I arrived for my first partners' meeting at Bletchley, Windham, and Tremor right on time, actually two minutes early. Not that being early is remarkable for me; I have a fetish attitude about punctuality and neatness. But, in this instance, it was a fucking miracle that I was there at all, let alone on time.

I had been recruited hard by Ben Windham, the managing partner of the oldest, largest, and most prestigious law firm in San Antonio. He tracked me down in Dallas, at the downtown racquet club, actually, knowing that I played racquet ball every noon with one of the other junior partners at Carrom and Dicker, the largest and most prestigious firm in Dallas. Ben watched us play through the glass door and made small talk with me during our break. "You've got good moves, quick reflexes," that sort of guy crap.

I wondered if he was cruising me until he came pretty directly to his point: "We know a good bit about you Tom. You're the leading breadwinner for your firm in the courtroom, the best brain on two legs in your age group in Texas. If you wouldn't minding spending a weekend in San Antonio and on our ranch, I think that my other partners might have a proposal for you."

I went to San Antonio, to the ranch, the latter being a ritual site for big Texas bucks, and left with an irresistible offer of a full partnership on equal terms in the firm, if I would become the courtroom lead for them. Every senior partner except Alan was there, and he was tied up in the middle of a big trial in Houston.

"The senior partners are all of an age, Tom, except for my son, Alan," Ben said, "and we can still do the "shucks, I'm just a country lawyer bit as well as anyone, but more and more of our corporate work is in federal courts, where that just doesn't wash the way it always has in Texas courts. We need a high-powered big-gun, son, and we think you're the caliber we need."

The terms were obscenely generous, which I won't go into now for fear of alienating every attorney who reads my story.

I made good money in Dallas, saved a fair amount, and I was ready to move, largely because Sam, my five-year boy friend, and I had parted ways semi-amicably just a few weeks before. I guess it was a gut reaction at the time, but I wasn't up to doing the Dallas scene as a single again.

There was also my uneasiness about the Dallas firm. They knew that I am gay when they hired me, right out of law school. All of the juniors and seniors were always friendly, never making cheap jokes about "queers" when I was around. We socialized after work, with no tension; several of the more liberal senior partners even invited Sam and me for informal dinners. I was "out," but Sam and I never danced together at the Christmas party, nor did I cruise anybody at the office. For upper-middle class Anglo America, the men in the firm were exceptionally tolerant, and I knew it. I also felt, however, that my identify had created my own kind of "glass ceiling." Though I was the leading income generator, there had been no serious talk of election to senior status, and I suspected that I would never see my name emblazoned on the engraved letterhead. And, even if this consideration was largely a matter of ego, I know that I run at least partially on ego and testosterone and that I might slow down more than I want to if the gauges get low.

I gave notice in Dallas, getting some rancor in return: ingratitude, disloyalty, and a lot of other bull shit that the partners didn't really expect me to believe. The managing partner and a few others gave an extravagant going away party and brimmed over with good will. Still, there was that negative edge, which I looked forward to escaping. San Antonio looked good, maybe better than it was, but I was itching to see Dallas in my rear-view mirror.

Over a couple of weekends, I located a new condo in San Antonio, one that would be mine officially on October 1. From the Tuesday after Labor Day until then, I planned to stay at a downtown hotel, two blocks from the Medical Arts Building where the firm was officed, and a few blocks from the Alamo. I let the new firm know my plans, packed, called the movers, saw them in and out of my over-priced apartment on Turtle Creek in Dallas. As one last gesture of separation, I used my portable phone in the old apartment to call San Antonio and let them know I was on my way, then I jumped into my dark green Porsche for the six-hour trip to San Antonio.

The trip was tedious; I had made the trip to Austin hundreds of times, it seemed, and San Antonio was just a few burgs away. I arrived at the Sam Houston Hotel, checked into a junior suite, which the firm was paying for, took a leisurely swim in the roof-top pool, and went down to the famous horseshoe bar for a Friday night snort before I thought about dinner.

The bar was moderately full, mainly with convention goers, I guess, many of them in the washable polyesters of state employees. No one too interesting, so I sipped on a top-shelf margarita and munched nachos, dipped in jalapeno cheese sauce. Better than bar food in Dallas. No frozen quiches here.

