We never opened the shop to the public on Sundays. That didn’t mean the amount of work required to run the business could fit into six days. It was common for us to be at the shop on the Sabbath.
Danny and Todd rolled in around ten past nine. I had begun to worry they weren’t going to show. Dressed in their tattered workday overalls, as instructed, I quietly breathed a sigh of relief, and simply waved them through to the backyard without even a nod of greeting.
I walked directly to the forty-foot shipping container that had been delivered during the week. As I stood at the end doors, I handed each of them a pair of leather gloves.
“Take the tires out of here one by one and stack them on these red racks,” I directed, pointing to the six-foot-tall steel frames to my left. “As you fill each one, James will come out with the forklift and take it away. He’ll bring an empty rack back. Understand?”
They nodded begrudgingly.
“When you’re done unloading the new stock, refill the container with the worn tires from that pile. Stack them properly or you won’t fit them all in.”
They simply looked at me.
“There’s a tap on the wall over there. Make sure you drink. Don’t let yourself get thirsty.”
I left and returned to the office to monitor the rear-yard CCTV.
For the first few minutes, they barely moved. They were weighing up their options. Eventually, they opened the huge double doors and began loading the retail racks, one tire at a time.
It was a bugger of a job. The windless backyard quickly became stifling under the relentless workload. Tire after tire, they continued until all 2,500 had been removed. The task seemed to go on forever. We knew firsthand, we’d done it ourselves time after time over the previous seven years.
Handling new tires was heavy work, but as they would discover later, it was a hundred times better than dealing with used tires. Few jobs were filthier.
By noon, James had retrieved eighteen loaded racks and returned matching empties. They were more than halfway through. I kept a remote eye on the boys and made sure they were keeping their fluids up. I took two rounds of ham sandwiches out to the backyard and stopped them as they finished rack nineteen.
Their hair was drenched. Their overalls were covered in huge sweat patches. I motioned towards the tap with a sandwich in my hand and told them to wash up. They did, then returned to where I was standing beneath the shade of the rear doorway. I handed each of them a sandwich.
As he peeled back the cling wrap, Danny spoke to me for the first time that day.
“So, we’re fucken slaves then?”
“I wouldn’t put it in those words,” I replied calmly, “but you’re unpaid labour. I’ll give you that.”
“For how fucken long?”
“Until we say you’re not.”
“You’re bastards, you know that?” snapped Todd, clearly stressed by the heat and the workload.
“Yeah, we know,” I replied, letting the silence linger. “If you get too hot, strip down to your boxers. Keep your gloves and boots on though.”
“What if we’re not wearing boxers?” Todd asked.
“We’re all men here. Do what you want. It was just a suggestion to help with the heat,” I replied, evenly. “Up to you. I don’t give a fuck.”
I left.
They stripped off their overalls, suddenly deciding the heat was too much. They finished unloading the new tires around two-thirty and began stacking the used tires back into the container. These guys were going to make it, I thought.
Refilling was always quicker than unloading, but as I’d said, it was a filthy job. I estimated they would be finished by about 6:30 p.m., including another short break for food at four. They would be exhausted that night, and sore the following morning.
They didn’t know it, but they were already well into their new bodybuilding program, a routine that dramatically reduced the amount of pointless gym-based weightlifting. Their resistance training would now be geared towards reducing our labour costs.
*
When I ventured out with their food at four, they were starting to slow. They were mostly black and dark brown with dust, dirt, and road grime. As I stood with them while they ate, I could see where sweat cascading down their bodies had washed the top layer of muck away in thin streaks.
Given their obvious exhaustion, I made an executive decision.
“Do another hour. At five, lock up the container,” I instructed. “There’s a shower out back. Have one, then come and see me in the office when you’re done.”
Fifty minutes later, Danny arrived at my desk. Gary and James had already left. As he sat in his grimy overalls, I immediately reinforced the instructions I had already given him, and reminded him to follow my directions to the letter. I handed him a card with the details of his Thursday evening appointment written on the back, and instructed him not to tell anyone about it.
When we finished, I reminded him to take pride in the amount of work he had completed that day, before sending him back outside to wait by his bike for Todd.
Three minutes later, Todd arrived. I repeated the process, arranging his Thursday evening appointment to begin half an hour after Danny's. They wouldn't know the other had been there.
As they prepared to leave, I told them I would see them both next Sunday at nine sharp. Any later and they would be working until dark. Neither of them said a word. I don't think they had the strength. I smiled to myself as they pulled away sedately. I locked up, pleased with our progress.
Every second Wednesday was Morgate Engineering payday. During morning break, I confirmed that two deposits had reached our out-of-town bank account. Danny and Todd were in for a rapid adjustment to their spending power. It looked as though they'd be living with their parents longer than they'd originally planned.
The money never mixed with our business accounts. It simply accumulated, untouched, for as long as we could maintain the arrangement.
