GayBondageFiction

Jimmy is stripped completely and forced to intensive exercise while his captor inspects and enjoys his body.

Bedtime Stories 1: The Magic Potion – Page 2
Story & Art by Amalaric
Series: Bedtime […]

Jimmy is taken to the “examination room” where he experiences his first taste of bondage. Story and art by Amalaric.

Bedtime Stories 1: The Magic Potion – Page 3
Story & Art by Amalaric
Series: Bedtime […]

Jimmy is stretched tight in an X-Frame and made to cum in the conclusion of this chapter. Story and art by Amalaric.

Bedtime Stories 1: The Magic Potion – Page 4
Story & Art by Amalaric
Series: Bedtime […]

Police Officer Scott Creager is forced to strip and endure a humiliating inspection after being accused of masturbating in a gym lockerroom in this hot story from new author Luther5. Masterfully illustrated by […]

Police Officer Scott Creager is forced to strip and endure a humiliating inspection after being accused of masturbating in a gym lockerroom in this hot story from new author Luther5. Masterfully illustrated by […]

The new ranchhand’s refusal to whip Nhlanhla earns him another brutal flogging dished out by his fellow ranchhands under the direction of Steve.

Taking the Whip – Part 7
by Whiplash235
Series: Taking the Whip
Art by Neil Bruce at Bearoticart.com

I looked at the whip resting on the table behind Sikhumbuzo. It had the usual wooden handle that I was becoming accustomed to and the leather thong began as thick as the handle, until its two meter length tapered off to a point at the end. I looked at Nhlanhla, bare from the waist up, his dark lean body stretched out by the restraints; he seemed to be waiting almost calmly for the lash to start cutting his vulnerable body. I walked over and stood in front of him, as he had stood in front of me a couple of days previously. His muscular arms, bare chest and chiselled stomach were something to behold, and my member responded to the sight, but I was confused: he was where I had expected to be; I was supposed to be the one stretched out shirtless, fastened to the metal rings and wooden pegs that would hold me in place as their whips streaked across my bare body. The idea of picking up the whip and using it on him was too strange to contemplate seriously. I ran my hand up and down his rugged stomach and chest; feeling his body shiver momentarily. He smiled at me, but said nothing.

“What happens if I say no?” I asked, addressing Sikhumbuzo, who was still rocking his chair against the table.

Then Sikhumbuzo smiled, though it was more of a nasty grin. “Oh, that would be good for me,” he said, “because I get to tie you up next to him, and I give you ten each. So please feel free to say No, ‘cos I would like that…a lot.”

Nhlanhla looked at me intently, obviously bewildered at my reaction. Perhaps he was also a bit afraid of Sikhumbuzo’s obvious enthusiasm for administering the lash. “I think I would prefer…that my first taste of the whip…come from you,” he said, somewhat hoarsely. I noticed the way he was stretching his fingers and moving uncomfortably against the restraints, as though he was suddenly nervous about what he had let himself in for. I took a step back, still looking at him, imagining how he would writhe and squirm when a whip started cutting across his back. His stretched-out helplessness was appealing, and my member was up to its nonsense again, but for some reason I did not want to be the one wielding the whip. If we were alone, I would probably have stripped him naked and done to him the sort of things he had taught me to do to Jabulani; I could picture his powerful body writhing with pleasure until he begged me to give us both release. But I did not want to use a whip on him, even if it meant that I would have to endure it myself; I had come into the barn expecting another whipping, and I could not make the switch to be the one with the whip in his hand. I stroked his stomach slowly for a long minute; I did not put my hand down the front of his trousers – I decided I did not want to know whether he also became erect at the thought of being whipped.

“No,” I said with something akin to a sigh, watching a very confused expression spreading across Nhlanhla’s face, “I won’t do it. And if that means that I get ten lashes alongside you, I can handle that…”

Sikhumbuzo stood up and stretched his brown body with such an evil grin on his face that I almost changed my mind. “Well, then,” he said happily, “I suppose you’d better take your shirt off.”

I was about to comply when Steve stepped out of the shadows. He was stripped to the waist and – surprisingly – barefoot; his body looked as good as ever in the shadowy light of the barn, though I had to repress a shudder when I saw the whip coiled and clipped to the belt of his trousers. “Hold on Sikhumbuzo, I have another idea.” I realized he must have been on the other side of the barn when I came in, unless he had just arrived, which was unlikely. The way he looked at me said clearly that his new idea was going to be a lot worse than taking ten lashes from Sikhumbuzo. “Stay there,” he said to me, “and put your hands on your head. Sorry, Nhlanhla, you’ll just have to wait, since your new found friend doesn’t feel like whipping you,” he continued, walking briskly towards me.

