Future Fight Story

14th March 2036, 8.28 p.m.
"Welcome home, Gregory," the computer greeted politely in its deep male voice as he entered the living room. The home computer system was specially tweaked to talk in a sexy female voice (as was appropriate for an eligible bachelor living alone) when Gregory had company, and the voice of a young man when the system detected that he was alone. "You have six calls and three emails since you left. Do you want to hear them now?"
"No, Pwuter," Greg replied as he hurried to his 'exercise room', "And hold off all subsequent calls." There was a shiny high-end multipurpose exercise machine in the middle of the room, but Greg ignored it and made his way to the small shower cubicle in the corner of the room. The door had a thumbprint lock on it, and ostensibly to visiting friends and family, the shower spewed brackish water when turned on.
Greg hesitated for a second, his heartrate rising in anticipation, and then firmly pushed his thumb down onto the sensor.
The door slid open. On one wall, four mechanical appendages, specially molded to look like muscular human arms, stuck out from the surface, two of them placed about the height of a average man's shoulders and the other two placed just below where his waist would have been if he had been standing against the wall.

On the opposing wall protruded a single gleaming stump of about one metro in diameter, carrying on it more mechanical appendages of different sizes and shapes. A blank monitor was built into the wall above it.
And on the floor right between the two walls, a robotic hand designed for fine, delicate movements stood menacingly silent.
Gregory leaned against the wall with the human arms. He raised his arms up between the shoulder-level robot arms -
And they clamped down with a loud thunk, the two higher ones wrapping around his biceps to hold him in a full nelson, and the two lower ones wrapping around his muscular thighs, pulling his legs slightly apart.
Gregory tested the strength of his bonds, and found, as always, that other than being able to wriggle abit at the shoulders and hips, he was all but immobilized until he told the machine to free him.

Or until the machine decided to release him.
"Gregory Howell," he introduced himself seemingly to the empty air, "Begin program A2-"
Two things happened simultaneously before Gregory closed his mouth. Firstly, a gritty male voice remarked that Gregory was three minutes late. But Gregory did not pay much attention to the voice, as he was busy gasping back the air that a lightning fast punch into the solar plexus knocked out. The stump had suddenly came to life and launched a 16-pound metal fist into his unprotected body.
"Fuck!" he gasped out when he caught his breath.
"Bad, bad boy, Greg," Calvin Reau's face replaced his on the monitor, "You programmed our 'workout' to be at 8.30 p.m sharp. The time now is 8.33. I'd think one punch for every lost minute is fair, don't you?" [Calvin Reau is Gregory's stud co-worker whom Gregory has had fantasies about and hence programmed his face into the machine]

The floor arm extended itself upwards, snagged Gregory's tie, and retracted itself halfway into the floor. Still caught in the full nelson hold, Gregory felt his shoulders aching with the stretch as the machine yanked his head forward and down.
The 'stump' on the opposite wall moved on silent, well-oiled gears to position itself right in front of his face. One metal appendage wound back -
And hooked him right in the cheek, snapping his head in the opposite direction. Dazed, he watched another appendage on the other side of the 'stump' wind into position, and braced himself for the anticipated punch. A third punch to the jaw sent him seeing stars.
"If you are ever late again, you can expect far worse, you understand?" Calvin warned.
"Yeah, gotcha." Greg spit a wad of blood mixed with saliva onto the floor.

The floor arm released his tie. Greg leaned back, shrugging his shoulders in relief.
"Alright, man," Calvin said briskly, "Let's start with something light." The stump glided to the level of his lower torso and a medium sized 'puncher' pounded him right above his belly button. The punches were not very hard, and occurred in about 5 second intervals, giving Gregory more than enough time to recover and flex his abdominal muscles between punches. Like Calvin said, it was just a warmup.
The stump glided about on its flexible neck, evenly punching all areas of Gregory's rock hard abdomen - upper, middle, lower, both sides simultaneously with two separate pounders with the same moderate intensity. Gregory was taking it easily. Having preprogrammed the machine to a certain extent, he knew what he could do or say to up the intensity.
"Calvin, are you punching or massaging? I never got damn felt so comfy before."
"Oh yeah?" the machine immediately shot back. "Try saying that now!"

