CIGARS ROBER PAYNE AND THE MEN WHO SMOKE 'EM

"A WOMAN IS ONLY A WOMAN, BUT A GOOD CIGAR IS A SMOKE, stated Rudyard Kipling (emphasis ours) succinctly adding, "If Maggie does not wish to have a rival, then I do not wish to marry Maggie," referring to his good cigar.

Queen Victoria forbade that cigars be smoked in her presence or by her entourage. The Sultan Ahmed, however, was more adamant. He had the nose of any of his subjects cut off if they be found smoking a cigar. When Victoria's son, Edward VII assumed her throne, his first edict was, "Gentlemen, you may smoke." His personal cigar band is decorated with three white plumes.

On our side, Somerset Maugham, Herman Melville, George Sand, Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway and Theodore Roosevelt were devotees of good cigars. On the other end of the spectrum are King Farouk, Don Juan, Casanova, Groucho Marx and John Wayne, all of who loved to suck on a good cigar. In the middle somewhere was Sigmund Freud, who was always with one.

Sir Walter Raleigh convinced English-men that they should roll up the leaves of the tobacco plant he was sending them from the new world, put them in their mouths and set fire to them. If one believes the chroniclers of the year 1618, he smoked a cigar on the executioner's block.

"The cigar smoker," wrote critic Marc Alyn, "Like the perfect lover … is a calm man, slow and sure of his wind."

"Any cigar smoker is a friend," wrote Alfred de Musset, "Because I know how he feels."

Cigars are masculine symbols, phallic shapes if ever there was one. Men identify them with pleasure, comfort, relaxation, stimulation and masculine company. Most women don't like them and certainly don't smoke them.

Nobody does cigars like Cuba. Their Havanas set the pace and were smuggled into high levels of American government even during the Cuban embargo on them. In the meantime Fidel Castro fucked up Cuban production for some time, killing the market for the even to him that the Castro cigars would not sell in any quantity and eventually the great established names and blends were re-established, to the relief of males everywhere.

American cigars, like American beer, are light, colorless, with little character. They are easy to smoke, are aromatized, washed and treated, homogen- ized, bland and popular.

I knelt before him, stripped and chained, my bare feet and knees feeling the thick plush carpet of his study floor. A steady fire burned in the large fireplace, the only other light coming from a small lamp on his desk across the room. He sat back in the massive leather chair, enjoying his long Panatela, blowing smoke into my upturned face and, as he put the heel of his boot on the back of my head to force it down to lick his other boot, he flicked the aromatic ashes on my scarred back. Perhaps later, if I did my job well, he would let me work my way up to where his fat Corona shaped cock stood out, proud and arrogant. I might even be allowed to give him pleasure by smoking that for him. Then he might even let me eat his disgarded cigar after he had extinguished it on my bare and bruised butt.

I remember a quotation from somewhere that a wife was much like a pipe. A man would offer you a cigarette, even hand you his pack, all neat, white, lined up to be smoked and discarded in a row. He might even offer you a choice cigar if he liked you well enough. But his pipe or his wife was strictly for his personal use.

Personally I find pipe smokers irritating . They are always sucking away, pontificating, trying to keep the thing lit and looking so damned smug. That goes for their wives as well. Give me a cigar smoker. Cigars may not be passed around like a marijuana joint, but sharing a cigar with a real man, one smokes while the other sucks his cock and vice-versa , is the basis of a fine friendship and an unforgettable evening. Cigarette smokers remind me of shopgirls and I don't care to discuss them. Cigarettes hanging out of one's mouth look ter- cept maybe for Humphrey Bogart and Edward R. Murrow, both of which died from smoking them.

So you say, "If a cigarette is bad for you, a cigar will kill you." Bullshit. The smoke of a cigar is not inhaled. This peculiarity of the cigar - unlike cigarettes - keeps the smoker from all sorts of inconveniences, not to speak of risks. The tobacco leaf used for cigars has much less nicotine than that found in cigarettes. The membranes of the mouth, in effect, do not absorb tar and nicotine from the cigar as the membranes of the lungs do from cigarettes. The cigar represents the cleanest of the tobacco "crutches." And dear God, they have some taste and character as opposed to Cartons and Winston Lights and True (for the longest time I thought the latter was a prepackaged pregnancy test). I would just as soon smoke a tampon. The smoke of a cigar is not noxious if you choose a quality cigar and do not smoke more than half of it, the first half being by far the best.

The guards stand around in their spit and polish uniforms, smoking the purloined Havanas taken from the rich man's humidor. His son, just home for the holidays from college, is tied spread-eagle to the crude heavy table in the wine cellar. The short, curly hair is dark with sweat and his face and exposed body are wet with sweat and the urine of his captors. The rich aroma of the 'liberated' cigars floats with their blue smoke, filling the area, making the light from the naked overhead bulb look yellow-grey. The big man stoops over to look eyeball to eyeball with the beautiful young man, his lighted cigar inches away from the fellow's cheek. He commands the boy to open his mouth. When he doesn't, he closes the nostrils so the mouth has to open. When that happens he flicks his ash in, making his captive a human ashtray. He passes the glowing end over the chest hair and it sizzles, the odor of burning hair joins that of the fine tobacco. The half-naked athlete is spread so wide and his undershorts torn so that his asshole is exposed. The guard extinguishes the father's cigar in the son's asshole. There is a scream and finally the captive

promises to do anything to be set free. He will never again smell a cigar without thinking of that night.