I put my hands behind my head, though my stomach was turning to water as I wondered what might happen next. It looked like Steve was going to deliver the punishment, and I suddenly remembered that ten strokes from him had brought me close to begging, even if my member had ended up so erect. He stopped in front of me, and I had a close look at those bulging muscles that promised a heavy beating. “Untie him, Sikhumbuzo,” he said, gazing at me. “I think our young hero needs to learn that there are consequences when you say no.”

I was vaguely aware of Sikhumbuzo releasing Nhlanhla from his bonds, but my attention was focused on Steve. He took hold of my shirt at the front, just underneath my neck, and then he pulled downwards roughly, ripping it open to expose my bare chest and stomach. I took a trembling breath, which seemed to please my tormentor. He walked behind me and began pulling my shirt out of my trousers at the back, while I breathed deeply, keeping my hands on my head and trying unsuccessfully to stop shuddering. “You took ten from me quite well,” said Steve, “along with a few more from Sikhumbuzo.” He stopped talking for a moment, and there was a loud tearing sound as he split my shirt all the way up my back. I felt his hands grab my arms and place them by my side. He came round to face me, almost gently pushing my shredded shirt off my shoulders and down my arms. When he had finished stripping me, he said conversationally, “Let’s see how you deal with twenty lashes.”

My member, of course, was pushing hard against my shorts and trousers by this stage, though my stomach continued churning. I was naked from the waist up, and I knew that Sikhumbuzo and Nhlanhla were going to tie me up and I would be spread-eagled out once again, waiting for the whip. “Restrain him,” said Steve, “and strip him to his shorts. I’m going to call the others.”

“You are such an idiot,” murmured Nhlanhla as the two of them led me to the beam and deftly secured my wrists to the metal rings. There was nothing I could say in reply. This was a moment I had fantasized about ever since that first day when they led me in here, stripped me and fastened me to the same restraints; my mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions. This was my opportunity to show that I was strong enough to endure, and my member was pressing strongly against my shorts at the thought of the others seeing me spread-eagled out like this. At the same time, twenty cutting strokes from Steve might be more than I could bear, and they might witness a whimpering wreck writhing helplessly and pleading that the punishment cease. When the two of them pulled down my trousers and made me step out of them, it must have been obvious how erect I was, but neither Nhlanhla nor Sikhumbuzo made any comment as they tied my ankles to the wooden pegs.

“You really are a fool,” said Nhlanhla, “I could have taken ten strokes from you. It was a way of breaking Steve’s hold on me. I’ve always known that ‘something special’ was going to be really bad, and I hoped that letting you work on me would spare me something worse…”

Still I said nothing. Nhlanhla was stroking my sides, stomach and chest in a way that belied his words, and then he slipped his hand down the front of my shorts and tickled the shaft of my member, sending ripples of pleasure all through my body. I stretched myself towards him; I was as confused as I had been when they introduced me to these things: my sex was so erect, and yet I was stripped and helpless, this time waiting for twenty lashes.
Muffled noises behind me told me that the others were congregating, and my member straightened more forcefully, reinforcing the conflicting emotions I was experiencing. Maybe they were admiring my bare body stretched out between the restraints, but I was about to receive twenty cruel strokes of the whip that would surely test me to the limit. A quick glance to my left and I saw Sikhumbuzo picking up the whip from the table; another glance to my right and I watched as Steve unclipped the whip from the belt of his trousers and handed it to Nhlanhla, who took it with no reluctance that I could see. I shuddered helplessly: twenty strokes obviously meant ten from each of them, and I had seen them deliver a merciless beating just a couple of hours previously. I straightened my fingers, knowing that the ropes were going to hold me tight while their whips played hell on my bare body. I watched them take up position behind me, and I also saw that Jabulani was there too, supported with one arm round Frank’s shoulders and another round Jonathan, wearing a new pair of white shorts and looking at me sympathetically. Nhlanhla and Sikhumbuzo flexed their whips, waiting for the signal to begin.

“One more punishment for you all to witness before you go to sleep,” said Steve, “twenty lashes for sure this time, and if our young friend isn’t begging for mercy before the end, you might even see a third person strung up before the night is over. Nhlanhla, you can begin.”

