GayBondageFiction

A cocky young boxer endures a severe punishment for not “throwing the fight” when ordered by a mobster.

The Woes of Colin Magee
by Anonymous
Art by Amalaric

Colin examined his image in the mirror, well […]

A hung man is stripped and publicly whipped for his crimes in this art piece by ppatrao47.

Punished for Being Seductive & Well Endowed
by ppatrao47
Visit his blog BDSM Male Drawings.

He was tied up in […]

A stripper enjoying a day at the beach is accosted by a group of horny men to take what they want by force in this new story by VaultAndrew.

Somewhere in Hung Shing Yeh, Lamma Island
by VaultAndrew

I’ve […]

Davey Salyer is forced to cum in front of the audience of men using a most ingenious device. The Tough Love Products holds a special convention.

Selling Tough Love – Part 9
by Kronmire4
Art by […]

Muscular stud Marty Stiles is bound and slowly stripped in front of the audience of women then flogged for a warm up…..

Selling Tough Love – Part 10
by Kronmire4
Art by Amalaric
Series: Selling Tough […]

A young lad becomes a hunky captain’s “monkey” in this classic story by Lance illustrated by Cavelo.

Captain’s Monkey
by Lance
Art by Cavelo

What follows is described as a “journal.” Where and when it was […]

The Emperor devises a fiendish way to torture a pair of captured soldier brothers in this anonymously written story illustrated by Amalaric.

The Emperor’s Toys
by Anonymous
Art by Amalaric

During the […]

The public’s acceptance of torture as acceptable means of extracting information leads to the explosion of a new industry in this anonymously written story with art by Amalaric.

Growth Industries
by […]

The Musketeers fall under the control of the sadistic De Sade in this classic series by artist Cavelo.

De Sade and the Musketeers – Conclusion
by Cavelo
Series: De Sade and the Musketeers

Sold into […]

A sexy, young drifter stumbles on to the wrong farm while for work in this hot short story from Amalaric!

Looking for Work
by Amalaric

The high plains possessed a stark, lonely kind of beauty and Donald Rand was one of the rare ones that could appreciate that. Times were hard, as they had been before and would, without doubt, be again…but he had managed to weather the worst of it out on the family ranch that, thank God, hadn’t had any attached mortgage for many years. A lover of solitude, he generally spent the days by himself, living frugally off of the meager produce of the land and an occasional ten mile trip into the nearest town for necessary supplies. All in all, Don seemed a normal sort; a little flinty to be sure and definitely not one to over-socialize but harmless in his way and now, already in his middle forties, most folks had long since stopped speculating on what reasons Don might have had for never getting hitched and raising up a family.

Don caught sight of the drifter long before the younger man was aware anyone else was around. The homestead looked deserted and, turning the corner of an old barn, Don had given the boy the shock of his life; materializing out of nowhere with a loaded shotgun cocked and pointed straight at the intruder. ‘What the hell are you doing on my property, boy?’ The kid’s hands shot into the air even as he stammered his apologies and when he had finished Don understood that the drifter had travelled hundreds of miles- hitchhiking, hopping trains, and by foot- was tired and hungry, without a friend in the world…and desperate for work. ‘Not much extra to do around here.’ But was there something in the rancher’s tone that invited just a ray of hope? ‘What’s your name, boy?’ ‘John Travis, sir.’ ‘You can put your hands down, I ain’t gonna shoot you…just yet.’ He cracked the merest twitch of a smile. The kid’s sigh of relief was heartfelt as was the broad grin and quick acceptance when Don offered him the opportunity of a bath and dinner and, an hour and a half later- scrubbed clean and with a belly full of home cooked beef stew- the middle aged rancher seemed to re-consider; maybe there was some work around the place that a younger man could do.

