Introduction

Major Greg Boyington was a US Army Air Corps fighter pilot who was racking up a prestigious dog fight win record for himself. He was still fairly fresh, though he had several kills to his name. Greg was 28 years of age and a good looking stud. He was very athletic and had played football in high school as well as excelling in baseball and wrestling. He was so good looking with his handsome face and hairy body that not only did the girls lust after him but so did many of his male friends who, nevertheless, didn't dare let him know how hot they thought he was. Greg joined the Army Air Corps to make some extra money for college after he was discharged. He reckoned that he would make it fine in the military with his skill as a great marksman and ability to fly a plane.

However, where our story begins we find Major Boyington stranded behind enemy lines after a long dog fight in which he was shot down. He had to parachute out of his plane where he safely landed in a grove of trees and was caught up in the lower branches. When he landed, the parachute caught itself and, as his body dropped a little further, his harness cinched up around his crotch broke his fall and caused Greg some discomfort. The discomfort of his bruised balls was going to be minor compared to what might happen if he got caught by the Japanese soldiers who controlled this small remote island in the Pacific Theatre. He knew he had to get out of the branches of the tree and onto solid ground and make his way to safety as quickly as possible. Greg reached into his flight suit and cut the straps to the parachute harness and he slowly crawled down the trunk of the tree. He made his way quickly and as quietly as he could and found a small trail that led toward a mountain range where he thought he could use it to help him look out for the enemy and maybe find a way off the island. Greg kept his eyes peeled and his ears opened to any and all sounds he heard.

The handsome pilot had walked a short distance when he heard the sound of about three or four guns hammer's click behind him. He knew he was in trouble now and stopped, slowly raising his hands above his head. Greg could feel his hands being pulled behind him and restrained and tied together. He was roughly turned around and felt the butt end of a rifle hit him in the stomach and knock the wind out of him. He fell to his knees in pain but was roughly pulled up and slugged four more times in the gut before being roughly pulled up again. He tried to struggle to get free only to have one of the enemy soldiers kick him in the balls, which really hurt and knocked the wind back out of him.

The soldiers laid a pole across Greg’s shoulders and retied his hands to it; he was now a prisoner of the Imperial Japanese Army. He immediately started telling himself that the only information given was to be his name rank and serial number and concentrated on this as they forced him to go with them to their compound. But, before they moved on they wanted to humiliate him somewhat, so one of the soldiers stood in front of him and unzipped his flight suit down to his waist exposing the helpless prisoner’s hairy chest- all sweaty and glistening in the sunlight. The Japanese liked to torture hairy American soldiers more than smooth chested ones and for this reason Greg was a prime capture.

Temple Of Torture

Hercules approached the valley of the Egyptian priest known only as HEM NETJER…Egyptian for servant of the gods. King Eurytus of the Greek land of Oechalia, open-minded and generous to a fault, had allowed the stranger refuge from persecution in his homeland but was not comfortable with the man inside the royal city. So, the king sent the priest to a valley at the far reaches of his kingdom to live in peace and relative seclusion. However, not long after that, reports of young men mysteriously disappearing made their way to the king. He sent his son, Prince Iphytus, the strongest and bravest of the clan, to investigate the disappearances. When Iphytus failed to return and word made its way to Eurytus of a magnificent temple having appeared almost overnight in the valley, the king asked Hercules to investigate and bring home his son. Hercules could not deny his former mentor and friend or the lust for adventure that ruled his soul. 


Cresting the final hill of his journey, Hercules saw a massive and majestic temple in the distance and knew that no mortal men could have built such a structure in years let alone in days…but there it stood, ominous and pulsing with an energy the demi-god recognized immediately as pure evil. The awesome structure glowed with power, seeming to suck the very light from the valley and at the same time emitting a mist that permeated the valley floor with an eerie luminosity. Even in the heat of the Greek sun, an unaccustomed chill caused the huge muscles of Hercules’s powerful body to tighten in the presence of malevolence like none he had encountered in all his adventures and travels before. 