He was testing both of us, obviously. He knew that I wanted to show that I could take as much whipping as they wanted to give, and he was challenging Nhlanhla to lay it on so hard that my bravado would break. The whip whistled through the night air and thudded cruelly across my back, cutting a weal that pushed me forward against the restraints. I gritted my teeth hard as the pain seeped into me. If I begged before the end…Sikhumbuzo’s stroke streaked through my thoughts, sending me forward with a gasp at the new pain; my poor body swung back and rested for a moment while Nhlanhla placed his next stroke, which cut a parallel path to the first two. Three down and seventeen…Aghh…sixteen to go – Sikhumbuzo cut me across my shoulders, and I gasped again. In the brief moment before the next stroke, I wondered if I should try to hold out and let Nhlanhla be stretched between the restraints now rather than some other day, but that youth’s whip cut me along the small of my back and left me twisting helplessly, while Sikhumbuzo’s follow up across the middle of my bare body made all thinking redundant. I began writhing this way and that as the lashing continued and my back burned with each new cut and their whips took on a new sound as they became wet with my blood and the sweat streaming down me. After ten – or was it twelve? – strokes, Steve called a halt and my blurred vision saw him standing in front of me, grinning happily.

“I suppose you think you’re tough,” he said. I heard his voice through a mist of pain, though I didn’t really understand what he was saying. I understood his actions, though, when I felt his hands gripping the front of my shorts; I groaned ineffectually and struggled uselessly, but there was nothing I could do as he tore my shorts off me. Yes, I had fantasized about a public whipping like this, but being naked had not been part of the deal. “Let’s see how tough you really are,” continued Steve – and then – “but you still seem to be enjoying this!”

He was referring, of course, to my extremely erect member, which was extending fiercely in front of me for all to see, now that I was completely naked. Steve touched it almost reverentially; sending a jolt of pure pleasure that almost – but only almost – eclipsed the terrible pain. I pulled at the ropes gripping my wrists and ankles, and I could see that Steve was enjoying the way I squirmed as I hung there totally naked, with no protection at all against the whips that were going to start cutting me again. Somehow or other I grinned at him, but he accepted the ‘challenge’ easily. “Carry on,” he said, and in a more threatening tone, “I haven’t heard any pleading yet.”

Nhlanhla must have heard the threat, because his next stroke cut me even more deeply than before, and I nearly cried out as the whip cut its path across my back. Sikhumbuzo was crueller: he deliberately aimed his whip at my now bare buttocks, and I yelped involuntarily as the stroke cut deeply into the soft flesh, sending a bright pain coursing through me. Nhlanhla concentrated on my back for his next stroke, and I felt the whip strike wetly across my bare back; the new pain was horribly fierce, opening up new and old wounds. I clamped my teeth against another cry, and I was prepared for Sikhumbuzo’s second stroke against my bare rump, though the pain was white hot. The following strokes were almost more than I could bear; the soggy sounding whips slapping damply against my naked form while the bonds kept me spread-eagled out and writhing helplessly, cutting any bravado I had left into little shreds, and then…

“Two more strokes,” said Steve ominously.

Strangely, I understood him exactly. He was telling me – and Nhlanhla – that if I did not beg now, then Nhlanhla, who was already stripped to the waist, would be tied up to suffer a whipping from Steve himself. I knew without a doubt that it would be a cruel whipping, perhaps the ‘special occasion’ that he was being saved for. What that meant, I didn’t know, but in the pause his words occasioned, I knew I had no choice. I was stripped naked, and I had endured eighteen lashes; my member was as erect as ever, pretty much ready to unload, in fact. A part of me wanted the whipping to continue, because I wanted to see if I really would end up spurting my load on to the barn floor. At the same time, I had declined to whip Nhlanhla, and I didn’t want to see his dark lean body stretched out and writhing under remorseless and merciless whipping from Steve. I had shown myself to be tough enough; I didn’t want to be the cause of him being tested…

“Please,” I said hoarsely, and then more loudly for all to hear, “please, no more. Please don’t whip me anymore.” I looked back at Steve standing there, his arms folded over his burly chest. I was pleading with him, but I wondered if he understood that I was not so much pleading for the whipping to stop, but pleading with him not to test my new friend’s endurance. “Please, don’t…”

