Meet The Spartans by Moosemind (AI)

A collection of images by Moosemind with a Roman/Greek/Spartan theme.
I have strung them together with a narrative of my own that is pure mitchmen.
It tells the untrue story of the renowned Spartan Army. 

The Shaming of the Spartans

1

In Sparta, lovers are parting,

 

"Farewell, my love, the Army is assembled.

Today I must march on Throbos*".

 

*A city about 10 leagues from Troy, it was reputed to be the home 

of some of the greatest treasures of the Trojan Empire. 

With an equally renowned, lively nightlife. 

 

 

2

The Army departed from Sparta to the accompaniment of fireworks and celebrations.

Proudly, they bared their weaponry in the traditional way, for which the city was famed. 

 

2

 

The Spartan army stopped off in Homos on the way, to replenish their provisions.

There, the second in command was interrupted, while pillaging one of the locals.

 

"Sire, you must come quickly! 

The Throbbers have sent emissaries!"

 

The General was informed and hastily made himself decent to receive the delegation,

but he was mindful that all Trojans would be still be seething 

from the humiliation they had recently suffered at the hands of other Greeks.

'It will take more than a Trojan Horse to catch me out', he resolved.

 

 

2

Wary of such trickery, the Spartans took no chances with the Ambassador,

They stripped him naked and tied him hands and feet.

 

"Sire, we have come in peace, our only desire is to serve you", he protested.

It was true, he had not come bearing gifts. Instead, his gifts were bared.

 

The General was impressed by the hunky Ambassador.

And turned on by his submissiveness in bondage

He sent him to his personal tent for a private meeting of minds.

 

 

A more relaxed atmosphere spread through the camp.

The emissaries were soon mingling with the ordinary soldiers

and quickly made many friends with their openness.

 "See, I bring a peace offering, for anyone that wants it"

 

 

That evening, to the dismay of sceptics amongst the Spartan officers,

the emissaries produced multiple emissions throughout the camp.

Including groans from the luxurious Commander's quarters.

 

 

The commanders were rudely wakened the next morning by an Aide de Camp.

 

"Infamy General! It's infamy!" he declared, (camply, as custom dictated).

"The Trojan emissaries have infiltrated the entire army during the night,

and they have stolen all our clothes and weapons!

All I have left is my dagger, which I always keep well hidden".

 

"I fear, I too was infiltrated last night", the Officer replied, 

"It was my first time, and it was bloody brilliant!".

 

"I’ll tell the General, But without our weapons, we cannot go on. 

Sound the withdrawal! Everyone withdraw!"

 

 

And so the long march home of the demoralised Army began. 

It was embarrassing returning naked through the same villages that had feted them.

But, unhindered by possessions or clothes, they made good progress. 

 

Their officers rallied their men and kept them going.

"Courage lads! Once we're through the next pass, we'll be safe!

I'll buy you all a beer, when we're back in Sparta"! 

But the Throbbers had taken a shortcut and reached the pass before them.

 It was no good, they were trapped.

 

 

And so the proud Spartan army, in its entirety,

passed into captivity without a blow being struck.

300 blow jobs had brought 'The 300' to their knees.

 

 

 

They entered Throbos, not as conquerors, 

but as humbled, angry prisoners.

 

 

 

The Spartan General voluntarily offered himself to the King of Throbos,

hoping to spare his men the worst of the Throbbers' revenge.

He was taken to the city square and punished severely, like a common criminal.

 

 

Other Officers had also bravely identified themselves

A few with impressive-looking credentials were picked out by the King personally.

To be held in his personal household as hostages and for ransom.

He made them pay a humiliating price for their mistake. Nightly.

 

The rest shared the fate of the ordinary soldiers..... 

 

"Citizens of Throbos! Behold the proud sons of Sparta!"

 

"Three hundred of them dared to challenge us, but confronted by real men,  

they meekly surrendered without a fight, without a stitch on.

We, in Throbos, do not make prisoners of cowardly hooligans like these.

To pay for their pillaging, they must be sold to the highest bidders.

Citizens! Get out your purses! "

 

 

The captive, young Spartan soldiers were horrified.

"They can't do this to us, Sir, can they?" they pleaded with their Sergeant,

"We didn't do any pillaging, well, not much anyway".

 

"I'm afraid they can" the wise old hand told them.

"There's a convention on the treatment of Prisoners of War,

but we don't count as POWs, because we didn't even have weapons.

