Today’s artwork is by GaryRo of Chained Muscle

Check out this preview from “The Prince & The Warrior” by GaryRo of Chained Muscle:

The young warrior is guided into a small adjacent torture room, and forced to kneel before a deep large pit. A wooden suspension device is lowered. The adept torturers make quick work of knotting leather straps to each of his strong fingers. The ends of the straps are attached to the rings of the suspension device. Another torturer manning a winch across the room hauls the brave young man over the pit. Now suspended painfully by his fingers straps are attached to his big on each foot. The tortures make quick work of stretching his legs by the toe straps and attaching them to rings embedded in the dungeon floor.

To complete the Princes’ special plan a metal device with a long chain and iron ball is fastened to his private parts. The Prince waves his hand and slowly a hot liquid soupy mix begins to fill the pit.

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By Captive Punisher & Musclejock1

The barge lazily floating down the Amazon River could barely be seen through the thick haze. It was night. The journey had begun earlier that afternoon, but the humidity had increased to an almost unbearable degree. The barge was surrounded by murky water, which had become steamy as night descended on the jungle with its dense tropical growth. There was an eerie silence surrounding the barge as it continued down the river.

At the point of embarkation, the four men, who were now on the barge, were told about their mission by the sergeant in charge of operations. They were to find and bring back a large cache of gold that was moved by the Nazis after the war sometime in 1948.  It had been lost since then, but rumor had it that the cache was being guarded by the Butus, who were a primitive people conforming to barbaric rituals and sacred rites. Their leader was a particularly sadistic young man who enjoyed seeking revenge by capturing any males who ventured into his domain. For many years, brave adventurers had attempted to uncover the hidden cache, but were never seen again. All of the previous men had been young and quite fit, due to the danger inherent in the mission.

The men chosen for the current mission are the most able. Yet Nick Stavros, a 32 year old lawyer always loves a real adventure. He is a faithful reader of “Treasure Hunter” magazine. He is tall and lean, with a tightly muscled and lightly haired chest. His swarthy skin glistens in the humidity. His khaki shirt is unbuttoned all the way, revealing the well-defined abdominal muscles. Greg Baker is a 28 year old former quarterback, and is studying to be an archaeologist. He sports a blond marine haircut. Even though his sleeveless shirt is closed, the blond chest hair can be observed creeping over the first button. His thick pectorals are evident under the tight blue shirt. Tony Serrano answered an ad on “Treasure Hunter On-Line.” The former Navy SEAL received a response. His survival skills will be a huge asset during the mission. Also joining them is Luis Negron, a local 19 year old, who has an obvious knowledge of local dialects. Luis can be seen eying Tony’s body. Tony has a beautiful wrestler’s build, and his shirt is always opened all the way. His smooth muscled chest is accented by two large pink nipples.

Tony suggests that they pair off and leave the barge to do some searching at night, when it is least likely that they will be discovered. After making certain that their canteens are filled with enough water, the four men leave the barge to do some investigating. They must not be discovered by the sadistic Butus.

Nick, Greg and Tony were fascinated with the young Luis upon first meeting. At his stated age of only 19, he exhibited the wisdom and street smarts of someone considerable older. There was also something unsettling in his dark eyes that each of the white men reacted to in a different way. Maybe it was the way he looked at them. Most of the native peoples seemed intimidated by the muscular frames and stark manly beauty of these white men, but Luis invited direct eye contact and brazenly surveyed their physiques. Indeed, by the second day, he could often be found at Tony’s side, offering to help with the steering of the barge, and the skillful use of the long wooden poles to keep the barge from the tangles of partially submerged tree roots and trunks and vegetation that almost choked river commerce with its out of control growth. Nick felt assured that they had hired the right guide for their adventure and forget his initial surprise to the way he suddenly appeared to fill the job. The fact that his muscled arms exhibited what appeared to be track marks, obviously healed, but ugly nevertheless, led Nick to assume a past struggle with drugs, perhaps cocain or heroin, yet miraculously he seemed to have overcome it and his lithe body showed none of the expected signs of wasting.

The men dressed for their first reconnaissance mission into the dense jungle. Nick and Greg had opted for the khaki safari shirts with cargo pockets and epaulets, tight fitting breeches and tall dehner type boots that could be tightly laced at the instep and at the top to protect their legs against insects,rocks, sharp protruding branches. The lugged soles provided additional traction on the slimy jungle floor and always slippery barge floor. Tony was dressed in marine gear, including camies and tightly laced combat boots. He has stripped his torso to his marine green ‘wife beater’ which stretched seductively over his enormous chest only to be sucked back like a second skin to caress his washboard abs and narrow waist. His brawny arms displayed the familiar USMC and NAVY SEAL tattoos that seemed to swell and ebb with every movement of his arms. His ammo belt was looped snugly. Luis wore loose fitting trousers tucked into rather stylish but practical rough-out leather leggings that served the same purpose.

The men agreed that they would trek not more than 30 minutes in one of two directions, then meet back at the barge. After checking rudimentary maps and compasses, Luis suggested that he and Tony go west. After exchanging a grin, Nick and Greg went east. As Tony assumed a combat stance and plunged into the thick foliage, Luis cast a look at the retreating forms of the other white men. He let his tongue moisten his lips as he took note of the thickly muscled legs, asses, and broad backs, sweat stained shirts and hunched shoulders as they disappeared behind long fronds of greenery. Almost to affirm his own excitement, he sought his hard penis through his trousers and gave himself one hard squeeze. “Yes….YES…this will be the finest group!!!”. Luis trotted forward until he could see the retreating figure of the young soldier ahead of him.

