The cops reckon it’s good policy to take a young prisoner, randomly selected, out in the yard on a regular basis- doesn’t make any difference if he deserves it or not- strip him down and fit him to the frame. The other inmates get an eyeful and, as the proceedings commence, an earful; doesn’t matter how tough the young stud thinks he is- being naked in the frame and then tasting the lash always ends up with the same response, some sooner, some later…
At any rate, the cops also enjoy the fine sight of yet another buck made into a good example.
The old farmer ran a brutal operation, but times were hard. Down South in the mid-50’s saw no shortage of strapping bucks drifting from shimmering field to field in the summer heat.
He fucked up making out one night with the old man’s daughter. Girls kiss and tell and, well, next morning found him nearly pissing himself trying to explain things. No use, the boss wasn’t in a reasoning mood. The blubbering girl sat to the side but watched, nevertheless, as the young stud was ordered to strip to the waist and loosen his work pants. Daddy noticed and backhanded the dim witted thing, banishing her to the porch.
‘You wait here, boy! Gotta fetch me some rope, a strap and maybe a couple other things… Billy!’ he yelled to one of the loiterers out in the drive. ‘Go fetch the other hands and bring ’em over here. Gonna make an example of this one’
Head down, heart hammering, he waited as long minutes ticked by slow as tar pooling at the base of a telephone pole.
‘Hey, man…I, uh, feel really weird. Yeah, sort of fuzzy around the edges, if you get what I mean? You…put something in my beer?! I…I don’t,’ he tries to rise from the table in order to leave, but leans drowsily forward instead, ‘don’t…understand…why?
That priceless moment of realization- the beer, generously offered by a complete stranger, was drugged…
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.
He cost a fortune but Ahmad didn’t care. Standing tall in the cool breeze of a coastal village, freshly taken from some nameless European ship transporting troops from one endless infidel battle to another…it didn’t matter, the captive’s life (in that respect) was over. Ahmad wondered if the handsome blond soldier realized that yet- head still unbowed, dressed in his slightly tattered uniform on the busy quay of the tiny North African port. The trader, suddenly in a pensive mood, wondered if the young man had a name, perhaps some brothers not unlike himself in the fabled lands of leafy trees and green grass across the water. Shaking his head, he pushed all distractions from a besotted mind. Those things mattered little, but of one thing he was certain- the handsome infidel had to be purchased…at any price.
Haggling was fierce and Ahmad’s purse was notably lighter as he led his bemused merchandise from the quay. Of course, he had insisted on a cursory examination of the ‘goods’ and the young man’s linen shirt gaped open to his navel revealing a sculpted torso of rippling, smooth muscle- chest dusted with fine gold hair that caught the desert light, matched by parallel glints on forearms and the narrow blond river running into the waistband of his baggy trousers. Deep gray eyes burned with anger and, perhaps, shame as he was groped and tested and that made Ahmad smile. The buck clearly had no idea of what else might be in store.
The tiny caravan headed inland veering east through tall shifting dunes of burnished sand. Ahmad sat, like a king, astride his camel; eyes riveted on the broad back and scantily clad narrow muscled ass of the plodding young slave tethered, like a dog to its leash, by a long rope anchored to the pommel of his saddle. His intention was to deal the strapping prize in the bustling slave market at Algiers but, as the days rolled by, the trader’s resolve slowly weakened. Trying to resist the crazy impulse bubbling irresistibly from the hot depths of riveted vision, he reminded himself that he had to make a living and this one would fetch a fine profit…yet, Ahmad was somehow loath to contemplate that possibility.
The turning point came late one afternoon as the caravan staggered to a halt near a scrubby stand of desert grass and tiny spring of water. The slave was allowed to drink his fill and Ahmad watched, sitting languidly in the shadow of his resting camel, as the handsome soldier moved, marveling at his muscular grace and tones of gold on gold as sun-bleached hair and tanned skin gave him the aspect of a god in the mellow light of the waning sun. ‘Come over here, boy.’ The slave reluctantly obeyed, biting back simmering anger, struggling with the strange cadence of a new language, and shuffled forward to stand before his master. Of course, he was shirtless and had been for some days- all the better to bronze his northern skin and enhance the sting of the discipline whip liberally wielded against broad shoulders. ‘Strip off your trousers.’ Ahmad’s heart pounded with a timeless kind of ecstasy as the tall soldier reluctantly complied and stood naked in all of his muscular glory; hard proportion of broad, deep chest, smooth back, narrow hips, high jutting ass and thick, hairy manhood swinging between slightly spread legs, all on view for the trader’s hot pleasure. The buck was ordered to pose- ‘Turn around, nice and slow…arms up, hands behind your head, that’s right! Spread your legs, lad, so I can see what rides between them a little better…ahhhhh!’ It was then that Ahmad surrendered. Oh, he would continue along the road to Algiers, and somehow gather something to sell in the fabled souk…but not this one, no!
A thousand sweet scenarios swirled through his suddenly brightening mind. Fingers itching, he nevertheless caressed the chiseled jaw and deeply shamed gaze of his golden captive for a while with hungry eyes. Finally, unable to stand it any longer he gasped a guttural command that caused the wary young slave’s heart to race with a potent mixture of fear and frantic denial, ‘Come closer, boy. The time has come for your training to begin.’
