The Containement of Testosterone

Punishing young men took up a huge amount of resources for frontier folk.  Keeping them in the best shape for work, keeping their male urges in check and punishing them when they didn't.  The young male labour force created the West, but only under the liberal use of the whip and the liberal use of muscle from the older guys.  More severe correction was often needed, in dark places which no-one spoke about, since it was also deemed a waste of energy for a young male to spill his seed needlessly.  Everything had to be channeled into muscle energy, and the young guys were taught this in the only way they understood ? the infliction of pain on their burgeoning masculinity

Whipped Cop

it wasn't the pain, he could take that. It was what they were doing to his manly, beautiful body that tore the guts out of him.  He'd been building his physique up for years.  He loved it, women loved it, and he flaunted it in front of men.  Men were now destroying it, and they'd only just started

 

A Very Bad day for Robin

Day 1 of my Summer Vaction by garyRo

Gangbanger's (Newark New Jersey)

GaryRo's cross country trip journal

Like many American's I thought it nice to spend some time traveling across the U.S. from east to west coast. I took most of the month of June starting in the east and working my way through America's heartland to Los Angeles. Unlike most American's and their families I could give a fuck about historic sites, I was far more interested in visiting and partying with my favorite Gangbangers along the way. Of course I documented my trip to share with my friends at Chained Muscle.

To be honest I kicked off my journey in New York City but my first stop was in New Jersey where I hooked up with some old friends in Newark, hadn't seen these guys in a few years, but they sure treated me to a great night.

Next stop the city of Brotherly Love (so correctly named)

Stinging Pecs

yeah he's getting it, as he knew he always would

`yeah go on Reece` another smack tears into his chest

`ahhh yeah, you fucker, give it to me`  CRACK

`ahhh you bastard` CRACK

`ahhhhhh, fuck Reece, you're good mate`  CRAAAACCKKK

`awwwww, oh Reece`  CRAACKK

`awww mate you got me where you want me`   CRAAAACCKKK`

`awww fuck mate I built up this body for you mate`   CRACK

`awwwwwww yeaah, destroy me you fucker, it's all yours`  CRACKK

`give it to me`   CRACKKK

`it's all for you mate`   CRACCKKKK

`destroy me mate, destroy me`   CRACKKK

`aww mate, I'm never gonna compete again after this`   CRACKKK

`I'm finished, and you're the guy who did it` CRACK

`aww mate yeah, lower that waistband`  CRACKK  `AWWW!!!!`

Reece turned him round and said `That was just for starters buddy.  Now for some real fun.  That back has been waiting ten years for this`   SMMMAAAAACKKKKK

Basement Beast

Lashed Up On A Saturday Night

The boss loves him, but can never show it.  The only thing Tim Douglas understands is the whip.  He takes it like a hero, egging his boss on. `Go on Mr Sampson, give it to me, harder, I've been slacking this week ...OH YEAHHH... oh sir, that's it .....OH YEAAHHH`   The whipping sessions at the back of the aluminium yard, usually on a Saturday evening, after the yard closed.  It's all both guys live for.  Mr Sampson's pulse races each Saturday morning at around 8 when he hears Tim roar thru the front gate on his gixxer thou, stunting around and spinning up the rear wheel, shirtless and in only in his denim cutoffs, boots, gloves and lid.  He skids to a stop in front of the boss's window, gunning the motor, his legs spread wide on the big Jap bike, grinning at him thru his dark visor.  Finally he'll kill the engine, pull off his helmet and look at the boss.  Sampson will say `One of these days you'll throw that bike down the road Douglas, and that pretty body of yours will know all about it`.  `Well, I guess making me know all about it is what you're gonna do to me later on tonight, ain't that right Mr Sampson?`  `Get to work you dog, I'll sort you out later`  Saturday always passed slowly for Sampson, as he counted the hours til 6pm.  In the afternoon at about 3 he'd get eaten up with jealousy when Tim's girlfriend flounced into the yard.  Douglas would always make a fuss of her, stroke her back and arms, hold her close, and look up at the boss's window to check he was taking it in.  He'd see Sampson's steely stare through the glass, and knew he was working him up for a thrashing.  `Am I gonna see you tonight baby?` his girl would ask `You know I can't babe` Tim would always say `Gotta work late for Mr Sampson.  He puts the bread on our table for us and our little Timmy`