The Butus wasted no time in preparing to catch their prey. The hurriedly gathered hunting darts, with feathered shafts to make them fly through the air as they were shot from long blow tubes of hollowed wood. The tips of these darts were dipped in a mixture of jungle herbs that paralyzed even the strongest beasts, but only temporarily. Many darts may be needed for these particularly strong and virile targets. Along with the darts and blow guns, long stout poles were hewn and stripped of any remaining leaves. Strong knotted vines were affixed to the end of each pole. Still other Butus looped long strands of rope and vine around their shoulders. Much rope would be needed to secure the captives. The Butu hunting party met in brief conference and split up into two groups. Before departing their village, they knelt briefly before a bizarre sculpture of a giant phallus, its thick sleek ebony shaft jutting upward and capped with the unmistakable flared ridges of a cock head. The shaft itself contained myriad carvings that were not easily discernible. The base of this giant phallic idol was framed by two large testicle-like boulders. The shaft and boulders were adorned with metal hooks/loops and shackles. They knelt and chanted. Breaking from their reverie, they rose and with a wild whoop disappeared into the jungle.

Luis hurried along until he caught up with the soldier. Tony quickly turned around to acknowledge the presence of Luis, and then continued his pursuit. Luis clung behind Tony as best he could. Tony was pushing away the thick jungle growth with his strong arms. Those muscled arms were a sight to behold, as well as the well-defined back and leg muscles, which were so clearly working overtime. Luis’ thoughts kept going back to the vision of Nick and Greg, and how they looked as they disappeared into the dangerous jungle.

Nick and Greg found the humidity to be oppressive. Mosquitoes were tormenting both of them to the point of distraction. Greg had already opened a few buttons of his safari shirt in order to make the scratching of his chest easier. The little devils had crept under his shirt, and were feasting on the blond quarterback’s beautifully haired chest, already quite moist with perspiration. Nick had already avoided a rather large snake. He kept that bit of knowledge to himself, in order not to alarm Greg.

The two men decided to stop a bit for a drink of water, when they heard a slight rustling sound. They froze in order to listen very closely. They suspected that Butu scouts would be looking for them, and they wanted to get back to the barge in one piece. After drinking from their canteens, Greg looked at his watch and suggested that it was time to return to the barge. Nick agreed, and the two began to wend their way back through the jungle.

One dart struck Greg in his right bicep. Another imbedded itself in Nick’s left leg. When they both realized that the Butus were attacking, the two men increased the speed of their walking. It was difficult to move because of the thick jungle growth, but they did the best they could. “Move, Nick!” Greg was shouting as they tried to escape. “Run!” But running was nearly impossible. Before they knew it, several Butu scouts had dropped from the trees and were trying to subdue Nick and Greg. They were both already feeling weak from the insidious contents of the darts, but moved along as best they could. Scouts tripped them.

Nick fell to the ground first. Greg quickly landed as well. They both rose and tried to fight off the scouts as a second dart struck them each in the neck. Nick and Greg immediately became unconscious, and quickly collapsed on the damp jungle carpet. Nick’s shirt was severely torn and barely clung to his muscled torso. One anxious Butu had already torn off Greg’s shirt. He had never seen blond hair on a man’s chest before, and he wanted a full view. The Butu smiled in delight as he ran his fingers over the plated pectorals lightly covered with blond hair

It wasn’t long before Nick and Greg were tightly tied to two strong poles by their ankles and wrists, and carried back to the Butu village. Their masculine beauty would be savored by the villagers.

Luis suggested that he and Tony also return to the barge to meet up with Nick and Greg. It was already past the thirty minute mark. They turned and attempted to hurry back.

The Butus moved silently through the vegetation and the tree tops. They followed Tony and Luis for a short while until members of the hunting party were ahead and behind them. Tony was cursing audibly at the mosquitoes that kept landing on him, determined to draw vital blood from the warm beefy body. He had removed his sweaty shirt and had balled it up around one arm. He used it to both fight off the blood suckers and to mop the torrents sweat that plastered his thick black hair to his scalp and almost blinded him as it poured down his face. Tony had drawn a machete from his belt and was busy whacking his way forward when the first dart hit….”What the FUCK??”. He looked down to see a primitive narrow piece of wood, sharpened to a fine point with a red feather at the end embedded in his left pec. He flexed his right arms and ripped it out of his pectoral muscle, hissing through his thick lips as he felt the sting. Just as quickly a drugged tipped missile sluiced into his right pec. “AAHHH……mother fuck…..”. Two more entered his right thigh causing it to flex and stretching his trousers around the contracting muscle. Another…behind his left ear. The tight bodied soldier began jerking in a bizarre dance as if swatting at attaching insects. The attacking Butus were in awe…how many darts would it take to bring down this prize!!? Tony lost control of his hands and dropped his machete. He sank to his knees but kept his back erect. His deep set dark eyes surveyed the jungle. He knew they were under attack. His vision blurred but he could make out dark partially painted bodies slowly and carefully emerging from the thick vegetation. Two natives were holding blow guns and launched two more missiles into his heaving pec slabs. Tony groaned. His eyes rolled upward and he fell face down to the floor of the jungle.

For a few moments, the Butus observed the former Navy SEAL as he writhed on the damp earth. The sustained play of his impressive back muscles under well-tanned skin was hypnotic to the Butus. They had never seen a white man who was this virile. The chief had wished for someone like this to satisfy his lust for torture. The SEAL was indeed a rare specimen, who would surely provide the village with great enjoyment as he was made to suffer. But first the chief would most likely want to use his strength to good advantage by subjecting his muscular physique to heavy labor in the mines or out in the hot sun.

Tony’s movement suddenly ceased. It was time to bring him back to the village. The Butus suddenly realized that their preoccupation with Tony had quite possibly cost them the capture of the young guide. Their concern was allayed by the return of several Butus who were dragging the struggling Luis toward the other tribesmen. Luis had tried to flee the scene when the first dart struck Tony. His movements were thwarted by the density of the Amazon vegetation, as well as the darkness. He did not get very far, and was tackled before gaining much distance. Luis’ fit, but not thickly muscled body, made him an easy target.

