….” How weird; he could not remember asking for his clothes. “I just want… I mean… I am missing… I…” He drew a blank. He removed his hands from his head and waited.
“Dorei-Brad, I see your dick is starting to get erect. That is nice way to present self, Dorei-Brad. You want to have big erection for your boss. Well, actual, you want to show everyone your big manhood. Of course, you do. You have the need.”
Brad was listening but did not understand what he was being told. He was not touching his dick, but he felt it tingle. And then he looked down at it, in curiosity, and noticed it swelling in size and firmness. It grew to its normal erect size of eight inches and pointed outward, parallel to the floor. He immediately grabbed it and tried to cover it up.
“No, Dorei-Brad, you proud of your stiff manhood. You do not ever want to cover it up. In fact, you want to thrust out hips a little and show it off. Why do not you strut around office and show us beautiful manhood.” Mr. Namurra knew that the effect of the “tea,” which was a potent drug, would remove Brad’s ability to resist any “suggestion.” It was as if Mr. Namurra’s slightest-expressed wish became Brad’s most important desire. Brad strutted around the office like a model on a catwalk, showing off his outwardly-stretched dick.
“Now, Dorei-Brad! You asking something? What was it? Something about your clothes? You do not want wear clothes anymore. Was that it? Is that correct? You find clothes too tight and most disgusting and repulsive. That makes sense! You never need or want clothes anymore. Is that correct?”
Brad simply said, “Yes, Sir.”
“Oh yes! That remind me; you talking about your useless clothes, remember? That stupid, offensive suit your wore in here.” Mr. Namurra and his assistants all together laughed aloud as if his wearing clothes were just the most stupid idea. Brad laughed, too, and showed a sheepish grin of embarrassment. “Yes, your wallet was in your clothes, remember? Dorei-Brad and it had all your IDs, and Social Security stuff, and money, and credit cards, all your personal information. You asking for your wallet, remember? You wanted to destroy it so you not be tied down to all heavy responsibilities of your terrible past. What were you thinking? And you need money? Credit cards? IDs? For what? I supply all you need now. But we no shred your wallet. Here you go.” He handed the wallet to Brad, who took it and looked at it, puzzled.
“Remember? You want to shred that in machine in other room. It very important for you to do, but ask politely. Always be respectful. Tell me why need to destroy it.” Mr. Namurra suggested calmly.
“Please, Sir, may I shred my wallet? It is so useless to me now. I don't need it and never want to see it again! Nothing in here even belongs to me. It is so awful. Oh my god, please, kind Sir; please let me be free of this wallet and free of my entire past life,” Brad said pleadingly, unaware that his constant stiff boner was obscenely pointing directly at his new boss. He looked like a little boy, a little naked boy, asking for permission to delete the essence of his former life.
“But Dorei-Brad, you forget your manner. You asking me for favor, and did so without licking my shoes. Why you so rude? You know, licking my shoe what you enjoy most. Now, I give you one chance to ask very polite to lick my shoes. If I do you huge favor, then you be so happy and content. Your whole life purpose be fulfilled, and you receive greatest pleasure. So you ask me to do what your heart aches to do.”
“Oh, fucking shit! Sir. Fuck! Fuck! Oh god! Please let me lick your shoes. "I can’t stand it. I need it so bad." Brad begged, "Fucking shit! Please grant me this wish and most sincere joy. I promise, I fucking promise never ever to displease you. Please, oh god….” Brad wept like a child, and tears rolled down his face. He let out animalistic cries of desperate need. He had nothing else in life to do. Nothing else mattered. He surely would die if he was not allowed to lick Mr. Namurra’s shoes. And he cried and babbled as his entire body crumbled to the floor and sobbed with his face only inches from Mr. Namurra’s shiny black shoes. “I am so desperate, most kind Sir. I need you. I need your approval. I need to be allowed this favor. I am so fucked. I am nothing. Oh god, please help me. Take pity on me, Sir.” Brad continued to cry loudly. He was on his knees now, uncontrollably inching his face very close to those shoes but waiting for permission to proceed. Unbeknownst to Brad, his boner was dripping more and more precum, but that and his dick meant nothing to him anymore.
“In future, I expect you plead with more conviction. But for now, I accept you begging. First, take your wallet to shredder and do as you wish with it. Since you want erase your former, putrid, meaningless life. Then return to me and kneel at my feet and receive highest honor I bestow on you.” Brad stopped crying, wiped his eyes, grabbed his formally-precious wallet, and darted out the door. Mr. Namurra heard the machine devour the wallet, and Brad flew back into the office and plopped back down on the floor in front of his boss.
