New Balls Please!

 Baseline Volley by SoreButtGuys at Deviant Art
captioned by mitchmen 

All these images from his "Tennis Brats" series

Tennis Brat Treatment

 

Enjoying Their Job

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

 

The Lost Patrol

 

01

 A group of dejected, captured soldiers are being led through the jungle.
Their hands are tied behind their backs. Their shirts and boots have been taken from them.

 

 

02

As they march, their captor beats them on the shoulders with a riding crop.  

 

 

03

Deeper and deeper into the forest they trek, urged on by their masked escort's blows.

 

04

Their army comrades and the life they knew are left further and further behind.

 

 

05

Eventually, the cruel guard stops for a rest.

The exhausted men sink down onto the ground.
 

 

06

But there's no respite from punishment for the captives. 

The soldier who asked for the rest receives special attention for his insolence,

 and for lagging behind at the end of the file, as they marched.

 

 

07

His burly comrade protests and is given the same treatment.

The other two lie on the ground, hands tied, looking on helplessly.

 

 

 

08

The guard takes them through the gate, into a farm building which seems to be abandoned.

Inside, he strings them up and begins to brutally interrogate them. 

 

 

09

After many hours questioning and punishment, they are let down.

Hog-tied on the floor, sleep finally brings a merciful respite to the exhausted men. 

 

 

10

But all too soon it's daybreak again.

The sound of suffering wakes them from bad dreams. 

 

 

11

The captives are taken outside and forced to kneel submissively.

They are not alone, other captives can be heard grunting and protesting.

 

12

'The Complainer' is taken away, tied to a yoke, that exposes his back.

His captors lead him past an elegant, swimming pool.

This isn't an old, abandoned farm, but a rich man's villa. 

13

His comrades hear the sound of the whip, but cannot intervene to help him. 

Their feet are tied together so they cannot rise off their knees.

After an hour of kneeling in bondage, their own bodies begin to suffer.

 

 

 

14

Complaining to their captors only hastens their first acquaintance with the flogger.

They are still unaware that they have become a rich man's playthings.

 

 

15

In the days that follow, punishment becomes a familiar routine.

Their captors now seem more interested in tormenting, rather than questioning them.

That and inventing new ways to tie them up. 

 

16

The restraints change, but the pain remains the same.

 

 

17

 

The men get brief periods of rest when others are selected for maltreatment.

But there's a steady stream of fresh tormentors arriving every day.

They never seem to tire of their sport.

 

 

 

18

Seeing other members of their unit, who have also been brought to this terrible place,

makes the men increasingly despair of ever being rescued.  

 

19

Those who manage to escape are brought back in chains.

Only hastily grabbed sleep allows them any relief from the ordeal

 

 

20

 

But all too soon, there's someone else who wants them.

 

 

21

In the midst of endless, frenzied activity.

The men learn the true meaning of loneliness.

 

 ~

 

These splendid images of military bondage have been sent to me by a group of Mexican bodybuilders who are exploring the making of videos with themes of captivity and punishment, rather like the storyettes of Royale Studio in the 50s. They say "we all are straight men but willing to offer attractive scenes to a gay audience". I should add that the grim story line I have used for this montage is mine not theirs. 

 

You can view a trailer at Mission in Jeopardy

More about the group's founder on Instagram @velamusclebuilding

Under The Lash

The Wooden Horse

 

An illustration from 'Under The Lash', a book about corporal punishment in the UK armed forces in years gone by. This punishment device was called 'The Wooden Horse', but effectively was a narrow or pointed board on which the offender was compelled to sit for long periods. It was not only painful, but ultimately could be medically damaging, so don't try it at home chaps. The idea has now become part of the vocabulary of S&M and is documented extensively here at mitchmen through the series called 'Riding The Wedge'. Contributions include various artists interpretations of the ordeal and some real life attempts to recreate it (sanely). Click on the link or the label at the foot of the post to see them all.