Tommy & The Mob

Tommy was a typical handsome college stud, frat boy, arrogant, and an all around dick wad. Just the kind of ass wipe I always hated in college. Tall with bright blue eyes he got any chick he wanted, how I got stuck with this worm for a room mate I'll never know, in fact his only redeeming qualities as far as I was concerned was he made good eye candy and the fact that he dealt drugs (far be it from me to complain about free pot).

I eventually changed room mates, Tommy's drug dealing was consuming him and I didn't want to get caught up in his shit. One day Tommy just disappeared, I figured he got busted, someone told me he was skimming profits from the Russian Mob, who knows the truth. I'm sure he got what was coming to him.

Gundar: Scene 1: The Plot — 1a. Prophecy

Amari!
A myth. A story.
Gundar held the old man’s hands. Feeling respect. Feeling for the injuries the frail old man had taken. And suspecting a fever had seized hold of the old man’s brain.
“It was Amaris. I should know, I was their slave”.
Slave to a myth. Slave to a people that did not exist! The thought was still flashing through Gundar’s head when the old man turned on him.
“Mock me at your peril, you fool!” he cried.
Gundar squeezed his hand.
“Relax, old man. I believe you. Just rest”.

“Rest, you stupid young puppy!”

Gundar smiled benevolently at the old man who had been attacked by the strangers Gundar had been trying to track down. With Gundar’s shape and age, “puppy” was hardly the word. But the man would not let go.
“Rest?”

Gundar tried to stop him but the old man shrugged off his hand and struggled tottering to his feet. Angrily he gestured away Gundar’s offering arm.

“Rest?” The old man shook his head in frustration.
“You’ll spend the rest of your life in chains if I rest!”
Gundar smiled kindly.
The old man glared back in frustration. For all his size Gundar was like every young fool! They always knew better!

The old man had been right. Unsuspecting Gundar had walked straight in the trap. He had never believed this kingdom existed. He knew of those Amaris as just as story. But everything the old man had told him about them was turning out to be true. Yet Gundar had dismissed the story of the Amaris as some legend the old folks told. A myth of the legendary city of Amari. A place of subjugation and cruelty. The kind of story about savage marauding warriors you frightened children with when they didn’t behave.

But then in that case it was a myth that had put Gundar in bonds. In chains, - just as the old man had warned. Prophetic words. After three days of being marched away into their captivity Gundar was fully convinced. Warriors of Amari had come for him, they’d brought the battle to him. Well-prepared, well-armed, sending their best after him by the look of these warriors. There was a strong streak of cruelty in them, too, in these men who had mockingly shoved and jostled at him these last three days.. Just as the old man had warned. Hands trapped behind his head for the last three days, unfed, barely watered, toyed with, mocked. His hands caught up behind in the collar that they’d forced on him, beaten and abused at every chance, Gundar now stared in amazement at this mythical city. He stood in the shadow of this incredible citadel to which his captors had brought him. Him and him alone. This had been no raiding party. They had not come to take slaves. They had come for only him. He stood in bonds before this fabled city, ogled by onlookers. They had come for him. They wanted him. Him and only him. For what? He shivered in realisation that the legend of the cruel Amari had set out to take Gundar captive. For what?

“Rest?” Gundar had said coaxingly.
The old man had uttered in disbelief at this scepticism.
“You’ll spend the rest of your life in chains if I rest!”