“Ok, Dorei-Brad, you may worship my feet and be sure lick bottom of soles.” That’s all Brad needed to hear to grab one of Mr. Namurra’s shoes and slobber all over it, from the toe to the heel, over the laces. He ravaged the tasty filth of the sole, licking and kissing every square inch of that shoe. He was not being too gentle either. Mr. Namurra knew that he was in the process of reprogramming his dorei, his slave, to make Brad understand that licking those shoes was a matter of life and death to him and that this was fine for both of them. Of course, there was more programming and reprogramming to do, and this process would take time. Each day, the plan was that Brad would get a drink of his special drugged “tea.” As every day passed, Brad would need less and less of it. And within ten or so days, Brad would have no interest in independent thinking, work, or social activities – at all.
It’s not that Brad would forget his past, like his family, his girlfriend, and his decisions at work. He wouldn’t forget his financial plans, even the desire to buy food and clothes. He wouldn’t forget that he made and took phone calls. It is just that all of this would soon – very soon – be thought of with only foolish, laughable embarrassment.
Mr. Namurra spoke in English to his assistants because he wanted Brad to hear and understand every word. Of course, with Brad totally focused on licking his boss' shoes, his conscious mind was not hearing much. But that was fine because it was Brad’s subconscious mind that Mr. Namurra was interested in penetrating, to continually feed and program that little slave brain of Brad's as he spoke to his assistants.
“Dorei-Brad enjoying himself. His passion for licking my shoes now growing stronger. He also has no interest in any women. In fact, he now repulsed by women. Tomorrow, I allow him to make the last phone calls he ever make the rest of life. He want to call family members and tell them he been transferred to company's main office in Japan to work for Mr. Namurra.” Brad started to devour the other shoe, unaware that he was leaking and making a mess of precum on the hardwood floor. Little moans were escaping from his lips in between slobbers. He was in his own funky world, as his brain was absorbing all the “instructions” it was being given by Mr. Namurra.
“Oh, he insist he be allowed to call girlfriend. Yes, he want to call her big fat bitch pig and break off engagement. You know, Dorei-Brad did not realize until now he always wanted to be cock sucker. You know why? Because Dorei-Brad just discovered he homosexual. He like cocks. More and more, he crave them. This new desire in Dorei-Brad his strongest primal need, even more than food and water. He now slave to men dicks. He now know dorei means slave, and here with us, it mean cock slave. Is not that right, Dorei-Brad?” Brad kept his attention to his shoe worshipping, except now he was moaning with pleasure.
“Dorei-Brad! Stretch out your body and lie on your back, and make sure your mouth directly under sole of my foot. Hold my foot with both hands as you kiss and lick your boss’ dirty shoe sole.” Without thinking, Brad flipped over on his back and stretched out his naked body, displaying his boner like a flagpole. “Good, Dorei boy! Now spread your legs wide apart so we see your beautiful balls as well. Brad stretched his legs, never stopping his licking the shoe bottom.
There was handsome Brad lying on his back, his feet pointing away from Mr. Namurra, and his head under his boss’ feet, licking. “Spread your legs wider, slave boy; spread them wide as possible like good slave slut.” And Brad stretched his muscular legs out a little to each side. This emphasized his tall-standing dick jutting out from his groin, now doing its erotic dance. Brad’s dick would twitch back and forth. First, it would point to the ceiling, then jerk pointing more to Brad’s head, then back to the ceiling, and so on, as if nodding “yes, yes, yes.”
“Slave boy, your dick is very, very hard. You like it very, very hard! That how you receive purpose in life. Especially when do something demeaning, your dick will now be very hard, twitch, and jerk. Your dick belongs to me, now and always. You show it off as a good slave does. You unusual slave. You enjoy keeping stiff hard dick, but you no enjoy to reach down and jerk it off and make self-shoot. You know it your job to keep big stiff boner, but it not your job to make it shoot.
“You only shoot if I allow you to shoot. Even when I play with your dick, and enjoy self, you cannot climax unless you hear me give you permission to do. So, I might fondle and tickle your dick for hours, but you not shoot.” Brad was starting to lose concentration in shoe licking. What was being told to him was not only getting into his subconscious mind but now the words and the erotic energy was flooding into his full awareness.
