While hiking in the forest, Amalaric discovers a futuristic cube that possesses the ability to make his fantasies come to life. Today's fantasy: a muscular straight marine to use as his submissive plaything.
Bedtime Stories 2: Dreaming of GayBondageFiction - Page 1
Story and Art by Amalaric
I’ve always been an avid hiker- prefer the beach, but forest and woodland will do as well. It was around three years ago, while on a ramble in a remote range I’d rather not name that I stumbled on the Cube. Yeah, I know it sounds bonkers, maybe is bonkers…but this isn’t a fucking fantasy and, no, I’m not cracking up. The Cube looked like it was made of shimmering, opaque frosted glass, about twenty meters square hovering- yeah, hovering- a couple of feet above the forest floor in the centre of a sunlit clearing in the otherwise dense cover of trees. There was an open aperture, obviously a door, with a ramp leading up to it and, well, I’ve always been a risk taker. What the hell, let’s have a look inside this baby… I nearly shit my pants when, once fully inside, the ‘door’ silently rolled up, or sort of solidified, and a not-unpleasant disembodied voice coming from all directions said, ‘Welcome to Podvac 779, at your service and, hopefully, pleasure.’ And the rest is history…
To make the story less long and, hopefully, not bore you to tears, here is the deal- Seems that in a galaxy too fucking far away to describe in comprehensible terms there was a road accident on one of the inter-planetary highways and one of the luxury Podvac 779’s- the latest creation in holiday technology, sort of an ultra-advanced, alien camper van- was jarred from the transport and floated, lost in space- oh, I’d reckon at least two and a half million years- and finally ended up in a clearing in a forest on our lovely little blue-green jewel, planet Earth. Being the first to stumble on the find, I became the de facto owner, immediately adopted by the programmed computer intelligence that ran the thing. And what an operation! Any command, and I mean ANY command, request, desire- with the one caveat that no other life forms could be hurt or destroyed- were fulfilled by the near-magic facilities aboard the Cube. For instance, we had some dynamite flights to the various planets of our solar system and a few beyond, the surface of the sun is kind of interesting…as is the deepest part of the ocean here on earth and points in between. Capable of transparency, invisibility and, obviously, radar evasion the sky was literally the limit (not really true…as there was also time and other inter-dimensional modes of travel…but that gets us off the point of this story) as I took early retirement and embarked on a course of some serious adventure. And that brings me, finally, to the point.
Travel, though exciting, wasn’t everything. Molecular re-organization ensured robust health, near-eternal youth, with a pretty face and ripped body…and I could still pig out on whatever food or drink I could imagine! Perfect counterfeit money of any conceivable currency was had in abundance, so there were no problems there…as were fake ID’s of all sorts, gerrymandered computerised bank accounts (Switzerland and the Caymans being favourite venues), birth, employment, social security records and stuff like that- all manipulated at the flick of a switch or press of a button. Tablets provided by the computer and taken at bed time had the strange effect of making me fluent in a given language when I woke up the next morning…odd feeling, brushing your teeth and suddenly able to think in Mandarin. Various hobbies could be indulged to a point beyond satiety, and that more or less gets me to the point; let’s face it, a guy has certain needs and I’m no exception.