I was about near the bottom of my drink when a guy dressed a Brooks Brothers' suit, blue button-down shirt, rep tie, plain-toed shoes; my costume exactly, but the ties and suits were different colors.

"You don't look like the usual tell-me-another-one salesman or the shit-I'm-in-the-big-city tourists who seem to own this place tonight."

"I guess that's because I'm not." And I told him about my temporary residence, but didn't mention the firm, or even give my name.

"Do you know your way around the Alamo City, podner?" Said with good-natured irony.

"Been in and out dozens of time, but not usually over night, and I've been too tired to look around. Shit, I've only been in the Alamo once, and that was when I was twelve years old."

We drank slowly, talked, and discovered that we enjoyed light guy banter. Both of us came from large Texas cities, went to good local private schools, off to the Ivy League as undergraduates, though to rival schools, and then came back for law school, me to UT and he to SMU. Alan didn't ask me where I would be working, and I didn't ask him about his job, either. There are some niceties to be observed, and I assumed he worked for a different, and possibly rival, firm.

After my second drink, he offered to show me the hot spots in San Antonio, but said that he'd need to stop back at his loft to pick up some more cash and change clothes. He suggested that I find some jeans and boots in my room and meet him back in the bar in a few minutes.

I changed fairly quickly, interested in the possibility of being somewhere more interesting than the hotel, and with a fairly hot looking guy, too. Not bad. Maybe 6'1", well short of 190 pounds, black hair, dark eyes, Texas tan, rugged face with high cheek bones and a jutting jaw. Could be good.

I joined him in ten or fifteen minutes and we plotted bar hopping night of it, after he changed at his place and picked up some cash. So, I hopped in his car, a green Land-Rover, none-the-less, and rode to his loft, in a converted railroad freight depot on the fringe of the old mercantile-industrial core of town.

It didn't look like much on the outside, but when we climbed the stairs and he unlocked the metal security door, the place was palatial: burgundy leather sofas and lounge chairs, lots of mahogany furniture, including built-in book cases, "serious art" -as some decorators call it, Persian carpets over wide-planked oak floors. Shit, this dude had bucks. I didn't need to worry about being rolled.

"Park wherever you're comfortable, Tom. I'll get you a drink to work on while you're waiting. Another Margie?"

"No, Alan, I had better switch to beer or it'll be a short bar crawl."

He brought me a Lone Star long-neck, an acquired taste, and one I had never acquired; I just didn't like the taste of it, but I sipped away on it while I waited, just to be polite. Alan reappeared after about fifteen minutes, clad in faded jeans, heavy black boots, and a black leather vest; no shirt. He looked great without it, a hairy and well-developed chest, muscular without being a gym queen. This was not going to be the Grayline tour of San Antonio at night!

"Well, let's drink up and hit San Antonio before it's ready for us, Tom."

I chugged the rest of my beer, actually most of it while Alan drained his. Then, he excused himself again, for a pre-binge piss, he said, and went back into the dark rear of the loft. I sat down again and waited, not for long until he was back, sporting a shit-eating grin.

"Adelante!"

I stood up and staggered, dizzy, the room darkening.

When I woke up, I was no long in Alan's living room; I couldn't move my arms or legs, which were pulled out to the side. I couldn't see either because my eyes were covered. I could feel a light air conditioning breeze blowing over me, over what was obviously my naked body, naked except for my shoes and socks, and I realized that I was spread-eagled on my back, and that I couldn't move in any direction. Shit, welcome to San Antonio!

"A slight change of plans, Tom. I decided to invite a few friends over to welcome you, in their own way. Each of us has his special interest, and we will share all of them with you. Sonny, whom you will meet in a few minutes, is an aficionado of flagellation; he's an artist with the whip and paddle. Terry is deeply into sex toys, another interest he will share with you at some length and breadth. Ben, here, is a one-man gang rape; insatiable when there's a bare ass pointed his way. He'll show you parts of your body you haven't yet discovered, pointing the way with his long and fat cock, big even for a Texan, and urging you along once in a while with his cattle prod, if you need any encouragement. Finally, I'm the gentle one of the bunch. I'm just really into bondage, but I will explore a few body piercing ideas I have, just to alleviate the boredom of having your ass beaten, teased, played with, fucked, and shocked. Any objections, Tom?"