The aroma of a fine cigar is heady, the ash is beautiful to contemplate especially if it is found on a Havana, producing a gray ash which sometimes has a blue cast to it. The resulting ash merely represents pleasure that is past.

Whether you cut the firm end known as the head of your cigar by pinching with the fingers, using the teeth or with the aid of an instrument, doesn't really matter as long as it is done properly. The cut should not be too wide or too deep. The flame a man lights his cigar with should be small. You do not light a cigar with a fire, the flame should never actually touch the cigar. With the cigar in your mouth, rotate the flame around the opened end (tuck) until first there is a red rim and then an evenly burning coal. The first long puff will be better than any that follow. Lighting is an act that requires care excludes exhibitionism.

Contrary to the opinion of some it is only clumsy and awkward to let your cigar go out, not shameful. You can and should relight the cigar as soon as it has gone out if less than half of it has been smoked. A smoker of any taste will never attempt to relight a cigar when less than half is left. to drink a fine wine with a straw? antly, to light them perfectly, being careful that he did not moisten the end knelt and held his hand out like an himself, not even cigarettes let alone a ately for him to enjoy. man's cigar.

Mundo for his master's smoke. But ass. He told me to raise my legs. When I permission had been denied. Eventually he would have to wet his pants as he hands and put the cigar out on its sole. knelt there, if those shredded, worn open pieces of jeans could still be called pants. But they were all he was al- lowed to wear, or even own.

Finally as he sat in his own puddle, for which he would be severely punished after his master finished his cigar and brandy. He snapped his fingers and the slave bent over and brought up his rear end, most of which was exposed mouth. Tears of gratitude rolled down legs, the sun-bronzed cheeks as the fellow lay on the floor awaiting his punishment able to completely lick up. The acrid pletely.

A fine cigar should be smoked slowly. Each person ought to discover his own rhythm or pace for pleasure. A five inch Corona smoked normally ought to last at least fifty to sixty minutes. It should produce around fifty puffs, that is about one a minute. A fool smokes fast and derives much less pleasure.

A cigar ought not to be held between the index and middle fingers as is a cigarette, but between the index finger and the thumb. Winston Churchill did not follow this adivce, but the V made with the index and middle fingers be-came his mark.

Cigars are to be enjoyed while you are doing something else. Like getting a good blow job, for instance. Prior to burying the wet, burning, ready to boil shaft in your man's ass as a reward.

The gray / blue ash from a Havana should be treated like holy soil. Let it drop off naturally by its own weight. The ash will have reached a length of an inch or so although it does not stain fabrics or carpets, neither does it improve them. Let it drop on his back as he bends over to service you. Or if you are using the other end, let them fall on the same place as you service his backside

The smell and taste of cigar tobacco on my master's fingers as he probed my Use a cigar holder? Would you want mouth made my harnessed cock stand erect, for all the good it would do me. He had been trained to light his His fingers had just probed my asshole pushed my head down to the floor and sat on my face. I immediately probed He ran the glowing coal of his cigar over

He slapped my worthless prick hard This night he had requested permis- and it flopped against my belly and did, he took my bare right foot into his

He got up abruptly and my extended tongue made a popping noise as he pulled his asshole away from it. I thanked him for making love to me with his lighted cigar and he dropped it into my open mouth. He joined it with his own monstrous cock and proceeded to empty his bladder into me. His urine tasted of fine tobacco and wine. Who needs to drink or smoke when their through the tear in the denim. The Master does it for them and then lets flesh and shoved it into the slave's that beautiful cigar between his thick

A cigar is a companion and a rare one that will never let you down. You can cigars suit different circumstances or brown-black and strong for experienced smokers, a brown Maduro Colorado is medium strength and more aromatic, the reddish-brown Colorado is full-bodied and more aromatic, Colo- rado claro is light brown and lighter, the Claro is toabcco brown and easy to smoke. The green Double claro or Clarissimo is very mild and very popular in the United States.

There are the tobaccos, then there are the shapes like Corona which is rounded, Perfecto is half-pointed, Pana-tella , Lonsdale, Culebras and Demitasse. And sizes, of all lengths. And age, You can choose between a fresh cigar, one that has matured a bit, or an ancient. Usually, a good Havana will keep its quality for fifteen years. It will also mature and ferment, once a year it will exude some oil if properly humidified. There is a legend that when a violinist plucks certain strings of his Stradivarius , all the Stradivari in the area vibrated in their cases. In the period corresponding to the Cuban summer, Havanas everywhere in the world, under the right conditions, ferment together.

I have a friend who practices his fantasy, not often perhaps, but full when he is given the opportunity. He will present himself at the baths or the club or in the company of his fellow hedonists. He pulls out his cigar and those who know him realize what they are in for. He strips himself, his finely boned body as beautiful as the blue cigar smoke that soon begins to surround him. He lays back, naked and relaxed, his washboard belly ripples as he blows smoke down its surface. There are scarred tracings on his muscular thighs and a design that seems to be two letters on his sensitive lower belly. He puts the glowing cigar to the metal ring on his right tit and heats it up. A deep breath as the huge rib cage expands. He holds the pose and applies the cigar to the left tit-ring. He grimaces but does not move or remove the hot coal. His big cock begins to expand there is a ring through the underforeskin. He runs the glowing end down his washboard stomach slowly and passes it rhough the pubic hair, which sizzles a trail. The cock jumps to attention and stands ready to accept the hot coal to its metal ornament, like an oversized fire-cracker waiting to go off.

