the captain and the corporal – Amalaric

I just ran across Ragnar1963’s story called ‘The Captain and the Corporal’ on the bunker and thought I would send in the manip and caption that started it all…

cheers-

Amalaric

 

THE CAPTAIN AND THE CORPORAL

Caught behind enemy lines, the men were separated and each left for a while in isolation with his thoughts and raging fear at the prospect of questioning. There are, however, worse things than being interrogated alone.

Corporal Rick McGann was forced to strip down in his cell and led blindfolded through metallic corridors to another room where his Captain waited, shackled to the wall. The blindfold was removed and McGann was given a few seconds to contemplate the helpless form of his commanding officer before being ordered to strip the other man… The interrogators enjoyed the site with dicks hardening at the prospect of what one or the other of the two men would be made to do in the course of the long evening spent together.

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NOTE: TO revisit Ragnar1963’s story, GO TO/Bunker Content/Literature/Ragnar1963 (He also references Amalaric’s original image there.)   -Aquadude

Or, click Ragnar1963 below.

The Captain and the Corporal (Complete) – by Ragnar

Ragnar,

On behalf of the Site, I want to express appreciation for sharing with us this superb, quintessential hero-in-distress story.

Thank you, Ragnar!

Aquadude

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THE CAPTAIN AND THE CORPORAL

by Ragnar1963

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This was inspired by a photomanip done by Amalaric, entitled The Captain and the Corporal. He used, for his Captain, the face of a man who had long been a fantasy figure of mine. (I won’t mention him here, in case he self-Googles, but I borrowed his last name for my character’s first name.) I took Amalaric’s premise further, with his permission.

Our heroes:

Cpl Rick McGann, 19

Capt Stann Hardman, 33

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CHAPTER 1

Cpl McGann was stunned at the sight of his handsome commanding officer, Capt Hardman, handcuffed with iron manacles to an iron ring embedded high in one wall of the interrogation room, the muscles of his torso clearly outlined through the thin, sweat-soaked tank top he wore. The naked young jarhead was paralyzed both by the sexiness of the muscled Marine in bondage and by fear of what would happen to them both.

 

“Strip him!” McGann was jolted from his frozen state of shock by the sharp voice of an officer. He looked incredulously at the man barking the order: dark-haired; sharp, cruel features; well-muscled himself under his uniform. The officer smirked at the young Marine’s hesitance and fear. Tossing him an old knife with a rusty blade, the officer repeated his cruel order–and added ominously, “Don’t try anything stupid.”

McGann held the knife and looked at his commander, breathing in the manly musk of his exposed pits. Capt Stann Hardman at 33 was already a scarred and toughened veteran of many special-ops missions, and had chosen McGann especially for this dangerous mission as the Academy’s most promising young recruit. But the 19-year-old rookie and former football QB never expected to be captured by the enemy and ordered to rip Hardman’s clothes from his muscled body. The square-jawed, steely-gazed Hardman looked back at the naked young man and whispered through clenched teeth, “Do what they say. It’ll go easier.”

So McGann had no choice but to slice through the cloth of Hardman’s T at the neckline, grasp it on both hands, and tear it down and away from from Hardman’s body, suddenly exposing the sweating muscles of his bare chest, his dogtags dangling between his pecs. He yanked the shreds off Hardman’s shoulders, leaving him stripped to the waist, ripped torso exposed and vulnerable.

With Drake to Cadiz

With Drake to Cadiz    

Parts 1-7, 12-13 by Jeffrey Brennan (Topsail),

Parts 8-11, by Ragnar

Part One

Gulls squawked and circled the quay where HMS Prince Edward was moored, hoping for scattered morsels as the crew labored to load stores. The ship was preparing to sail on a mission that was kept from all but the most senior officers, but the men were clever enough to figure out that Spain, in some way or another, was to feel the might of Britannia. Midshipman Keith Summers was supervising the working party, as he strutted along the deck, pretending to be the Captain who existed in his long range ambitions. He looked enviously at the seamen who were handling the stores, stripped to the waist in the summer sun.

“Bear a hand, there, sailors,” he chided, as the crew labored. “A long voyage „tis, perhaps; we need all the provisions we can stow.” Most of the crew were a bit on the burly side. Keith wished it were permissible for a junior officer to dispense with his blouse. The finest male torso in all of Devonshire was under his uniform, he mused, and shiny with perspiration it was, longing for the cooling caress of the sea breeze.