Four of our bunnies were into their third year of surrendering fifty percent of their wages. We also had a standalone unit in the neighbouring city working two jobs and handing over sixty percent.
When the guys arrived for work on their second Sunday morning, they were right on time. Better prepared this round, they stripped off their leathers and changed into shorts and boots. We didn't really care. At this stage, the program was about embedding a work ethic. Productivity came first.
As they finished changing and came into the shop, I was on the phone. I simply pointed towards the backyard.
When they went outside, they found the original three-quarter-full container as they had left it. Beside it sat another unopened shipping box. They collected their gloves and got straight to work.
It was good to see.
James and Gary rolled in around ten.
“I see Bill and Ben are here,” said Gary, nodding towards the backyard. “Any dramas?”
“Nah. Almost self-started.”
“Good,” said James. “How did they go on Thursday?”
“I haven't had a chance to review the clinic recordings,” I replied.
“Looks like they're starting to embed themselves,” said Gary, staring through the cobweb-coated rear office window. “They’re moving the tires like robots. They'll finish up as black as they were last week.”
“Big deal,” said James, making his way out of the office. “They just need to get fully on board. The sooner we get to fuck them the better.”
*
When the guys finished at five, I watched on remotely as they transformed themselves from black to white with a shower, then arrived at my office together. They were noticeably less tired than the week before, but still worn out.
Danny spoke first.
“Can we get something for working here?”
I looked at him impassively.
“I mean, we were paid this week, and fifty percent isn’t much, you know.”
“You are getting something,” I reassured him. “You’re not getting plastered across the internet as the wankers you are.”
“Jesus!” spat Todd. “How are we meant to survive on fucken half?”
“You will.”
*
I set about quickly reinforcing their sub-conscious hypnotic instructions. Along with their Thursday appointment reminders, I added a new painful suggestion for them to notice over the coming week. When I was finished, I resumed the conscious conversation as if they hadn’t just been in a deep sleep.
“See you on Sunday,” I said, pointing towards the door.
“Fuck,” muttered Todd, staring at the floor as he left.
Tuning the Boys
Over the years, we had established a great relationship with a local beauty clinic. We attended it ourselves and, once a solid relationship had formed, we opened an account to have our bunnies groomed.
We never explained the situation to the owner, but only he and his partner ever worked on our guys. They never asked questions, although they must have been curious that the men we sent—and paid for—displayed such high pain tolerance. I always ensured they experienced very little discomfort, not out of pity, but because it made the laser treatments far more efficient.
Since the clients didn’t jump around or complain, the technicians could complete the work in roughly half the usual time.
When the treatments were complete, the guys were left with virtually zero body hair. A little remained on the chest and under the arms, a light covering over the pubic area, and a small tuft above the groin. Their shoulders, backs and bums were completely clear. It was exactly the look we wanted.
Todd and Danny turned out to be only lightly covered to begin with. They would probably need no more than three visits. The gradual reduction would be subtle enough that they were unlikely to notice it.
By the end of the month, our new guys had completed four Sundays in a row. Repeating the same task each week was beginning to maximise their efficiency. They were already cutting noticeable time from the job.
Despite becoming proficient, the relentless boredom, constant heavy lifting and filthy conditions were beginning to wear on them psychologically. It happened with every bunny. Eventually, they all began asking themselves the same question: was it really worth it? Would it be better to accept the exposure consequences and reclaim some of their lives?
In reality, it wasn't an option we intended to offer, but at that stage they didn't know any different.
As they worked through the fourth week, they were becoming increasingly aware of the new physical sensation I had mentally implanted. It had become difficult for them to ignore, despite having no explanation for what the fuck was going on.
At the end of the shift, I reinforced the suggestion again, gradually increasing its strength so it would become more painful over the following week.
I also planted the idea that, by the following Sunday, they would remember how much cooler they had felt working with no clothing during the hotter parts of the day. It was another small adjustment in the conditioning process that made the work easier for them, while serving our purposes.
*
James reported that when they arrived on Sunday of week five, they were noticeably more stressed. It was my turn to sleep in. By two that afternoon, they were naked but covered in grime and perspiration.
When I arrived, I had a quick chat with them, asking if it was “better working this way,” gesturing towards their full nudity. They both acknowledged that it was. I casually added that most of the other guys felt the same way.
They looked at each other with the same realisation. There must be others!
I didn't elaborate.
Later, I reinforced their hair clearing appointments and left them with the suggestion that they could discuss their pain problem with me at the end of the shift if they wanted to.
Around five-thirty they arrived at my office, fresh from their showers. Dripping, it was becoming clear that they accepted being nude around us held few concerns. Their conditioning was deepening week on week.
Danny spoke as he dressed.
“Do you ever get... you know... shocks along your cock?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, encouraging him to explain.
“Well... if you touch your dick when it’s hard, and get an electric shock.”