The author of  'Under the Lash' was Basil Clavering, the creator behind the famed Royale and Hussar Studios in the 1950s and 60s. He was assisted (improbably) by another luminary of that era, John Barrington, who helped to edit the book for publication. The book describes a range of military punishments in excruciating detail, and there are a number of illustrations like that above. Clavering actually recreated some of these arcane practices in his storyettes which are still treasured for their spanking and CP content. There's an illustrated review of the book and its Royale legacy at the Royale blog.

 

See Under the Lash reviewed at the mitchmen Royale Studio blog

Art by Gyaku Xryona - 2

More sexy fetish fighting in Part 1 of this series 

Gyaku Xryona - Hercules Breaking Wolverine's Abs

 

The rack is one of the most controlling of wrestling holds, rendering the recipient helpless in a back-compressing and ab stretching position (perhaps not as severely as the title suggests though). Hercules maximises the pain by pulling the victim's head back. It is supposed to be Wolverine but a muscular guy in tight T-shirt and jeans doesn't need fantasy connections to look great when he's treated like this.  This aerial view brings out the helplessness of his position, but Wolverine's thick jeans spare him the embarrassment of parading his tackle before the audience.

Gyaku Xryona - Superman Given a Sitting Piledriver

Superman is less lucky, his tights here are in the modern, cinematic style and lack the traditional, red over-pants worn in the old days and although he's slipped a featureless box inside to protect them and hide them, it still looks like a very suggestive toolbox. In many of this artist's pictures a face embedded in a crotch is a regular humiliation but he inverts that situation here (as well as Superman himself) to create the impression of his groin being a great prize and at risk of being misused for his opponent's pleasure. It looks like he's already high on the odours. Meanwhile Supes is distracted by the pain and humiliation of hitting the canvas, head first, as his nemesis drops him down.

Gyaku Xryona - Superman Given a Nut Cracker

Johnny Cage is one of Gyaku's wrestling 'heels' and he takes delight in demonstrating to the goody-goody Superman just how nasty he can be. Supes protective arrangements can't withstand Johnny's grip and his body and face both crumple in sympathy with his mangled tackle. 

He needs to find a way of dislodging that claw grip quickly!

The characterisation of Supes here is a nice blend of the original facial appearance

 with modern sexy muscles and kit.

Gyaku Xryona - Chris Smells Those Giants

Chris Redfield, the eternal loser in this Universe, steps up to restore the normal order by sampling Johnny's crotch. That pack of equipment on his back and resting on the canvas has the effect of forcing his face upwards as Johnny sinks down on him. I can't tell you whether 'Giants' are any more noxious than run of the mill appendages.

Gyaku Xryona - Chris gets James' Armpit Sweat in his Face

Even without his backpack and sporting the latest blue-grey colourway in BSAA uniforms, Chris fares no better against James Vega, who cradles his head under his arm while applying an inverted choke hold in the standing position. This is a real back killer for as long as the victim remains on his feet and you get a good sense of that in this cleverly angled viewpoint. Collapsing the knees is difficult, it relieves the back but transfers the stress to the neck  James looks disinclined to help out by moving on to another move. A real predicament and painful enough to prevent Chris gaining  a full appreciation of the body juices on offer right under his nose. 

Gyaku Xryona - Weekend Preview

A painful predicament like this is in no way redeemed by having to share it with a partner. Indeed, sharing it removes an escape option for both of them. This monstrous masked man has applied the hold the other way round, as a dragon sleeper, which means he can enjoy the bobbing bodies of his victims as they endeavour to escape from him. He's dropped to his knees to increase their discomfort. Men subjected to embarrassment situations are usually villains in the wrestling world but you can't be so sure of that here.

 As spectators we get a less clear view of the underarm situation than before, but in any case the artist has depicted a looser, less intimate grip here. In compensation we get a double-barrelled view of the loser's crotches, with the unusual bonus for this artist of a mini-bulge on the left, full of shapeliness and highlighted in an exceptionally erotic way by the decoration of his tights - whorls which are nudging it on either side and arrow-like shapes diving down on it from above.    

