AI Art by DirtyMocchaBB -1

DirtyMocchaBB - I Think We Look Real Good

 

A nice group of real, hunky cowboys.
They find new arrivals irresistible.
(Provided they look just like them). 

Such is life! 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - I Have Been Waiting For This Moment (1)

This construction site opportunist is more open.
About both his preferences and intentions! 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - I Have Been Waiting For This Moment (2)

The unlikeliness of seducing this handsome prey, in broad daylight, on a building site makes you imagine there must be some disreputable leverage at work. But we all have our kinks, preferences

  - and skeletons in our closet.

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - Please Queue Up While I Clean Your Body

Perhaps this sexy, building sight ritual has something to do with it.

The men look as if they put up with it just to please the boss. 

He wants his hunky workers to look clean and smart.

But, it's also a good excuse to get close up and personal. 

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - You Asked For It

 The boss of this office seems to have similar odd ideas about keeping his staff clean. It's bad enough when the office cleaners come in and sweep up while you're working. When they come in to vacuum you personally, it's far more distracting. 

And more than a little disturbing

 

You can see this operative is single-minded, not about to let project deadlines deflect him from his allotted task. This employee must submit to being cleaned! I suspect the underwear exposure (and vacuuming that will follow, down under) is a gratuitous punishment for resisting. 

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - This is the beginning

All controversial office procedures have the same ambiguity baked in: just whose benefit is this for, exactly? 

 

The artist's caption is even more doom-laden than mine. It looks as if there's not going to be much privacy allowed either. I wouldn't want to be in Peterson's shoes, but I wouldn't mind making a tactile check inside his shirt!

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - I Feel Fit And Good

This worker looks shell-shocked. Not wanting to be found lacking in the breast scan, he took a triple dose of muscle enhancement powder last night. Now he wonders if it was a trifle hasty. 

Like AG-Rens Transformers, he's busting out all over.  

 

Not only that, his shorts, worn at the boss's insistence, are now so tight that they are extremely uncomfortable to sit in. But if he stands up, they are going to become an irresistible homing beacon for his wandering hands.  

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - Worship My Feet

I can't say if this is an employee perk or the exploitation of a PA. You never can tell. The AI construction of the boss's figure is a bit off, but I couldn't resist that splendidly, face-smothering foot and the open crotch beyond. Tight, grey suits are almost obscenely erotic.

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - You Seem A Little Lost, Can I Help You?

 

It's easy to get confused when you join a new organisation, but Dale was completely flummoxed when the boss relieved him of his shirt at their first meeting and strapped a collar round his neck. It wasn't how he thought Office hierarchies worked.

 

It was so unexpected after he'd been give a welcoming drink of fresh coffee. Everyone else gave him the lousy stuff out of the machine, but the boss prepared one from scratch, just for him. Afterwards, he felt unable to resist his instructions for some reason. 

 

Despite his compliant mood, however, he just couldn't bring himself to take off his trousers. He got as far as undoing the top button, then froze. Something from his upbringing wouldn't let him do it.

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - Oh No, My Briefs Are Showing!

"Never mind" purred the boss, "I obviously miscalculated your dose. But I'm happy to do it for you, as you are such a promising prospect". He knelt and slowly undid Dale's zip.

 

 "Nice red briefs" he commented, "but I'm afraid only white underpants are permitted in this office. I'll have to confiscate them, but you can come back for them, when you finish work. I'll even put them back on for you". 

 

"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir", Dale replied obediently, not realising he'd be using that phrase a lot during the end of day review, which he hadn't been told about yet.

 

 Some of this artist's captions are priceless, others simply baffling!

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - Come On, Give In

 This was one such daily review, I'm told, though reportedly not much work was discussed. There's a marvellous controlling strength in the boss man here. I dread to think what the title means, the poor wretch in the wheelbarrow position seems to have 'given in' quite a lot already. The sacrifices one makes for career advancement! 

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - I Need A Ride

It was not unknown for the long-suffering (male) citizens to be relieved of their clothing on their way home. Everyone else on the train looked the other way, of course, calculating that the poor sap would need to borrow money or cadge a lift from someone, and it certainly wasn't going to be them driving a naked man home. That's the effect commuting has on gayest and kindest of men.

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - You Are Arousing Me

 

Seemingly good Samaritans sometimes offered a hand,

but often turned out to want payment in kind. 

Or payment in pants, you might say.

 

 

DirtyMocchaBB - My Neighbour Says He Loves My Tan Lines

Even in their own homes, men were not safe. The creeping criminalisation of secret, voyeuristic, picture-taking drove those addicted to the sport out into the open. There was no law that forbade brazenly man-watching someone on his own property (paparazzi-style). Just as long as they didn't touch and didn't publish anything, the police regarded any complaint as just a 'domestic'. 