Shit, I was gagged,too, so the best I could do was make muted noises and wave my head around.

"Hearing none, let the games begin."

I was released from the board to which I had been chained, as two of the men held me firmly by my arms and someone else strapped a belt around my mid-section and fastened my hands to it. I was standing, but I couldn't see anything and my arms were immobile. There wasn't much I could do to protect myself from what was to come. What was to come?

"Tom, I forgot my tool kit down in my car and I'll need it to tan this hide."

"Shit, Sonny, I was hot to get working on this dude. Ben and I'll come down and help you bring your stuff up; we don't want to keep our guest waiting."

Waiting, shit, I could wait forever! I heard the three men go to the door, open it and walk down the stairs. Yeah! They walked down the stairs, but I didn't hear the door close; there might be a way out. I stumbled in the direction of the door, or at least where I thought it was. On the way, I bumped into the wall and cut my cheek on a nail or hook. Shit, this was the way to get rid of my blindfold! I worked my head next to the metal protuberance, caught my blindfold on it, and pulled it off. Yeah, I was just a few feet from an open door.

I listened for a second and, hearing no voices, went down the stairs as fast and as softly as I could, and ran through an open metal door at the bottom.

I was obviously in a train yard. There were empty freight cars, doors open, lined up as far as I could see in the dim light. I wasn't home free, but I was out of the hands of the s/m welcome wagon.

"Shit, dudes, he's run away. We'd better find him or the night's entertainment is over.!

"I think he's gone this way," said a voice at the building."

I had better make tracks, but where. Where to hide? Obviously, in one of the cars; there were a lot of them for those guys to search, and if I got in a dark corner, they might just miss me. Fucking hard to get in, though, with my arms pinned to my sides, but I managed to get one leg up on the floor of the car, and threw my weight to propel my body through the door, scraping the tip of my cock scraped and getting the rest of me even dirtier. I found the corner on the same side as the door. Little light reached it, so I hunkered down and waited.

In a few minutes somebody came along and shined a light through the door, but mainly over the opposite side of the car, missing me.

"I think he's taking the hike down the tracks; I don't see him around here."

"He cant get too far trussed up like that, so let's split up. We'll head down track and you go up track. If we haven't found him in half an hour, we'll meet back at your loft."

I could hear footsteps pass the car again, but they kept on going. Safe, at least for a while. By now, I was still scared shitless, half drunk, and dog tired. I guess I dozed off fairly quickly, sleeping until I heard the large metal door of the car slide shut with a loud bang. I jumped up in what was almost total darkness, as I felt the car begin to move.

I don't know where I'm going, but I guess anywhere else is an improvement.

Not quite.

A light flashed on at the other end of the car, then swept over me quickly, coming back to focus right on me.

"Fuckin' A, Charlie, we've got some company."

"Yeah, and ain't he dressed pretty!"

"Ah, gentlemen, I'd sure be grateful if you'd help me out of these cuffs and collar. I need to get back to town and clean up."

"We'll let ya go, dude, in good time, after we've had a little funnin' for usselves. We don't come across too many real gifts from heaven, and you're the first in a long spell of bad luck. Seems our luck has just changed."

"I'll pay you well when I get back. I'll pay whatever you want."

"Well, maybe we gist wanna take it out of your hide, a little at a time."

"Shit, Leo, we could use the money. I haven't had a good meal for days."

"And I ain't had a good piece of ass in months. Tail's harder to find than burgers. I'll take tail ever' time."

"Guys, I don't really go in for that." Well, shit, I did, but not like this!

"That's all right, dude, we'll break you in, but maybe not nice n' easy, like."

I tried to evade the two transients, but there was nowhere to go. After a few seconds of circling me, one of them knocked me off my feet. I hit the metal floor hard, knocking the wind out of me. I was down and at least one of them was sitting on my back, pinning me down. I could wiggle a little but I couldn't move.

"Let's see what kind of pussy we caught, Leo."

"I'll stay sat on him and you inspect the goods."

I felt a cold hand on my ass cheeks, then two cold hands pulling them apart.

"Looks like a real cherry, here, Charlie. Nice and tight."