‘How old are you, John?’ The weary traveler could hardly believe his luck; homeless one minute and employed with a place to lay his head the next. The mellow atmosphere of yellow lamplight and fusty, bachelor’s pad vibe in the narrow living room lent an air of safe respectability to the scene. ‘Twenty two, sir…a couple of months ago.’ Though John Travis was completely unaware of the fact, he and Donald Rand had actually met quite a while ago. But that was in Don’s fantasies as he had imagined young men with all of John’s…ah…qualifications. Many times during the course of the day; while performing any number of prosaic tasks, perhaps some slick fun in the bath tub, but especially before drifting off to sleep at night, Don would imagine things to do with a young man like John. At five feet eleven inches tall, the twenty two year old seemed to have the lean yet tightly defined muscular build of the hard scrabbler and casual laborer that had become his lot in life. On top of that, his face was uncommonly handsome with a quality of boyish likeability framed by dark hair that would have curled if allowed to grow longer than the crew cut that convenience dictated. And, as Don surreptitiously noted, the high swell of John’s denim clad backside and soft bulge at the crotch of his faded levis fairly shouted a promise begging to be kept. After sharing a couple of shots of whisky, Don remarked in a voice suddenly a little husky, ‘Guess you can bed down in the barn since the nights have been pretty warm lately. Tomorrow I’ll show you around the place and we’ll see what work might need doing.’ ‘Thanks, boss.’ John’s wide smile was pure gratitude and, grabbing his back pack with sleeping roll, he rose from the sofa in a lithe, fluid motion and, opening the front door, headed into the gathering shadows of the early evening and a dreamless sleep in Don Rand’s old barn.

First light brought both men back together. Don had always been an early riser and John Travis wanted to make a good impression. ‘Been thinking,’ Don said with just a hint of speculative worry in his tone, ‘sure, there’s a lot to be done around here…but I’ve managed by myself all of these years and, well, times being hard and all…’ he trailed off. Nearly gagging on a bitter tide of panic, John blurted out, ‘That may be true, boss, but there’s got to be things you’re, uh, getting tired of…like, maybe could use a young buck like me with a lot of muscle and not much else on his mind to take care of?’ He had silently hoped for a decent wage, something to stand by when he moved on, but the overwhelming need to lay down a root, however shallow, to eat a regular meal, and sleep in the same place for more than a few nights in a row…trumped everything. Near tears but damned if he would show it, John Travis was desperate and the soft glow of the previous night’s warm memories didn’t help; hot water, a solid meal, fuck…even whisky! ‘I swear, boss…I can help around this place, really…’ And the earnestness in his voice, solid stance; uncompromisingly honest, oddly innocent, yet every bit his twenty two years and utterly sure of himself, added up to Don’s hot dreams of masculine beauty and sealed the young drifter’s fate. ‘OK,’ the rancher muttered, ‘let’s have a look around.’

Don gave the kid a tour of the ranch that lasted around an hour and they both pointed out several jobs that desperately needed doing. ‘Fence posts over here are rotten, boss. I could dig them out and pound some new ones back in if you give the go-ahead’ Or, ‘Damn, boy! Looks like that irrigation ditch is near silted up- how long would it take you to clear it out?’ When they returned to the house for a bite of breakfast, both men knew that young John Travis wasn’t going anywhere soon. Afterward, draining a last cup of coffee, Don rose from the table and addressed his new ranch hand, ‘Right, time to get started.’ John followed him out the back door and noted that the day was sure to be a hot one with the temperature already climbing fast at nine thirty in the morning and the sun bright in a cloudless sky. Hell, by this time tomorrow I’ll most likely already have a full day of work under my belt! He wanted to whoop for pure joy but refrained. Though just a twenty two year old country boy, John Travis still possessed a measure of dignity and definitely knew his place.

