The Three Hundred and Fifteenth of One Thousand and One Nights – by Amalaric

[Click image to enlarge.]

Corporal Jim Tanner had fucked up once too often. A man’s man, he liked nothing more than carousing off base, maybe scoring some pussy, and usually landing himself in a bare-knuckle brawl. Sprawled in the brig with heavy shackles weighting ankles and wrists, he waited, barefoot, stripped to the waist, and with his worn khakis opened at the fly, for the commencement of his sentence; fifty lashes strung up buck naked on the parade ground followed by a month under lock up. Though he tried not to show it, the handsome young corporal was scared shitless.

The door to his cell swung wide and the MP barked, ‘On your feet, soldier, and strip down- NOW!’ The military cop grinned wickedly, ‘You got yourself an appointment with a hungry coil of braided leather and there’s already a big crowd anxious for the show to commence.’ Jim Tanner slowly stood on suddenly rubbery legs and, swallowing hard, removed the rest of his clothing before being escorted into the glaring sunlight of the parade ground.

____________________

5 thoughts on “The Three Hundred and Fifteenth of One Thousand and One Nights – by Amalaric

  1. Sir Amalaric, Sir!
    How do You continue to do this incredible stuff?! The manips are in themselves mind-blowing: the look on his face, his eyes; the furry, muscular torso; the bicep veins. A total stud and with wrist and ankle chains to boot. But you can also write 2 or 3 paragraphs and precisely capture a perfect S&M scene.
    A lot of sites have on-going view counters, totaling up the number of visitors. There should be a JO meter recording the hundreds of thousands of toe-curling JOs Your art has given our community. You are one of the best!
    Cheers.
    steve mchalperin aka boybill.

  2. Boyishly gorgeous, stunning blue eyes ,he has a sexy vulnerability ….what wouldn’t I give to make him stand and watch as his fatigues drop to the ground revealing tight, white brief underpants and powerful hairy thighs. To curl my fingers into the waistband of those skimpy briefs and , to his intense discomfiture , slowly pull them down to reveal his luxuriant, sexy bush and then his impressive genitals . To trail my fingers down that hairy chest, linger in the thick pubic bush and finally cup his large, heavy testicles in the palm of my hand , . The sense of power I have over this handsome, muscular hunk as I heft his big balls then lift his thick penis …..ahhh I could go on !!!!

  3. Does it make anybody else faintly aneurysmal that those aren’t pants per se that he’s wearing, but something perhaps along the lines of a jumpsuit? That concentrates control over his tenuous modesty completely in one extremely, deliciously vulnerable zipper from neck to just below balls.
    I remember in the original “Dune” film, men in a certain society were fitted with slim cardiac wires which could be pulled instantly, ending their lives, if they showed any hint of disobedience. While that would be too harsh, wouldn’t it be fantastic if certain men could be fitted with a full set of clothing that, despite its deceptive completeness, could be full-body stripped with just a tug on one small string strategically attached to, say, the seat of the pants? Not that the men so outfitted — perhaps low-level graffiti- or shoplifting-type criminals — would necessarily be stripped constantly as they went about their day, but it would be a constant source of anxiety every time a probation officer approached them in their community or at work to confirm they were not violating terms of their probation. Imagine the horror to the strong buck, though, if he misspoke when asked what time he had returned home the previous day, surpassing curfew by one hour, only to begin stuttering and stammering out a defense that he actually mean to say 9 p.m. not 10 p.m. And the fulsome regret of the probation officer as he “regretfully” pointed out that “rules are rules. Turn and present the seat of your pants for protocol 353, full-body, instant public strip and two-hour, hands-restrained display. This will hurt you more — way way way more — than it hurts me.”

Leave a Reply.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s