Luis was thrown to the ground by his captors, and his hands were quickly tied behind his back with rope. He was lifted up under his arms. By this time, Tony had been bound by his wrists and ankle to a pole in preparation for his journey back to the village. Nick and Greg had been bound in the same manner. They had most likely reached the village by this time. Tony hung limply from the pole when he was lifted up. His handsome head was thrown back; his mouth was open. His muscular torso glistened with sweat. Luis was feeling a hardness in his pants that was difficult to conceal. The Butus were aware of this, and began to mock the nineteen year old.

Luis was pushed along by several of the Butus, whose painted bodies looked particularly ominous. Behind him two Butus carried the pole to which Tony was bound. The other Butus followed as closely as they could. The darkness would make the trip a difficult one. The humidity did not help the situation either. All of the men trudged on. Luis turned around as his forced march began. he noticed that Tony’s thick ammo belt had been removed, and that it now adorned the painted neck of one of the younger Butus.

The hunting parties with their prized trophies gleefully converged onto a single roadway that would take them to the main village. Each group congratulated the other as they examined the tightly trussed and poled hunks. Like sides of prime man beef, our heroes swayed to and fro from the stout poles. Luis, still conscious was treated more harshly. His hair was pulled, he was tripped intentionally and stomped on, then dragged by a noose of thick vines that was wound about his neck. More than a half hour had passed and the other three adventurers were still deep in the drug induced slumber. Although the letter of the law forbid them to touch the flesh of these men, there was no immediate enforcement and one after another the drooling Butus dared to feel the hard muscle, to stroke it, to run their gnarled fingertips across the taut chests and abs under the ripped shirts. They were entranced by the strange leather coverings on the mens’ feet. The smooth leather hugged their muscular calves and felt smooth. These strange adornments obviously marked these men as special in some way. They fondled Tony’s thick nipples. The SEAL’s pectoral erectile tissue hardened at the abuse. His thighs were squeezed as were his hard buttocks. The Butus murmured, nodded and spoke excitedly in their strange language. Greg and Nick were similarly examined and fondled and inspected like meat. Indeed these men must be either Gods or Demons. Their strength and beauty was exceptional particularly that of the golden one. In any case their extended and prolonged agony would serve as fitting offering to PUNTA, the Butu God of fertility. As the party reached their destination it assumed an almost procession-like gait. The inhabitants of the village rapidly materialized to witness the triumphal march. A gibbering crowd was gathering.

The crowd rapidly descended upon the returning hunters and their prize possessions. They were in awe of the beauty of these brave white hunters who dared to venture into their forbidden territory. Others had certainly been captured in the past. They had also been offered to PUNTA after having endured days of agony as their strength gradually ebbed. But never had the villagers seen such specimens.

Luis was hurriedly pulled by his noose to a huge totem pole with a large ring on the top. As he was viciously stripped to the waist by one of the younger men, his sinuous arms were raised high, and his hands were made to grip the lead of rope. Before he knew it, he was standing on his toes as the end or the rope was led through the ring and wound around and tied to another loop on the bottom of the other side of the pole, which was elaborately decorated with tribal symbols to forbidding to even contemplate. Luis’ initial mode of torture was now complete. He would have to maintain this position or slowly suffocate to death. If he lessened his grip on the rope, he would slowly suffocate,and if he pulled on it the strain on his young arms and leg muscles would be too unbearable. What was he to do? The suffering would be intense.

The chief was still in his small hut. He liked to see his male captives properly displayed. It was agreed that he would wait until sunrise to leave the hut and view the men. It was also agreed that all the men would be displayed in the same way as Luis. It was a clever idea, and everyone embraced it.

As the sun began its slow ascend, the three adventurers could also be seen tied in the same manner as the young guide. Nick had finally been rip-stripped to the waist, and could be seen clutching his rope. He was a prisoner of his totem. His rounded biceps flexed as he tried to find some comfort. Greg was tied to his totem in the same manner. His broad back rubbed painfully against the rough edges of his totem pole, and his football shoulders and strong arms were in obvious distress. Sweat coursed its way down his hairy pec valley. But it was Tony, whose veins in his hard chest and corded arms, who was suffering well. Despite his herculean strength, he was having a difficult time keeping his balance. Luis felt a hardness in his pants as he observed the suffering of the SEAL. He wondered what could possibly be worse than this. He had heard of the sadism of the Butus, but this was really causing him to worry about his survival. he must be able to breathe.

The sun continued to rise. At the proper moment the Butu leader exited his hut and saw the stunning sight before him. He began to quiver as he approached the bound men. They were already sweating profusely, and Nick was moaning quietly, which only exited the warrior.

To be continued …

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By Captive Punisher & Musclejock1

They were indeed worthy captives. But it was the SEAL who caught the head Butu’s eye. He slowly approached the suffering SEAL

As the chief approached the tribesmen fell silent and smiled with pride awaiting their leader’s approval. The only sound was the rasping breath from the throats of the captives and the sound of their boot soles scraping the ground as they struggled to maintain their positions and avoid self strangulation. The chief strode with authority and his dark eyes surveyed the four captives. The chief was not prone to overt expressions of pleasure, but even his usually stoic face betrayed a lustful reaction. His thick dried lips curved slightly as he paused briefly in front of each totem. He glanced at Greg. His eyes were drawn first to the thick full lips on a rugged face but then to the drops of heavy sweat that hung in the thick mat of blonde fur that cloaked his sensuously stretched torso. He walked past Nick, taking in the chiseled face and perfectly proportioned body. He spat with contempt at the wide-eyed young guide, but came to a full stop in front of the Tony. His eyes darkened and lingered. The tightly muscled chest rose and fell in defiance, the abdomens pulled taut the ridges deeply with each flex as the SEAL struggled to maintain his precarious balance. The chief then reached out with both calloused hands and placed them on the man’s pecs. He closed his eyes and began a slow knead reveling in the movement. One hand moved to the sweaty abs, the fingers exploring each ridge, then scooping the sweat out of the deep navel. The hands moved to the back and shoulders exploring, feeling. Tony was humiliated and angered by the erotic inspection of his body. The onlooking Butus however knew exactly what was happening. Their chief was planing the torture. Every man offered special “treats”. Some were made for pec torture, others for the pain to their balls or cocks, still others, their feet, or asses. But rarely, did a single man offer so many possibilities. Yes, the chief identified every part of this young stud’s body that would suffer. The chief opened the SEAL’s cammie pant front and reached in. His fingers gripped and fondled. The captive tried to pull away from the manipulation, but felt the rope choking him. He dare not resist. He felt himself hardening against his will in the gnarled fingers of this savage!!. The chief found the cock to be average but it hardened quickly. He knew that this man would “enjoy” his suffering.