Behind the barn there was a kind of lean-to with scattered posts, rings for hanging things, maybe tethering animals… The rancher cleared his throat, ‘Time to make sure that you’re the man to work for me, John.’ Hiding his confusion, young Travis merely nodded assent. ‘Strip off your shirt and let’s have a look at your muscles.’ John was wearing a long sleeved tan chino over a white cotton tee and, misunderstanding, reckoned the strange request had something to do with the strength in his biceps- they had been talking about pounding posts and all- so he wordlessly unbuttoned both cuffs and rolled up the sleeves exposing the hard muscular length of both of his arms. ‘Got more than enough strength for any jobs you throw at me, boss.’ Rand shook his head, exhaling sharply, ‘There’s consequences for willfulness and even more so for outright disobedience, boy. We’ll talk some more about that later. On this ranch, when I give an order…you don’t question it, you don’t ignore it…you OBEY. Is that clear?’ ‘Yes, boss.’ The new ranch hand desperately wanted to please. ‘OK, so let’s start again.’ Don Rand’s voice crackled with feigned exasperation, ‘I didn’t tell you to roll up your sleeves and flex like some cocky stud trying to impress his babe at the county fair.’ John slowly nodded, swallowing the insult. ‘What I said was to strip off your shirt so I could have a look at you- buck bare down to the waist. I can see you got a pair of broad shoulders, boy…’ the rancher’s tone had somehow become conciliatory but remained firm, ‘but I also want to…ah…examine your chest, back, check for any flab at your waistline and, yeah, have a look at the muscles in the arms you’ve already kindly bared. A ranch hand is kind of like a high-end stock animal, and a rancher’s got every right to insure he’s fit for service. Now, get to it- STRIP.’ Trying to control the trembling of his hands, John Travis did as he was told, slowly unbuttoning the tan chino and shrugging it off then pulling the tee up the long length of his torso and over his head where it joined his shirt draped over one of the rails. Naked to the waist, he blushed at the rancher’s interested scrutiny and visibly flinched when Don ran a calloused hand over the rounded muscle of his left shoulder. ‘Just like a skittish colt,’ Rand smiled and, testing the quality of John’s well-defined pecs, fingered the fine hairs sprouting in the cleft, and lightly pelting the hard expanse of upper chest. ‘You can understand, now, why I wanted you to take off your shirt?’ His roving hand dipped lower, over a well-padded rib to the curly short hairs that peppered John Travis’ six pack abs. ‘I…I…guess so,’ but the answer lacked any conviction as John willed himself to endure the humiliating examination. Suddenly, however, he was galvanized as Don casually unbuckled the old leather belt John was wearing as well as the top steel button of his levis. ‘What are you doing, man!?’ Opening the zipper of the fly about half way, Don watched as the baggy levis immediately began a precipitous sag. Travis shoved his hands into his pockets to arrest the descent but in the process also levered the fly further open and jacked the loose waistband forward affording the rancher a full view of his lower torso. Don noted that the boy wore no undershorts, revealing, instead, a full bush of pubic hair directly below the wiry fur dusting his abs and nestling around the thick base of the ranch hand’s penis. Everything else remained hidden and under the control of John’s shaking hands which, thrust deep inside his pockets, prevented the faded pair of levis from descending any further. ‘This just ain’t right…’ John felt disoriented, unsure of how to react or what to do. ‘Shut your mouth, boy, unless I ask you a question…or give you an order.’ Don lightly cuffed the side of John’s short cropped head. ‘Is that understood?’ And to John Travis’ credit he did think, for a few brief seconds, about getting the fuck outta there and maybe doing some damage to the creepy rancher in the process…but times were hard and the memory of what it was like to be cold and hungry too damn recent. Hard working and self-reliant, his habits had always inclined him toward endurance, obedience, and respect for authority. He even, as the last split second of decision ticked by, considered the previous evening; food in his belly and a place to sleep, the promise of some money in his pocket, fuck, even whisky… ‘Yes, boss,’ in tones that, though subdued, were nevertheless honest. ‘That’s good John,’ Don Rand’s voice dripped with self-satisfaction, ‘now, get your hands out of your pockets.’