“Finish the punishment!” Steve’s tone was a curious mixture of satisfaction and frustration. It may have been my imagination, but I also heard a promise of more testing to come. Nhlanhla’s ‘thank you’ streaked across the middle of my back, pushing me forward until I was stretched against the restraints. Sikhumbuzo‘s final stroke ripped against my buttocks yet again, leaving me sagging against the restraints, gasping and sobbing quietly. As the others filed out, Steve came up and stood in front of me. When there was only the four of us left in the barn, he took my member in his hand and stroked me, running one hand up and down its rigid shaft and tickling the tip of my penis with the thumb of his other hand. Despite the way my back was burning with pain, I thrust myself forward involuntarily and came almost immediately, spurting hot semen into his hand and onto the floor of the barn, my body shuddering mightily as it gave itself over to my second wonderfully incredible climax of the evening. He wiped his hands on my groin, saying, “Next time, we are going to see if the whip alone can bring you to this, no matter how many lashes it takes. Mind you, we’ll probably need a little privacy for that,” he added cruelly. “Just the four of us in my basement, I think, though maybe Jonathan should be there too.”

It made no difference to me, whatever he was talking about. I was slipping into unconsciousness.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

I’m very pleased to present this hot new torture series by Donald Steve featuring artwork by the very talented Amalaric! The series follows the painful ordeals of Matthew Fry, a captured soldier who suffers often brutal treatment in an interrogation unit operated by his captor, Colonel Grey. The character of Fry was inspired by a friend of the author and this story was written in his memory based on their real-life roleplay scenarios. Enjoy!

Afghan Hell: Part 1 – Capture
by DonaldSteve
Art by Amalaric
Series: Afghan Hell

Mathew Fry was dragged from the helicopter to come face-to-face with the self styled Colonel Grey. He knew instantly that he was at the interrogation unit that the Scottish guy headed and ran for would be interrogators from across the world. Grey looked at the tall and muscular 27 year old from PEACEHAVEN and said “Well laddie, it is a great day for everybody in this camp. They will be very happy to meet you at last.” He looked towards the men that had come out to view the ‘copter. “I personally have been waiting for this day for a very long time. Two years of you and your organisation’s meddling in my affairs. You personally have caused me huge financial loss. You have also caused me the loss of several of my best men. I can’t let you get away with that laddie and you are now going to have to pay for that in the worst way you can imagine.” Fry struggled against the men holding his arms. “If I had my way I would shoot you on the spot, but I have my men to answer to. They are mainly Afghans and they demand revenge” He looked over at the men by the gate that, realising the actual identity of the prisoner were jubilant at his capture. “Their race accepts punishment. It is a fact of life for them and if they had their way you would be over there now staked out, probably being slowly flayed and you would very soon die” His gaze returned to Fry. “What a waste that would be.”

Grey spoke with a thick guttural Glaswegian accent. Despite his ruthless reputation he was an amiable looking man with a humorous mouth and a glint in his eye. “I run an interrogation unit here and we are always looking for subjects to demonstrate on. You and I are going to get to know each other over the next few weeks. We will meet most days and you will suffer.”

Fry pulled at the hands that held him. “All of this for killing a few of your men? Don’t make me laugh, Grey. You and this mob here have slaughtered thousands.” He laughed humourlessly. “What a hypocrite. The fact is you get your kicks from killing and torture.”

Grey looked like thunder but calmly replied. “No wee man. I need to keep my men happy. They lost a lot of their friends at your hand and they want to see you punished.” He put his hands on his hips and slowly circled Fry. “Your organisation PEACEHAVEN. What is its motto?” he pondered theatrically. “To stamp out torture and oppression throughout the world.” He laughed. “You are the hypocrite laddie. You and your organisation, because you use any means at your disposal to get your way too. You laddie have tortured. You tortured one of my men to obtain the whereabouts of this camp. Luckily you were caught in the act and brought here.” He looked at his captive. “So the tables are turned my wee man. You must have known that one day you would fall into my hands.” He pondered for a moment. “I would happily give you a quick death but my men want revenge. They know I can do it in a better way than they can. That I can make you live for a very long time. That my ways are subtler. If I handed you over to them you would certainly suffer but in a day or two you would die.“ He looked Fry up and down taking in the powerful strength that his bulky clothes could not hide. “I also want to see what makes you tick. On top of that, you may not be a Scot but an English voice is better than nothing. And I have not heard one of those for four years. Reason enough to keep you alive I think laddie.” He gave a big smile, but his words were chilling. “I can promise you lots and lots of punishment. Day after day, until you beg me to stop.” He look straight at Fry with his intense blue eyes “But Matt, ma we laddie, I can promise you I won’t stop.”