The Butu chief moved closer to Tony, as he continued to fondle the SEAL’s cock. It was getting harder by the minute. Tony could not resist, as much as he tried. His dark eyes were clouded from the perspiration that had been running into them, He could hardly see the chief, but he was able to smell the breath of the sadist since he was so close to his muscled captive. Tony’s mouth was so dry, but he did not want to beg for water. Nick and Luis were moaning for water nearby, but Greg seemed to be toughing it out. Tony could not even spit at the chief, his mouth was so dry.

Little by little the tranquilizer that was in the darts was weakening, and returning the captives to a more normal state. The chief stepped back, as he signaled for the villagers to examine the men, if they so desired. Villagers approached the muscled men, many already in a state of arousal. Squeezing muscles became the main appeal, and the pulling and kneading eventually became quite painful. The already reddened skin intensified in color.

At a signal from the chief, the villagers were ordered to back away from the totem poles. The chief ordered that the captives’ footwear and socks be removed. This was hurriedly done, as the men could hardly fight the onslaught due to their inhibiting bondage. Their strong arms were in great pain. Biceps and triceps were flexed in discomfort in order to prevent strangulation. Luis’s young arms were already beginning to fail him, as a slight strangulating sound could already be heard. But he suddenly hoisted himself up.

Some young male villagers could be seen spreading a sweet substance in a narrow circle around the base of the men’s bare feet. As they continued to squirm in discomfort, they looked down to see one chosen male loosening the tie on a burlap sack. He began to empty the contents onto the circle of sweetness. It did not take long for the four strong men to realize that what was in the bag were fire ants, which could cause incredible pain as they bit into their victim.

The chief ordered everyone to stand back and watch the torture. He found a shady area, sat down, and enjoyed the scene before him. This was enough right now.

The stripped footwear was placed on a stone altar near the giant phallic idol. Four pairs of sweaty boots stuffed with moist socks stood side by side. The four captives stared at their feet. A brown mass writhed at the base of the totem poles. Individual fire ants were barely discernible. They were aroused by the sticky sweetness and surged. The lead scouts ventured beyond the enticing circle and found the moist male feet and began to crawl over long straight toes and ankles. Their pheromones left a trail which the swarm was eager to follow to the source of promising nourishment. The fire ants began to ascend the thickly muscled calves and hairy legs. The Butu chief noted with satisfaction the onset of a bizarre “torture ballet” as the men helplessly stamped their feet and flexed their toes and ankles. At first the sensation of thousands of tiny legs traversing their sweaty flesh was a tickle, but as the mandibles sank into the flesh and sucked, stings and jolts of pain ensued. Nick grunted as the ants seemed lost in his thick black leg hair. Greg bit his lip and shifted his weight from one foot to another. Luis began to whimper slightly, his eyes bugging from his head. Tony pulled frantically at his bonds, kicking and shaking his legs from side to side to dislodge the insect attackers. Even from the Chief’s seated vantage point, he observed the legs of his captives seemingly alive with movement. The assault on their legs undermining the effort to relieve the tension on their necks. The noose tightened. Luis’ face was reddening. Nick grunted. Greg’s bull-like stud neck was being squeezed. Tony produced animal grunts from his throat as he determined to resist the ants and keep his neck from being stretched further. The sun rose higher in the sky as if aroused by the torture scene.

The golden furnace above the Butu village was causing the men unbearable discomfort. The devilish combination of heat and humidity was sapping their considerable strength. The Chief leaned forward, and, resting his right hand on his right leg, he looked as if he were trying not to miss a moment of the torture. The “torture ballet” continued to excite his loins, as the endlessly inventive “choreography” caused the manly figures to assume rather interesting positions. No other individual was contributing to their trial in the sun. Each captive was suffering in his own way, and it became a sight to behold, both for the Chief, and his villagers.

The Chief stood up in alarm when he saw that Luis’s arms had fallen to his sides, and he was beginning to choke on his noose. His face was already starting to turn blue, when he was ordered by the chief to be released from the totem pole. The Chief did not want him dead. There were other plans in store for the sturdy nineteen year old.

“Luis! Luis!” Greg was yelling as Luis was led away to a hut, apparently to recover. “Are you all right?”

“You dirty bastards!” Tony was slapped hard in his handsome face as he uttered his invective. Tony was trying to stomp the ants with his bare feet, but only the tips of his toes touched the ground because of his tightly stretched bondage. The ants had already reached up Nick’s entire leg and were starting to embed themselves in his crotch. All he could do was moan, and look pleadingly in the direction of Luis, as he was dragged away, toes scraping along the moist ground. Greg was continuing to bite his lip in pain, as the ants continued their assent along his furry legs. Blood could be seen beginning to occupy his lower lip. The blond hair on his sculpted chest was matted from the fact that he was sweating profusely.

As Tony continued his pointes, the Chief started to smile. What an ironic sight this was: a virile former Navy SEAL performing a ballet. It was difficult to comprehend.