‘Say, ah…computer…’ ‘Yes, Amalaric?’ ‘You do realise that my…uh…sexual appetites can be…how should I put this? Well, slightly exotic.’ ‘Yes, Amalaric, as you already know, I am telepathic in order to serve more efficiently.’ Of course I knew that but I was still blushing like a virgin caught in the act. ‘Well then, computer, you see we may have a problem in that area- at least if you are going to work your magic because, well, you know…the prime directive (or whatever) not to hurt other life forms and all.’ ‘I have given this some thought, Amalaric…’ You have??!!!!! ‘…and do not perceive an insurmountable problem.’ ‘No??? Please go on…’ ‘Yes, Amalaric…you see I have access to a holographic technology that may intrigue you…and no ‘life form’ need suffer.’ To say that I was intrigued is a gross understatement. Here is what ultimately transpired…
I have always been a fan of the beach, especially those in proximity to large military bases. One in particular teemed with several thousand US marines and, on weekends, an interested onlooker could witness large schools of near-naked muscular young bucks from all across America sporting in the waves. It didn’t take long to identify my ‘victim’; tall, roughly 6’ 2”, a boyish face at maybe 25, which made me think he may have been a junior officer, close cropped ‘high and tight’ haircut of a pleasing dark brown, almost black, shade, gray-blue eyes, a full, dangerous looking mouth, bull-like neck of ruddy, slightly tanned skin…and a body fit for a god. His towel was spread on the sand about six feet in front of mine so I could easily observe him and quickly made my decision. He frisked around a bit with another guy and a chick that may have been his girl friend and it was a joy to watch the dude’s taut muscles in movement. Since all he wore was a loose, faded orange boxer swimsuit (not the idiotic baggy kind that came to below the knee and made you look either like a clown or a basketball player fresh from the ghetto), there was quite a bit of the stud to observe. I was particularly impressed by his torso- long and perfectly proportioned with a dusting of wiry hair across his well-defined pecs, thicker in the deep cleft, then bisecting his ripped abs in a silky treasure trail only to widen again on his flat belly before disappearing into the swimsuit. His broad, ridged back was massively muscled as was the high, rounded butt that filled the back of the orange shorts to the point that, I swear, you could practically balance a beer can on the swell beneath the dimples above the waistband of his swimsuit. A narrow waist and broad smooth shoulders supporting arms that hung all sexy ‘gorilla-fashion’ when at rest, with impressively rounded biceps; all supported by muscular footballer’s legs likewise dusted with wiry hair…nearly completed the picture. Wonder what awaits the intrepid explorer in the depths of that orange swimsuit? I would soon find out…but excuse me, I digress!!
‘Activate camera,’ I whispered into a tiny microphone disguised as a ring on my finger. In a way unremarkable to any human eye, a tiny sand fly lazily ascended and, following a telepathic broadcast of the line of my vision, drifted toward the unsuspecting victim and perched on the hem of the young marine’s swimsuit. Its miniaturised legs of hardened titanium dug in for the ride and, satisfied; I loaded my backpack and headed for somewhere private where I could be safely beamed, away from curious eyes, back to the Cube. I knew it would be a wait of several hours, but could hardly contain my excitement; playing any number of free cell games on the computer, chugging a quart of milk and some cherry pie…paging through that novel that I never seemed able to finish…always wondering how that little sand fly was doing…and when it would return. The ‘sand fly’ was, of course, no such thing, but really a small and very sophisticated camera. Invisible to the oblivious young marine it began a series of ultra-high resolution holographic photos- numbering in the tens if not hundreds of thousands- of every millimetre of his handsome young body. When he finally stripped for a shower or merely to change clothes the final photos were taken and the ‘sand fly’, bloated now with a detailed photo-record of my young marine’s entire physique, left his small apartment without the hapless stud, now a ‘cyber-captive’, ever realising it had been there and returned to the Cube.
It was time, as the sun set in its eternal circumlocution (I’m an old fashioned, pre-Copernican kind of romantic), the computer announced that all was ready and the ‘show’ could begin. ‘OK!!!’ I fairly shouted, ‘Bring him on and let’s rock and roll!’ If the computer could have smiled it would have, of that I am certain. Was there an amused lilt in its modulated voice? ‘First, Amalaric, I must ask some questions to discover your preferences…’ ‘Sure,’ I replied, slightly perplexed. ‘Does ‘it’ have a name?’ ‘Yeah, ok, his name must be Jeff…’ Though impatient, this was kind of fun. ‘And what should he be wearing…if anything?’ Absolutely, there was a tone of amusement apparent in the electronic voice. Being a big fan of the forced strip down with attendant humiliation I gave that some serious thought. ‘Casual, off duty…you know, just what a regular jarhead would be wearing for a night on the town or day on leave… I dunno…ok, open shirt over a plain white tee. Faded blue jeans, with well-worn leather belt, over white fly front briefs (no self-respecting jarhead would go in for the effeminate designer shit that was all the rage these days), desert boots, athletic socks…that should do it.’ ‘Duly noted,’ the soothing voice of the computer never seemed rushed. ‘One last important question…’ ‘Right, shoot!’ My voice cracked with mounting excitement. The computer continued, ‘Describe his deportment, what do you prefer?’ ‘Deportment?’ I wasn’t sure what the computer was talking about. ‘His attitude, Amalaric…’ ‘Ahhhhh…!!!!’ The penny dropped. Attitude; a very important aspect of the unfolding drama. I scratched my head, slowing down, thinking about things and, above all, picturing the tall stud in my mind’s eye. ‘Ok,’ I licked my lips, ‘he’s scared shitless, but will be damned if he shows it. Defiant, thoroughly pissed off- at me, sure, but also at himself for getting into the predicament. Hardwired to obey whatever I say to do for whatever reason, but hating the fact…’ I paused, starting to feel lightheaded. Yeah, forced subservience was a turn on, plain old subservience a boring drag. On a roll now, I continued, ‘Masculine to the core, a real jarhead with a sense of honour, daring, a tough guy who can take it…but secretly wonders if that’s really true. At the same time, this dude’s no freaking masochist; he’d rather be anywhere but here; at the beach, screwing his girlfriend, whatever… He’s also deeply ashamed; a natural, easy going narcissist who enjoys strutting on his own terms, definitely NOT on mine.’ I shrugged, ‘That should do for now- got it all?’ ‘Yes, Amalaric,’ came the dispassionate reply, ‘should I summon the prisoner?’