He studied Fry, his gaze sweeping over him. At his bound hands, secured in front of him. They were large and well shaped. The whole of their backs were covered in short spikes of course blonde hairs that grew quite long as it spread on to his wrists and Grey’s concentration wavered as he wondered just how hairy this guy’s arms were. “As you know I run the interrogation unit from this camp. I think you will make an ideal specimen. All the prisoners in this camp are part of the learning process for my students. They are usually involved as part of my experiment for interrogation. Questioning and similar things like that. But you.” he said with a smile. “You will be special. You will be the subject for the more persuasive techniques. The next input of students is in four days time and you will be my first real guinea pig. I have several engineers and carpenters in the camp” he continued. “When I don’t have a specific item or structure to hold or restrain a guy they will make it. From tomorrow they will work on several structures that will accommodate you. I don’t mean just your cell where you will be confined, but things to tie you to in the most uncomfortable ways. We also have the expertise to create implements of torture” He looked across the compound and turning back to his prisoner smiled again. “Until they are ready with the torture instruments we can make do with what we already have. At the moment I am too busy to deal with you because the students are coming and I have to prepare everything for them. So until they arrive I will hand you over to my men. See what they can do to you. But they have orders on the pain of death not to mark you in any way and to keep you safe and well for my lectures.”

“We will definitely meet in the classroom. Probably in four days time. But in the meantime I may visit you. Get to know you a bit before that.” He flicked his head at the guards. “Off you go laddie”

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Fry’s ordeal begins with the torture of extreme temperatures.

Afghan Hell: Part 2 – Hot & Cold
by DonaldSteve
Art by Amalaric
Series: Afghan Hell

Fry was dragged away across the compound to where there was a roasting spit suspended over a wide fire pit. There was a lot of ash lying over the top but underneath could be seen the dull red of cooling embers. A large metal panel lay on the ground with chains at each corner. Fry was quickly untied and thrown on the bare metal. Before he could struggle several strong hands gripped him and his body was spread-eagled face up on the panel. The guards fastened metal manacles to his wrists and ankles and attached them to the four corners of the panel. Using the pulley on the spit the panel was hoisted so that he lay about 2 feet above the embers. Grey walked over and looked down on Fry. He stood with his hands on his hips grinning. “Something to warm you up Fry. To prepare you for the main course.” Turning to his men he ordered that they keep an eye on the heat. He did not want Fry to burn. He wanted him to last a long time.

Fry tried to relax. Looking up at a watery sun he closed his eyes, feeling the pan beneath him slowly warming up. After several minutes a thick sweat broke out all over him, soaking his clothes. He still wore his boots so his feet were protected but the back of head was starting to feel the heat and he raised it away from the bare metal. After fifteen minutes he was feeling the strain, and he pulled his head and hands away from the rising heat. Sweat was trickling round his torso soaking his back and buttocks. Running in streaming rivulets into his crotch. He could hear it as it sizzled against the hot metal. He pulled his shoulders as far away from the metal, adding to the strain of his raised head. Fry could smell scorching and realised the cloth of his jacket was burning,. The heat against his back now just bearable Fry knew if he had to stand this for long he would start to blister and wondered if this really was Grey’s idea. As if reading his mind the guard stationed with him called to several others. “His clothes are beginning to scorch. Let’s get him off of there.”

They quickly unfastened the restraints, scorching his wrists in the process and pulled him away from the blistering plate. Grey had heard the commotion and walked over. Seeing the two small blisters on Fry’s wrists he turned on the two guards responsible and shouted “ I said no marks. If you are going to do this you have to obey my orders.” Turning to some of the other guards he said, ”Give them twenty lashes each.” Fry watched stunned as the two guards were stripped to their underwear and tied at the wrists to a nearby post facing each other. Both were young men, not more than twenty. One was slim and wiry with very dark hair matting his chest. The other one was big and muscular with a smooth torso. They put up no resistance and as the whip resounded on their bare backs from each side they seemed to accept their fate. The sound of the lash against their flesh echoed in his ears as he was dragged over towards the kitchen block. The boiling heat from the cookers seared his hot skin as he was half dragged straight through the room and into a cold storage room. Several huge slabs of meat hung on hooks from the ceiling. Leather straps were attached to Fry’s wrists and strong hands lifted him and looped each wrist over a hook. With his feet just touching the floor they tied them at the ankles and secured his legs to a metal loop in the ground. Already Fry could feel the coolness on his skin, which was an initial relief, but he knew that the extreme temperature would quickly get to him. The men left the room without a word and slammed the door.