It was later in the afternoon that the Chief commanded that the other three adventurers be cut down from their totem poles. Because of their weakened state, they were also dragged to Luis’ hut. The ants continued to bite the three men. Tony was hoping that Luis had been relieved of the mad insects once he had gone into the hut. He was about to find out, since he was the first of the three to enter the dark oasis. Luis’ soft moaning was the only sound the three men heard as the door of the hut was shut, and securely bolted, by several painted Butu warriors.

The dark hut was ripe with the smell of sweat. Four male bodies now flexed and writhed on the dirt floor. With their remaining strength they brushed off the ants. Nick and Greg cursed their thick pelts as they had to pluck the insect marauders from their bodies. Luis was lying in the corner moaning with his eyes closed as Tony reached out to afford some solace. The only light came from three shafts radiating through slits in the thatched roof of the hut. Their nostrils flared at the smell of their own bodies. The sweat of terror had a special rank tinge to it. Could it be the smell of fear? Nick spoke to his comrades; “Hey guys, sorry bout this. This is NOT what was supposed to happen.” His comrades cast baleful glances at him as they continued to brush the stubborn insects from their legs and pubes. Each of the men had numerous angry looking ant bites pockmarking their strong legs. Greg spoke next;” Did u see that cock statue? Some kind of phallic god I guess. Why did they put our boots on that altar? What the fuck are they planning for us?!!” Tony vented his fury:

“fucking black bastards! Feeling us like like they did! Treating us like meat! I am gonna personally fuck them all up!” The conversation ended abruptly as the door of the hut flew open. Armed Butus entered, jabbering and looked around. Their eyes landed upon the tall blonde football hero and pulled him to his feet and out the hut. The hunk looked over his shoulder at his comrades. As his comrades rose, spears crossed and the door rebolted. Greg was blinded by the bright sun. He limped and tripped over the rough earth. He could make out many Butus huddled around. As he refocused his vision he realized he was being taken into the jungle about 30 feet to a what looked like a pool of murky dark brown water. It was some kind of marsh or bog fed by some narrow finger of the Amazon. Butus hands seized his strong body and pulled his arms upward and apart. Vines were used to lash his wrists to either end of a stout branch which had thick ropes lashed to its middle. Greg’s eyes followed the contraption and saw that it was lashed to a higher branch of the tree that bowed over the bog along with a sort of pulley device. His long legs hung free as the device hoisted him up. He dangled and flexed trying to do a chin up but the ant torture and heat had sapped his muscles of power although his will was strong. The pulley and rope maneuvered him until he dangled over the surface of the water. He looked down between his meaty feet. The surface of the water was still. The chief appeared and shouted “Baraka Punta, Barake Punta”.

There was a jerk on the rope and Greg was lowered into the muck. His feet disappeared into the mire. The slime was so thick it coated him like latex. It literally sucked his body downward. It felt surprisingly soothing as his body disappeared gradually. The descent stopped as Greg’s chin was a few inches above the surface. His mighty arms were still spread and tied. There was silence for what seemed an eternity.

Then something….crawling..then a STINGGG…a slight movement and another…STINGGGG. The Butus lined the rim of the pool staring at him. They started to smile as they saw the bulging biceps begin to twitch and flex. Greg jerked his head as he began to feel more strange stings and bites and crawling fingers on his flesh.

The needle prick sensations increased. Greg tried to kick his legs and and move his body sideways but he was caught fast in the thick sludge. He caught sight of the chief signaling and with a jerk felt his a strong tug on his arms and his body slowly lifted up. The slime seemed unwilling to release its muscular bait and make a sickening sucking/slurping noise as Greg was raised. The onlooking Butus applauded and seemed pleased. Greg then looked downward to see his pec shelf alive with 6 inch long leeches. One was draped over his left nipple. Another crept toward Greg’s neck. He could see that what should have been a head was actually a mouth-like orifice lined with hundreds of tiny needle like teeth. He watched it move to his right nipple and bite down. “UUGNNNNNNNNN” It must release a kind of acid when it bites for a sting spread quickly across his chest. As he craned his neck further lifting his legs a bit he was horrified to see that his abs were alive with the black creatures. Three wrapped around his cock shaft and three others feasted slowly on his large nuts. He dripped with slime and now bright red blood as he was literally being drained by the blood sucking fiends.

Greg’s torment continued unabated. His well-developed shoulder and back muscles were beginning to spasm. The leeches were doing their evil best to prolong the former quarterback’s agony. There was one hanging from each rosy nipple, each one savoring the tender meat below. Greg tried to suffer in silence, but despite the effort, the sound of his deep masculine moaning could be heard a short distance from where his muscular form was hanging. He sweated profusely, and felt the feeling of thirst the way he had never felt it before. Greg began to lick his dry and cracked lips. He told himself that he was going to tough it out. All of his vigorous football training had honed his beautifully built body into a muscle machine capable of enduring considerable hardship. As his handsome head drooped on his well-haired chest, he could observe his cock shaft expanding, with its three leeches “going along for the ride.”

Greg’s old frat buddy, Nick, was the next captive to be pulled from the hut, despite the protestations of Tony and Luis, who was still in a weakened state. Tony tried to lash out as the Butu warriors exited the hut with their godlike prey, but he was quickly struck down by having a brightly colored spear jab him in his rippling abdomen. He started to bleed slightly, and used some grass from the floor of the hut to cover the cut and stop the bleeding.

“Nick!” “Nick!” Nick heard Tony’s cries, and yelled back for the two remaining men in the hut not to worry.

Nick soon found himself standing naked in the hot Amazon sun with a dozen spears pointed at his tightly muscled body. One young Butu warrior was slapping the firm pectorals, and rubbing his hands through the dense fur on the two mounds of muscle. The Butus motioned for the adventurer to stretch out his sinewy arms, as a heavy wooden yoke was laid upon his broad shoulders, the ends of which were tightly tied to his wrists. His beautifully muscled legs were hobbled by the use of vines, but not enough to prevent him from moving in small deliberate steps. The sharp points of Butu spears force led him to what appeared to be a giant device that was apparently used for grinding of some sort. He knew that the yoke was about to be fastened to one of the long overhead extensions, and that he was about to be used like an ox performing heavy labor in the sun.

