Targeted - Collar and Tie

 

Dave and Sam normally spent New Year in front of the TV.

They reckoned it was the best way to enjoy all the fireworks.

But this year they got a surprise, personal invitation to a private party.

It came from 'John', but they could guess which John it was.

The black dress code was a slightly daunting to Sam, 

but Dave, who mixed in classy circles, was perfectly relaxed.

Plus, there was to be a spectacular display at midnight.

So they thought, Why Not?  Enjoy the change. 

Something out of their comfort zone, you might say.

The venue was already busy with guests when they arrived.

They didn't spot John amongst the crowd but  

they were immediately offered free drinks and food,

so they were soon enjoying the party atmosphere.

 

About half past eleven, anticipation and excitement was rising.

Dave and Sam were both feeling distinctly mellow.

Then someone called for silence, he had an announcement to make.

He asked for the Guests of Honour to come to the stage. 

 

Dave and Sam discovered it was they who were the Guests of Honour,

a group of burly men closed in and frog-marched them to the front.

Gazing out at the crowd, they realised they were all dressed in black leather.

But any feeling of being over-dressed was quickly taken away from them.

In fact, all their clothes were taken away from them, by muscular attendants.

They weren't exactly in good shape to resist, but tried their best.

The crowd appreciated their efforts and wild cheering broke out

as they were buckled into wrist suspension bars and their arms hoisted high.

 

In a final dramatic gesture, their attackers removed their underwear.

Sam cursed loudly as his new, Christmas, designer briefs were cut open.  

It was little consolation when they were replaced by soiled jock straps

 donated by audience members in the front row, their pouches still warm.

Thanking the donors, the MC reminded them of the Charity Auction

which would enable them to recover their property (with added interest!)

The front row audibly dissented, convinced that some rich bastard

would inevitably carry off the star prizes to some distant part of the globe.

'Big Ben' was invited to come to the stage to 'officiate' the midnight rites

The Guests of Honour would lead the count-down to the strokes of midnight.

That's 12 strokes each of course, he cackled, to uproarious laughter.

'Black Jack' was summoned to be his assistant and synchronise

Dave just had time to apologise to Sam before Big Ben gagged them both

So that they might bear the ritual strokes safely and with dignity.

Their only consolation was to be in the front row for the 'fireworks'.

But in all honesty, it would probably have been better on the TV at home.

 

~

for other captions, click on the 'mitchmods' label below

The Art of Gilgamesh 4 - Zahir Captured 1

You can also start reading about Gilgamesh from Part 1 of this mitchmen series
click on pictures to enlarge

5

Zahir is looking for his friend, Jeff, who has been captured and taken to the castle.
Under cover of darkness he enters the place to investigate Jeff's whereabouts.

25

Seeing that the entrance is guarded by two warriors, he decides to look for another way to enter.

He finds a sewer that takes him to a vault which seems to be deserted.

42

He decides to explore the tunnels. They seem to be very big and complex.
Suddenly he hears footsteps in the distance. He decides to stop and stealthily observe.
He doesn't realise he has been seen and is being stalked himself as he wanders the vault.

50

Zahir sees there is a huge, muscular guard patrolling and decides to wait for him to pass.

But his own stalker is creeping ever closer, waiting for the right moment to attack.

58

He hits Zahir with a huge cudgel, knocking him out.

70

Hearing the commotion, the other guard comes to see what is happening

72

They gloat over Zahir's fallen body and decide to strip him of his clothes.

85

They lift Zahir between them and drag him away.

Zahir is now naked and without a weapon.

86

It needs two of them to support the mighty Zahir on his shaky legs,

So they have to wade through the central drainage channel, splashing through the murky water .

90

They drag him to a cell where the Guard unlocks and opens the door.

91

They push Zahir inside and he collapses onto the floor in a pool of water
One captor scratches his head wondering why any man would be so foolish as to enter the vault.

99

The lock the door, leaving Zahir lying in the dirty water.

Then they go and report his capture to their master.

~

Has Zahir's rescue attempt ended in ignominious failure?