John Travis slowly complied and, as expected, his baggy levis immediately drooped exposing a good portion of the long shaft of his cock and the pale expanse of narrow hips. The rancher did what John expected, probing the exposed areas of hip and groin- ‘Not an ounce of spare fat here, boy…no ‘love handles’, just a young man’s honed muscle…well done!’- before grasping the faded denim waistband and pulling his levis completely down. Effectively nude, John felt the incongruity of a morning breeze tickling the short hairs on his dangling balls even as Don Rand ordered him to remove boots, socks, and pooled jeans and spread his legs. He did so with sickening reluctance, acutely aware of the older man’s keen appraisal and, far worse, palpable expectation. When the last of his clothing was discarded the ranch hand steeled himself to spread his legs, with full knowledge of what was certain to follow, and found that he just wasn’t able. ‘Can’t do it, boss.’ He was near tears, hating himself and Don Rand in equal measure. Glancing at the pile of discarded clothing the handsome drifter made his decision. ‘I would’ve given you more than an honest day’s work for however long you needed me, boss…with all the respect and gratitude I could muster,’ he sighed, shuffling in place, ‘but all of this…you making me strip down, pawing at me, treating me like some kind of animal, just ain’t right, not right at all.’ Don observed the naked young stud in silence, seeming impassive, but actually actively appraising (far from concerned and certainly not disappointed). ‘Maybe there are one or two things you don’t understand, John.’ Don smiled tightly but there was no humor in his ice blue eyes, ‘like, if and when I go to the cops…oh, I know just about all of them for what seems a hundred miles in every direction, we’re a tight knit bunch out here…and tell them about all of the mayhem a young stranger (that fits your description down to the cow shit on the soles of your boots) caused after he trespassed on my property. Whew!’ He wiped his forehead, though the skin was paper-dry. ‘And, fark me; the threats, the wanton destruction as he rampaged around the place…could’ve gave this harmless old redneck a coronary or something!’ The tight smile remained but the humor had, at last, reached the rancher’s mirth-filled eyes. John Travis’ broad shoulders slumped in hopelessness as he absorbed the threat like a body blow; head bowed in bitter consternation, long fingered hands fidgeting at his side. He had taken a step toward his discarded clothing but the rancher’s remarks stopped him in his tracks. ‘Yep, I reckon there might be some horrible consequences if that came to pass. Don’t you agree, John?’ ‘Yeah…I guess so,’ whispered as soft as the late morning breeze. ‘So, here’s the deal.’ Suddenly all business, Don Rand laid out his terms, ‘You ain’t going nowhere for three months. I reckon there’s that much that needs doing around this place and you’ve convinced me that you’re the man for the job…and (he winked) I like what I see.’ He paused and John nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘During that time you will abide by my rules- ALL of them. You will also obey all orders without questions or hesitation. When you leave my ranch after your time is finished I guarantee a cash payment of $175.00 and I will personally drive you to the county line; this is a promise and I am a man of my word. Is all of that understood?’ ‘Yes, boss,’ the young ranch hand’s head remained bowed, unable to look Don Rand in the eye. ‘You can sleep out in the barn, though if the weather turns too cold there are also a couple of spare rooms in the house. Three solid meals to keep you fueled up is, naturally, part of the bargain…and don’t you just feel like the luckiest young man in the world?’ John didn’t bother to reply. ‘Any infractions will be punished at my discretion and I am a firm believer in the value of corporal punishment. Did your daddy ever bend you over his knee, boy?’ ‘Yes sir, he did when I deserved it…’ John trailed off feeling as if he was being led into a trap. ‘Well, in my experience, young men like you are always deserving…and for that reason on Friday afternoons promptly at half past four you and I will keep an appointment in the old barn for a taste of the strap, or maybe the paddle, and sometimes- if I feel you’re especially deserving- the old horse whip passed down from my daddy.’ Horrified into a stunned silence, John suddenly felt nauseous as the breeze brushed pricks of cold sweat on his back and chest. ‘Don’t think that you can avoid your Friday whipping just by behaving yourself because that has nothing to do with it. No sir, nothing at all. I just reckon that a boy like you needs a regular reminder of the way things are and, in my experience, a steady dose of discipline never did a buck any harm.’ Don paused and laid a proprietary hand on John’s naked shoulder, ‘Of course, when you do screw up…and I know that you will because that’s just in a young man’s nature…well, what happens on Friday afternoons can also happen anytime at all. That and some other things I’ve tried out on occasion as well. OK, what did I tell you? Hands behind your back!’ Swallowing hard, John complied. ‘Now, SPREAD YOUR LEGS!’