Nick was good and worried about the fate of his buddy, Greg. He wondered what the Butus had done with him. He was shaken out of his reverie when he felt a stinging pain on his already aching back. One young Butu warrior had taken a whip to Nick’s back with such force that he found himself moving forward just a few small steps. His hobbled feet continued to move by way of those small steps as the whip struck again. Nick had never felt pain like his before. The mechanism to which he was bound could be seen apparently grinding a grain of some sort. Because his muscular arms were raised in this high position, his well-developed back muscles stood out as they bunched and glistened in the hot sun. The Butu continued to whip Nick’s back as the sun beat down on his exposed flesh. Nick’s skin had not been broken, just badly welted. The Butu’s wanted him to labor hard and long for daring to enter their jungle, and his suffering would bring them many hours of delight. The adventurer had read something like this in “Treasure Hunter” magazine when he was a kid, and now it was happening to him. His hobbled feet continued their slow deliberate journey. He had almost completed one circle around the mechanism when he saw several Butus enter the captives’ hut. He turned his handsome head around, only to observe the struggling figures of Tony and Luis being dragged out into the sun.

The whip fell on Nick’s stinging back once again. And again he wondered about Greg’s fate.

To be continued …

To read more of this, visit Chained Muscle

Here are some of the newest bondage stories added to Metalbond:

Tim the Bondage Slave by Mister X / Spartan (new chapters added)

Amazon Agony – Part 1 and Part 2

Nick and Daniel – Part 3

What Do You Do When You Know You’re Being Mind-Fucked?

More stories coming soon!

By Captive Punisher & Musclejock1

Greg was quite strong, and could most likely take whatever the Butus decided to dish out.

ARGH! The whip struck again on the adventurer’s broad back.

SWISHHHHHHHH…WRACKKK! The whip met Nick’s broad back yet again. Again he stumbled forward with a faint grunt. The millstone scratched forward with a lurch. Nick’s legs were magnificent in their increased exertion. Tony and Luis was out of his sight line now, but Nick could here the gleeful jabbering of the strange Butu tongue. In the center of the village both Luis and Tony were held at spear point while a small cage of carefully cut branches that had been lashed expertly together. It looked like the cages tigers or lions might be housed in for their transport to the poacher camps. Luis was roughly dragged to the cage, pushed to his knees and thrust inside. The door was closed and secured. The youth gripped the bars and peered out with wide frightened eyes. Two Butus tied long thick rope vines to the the cage and hoisted it upward swinging it to a nearby pit by way of a primitive pulley. The cage hung precariously over the pit was being filled with branches, sticks and dry brush. Young Butu boys pranced to the lip of the pit and cast flaming branches downward. There was a crackle, a whooooshhh and smoke, followed quickly by flames licking the dry air just about six feet beneath the cage. “Leave the kid alone you bastards!!” Tony knew his protestations fell on uncomprehending ears. Almost in response though, the ends of the ropes holding the cage aloft were now wound tightly around Tony’s wrists and forearms. “Barunta septual! Nekinta matuka butu!” Tony did now need a translation. He was gonna have to keep that cage from plummeting into the flames. The Butus had now let go of the ropes yet. Instead they escorted the already flexing and straining SEAL stud to a kind of lattice of cross branches standing upright near the pit. As he moved closer he could see that each the ends of each piece of criss-crossed lattice work had been sharpened to a fine point. The Butus repeated the gibberish and pushed Tony, chest first into the wooden grate. The top reached to just beneath his square jawline. His instinctively pushed away to avoid impalement. His arms holding the vines were pulled to the sides as he felt his waist being cinched with rope fastening him to the frame. “OH fuck.nghhgh” He would have only his arms and legs to work with. The Butus suddenly released the ropes and Tony felt himself pulled into the spikes. The points barely kissed his muscled flesh as Tony exerted his considerable strength to pull backward. The cage jerked and fell about a foot. Luis cried out…”Help me…TONY, Help me please!”

Tony strained and flexed to hold the ropes motionless. He set his large feet flat to the earth. His sculptured calves displayed all their masculine glory. The Butus watched in awe. Tony realized though as his biceps exerted maximum power laterally, his back was arching causing his pecs and abs to push forward meeting their painful fate on the sharpened Butu torture sticks. Tony grimaced. Myriad red marks appeared as the criss-cross pattern of torture sticks ‘kissed’ his body, puncturing his flesh in places. Tony had thought very much about Luis during the trip, but admired his spunk and independence. He was NOT going to let the kid get cooked!

Tony’s face was a study in concentration and determination. Awash with sweat, his eyes stung from the saline content. His jaw was firmly set, his cheeks quivered. His face was flushed bright red. The veins that normally snaked erotically over his shoulders and biceps were now engorged with blood. Tony felt the cramps coming on. He knew he would have to relieve the tension and shift position just for a second or two. His back was knotted, his buttocks flexed and cramping. He took a deep breath and counted to three and released just to rotate his wrists bones and change the position of his spine. It was a costly stratagem. As the full weight of the Luis and his improvised prison cell tugged on the ropes, Tony was pulled forward. The torture sticks embraced the muscled soldier. Both pecs were pierced. Tony sucked his gut, sparing his perfectly defined abs from being sliced. He threw his head back, his adams apple bobbing and he released a deep manly MOOOOOOOOOOOOOANNNNNNNNNnn. He succeeded in securing a new gripe on both ropes. He had successfully relieved the pain. He was going to be good for another few minutes…but how long was he gonna have to endure this. He could not go on forever. As Tony had rearranged himself, the cage had descended a foot closer to the fire pit. The steam and heat wafted over the cage. Tony could see the Luis groggy with dehydration and fear. One strong well shaped leg protruded from the cage body and well shaped bicep clung to the side of the cage. Tony could actually see sweat dripping from the cage and hear it sizzle as it reached the pit. The boy was being smoked like meat for storage. His life was solely in Tony’s hands..or more accurately his aching yet mighty muscles. As Nick was lashed along the circumference of his personal torture track, he caught sign of his buddies’ ordeals and was yet again overcome with guilt.