More of Zahir next time, read the full story of  Zahir, (all 99 images) at pixiv

~

Gilgamesh Gallery Links (updated Jul 2024)

Gilgamesh on Pixiv

Pixiv has a comprehensive and well organised collection of his work with helpful narratives that add colour and background to the stories he tells. It's the most accessible gallery but recent releases (2024) have censored cocks, the explicit versions are posted on 'X' aka Twitter

Gilgamesh on Deviantart

There's a limited selection on DeviantArt including some older images which are not in the pixiv collection. They have escaped being censored somehow but tend to lack explanatory titles or narrative information, however, this site does provide an easily scannable overview of it's contents.

Gilgamesh on 'X'

The X, ex-Twitter gallery appears to mirror the pixiv one but has explicit versions of recent images which are censored on pixiv. There's no overview, just sequential postings with the stories spread across them, broken up into four images per post. Gilgamesh has gone to the trouble of making sure they come out in the right order. There are slightly different comments, I haven't explored the site in great depth so it's possible there are works there that don't appear anywhere else.

Targeted

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Camp Cruising with AdonisIO

 I'd never fancied holidaying on a cruise ship but changed my mind after a friend persuaded me to join him on the good ship 'Muscle Magnificence'. When I caught sight of the Captain supervising our boarding from his bridge it convinced me I'd made the right choice. He wore a tuxedo-style uniform that barely covered his barrel of a chest and my friend assured me that the bulge in his pants was not just for show - as I might discover for myself if I got an invitation to dine at his table.

Rumours on board suggested that the Captain had his hands more than full managing the crew. 

He spent a good deal of time with the Navigation Officer, exploring his globes and charts.

It was said that they were a perfect fit for each other.

The Chief Engineer was a more aloof sort of fellow and was often to be seen gazing into the sunset with his hands in his pockets seemingly unaware of the travellers jostling for position behind him dying to find out if he ever got them dirty.

Most of us would have to settle for a brief exchange with the Entertainments Officer.

His uniform was designed to attract our interest and he was proud to show it off.

After all, it was his job to make the voyage fun for us!

 

He was always willing to stop and engage and surprisingly open to tactile enquiries.

By the end of the voyage his briefs were worn thin from a thousand hand-shakes.

The biggest event of the voyage was the ceremony of 'crossing the line' 

It was not just another party, all the first timers in the crew had to undergo an initiation ceremony.

Even the captain had to submit and it was the only time I saw him in lingerie.

Hi appearance in the ball room took everyone's breath away.

The more lowly crew members were kept busy doing their jobs.

Which made them all the more desirable, of course. 

(You know - bar tender syndrome!)

So while the lookout was keeping tabs on passing icebergs and growlers

he was also busy fending off gropers (seven eighths of them below the waterline).

Most believed that his ass was hot enough to melt any berg that got too close. 

We had our own cabin boy of course, prepared to satisfy our every whim

and Javier's outfits ensured they was no shortage of whims to satisfy!

His dusting and polishing led to plenty of accidental spills 

but he cheerfully mopped up everything we tossed at him.

We also found he would respond eagerly to a generous tip.

His early morning calls and bed turn downs were brief but draining

You had to book well ahead for his famous, bunk warming service

or else make do with a chocolate truffle on your pillow! 

On the last night of the cruise the senior members of the crew readied themselves for dinner.

It was their job to each host a table and make sure their guests went to bed happy.

Their dinner suits were designed to please and sell tickets in the table raffle.

The lucky winner of the draw would earn a memorable, personal send-off from him.

The ritual of the host going round the table serving wine 

gave everyone a double-chance to get up close to him.

You could examine his bottle from your seat before tasting his juice

or lean in to savour his crack bouquet as he bent to serve your neighbour  

You might even provoke a twinkle from his eye!

But all good things come to an end 

Eventually the shore man came and ferried us back to dry land 

All that muscle-hugging lycra suddenly disappeared like a moist dream.