At twenty two and in peak physical condition John Travis presented a fine sight. Boyishly handsome with dark hair cut short, a straight nose and wide, full-lipped mouth; his blue eyes, now averted, would under other circumstances have been expressive and more than a little sexy (though he was unaware of that) due to their striking color, size, and the slight downturn of the heavy lids. John’s hands were clenched firmly behind his back giving Don Rand an unobstructed view of his long, muscular torso. The boy’s broad shoulders, thickly padded with rounded muscle, spoke of a lifetime of hard manual work as did the flexed biceps under the smooth skin of his upper arms. By contrast, John’s lower arms, though also corded with agile muscle, were peppered with dark, curly hair. His chest was deep and well-defined with each swelling pectoral crowned by a rosy nipple and dusted with a fine, short pelt that also offered a contrast to the smooth beauty of upper abs, where the first ridges of John’s hard ‘six pack’ were visible under a thin sheen of nervous sweat. The ‘six pack’ gained even greater definition in the area of the buck’s flat belly but, like John’s chest, was slightly furry with a nominally thicker dark treasure trail running from the shadowed depths of his navel to the thick bush of dark pubic hair accenting the pale skin of hip and groin. With his muscular legs spread wide, the young ranch hand’s manhood hung on full display; his pendulous balls swinging slightly in the still air. Don drank in the sight for several seconds, truly impressed. While he held his unzipped levis up, the only part of John’s penis to be seen was the base, but Don could tell by its thickness that the subsequent full revelation wouldn’t be a disappointment. ‘Let’s get some measurements,’ he casually remarked and, reaching into a pocket, extracted an old fashioned tape measure. Anchoring one end firmly at the hairy root of John’s cock, he pulled the tape forward to the tip of the head and read the results, ‘Four and half inches soft. Looks like you’re quite the stud, boy!’ Measurements of the width of the shaft, the head, and then of John’s testicles followed with similar impressive results. Finally, Don took firm hold of the sweating ranch hand’s cock and began a light, rhythmic stroke. ‘Let yourself get hard, boy,’ and feeling a hot tear splash the back of his hand, the rancher glanced up and sighed at the look of pure anguish on John Travis’ face. ‘Just relax…and let yourself get hard.’ The stroking continued without a pause. ‘What do you say when I give you an order?’ ‘Yes, boss,’ as he closed both eyes, squeezing out a last tear. It took several minutes, but John Travis eventually managed to obey the all important command and achieved an erection. Measurements followed and, deciding on the spur of the moment to save the deeper humiliation of jacking the young drifter completely off for another day, Don Rand merely stepped back and, after a last caress of the boy’s hot, rigid cock, watched and waited as John stood quietly sobbing and his manhood shrank to its flaccid state.

‘Can I put my clothes back on, boss?’ John had been ordered to turn around and his muscular backside was thoroughly examined but finally Don signaled he had seen enough and that his new ranch hand seemed fit for hard work. ‘Of course, but not just yet,’ he mused, gathering up jeans, shirt, socks, tee, and even John’s boots and socks, depositing everything in a burlap bag. ‘First, though, there’s the matter of several direct orders you have either willfully disobeyed or tried to evade. I think it may be high time you had a taste of the strap.’ ‘Please,’ John mumbled as he was marched buck naked across a wide yard to where the old barn stood, ‘I…I swear, sir…it won’t happen again.’ ‘That’s exactly what I like to hear, boy,’ was the smug reply but Don Rand made no gesture of mercy as the pair entered the dimly lit interior.

At first sight the old barn appeared to be entirely normal; littered with all of the paraphernalia associated with a ranch. Closer inspection, however, revealed some other things. ‘I think for starters we’ll get you situated on the ‘horse’. Ain’t gonna use the whip on you today, boy…and you can thank me for that.’ Stony silence greeted the rancher’s remark, but Don was unconcerned as he sensed John struggling against a black tide of confusion and fear. The ‘horse’ turned out to be a padded bench with wide wooden ‘fenders’. John was instructed to kneel at one end of the platform then position himself with his belly and chest resting on the padded bench with arms, bent at the elbow, on the same level as his knees. Straps were then attached to his ankles and wrists effectively immobilizing the tall buck in an ‘all fours’ position. Due to the width of the bench his legs were lightly spread affording Don Rand with a fine backside view of John’s cock and balls beneath the levered crack of his muscular ass. Completely helpless, John was acutely conscious of his vulnerability; round, furry ass thrust high, broad back also fairly inviting a taste of leather and tender cock and balls swinging freely between his spread legs. Don underscored the perception by administering an impromptu oil massage in order to tenderize the skin and muscle as he quaintly put it and, naturally, he was unable to resist the temptation to apply a slick sheen to John’s perfectly presented manhood. When all was ready he selected a supple leather strap about two and a half feet in length, a few inches wide and, perhaps, a quarter of an inch thick. As John Travis would painfully learn over the coming months, Don had some much ‘bigger guns’ in his toy chest…but, for starters, he reckoned the light strap would suffice.