Brad Greenville was trying to lick Mr. Namurra’s shoes but was now whimpering and crying. He was babbling and grunting like an animal. He started again repeating the word “please” over and over and over again.
Mr. Namurra turned to Dr. Jane Miti, the psychologist, and pointed out to her, not that anyone could miss it, but that Brad's stiff-standing dick was waving back and forth like a tower. It was now spewing a continuous flow of precum. It sort of looked like a volcano slowly releasing pent-up lava, except the lava was more like the color and thickness of tree sap.
“Please? You say please to ask me to let you take off my shoes and socks. You need to lick my bare feet? Do you? Well, of course, you do. OK, slave boy, stay in exact position on your back and undo my shoelace and remove my shoes and socks and start lick.” Brad did, most eagerly and aggressively licking, and kissing, and sucking every part of Mr. Namurra’s feet.
Mr. Namurra asked Ms. Miti, “How long you think Brad continue to release precum without ejaculating? Is any danger keeping him in state of erection too long?”
She answered, “His glans will eventually empty, and he will stop releasing precum fluids at some point, but his erection will continue. The drugs in the tea we gave him, along with your verbal reprogramming, will not only rewrite his likes and dislikes, but he will not be able to control his erections any longer. His erections will go down only when you expressly allow him to go flaccid or when he is sleeping. Otherwise, his erection will be his new normal state of being.”
“And is any danger him being erect for long period of time, Ms. Miti?” She responded to Mr. Namurra by saying that if the continual erection stimulation becomes too much for him, he will just faint. Just as in sleep, it will go down. But only as long as he is unconscious. So his stamina to maintain an erection is self-regulating. So it would not be a problem since, with Brad’s athletic stamina, it would not likely happen very often.
“Please, may I… may I please… cum, Sir?” Brad interrupted those speaking.
“Well, slave boy, of course, if you think that best for you. Absolutely, do as you wish with your dick. Beat it off to full climax if you think that really the right thing for you do without me. Of course. You have ability to do what in your best interest. I assure you, sweet slave, do what your needs dictate and to be happy.” Mr. Namurra smiled his cheerful approval to the whimpering Brad.
Brad let go of the bare foot he was worshipping and attempted to reach down to his dick to pleasure himself to no end. His hand moved part way down and stopped. Then he tried again to touch his dick, and again he failed. His hand was resting on his belly. Then, Brad cried out at the top of his lungs. “I can’t, Sir. I can’t do it. It would be rude; it would be like stealing. I won’t steal. I can’t cheat and take control of something that’s not mine. I can’t make myself do it. I’ve tried and tried. I have no power. No, I cannot touch my dick for pleasure. I am so fucking lost! Please help me, Sir.” And he wept in frustration.
“You such good sweet little slave boy. You learned that it not for you to touch Mr. Namurra’s property. So, what you want me to do, my little slave boy?” Mr. Namurra asked, pretending to be sincere.
“Please, Sir, will you play with this slave dick so it can shoot.” Brad pleaded. Mr. Namurra noted for the first time he referred to his dick as “this slave dick” and “so it can shoot.” This meant he was acknowledging that “that” dick was not his. “That dick” was now an “it.”
“But, slave boy, you sound like you're giving me permission to play with what already mine. Do I need your permission? And why you not ask me more politely when you want favor?”
“I am so ashamed of myself; I am such a poor, selfish, stupid slave shit. Please forgive me. I am begging you that if you choose to, if it pleases you, to rub this stiff slave boner, it is available to you. It is leaking and dripping, and it seems to want to or needs to shoot, but only if that is what pleases you, oh gracious, Sir.” Brad groveled and begged. His hips were now humping the air as if to get some friction around it to shoot. He was also happy that he would finally be climaxing. Oh, fuck; how he was so happy about that!
“Oh, if it pleases me, you merely pointing out… alerting me that I might want choose to pump steal pole slave dick and make it squirt glob and glob of hot slave cum? Is that what you saying, my sweet slave stud?” Mr. Namurra looked wide-eyed at Brad and asked for clarification.
“Yes, Sir; please do nothing for me. I need nothing but to give you pleasure. But, yes, I was just pointing out this dripping pole could be easily and quickly explored for… purely for… your enjoyment.” Brad was breathing very heavily. He was in full air-humping mode, anticipating his climatic release only moments away. Mr. Namurra was going to reach down and pull his dick a couple of times, and he was going to shoot the largest load of slave juice anyone had ever shot.