By the dim blue light illuminating the freezer room he saw thick white mist as his breathe laboured in the cold air. He knew there was nothing he could do, and to reserve his energy he tried to relax in his bonds. Gripping the hook that he hung from he tried to let his legs go limp. Later as the cold hit him he realised he should try to exercise. The sweat that had soaked him was beginning to freeze and he started to shiver, he attempted to jerk his secured legs and tighten his muscles but he grew weary, very aware that his strength was fading. Again he allowed himself to relax and tried to sink into a trance like state. He almost succeeded but the cold was intense. His teeth chattered until the shakes convulsed his whole body. He attempted to do what he had done from his childhood, through school and even in the army, where the situation became stressful or impossible to control. He concentrated deep down inside himself. Finding a spot. Imagining that somewhere deep inside him something took over his body, shutting out the pain and creating a feeling of pleasure. It could be his stomach, his heart or his lungs. Or just anywhere. He would know it when it happened. And as he shivered he started to relax feeling artificial warmth beaming up through his body from his abdomen. He forced the feeling down, concentrating in on it, not allowing it to escape, and he felt the root of this force settle down around his groin, as it had so many times in the past, when it had triggered an erection. He gave a little chuckle as he felt his genitals throb, muttering “That’s my man.” But apart from a warm, pleasant feeling in his groin, nothing stirred. The freezing air had closed in around all his extremities and his genitals were shrunken and lifeless. He spent the hours with his mind honed in on that part of his body. Grey came in and for a while watched him as he slumped in his bonds. He attempted to chat with Fry who ignored him completely; concentrating so hard within himself that he would not be distracted. Not getting any response Grey left slamming the door after him.

When they came for him they found him limp but conscious. Frost had gathered over his bare skin whitening his brows and the stubble on his chin.. They untied him and he dropped to the floor. Hoisting him up they dragged him from the cold room back into the heat of the kitchen. There he was thrown on the floor and one wrist shackled to the handle of an oven. The door was pulled open allowing him to feel the heat that gradually seeped through his clothing and into his bones. One of the chefs brought over hot soup and he was allowed to feed himself.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Fry is introduced to the bleak cell that will serve as his home during his stay at the interrogation camp.

Afghan Hell: Part 3 – The Cell
by DonaldSteve
Art by Amalaric
Series: Afghan Hell

After 3 or 4 hours during which the cook had provided him with warm drinks and more food he felt fitter and he slept until just before dawn. He was woken by a commotion outside his door and the guards stormed in. They removed his manacles and dragged him out across the compound to a large hut. Kicking open the door he was pushed across the room towards a sectioned off area surrounded by cell bars. He was pushed in and the guards stayed on the opposite side of the bars waiting for Grey. Fry looked round his new home. It was new. Furnished with a cot, table and chair, all of which were bolted to the floor. The cot was larger than a usual bed, being about eight feet long without any mattress. At each end there were fixtures for manacles. Blankets and towels were piled on the top. Alongside the open shower was a real flush toilet in full view of the outer room. A door slammed and Grey strode in. “Top o’ the morning Fry” he said cheerily “This is your new home for the next few weeks. Here you will be looked after well. You will even have the same food as us, which is not saying much but it is wholesome.” He looked around the cell. “You will sleep and shower here. Through that door is an exercise cage with exercise machines, a treadmill and the like. You will be made to use the yard and its facilities every morning on waking laddie, and more so on rest days because I want you in good shape. There will be rest days on the Sabbath, but you will attend at least one lecture session on the other days of the week. Sometimes there will be several days rest so that you can recover, but only if I think you should need it. After each lecture session you will be returned to this cell to give you time to recuperate. I have allocated the chef from the kitchens to tend to you. He really cannot cook, but you did strike a chord with him, so he will become your carer. He will feed you, heal you, and massage you if necessary. There is also a good doctor on call if it should be necessary.” He gave a huge grin. “So you see, we will be looking after you very well. From now on you will dispense with all your clothes, including your boots and underwear. A set of cotton shorts and t-shirt will be provided clean for you every day. That is all you will be allowed to wear.” Grey turned to go then looked back. “As I have already told you, I am out of the camp for a few days to collect the students. My men will look after you. They will have their fun of course, but you won’t come to any harm.” And with that he left.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

The owner of a torture museum is approached by a sexy young visitor with an interest in personally experiencing the museum’s exhibits. First up, torturing his sexy young feet.