Class Act

As an infantryman he didn't know much. And on the second session he'd told them all he knew. And they knew it. But he was just so bloody good. He took the whip with style. He knew how to respond to the pain, to stifle a moan, to sway and square his stance. To drop his head when things were getting bad. To raise his eyes at his captors and pant heavily, to drop his gaze slowly from their face, down their chest, onto their groin and down onto their feet. They kept him in good condition, and brought him out for the men parties on holidays. `Let me go, please let me go` he'd whisper. But just in the right way. Did he even want to go home? Eventually a sheik bought him. For the same stuff, but those chains were made of white gold, a neckchain of lapis lazuli was added to his dogtags, and he was allowed a girl once a month. The sheik looked on as he enjoyed her. He'd then take him into his room for his monthly lashing

Wipping the Grin Off His Face

A waiting cell was just that, and there were strict rules that the prisoners had to be left alone.  But what the rules said and what actually happened was, well, kind of different.  This guy was still giving lip, despite the clamps.  We'd have to fix that.  The sheriff reached into his drawer.  Where is it?  Ah, here it is.  A large powerful bulldog clip.  It had corrected so many guys' balls.  They were all street brawlers and thought they could take anything.  Until their balls said hello to the sheriff's bulldog clip.  A couple of hours of that and they were corrected.  Punished.  Disciplined.  He'd jack them till they were there, then as they climaxed he'd take it off.  Shooting your muck in pure agony.  Just one of the tricks you learned in the waiting cell

Thor

The Legend of Gundar Introduction

Gundar, orphaned in the darkest jungles during bloody tribal wars and taken in by his father¹s friends, is raised in the ways of the jungle warrior. With the help of his murdered father¹s scientific breakthrough, young Gundar grows into the largest, most powerful warrior the tribes have ever seen, this golden-haired, bronze-skinned giant taller and more massively muscled than any white man or native to walk the Zucubu jungle...a giant with one very dangerous weakness. A side effect of his father¹s discovery could render this brave powerhouse totally helpless and at the mercy of his enemies...a secret few know.

Now a strange band of marauding warriors are causing trouble in the Zucubu jungle. The men evoke fear and fantastic stories of a distant city...tales of cruelty and torture. Only Gundar can put a stop to the harassment of the villagers and ease the fears of his people. Gundar must hunt down these foreign warriors...but is the muscular hunter being hunted?

The warring tribes of the isolated and vast Zucubu jungle believed in an ancient prophecy—legends told of the coming of a giant, golden-haired, white warrior of great strength and power. This mighty warrior would be god-like, standing a head taller and nearly twice the size of the mightiest of the Zucubu, with muscles massive, rippling, and awe-inspiring even to the fierce and powerful Zucubu tribesman. He would live among the people fighting to serve and protect the weaker tribes. He would have the strength of ten Zucubu warriors but his temperament would be as gentle as would a child’s—until the peace of the jungle was threatened. Jonathan and his young son Gunther were unaware of such stories when they came to live and work in the jungle.

Jonathan, a research biologist, came looking for rare plants to study their properties and hopefully create new biologic medicines and serums. The doctor’s wife had recently passed away and Jonathan brought his son with him to experience a new life of discovery and adventure, hoping that one day he could find a cure for what lead to his wife’s death. Some of the tribes feared the white man, golden-haired, tall and powerfully built, the tribal elders and witchdoctors wondering if the prophecy might come true. Jonathan and his fair-haired son took refuge with a tribe on the high plateau, a tribe with open hearts and minds. The tribe helped Jonathan set up his jungle lab and reaped the benefits of western technology and medicine.

With his lab established and young Gunther adjusting well to his new surroundings and friends, Jonathan set about researching the local flora—and he was amazed at the numerous plants that had never before been seen anywhere on the planet. He also discovered other plants obviously related to previously known specimens but which were somehow different, almost mutated from their known cousins. Even more amazing to Jonathan, he discovered that the combination of various plants by the elder medicine women of the tribes were what gave the Zucubu warriors their powerful builds and musculature and the Zucubu women their strong, athletic stature, such size and strength uncommon in other tribes of the continent. The similarities of these potions to supplements and steroids used in the modern world but without the detrimental side effects in the tribesmen piqued Jonathan’s curiosity. Further studies led him to believe that by modifying the potions with some additional plants and compounds found only on the plateau could lead to a compound that would develop the human body in ways never before seen. Unsure of the side effects his variations on the original potions may create, Jonathan decided to test the new compound on himself—the results were nothing short of amazing.