But then I saw the look in the boatman's eye, the bulge in his shorts

and the pop-studs that were all that secured them at the side,

and I thought 'Why not?' 

~

Images by Adonis IO

Words by Mitchell of mitchmen

More AdonisIO at Deviant Art,

earlier mitchmen posts featuring AdonisIO's art

Mitchell - Army Buddies In Tentacle Trap

Mitchell - Tentacle Trap (after Kurosilver*)

Broadbent and Davies had been wandering in the jungle for days. Separated from the rest of their Platoon after the surprise attack on their camp, they had watched the other survivors being stripped of their uniforms and ferried away in lorries. At first they wanted to follow and rescue them but the trail soon went cold and without weapons there was little they could do. But if they made their way back to their own lines, they would have to explain how they had escaped capture and why they had been away from the camp together, without their weapons and dressed only in their jockstraps.

These worries receded as they became preoccupied with just finding food and a safe place at night. They marched during the day but it was hard, tiring and dangerous in the hot, humid jungle. Several times they had to hide from enemy patrols. At night, it was good to have each other.

On the 7th day - or was it the 8th? they came into a particularly lush part of the jungle. For once the humidity was low. Birds were singing, blue sky could be seen overhead and a scenic waterfall of cool water cascaded down allowing them to replenish their water supplies. They washed out their jocks and fell asleep by the water in the idyllic, sunny glade. 

It was late in the day when they were wakened by voices. Realising it was the enemy they fled into what looked like the deepest part of the jungle. The voices quickly faded behind them and they knew they were safe from them then, but in their haste they had left everything behind including their jocks. They couldn't go back and it would soon be dark, they had to find a place to sleep. 

As they toiled though the jungle, progress became more and more difficult with foliage draping over the trail and sometimes blocking it altogether. Undergrown caught at their ankles and brushed their thighs. A gloomy twilight began to descend and the jungle seemed to be closing in around them.

"Drat it!" Davies heard Broadbent exclaim behind him, "my ankle's caught in something again". Davies turned and saw his buddy crouching down to disentangle the offending growth. "God it's tough, this tendril could trap a small animal". Davies smiled at his discomfort but not for long. 

"Shit! It's alive!" Broadbent exclaimed, "it's crawling up my leg!" 

"It can't be" Davies scoffed, "it's just a plant".

"Well it's growing bloody quick then" Broadbent replied in alarm "it's twining round my knee now and  getting bigger, I swear it is".

"Let me see" said Davies impatiently but as he stepped towards his buddy he found his own foot was snagged on something too and trying to free himself found exactly the same thing was happening to him. In fact a fat tendril was already sliding between his thighs and encircling one. He tried to prise it away but it was too strong and when he tried to pull his leg out of it's grip he found he could not. Another tendril caught at his wrist, pulling it behind his back. 

He looked over at Broadbent and saw his arms were already immobilised and the tendrils were sliding and twining round his groin, inducing an erection despite his obvious fear. For some reason that excited Davies too and that sensation was heightened as he felt a slender tendril winding round his own balls. He felt it getting tighter and tighter lacing his own terror with sexual excitement. 

"It's pushing into my ass!" Broadbent shouted out in horror and Davies too felt one touching his ring, then pushing it open. It seemed to be coated with some slippery substance which made it's invasion irresistible. He felt it's smooth surface sliding in, getting bigger and bigger.

"What are we going to do?" Broadbent  was wailing.

But Davies had no answer for his buddy.

The tentacles were engulfing his torso.

The night noises of the jungle resounded around them

~

*I freely acknowledge that this picture is extensively based on an original by Kurosilver.

It's also part of my long standing unfinished tale of 'The Lost Patrol'

For more pictures by Mitchell click on the 'mitchpix' label below 

or visit the Gallery Tab at the top of the blog

Platoon 69 by Jero

Jero - Interrogation 

 Deep in the Jungle, in an abandoned military outpost, Sergeant Baxter was evaluating his position. He had led his platoon into a trap and now the rebels wanted to find out exactly what his mission had been. 