‘Jeff’ shambled to within three feet of where I stood; my mouth agape in stunned amazement. He was perfect. An exact holographic image of the flesh and blood marine spotted hours before at the beach; I reached out and kneaded a muscular shoulder under shirt and tee, half expecting my hand to pass through the appearance of clothing, skin, muscle…bone…as if he were a ghost, somehow insubstantial, a complex illusion. Instead, what I encountered was the warm flesh of a twenty five year old stud who rumbled in a pleasing baritone, ‘What are you gonna do to me, sir?’ Not bothering to reply, I addressed the computer, ‘How????’ Temporarily at a loss for words, I waited. ‘The Podvac 779 has access programming to the latest in (trans-galactic) holographic technology. Though a generated image and not technically ‘alive’, Jeff appears solid; if you force exertion he will sweat, cut him he will bleed, shoot him and he will ‘die’. Every detail- and I mean EVERY detail- of the physical prototype has been duplicated- not just on the surface, his ‘skin’ if you will, but throughout; what you see before you is an exact replica of the young male spotted on the beach this afternoon, down to one ten thousandth of a millimetre multiplied to the power of 3.5. It is simply not possible to produce a more perfect physical facsimile.’ Was that a note of pride I detected in the computer’s voice? ‘But there is more.’ ‘More???’ I was all ears. ‘The holographic imaging device, in that respect, represents old technology that has been vastly augmented and updated on the Podvac 779.’ ‘I…I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘You see,’ the computer replied, ‘what I have described and what you see before you (so far) only represents a ‘physical’ facsimile…that is the fruit of technology many hundreds of years old…’ News to me! The computer continued, ‘Jeff’s prototype- the jarhead spotted on the beach and subsequently imaged- also underwent a complete neurologic and psychic scan using absolutely cutting edge modes of holographic pneuma-technology. That means that along with the ‘deportment’ criteria that you specified just now, he also possesses the complete and very specific personality of the original prototype that includes perfect self-awareness, memory, etc. as well as the ability to ‘feel’ that ascends from physical to emotional levels and beyond, also in exact imitative ratio to the original. In simple English- this holographic image of ‘Jeff’ is so close to the real thing that he may as well BE the real thing…but he isn’t and so the directive is not violated. When the session is finished he will be ‘reduced’ and stored, if you wish, in a file for future use.’ As if to underscore what the computer had just said, Jeff looked at me with dread and confusion brimming in his gray-blue eyes, ‘Please, man…what’s happening here? Where am I?’ and then, in a resigned tone, ‘You’re gonna hurt me…do stuff to me, aren’t you?’