“Like static electricity?”
“No, worse than that,” Todd chimed in. “Much worse. Fucken kills.”
“How often? Just once?”
“No. All the time,” Danny assured me. “It’s only when I’m hard, but it happens every single time.”
“Well, I've heard of it before. Keep an eye on it during the week. When you finish next Sunday, we'll talk about it again. If it's still happening, we'll work out what you can do.”
They nodded appreciatively and left.
It wasn’t much of an attitude shift, but it was good to see. They were beginning to see us as allies on their journey. The fact we had trapped them was beginning to mentally recede. Good!
When Monday arrived, we handed the workshop over to the casual crew and locked ourselves in the office. We were planning what we called the Bunny Work Program for the next six months.
Most of the guys were already rostered onto long-term contract jobs that occupied much of their weekends. They worked. We got paid.
Apart from new starters like Danny and Todd, all of the established teams worked remotely at businesses we contracted to. Although each pair was assigned to one of us, the structure meant we rarely needed to check on them. Even so, we still touched base in person at least twice a month.
Each of them wore an unobtrusive GPS wristband. Designed to look like an ordinary watch, it even told the time. The web-based tracking system allowed us to locate any of our guys instantly, or review their movements historically.
With James taking a call on his mobile and Gary using the office landline, I waited and glanced down our growing list of free labour units.
Scott and Jade
Scott and Jade appeared halfway down the list.
They were a solid team. During the week, Scott worked at a supermarket, and Jade as a bank teller. Twenty and twenty-two respectively, they had been recruited eleven and thirteen months earlier.
Monday to Friday, they worked in shirt and tie. After hours, they stripped naked and cleaned the enormous grease traps at the city's largest butchering works. With the business closed, they completed the work unsupervised.
They were a dream team. In the nine months they'd been on the contract, there hadn't been so much as a hint of a problem.
The stainless-steel grease traps were car sized. Manual scraping was the only way to clean them properly, and every shift ended with our pair covered from head to toe in animal fat and filth.
The butcher works had offered access to the staff showers. We ignored the offer. As far as we were concerned, our labour units only needed somewhere to wash their hands before driving home. Leaving them covered in filth for extended time frames was a solid way to keep their lowly station reinforced.
To that end, the pair had bought an old runabout at their own expense, to get to and from the job. The grease ruined cars, while the workload consistently suppressed any social outlets.
Meatworks management couldn't believe we'd found people willing to do the work, when we tendered for the contract. We charged premium rates, but the bosses didn't care, they simply wanted the mind-numbing and horrendous job done, by anyone!
Our only requirements were that the pair had the site to themselves, and that no one asked questions. We didn't want unions involved.
Reflecting the industry's brutal culture, management issued security passes, kept everyone else away. and didn't want to know how we kept the grease traps spotless.
For us and the owners, it was an excellent arrangement.
For the boys, not so much.
*
Before their recruitment, Scott and Jade had been regular gym-goers, and their bodies had been excellent eye candy. Now, they simply didn't have the time or energy for gym. Despite no longer lifting weights, their muscles continued to develop. The constant steel-on-steel scraping kept their arms, chest and shoulders incrementally growing. The hardened grease sludge refused to budge, and demanded real strength and repetition to shift.
Their lower bodies were constantly adjusting, balancing and supporting awkward positions on slippery metal surfaces. Their abs and glutes remained impressive, while their already oversized legs were continuing to grow.
Individually, they still lamented being caught and compromised on CCTV. To this day, Jade had no explanation for what had possessed him to stick his fingers up his arse while masturbating between cars in the bank's car park. He'd never done anything like that before.
For Scott, the embarrassment of footage showing him gleefully licking his hand clean of cum after his public jack off, was almost too much to bear.
Neither could fathom what they had been thinking, but with the footage in the hands of the Phantom guys, and even more incriminating recordings since, they clearly understood they weren't getting out of their dire situation any time soon.
Despite their regrets, the knowledge that they were maintaining their physiques almost allowed them to make peace with their circumstances. They often remarked that, even without a social life, they could probably have accepted their situation.
The real problem was much more insidious. Their constant horn driven frustration meant contentment was never within reach. They spent every shift constantly hard and desperate, their balls bulging and cocks like steel.
Neither dared touch their meat, on or off the clock. The unexplained electric shocks delivered with even the lightest brush were mind bending in intensity.
Every night in the pits was a pain ridden event. The ceaseless movement and constant twisting of their bodies made it impossible to totally avoid hand to dick contact. The physical pain that regularly shot down their shafts to explode in their balls, was an ongoing nightmare.
Worse, working in body against body proximity, they had found that even accidental contact with each other’s meat produced exactly the same nightmare cock shocks.
Eventually, they stopped talking about it altogether, convinced it was slowly sending them mad.
Thank God for Boss Gary's check-up visits. They were the only occasions they gained any relief.
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