His audience warms up to the performance and a couple of men move closer. He is suffering a pleasurable pain as his prickhead reacts to the searing heat of the hot metal ring. He pulls the smoldering firestick slowly away, not from pain but the fear of setting off his big roman candle. He takes a deep draught and exhales. It is beautiful to watch. One of the men who has seen it all before steps up between his legs and puts a boot on the bare belly. Carefully our man with the cigar traces the outline of the boot, being careful, not of the flesh, but the leather of the boot. The man raises his foot and the imprinted outline is there.

and pisses on the burn. The reclining man looks up gratefully and savors his cigar. Piss anywhere, but don't put that out.

He lifts up his legs and shows them his scarred ass. Tight, muscular as the rest of him, the hair is gone and the flesh is smooth except for the imprints of long-healed burns. He rubs the hot end across his hot end and pauses at his ponderous balls, hanging down as if to protect the opening below them. One man goes up to his face and puts his cock where the cigar had been. The man knows how to smoke a cock as well. They take the cigar away from him, enjoy its flavor and apply its heat to the soles of his feet, which are marked as is his ass.

He would thank them but his mouth is full. They pass the big, black Don Miguel around, flicking the ashes on the torso below them. The top man changes his front to his back and gets the cigar man's tongue up his ass. They have taken his cigar away and are using it along with his body.

One takes a deep puff and puts his mouth on the man's mouth. He blows the rich aromatic smoke in and it is minutes before the recipient is allowed to exhale. The heat from the tip is applied to one tit ring, then another, then the ring in the cock. The man moans and squirms but does not move except at nudging from a boot or a hand raised to demand his attention. They are now putting the ashes in his mouth along with their piss. One man takes off a belt and applies it across the burned ass. He licks their boots, licks up a dropped ash with his tongue from the floor. Finally the cigar has passed its zenith and is put out in his violated asshole. He erupts and there is a rich, fresh load of cum on the tile floor.

The finished cigar still protrudes from his ass and he licks up his cum.

Now they will use him and his desecrated ass and he will not be allowed another cigar until the next time.

The cigar butt dropped from his ass as he was led off to the showers to further enjoyment. Three of the by- standers jumped for it.

"What this country needs is a good five cent cigar." Like two dollar whores, 5c cigars are a thing of the past. Now a 50c cigar and a ten dollar hustler will probably bore you to death if you have any taste at all. Like slaves, "they don't make them like they used to." However, even a tiparillo or a Tijuana Small has more character than the top forty- seven brands of filtered, low-tar, light, mentholated, pastuerized cigarettes. The Marlboro man (remember Marlboros when they had ruby or ivory tips before they went butch?) probably is on the verge of lung cancer and never really enjoyed sucking those long, slim, tasteless things anyway. A real man counts among his accouterments, besides a sheepskin lined levi jacket, hundred dollar boots and a Stetson, an honest to God cigar whose rich, pungent odor leaves a trail behind him long after his Chaps aftershave is forgotten. 18

The title of this new film by William Higgins is a misnomer; these guys may be on the young side, but they sure as hell resemble 'men' more than they do 'boys.'

Higgins' earlier films, Pacific Coast Highway and The Boys of Venice were notable for their clean, crisp production values, lots of interesting and well-photographed sex scenes, and a cast, in both cases, of well built, well hung, goodlooking young men who took to their tasks like a mink takes to fucking.

Because The Boys of San Francisco takes place in the leather capitol of the world, there is, in this film, a good dose of South of Market sex and situations, mixed in with all the pedestrian action that happens in The City as well. And the leathersex scenes are worth looking at, and some of the rest of the films ain't shabby either. Like a real turn-on scene where a guy gets two cocks up his ass at the same time, or two cocks down his throat at the same time. It's no case on taking on more than he can accom- modate, 'cause he has the situation well in control.

There is also a real nice sling scene with all the elements of a good time: a sling, a young man, a lot of lubricant and a massive rubber dildoe. Guess where it goes.

For viewers who just can't get enough of endless cock, one of the stars of this film is Steve York, the slender young man with twelve inches that has appeared in any number of gay porn magazines. This is, I believe, only his second film. Can he act? Who cares. He is real good at face-fucking, cock whipping , and ass-plowing; that's got to be talent enough.

A number of other well known faces (and genitals) from the porn circuit are in The Boys of San Francisco, Jeremy Scott, Steve West, Tim Nolty, Steven Richards and Ben Barker — along with a number of interesting unknowns. The locations are well used for audiences elsewhere, the traditional S.F. landmarks are mixed with the local gay landmarks. In fact, this film might lead you to believe that all San Franciscans do is get laid, because The Boys of San Francisco is an almost non-stop sexual travelogue. Not bad propoganda, not bad at all.

Besides its national release, the film is also available in both video formats from Catalina Video.