Legally, we're just tourists, an anti-social gang of foreign louts".

 

The once proud fighters, realised they had no choice.

Engulfed with shame, they hung their heads, 

It was an agreeable gesture to on-lookers, who increased their bids.

 

One by one, they went under the hammer

 and were led away by new masters. 

 

Sold into slavery, the Spartan boys were dispersed far and wide.

 

In Egypt :- "I am bored with this Spartan vassal, bring me my whip!"

 

 

 

In Rome:- "Get up, dog!"

 

"Tonight you will serve me in my bedchamber

and, by Jupiter, you will regret your insolence!"

 

 

In Britannia, a young conscript, toiled in the fields, 

still naked as he had been the day he was captured.

Far from home, parted from his lover,

his only rest and solace was a nightly dose of the farmer's lust.

 

~

 

Such was the disgrace of the Spartan Army, defeated by deception.

Not by a Trojan horse, but by a crack squad of Trojan whores. 

See also: Roman Prisoners of war by 'Gay-Roman-Fantasy'

 

More Moosemind and link next time

New Art by 'Gay-Roman-Fantasy' AI

'Gay-Roman-Fantasy' - Scene From The Dungeon

The artist who calls himself  'Gay-Roman-Fantasy' has taken a step further into fetish with his latest postings. The picture above seems to show an interrogation with the torturer doing the old, "Louder! I can't hear you!" routine, rubbing salt in his victim's mental wounds as he begins to crumble. In glorious technicolour, too. I suppose the absence of wounds implies the fun has not yet begun, but I, for one, am happy to be spared that authenticity and enjoy the captive's beauty, unmarred by that fearsome hook! 

 

 This video is a trailer for a series of images showing the magnificent men going under the hammer at a Roman Slave Auction. It's like an on-line catalogue of auction lots, except you can only buy the pictures, not the men. The video is sexy in its own right for those who like to see muscles tamed. However, it is also an innovation which is a great step forward for artists selling their work on Patreon, which has always seemed like buying a pig in a poke to me. Here you can see what you are getting.

 

 

GRF didn't give this a title, but I guess it's a couple of Gladiators from the elaborate, leathery briefs they are wearing. A tender moment before the Arena, perhaps, knowing it may be their last. AI is a bit like monkeys writing Shakespeare, but accidental or not, this is actually an impressive, sensitive depiction of manly, gay lovers, without smut or schmaltz. 

At one time I would have poked fun at the significance of the badge on his backside, but that was before rugby players started to put their names or those of their sponsors there! 

 

Master and Slave

There's a whole series of Masters and Slaves in the latest collection, with animations showing the former getting to grips with the latter. This looks like a Master trying the route of rational argument to get his latest acquisition to acquiesce to some unfettered fun. Perhaps dangling the carrot of pleasure contrasted with the stick of nasty pain. His Slave's stony face seems to say, 'I don't really want to, but I suspect I may have to'. The bulge in his briefs suggests other influences may be at work, which perhaps he hasn't had to confront until this moment of his life. Who would have thought that enslavement could turn out to be liberating?

This image also sums up rather neatly the emotional ambiguity that underpins the whole bondage fetish. You can take what you want and tie down the object of your desire, you can glory in the knowledge that for now he is yours, but you can't make him love you for it, which is probably what you'd really like. 

 

 

No title again, but this looks like the end game of negotiations, whether it be about sexual compliance or divulging secrets. Two persuaders stand by, ready to implement the last resort of a desperate man, and do their worst. The captive's scar is a neat touch that suggests (completely irrationally) that he's a hard cookie, but the odds are stacked against him now. That dangling loin cloth looks terribly vulnerable!

~

More at GRF's Deviant Art Gallery

 See also my earlier post - 'Roman Prisoners of War' by 'Gay-Roman-Fantasy'

Art by Mack 22

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

Mercenary Nick - Part 1

 Day 1

 

At first, everything went exactly to plan. I travelled to the capital on a normal commercial flight and booked into my hotel without any trouble. Our contacts had arranged a room that overlooked the head-quarters of The Organisation, which I had been sent to penetrate and destroy. 

 

I freshened up with a shower and changed into my combat pants, ready for action that evening, then I took up position at the window and observed the comings and goings. My plan was to wait until midnight and then enter through a service door at the rear, which it had been arranged would be left unlocked for me. 