 

DirtyMocchaBB -Two Cowboys, Hot and Hunky

 

I'm closing this selection with another cowboy picture that is sensuous, romantic and very erotic. The styling may be pure AI, but it's created colours and texturing that make the picture memorable in its own right. One for the living room wall.

More DirtyMocchaBB in Part 2 

DirtyMocchaBB posts at Deviant Art 

 

Mitchell's Roofers

Based on the AI-images of 'dures annees'

 

Part of my series of collected images which visualise a world where men have to wear short shorts whatever their age or job. 

 

The Roofing Profession comes under the spotlight here. 

 They suffer the inevitable consequences.

Some, but not all, of these images have been published at 'X' 

 

Roofers - 1

Being in the public eye was uncomfortable for some.

 

Roofers - 2

 

Others made the best of it.

 

Roofers - 3

Not everyone was free to make their own choices.

 

 

Roofers - 4

 

Roofers - 5

Roofers - 6

C'est la vie!

Mitchell - Soldiers, shorts and sexiness

Mitchell - Builder Press-Ganged

A construction site workman is arrested by a Military Policeman after a struggle that has resulted in most of his clothes being ripped off. Interestingly, the cop is tying his hands with rope rather than clapping handcuffs on him. The workman does not seem to find his predicament very worrying, on the contrary, he's positively excited by it*. Perhaps he does not realise that he has been selected for conscription into the expanding British Army and a taste of military discipline is coming his way. The MP's choice was not entirely random, of course, he could not resist the hunky man doing manual work in tight white vest and jeans. Predictably, the Policeman's own shorts are somewhat briefer and tighter than normal military issue, but who wants normal?

 *Unlike some parts of the world, British people find Military personnel a lot less threatening than civilian police. 

~ 

 This picture has many connections which date it (rather damningly from my point of view!). The central figure with the ripped vest was inspired by a 'Zipper #31' beefcake model called 'Giano', I think. He posed on a board looking very wet, but I can't find him in my back files for the moment (and thanks to Google's latest 'improvements' to its search engine, it's now disappeared off the face of the earth, until such time as a copy pops up for sale on e-bay). Any offers of help to find him?

Mike Arlen - Military Arrest

The Military Policeman (and to some extent the whole image) was inspired by Mike Arlen's photo-series about an MP arresting a suspected Arab insurgent and being seduced by him (above). 

Arlen's work in this genre and the military shorts, link back in turn to the Royale Studio military imagery of the 50s/60s.

~ 

For more pictures by Mitchell at this blog, click on the 'mitchpix' label below 

Dr Smith 2 - Mike the Construction Worker

Dr Smith has some strange obsessions with manipulating his patients (see Part 1) 
His encounter with Mike the Construction Worker is one of the most sinister - and memorable.

1

Mike is taken to Dr Smith's clinic by his site Foreman, after falling from a girder into a sandpit.

He tells the Doctor that he's hurt his abdomen and his knee is a painful as f**k. 

 

2

 

Dr Smith immediately gives him a powerful painkiller. 

So powerful, in fact, that Mike quickly becomes sleepy and groggy.

 

 

3

 Smith tells him to take off his clothes, but he's unable to get any further than his helmet. 

"I'll help you", Smith says, and picks up a pair of scissors.

 

 

4

 

Cut open from top to bottom, Mike's T-shirt falls from his shoulders.

Smith hastily clears it away, holding on to Mike, so his sedated state doesn't make him fall.

 

 

5

Smith is seduced by Mike's enticing torso and sweaty workman's odours.

He sniffs his shoulders and runs his hands over his contours in a sensuous examination.

Mike is 90% out of it and doesn't realise it's not quite professional.

 

 

6

 

Eager for more, Smith tells Mike to take off his jeans, 

ostensibly so he can examine his injured knee. 

Mike tries to comply, but he doesn't get far before he swoons again.

 

 

7

 

Smith gently lays him flat on the examination table and jiggles his jeans down.

Then he roughly jerks off them off his legs and casts them aside.

 

 

8

Mike's underpants are very workmanlike - well-used and dirty, but Smith is undeterred.

Eagerly, he sides his hand up between Mike's thighs - as high as he can dare.

 

 

9

But when he tries to slide his palm inside the waistband,

Mike comes to and, smelling a rat, insists the Doctor attends to his knee. 

 

10

Aware that Mike's Foreman is waiting for him outside, the Doctor complies.

He promises to call in at Mike's house in a day or two to see how he is recovering.

It's a special favour for him.

 

 

11

Mike goes home to rest his body, relax and get better.