While the temple still held its secrets close, the mystery of the disappearing young men was answered. Looking down into the valley, Hercules saw small groups of young men making their way across the valley and into the mist surrounding the priest’s temple…and to his surprise, he smelled a cloying scent on the air and felt a peculiar pull toward the temple himself. However, fearing no man, no beast, and no priest and trusting in the blood of the gods running through his veins to protect him as it always had, Hercules joined a pair of young men on their dark journey toward the temple seeing immediately their dazed expressions…under some wicked spell, these men and his own troubled senses were signs to the mighty man to move with care as the priest’s magic was obviously strong. The powerful demi-god bravely moved with the two young men on their strange journey toward the Egyptian temple and a fate he could not yet imagine.

Arena of Gor

I have long been an admirer of John Norman's Gor novels. They are just chock full of sadism and for me take place in universe I think I could have easily lived in. Yesterday I was talking to Amalaric and the subject of Urbano Barberini and the Gor Movies came up. I thought I would to some images to reflect how things would go if I were a Priest King of Gor

These images are early in the day as the great indoor arena of Goris being prepared for tonights festivities.

Industrial Slaves

Hard muslcular men used as slaves in a factory

Interrogation of Private Mike

Mike is horrified, hanging by his wrists which are tightly bound with steel cable to some type of barbed fencing his friend. Slater's feet barley touching he floor it is obvious he is doing everything he can to keep his back from touching the sharp spiked barbs.

The interrogator puts his arm around Mike's shoulder, "Very unpleasant I am afraid", and we have another frame that waits for you. Pointing across the room the guard forces Mike over to the frame and one by one twists pieces of cable around Mike's spread eagled wrists and thighs.

The interrogator has a brief conversation with the Major while his assistant connects heavy electrical cables to the maniacal device. The guard takes his hand and rubs it against Slaters firm ass. Slater's involuntary reaction is to squirm away.

"SHIT!" his back painfully rubs up against the razor sharp tips of the fencing. The guard laughs and while finishing his connections amuses himself playing with the motionless Privates butt. The interrogator looks over at his henchman and nods a nod of disapproval, and the man stops his toying and finishes his task.

The guard moves over to mike and wires his frame up.

The interrogator finishes his conversation with the Major, takes a long length of wire attached to some type of switch from his assistant, and walks up to the sweat drenched Private.

"Mike, do you like games?"

Mike says nothing. Bewildered at the Privates nonresponse, "there is no harm in answering this question surely, I repeat do you like games". Still no response, the interrogator just continues on. "Well we are going to play a little game, like your American game shows", he thinks for a minute, "Ahh, aah" speaking to himself, "what is that American game show", clearly overheard by the Major, who responds "Jeopardy".

"Yes thank you Major that is the show, Jeopardy" looking at Mike, "you know this show?".

Mike thinks to himself "has this man gone insane, torturing us and talking of game shows" he answers, "Yes I fucking know the damn show".

The interrogator a bit annoyed "no reason to use profanity, it is a reasonable question".

Stepping a bit closer to Mike, "well this is a variation of the show, I hold the buzzer, I ask you a question, you have exactly 5 seconds to answer me, should you decide not to answer me I will press the buzzer this very special buzzer" Mike responds "and I get shocked", the interrogator very politely "please let me finish, NO, your friend over there" pointing to Slater, "gets a slight shock, no need to worry the shock is mild, for now but it will be enough to cause his muscles to convulse and that will be very painful restrained against that fencing"

Mike takes in deep breath and as he exhales he can feel the barbs behind him pricking his naked body.

The interrogator watching Mike's face contort continues on "painful is it not, well there is more to this game for each incorrect answer we will up the current a bit, this will continue until you either give me the correct answer or your friends back is ripped to shreds".

"You bastard"

Again the interrogator reminds Mike to watch his language, "I will be fair, we will let you play for a bit and then we will give Private Slater a turn.

Tortured Marine

This American Marine's nipples are begging for some nasty terrorist clamps. He has steeled his face for the agony to come. Great and Hot!! Is a crucifixion to follow? Those boyish good looks with that HOT bod make for an excellent combo! Could think of hundreds of things to do with this one, and yes those tits alone could keep one busy for hours!!

Canyon Ranch

Healthy Livestock

Man it was a hot day. I was glad I was almost home. My horse could sense the way we were headed and tried to increase the pace, but I kept him at a fast walk. The livestock was already having trouble keeping up and I didn’t want to damage them any further before we reached our destination.