 

1

 

Night had begun to fall, and the office staff were leaving, but the real work of the Organisation would continue after the exodus, in the so-called 'Orange Rooms' where they would be interrogating suspects, out of sight. Many of our men had gone through those doors and never been seen again. I was about to risk joining them. A cold shiver ran up my spine, but I quickly dismissed the negative thought.

I rang Room Service for a snack and while I waited and diverted myself by wondering if it would be brought by a handsome waiter in a cute, tight-fitting outfit. There was time for a little relief before I commenced my mission. Or so I thought. But when I answered the knock on the door, I found four, ugly goons waiting outside. They barged in, seized me and took me down with professional ease. I felt the sharp stab of a needle in my neck and within seconds lost consciousness.

 

Day 2

 

2

When I woke, I was stretched out on a bare table with my wrists handcuffed above my head and my feet shackled together. Above me, an orange light burned. My stomach immediately churned with fear as I realised where I was. Beside me, an interrogator was already waiting, stroking my body appreciatively, like a trainer examining a fine stallion or a butcher selecting his meat. 

His touch was ice-cold and I shuddered. 

 

 

3

Seeing that I was awake, he introduced himself with the strange, polite formality that still persists in that part of the world. He explained that he was searching my body for hidden electronic devices, adding that anything he found embedded beneath my skin would be prised out with his favourite tool - a commonplace screwdriver. He showed it to me, wondering if I might like to direct him to the hiding places and so avoid unnecessary pain.

 

 

4

I had no hidden devices, I was totally alone. But he would expect me to say that, so I stayed silent and tried to prepare myself for indiscriminate butchery. He laughed as if reading my fear and swapped the screwdriver for a brush-like scanner device. It would detect and disrupt any electronics, he said, but as it passed scratchily over my body I was subjected to burning stabs of electricity that seemed to pepper my flesh like shotgun pellets. I'm ashamed to say that I cried out in pain and surprise. 

That seemed to please him.

 

 

5

Then suddenly he stopped and said, “Ah, what have we here?” 

“Nothing!” I gasped through the pain, as he crushed my seared pectoral with his tools. 

He looked at me and nodded, registering my first moment of weakness. Then he proceeded to probe the area with his tools for several minutes, in search of subcutaneous gadgetry that didn't exist. I squirmed in agony, anticipating the crude rupture of my flesh. But he was just playing games with me, eventually he laughed, then put down his tools and left, saying that he would send someone else to examine my inner cavities. 

 

 ~ 

 I can hardly bear to describe what followed. After a long wait stretched out, shivering on the table, a man dressed like a Doctor came to me. He put his hand and various instruments into my mouth to search inside. Then he pulled down my pants and repeated the process between my legs. I could feel him inside me. My ears and eyes and even my penis were probed by his instruments. His searches were both thorough and lengthy, but there was nothing for him to find. Eventually, he left.

 

After he'd gone, it wasn't long before the guards took the opportunity to assess their new prisoner and gloat. Multiple invasive humiliations followed, peppered with slaps and punches, long into the night. I had sampled many such things during my training, but now discovered that even the most determined of my instructors had not to managed to simulate the profound depths of sleazy, violent lust unleashed on me that night. When they finally tired of abusing my unresisting body, they abandoned me to exhaustion. But there was little chance of sleep for me, tightly restrained on the hard table. 

Just the dismal knowledge that I was quite, quite alone.

Day 3

 

 

6

Early the next morning, I was released from the table and taken to another cell, where I was strung up by my wrists. There the guards soused my body with water, cleaning away the residue of their abuse.

A short time later, my original interrogator returned. 

 

He made his intentions clear by knocking me off my feet with a hard punch in the solar plexus before even a word had been spoken. The blow caught me by surprise and I collapsed in great pain. But as I tried to get back on my feet, fearing he would start kicking me, he grabbed my hair and held me down, ridiculing my attempts to stay strong.

 

He said he expected me to stay loyal to my unit, but assured me that eventually I would break and talk. His arrogance re-kindled my resistance, as he knew it would. He told me the higher I rode, the further I would fall - for fall I most certainly would.

 

 

7

The guards hauled me back to my feet using the wrist chains, so I was virtually hanging, standing on tip toe, fully stretched. The interrogator taunted me once again, introducing my torturer, black-clad and armed with a whip. I contemplated spitting in their faces, then thought better of it, only to chide myself for my cowardice. 

