The 'Hussar' Studio playlet 'PT Class' is complete

Hussar - PT Class 02

'PT Class' is the latest Royale/Hussar set to be revived and posted at the Archive, 

a vintage feast of tight shorts and shapely men.

 

Read PT Class

Homoeros - Recent work (2025) - 3

Start from Part 1 of this series

 

 

'Tavern' sees a young man sucked into a world of wealth and power, and in this image the historical dress conveys that background very effectively. It's combined with a convincing setting, too. This is an age when those who fell from favour might face the axeman, so this grovelling submission is perfectly understandable.

 

This man, Dylan, is not faced by such an extreme a punishment, but the whipping post is bad enough. 

The kneeling position is unusual, but it works visually, introducing a sense of submission.

 

 

The rear view presented to the captor is even better.

 

 

I included a 'riding the wedge' image in Part 1 of this series, It simply showed the rider and by implication focussed on the physical and mental discomfort caused by the device. The introduction of a leather clad top here, surveying the captive, brings home his vulnerability to external interference. Indeed, the restraint arrangement offers him up to such mischief, and he looks quite apprehensive about it. His relative youth and sheer cuteness suggests an experience gap which is likely to be narrowed somewhat before too long. 

 This surprising sequel opens up another dimension to his initiation. The prospect his new visitors promise seems just as scary, judging by his face, but excitement still shows elsewhere. It looks as if he's got himself into a seriously leather, gender-neutral establishment, although the setting looks like an ordinary, nightclub, out of hours. 

It was these two images that prompted me to do a Part 3 of this review. 

 

Didn't that guy do something to me in that S&M Club last night?

Homoeros does a lot of vanilla studies. This one, showing a jogger's chance encounter in the woods, is rather nice. Love is in the air here, not fetish.

 

Two men, clad in black, commit another unfortunate to the cross.

This is a compelling image of the grim moment of truth.

 

 

 

The technician stills the condemned man by sitting on his chest.

Producing an incongruous moment of intimacy.

 

The helplessness of the spread-eagled captive is apparent here.

The outstretched arm is beyond his control

 

 

When they switch to deal with his feet,

it's another significant deprivation of any sense of freedom.

 

Then callously stroll away without a backwards look.

 

 

This device is more humane, a display spreader, according to the artist.

Would that were all it could be used for, the incumbent might wish.

 

 

  In a Police Station near you, another Hoodlum submits.

Deprived of his clothing, it might be a long night.

 

 

 

A casual encounter, the locking of eyes tells a story.

It's about wills and intents, as well as attraction.

 

 

 

 

But all is not what it seemed.

Perhaps he got what he wanted anyway.

But he might look more grateful.

 

 

 

'The Hostage' seems to have been put on display.

His sinewy muscle made useless by the simplest of bindings.

 

Read the whole series from Part 1

 

Visit Homoeros at Deviant Art

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

 

Leather Art by Nerone 2

Read Part 1 of this article

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 065

 

 Today's images are from Nerone's 'Fast Drip' series, it's an apt tag for this image.

There's a great sense of skin to skin contact and sexual tension.

His simple, black and white sketches are greatly enhanced by imaginative colouring 

 

 

 

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 056

 

This artist's characters often seem to be very clearly delineated as tops or subs,

 but for the avoidance of doubt, he's brought out the ropes here.
This image exists in another variant where the top is not bearded (below).

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 056 (clean-shaven)

 

The warm colours here enhance the sense of intimacy.

 

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 066

More delving into dark, moist places here, 

a lucky dip that's caused an element of surprise.

But if you must wear white underwear.....well...

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 089

 

 Snuggling from behind is enormously comforting,

 even though it leaves everything up front unprotected.

He's too busy to care about that, right now.

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 091

Sleepy lovers greet the day with closeness and warmth,

The sense of hairiness and bulk here is so masculine.

A two gun salute would seem to be in order next. 

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 104

 

There's more edge here, with a grip on the throat demanding submission.

The glimpse of boots and pants tell us this is men at play, acting out their fantasy.

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 114

 

Casual encounters are meat and drink (as it were) to gay men.  

The fallen pants here give some sense of the excitement of them.

There's normally no such thing as sub and dom in this situation, 

although you might attribute an ambition to top in the placing of the hand.

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 115

 

How different this encounter looks! 

There's a compelling sense of domination,

both in the gesture and the bulky build of the man in control.

But he isn't turned on that much it seems, it's power he craves.

Asking for a rise was never like this in my Office!

 

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 320

Hopefully this is just a token of submission, not the start of a protracted trial!

These images vary in quality, this is a good one. 

Nice characterisation, with Italian looks and a physique that looks real.

Notice that the ball looks compressed by the thumb.

Nerone - Fast Drip 351

Just a hint of apprehension. Maybe it's his first time.
The absence of leather paraphernalia might mean gentleness

 - or dangerous inexperience.

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 354

This rope-work is decidedly unprofessional.

An amateur DIY job? Unrequited longing to be tied up?

If you can help, please form an orderly queue

 

 

Nerone - Fast Drip 380

Just a pretty picture of an era gone by.