The muscular soldier had little fear of torture, he and his men had been too well trained to succumb to mere pain. But his interrogator seemed to have something quite different in mind. From an old wooden box on the floor, he had produced a collection of strange devices - brightly coloured balls, shiny tubes and plastic rods. His captor was already fondling a strange pink object in his lap. Baxter's superiors had warned him of the enemy's capacity for fiendish tricks and torments and now he realised that was exactly what faced him now. 

He tested the ropes that secured him to the bedframe. His captor clearly knew his stuff, it would take hours to get free. The frame itself gave not an inch when he tested his strength against it and was obviously bolted to the floor. There would be no easy escape for him this time. But even in his hour of danger he thought about his men hoping they would not suffer with him.

Jero - Soldier's Difficulty

A short distance away Canelli was doing his own calculations. The farm boy from Nebraska was a strong man and had fought his attackers bravely before succumbing to overwhelming numbers. Now they were taking no chances with him. Curious about his exceptional muscularity, they had stripped his uniform from him, leaving him only the minimal dignity of wearing his military jockstrap and his boots. They circled around him touching his body and joking in their own language. 

For a few moments he remained unrestrained and thought about bolting, but the thought of running through the jungle like that, half-naked and with no protection, was daunting. Before he could decide to take the chance his wrists and ankles had been clamped in the loops of a heavy iron bar that forced him to sit and made any movement virtually impossible. They had amused themselves with him a little longer and then left him sitting on the floor, alone in the small room. Already the confined position was making his joints and muscles ache. The sun had risen now and already the cell was heating up. Sweat was trickling down his body but the day, which might be his last, had scarcely begun.

Jero - Strung Up

Suarez hadn't even realised it was day yet. Suspended by chains in a dark, airless cell he'd been sweating all through the long, humid night. Picked off at the back of the column he'd been hustled away before his comrades knew he'd gone. They'd stripped off his shirt and used his hairy, muscled torso as a punchbag. He'd told them nothing yet, they hadn't even asked, they were just softening him up. An hour ago they'd left his bruised body hanging, stewing in the suffocating air of his prison. 

But they'd be back. He had no doubt of that.

Jero - Mind Melting

At that very moment private Scott was was learning the true capabilities of their enemy. When the remnants of the captured platoon had shuffled into the dilapidated camp, they'd quickly picked out  blond construction worker from Chicago as a prime example of enemy manhood, the sort of trophy captive who could be used against the politicians who had sent these men here and their public whose support kept them here. 

When they stripped the gentle giant of his clothes they were not at all disappointed, the humiliation and subjugation of such a fine physique would be all the more painful for the enemy on those distant shores. The rebel's own scientists would be delighted with such a fine specimen. He'd proved a good fighter but already he had shown blind obedience to command by stripping off his uniform as soon as they demanded it. Marched naked through the compound to the research lab he'd offered no resistance as they strapped him to the experimental platform. 

Scott faced his fate with calm bravery. He understood his duty was to resist these men as long as he could. When they took his clothes from him he felt as if he'd lost the protection of the Army. He was surrounded by enemies and when they strapped him down he no longer was able to protect himself. 

They'd left him like that to await the scientist whom he had little doubt had ways and means to test him. As though to underline his isolation and vulnerability the square-jawed guard left with him had idly explored his jock pouch while they waited. His fingers had induced pleasurable sensations in Scott that seemed a mockery of his sense of duty and patriotism.

When the scientist eventually arrived he did not bother with such frivolities but quickly switched on his equipment and as the room filled with humming sounds he sandwiched Scott's head between two massive ear pads and went to his control panel. Within seconds the strong man's mind was filled with confusing, nightmare thoughts and sensations that obliterated fear and rational thoughts alike. 

He remembered no more

Jero - Military Captive

Like all his comrades Corporal Hunt had been stripped of his clothes and exposed to the ogling of his captors, their fingers stroking his underpants. They'd been warned to expect that as a technique to break them down and had told him that his hairy, burly physique would be a novelty to them. So he was surprised when they simply clamped heavy manacles on his wrists and just left him like that. 