 

When the first lash of the whip landed squarely on my back, it was almost a relief. I had been trained for this and knew how to endure it. But my training also told me, from the first blow, that my torturer was using a heavily weighted one. The sheer force of its impact jolted my body. I would have been knocked down if not for the restraints digging into my wrists. I sensed he was an expert with his weapon too, and he proceeded to prove it as he whipped my helpless body with a slow, measured pace. He spaced each blow, allowing none of the searing, penetrating pain to be submerged by over-enthusiastic overlays. Despite my agonised bucking and twisting, he made not a single miss-hit. 

 

Eventually the interrogator, who had been watching my performance closely, signalled the torturer to stop. He asked if I was ready to talk, but it was a formality, we both knew that. There was a long way to go. He simply nodded at my silence and left me hanging to contemplate the raging pain of my ravaged back. I watched the whip man cleaning his weapon as best he could, feeding its suppleness with oil, so it was ready to embrace another body, probably mine again. He looked at me occasionally as he worked, showing neither emotion nor pity. I imagined he was measuring me against all the other men who had danced under his fiery kiss. 

 

Eventually, he carefully wound his whip up and packed it into its bag. He left me, hanging alone in the darkened cell and there I stayed until nightfall was announced by the return of my lecherous guards who silently pawed my weary body and bathed my wounds with their rasping tongues. 

 

~ Continued in Part 2 ~

Homoeros - Recent Work (2025) - 2

Read Part 1 of this '2025 Recent Work' article

 

 

1

 

This story, simply called 'Farm Boys', opens in a sunny field filled with gay flowers. Two Farm Boys are examining a scarecrow. Well, one of them is, I've called him Seth. The other, Tim, is keeping his distance. The scarecrow has an outer wrapping of well-worn sacking, it looks as if it's been around for a long, long time and it's very spooky. Horror movie fans will recognise the meme with relish. The pumpkins lying around on the floor confirm the worst, this has got to be Halloween. 

 

The presence of summer flowers in Autumn might be considered another spooky element. It's probably artistic licence, designed to give that initial impression of beauty, peace and well-being.

2

Despite his amazing muscles, Tim is unnerved by the scarecrow and wants to get away. Seth laughs and puts a reassuring, affectionate arm round his shoulder. The two friends walk off, unaware that behind them, the scarecrow seems to have reacted to them in a disturbing way.

3

The Farm Boys hold hands as they depart, clearly they are more than just friends. 

The scarecrow seems to be watching them. 

We see now that it isn't secured to the support.

 

4

That evening, a mysterious mist descends on the farm. 

As Seth walks home, he is unaware of strange creatures emerging from it behind him.

In the distance, the scarecrow's cross is now vacant.

 

5

Seth is attacked by the creatures, overwhelmed and stripped naked*.

As they carry him off, a storm breaks. Brilliant lightning sears the sky, 

Torrential rain pelts Seth's naked body.

*more images at DeviantArt (link below)

6

With the storm raging, the creatures carry Seth across the sodden field

Ahead, two scarecrow crosses are planted amongst the pumpkins.

One of them is already occupied, a naked man hangs from the cross piece. 

He's tied by his wrists and ankles.

7

Seth is dragged the last few yards to the crosses, where the 3rd creature awaits.

He looks up at the last minute and sees the unconscious, hooded figure already hanging there.

 

8

Seth is hung on the cross next to Tim.

The rain continues to pelts down on them, cascading down their naked bodies.

Lightning flashes illuminate their glossy, neutralised muscles.

 

You can fill in the gaps in this tale by starting to read at Deviant Art 

 

This tale is a splendid, gothic variation on Homoeros' favourite theme of crucifixion. 

A bloodless one, which pleases me. The horror iconography is a bit random, but the scarecrow role reversal is very effective, and the outcome is still disturbingly sexy. It does seem, as if Seth and Tim are being punished for being gay, the same might also be said of the story of hitchhiker Leo in Part 1. But equally, it may simply be that these malevolent creatures hate lovers and happy people.

See the foot of this post for other scarecrows 

and ominous farm settings at mitchmen.

 

 

9 Medieval 43

The artist's interest in depicting homophobic situations is even more explicit in this series, which is simply titled 'Medieval'. A nobleman's son has been caught in 'flagrante delicto' with a wandering Player (i.e. an entertainer). No guessing who's going to be blamed for this fall from grace! A dripping dick is the smoking gun. 