- Michael Elliot

J. WAYNE HIGGS

8

As part of a two-man show in Washington DC at the Intuitiveye Gallery in 1979, J. Wayne Higgs and his massive collection of nude self portraits made a mark in contemporary photograph history. While most male photographers, even those who use male nudes and male sexuality as themes in their work, almost never take self-portraits (there are few notable exceptions), that par- ticular genre became Higgs' forte. His 1979 show included images that were both extremely erotic and symbolistic. He was also included in a group show of male nudes at the Robert Samuel Gallery in New York, and opened his own gallery in the nation's capitol, one devoted to erotic art. That, also, captured public attention. Situated almost next door to the White House, the Higgs Gallery and its artists appeared as news in the establishment Washington press, and as a feature in the erotic magazines of the country.

This portfolio represents work that covers a decade, and Higgs is the subject in all the prints; in two images he is one of the subjects. His photography is based on purist classical lines, the structure and form of the body becomes the composition of the photograph. These are not 'message' photographs; comparisons , like a cock to a gun, are obvious symbols. An overturned wheelbarrow and an exposed man are physical structures that reiterate each other. The two duos are, in one instance, soft and flac- cid; in the other, soft but erect. The sexual excitement, in visible terms, is focused on the genitals by virtue of the lack of other readable information. On the other hand, the erotocism in both images is unstated, only available to the viewer subjectively.

J. Wayne Higgs can be contacted at Box 50160, Washington, DC 20004. Besides his exhibited images, he takes on private assignments.

THE SEARCH

There are only two criticisms of the Mr. International Leather Contest that we have heard to date. One would be "What the hell is it doing in Chicago?" which virtually answers itself.

Renslow and Associates put the contest together, promoted it and made it a truly international affair while New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles, any one of which should have come up with it, didn't. So you can list the leather bars in Chicago on the fingers of one hand. More power to them for working together to make the Windy City the hospitality center of the nation when the Leather People converge on it in May. Los Angeles may have originated the Men's Bike Clubs with their accouterments of leather and chrome, San Francisco has made Folsom Row into a national Leather institution and New York's bars and encounter clubs are beyond comparison, yet it is Chi-cago that is known for the Academy Awards of Leatherdom - and after only three fast improving years.

So what is the other question that gets raised about this exciting event? It is primarily Mr. International Leather himself. Each year the selection gets bigger and the choice gets harder. Mr. International Leather should, if not speak for, at least be some kind of symbol of the Leather Community - masculine, macho, articulate, even somewhat gregarious. He should be willing and able to be available occasionally at various functions with expenses furnished by the organization using his services.

It should be his contribution to the world of leather and if he is not willing DRUMMER 20 ant. Simple as that.

DRUMMER has already commented on the unavailability of the current Mr. International Leather to be photographed by anybody, so we won't ride that horse to death. But it was interesting to find that one of the San Francisco bars which had supported the contest and was represented at it, tried to get the winner to an affair in his honor. They were refused because

Reasoning that he already lived in S.F. and his passage going and coming had been paid by another South of Market bar (which didn't get acknowledged by that winner either) did little good. To our knowledge Mr. I.L.'s star rose and fell in a thirty-day period and little has been heard from him the rest of the year. Pity.

The prior winner went back to Australia without showing up at much

and without any further picture taking. He stayed for a year in exile until the contest's organizers paid to have him shipped back to Chicago for the presentation last year. (Do you know what it costs to fly anyone from Australia to anywhere?) He arrived a few minutes before the presentation, no one remembers what he said or if indeed he said anything, and disappeared into the night. Another pity. He looked good at least.

Now we come to the fourth contest and knowing the organizers, and, judging from the improvement between ' the second and third efforts, this one promises to be a supershow. In our critique of the Big Event, we in no way are criticizing the efforts of the contest's organizers or the many people that contribute to its astounding success . There seems to be no effort or expense spared to make it well woth travel from all over to attend. at the contest's expense to wherever anytime, the winner resides. The presentation itself is topflight, professional and hugely entertaining. It was moved last year from the somewhat stifling, although first-class, hotel ballroom to more hospitable surroundings. The parties at Man's World and Touche's were hospitable and beautifully done (even if DRUMMER's publishers did get thrown off the bus inadvertantly). The contestants were knockouts, and judging must have been extremely difficult. Perhaps it is the judging. DRUMMER found more success when it let the audience vote in its Mr. DRUM-MER contests.

There seems to be a reluctance to take seriously any professional model entering the contest. Like the Olympics, it seems preferable to be an amateur. Why? The overwhelming appearance and charm of say, Joe Paduccah, who brought down the house last year would ers) have posed for a couple of stu-The prizes are generous - the mo- dios. That is hardly a livelihood. He

Don't get us wrong. We are not trying to tell the organizers their business and it is certainly not sour grapes because our contestants have not walked off with the title. Last year's MR. DRUMMER has gotten miles more coverage than all three Mr. International Leather winners put together. However, our Ray Perea is a cooperative, generous and concerned Leatherman who has appeared on virtually every occasion he has been asked to, if at all practicable . The audience chose him and DRUMMER lucked out. We offer our experience for whatever it is worth to the Mr. International Leather Contest officials.

In the meantime here are photographs of the contestants, which are limited and some of the winners which are even moreso. Along with our best wishes to MR. INTERNATIONAL LEA-THER IV, who we hope will represent us all, with flair and an outgoing attitude that we believe both the contest and the international leather crowd deserve.