As the hours went by he could tell that his colleagues were suffering badly. Was his mild treatment just a way of weakening him? They even came and fed him and his guard remarked that the commanding officer wanted him 'well prepared'. This puzzling remark added to Hunt's confusion and he had many hours to ponder it as the day went by and still they made no attempt to coerce or torment him. 

Instead,  as day darkened into night, they returned and washed him from head to foot, making him stand in a small tin bath with soapy water cascading down his body and swilling round his ankles.  He braced himself for the worst, this was all too ritualistic, something was not right. 

Afterwards they led him through the camp and the soldiers sitting around and eating their supper stared strangly, almost as if they knew..... Finally he was taken into a hut that was comfortably furnished. A meal was set on the table and he looked at it hungrily. "Welcome Corporal Hunt" a voice said, "You are every bit as handsome as my men told me". Hunt turned and saw the speaker was clearly an officer. 

"Sir!" Hunt barked, remembering his etiquette and getting a nod in return. 

The Officer invited him to sit at the table, clipping his manacles to the surface so he could eat his food, but do very little else with them. Hunt's stomach stirred uneasily. "We will eat" the Officer said to him "and then you will join me in my bed where I will find out how much your army taught you". Angered by the trickery, Hunt's palms slammed down on the table loudly but the officer just smiled. "Something tells me you will be, shall we say, an interesting subject. Of course, I'm not averse to teaching you myself, if your devotion to bodily enhancement which, if I may say so,  has produced such pleasing results, has caused you to neglect the simpler pleasures of the flesh". 

In the silence that followed, the night sounds of the jungle filtered in through the mosquito net draped over the open window. To Hunt it felt like something was crawling inside his camouflage underwear. The Officer took a bit out of a chicken drumstick and then went on, "If you please me, I will spare you the agony that has befallen your comrades. If you please me and also give me information, I may even spare them too - from from further brutal interrogation at least, but probably not bed duties - not until they are recovered enough to carry them out to my satisfaction, of course."

At that moment, a blood curdling cry came in through the window.

Jero - Mercenary Soldier Captured

Outside, beyond the perimeter of the camp Sergeant Baxter's interrogation was reaching a climax of sorts. It wasn't his first one that day, during which he had experienced the full range of toys available to his captors and been taught to give them the results they wanted. In the process, his camo pants had been ripped away and his vest shredded into holes. Now, outside in the humid jungle night his interrogation had properly begun with an experienced and uninhibited hand probing him deeply. To prevent any evasion they had strung him between two trees and a heavy weight had been slung from his aching balls. 

Baxter had spilt much that day, but not yet the beans, not yet the full information his interrogators wanted. But they were not unduly concerned, for them the journey was as important as the destination.

~

Art by Jero, see also Abduction Art by Jero for links

Fictional narrative by Mitchell of mitchmen (clock 'stories' label for more)

Start as you mean to go on

Planet Gay - The Slave Is Washed

 Alexandro's New Year resolution was to win Rome's 'Best Kept Slave' competition.

He got his best one up early on the day to give him a good wash and scrub 

(which was sorely needed).

He enjoyed himself so much that he scrubbed and scrubbed 'til the slave was even sorer.

"Please stop Master" he complained "I must look spotless now!"

But he didn't.

The trouble was his hairiness, thought Alessandro

As a man it made him look nice, but would the judges prefer a more boyish look?

Unfortunately if he decided to shave him, he couldn't change his mind later.

But after much thought he decided it probably would be the best presentation.

He could have asked a servant to do the job, but they might botch it.

Shaving his slave himself turned out to be even more fun than scrubbing him.

Especially as his sensitised skin made him twist and turn in his master's arms.

It really was a most agreeable sensation..........

He soon discovered his slave had hair in the most surprising places.

Getting into all those nooks and crannies took time and patience

because he certainly couldn't afford to cut him 

and who knew where the judges might look?

Alessandro's slave didn't make it to the competition at the forum

The anointing of his skin with oil proved to be the last straw for Alessandro.