The manly scream pierced the humid jungle air. Nick stopped in his tracks as he heard the sudden sound of Greg’s pain. As the adventurer’s hobbled feet ceased their movement, the Butu warrior wielding the whip behind Nick, let go with a particularly hard lash to the striped back before him. Nick’s entire body was covered with a sheen of manly sweat.

Tony heard Greg’s horrific scream also, as did Luis. “NOOOOOOOOO!” The cry came from Luis, who was already beginning to suffocate from the heat in his cage. “GREG! What are they doing to you? We’ve got to help him, Tony!” Tony could only nod in agreement. Tony grunted as he said, “I know, boy. I know.” All he could concentrate on at the moment was using his waning strength in order to prevent Luis from falling any lower into the pit of fire. The Butus laughed at Tony as his back and arm muscles flexed to their utmost during his trial. They even took advantage of the situation by poking him with their spears, but not enough to break the skin. “BASTARDS! DON’T HURT THE BOY! LET HIM GO!”

Greg had been repeatedly lowered and raised from the muck. The stench was beginning to make him nauseous. More of the leeches now clung to his athletic body, and many had already found a cozy home in his thick mat of blond chest hair. Two particularly voracious leeches each hung like ornaments from his two meaty nipples, their tiny bites causing Greg to release another scream. Greg was lifted out of the mire one last time, and allowed to hang there as the Butus brushed off any remaining leeches from the stinging skin. One stubborn creature would not let go of its hold on the former quarterback’s succulent cock head, and had to be slapped off by one sadistic young warrior. “AAARGH!” Greg writhed in his bondage, which only made his large muscular frame contort in a variety of erotic images. As he began to wonder how much longer he would have to hang there in this agonizing position, a spell of nausea came over him once again, and he vomited all over the thick pec shelf below him. He felt dizzy from the extreme humidity and lack of hydration. As he ran his dry tongue over his parched and already cracked lips, he began to pray for even a few drops of water. Maybe these mad sadists, who took pleasure in torturing strong young men, would relent, and offer the suspended captive a few drops of cool water.

Greg had now entered a state of hallucination as the Butu whip once again landed on Nick’s ample target, and as Tony began to summon another few ounces of strength from his stunningly flexed musculature. The Butus began to shout as the young guide’s cage achieved its lowest point yet.

Tony released a loud beast-like growl as he felt his strength ebb. He reached deep into his soul to wrench the ropes higher. The cage jerked. Luis was now unconscious from smoke inhalation and heat. The ragged edges of the cage were beginning to smolder. Tony’s straining musculature reddened with the increased exertion. He hissed loudly through clenched teeth. The Butus looked on. Tony’s display of endurance took their breath away and they knew it was only a matter of time before he faltered. They did not want to see this virile man impaled on the wooden spikes. More torture awaited. They rushed forward and pulled the ropes, cutting them from his wrists and swinging the cage to the side. They dragged the unconscious young guide free and cut Tony free from the frame. Greg’s unconscious frame was being held aloft and carried back to the village. His arms dangled, his head lolling backward, his sexy mouth open. His body was covered with bleeding leech bites and welts. The three heroes were unceremoniously laid beside the large phallus that thrust upward into the sky and blinding sun. The chief appeared and shouted directions to the tribe. Nick was unexpectedly untied from the millstone and dragged to join his colleagues. The Butus seized each man and positioned them at the four compass points around the phallic idol. Rough hands held the men upright. The aroused Butus took full advantage of the opportunity to fondle the gleaming and tortured muscle in their control, pinching and tweaking, stroking and caressing, pulling chest and ass fur, causing the men to moan and flex even more. The chief and high priest approached each man in turn. Staring into each handsome face they let go loud incantations exalting virility and masculine beauty as they pulled on their cocks and balls and brought their man nipples to full erection. As each man’s tits reached maximum arousal, they were pierced with long thorns. Once pierced, they were ringed with golden loops that sliced through the tough muscle behind the turgid nipple itself. The men gasped and moaned at the roughness of the piercings. The Butus held them tightly reveling in the writhing muscle. Loops of vines hanging from metal rings in the stone cock head were then tied to each man’s nipple rings. The loose ends were given to selected Butu priests. A wave of the hand and a slow but steady drumbeat began accompanied by a rhythmic chant. The High Priest nodded solemnly and the acolytes began to pull on the rope vines. They became taut and then each man felt the initial pull and stretching on his pierced tits. They looked at each other and twitched and cursed. The tethers pulled more. The masculine tit flesh began to stretch and rise upward causing each man to rise to his toes thrusting his tortured chest upward toward the stone cock. The Butus chants and drums filled their ears as their manly feet left the ground. They found themselves suspended by their ceremonial nipple rings…they were HUNG BY THEIR TITS!!

Our handsome heroes began a writhing erotic dance as their chests exploded with pain. Their arms were pulled behind their backs and tightly bound. The Butu High Priest stepped and examined each tortured chest in turn. He wanted the distended stretched chest muscles more clearly visible and took a dull edged sacrificial blade and began roughly scraping the pec fur from around each nipple, removing just enough to allow the tribe to clearly see the ceremonial piercings and the effect the torture was having on the captive’s manly broad chests. In turn Greg, through his head back and forth moaning, Nick let go with a string of expletives while biting his lower lip, Tony stared downward at his mighty pecs watching the muscle obscenely pulled outward, Luis began to whimper with the fiery agony in his nipples. As their legs twitched, the Butus enjoyed the sight of well shaped legs and thighs, muscles in stark relief and flexing dimpled asses. The quartet of husky male voices resonated to the delight of the Butu throng. The vocalization of their agony aroused the villages; nnnnnnnnnngh..ughhhhhh.fuck……..oh fuck….arhgggggggggg!!!my tits, god damn, MY TITS!!My tits are being ripped off!! ARGHGHGGHGH!!