The Torture Museum – Part 1
By DR von Todtenhausen
Series: The Torture Museum

I just recently inherited a museum from a distant relative, whom I barely knew. This was a rather special museum in that it was a collection of torture instruments set in a very elaborate and convincing dungeon setting. People would pay a fee to tour the museum and see the various instruments in a natural setting. There were rooms set up for different eras such as Roman, Inquisition, Tudor, and even Native American and more modern torture rooms. That way the visitor could be sure to have a very complete view of tortures and torture instruments from all historical perspectives.

One day while I was closing the museum for the evening, a young man came to the door. I told him I was just closing up and invited him to come the next morning for the tour. He then asked me if I could give him a few minutes of time to answer some of his questions. Since I had been closing a few minutes early due to having no customers at the time, I agreed to listen to what he had to say. He told me his name was Grant. He was a very good-looking 19-year-old with curly blonde hair. He had a beautiful face and quite a nice looking body, even though he was fully clothed.

I had him sit down and asked him what he wanted to know. He proceeded to tell me all about his obsession with torture. He told me about having seen some ‘Sword and Sandal” type films when he was a youngster and how they had piqued his interest right away. From that time on, he said that he had been fascinated with torture and its uses and devices. He had done a lot of research into torture and loved watching any films he could find where torture was involved. He went on to tell me that as he grew older and experienced puberty, he started to have more and more sexual fantasies involving torture. Not only was he turned on by watching the torture in the films, but he was becoming more and more interested in how he would feel as a torture victim.

I then told him that I was sure he would enjoy taking a tour of the museum and seeing all of the exhibits we had to offer. He then surprised me completely by asking if it would be possible not only for him to tour the museum and view the exhibits, but also to experience some of the tortures himself to see what it felt like being the helpless victim. He stated that he had been fantasizing about such an experience for a long time and when he found out about my museum, he wanted to see if something could be arranged to let him experience some torture for himself. I was hesitant, not really knowing how to respond, but he kept asking and begging me to let him try. He said he was ready to sign any type of agreement that would state that he was the one asking for this and there would be no liability involved for me or the museum. All he asked was that there would be no maiming physical damage such as broken bones or life-threatening tortures involved. I told him to come back the next day and we would talk some more.

After he left and I was pondering his suggestion over the course of the night, I kept thinking what a delightful sight it would be to see that beautiful boy naked and watch him undergo the tortures. That picture kept popping up in my thoughts and I was visualizing that lovely, curly blonde hair and that handsome face as he was grimacing in pain under the torture. When he came back the next morning, we again talked for a long while and he stayed the entire day and I gave him a very extensive tour of the museum and the equipment. In each room he kept begging me to grant him his wish to really experience the torture first-hand. Finally I agreed and we drew up a legal document in which he relinquished all rights to make a claim or lawsuit against me or the museum and we began planning the granting of his request as soon as the document was signed.

We arranged to meet the next day at closing time so we could get started granting Grant’s request. All day I could hardly wait to finally get the chance to see the equipment and artifacts used on a live and beautiful victim. Grant arrived shortly before closing time as excited as I was with the thought of the tortures – him looking forward to experiencing his fantasies and me looking forward to seeing him experiencing the tortures. I had told him that I would have two friends to help in making the experience feel more real and Grant was fine with that. When he arrived and my two friends arrived, the friends donned a costume of black robes and black, pointed hoods with narrow eye slits in them. They were to play the parts of the torture assistants. I and my two friends escorted Grant into the first room of the torture museum and my friends grabbed Grant by his arms and held him securely. I then pointed into the room and told Grant to look at all the equipment and imagine what was in store for him. I told him I was going to demonstrate the museum equipment in a way in which he would truly feel the experience in an intimate way rather than just looking at the equipment and trying to imagine how it worked. Now he would be getting the true experience. Grant shivered a bit in anticipation, but I knew he was ready to begin just by the look on his face.