More Nerone in Part 3

Read Part 1 of this article

See more Nerone at his blog (inactive)

101 Uses for a Belt - No 23 Teaching the Alphabet of Fetish

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

To Serve Is Pleasure

A1

From Curiosity to Submission: 

The Transformation of Fraser

SERVE-625 moved through the city streets with precision, his posture upright and controlled. Beneath the neoprene hoodie and slim athletic joggers he wore, the tight black rubber of his SERVE uniform clung to him like a second skin. Every step reminded him of his purpose, though the faint squeak of his concealed suit was audible only to his own ears.

A2

 

The grocery store was crowded, but Fraser navigated it effortlessly and efficiently, picking out what he wanted and ignoring distracting offers. He had lunch to cook for a guest. As he hurriedly exited the store, bag in hand, he collided with a man who was passing by. 

“Sorry about that!” he exclaimed, glancing up. Then recognition lit his face. “Oh, hi Ricky!”

The man was a familiar face from the gym. He nodded and replied coolly,
“Acknowledged. No harm done.”

“Nice hoodie,” Fraser said, his eyes lingering on the material. “What’s it made of?”

There was a slight hesitation before Ricky replied. Almost if he was weighing his response.
“It’s a neoprene rubber composite, Fraser. Durable, comfortable, versatile”.
He sounded more friendly now.

Fraser’s eyes widened. “That’s awesome.” He stroked the material with his fingers. 
“I love it! Where did you get this?”

Ricky nodded knowingly, rubber had that effect on some men.
“It's from a nearby store. It has your size. I *will* take you.”

Fraser had intended to finish his errands quickly and go home, but Ricky spoke with such assertiveness that he didn't hesitate to follow him as he set off towards the store. As they walked, Ricky explained that his rubber clothing was an important part of who he was, almost an ideology, he laughed. It had to do with unity, precision, and purpose.

Fraser chuckled, but his curiosity grew. “You’re really selling it”, he said.

“Wearing it enhances focus and clarity”, Ricky asserted. “You *will* enjoy it.”

Fraser felt convinced that he probably would.

By the time they arrived at the store,  called 'SERVE', he was eager to see more.

A3

The store looked like an ordinary clothes shop outlet from outside, but as they entered, Fraser marvelled at the many racks of rubber and neoprene garments he saw, his senses were assailed by the smell emanating from them. He barely registered the faint, hypnotic hum that filled the air, carrying subliminal whispering.

Fraser was immediately drawn to a display featuring neoprene garments just like Ricky's. “I have to try one of these on”, he said, his voice almost dazed. He grabbed a rubber hoodie and headed for the fitting room. Inside it, hypnotic spirals danced across the walls, accompanied by more of the soft whispers. Fraser’s breathing quickened as he tried the hoodie on and absorbed the atmosphere. But he was disappointed when he looked in the mirror. It didn't look as good on him as it had on Ricky.

When he emerged, the hoodie was forgotten and rejoining Ricky, he pointed to a full-body, rubber suit which was on display. “Can I try that instead?” he asked, his voice unsteady but eager. 
“It won't seem silly, will it?”

Without hesitation, Ricky lifted the bottom of his hoodie, revealing the glistening black surface of his rubber suit underneath. Fraser’s eyes widened, his mouth fell slightly open. “Wow. That’s incredible.”

Ricky nodded. “Affirmative. You *will* find it... transformative.” 

He picked a suit out and accompanied Fraser to the fitting rooms, where the atmosphere and visual effects immediately enveloped the young man's senses once more. He took off all of his street clothes and underwear, dropping them into a basket the store had helpfully provided. Once naked, he was eager to get into the suit, it took some effort, but once it was on, it clung to his form and wearing it felt so right for him. It was all he needed. The glossy surface reflected the transformation he felt, both physical and mental.

A4

 

Minutes later, Fraser stepped back out into the shop, his lean form encased in the gleaming rubber suit. His eyes were wide, his expression one of awe. “This... this feels incredible.” he said, staring at another shopper who nodded back in agreement.

“Rubber binds us together. It is our perfection. We are all part of the Hive. You feel it now, don’t you?”

Fraser nodded, almost hypnotized. “I do. I need this.”

He did not notice the faint clunk behind him, as the basket in the changing room emptied, 
dropping his old clothes through the bottom into an underground bin.

A5

 

Ricky and Fraser left the store together, with Fraser still proudly clad in his new bodysuit.
Ricky took him straight to the nearby SERVE Hive-Hub. 
Inside, he underwent the full initiation process. 
Hypnotic inductions erased his old identity, replacing it with unwavering devotion to the Hive. 

 

A6

When the process was complete, Fraser emerged as SERVE-632, his body gleaming in polished black rubber, his mind a perfect extension of the Hive’s will. SERVE-625 observed the transformation with communal satisfaction.

“Welcome, SERVE-632,” Ricky said. “You are one with us now. I am SERVE-625”

SERVE-632 bowed his head. “Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. I am ready to serve.”