- Robert Payne DRUMMER 21

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CAPTAIN MORGAN

CONCLUSION!

BY FRANK O'ROURKE

The ray of morning sunlight, peeping through the curtain, awoke me. For a moment, I was disoriented, but my stiff muscles reminded me, quickly, where I was and the events of the night before.

Captain Morgan lay on his back, sleeping soundly. He must have kicked the covers off because his legs were widespread and the blond hair on his arms and legs accentuated his hard muscles. His arms were thrown over his head. His face, in repose, still possessed a sternness etched around the square jaw, but I thought I saw a vulnerability in the corners of his mouth-a softness-but the more I searched, the more I became unsure. Maybe, I thought, I just want to find it. My heart quickened its tempo as I transferred my gaze to his golden crotch. Jesus, it can't be real. I couldn't believe that I had had that club up my ass. I recalled that when I first saw it in repose I had thought that it measured ten inches. Captain Morgan now had a piss hard and it looked as long and fat as my forearm. A pretty sizeable cock will reach its owner's navel, the Captain's didn't stop there.

"Like what you see, punk?"

I hadn't realized that he had awakened. I looked at him and found him grinning at me. This was the first time that he had exhibited any humanity as far as I was concerned and I couldn't help grinning back at him.

"Well, chow down, babe. Get down there and suck me off. I've got a nice load waiting for your hot mouth.

Although I had served the Captain the day before begrudgingly, this morning my mouth was salivating and my own cock sprung hard at the mere thought of servicing his bludgeon. Many people talk of masters' cocks as lances or spears, this was not the case with my Master. The huge knob only accentuated the long, wide shaft beneath it. It was like a third arm with a clenched fist at its extremity.

I didn't need any urging. The Captain spread his muscular legs and I knelt between them. My tongue swirled over the bulbous head, searching the large slit for any nectar that reposed there. I grasped the base of the cock, unable to believe that all of this had been up my ass the night before. Suddenly, I had an urge to bark, figuring that would be the best I could do with this tower of blood-engorged flesh and gristle. The musky aroma of Captain Morgan's maleness assailed my nostrils and impelled me to do my best with this glorious challenge. I ran my tongue up, down and around the shaft.

"It's not a lollipop, asshole," he grunted as he settled his ass more comfortably into the matress. "Get sucking!

Opening my mouth as wide as I could, I began my sucking course up and down the incredible prong. I had less than half of it in my mouth when the huge knob bumped against the back of my throat. It was impossible for me to take all of that cock into my mouth and throat. I could tell by the Captain's response that he was getting hornier. I hoped he would get off quickly.

Unexpectedly, Captain Morgan took over the scene by grabbing the back of my head and forcing his cock into my throat. His first drive didn't get the head into the tight sheath of my throat, but the second plunge drove it brutally into the narrow channel. I started to gag, but sheer effort got the reflex under control. The column of hard flesh was so large that it was unable to fit comfortably into my esophagous. I heard Captain Morgan growl, "Loosen your muscles, punk, or I'll rip your dick-sucking throat apart."

Tears formed in my eyes. A sharp searing pain cut through my throat. I was certain that he had torn tissue with his brutal onslaught. I put my hands on his hard thighs, trying to push away so I could get away from the intruder.

'Grab your wrists behind you, or I'll rip you apart." Like an automaton, I gripped my right wrist with my left hand. I didn't need to worry about maintaining my balance because my head was caught in the vise of his two strong hands while my throat was prodded and stretched by the gigantic intruder. Incredibly, I found my nose buried in Captain Morgan's lush, wiry, blond pubic hair. It seemed that he had obtained his objective when he buried every inch of his long cock in my throat. Tentatively, I worked my sore muscles around his hard flesh. When he pulled out, I found his prod heavily coated with mucous. Its return to my sheath was much easier and he began a slow and almost gentle in and out thrusting. Only when his need became more urgent did the tempo pick up. The cock head swelled in my throat and erupted gallons of cream. It acted as a soothing balm. He pulled back into my mouth so I could savor the richness of his come.

His hands smoothed my hair in an almost loving caress. I began to pull off of his cock, but he wouldn't let me. His cock, even in a softening state, laid heavily in my mouth. I felt it retract a couple of times and the first spurt of piss began coursing into my mouth. Have you ever tasted tiger's piss? It's got to be the worst piss imaginable; but, like a good slave, I gulped it down, doing my best not to lose a drop. I had developed a technique some time ago to cope with the heavy pisser and that was to let my mouth fill with a load and gulp all of it down at once. I found that I was having real trouble managing the furious torrent coursing from his hose. Then, again, without warning, the flow abated to merely a few hard squirts. I felt as if my own bladder would burst from my own need to piss, I slurped the remaining drops and looked up at the Captain with the face of a self-satisfied cat.

"What do you say?" "Thank you, Sir," I grinned.

"Get your dead ass out of bed. Shave, clean out and shower. On the double. Don't play with your cock, or I'll bust your ass.

After I finished, I returned to the bedroom and found the Captain still lying on the bed, stark naked, smoking a cigarette.

"Yes, Sir."

"O.K. Put on a shirt, levis and your boots and go over to the restaurant and get a couple of cups of black coffee.