“Oh, I see, slave boy. Sweet. You want me have pleasure. That is such a good sweet little slave boy. Yes. Absolutely, yes. I now take my pleasure.” Mr. Namurra reached out with his bare foot to touch the tip of his slave’s dick with his toes. Teasing him, boy-toying with his bobbing dick. He used his toes to rub the precum around the jutting post. Brad was sure he’d be allowed to climax any second now. Mr. Namurra continued to speak softly and seductively, “My sweet slave. Remember when I said you be allowed only to wear uniform, I give you? Remember? Well, in case you not figured out, you now wearing uniform. Your uniform is this big fat stud boner you have right now. This boner dick be uniform your wear proudly every day, and you show it off proudly to me and all employee who work here.”
Brad was listening and tumbling out of control. His dick was continually being teased gently, lightly by Mr. Namurra’s playful toes. Brad knew only one thing: he was not to move or do anything without permission. His body was no longer his to control.
“Now, sweet slave, as I say, you are home. You live here until Monday when we all go to main facility in Japan. On Monday, I ship you to Japan in insulated airfreight container to my company address. For now, you sleep in back storeroom where cot has been laid for you on floor. And there is dog dish with food, and another dish for water. There is empty bucket for toilet. It have new security lock. It not that you need heavy lock, but it give you sense I in control. You be happy there. Before you go bed, we give you some rice and some more special tea you love much. You love those sleeping arrangements. You excited to be in there. You really love tea that Dr. Miti make for slave boy. Is not that true?
“Oh yes, Sir, yes. I really love that special tea Dr. Miti makes for me. Oh yes, Sir.” Brad was excited about his special sleep arrangements and his special tea. It made him feel so special. He actually stopped thinking about his straight upward dick and the toes massaging this boner.
“We not concerned about your temporary stay here. You only be here for few days. I building you special kennel in my back office in Japan. You will love it, slave stud. It will be just for you. Every Friday, be event called “show time,” where top ten employees of the week will be able to play with you. But I tell you more about that later.” Mr. Namurra spoke as if all was of little concern; everything was falling into place, indeed.
“Just for me? My own kennel?” “Yes, no one allowed to enter there. It special, just for you.” “Oh, thank you Sir!” Then to himself, he mumbled, “Fuck! Wow, my own special kennel!”
“Yes, sweat Dorei-Brad. And new elegant, metal home will be huge, about two feet square with shiny steel bars, so no one enter and bother you. You so important we protect you under lock and key. You precious. You safe in your wonderful new secure home. You be happy.” “Oh yes, and about having my way with you and take my pleasure now. I doing it right now. I taking my pleasure now as I watch mighty boner continue erotic dance, leaking dick slime and getting light petting from my toes. I getting pleasure by granting you no release at all today. Not today, not tomorrow, not this week.” Brad just lay there on his back sobbing and twitching with his legs spread wide, not moving. He could feel his dick dance and being tickled by his boss’ toes. “You so kind to give me such wonderful gift of seeing you tortured with pent-up erotic needs. Lovely! You such precious slave. And because you so giving and only seek my pleasure, I intend keeping you all boned up. Your continual boner will stand tall as flagpole. You are company boner dog.”
Brad finally realized that he would not be climaxing anytime soon. His hope that Mr. Namurra would take pleasure in seeing him climax was gone. He never thought his boss would take greater pleasure in seeing him tortured with a continuous stiffy.
Worst, his desires were changing as his brain was being reprogrammed to lose all interest in his own sexual release needs. His new and now only desire was to be the company boner dog. His brain was recording this new information, and he was truly accepting that was his true mission in life, his only purpose. It was to do whatever would please others. The confusion and fogginess of his thoughts receded, and a smile came on his face. It was a sincere smile, reflecting the powerful inner joy he was receiving, like an epiphany. All boned up, lying on his back, obediently motionless, with Mr. Namurra tickling his proud standing dick with his toes, Brad giggled with inner peace and complete contentment. He had a wonderful purpose in life now and cheerfully mumbled to himself, “I am company boner dog.”
“Your dick pole will be how you continually salute me and acknowledge your function in life. From now on, is be your most joyous duty to stay erect. Yes, more programming is needed, but already I see you so primal, so exquisitely perfect, the boner with no will, no power, no decisions, no selfish desires. You take complete delight in making me very, very happy. My sweet company boner dog.”
The End
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