‘Take your shirt off and let’s have a first look at what you’re made of.’ My tone was matter of fact and Jeff immediately shrugged off his already unbuttoned shirt, followed by the warm tee (I could smell his Old Spice scented sweat!!!). He stood before me, naked to the waist, with hands clasped behind his back, legs slightly spread in the classic military inspection posture. I reached out and traced the hard hairy swell of one of his pecs, lingering over a rosy nipple, half expecting a shout of protest and the shattering impact of a balled fist as the reward for my boldness. Instead, he simply endured the playful prelude to humiliation, exhaling a ragged sigh and turning his gaze sideways to avoid my own. I noted with amazement that he even had the capacity to blush with shame as I casually unbuckled and removed the worn leather belt before unzipping the fly of his jeans and it was then that I became truly convinced that what the computer had said was really true- ‘Jeff’, though not technically alive, might as well have been; this guy responded with real emotion…but could he really feel…you know, in a physical way? I spread the fly of his jeans and watched for a few moments, mesmerised, as gravity slowly worked its invisible magic causing the heavy denim to sag, clearing the high shelf of his cotton-clad ass and then descending more rapidly revealing hairy, over-developed thighs, calves and finally pooling at his ankles. The bulge in his scanty briefs kindled a blaze of hope that the ‘uncharted country’ (at least by me) might truly prove to be a land of milk and honey…but first things first. ‘Get your boots, socks, and levis off.’ The tall stud immediately bent to the task, fumbling with the laces of his desert boots and, in the process, revealing an inviting expanse of arched, naked, very muscular back and proud buttocks neatly outlined by the impossibly stretched fabric of his shorts. Irresistible! I think he realized what was about to happen as I noticed him pick up the pace; frantically loosing the laces of his boots…peeling off a sock…SNAP!!! I swung the leather belt with full force against the broad expanse of muscle padding his shoulders, edified and encouraged by the bright welt that immediately appeared but even more so by the low grunt of surprised pain. So, he can feel on a more basic…ah…physical level as well! Jeff frantically stripped off the other sock…SNAP…hard against that magnificent ass, and I watched, mesmerised, as his whole long body shuddered in a mix (I reckoned) of humiliation and pain, pausing for mere seconds before shucking off the levis and standing straight, panting with exertion; at attention, stripped now to nothing but his briefs.
The young jarhead cut a fine sight; over six feet of hard muscle with broad squared shoulders, hairy chest thrust forward and steely gray-blue eyes fixed straight ahead seemingly searching for infinity…or maybe a place to hide. I ran my forefinger from the soft hollow of his throat where a pulse pounded in futile protest, down the fuzzy cleft of his massive chest, on a ticklish course that made him flinch over abs that rippled and shifted like hard-scrabble sand dunes. Lingering for a while over the dark recess of Jeff’s navel, I marvelled at the flat firmness of his belly before inserting my entire hand beneath the elastic of his briefs and, catching his blinking gaze, was both surprised and gratified to see a sheen of hastily overcome tears in his staring eyes. Smiling, I scratched around lazily in his thick pubic bush, tracing the wide, hairy root of what I suspected was a large, very respectable cock. Finally, withdrawing my hand from his shorts I ordered him to look at me and the shamed young stud reluctantly complied. ‘You know there is more from where that came from?’ Yes, sir,’ he muttered. ‘Excellent, soldier, let’s get on with it then. Turn around.’ He slowly obeyed. ‘Very good, now drop your briefs.’ Jeff heaved a huge sigh and hooked both thumbs into the elastic of his briefs, smoothly hiking them down the same trail traversed moments before by his levis, except this time I had the pleasure of a rear view. I had noted earlier how fair his skin was- lightly tanned in certain places, blushed with sunburn around the neck and shoulders (and now decorated with the pleasing counterpoint of angry welts from the strap), pale cream on his ass and upper thighs, which were over-developed, ‘footballer’s thighs’, and so clenched tightly together beneath the muscular aperture of his equally tightly clenched ass, obscuring any other sights of things dangling up front that might be visible from the rear. Not bad, not bad at all…but, on consideration, I had always been a huge fan of the ‘doggy view’ of a man’s equipment and, well, what the hell? Jeff was my hologram! ‘Spread your legs!’ Jeff gingerly stepped out of his pooled shorts and obeyed, in the process affording me a fine view of ripe testicles hanging defenceless in their sack and just the merest hint- like a shy sunrise peeking over the horizon- of the head of his cock as well. Excellent, but how to hold the awkward position? I had forgotten that the computer was telepathic. ‘Amalaric?’ ‘Yes??’ It was difficult bearing the distraction of the computer’s voice with the sight of my jarhead’s dangling balls seen hanging between hairy thighs already quivering with tension not three feet in front of me. ‘Perhaps a spreader bar would be useful?’ I immediately broke into a broad grin, ‘Why, certainly, computer…but damn! I forgot to pick one up at the local convenience store last Thursday…’ I stopped in mid-sentence and stared in amazement at a small table that simply hadn’t been there thirty seconds before and resting on its polished surface…yeah, a state of the art, mirror-finish stainless steel maximum four and a half foot width…spreader bar! ‘Fark me!!!’ I chortled, ‘what lucky stars are aligned today?!’ ‘At your service,’ the computer modestly replied, and less than five minutes later Jeff’s hairy legs, already apparently cramping from the tension, were fixed in place, spread a full four feet and affording me a rear view to rival Jimmy Stewart’s in the film of the same name. I then made a few minor arrangements, ordering his hands clasped firmly behind his handsome head, thus force-flexing that magnificent back; cuffing his wrists (also courtesy of the resourceful computer, which seemed to spit out holographs of endless variety), with shoulders squared and ass thrust just slightly toward me as if hungry for what I most surely was about to offer.