 

The Player is abused then dragged before a priest - to confess and reform, I guess. This is a great image with good composition and convincing figure interactions. The Renaissance style colouring and warm lighting in the style of Caravaggio is a very clever embellishment.

 

 

10 Medieval 59

The Priest proves to better at exploitation than rectification, but I suppose someone has to have a pop at the handsome offender before he is despatched to his fate. He also hangs around afterwards to legitimise the sadistic proceedings that follow. The Player is spread X-fashion across a timber frame and the whips are brought out.

 

 

11 Medieval 61

The executioner lays the whip on with ferocious energy. I can't say I enjoy the sight of blood, especially after having read about the consequences of harsh floggings in Clavering's 'Under The Lash', but this is an intensely dramatic image, made more so by the crazy angling. 

 

The executioner's arched torso expresses a determination to inflict the maximum pain. The stiffness of the victim's physique reflects his efforts to manage and contain it. The naked man's anatomy is more compact and realistic than in older work by this artist.

12 Medieval 77

Once the tormentors have completed the designated flogging and discharged their own interest, the victim is taken down. He's set on the floor, with a timber block under his shoulders, and they proceed to nail his arms to it. I've selected this single image to represent that process (depicted at length by Homoeros), because it illustrates the victim's horror and helplessness as he grasps what they intend to do to him. The torturers continue to show their keenness to do the job well, sitting astride him, not shying away from intimate contact with the condemned man. 

13 Medieval 88

When the grisly attachment process is complete, the block is lifted into brackets high up on a wall frame especially built to hold it. This elaborate arrangement suggests crucifixion is a regular occurrence in this particular dungeon, but it seems the perpetrators never tire of watching their victim's suffering and descent into oblivion. Unlike Leo the rambler in Part 1 of this post, there's no-one to rescue the young Player.

Fill in the picture gaps at Deviant Art starting from Medieval 01

 

~

 

There are a number of other examples of spooky scarecrows 

and ominous farm settings at mitchmen:-

 

Chenz-X-Chen, from Art by Chenz-X-Chen 

EdDraws (sinister happenings in a corn field)

Amalaric (scarecrow punishment in Cruel Justice)

Jotto (scarecrow conversion)

RomanAI (sinister corn fields)

Palanca (corn fields and corns)

 

click on the labels at the foot of the post for other related articles

 

~

 

14

 

Here, it looks like the Player from 'Medieval' has got himself into more trouble.

The naked man, drunk and disorderly, is arrested and handcuffed in a modern city centre.

I suppose reincarnation might well perpetuate the terrible traumas of a previous existence.

This detention may not be without bodily consequences either, invasive maybe, but not fatal.  

The moment when a man submits to capture never fails to stir me.

 

 

 

 

15

 

This appears to be a very different situation where two men have emerged from an underground tunnel to discover the opening is sealed by bars. You can feel their frustration and disappointment. This may be an escape attempt that has come to naught. Maybe they didn't even suspect they had been imprisoned, but were just exploring. Now the terrible truth unfolds. 

There's an echo of Gilgamesh in the idea of a labyrinthine prison.

 

 

16

This man certainly knows he is a captive, because he's in a bare stone cellar with his hands tied.

He must have tried to escape, but thwarted now, he kneels submissively to await his fate.

The simplicity of the image gives a sense of his helplessness and abandonment.

 

17

This captive is tied to an easel-like frame, as if by a man who sees himself as an artist.

A man who sees his captive as worthy of display, a canvass for his artistic talents.

However, it's a frame of tremendous size and strength, built to withstand great forces.

Neither of these ingredients bode well for the young captive.

His muscularity pleases the eye, but will be sorely tested in the coming days, sorely.

18

The final image in this selection is another simple but powerful idea.

A naked man has been brought to his knees by another, skimpily dressed in gladiatorial accessories.

He's not restrained, nor trapped in a cell, but bought low in a vast open, deserted arena.

With his back turned, defenceless, to his antagonist, his bowed head signals total submission.  

 

The telltale clues to this sorry state can be seen in the area below his left armpit:-

Flecks of blood and a glimpsed loop of a whip.

His strong jaw and masculine stubble underline the depths of his subjugation.

Dejection, humiliated. A great little image.

 

~

 

 Read Part 1 of this '2025 Recent Work' article

 

&

 

More Homoeros at mitchmen blog