He dragged his slave off and spent the rest of the day in bed with him.

Where both men eventually fell asleep feeling like winners.

More art by Planet Gay 

Tied and Groped

 An extract from the latest chapter of Mitchell's 'Flat Cap Gang' at mitchmen Google Group

Mitchell - Pawed and Groped

Detective Constable Ferret (right) has been abducted by the Flat Cap Gang and trained to fight and provide other services for the amusement of punters in the 'Butt Bar'. Facing a grudge fight against the Chief Guard, he is tethered to a display post by his collar which incorporates electronic punishment routines to keep the captives under control. He is unexpectedly joined at the post by the notorious 'Black Trainer' (so called because he usually dresses in black). He has been condemned to a punishment fight by his superior in the gang because of his ill-treatment of the prisoners. He has never had to wear a control collar before.

~

"In the Butt Bar, Ferret was eyeing the Black Trainer, wondering how his old foe had fallen from grace and ended up tethered to the same post as him. He was tempted to gloat, but to his surprise the Black Trainer turned to him and cool as a cucumber, said in the chummy East End fashion, “Alright mate?” as though there were nothing odd about the situation and had never been any animosity or friction between them. Despite this facade however he could see The Black Trainer was unhappy. He kept twisting his neck trying to make the collar more comfortable, but it wasn't designed to be comfortable. Finally in frustration he shook his head vigorously, Ferret tried to warn him, but the collar controller reacted quicker. It automatically administered a brief shock to both of them and rapidly wound in their leads. They were drawn up together on tip toes, their bare bodies touching. The Black Trainer grunted angrily but Ferret could feel him trembling. A group of customers who had seen what had happened gathered round them, pawing them and groping them with clumsy, clammy hands."

~

The Flat Cap Gang continues in weekly instalments at the mitchmen Google Group.

.

The Flat Cap Gang

Mitchell - Medical Interest

 My long running mystery story about an East End gang who kidnap cops and sportsmen and force them to provide sexual services and fight entertainment has resumed at mitchmen Google Group after a lengthy break.

In the picture above, the notorious 'Doctor' (who picks out inmates for special pain endurance experiments) and top thug Doberman (who just bullies everyone) are distracted in the middle of discussing arrangements for 'Fight Night' by a hunky medic working nearby wearing flimsy scrubs (and little else it seems). However there's a lot more to Husky the medic than a pretty bottom.

The story continues with weekly illustrated episodes at mitchman Google Group. 

You have to join but it's free.

For other gay art by Mitchell at mitchmen blog click on the mitchpix label below.

See also the mitchmen Galleries Hub for more links

Art Inspired by 'Fallout 4' - 2 Punishment of a Paladin

 

Discipline is very strict amongst the Paladins who make up the Brotherhood of Steel,
This man, Paladin Danse, confessed to intimacy with a mutant, which is forbidden.
He's forced to don a punishment suit.

A spiked collar proclaims his new status - rejected, untouchable.
His empty armour suit symbolises what he has lost.

A former colleague steps forward to dispassionately arrest and escort him.
Even his friends don't recognise Danse now.

As his hunky colleague puts him in restraint, his hands brush Danse's backside
and the Punishment suit accentuates every touch.
Danse is led away feeling more naked than naked

In the close confinement of the suit and the emotional heat of the moment,

the organ that betrayed Danse with the mutants, does so again.

He's taken before the Leader to formally learn his fate.
Forced to grovel before him.

The Leader is regretful. Danse is - was - one of his best Paladins.
How could it have come to this?  
Danse cannot explain now, his mouth is full of rubber.
His cock does the talking for him.

Out of respect for Danse's past service, The Leader drops down to his level,
Danse cannot see him, but senses he is there and looks up.

"You know what I must do", The Leader says and Danse nods, understanding.

The Leader bends him over and Danse shudders, for the touch is electrifying.
Without removing his mittens, The Leader begins to slap his bottom.
Slowly, but very firmly.
The pain is terrible it's but not as bad as the humiliation of being treated like a child
and the jeers and cheers of his colleagues, who don't remember he was their friend.