I had two prime pieces with me. Both chained around the neck, one running next to the horse and the other running behind. I’d gone out after them after I received the radio call from the surveillance team. We keep a close watch on the land around the ranch and usually we just warn people off, but these two were prime. The team waited until they were asleep and then jumped them and trapped them in their sleeping bags. By the time I arrived they had them bound with their hands in front of them and hobbled by a length of rope between their ankles. Both were studs, well muscled, handsome faces, and real outdoor types.

I took one look and realized I wanted the one with the curly auburn hair for myself but, I’d have to wait and see. Apparently both had been mouthing off but only one, the one with the close cropped hair, had evidently gotten physical. I could tell by the whip marks on his back. I rode up and nodded to the surveillance team, ignoring the cursing and pleas of the men in front of me. I tossed a pair of chains and collars at their feet and they looked at me stunned into silence. One, the short haired stud began to curse under his breath softly…..”oh shit , oh shit oh shit……”

The team moved quickly and secured the metal collars in spite of the squirming of the two newly captured beasts. Yes, these two would make great playthings. I gave orders to the surveillance team to drive the car to a location 150 miles away in the desert, re-pitch the tents, lift the hood and disable the car and make tracks into the desert, removing packs and water while leaving one canteen with a hole. If the car and campsite were ever found, the authorities would think it was just another set of tourists who’d run out of water and tried to hike out. The desert tends to swallow the unprepared.

I had the hobbles on their feet removed and then had my team cut the ropes on their hands. The short – haired guy, who I’d learned from his driver’s license, was named Sean. His friend was Gage, great western name Gage. Anyway, Sean tried to run at me and I gave my horse a gentle kick then reined him in. This moved him just far enough to jerk both men off their feet but not enough to really hurt them or drag them. (It takes practice, do it wrong and you can break a mans neck, or worse). They cursed in unison and I simply smiled. Sean leapt at me again and again I moved forward, pulling them off their feet. This time when they got up Gage shouted at Sean to knock it off. Smart too I guess, knowing more than his friend that it was hopeless to fight at this point. I turned around and began to move off down the trail with the two beef on the hoof trotting to keep up. It looked as if I was ignoring them but I was actually paying close attention. I didn’t want them damaged any more than they had been. Healthy livestock sells well (or rents in this case) damaged goods were a drain until they were nursed back to health.

I continued down the track until it ended and started out across the open desert toward the cliffs in the distance. Both Gage and Sean were winded at this point so I heard no cursing, just their panting sucking breath as they tried to keep up the pace running alongside the horse.

City Ordiance

CITY ORDINANCE 693B:

HAIRY STUDS FORCED TO STRIP

Silver Canyon was a medium size, seemingly normal, California community just north east of the Bay Area. Unlike nearby Bolinas, the residents were not concerned to hide their location from carpet baggers or gawking tourists and rarely considered themselves in political terms or as avant guarde if they thought of that kind of thing at all. That the community was, however, ‘progressive’ went without saying; this was, after all, northern California and the ballot box victory of the Feminist Greens at the local polls raised few eyebrows and didn’t seem set to change much at City Hall until…

The new city ordinance 693B could not be accused of taking the town by stealth. On the contrary, it had been hotly discussed and extensively covered by the press for months as debate raged- first in the city government chambers and then in the community at large- as to whether homo sapiens males were human or…something else…and, concurrently, what kind of rights (or obligations) that might entail if indeed they were found to be ‘something else’. Nearly everyone in town, from the mayor, Mimi Gomez-Steinkunt, to the humblest suburbanite, realized that to be a male member of the species was to possess diminished humanity; the real question was ‘to what extent was a male’s humanity impaired and, of course, what to do about it’? Subsidiary debates of mind-numbing complexity followed as the experts from various offices scattered around the Bay Area were trooped in to offer informed opinions and the extent of the multiple discussions, as the talking heads took their cases to the local TV stations, goes well beyond the purview of this story…except for one detail that emerged rather early- hairy men in particular were most definitely judged to be a sub-species (at best) as multiple studies had duly proven. Smooth, hairless men, conversely, represented a genetic marker of evolutionary advancement that at least approached the feminine apex. In a nut shell- females neither shaved (their faces) nor had hair on their torsos, ergo hairy males (as opposed to smooth) were less advanced in an evolutionary sense. This point, at least, seemed irrefutable and was, indeed, clear to most intelligent observers.