I found a shirt and old pair of levis and put them on. As I started to put on a pair of socks, the Captain said he hadn't mentioned socks, so I donned the boots over bare feet.

As I left the room, I found the roadway in front of the cabin teeming with men. Most of the men were dressed in their leathers while the slaves were in various states of undress, some stark naked. The morning air had a slight nip in it, but I knew that it was going to be a warm day-hot, you might say!

A coffee urn had been placed outside of the dining room. I heard one of the lodge's managers tell a dark-haired slave, wearing a wide slave collar, that breakfast would be served in twenty minutes. The slave walked over to a heavily bearded man in full leathers and with

bowed head, murmured something. After I got the coffee, I returned to the cabin.

Laying the cups on the stoop, I opened the door. I found Captain Morgan shaved and dressed in Marine greens, lolling in the only armchair in the room. I knelt at his feet and offered him the cup of hot coffee.

"Sit in front of me, I want to talk to you.

He seemed so serious. I felt sure that it dealt with more than today's and tomorrow's action.

"First," Captain Morgan began, slowly, as if he was carefully selecting his words, "you room assignment was not an accident. I have seen you a number of times at the Mineshaft in the City. I've observed you for some time. You are without a doubt the pushiest bottom I have ever seen. I've watched you play some good masters. You've acted so submissive, yet you steer them around by the nose. I never could under-He stand why they let you get away with your shit." paused. "I consider you a real challenge."

I felt my face grow hot, but I couldn't figure where all of this was leading.

"Let me tell you a bit about myelf. I graduated from the Naval Academy and was commissioned in the Corps. I did a long stint in Nam. I'm resigning my commission in order to take over my father's businesses . My parents are dead." Captain Morgan paused again as if these last words still caused him pain. "I have a big home in Marin County which is, incidentally, pretty isolated and has a lot of land around it. I've always been a loner and always thought that I never needed anyone. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

I had caught the tenor of what he was saying, but I wasn't willing to outguess him. "No, Sir.

'O.K., jerk-off. I can see you want me to spell it out for you. It's one thing to get a dude with a slave's mentality, one who has already been shaped to another Master's needs. You're a challenge to me because you're a fighter. What I'm saying, I guess, is my entire life has been a series of tests. I have had to test myself against other achievers in the Corps and against a single minded, vicious enemy in Nam. I've succeeded in both. When I get back home, I will have some minor problems to come to grip with, but nothing like a man-to-man confrontation."

'What has this got to do with me?'

"Good question. I want you to go back to the West

Coast with me, as my slave."

I looked at him. His eyes didn't waver from my searching gaze. I realized this stranger, yes, he was a stranger, had gotten into my body, but he hadn't touched my mind. I had to give it to him, he had a candor which had a tinge of the naive to it, but it was disarming.

"Look, Captain. I don't know if I should be flattered or not. If you're serious, then I have to assume you're some sort of gullible fool, or, again, you might just be gaming me. What the fuck do you know about me? What makes you think I need a fucking Master to control my life? I do pretty good for myself. I'm not rich, as you probably are, but I make enough money to live on. Why should I give up the comfort of my life for something that might not even work out." I paused a moment to sort out my thoughts. Captain Morgan merely sipped his coffee, his face was expresionless as I continued, "I'm not a nerd who is willing to be used and abused for companionship. Sure, you turn me on, but a relationship can't be built on a bed—or a dungeon.'

"Are you finished?" Captain Morgan asked, as he laid the empty cup on the floor by the side of the chair.

Yes, Sir.

"I am surprised that as a writer you have so little insight." He raised his hand as I started to protest. "If I was just looking for a fuck, I can assure you that there is one on every corner in New York. No, I'm looking for someone to share with."

"What guarantee do I have that you won't throw me out on my ass in a strange town?

"Baby, there are no guarantees in life. A life without chance loses its panache. Frankly, punk, it would be pretty boring.

"I struggle for every buck I have and I make ends meet, somehow. I haven't had everything handed to me. You've sucked the government's ass all these years, knowing that when you got fed up with it, you could return to the wealth and security of your family. Fuck this Master / slave crap." My stomach quailed because I sensed this figure in such controlled repose could rise like some vicious animal and wreak a terrible vengeance at my temerity. "You're looking for someone to take out all of your sadistic frustrations and you think I'm some sort of empty-headed, demented faggot who seeks the pain and acts as a receptacle for your cock and gets nothing in return. You're sick and out of your gourd.'

'What do you want out of life? Do you know?" "Sure, I want to be rich and famous. I will be some day. I want to be loved. I want to share with someone else. I want to fulfill myself and fulfill my lover.'

Captain Morgan pushed himself out of his chair. He walked over to the dresser, opening the top drawer. A tinkling sound reached me. Turning to face me, I saw he held a small-linked chain with a small lock at one end. "I brought this for you. When you lock this around your own neck, you will have surrendered yourself totally to me, joining your tomorrows to mine.'

I wanted to say, how fucking dramatic, but I was unable to form the words, because I realized what he was offering me. I was emotionally ambivalent, on the one hand I wanted to reject this man whom I had only known for less than a day, while on the other hand I wanted to reach out and set the chain around my neck.

With an almost final clank, Captain Morgan returned the slave collar to the drawer and shut it.

Let's go eat.