You are perceptive and worth your master’s investment. Yes, bucks must be periodically masturbated- it has been written up in various scientific journals- for very specific reasons. The test of potency, of course, for practical purposes, but even after that initial ejaculation (when the master is both pleased and relieved to witness the virtuoso performance with dollar signs generated by the sale of future whelps dancing in his eyes) it is necessary to provide supervised relief on occasion. Stud slaves, as everyone knows, are always in heat and that is not a bad thing. The tension and channeled energy is well-used in hard physical labor. When time permits, under strict supervision and appropriate discipline, release is granted; measured and controlled so that it augments the virtue of submission and underscores the COMPLETE ownership of the buck’s body, in every aspect, by his master. And so, yes…
John stands, over six feet of restrained muscle, hard planes of flexed tension betraying his anxiety. He almost never wears a shirt and is used to that, standing bare chested, heaving deep breaths of expectation as the master takes his time, perusing the tall young buck with barely suppressed appreciation- what a sight!! John’s shoulders, massive and broad, are squared, glossy black pecs thrust forward, rippling abs hard with expectation. His beltless canvas trousers sag, revealing an inch or so of white loincloth and the top whorls of bristly pubic hair. ‘Hands behind your head, boy!!’ The command is promptly obeyed as massive arms are raised and long fingers clasped in the wiry black kinks of his short cropped hair. He feels helpless- commanded entirely by the will of his master, and utterly exposed- as the trousers descend another inch, clinging precariously to the high rise of his muscled ass. ‘You’re a fine-looking stud, John, and I reckon you crave some relief.’ It’s true…but not like this…not like this!!!! The buck’s face reddens with humiliation, unseen under the coppery coloring, as the master casually unbuttons the fly of his trousers and hikes them down to his ankles. The loincloth is blinding white against the black skin of his body, inviting exploration, bulging with promise at the juncture of his clenched thighs. ‘I asked you a question, boy!’ The master smirks, mocking the young slave’s shame. ‘What’s about to happen?’ John swallows hard, choking on the forced reply. ‘You’re going to strip me down, sir, and…’ The master waits, relishing his slave’s humiliation. ‘And, then you’re gonna drain my balls, sir.’ Pleased with the reply, the master playfully tweaks a pinched fingerful of pubic hair and slowly unties the loincloth, revealing the buck’s proud dick and ripe balls. ‘Damn, boy, no wonder you do so well hitched to the plow out in the fields- you’re hung like a fucking ox!!’ He grasps John’s pendulous testicles and gives them a light squeeze, moving up the shaft of his cock to the inky head of sensitive flared skin. The long stroke sends a shiver of embarrassed excitement coursing along the full length of the chattel’s long body. His cock stiffens, against his will and every instinct of pride or self-respect; just a dumb buck with a big cock and mindless balls in need of a master’s firm hand to keep things under control…and he shivers as the first tremor wracks his tensed body…
They brought him in just as the sun set in bloody splendour over the Summer Sea and now the impossibly handsome prisoner swayed weakly in his bonds, hours into the ordeal, pale cream-colored skin beaded with the sweat of fear and exertion in equal measure. Some of the attendants, scurrying here and there like vermin in the high security subterranean dungeon, wrung claw-like hands in paroxysms of anxiety; something about the scenario (admittedly, often repeated in this very special place) was simply wrong. Of course, the physical demeanour of the prisoner met all of the right specifications; tall and muscular with defined, proportioned, masculine features- full lips with chiselled jaw behind a soft yet bristly down of sandy stubble, straight nose, and slanting yet wide blue-gray eyes. His naked chest was lightly dusted with the same bronze fur, tapering from the expanse of broad shoulders and deep pecs to a narrow waist with hard flat abs above a fine thatch of musky pubes. The hard rise of his quivering ass was augmented as the deep crack jacked partially open by the spreader bars attached to his ankles; levering long hairy legs painfully wide up to and including furry butt cheeks where the prisoner’s puckered hole still fearfully hid within nothing but a shadow. The rear view also included a teasing clue as to what might be found around the corner; the panting stud’s slack testicles hung low between his spread thighs, already visible, dog-like, behind a tuft of silky hair. And, of course, the frontal effect produced by the spreader bars was nothing less than dazzling. He had, in large measure, been chosen for his cock and balls and these were displayed to maximum advantage.
Meaty thighs levered wide by the merciless stretcher bar, nevertheless, reflexively strained against the tension impelled by raw instinct to slam shut in order to protect the thick shaft of the prisoner’s cock and his vulnerable low hanging balls. The desired effect was all that could be hoped for as the bulging muscles of the buck’s hairy athletic legs were permanently flexed, adding a minor chord to his already considerable agony. But the real show dangled free and unencumbered between those mighty legs. His testicles were large and well-defined nesting just slightly asymmetrically in their clammy, almost hairless sack. Fully exposed, they swayed gently in the breezeless space between his spread legs animated by the twists and jerks of his tormented body. Everyone knew that they were destined for special attention, but there was time…everything in good time. Like his testicles, the prisoner’s penis was not a disappointment. The graceful arc of the thick shaft emerged from a wide root nestled in the thick bracken of bronze pubes to a well-shaped head, slightly darker in colour, with velvety flared rims and a single winking eye. A large vein traversed the six inch length of flaccid cock revealing the prisoner’s anxiety as it visibly pulsed a frantic SOS.
After escaping from a high-security mental hospital for the criminally insane, Michael Myers went on a murderous spree in the placid hometown where he had been apprehended after a hideous crime and dragged away decades before. Finally stopped once again, it seemed that the blood-soaked saga was once again ended…but his body had never been found.
Becoming a denizen of disused sewers and abandoned industrial estates, Michael bided his time, surviving on a protein-rich diet of wild vermin and other sorts of flotsam, surreptitiously working up already pumped muscles…until, finally, he was ready to strike again!