The final act of rejection comes when the leader strips off his uniform
and acting as a man not a soldier, he opens the Punishment Suit and uses him sexually.
Something that would never happen between the soldiers of The Brotherhood

The Brotherhood's punishment code dictates that Danse must now accept his demotion.
in the honourable way by gratifying The Leader voluntarily in front of the others.

The ritual draws to a close, his restraints are released now 

and he thanks The Leader and demonstrates remorse in the traditional way.

Finally they release him from the suit and eject him from the compound with nothing.

Outside it's a grey day but thankfully radiation levels are low and it's not raining.

There's only one place where he can hope to find food and shelter.

He heads towards mutant territory.

~

All artwork here is by Sit, adapted to a narrative by mitchmen

Kalabro Slave Gang

Kalabro - Slave Gang

 Dirk still could not quite believe what was happening to him and his team mates. Yesterday they had been celebrating winning the Football Championship in front of their adoring fans. He could remember how their excitement had continued in the dressing room afterwards, as they stripped for the showers. Unusually, the steam had filled the whole room and then Joel, the striker, had suddenly collapsed. As they went to help him someone shouted that the door had been locked. He remembered feeling drowsy himself and that was it.

When he awoke he found the entire team was locked in a dungeon-like cell with bare stone walls. They were all stark naked (even those who had fallen wearing their jockstraps and kit). They had been deposited here and a thin layer of scratchy straw was all that separated their bodies from the cold, hard floor. They soon realised that while they had been unconscious, they had all been fitted with tight metal rings around their cocks and all the rings were linked together by a heavy chain. As they all gradually cleared their heads there was plenty of discussion, speculation and confused anger but no-one could remember much of what had happened, let alone knowing why. Time passed and in the humid confines of the cell, the millionaire superstars were soon reduced to the sweaty men they really were.

Eventually someone came for them. They were led out, walking sullenly in file, one behind the other with the chains that joined them looping between their legs. They were taken down a long tunnel, led by their captain who had been assigned the first ring. The chains swung from side to side as they walked, brushing their muscular thighs as they negotiated corners and tightening up between their ass cheeks as they negotiated steps or when the man behind failed to keep up. 

When they emerged from the tunnel, they somehow hoped it would be into the stadium they were so familar with, but it was a vast arena, as bare as their cells, surrounded not by raked stands full of cheering fans, but a tall wall, and beyond that, bleak, snow-capped mountains. It was not cold, there was a watery sun, but many of them shivered, realising that there was no-one here to help them and escape would be a formidable challenge. There they were arranged in a line in military fashion and waited, gleaming with perspiration and watched from a respectful distance by the guards.

It was Jimmy who saw him coming for them. A big man, bare chested, hairy and muscular - and he was flourishing a whip. Jimmy felt fear spreading through his loins. One of the guards noticed. "Don't worry" he called out, "his whip is worse than his bark, but he'll soon lick you cover boys into shape".

story text by Mitchell for mitchmen

~

mitchmen has always been a great fan of Kalabro's work but it's usually the drama of struggle and mortal danger that provides the kick in his images. This is very different, a study of bewilderment and impending menace. These men are better groomed than his usual heroes, hence my comparison with modern soccer studs, but the bleak, alien landscape they are stranded in, conjured up with a wash of red, is a typical setting, normally home to primitive muscle men contending with giant predators who can't decide whether to eat them or dangle them by the balls.

This image seems to have its origins in the work below. I can't identify it but it seems to originate from the same render kit used by Homoeros. (Update: thanks to a reader has supplied the correct attribution in the comment below, Achillias) There's no shame in adapting another artist's work and Kalbro's cock chain is an inspired embellishment. In fact, simply by reworking the scene in pencil he transforms it and gives the men character and emotions.

Read the mitchmen review of Kalabro's Art from the A-Z of Fetish Artists 

I have added an extension to this article with lots more pictures 
plus an update on where you can find his art in Best of Kalabro