Although the past half hour had given me pause for thought, I was aware of my surroundings. Many of the studs we passed were in military uniforms, but I could see immediately that most of them were take since the Captain in his pressed greens had that look of authenticity . Many of the slaves eyed me with what I guessed to be envy. At another time I would have relished it and mentally remarked, eat your hearts out, but I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts.

As we approached the dining room, I walked behind my Master. It was obvious that some of the masters had taken a page from the Captain's book because their slaves were naked and kept under the table while their masters ate. Again, Captain Morgan showed he was a leader, not a follower, and he rejected stereotypic behavior.

Indicating the seat across from him, the Captain reached for the menu. "I'll order for both of us."

Mentally, I shrugged. I could care less who orders. I knew with certainty thought that I was damn hungry. A hunky waiter, wearing a slave collar and tight

leather shorts, approached the table with a pen and order pad. "Can I help you, Sir?" I had to admit that the guy was very handsome and he had a fabulous body. The Captain merely glanced at him as if he was just another piece of furniture and turned back to the menu.

'Steak, medium, eggs over well, no potatoes, and black coffee.

Nice, I thought, but my satisfaction was short-lived. "He'll have oatmeal, no milk, no sugar, and black coffee.

"Hey," I began to protest.

The look the Captain gave me almost withered me in my seat. His eyes told me to shut up, or matters could get worse.

Unable to restrain the cold anger which gripped me, I leaned forward and said in cold, angry tones, "Where the fuck do you get off eating steak and I get mush. I paid for full meals when I signed up for this trip."

Captain Morgan leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes bored into me. This only made me angrier. That does it, I thought, I'll pack it in and go back to New

York.

He watched me, carefully. Almost inaudibly, he said,

"Don't do anything you'll be sorry for.

Now, that was the biggest mistake he could have made. I pushed my chair back and leaned over the table toward him, hissing slowly, but distinctly, "Fuck you, buster, and the horse you rode in on." As I left the dining room, I wondered if he would follow me. Did I want him to, I wondered. Glancing back, I saw him sitting at his ease and staring straight ahead, as if my departure was the most natural thing in the world.

I decided to go to the cabin, pack my things and arrange for transportation back to the City. Fortunately , I had my credit cards and I felt expense was not to be considered.

When I got to the cabin, I remembered that the Captain had my key, so I had to go back to the lobby to get a key. It took a few minutes for one of the group leaders to confirm my identity since the Captain had put my wallet in the dresser. One of the resort employees let me in.

Closing the room door behind me, I got my suitcase out of the closet. I emptied the one drawer which held my things into the case. Opening the top dresser drawer, I retreived my wallet and checked its contents, finding everything as I had left them. As I began to close the drawer, my eyes were caught by the glint of the slave collar and its small lock. I picked it up, weighing the cold links in my hand. I recognized it as a symbol, a commitment to a lifestyle. Sighing over the loss of things that might possibly have been, I returned the chain to the drawer and closed it.

My feet were sweating in my boots so I pulled them off. I walked barefoot into the bathroom to gather my toiletries. I checked around to make sure I had left nothing. As I walked back into the bedroom, my heart jumped in my chest and my stomach quailed as I saw the Captain standing inside the front door. His fea- tures gave me no clue to his feelings.

"Hi," I croaked with an effort at bravado. "What are you doing?" Captain Morgan asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

"I'm going back to New York." Even to my ears my voice was barely audible. Jesus, I thought, I'm scared of this guy. I had to get a hold of myself, after all this was just a fun and games thing. Get a grip on yourself.

"It got too tough or you." I took that as a challenge. "Hell, no. I can take anything anyone puts out, but I won't be treated like a piece of shit."

"You are a piece of shit."

I had gathered up my courage and managed to bark, "Fuck you, buster.

Those were the last words I heard for some time. The big bastard strode across the room and, pow, I got it right on the jaw.

I don't know how much time passed, but when I regained consciousness, I found myself naked on the bed, tied spreadeagle in the center. Looking to my right, I found Captain Morgan sitting in the easy chair reading a book. Something was different, but I was still too groggy to decide immediately what it was. Before the Captain had become aware that I was conscious, I felt a peculiarity in my groin. Raising my head, I saw that my crotch had been shaved, only then did I realize what else had happened and I let out a yelp.

The Captain laid his book down as I began to vent my anger, "You've gone too far, you, bastard. It isn't bad enough you've shaved all the hair off my crotch, but…" My anger was such that I couldn't find the words.

"Right, I've shaved your head too, not to mention that cute moustache of yours."

"My moustache," I groaned. I screamed like a gored pig.

Captain Morgan evidently expected my reaction because he had a gag ready. He shoved the large leather dildo into my mouth and tied the cords behind my head.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared directly into my eyes, undaunted by my impotent glaring. Casually,

he stroked the inside of my thigh, twisted my balls which caused me discomfort but no real pain. He took my cock in his hand and tensed and stroked it. Even my damn body betrayed me and literally played into the hand of the Captain as it grew harder and harder.

'You aren't going anywhere, punk. The party is still on. You have a few things to learn and I'm going to teach you.

I glared at my tormentor, but he merely grinned at me. Tweaking my already hard nipples which caused my hard cock to jump in response.