The thirty-eight year old man soon began to feel the youthful strength and vigor of a man twenty years younger. His already mature and substantial muscles not only began to grow, but over a period of weeks they thickened and developed a density that was nothing short of mind-numbing. Within a matter of six weeks, Jonathan’s body had grown to huge proportions even by the standards of the tall and powerfully built natives of the region. To aid in his taking measurements during the process of testing the compound, Jonathan had built a rough but accurate set of scales using rocks as a counter balance. To his amazement, while the strapping research scientist’s muscular, 6’2”, 200-pound frame did not gain any additional height, it did gain another 100 pounds of dense, powerful muscle and bone mass—and the increase in his raw strength was more than proportional to the increase in muscle mass and density. Jonathan was astounded that, by using his new compound, he had developed the physique of the largest super-heavyweight bodybuilder and the strength of the world’s strongest men—and in a phenomenally short period of time and without ANY side effects common to those men. In fact, the only visible side effects were far from detrimental in Jonathan’s mind. In the modern world, men typically gained their tremendous physiques and superhuman strength by using steroids, human growth hormones, and synthetically manufactured supplements used over a period of years in conjunction with lifting enormous amounts of weight. Jonathan, however, noticed only two side effects and, while both could be somewhat embarrassing and somewhat debilitating at times, they were anything but negative as far as he was concerned.

First, though he did not suffer from gynecomastia, Jonathan began to notice a surprising and intense sensitivity in his nipples—a sensitivity so strong that he could not suffer the friction of even the softest clothing rubbing up against them without becoming extremely aroused sexually. That sexual arousal compounded the fact that, far from genital atrophy, Jonathan’s serum had caused genital hypertrophy—that is, his already impressive endowment had increased quite dramatically in size and sensitivity. In a nutshell, about three weeks into the changes, Jonathan couldn’t suffer a shirt or anything else touching his nipples—not that he had any shirts that would fit him after the first week anyway—without the friction causing him to become extremely aroused. Now only able to wear a pair of pants cut off into some very tight shorts that did little to hide his new bulge even when he was soft, the bare-chested, bulging scientist was normally more naked than not—a visual that was not lost on anyone who saw him.

All of the tribesmen saw the transformation in their golden-haired guest and murmurings that the prophecy was indeed coming to fruition began to circulate through the village as well as the other tribes. Noticing the change in the natives’ reaction to his new physique, Jonathan questioned the chief as to the prophecy that was being whispered about behind his back. The tribal elders brought Jonathan to ancient caves where extremely specific and detailed hieroglyphs described the legend. Surprised at the similarities between his new form and this jungle giant, the muscle bound scientist could not believe that he had anything to do with such a story—but the neighboring tribes did.

As rumors of the white man suddenly becoming a muscle giant spread throughout the jungle, rival tribes grew more and more fearful. Some ambitious and greedy among those tribes decided to capitalize on the concern that the balance of power between the tribes would be upset–they preyed on those fears until the various tribes were so stirred up that they had begun to prepare for all out war. They must kill the white giant and the tribe that would benefit from his power.

The village elders could not convince their counterparts that Jonathan was not the prophecy fulfilled and soon realized that war was inevitable. Regardless of the fact that their muscular and powerful guest was convinced he was not the giant foretold in the prophecy, they had no doubt that Jonathan would make a formidable warrior and provide them an advantage in the battles to come. At first, Jonathan refused to believe that there was no way to avoid a war based on mistaken identity. But as skirmishes began to occur and villagers began to die when caught too far from the village, Jonathan realized he had no choice but to fight for the people who’d taken he and his son in so generously — they would all be killed if he didn’t.

An so, Gunther safe with the women and children of the village, Jonathan marched with the village warriors to meet the other tribes head-on before they could get too close to their homes on the plateau. The battle took place at the river. Jonathan proved as powerful and valiant as any warrior and his tribe was victorious—but the white muscle man sustained injuries in confrontations where he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemy warrior and those injuries lead to his death a few days later.