At a nod from me my two helpers began to strip the clothes from Grant until he was completely naked. This gave him the feel that the real victim would have had being brought in for torture. When he was naked I nodded for the helpers to put Grant on the cold stone floor on his back. When he was down my assistants spread his legs slightly apart and attached each of his ankles to a long board which was on a rope hanging from the ceiling. Once his ankles were secured, I ordered the rope to be pulled up until Grant’s bare feet were about waist-high off the floor. At that point I pulled up a chair and sat down right in front of his feet. The feet were stunning, with beautifully pedicured toenails and nicely shaped feet. His bare feet were so perfectly shaped and so beautiful it was difficult for me to keep my hands off of them immediately, but I did hold off for a few seconds just staring at the beauty of each bare foot. Then I lightly brushed my hand over the sole of one foot and got just the reaction I wanted. As Grant felt the touch of my hand on his bare foot sole, he made a reflexive jerk telling me that his feet were sensitive, just like I hoped they would be.

Sitting in my chair I immediately began stroking and tickling his feet all over the soles. I used my fingers under and between his toes and he began to shriek with laughter and tried to pull his feet away. Nothing was going to stop me from enjoying those feet. We had agreed in the original agreement, that no matter how he pleaded or begged for the torture to stop, I would not stop unless he used a “safe word” that we had arranged for earlier. Grant kept laughing and shrieking, begging me to stop the tickling, but he never used the safe word, so I kept going. I used other equipment like feathers and brushes on his feet and toes and he went wild with each increase in the tickling. Finally he was panting so hard from laughing that I gave him a break to catch his breath. Soon after, however, I went right back to the tickling, causing him to again shriek and plead for the tickling to stop, all the while laughing hysterically. His toes and arches were especially sensitive, so I concentrated my efforts there, where they caused the most anguish!

I finally stopped the tickling and grabbed a long dowel rod, which I used to start hitting the soles of his bare feet. He jerked and yelled with each stroke, the pain finally getting so intense that he screamed with each whack of the rod on his bare soles.

After a while of doing that, I had my assistants pull the rope more until Grant was off the floor and hanging upside-down by his heels in the room. His bare dick hung down against his stomach, but I had noticed during the tortures that he had started to get hard. It seemed like the more he was tortured, the harder his dick became, showing that he was, indeed, enjoying receiving the torture as much as I was enjoying dishing it out! I let him hang there for a while and just enjoyed feasting my eyes on this beautiful boy and his pretty face and lovely blonde, curly hair. After relaxing and enjoying the view for a while, I had the boy lowered until he was on his back on the floor.

By this time the night had progressed and I knew that I needed some sleep before opening the museum the following morning, and that Grant was pretty worn out from all the tickling and bastinado on his feet. I made the decision to stop the tortures for the night and to continue where we left off the next night, provided that Grant still wanted to continue with the experience. He immediately assured me that there was no way he wanted to quit and that he could hardly wait to continue the experience the next day. He dressed and left the museum and we arranged for a time to meet the next evening……..

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

It’s time to vote for your favorite stories from May. You may vote for up to two different stories. After placing your vote, enjoy this month’s bonus stories by following the link at the bottom of the results.

VOTING CLOSED

Story of the Month - May 2016

• Tricking Straight James – Part 1 by Leo1202 (19%, 6 Votes)
• Conquering Sergeant Sam – Chapters 1-3 by The Jest (19%, 6 Votes)
• The Patriot – Parts 5 & 6 by Todd Fleming (16%, 5 Votes)
• Begging Big Daddy Parts 1 & 2 by Matty Schmatty (13%, 4 Votes)
• Rookie Cop by Al Spank (10%, 3 Votes)
• Internet Predator: Part 2 by Briballus (10%, 3 Votes)
• Taking the Whip – Part 6 by Whiplash235 (10%, 3 Votes)
• Excerpt from “Men, Someone Needs to Spank Them” by Al Spank (3%, 1 Votes)
• Excerpt from “Chores” by Alan Baker Charlie (0%, 0 Votes)

Total Voters: 22

This Month's Voter Bonus Story: Poll Closed

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Prizes
The authors of the TOP 2 stories will receive their choice of the following prizes:
-$50(US) Visa Gift Card (US Only)
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-1 Month Membership to DreamBoyBondage.com

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Simply select the stories that have earned your vote then click on the vote button at the bottom of the choices to cast your vote and view current the results. Note: The “Vote” button is lightly colored but will become more visible when you highlight it. It is at the center of of the page under list of stories.

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