I felt a finger push against my ass pucker. Then it pushed through, hard, sending spirals of pain up my ass. I howled and twisted."

"Shit, this one's a singer, Charlie."

"But, he's just warming up. Let's see how many of those high notes he can hit with a little more effort."

I felt another finger move into my ass, unlubed, just like the first. Shit, they were tearing up my ass.

"Shit, you're tearing up my ass. Please use at least a little lube."

"Lube, Leo, did you bring any lube oil?"

"None on me, Charlie."

"Shit, at least spit on your finger; you're tearing up my ass."

"Spit, it seems like this dude has been around just a little more than we reckoned."

I felt a gob of spit land on my asshole. Then the two fingers pushed farther in, still reaming, hurting. I moaned.

"Please, guys I'm just not up to this. Take me to town and I'll buy you the best pussy available."

"I'm feeling up the best pussy available, dude. Now I guess I'd better fuck you before you get the wrong idea."

The wrong idea!

I was pulled up, then bent over, ass high, head on the floor of the car, with one of the guys, Ben I guess, holding my shoulders down with his knees.

"That's it; you keep him in position and I'll warm up his ass, break him in for you."

"But, of course, I'll give him some of that spit he wanted so bad."

I could hear him spit, then I felt his cock at my ass hole, pushing through my muscle and up my canal with no pause to let me adjust. I screamed, a long high scream.

"Shit, this one's a screamer as well as a singer. Let's see what he can do when I put the blocks to 'im."

Charlie pumped his cock in and out of my ass, hard, deep. It felt like he was shredding my ass, reducing it to pulp. I started to see stars, felt the pain well up from my ass to my spine and head. I moaned, again and again.

"He likes it, likes having his tail nailed. Listen to him hum!"

I don't know how long Charlie fucked me. I got dizzy and fell into a kind of trance. I only noticed when he pulled out, after I felt his hot cum spurt inside me. I collapsed when Leo let my shoulders go and I lost consciousness at least for a while.

When I came around, I was on my back and Charlie was holding my legs over my head while Leo waved his cock at me.

They were quite a pair. Charlie was about five-foot-two and couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds. He had long stringy blond hair, facial hair that was more random stubble than beard, and he was missing four front teeth, two on top and two below. He wore dirty blue chinos and a Chicago Cubs tee-shirt, torn and grimy. Leo was at least my height and he must have weighed near three hundred pounds, under his torn denim overalls. Overall, he looked like Gentle Ben the television bear: dark brown hair sprouting out of the denims and covering the better part of his face. He admired my shoes and socks, which he took, leaving me buck naked, except for the leather restraints.

Leo broke the silence: "The best is right now, dude. I'm going to plow your back forty until you sprout buckwheat out your prick."

He spat in his hand and slathered the spit over his cock. His cock! Shit, it was near a foot long. Thin, but damn near a foot long!"

"Hey, man, please don't do it; that'll bust my ass. I can't take that much cock."

"This dude has taken cock, Charlie; he knows his limit!"

"It's going to be stretched, along with his cunt, Leo. This is going to be what my probation officer called "a growth experience."

The next thing I felt was Leo pushing through my pucker. He went at it more slowly, so my ass had at least some time to adjust, but he just kept on pushing until he was fucking parts of me I had never felt before. He pushed, pulled out, twisted, sending me squirming, and he pounded on until I couldn't catch my breath. I was panting, short oxygen, beginning to feel faint, and more than a little high.

"Fuck, Leo, he's working his ass for you; he's moving with you. That's one trained pussy. We struck it real lucky tonight. We've got a trained pussy all to ourselves."

And Leo kept fucking. My ass, unfortunately, was well into the fuck, as it began to spasm, gripping his cock, alternately tightening and loosening as he entered and withdrew. And he kept on fucking.

"He's getting kind of loose, Charlie, not as tight a fuck as he was."

"Jack him off, man, that'll send that ass tighter for you."

So, next, I felt a rough hand grab my swollen cock, pumping it hard and fast as another hand squeezed my balls hard. I could feel the cum rising in my balls, moving, my cock throbbing as cum shot out of it and splattered my face and chest. As I came, I got vocal again, with a chorus of "Aaaaah, aaaaahs."