I like this artist for his inventive depictions and exaggerations of  familiar predicaments,

but I do wish he'd put shadows under his character's feet to ground them! 

Gyaku Xryona - Underwear Muscle Battle 03

James Vega dominates a different opponent with this back-breaking variant of the head scissors move. The victim is forced to kneel and nuzzle his opponents crotch.

Gyaku Xryona - Underwear Muscle Battle 04

The same hold, viewed from behind James

Sadly the dark underwear deprives us of detail.

I have cropped these images to make them more viewable.

Gyaku Xryona - Piers Likes It

Erotically explicit details are rare beasts in this artist's work, mainly I imagine because he posts at Deviant Art which does not permit them. That makes this image of Chris Redfield's buddy, Piers, succumbing to a dragon sleeper and sporting a prominent erection rather note-worthy. The allegation in the title seems improbable to ordinary mortals but some sportsmen do seem to have an extraordinary affection for pain. His cumbersome military equipment gets in the way of seeing much of his body line, but there's a nice abs stretch going on.

Gyaku Xryona - Smell That 02

One of the strangest aspects of the Chris Redfield phenomenon is the sailor outfit which was included as an option in Resident Evil: Revelations. It's an unquestionably camp contrast to the military gear and butch T-shirts he was given originally. The cropped top and turned up shorts (with authentic sailor flap) are a sexy adaptation worthy of Royale Studio, but the white gloves, shades and pipe which never seems to be out of his mouth are plain weird. 

He's pitched against the same underwear opponent in this image and for once he doesn't come out second best, instead he's poised to engulf his opponent with his own crotch odours for once and lest you think I'm overly obsessed with such (un)pleasantness I can point to the direction in the artist's own title. He's depicted Chris's white shorts as being particularly grubby and probably skanky too, so I imagine the effect to be quite overwhelming.

Gyaku Xryona - Bronco Buster plus Abs

 Chris is obviously aware of the offensive power of his shorts and here is poised to inflict them on Dante. The artist's cropping leaves little doubt that face frotting is Chris's aim.

Gyaku Xryona - Hulk Smasm and Breaker

This isn't the best image by this artist but it does capture the essence of  that genre of wrestling where genuine grapplers are pitted against a giant hulk who is much bigger than them and impervious to their puny efforts to fight him. I like the way he has picked Chris up by the head here, like a rag doll. The other fighter is a character called Miguel and he is rather nicely modelled. 

In the series below he's pitted against Dante and Chris. 

Gyaku Xryona - Miguel v Two Losers

Miguel, sexily dressed in open shirt and leather pants has no trouble subduing Dante and Chris but it doesn't look as if Chris needed much urging to investigate his crotch anyway. He seems unconcerned about Dante suffering the torture rack across Miguel's shoulders.

Gyaku Xryona - Miguel Destroys Chris's Back

Miguel looks both formidable and mean in this image with a great torso.

Chis suffers helplessly, while looking cute, as is his lot in life.

Gyaku Xryona - Spine Break

Dante's respite doesn't last long as Miguel drops him onto his raised knee.

His arched body convincingly conveys the impression of extreme stress.

Great jeans imagery as well for him in this sequence.

Gyaku Xryona -  Humiliation

Chris is forced to his knees bowing his head in acknowledgement of his stronger opponent.

Confusion, misery and despair seem written across his face

Gyaku Xryona - WWE, Mason Destroys Evans

This last image is a more conventional one but has the virtue of great clarity, which creates a good impression of the height of the victim above the ground, isolated and poised to descend forcefully.

His opponent has great bulk, but it's more attractively packaged than the average, real pro.

~

More sexy fetish fighting in Part 1 of this series

There's a good gallery of Gyaku Xryona at Deviant Art