The floor hand zoomed out to squeeze his crotch - hard, while the stump pounded him - full force this time, right in the center of his gut. This was more like it! Gregory endured about twenty of the hard punches, but the crotch claw kept tightening and made it more difficult to keep his abs flexed.
"Ummpf! Okay! Calvin, I take it back!" Greg yelled.
"You do? Yeah fuck you!" Calvin grinned as the stump changed its configuration to work over Greg's abdomen with two pounders in tandem, so that there wasn't a moment Greg could catch his breath. Finally, the machine stopped, leaving Greg slumped down in the nelson, panting hard. His dick was fast swelling up however, painfully trapped in his pants.

"Warm up's over, Rookie," Calvin told him. The stump applied a fine probe and started undoing the buttons on Greg's sweat-soaked long-sleeved shirt. With every button the probe undid, the floor arm would jab him once in the balls. Calvin chortled in delight as the stud groaned in pain. The probe pulled the shirt off by the sleeve-ends and dropped it on the floor. Deftly, it undid Greg's zipper and pulled down his pants and boxers slightly to expose his lower abdominal area. Gregory's well-endowed bodypart tented the boxers.
"Now this is the appropriate attire for a man about to endure some real pain, not that tie shit!" Calvin said, as the stump feigned a few quick jabs at his exposed torso, amused at the sight of Gregory tensing and bracing his body for the punches that never connected.
"I love the feel of cold metal bruising hard muscle. You've done a great job working out, Greg. I am really going to enjoy breaking such a muscled stud into a begging, groaning faggot."

"I am gonna workover your stud body like a sledgehammer. Let's see if you can get through the next hour without giving up. Only a faggot would give in before the time limit, and if you turn out to be a faggot, I will give your faggot balls so much painful incentive to pump more testosterone into your fucking faggot body that you will wish that you were a eunuch, you understand me?"
"Yeah, " Greg replied grinning, "Bring it on, wimp!"
No sooner had Greg replied did the stump spring into action. It half-circled Greg, and fired off a series of punches, with each punch following the former within a span of milliseconds and targeting different areas.
Greg kept his abdominal muscles tightly flexed. The barrage of punches were too fast for him to relax his guard to take a proper breath, and it was impossible to tell where the stump would strike next - left flank, upper abdominals, just above his dick, left flank again. He could only hang tight and hope for a break.
The cubicle resonated with thuds of metal on bronzed skin, and every thud was echoed faithfully by a controlled grunt of acknowledgement.
A countdown from 1 hour started, the digits superimposed on the image of the leering Calvin.
The stump reared back for a moment. Greg quickly took the opportunity to catch his breath, but by his second exhalation, the stump lunged back into action, this time focusing its assault on one aspect of Gregory's torso only.
It hammered fast and hard directly at Greg's navel, looking as if prepared to besiege at the spot until the hour ran out. Greg gritted his teeth and tried to keep his abdomen hard, but some of the shots were getting through, sending waves of pain through his body. The skin over the point of impact was turning an angry red.

52 minutes 54 seconds left.
Just as the pain almost became completely unbearable, the stump withdrew. Greg slumped down in relief between the robot arms, panting. Sweat rolled down his body and dripped onto the floor. Then stump lunged forward again, and Greg had enough time to mutter "Shit" before it started working on the area just below where it had been attacking previously.
46 minutes 11 seconds left.
Calvin enjoyed the sight of Gregory struggling in pain whenever a punch went deep into his gut. It was in his programming to appreciate the occurrence of manly suffering in his 'guest' and he was getting a choke full of exactly that. � Gregory was only staving off about 50% of the punches now, staunchly 'taking it' with little more than a grunt. The other 50% however caused agony that drove his muscular body into jerky spasms, often accompanied by manly yells and moans.�

38 minutes 33 seconds left.
The stump was now sadistically targeting his flanks by swinging lead pipe-hard appendages alternatively at each of his sides. Greg had to twist his body so that the blows would partially be deflected by the more resilient frontal abs rather than by his less developed side muscles. This was not extremely effective and several agonizing whacks were made to his kidneys. Still he kept up the maneuver gamely - until the stump, accompanied by Calvin's snickering, suddenly stepped up the rate of the alternate swings. Greg could not turn fast enough to meet each attack, and was even out of synchrony for a few times so that the swing met his body when he was facing away from the appendage. Now that really fucking hurt. After a few mishaps, Gregory resignedly stopped his defense and just hung there to let the stump bash his helpless body.
30 minutes sharp.

Suddenly, the torture stopped.
"Wanna give it up, Greg?" Calvin asked teasingly, "I will be nice and let you know that the next half hour is gonna be far more shitty than what you just gone through."
Greg winced as he tried to flex his abs, "Yeah, fuck you!"
Calvin shrugged, "Fine, don't say I didn't warn you."
Suddenly the robotic arms that were holding Greg in the full nelson started to rise towards the ceiling. It did not move far, but since the robotic arms holding Greg's thighs didn't budge, Greg's body was now well stretched out and exposed for more pain. It was nearly impossible to flex now.
"Oh shit."

"By the way, Greg," Calvin said, grinning evilly. "I love your pecs. So large and firm and well-worked out. Let's start by flattening them."
The stump glided in front if Greg's well-sculptured chest and pounded them alternatively and repetitively with two fist-sized appendages. Greg worked his chest every alternative workout and was very proud of his well-shaped pecs. Hearing the hollow thuds of them being worked over together with the pain of them being pounded into submission made his hard-on even bigger.

24 minutes 13 seconds left.
The pain of already severely bruised pecs being punched was immense, and Greg was already moaning in agony, but Calvin wasn't kidding when he said that things would get worse during this latter half hour.

Two more appendages disengaged from their resting place in the stump, and positioned themselves on either side of Greg's navel. At some unseen signal, they commenced punching hard. Now Greg was getting hammered at four points on his torso. Every gut punch was sinking in deep, the stump now going for depth rather than speed in punching. Greg wasn't and couldn't put up any resistance at all.
15 minutes 10 seconds left
Greg yelled as hard and as long as he could to distract himself from the agony. He would stop to take a breath and then yell again. The stump mobilized three more appendages - two of them started tormenting lateral abs, while the last one concentrated on his lower abs. Greg sobbed in pain, hanging on to the fact that his ordeal was almost over.
5 minutes sharp.

The floor arm eased up. Carefully, it released Gregory's throbbing dick from its prison. A tiny probe extended from the floor arm to touch the glans and discharge a jolt of electricity.
Gregory screamed louder than ever before. He felt as if the tip of his dick had exploded and half expected to see exactly that when he looked down. What he saw was his dick (now limp) being grasped hold by the floor arm, and that demonic probe being extended towards his glans again.
"No! No! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh....shit! shit...."
"Ouch," Calvin smiled sympathetically, "Give up, Greg. It takes 4 seconds to charge and deploy the probe. In the 4 minutes I have left, I can do this about 60 times."

"No! Fuck you! Shit! Arrgghh........oh god.......shit..."
The 6th time the probe touch his dick, Greg blacked out for a few seconds.
Somehow he managed to hang on, sobbing and screaming, throughout the pain and the agony.
Last 20 seconds.
"Well done, Gregory," Calvin whistled admiringly. "You are a real man to take all that punishment and not cave in." The stump and floor arm silently retracted to their original neutral positions. "Last 10 seconds, tough guy, any last words?"
Last 5 seconds.
Gregory was panting, soaked in sweat and hurting all over. But it was a good kind of hurt that Gregory liked.
Last 3 seconds.
Gregory hesitated for a second, then smiled.
Last 1 second.
"I give up."

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