It's hot, sweaty weather, so he strips down to keep cool. 

 

12

 

 True to his word, the Doctor turns up on his doorstep a few days later.

He explains he was just passing and asks if he can come in.

 

 

13

The Doctor is touchy-feely as Mike explains that he still has some pain.

Smith encourages him to take his shorts off so he can examine his knee (que?)

 

 

14

Mike kicks off his shorts and obediently sits on the settee. 

But once his back is turned, the Doctor attacks him with a chloroform pad.

(Note interesting foreground juxtaposition)

 

 

15

Mike resists strongly and succeeds in making a grab for his phone at one point.

But the Doctor comes back at him and eventually has the handsome hunk 'out for the count'.

Now, at last, he's completely at his mercy.

 

Continued in Part 2

 ~

See the plot storybook and video link for Mike sees Dr Smith at Film 911

Read Part 1 of this series about Dr Smith

Mercenary Nick - Part 2

Start reading at Part 1

 

Day 4

8

After a night of humiliation at the hands of the Guards, I had to face my torturers the next day clad only in underpants. Even they were not my own clothes, for my guards had either destroyed, or taken for souvenirs, every item of clothing that I had on. As a sop to my modesty, they gave me a pair of underpants taken from another prisoner. He had no further need of them, they said and out of spite, they told me his name. It was one of my comrades who had disappeared some 3 months earlier, while on the same mission as myself. I was trained not to react to barbs like this or dwell on the truth of them, but the symbolism of losing the last of my possessions did hit me hard. 

I felt like I had been condemned to extinction.

Having been suspended by my wrists during those long, cruel hours of darkness, it was a perverse pleasure to be taken down and spread-eagled on an X-cross instead. I was still tied up and defenceless, but able to stand on my feet again. It was obvious that this restraint would enable the interrogator to attack all parts of my body, if I continued to deny him the information that he wanted. However, he surprised me by producing, not some ferocious flesh destroyer, but an incongruous, small batten of wood. It looked like it was fresh from a DIY shop, an unwelcome reminder of the normal world that was carrying on outside the walls of my prison, oblivious of my plight. 

The Interrogator complimented me on my physique, running his hands over my abs and acknowledging that I had been well-trained. Then he proceeded to apply his stick to my torso, landing vicious blows on it from all angles. That batten might have been small, but by heavens it stung! As time went by, the cumulative effect of hundreds of blows from it, switching between the flat sides and the sharper edges, generated a fiery furnace of pain all over my body. He beat me with it patiently, conserving his energy, so my agony might last as long as possible.

 

 

9

After a while he stopped, looked at my bruised body and sighed, as if in regret. Then he went to his bench and returned with a second batten. He used them simultaneously to beat both sides of my body. The effect of the wood smacking my abs had dulled by them, but when he switched to my ribs, the pain was excruciating. I'm ashamed to say that I gasped, quite loudly. My torturer smiled, then hit me again. I managed better control of my responses the second time, but it was difficult. My struggle to remain silent was obvious. That made him smile again, for it was a sign, a small one, that I was losing, and he was winning. We both knew that, and I trembled inside. 

Before he left to take his lunch, he signed off with the battens by rasping their rough cut edges across my body like a saw. My bruised skin was repeatedly pricked and punctured by splinters, with many of them breaking off and sticking in me. He was playing a childish game, but left me with widespread soreness that returned every time I stretched to relieve the stress of the prolonged restraint.

After he had gone, to my surprise, the Guards took me down and gave me a small but nourishing meal. I ate it appreciatively, imagining that someone, at least, wanted to keep me alive. But for what? As soon as I had finished, they tied me up again.

 

10

When the torturer returned, the games continued. It was clear he was beginning to enjoy the task of wearing me down, waiting for me to crack. He was relying on time and repeated attacks to persuade me, rather than extreme wounding. This time he took up a wooden paddle with which to torment me. 

I'd experienced the paddle before. It looks slightly comical, but its flat surface produces a wider spread of pain. The holes in it ensure that air making way for its delivery do not impair the impact. It is most effective on large muscle groups and so is widely used for buttock spanking. Naturally, my Trainers hadn't spared me that experience and humiliation, although they claimed to think it beneath them. I wasn't convinced about that after experiencing their efforts, but my torturer seemed to share their view, he made no move to turn me round to feel its sting on my behind. Instead, he applied it to my pecs and thighs, two areas which had largely escaped his attention in the morning.  

Vast new areas of fiery pain erupted to torment me.