The tribal leaders promised Jonathan on his deathbed that they would raise and protect young Gunther, whom they called Gundar, (they could not pronounce the English “th” sound). The instigators of the unrest had been killed and with his death, the other tribes would believe the balance had been restored and would no longer perceive them as a threat—Gundar would be safe—at least until he was a grown man and able to take care of himself.

Over the next eight years, the tribe hid the existence of young Gundar, fearing other tribes would fear the golden-haired youth as they had his father. However, Gundar was raised as one of their own and never had reason to be concerned about his place in the village.

And Gundar grew strong and proud and even larger than his father before taking the growth serum. Quickly outgrowing his western clothing and wanting to be as much like his friends in the village as possible, the young man quickly became accustomed to wearing tribal clothing amounting to nothing more than a small animal skin thong. As his deeply tanned body filled out with thick, powerful muscle, he was taught the ways of the jungle warrior and learned all the skills necessary to survive in such a harsh environment. Broad-shouldered, deep-chested, hard-muscled, and thick, closely cropped golden-blond hair…Gundar!

At twenty, Gundar came of age and tribal elders took Gundar to the ancient caves. They explained the prophecy and the scientific discovery of Gundar’s father. They believed Gundar was the chosen one. Only the chosen one could take the strength potion and fulfill his destiny. Even without the strength formula of Jonathan, Gundar was nearly a perfect specimen. The young man was very tall and muscular with agility and skills unlike any of the other young warriors. The elders knew of the plants and the formulation of the strength serum. Gundar must take it and fulfill his destiny. They gave Gundar all the journals containing the instructions of his father, so he could understand what was going to happen to him. The metamorphosis ceremony began and Gundar began to change with every dose of the medicine. Within days, the tall young man became a muscle giant. He was indeed the chosen one.

Jonathan’s research journals explained the only side effect to the permanent metamorphosis — hyper-sensitive nipples. Gundar could only brush his hand across the large nubs and become overwhelmed. His knees would buckle and the muscle god would develop an instant erection. He must keep his secret weakness quiet, the tribe still had a few enemies in the jungle, enemies that would want the muscle giant dead.

A meeting was held of for all of the region’s tribes. Gundar was introduced as the fulfillment of the prophecy — the chosen one. Gundar knew he and his tribe would be tested. The skirmishes broke out almost immediately. Gundar single handedly overwhelmed the small, unorganized groups of men that confronted him. Soon his dominance set all precedence and peaceful relations between the tribes. There was the occasional feud or outbreak of violence, but Gundar was always there to resolve it, by force if necessary.

Can Gundar’s great strength be enough to overcome new threats to the peace? Gundar is put to the test when a strange band of warriors invade the Zucubu jungle…with the intent of hunting the legendary muscle man.