SNAP! The leather strap connected with the hard, warm muscle of my jarhead’s proud ass. SNAP and again… Five more and he was panting as if running laps, slicked with bright sweat, but- so far- silent; taking it ‘like a man’. SNAP! His pale ass was an angry bright red. SNAP!!! (six more); we finally had some sound effects; a guttural buzz of reluctant, inarticulate pain…SNAP!! More. SNAP!!! Ten in a row and the buck was swaying like a venerable old tree in a hurricane…SNAP!!! He toppled to his knees, head bowed, heaving deep breaths of agonised shame. ‘On your feet!’ I removed the cuffs and stretcher bar and he shambled to attention, facing me now with hands clasped behind his back, his proud cock and balls at last on full display. Intuiting my desire, Jeff spread his mighty legs without being asked (though obviously not the full four feet made possible by the stretcher bar) allowing his manhood to swing freely in the still air. I paused for a few moments admiring the view. A perfectly flat belly dusted with fine hair and bisected by a thicker treasure trail tapered to narrow hips centred by a curling patch of pubic hair. His well shaped penis sprouted at a near forty five degree angle from the thick dusky bush, arcing forward at least five inches and, I noted with quirky pleasure, did not veer to left or right as was the case with so many males. The ruddy head, fully visible above an old circumcision scar, rested on the cushion of my stud’s full ball sack, each large testicle outlined against the sweaty folds of skin. I spent the next few moments handling him; weighing the heavy balls in the palm of my hand, tracing the long shaft of his cock and sensitive rims of the head…even managing to induce (to his shamed horror) some lengthening and thickening… ‘Amalaric?’ ‘Yes, computer?’ ‘Look over there.’
I rubbed my eyes, still unused to the plethora of wonders the computer was capable of. In the centre of my well-appointed cube a door suddenly appeared, fully framed, tightly closed…but otherwise disembodied, not joined to any wall or room, it simply stood like some mysterious dolmen in the middle of the empty space. ‘Go ahead,’ the computer cooed, ‘open it.’ I gingerly turned the knob and opened the door, immediately squinting at the effulgence of light that suddenly flooded the room. As my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out what lay over the (holographic) threshold, I found myself, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. ‘Wow!! I…I can’t believe it!!!’ A state of the art, thoroughly modern and fully equipped torture chamber, replete with hundreds if not thousands of specialised toys, lay before me. Jeff, as wide-eyed with surprise as me, shuddered violently shaking his handsome head in futile denial. ‘Well, well…’ I whispered, running a hand lovingly over the warm muscular curve of a shoulder and bicep, ‘shall we enter this magical place of dark delights and get down to some serious business?’ ‘Please…’ he stammered, cupping cock and balls with one protective hand, ‘is this some kind of alien abduction, you know, for experimentation? Then after…’ he paused, near tears, ‘you gonna let me go?’ I laughed, considering his heart-rending remark and guessing, by the way he guarded his cock and balls, the sorts of films he had watched on late night TV. ‘Yeah, I guess so…well, at least half an alien abduction.’ I winked at the unseen computer, ‘And, yeah, we’re going to do all sorts of experimenting on that big strapping body of yours…and after that, gosh, I don’t know.’ He hung his head in dejection, worst fears confirmed, but followed me obediently into the holochamber.
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Kronmire4 - June 23, 2016, 4:51 am
Jarheads are always such fantastic fantasy figures, especially with Amalaric’s deft touch (both figurative and lustful!); the added sci-fi element is also a lot of fun. Hope this series of “bedtime” stories continues on and on, particularly since these tales do NOT call for cookies and milk!