 

11

 It was a long, long day and it left me raw, bruised and physically exhausted. My borrowed underpants were sopping wet from profuse perspiration, but thankfully, the relatively low level of brutality had spared me the humiliation of losing all control of my organs. I was glad it was over, but, tomorrow would be another day of torment and before that, I faced another night at the mercy of the Guards.

 

 Day 5

 

 

12

 

My Guards must have lost interest in me that night, for I slept right through. There had been visitors, I could tell, for when I awoke, my underwear was round my ankles and there were deposits on my skin. But I hadn't been treated badly enough to wake me up. Perhaps some other unfortunate soul had claimed the attention of the brutalisers. 

 

As usual, the Guards took me straight from my cell to the interrogation room after I had eaten. This time, however, instead of tying me to the cross or a post, they simply shackled my ankles, tethered my wrists to a dangling chain and left me standing in the middle of the room. I stood like that for about an hour, puzzling over this turn of events. Had something happened? Was my torture ended?

 

These foolish thoughts were immediately extinguished when my tormentor returned to resume his painstaking exploration of my inner reserves. To my horror, he was brandishing a bull-whip which made the reason for the changed restraints perfectly clear - he was going to work all over my body and wanted no obstacles to impair his lashes. The ploy of keeping me waiting had softened me up nicely, for I immediately began to tremble with fear. He gleefully used the stock of the whip to lift my chin and make his usual request, was I going to talk?

 

13

 

It took all my courage to refuse once again. 

Seconds later, the whip fell across my body and all the previous bruises re-erupted.

It was just the start of a slow-paced barrage of lashes that spared no part of my body. 

14

 

Before long, I was on my knees blubbering. 

But I had the strength to refuse to give in and tell them what I knew.

 

15

 

My reward was a barrage of kicking and whiplashes which sent me sprawling. 

I lost consciousness.

 

16

 

I can recall very little of what happened after that. I woke up in a primitive, wooden shack with 3 other prisoners. They nursed me back to some semblance of health, until my captors decided I was fit to work in the quarry, which was just outside our hut. This is the place I now call home.

As soon as I was able, I searched for my missing comrade, the man whose underpants I still wore, but I did not find him, only more strangers, most of whom did not speak my language. As I became better acquainted with my new companions, I was able to join in their secret, nightly intimacies, which were unexpectedly tender and comforting. Necessarily so, because of the patrolling guards who might otherwise hear us. 

In reality, though, my only real bond with them is our experience of the Orange Room, of which none of us ever speak. Whether I broke and talked or kept my silence until they gave up trying, I cannot say. It doesn't matter, because I know for sure that my mission ended in failure. It gives me no comfort to have escaped death when my other comrades may well have perished, for I have still paid a terrible price for my failure.

 

17

It's hard work, breaking the stones and carrying them to the collection point where the lorries come to pick them up. I soon discovered that slackers quickly feel the whip, and that invoked such terrible memories for me that I take care not to provoke the overseers if I can help it.

I think about escaping sometimes, but the fire in my belly has gone out. The fear of more, remorseless punishment has finally quenched my spirit. My comrades seem to feel the same, although none of us talk of our past lives or what we endured to get to here. I am one of the lucky ones, supposedly. 

So I wield my sledgehammer and count the hours 'til the next meal, which is usually quite nourishing and designed to keep us alive and working. The alternative would be starvation rations until we die. 

I'm not sure which is the worse fate of the two. 

 ~

Imagery for this story is from 'Mercenary Nick' at Real Chained Heroes.

The star is 'Robert' flaunting his fabulous physique. 

Go to Part 1

 

Beautifully Bound - Guy

A man with arms and wrists firmly bound sits on a stool.

His head is bowed as if in despair as he awaits his fate.

A day ago he was a free man, working on a building construction site.

The captive turns as someone approaches, 

his face is a mixture of anger and helpless anguish.

He strains at the rope that binds him.

His pecs bulge out through the strands constricting his chest.

Such spirit is greatly appreciated.

He probably does not appreciate his captor's flair for bondage

It is both artistic and satisfying - and materially enhances

 the monetary value of his unique selling points.

His whining complaints are silenced with  a stuffed rag.

While the bidders assess his finely muscled body.

There's no need to remove his jeans for the auction.

Someone will pay handsomely to have this man as he is.

Those pecs are irresistible.

A small chastisement is called for.

A demonstration for the bidders.

The results are gratifying.

Stoic endurance of pain is an admirable quality

But expressive responders usually fetch better prices.

The personal touch cannot be bettered in such matters.

And for this man there is more to come..... much more.

~

Pictures of Guy by the legendary Captured Guys site

(pay site, some free samples, about £13 pm)

There's also lots of samples at Captured Guys on Deviant

see also Captured Guy

For more beautifully bound men at mitchmen blog click on the label below