This One's Special

Another one, they were all disposable objects.  The women had been at him - his cock was semi-hard and dripping.  Now a man would have his fun with him.  Tariq slashed his whip across the young soldier's chest, nearly at his throat. He barely made any sound, but flinched and looked away.  Tariq's aim was perfect.  He lowered his whiplashes half-inch by half-inch.  The soldier stayed quiet, but on the eighth stroke the whip went right across both nipples and he screamed out.  Tariq laughed but carried on slowly lowering his aim.  The sixteenth went across his navel and the soldier buckled up as far as his bound wrists would let him.  Tariq's eyes flashed.  He knew his soldier was now in pain.  His next stroke went slightly lower and at the twenty-first stroke the whip wound round the young man's pelvis.  The end gave a higher smack note as it kissed his left arse cheek.  The soldier tried to keep silent but burst out with a groan as the sting racked his body.  `That feels good doesn't it soldier` said Tariq and he repeated the stroke.  The whip was at the level of the man's pubes, and Tariq lowered the next one slightly lower.  It caught the man's cock, which was still semi-hard.  It flicked his cock violently upward, and more drops of spunk flew off his cockhead.  The man was looking away.  Tariq moved to the left side of the soldier and started his strokes again from the very top of his chest.  The man squared his stance and flexed his body as the whip travailed slowly down his naked bleeding chest.  When it reached his pubes again he was still semi-erect, and spunk was drooling from his pisshead, swinging in time to the whiplashes.  Tariq went up to the guy and took hold of his cock.  It went hard in his warm hand, and Tariq grinned at him.  `You're loving it aren't you you sonofabitch` he said to him.  `I could say the same to you you bastard` said the soldier.  His eyes met Tariq's and his lips were apart.  Tariq grabbed his head and kissed him.  The soldier made a stifled grunt of protest, and tried to force his head away.  Tariq continued to hold him and enjoyed the invasion of the soldier's face.  He was still holding his cock in his left hand, and he felt it throb.  The soldier came, and warm jizz ran down Tariq's fingers.  He pulled away and laughed, as the soldier dropped his head and started to sob.  Tariq resumed his whipping.  The man broke down in shame. Tariq smacked the lashes across his groin and watched the soldier's semen continue to dribble and flick.  This guy was special.  He undid his shackles and pushed the cuffed man down into the special holding area.  He joined three other captives.  They all showed ability to take the whip, and respond to it in ways Tariq or his men liked.  If they took the whip, they could take other things.  There was plenty of boy fun to be had down here.  One guy was taking juice to his balls.  This was where Tariq and his men relaxed  

Terror of the Red Mask

The Warrior

Chained and exhausted the handsome young warrior faces his fate, firmly in the grasp of a torturer he is guided deeper into the smoke filled torture chamber. He feels a knot in his hard stomach as his eyes begin to adjust in the firelight room where he is treated to the sight of strong young men helplessly in agony. The torturer forces the muscular warrior towards one of the tiny cages hovering over a pit.

Violation

The priest would make his entry ritualistically slow, using buffalo grease to lube the procedure. But only for his own comfort.  He was well-hung, and entering a man was difficult.  After six slow jabs into the punished man's arse he would withdraw.  The man would be tied belly-down over the altar, and his back lashed while the priest pushed his cock down the man's throat.  The braves would enter and fuck the guy, the most senior first.  They never took long.  They slapped his arse hard as they cum, then pulled out and the next one was in.  Time was of the essence, as fucking ceased when the priest shot his seed down the man's throat.  The priest would leave, and the lashing stopped.  He would be left there, but the braves then violated the man's urethra, pushing blades of dried alfalfa grass into his cock until he shot his load.  He would be dragged off the altar and hustled into a tent for more punishment.  The sounds of the night animals would be punctuated by his moans, his screams.  `Aahhhhh my balls, no more please, ohhh my balls ...`

Tanaeus Gets Pinned

Tanaeus flexes his pecs while the dungeonmaster presses his nipple studs in. `Thankyou sir` he whispers. The dungeonmaster looks at him with surprise. `It always helps when an expert does it` Tanaeus added. `I'm an expert with the whip too, slaveboy` dungeonmaster said. `Your body tells me that sir. Your body's fantastic` Tanaeus said. `Flattery will get you nowhere with me. Move along` said the dungeonmaster. But he was well made up, and made a big show of flexing his biceps when he ripped off the tatty vest of Ganno behind. Ganno was too dumb to try any flattery though, and he took a gut-punch, before the dungeonmaster reached down into his pouch and squeezed his balls hard. `He loves it sir` chuckled Tanaeus. The dungeonmaster looked round at him, again with surprise. Tanaeus was standing with his legs spread apart, his loincloth showing a buttock. He was facing forward but looking round at the dungeonmaster with a cock-sucking grin. `I told you to move down to the cells` said the dungeonmaster. `Will you be coming down sir?` asked Tanaeus. The dungeonmaster flicked his gaze over the slave's back, and felt himself get hard. `You're asking for it Tanaeus` said the dungeonmaster. `Don't ask, don't get` winked Tanaeus, and he slouched off, swaggering his broad lats, saying `oh my nipples sir, they hurt, they hurt so good`