The first blow landed squarely across the prone buck’s ass cheeks immediately raising an angry pink welt that soon enough- and vastly aided by a rhythmic rain of steady blows- deepened to a blistered red. After six or seven direct hits, landed with all of the force that Don Rand could muster, John began to involuntarily cry out and, as his arms were only immobilized at the wrists and not also at the elbows, to rear up; revealing a sweat streaked chest of straining muscle, bulging biceps, and frantically swinging genitals as he twisted back and forth on the bench. Don carefully reddened the lad’s hairy thighs; intentionally bringing one or two bites of stinging leather against John’s exposed testicles. The ranch hand’s scream of pure anguish and great spray of sweat as he jerked sideways was strong enough to make the floor boards of the barn, to which the ‘horse’ was bolted, creak with protest. That also served as a signal to the rancher who, after a cursory work over of John Travis’ broad, muscular back, put the strap away and, releasing his hired hand, ordered him to stand up straight. Tossing the burlap bag filled with John’s clothing at the trembling buck’s feet, Don issued another of what already seemed like an endless stream of orders, ‘Get yourself dressed, boy, there’s plenty of daylight left and a shit load of work waiting to be done.’ As John wearily complied, pulling on the baggy levis and buckling the belt, Don scratched the stubble on his chin and added, ‘But leave the shirt. Weather’s fine, in fact, I believe today’s gonna be a scorcher. Besides, I like to watch a man work when he’s stripped to the waist.’ ‘Yes, boss,’ John mumbled and stuffed his shirt and tee back into the sack. He’s learning fast, Don thought in silent tones of pure satisfaction…and in three farking months so much can be accomplished.

The Musketeers fall under the control of the sadistic De Sade in this classic series by artist Cavelo.

De Sade and the Musketeers – Page 3
by Cavelo
Series: De Sade and the Musketeers

Mid-voyage on a […]

Two police officers are captured and sold into sexual slavery but only after their captors have some fun with them in this new series by Horny Old Fag.

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapters 1 & 2
by […]

The helpless cops are spanked & sodomized with their own nightsticks.

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapters 3 & 4
by Horny Old Fag
Series: This Little Piggy Went to the Market

Chapter […]

The captured cops begin the journey to the next chapter of their lives….

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapters 5 & 6
by Horny Old Fag
Series: This Little Piggy Went to the Market

Chapter […]

The Musketeers fall under the control of the sadistic De Sade in this classic series by artist Cavelo.

De Sade and the Musketeers – Page 2
by Cavelo
Series: De Sade and the Musketeers

On the musketeers […]

After the auction, the demonstrations begin including greased piglets and a bull attached to a fancy new milking machine….

Rodeo Roundup – Part 3: Demonstrations
by Amalaric
Series: Rodeo […]

The main events occur near the end of the rodeo including the shearing of lambs, a gelding and riding bucking broncos before a winner is declared who enjoys the rewards of his efforts….

Rodeo Roundup – […]

Vote for your favorite stories from May & June. You may vote for up to FOUR different stories. After placing your vote, enjoy this month’s bonus story. Just follow the link below the results after you vote to […]

A short dark scenario from the mind of Amalaric……

From the Depths
by Amalaric

Not one of them knew how they had gotten there, but that was the least of it…none of the men knew where ‘there’ might […]

The Musketeers fall under the control of the sadistic De Sade in this classic series by artist Cavelo.

De Sade and the Musketeers – Page 1
by Cavelo
Series: De Sade and the Musketeers

In the dungeon […]