"Don't he look purdy, covered in all that frosting. And he's singing agin."

I could feel my ass going into spasms as I shot my load. Leo doubled his pace and filled my ass a few seconds afterward.

"Ya know, Leo, I think we should keep dude here to the end of the line and just keep giving him voice lessons. I like that tune, and I really liked playing tunes on his ass."

"Yup, we'll keep him around, keep him pretty well fucked until we make El Paso, tomorrow, then we can dump him in the big train yards, where the boys steal from just about every car that goes through. They'll have some fun with this dude. Maybe take him across the border and put him in a show with a mule. "Mule fucks Dude."

As I was envisioning the worst future I had ever imagined, the train slowed and came to a jerking halt.

"He, we aint spossed to stop yet. Must be either train cops or immigration. Let's get the hell out of here."

My two hosts opened the door, jumped out and disappeared from my life. Nothing else happened for at least an hour. Then, another light shined through the door.

"What the hell, Mac, this hombre doesn't look like an illegal, though it sure as shit looks like he's been doing something that must be illegal."

"Shit, yes. He's buck naked, bound up, and has shit, cum, and a little blood running out of his ass. Think we ought to arrest him?"

"Well, I guess we should, if he's an illegal. Habla Anglais?"

"I sure as hell speak English. Please get me out of here. I need a doctor and a ride back to San Antonio."

The two INS officers obliged, though with occasional side jokes about my predicament. They found a bolt cutter and removed my restraints, let me shower and clean up in their small office, rounded up some trousers and an old flannel shirt that about fit me, and found a ride with a vegetable trucker back to San Antonio. Once there, I went to an emergency room, got a few stitches in my rectum, a what-the-hell pain shot, and a ride to my hotel. Despite my unlikely appearance, the manager let me into my room, where I fell on the bed and slept until eight the next morning.

When I woke up, I showered again, put on my Brooks Brother's best, a red "power tie," and headed across town to the partner's meeting.

Up the elevator to the top floor. The receptionist reacted at my name:

"They'll be so glad to see you. They were really worried that something had happened to you and that you wouldn't make it."

Why the hell should they have worried; I wasn't due here until now?

The receptionist introduced me to Susan, my secretary, who took me to my office, spacious, but not one of the coveted corner offices.

"The partners are waiting in the conference room to welcome you, sir. It's just two doors down, on the left."

I admired the brass name plate on the door of my new office and headed down the hallway, opened the door, and gasped. There was Alan, my genial host of the previous night, who quickly introduced me to Sonny, Terry, and Ben. They all looked massively uneasy and there was kind of pregnant pause before Alan spoke:

"Tom, before you either beat me senseless or resign on the spot, we want to explain what happened the other night."

"Explain, shit, that seems like a fucking understatement if I've every heard one."

"The whole thing at my place was really just a bad joke that got out of hand. We were never going to do a damned thing to you. When we went downstairs, we left you alone to get your nerves worked up, before we came back, released you and had one helluva party. Unfortunately, we really did forget to lock the door, and you got away. We looked high and low for you, afraid that you'd get hurt, tied up like that, but we obviously failed in the search. The next thing we heard was from Immigration, which had picked you up in sorry shape. "

Ben Windham, the managing partner spoke next: "Tom, the way we see it, you've got us over a huge barrel because of our over-aged frat boy prank. You could press charges that would ruin all of us, even if we didn't do hard time. And, there's no assurance that all three of us wouldn't spend some time behind the fence. I guess it was kidnapping, conspiracy, assault, and more. Tom, what we're proposing is that we make a generous cash settlement with you, somewhere near half a million. Sound about right?"

I have never quite understood the presence of mind I brought to that outrageous occasion, but it worked: "I'll take that half million from you, Sonny, and Terry, but with Alan, I want to take it out in trade, say $250 an hour, I'm entitled to five hundred hours of his time, whenever I want it."

"You have that much private legal work, Tom," Alan asked nervously.

"Well, let's just say I'll take it out of your hide; it will be private, if not legal.

The next day, I put my condo back on the market and moved from the hotel to Alan's loft, to guard my investment. I'm still there, three years later. Although he needed some additional training, perhaps Leo and Charlie could have helped--Alan hasn't billed me for any of his services, yet.