Hairy men were seriously disadvantaged in every way; mentally, emotionally, and even physically (less agile, though admittedly prone to greater ‘brute’ strength…but didn’t that word put things in an interesting perspective?) and a groundswell of public compassion for the perceived disadvantages of the furry male aided eventual passage of the ordinance. These sorts of men needed to be identified, controlled and, yes, protected for their own good as well as the good of others. Still, the fact that they were ‘men’- hairy or not- was problematic. The ACLU, ever diligent, issued dire warnings of costly court challenges as human rights- particularly in the Left Coast environment of Bay Area satellite communities- represented a value held in such high regard as to be nearly sacred. One simply could not do to ‘men’, hairy or not, what the new ordinance proposed without seeming to trample on human rights and, besides, there was also a question- however liberal the community might perceive itself to be- of propriety and, might as well say it, issues of indecent exposure. All of these problems were solved, after due consultation with licensed authority from cyber to psychiatric inclusive of the legal, philosophical, sociological, spiritual, and civic experts, by recourse to a fool proof sophistry; hairy men were indeed human and, as such had certain rights but they were also, in important and carefully defined ways, understood to be animals and, as such, existed under certain legally defined limitations and obligations, much like a dog, cat, or even head of livestock, and this was for the good of all- especially the hirsute males in question. The ACLU sputtered dutifully but proved impotent against the 9th Circuit Court and city ordinance 693B passed with barely a dissenting vote and was allowed to stand. Emboldened by the initial reception of the ordinance, the city Mothers then proceeded to slap on a string of codicils all of which- the ordinance itself along with innumerable imperatives, clarifications, and added strictures- would go into effect throughout the municipality thirty days after passage.

Mine Slaves

Down in the mine, there's always another load of rocks to be moved, and they've got the whips to make these guys move them.

Tortured Muscle

Things In My Basement

The Beast

Prisoner in my basement, this was inspired by Amalaric's "Brute" which I love

Challenge Game Intro

The Joe Millionaire star Evan Marriot is asked to participate as the DEFENDER in a new R-RATED TV Program called BREAKING POINT- CHALLENGE GAME.

The description and conditions of the BREAKING POINT – CHALLENGE GAME are explained….there are two teams of men ….

Team A includes a DEFENDER and two high ranking trainers who work for the US Special Forces Interrogation Training Unit. They have one month to prepare their Defender for physical interrogation.

Team B includes a professional Interrogator and assistants. They have one month to find an approved location for the BREAKING POINT- CHALLENGE GAME..

THE PRIZE – USD 600K

If team A wins, the Defender takes home $400K…. the trainers $100K each. Team B takes home nothing.

If team B wins, the prize is distributed between them. Team A takes home nothing.

The prize of $400K is a big profit for two months work for Joe M a construction worker currently on $24K per annum. He reckons that he would even ‘enjoy’ a day of physical interrogation for that sort of cash and he signs a non retractable, non negotiable contract.

The Compere stands between the two teams.

Team A: the defenders wear black drill pants and Ts. They discuss the months training course that has prepared Joe M, a muscular construction worker and ladies man into the equivalent of an SAS soldier prepared for capture and interrogation.

“My colleague and I recognized from our first meeting with Joe M that he had the potential both physically and mentally for interrogation …. and after the month of the most intense training that the army can dish out, we are pleased to report that we believe our assumptions were correct…. You need both physical and mental strength to survive interrogation and our Defender has ‘em both and we reckon he’s ready for action!” responded the Head Trainer.

Team B’s Leader, a resident of the US and a retired German Commander wearing army green revealed that he spent the first two weeks visiting Dungeons in Europe looking for a location. This burly guy in his late 30s, 90kg 1.8m tall with dark curly hair and heavily muscled physique revealed… “I’ve seen some very interesting torture machines but we have been given a very specific criteria to meet in terms of interrogation and safety standards for the program…”

He explained…. “The place for the interrogation must be an existing venue and authentic. We can only use the equipment in the venue….. we cannot add to it.

Safety of the equipment was paramount and this ruled out many of the ancient Torture machines in the UK and Italy as most have not been used for decades.
The Defender is a big man - 6’5” and bulky and many torture machines from the earlier centuries were constructed for the smaller built man of the time. Sure we could adapt but then we would not have variety..” he grins sadistically.