That was all that the four suspended men could think about. Each one felt as if his nipple meat was about to be torn from his ample chest muscle. The four sets of what were beautifully shaped pectorals now acquired a grotesqueness that caused mocking laughter from the gathered Butus. Tony had always been proud of the way his chest looked, and Greg had honed his twin orbs of muscle by strenuous training during his football days.

The moaning men suffered in the brutal jungle humidity as the air was occasionally punctuated by a manly scream or vile obscenity. Of course, any sounds made by the captives as they suffered were mellifluous sounds to the tribe, causing the groins of the Butus to respond in kind. They had never had such examples of male virility at their disposal.

“Hold on, boy. Try to hold on.” Tony’s rasping voice tried to give Luis courage during his ordeal. “It hurts bad, Tony. Real bad.” The guide’s pec flesh was not as thick as that of the more muscled adventurers, and having to listen to Luis’ shrill cries only added to the their torture.

A smooth sheen of man sweat now covered the four suffering men, rivulets of it coursing down ridges of muscle. Their suffering was being enjoyed by all who had gathered around the men to observe.

The High Priest now lifted up the four sets of boots and shoes that had been previously placed on the platform. Eight scorpions had been gathered, and their poison removed. The High Priest recited an incantation as he placed a scorpion in each shoe or boot.

Luis began to panic as he watched the proceedings from above. Nick could barely see since his eyes had been clouded over by his sweat. Tony, not realizing that the poison had been removed, believed that the scorpions would surely signal his death, and Greg, despite his formidable size, was in a state too weakened to even know what was going on.

Butu assistants were handed the footwear and ordered to loosely place it on the feet of the hanging men. This act was swiftly performed, and it wasn’t long before the already suffering men were trying to kick the shoes and boots from their feet. The kicking movements only intensified the pulling on their distended pecs, causing them to moan and scream more loudly.

ARGH! UNGH! Nick felt the first sting on the sole of his right foot. Tony was next to feel a sting on his heel. Luis was still violently thrashing to remove his shoe when he heard Greg curse as a scorpion stung him right under his big right toe. And then Luis was stung on both feet at the same time. Droplets of sweat flew off his body as he rhythmically jerked, tossing his handsome head from side to side.

To read more, visit Chained Muscle

By centurionF and amalaric of Chained Muscle

You’d made it in the force if you were invited to one of the police commissioner’s private gala evenings. Most younger invitees were a bit perplexed. Not allowed to bring a wife/partner? Yawn. But your boss made it clear that this was a full suit event, smarten up and look good son or you’re on the beat till you retire. But like most events you dread, this was one for the memoirs. A real night of fun amongst the boys.

There were usually two convicts on show, and newbies to this never understood why these guys, some of the worst perps they’d ever met, were so subservient, submissive. They didn’t understand that the crims’ behaviour this evening was being closely monitored and marked, and this would reduce or increase this evening’s punishment. The men took round trays of drinks, buck naked, and they allowed the suited cops to play around with them, toy with their cocks, dish out ballplay and punishment. All with a grin of sorts. Some of these guys were tearaways, and used to it anyway. Some would balance their tray of martinis on one hand, stand with their legs wide apart and almost invite the guys to dish out the pain to their testicles. Getting into the boy fun was good, and reduced your `sentence`. Others would stand rigid with their tray in one hand as a cop wanked them, brought them close, and sent them away – to return again for another edging. Nothing like a drink being offered to you by a naked gangster with a dribbling cock.

Another guy would shoot in a cop’s marguerita, whilst reciting `I’m yours officer, forever`. Later, when the drinks had lubricated the small crowd of boys in blue, the naked men would kneel and service one or two of the guys’ dicks. A useful service if your wife was pregnant or not giving it to you for any reason. But most men were waiting for the finale. The chandeliers would dim, and the two men would be chained up in an ornate ormolu X-frame for the whip. The whipping was taken slow and leisurely. Some of the cops would step up and give them `a dozen of the best for my buddy`. By that time all the cops had loosened up and were just in their trousers and polished shoes. The swish of the whip, its satisfying smack on the broad shoulders of naked sweating guys, the soft lights and the drink all had an effect. Waistbands would be loosened. A guy needed release. Maybe your best pal was with you at this event. If you jacked each other off while O’Malley was taking the lash then hell, why not? It was not unusual to see two young cops wanking and kissing as the guy they’d risked their life to bring in was screaming under the whip. There was a dry cleaning service available as you left, with regulation blues to go home in. The force looked after its men.

To read more, visit Chained Muscle

Today’s artwork and story teasers are courtesy of the men of Chained Muscle. To read and see more from these guys, check out the Chained Muscle section of the Metalbond Prison Library, and also be sure to visit the official Chained Muscle site.

Today’s artwork is courtesy of the men of Chained Muscle. To read and see more from these guys, check out the Chained Muscle section of the Metalbond Prison Library, and also be sure to visit the official Chained Muscle site.

Every country has them, no one talks about them, they do their job, and do it well, they always get their information. This is one in a series of images starting with the letter “A” for Albania that takes a trip through the world’s interrogators country by country:

Today’s artwork is courtesy of the men of Chained Muscle. To read and see more from these guys, check out the Chained Muscle section of the Metalbond Prison Library, and also be sure to visit the official Chained Muscle site.

Today’s fantasy artwork is courtesy of the men of Chained Muscle. To read and see more from these guys, check out the Chained Muscle section of the Metalbond Prison Library, and also be sure to visit the official Chained Muscle site.