Together, SERVE-625 and SERVE-632 exited the hive-hub, their polished forms glinting in the sunlight. They moved as one, through the city streets, ready to spread the Hive’s perfection further. They walked with precision, their postures upright and controlled. The tight black rubber of their SERVE uniforms clung to them like a second skin. Every step reminded them of their purpose, the faint squeak of their suits audible only to their own ears. 

Another mission complete, 625 reflected, knowing that he had served the Hive well.

~

 I was thrilled when I found this story on tumblr, it's a new twist on the themes I often promote here and a perfect complement to the recently published article, featuring the drone imagery of Hijaden, as well as the longer term, mitchmen theme of enslavement fantasies. I have adapted the text (apologies to the author) to a slightly different perspective, that of the victim, rather than the predator. This is not intended to take anything away from his great story and images. If you like my version, I urge you to go and read his original too, it reads very differently and will fill gaps in my adaptation. In any case, you must visit his serve-625 blog at tumblr which is steeped in the unsettling ideas which form the basis for this tale.

*VISIT* SERVE-632's tumblr blog to find out what SERVE stands for and see more items in this vein

and don't forget to *READ* his, original telling of this story.

Art by Roman AI

"We have severe punishments for streakers, you know."

 

Front Facing Arrests are a standard AI-trope, but here's one with a difference. 

Roman authoritarianism, fab muscle hunk with spirit, in bondage, on the brink of nudity and nastiness.

What's not to like? 

 

"I'm naming you 'Anilingus'.
Serve me well and I will treat you well".

 AI struggles with humans in physical contact, so it's surprising that this simple expression of subjugation is not seen more often. The contrast between the muscular captive slave and his new owner, clearly refined and wealthy, is beautifully expressed. The hand he's using to emphasise his control is clever, shame it's drawn wrong. I know it's phallic, but surely there must be places in Rome that don't have a dome in the background.

 

 

"Lucky bastard! Things like that never happen to me"

And so say all of us! Official title is 'Locker Room Bully'. 

Using his own belt on him. Don't ask why. Great jeans too.

 

Now that's what I call humiliation

 

AI has brought the great gift of weather to fetish art creators.
The belt seems to think it's a crowbar, no wonder he's submitted to it!

 

 

 

"No good running off, Barton.
You'll still get your spanking in front of the others, next time"

Imagine! Barton's a hairy hunk, the others must be disappointed he's escaped temporarily.

Thank goodness someone put 'University' up on the wall to counteract the dubious age scenario.

 

"No, I'm Not Your New Valet, Signor.
The Godfathers Sent Me"

I love the wacky bath!

I imagine it having wheels and the hit man trundling it to the nearest balcony to be emptied.

The bather is in a fix since he's naked and worse might befall him if he jumps up.

Especially if he's been playing with himself under the water.

 

Gorgeous hairy pecs, clean too. Surely they're worth a temporary reprieve!

 

 

"Keep kissing, Luigi. Then it's the belt for you next.
No-one, but no-one, laughs at my clothes!"

 I'd keep stumm about the Teddy too, if I were you, Luigi. 

Otherwise, you might find yourself kissing below the belt.

It is decidedly odd garb for a locker room.

Oh, thank you, God. He does want help with his Project!

'This can't be happening' Department.

Right now, 'his' gaze suggests he's formulating a different, strictly ex-curriculum project.

In fact, it maybe that his 'problem' is not about his project at all, but something completely different!

I can't remember anyone like this at the educational establishments I attended.

I certainly never prayed to God about it, but each to his own.

The varied style of these images is refreshing.

 

 

 

"Cheer Up Spunkimus!
It's Not The End of The World!"

I suppose you're meant to imagine a poignant parting or doomed lovers. 

Great apocalyptic imagery and nice warm colours appropriately enough. 

Have you noticed how everyone always seems to be going in the opposite direction?

"OK, OK, Smartimus, So I Was Wrong.
But We Still Have Each Other."

Looks like a cruise ship just docked, carrying the undead.

Fortunately, they will all be gone in an hour (max).

These two should charge admission, that should get them back on their feet.

 

 

 AI art has its detractors. It's too prolific, lacking in individual identity, can't fit humans' together, physically or psychologically, and hasn't a clue how eyes look or work (the most important part of human identity by a mile). It's incapable of seeing a complete image as a human sees it, but has to be told that half a train does not exist in the real world. At one point, it didn't even differentiate human backs from their fronts. Worst of all, it's totally sexless, it's programmed to be so thanks to our pathetic, lowest common denominator, corporate driven society (the only plus point for Mr Musk, although I'm increasingly convinced he has his own brand of censorship lurking in his muddy depths). AI can only produce something vaguely sexy if instructed, and cascading cum is not sexy, sorry! However, it is capable of turning out some beautiful imagery at chocolate box, schmaltz level and occasionally, very occasionally it comes up with something totally original and wacky that makes a jolly good picture, sexy or otherwise.

Roman AI is one of those surfing the internet wave, and he has produced some interesting images (many of which look a lot like other producer's images). But never mind, this listing isn't an award for being better or totally original, but just having been in the right place with the right stuff to catch my eye. To be fair, he does introduce a degree of individuality by varying his style, but it's what he asks his AI engine to illustrate that qualifies him for a mention here.

More at RomanAI