“There cannot be any permanent scarring or disfiguration as a result from this Challenge Game and we have only 18 hours from the commencement of the Interrogation to ‘Break’ the Defender plus negotiated ‘rest’ breaks each 6 hours.

A colleague advised me of the discovery of an in tact Punishment cell used by the dictatorial government of the time to punish their male Athletes, predominately footballers who did not perform well in local and international games. It was located in a now disused building in a the old part of a modern city in the Middle East..

I visited the site and with the approval of the Breaking Points ‘ Moderator’ and ‘Medical Assessor’, I have selected this location for the Breaking Point Challenge Game. Although the Punishment Cell has been disused for some years, I have sourced three Militia men who were employed to operate the Punishment Cells and they have resurrected the parts of the building needed for this Challenge Game.They have also prepared a Program using the existing punishing equipment. This Program is not unlike what would have been given to a disobedient athlete sent to these Punishment Cells. This Program has been approved by the Moderator and the Medical Assessor.”

The Compere looked at Team A.. “So what will this Program be.. I guess we’ll find out soon enuff but… any comment from Team A…?” The Head trainer responded seriously.

“I am not aware exactly what this particular Punishment Cell is equipped with but I am well informed on many punishments endured by some of the Olympic sportsmen over the past decade…they contain serious torture equipment but I have trust in the Moderator and the Medical Assessor to ensure that the Interrogation is kept within the Games Rules…and just so that the audience understands the format, I and my colleague will be present during the interrogation and although we cannot interfere directly with Team Bs interrogation procedures, we can place an objection to be considered by the Moderator for his consideration.” He paused and thought for a minute… and then Joe M with a confident grin on his handsome tanned face and slow deep husky drawl cut in…

“…Hey ‘everyone’…... Hell! …. You’re lookin at a guy who is trained and prepared for pain … man, I’m expectin it … and I look at it this way… survivin 18 hours of pain now I reckon is well worth the rest of my life bein $400K richer!!!” He looked the Team B leader in the eye challengingly.

The Compere responded. “We’re not gonna waste any more time…lets get these teams to on their way!”

The curtains behind the TV set opened and a black helicopter sat ready in the background to take them to the LA International for their 8 hour flight.

A convoy of US army trucks transported the BREAKING POINT team from the Airport to the Location Site in the Old part of the city which had been prepared for 24/7 reality viewing. Hundreds of invisible close circuit TV cameras and microphones provided a multi dimensional coverage operated by computers. As the group stood at the base of the aircraft steps, Joe M was singled out by two soldiers.

“So this is it man.” smiled the Head Trainer. “….the next time we shake hands you’ll be collecting the prize!” Joe M grinned. They shook hands and gave a few chest punches and back slaps and then Joe M was hand cuffed and escorted to a waiting prison van. He was pushed roughly into the back, the two soldiers climbing in after him.

One guard chewed gum and eyed Joe M’s muscled frame. He grinned and then jabbered something foreign and the other smiled. He looked at Joe M and in bad English said “...My colleague just said that he is looking forward to seeing if an American can take torture as bravely as an Olympic footballer!” Joe M took a deep breath, his chest expanding under the tight T and … answered with his confident grin.

One hour later:

The van parked outside a dimly lit arched stone opening with steel studded doors. It was now 8pm at night. Joe M jumped from the van and surveyed the dark empty courtyard. The guard chewing gum jabbed him in his back forcing him towards the door. Joe M swung his elbow into him, objecting to the push but then a rifle butt landed in his abs. He doubled over as the soldier kicked his arse and he fell into the doorway. Two more guards appeared and one grabbed his cuffs and lifted him to standing position.

“Come American!” he ordered and two guards behind pushed him to follow. He was taken to a cell with a straw bed, a shit pot in one corner and basin in the other. He was uncuffed and the door slammed and bolted behind. Voices from the soldiers talking and laughing some distance off echoed in the stone corridors.

Later, food was slipped into a hatch and Joe M filled his belly with the thick meat stew and potato. A toothbrush sat on the basin and he cleaned his teeth. He sat on the edge of his bunk and surveyed the bleak cell… its stone walls and the barred window high above him. He unlaces his black army boots and slips off his socks. The soles of his bare feet feel the cold and roughness of the stone floor.

The single light bulb went out suddenly and so he lies back on the bunk. He falls off to sleep.