Today’s Artwork is by garyRO of Chained Muscle. It is inspired by the Gor novels:

To see more chained men like this, visit Chained Muscle — a site with lots of artwork, stories, videos, and much more!

Check out these men who are locked in restraints and forced to work in the hot sun:

Today’s artwork is by GARYRO of Chained Muscle

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 from the men over at Chained Muscle:

Click for Chained Muscle

Today’s artwork, “The Slave and the Warden,” is from the men over at Chained Muscle:

To see and read more from Chained Muscle, you might want to check out their stories here on Metalbond, located in the Prison Library — click HERE to see those.

And, to go to the official Chained Muscle site, click HERE.

Today’s artwork is from Chained Muscle:

For more like this, click for Chained Muscle.

And don’t forget to see much more from these guys right here on Metalbond, by clicking on the Chained Muscle tag directly below:

Today’s artwork is from the popular Chained Muscle site:

Chained Muscle has several stories here on Metalbond, located in the Prison Library.

For even more, go to the official Chained Muscle site.

Today’s artwork is from the men of Chained Muscle

By Chained Muscle

Charlie slowly begins to open his eyes to the sound of voices, his head is throbbing, his vision is blurred. He tries to move and quickly realizes his wrists are bound, he’s shirt and pants have been removed and his under shorts unbuttoned.

“What the fuck!”

“You’re awake.” Charlie to turns his head to the sound behind him and is greeted by the old tow truck driver with a raging hard on. It all comes back to him, he took a wrong turn, his car had broken down, he called for the nearest garage, the driver showed up and that was the last he remembered.

The old man pats Charlie on the head, “Don’t worry none son, we just want to have some fun with you.”

The two young boys in front of him are arguing, as the youngest of the two begins removing his shirt. “Pa said I could have this one.”

“Fuck you Billy-bob, I’m taking him first, you get sloppy seconds.” As the arguing continues, the old man shouts, “you two boys be nice and share, our new friend is going to be with us for a bit.”

Nearly crying, “Please, what are you going do? Just let me go.”

The old man just laughs, “Boy, looks like you made a wrong turn.”

Read and see more at Chained Muscle

At Chained Muscle. The strong battered warrior left under the guard of a very drunk torturer plots his escape. Unnoticed the heat of the pit had burned through the leather straps attached to his toes, as the torturer nods off, through his own pain the begins his escape.

This is art by Garyro, of the popular Chained Muscle site.

After hours or struggling, the young warrior is within minutes of accomplishing his escape. Very unfortunatly for him, the evidently not-so-drunk torturer awakes and sounds the alarm.

The Prince arrives “leaving so soon” and orders the strong, brave warrior locked up for the night. “Ah, my friend we will continue tomorrow.”

See more like this over at Chained Muscle.

He ran, was hunted down, taken prisoner and brutally punished!

To see more like this, go to Chained Muscle

Todays’ tortured prisoner artwork is from Amalaric over at Chained Muscle.

By Chained Muscle

Greg could not believe that his once virgin hairy body would be subjected to this hideous nightmare of bdsm. His heart was racing with each thrust of the soldier’s hard cock up inside of his ass. The pain was unbearable. He had to try to keep his wits about him or else he would go insane. He tried to remember the good old days of high school sports and his friend who would try to molest his then slightly hairy body. During his puberty years his body hair started to grow especially his last two years of high school. His chest hair was fine and still a little thin except at the lower abs and the trail to his bush. His cock and balls grew to normal sizes and he would get erections sometimes at the wrong time.

Now however, this torture was becoming too much, or so he thought. The soldier stopped the ass assault and turned his attentions to the front of Greg’s nude body. He knelt down so Greg could watch; taking his erect penis into his mouth the bastard began to suck. He ran his tongue along the shaft and licked the head which sent arousal tension through Greg’s penis. He wanted to cum but each time he was ready the soldier would stop and slap his penis or pull it to the point of making Greg tear up. The commander stood across from Greg and watched as the maddening torture continued. The soldier would turn his attention to the major’s hairy sack of aching balls below the erect penis and would suck on them and bite them. He would take the balls into his hands and pull them apart within the sack as far as he could and then without warning he would kick them or take his fist and slug him hard.

The commander spoke, “Major Boyington are you ready to talk?” “Hell NO, go FUCK YOURSELF!!!!” was the crisply shouted reply. The torture continued.

Finally the soldier stopped all together. The commander then had a table brought in covered with cloth. He spoke, “Boyinton I was hoping I would not have to go to this level of interrogation, but you have left me no choice.” And with that he uncovered the table. On it was an electrical apparatus with cable and clips. Greg well remembered the pain of the electric shock he had been subjected to outside. He knew this time it would be far worse. The commander began by clipping the clamps to his balls. He sent several electrical impulses through the major’s testicles as a trial run. Greg writhed in pain. His interrogator then attached two more clipped cables to the head and base of his penis, and again let the electricity surge with several more impulses. Greg was crying out in pain for him to stop. The commander did not listen; he was having too much fun with this studly American pilot!!

The final assault on Greg’s hairy body came with a probe of his unwillingly erect penis. A thin metal wire was inserted into the engorged head and it hurt like hell as it was put in. The commander smiled and warned Greg that this was going to hurt like he had never been hurt before, and then proceeded to shock him three times as he gleefully watched Greg do everything he could to get away from the searing pain without success. This last bit of pain was worse, Greg thought, than having his balls stretched and hit or kicked and manhandled roughly. “Now, Major, maybe you will talk to me or I will increase the electricity each time you do not reply with the correct answer!”

NOTE: This is part of an illustrated fantasy, one of many, available at Chained Muscle, a site that can get a bit edgy and non-politically correct at times, so don’t go there if you are easily offended. This is Part Three of a multi-part series called “Japanese POW.” It is posted here in the Metalbond Prison Library with permission.

To see more, go to Chained Muscle

Does anybody know what happened to the Chained Muscle site? The proprietor there, GaryRo, used to send me illustrated bondage artwork and stories to share. But I have not heard from him in ages, and he does not answer my emails. The site has been down for a couple of months now.

If anyone has any information, please reach out!

If you like illustrated stories, artwork and comics under the theme of “hero in distress,” you will want to check out the Aquadude Bunker site, which features lots of artwork created by artists like Amalaric, who formerly ran the Chained Muscle site. The new site is fantastic for those who like to see muscle guys getting tied up and tortured!

Click for Aquadude Bunker

Metal would like to thank to Jeb Nicholls for passing along a link to this site!