He continued in a casual tone of voice, a voice which held no anger and almost sounded friendly, "What you did in the dining room was a blatant act of insubordination and you realize that you will have to be punished for it, don't you?

I made no response. I could only think of my hair and my moustache and how I was going to explain it when I went to work on Monday morning. My boss was a homophobe and he already suspected me of being gay. He might use the shaved head as an excuse to fire me. I should never have come here in the first place. Why hadn't they assigned a cute bottom as my roommate rather than this maniac.

The Captain arose from the bed and began to strip naked. He hung his uniform up and placed it in the closet. I had seen him naked before and I had to admit that there had never been any man in my life who turned me on as he did. The perfection of his body was unbelievable—a piece of art, or should I say cheesecake ! How could I permit these thoughts to course through my brain when I knew I was in for something that was going to be unpleasant.

Standing by the bed, Captain Morgan pumped his cock a couple of times, almost casually, and he spoke, softly, "I am going to beat you because you need it. When I am finished, you will think twice before you disobey me again. I am going to administer a lot of pain. Some of it you'll trip on, but the greater part will seem unbearable to you. Frankly, I enjoy whipping ass, but my enjoyment is part and parcel of you enjoying it too. Now, it is pure punishment and it won't be as good for me as it will be later."

Under other circumstances I would have considered his speech as pedantic and affected, but I knew he meant every word of it. Without a doubt I was in for it!

First, he released my hands and then my feet. I knew better than to fight him as he turned me over on my stomach and refastened my extremities. Reaching under me, he pulled my hard cock down between my legs

From his warbag, he brought out a heavy cat-of-nine tails. It was not the same one he had previously used. I strained my neck to get a better look.

Squatting by the bed, Captain Morgan spoke quietly. "This is the Death-Bringer. You'll note the brown stains on the strands. It's real blood. I had the whip made for me in Nam and used it when I was in intelligence on some pretty tough, recalcitrant Viet Cong. I named it the Death-Bringer after the first Cong gave his worthless life up to it. The ends are lead tipped and it's capable of eating into a man's flesh and ripping out chunks of it.

I tried to pull loose of my bondage. I screamed, but the gag only allowed me to emit a muffled groan. This crazy bastard is going to kill me. Why did I have to end up with a raving maniac.

"I'm pretty adept at using it. I plan to administer ten strokes, but those strokes will live with you for a long time. I promise that no lasting damage will occur.

I felt my cock crawing on the sheet as it shriveled from sheer terror. I was startled when I felt the Captain remove the gag. The leather dildo had absorbed most of my saliva. I wanted to scream for help, but I knew that it would be useless since I had heard a number of screams since we arrived the day before.

Captain Morgan trailed the weighted strands down my back and through the crack of my ass. I watched him shake the strands of leather out. He held the whip up and examined the tips carefully, seeming to arrange them

Looking down at me, he said, "Take it like a man, not a wimp. Make me proud of you.'

I saw the first blow descend and its impact almost brought me off of the bed. Fire coursed up my spine from my ass and exploded in my brain. I gasped and buried my face into the mattress under me. Quickly, the second blow fell before I had a chance to get accustomed to the first. I felt a moan coursing up my throat, but I squelched it before it broke through my lips. My ass felt as if the Captain had set a fire on it. The third and fourth smashed quickly on to my back. Tears squeezed through my tight eyelids. The fifth blow straddled my ass, right between the other two.

Captain Morgan took his position on the other side of the bed and opened his onslaught with two quick smashes on my back, criss-crossing the earlier stripes. I must have been sweating profusely because I felt my sweat coursing from my back on to my sides and into my armpits. I had no time to think about that when the eighth blow crashed on my ass. It was then that I heard a peculiar sound in the room and was startled to find

out that it was me. I don't know when I started to whimper, but I was having trouble controlling it. The ninth blow chewed into my ass. Blow number ten came down with the greatest force. I felt very close to blacking out. As I started to sink into the dark pit, I heard a clatter. Later, I found out that Captain Morgan had tossed the Death-Bringer on to the bathroom floor.

My arms and legs were untied. "Lay still," Captain Morgan whispered as I started to move. I came back to full consciousness, my back and ass felt as if all the fires of Hades had taken refuge there. Captain Morgan chuckled as he reached under me and discovered that my cock was rock hard. He bathed my back and spread a soothing balm over my ass and back. At some other time I might have really been turned on by his gentle touch, but every caress caused my brain to scream as my body recoiled from his ministrations. The towel he had used to wipe my back after the washing was covered with blood and I knew that the sweat I had thought I had felt was, in reality, blood.

Captain Morgan urged me to get some sleep which wasn't hard since I was exhausted by the ordeal. In a few minutes I dropped off. A few times I awoke from a dreamless sleep and found the Captain sitting naked in the chair by the bed.

Later in the afternoon, I awoke. "I'm hungry," I groaned.

Picking up the house phone, Captain Morgan gave some terse orders which I did not understand.

He helped me from the bed. I felt stiff and sore, not sure that I could move. In the bathroom he eased me into the tub. Turning on the water, he ran a warm bath for me. The water crept up and over my body.

Sitting on the side of the tub, Captain Morgan asked, "You all right?" I could only nod. Inexplicably, I reached out and took his magnificent cock in my hand. He didn't snap at me for my brazenness. The soft cock felt like warm velvet. As I felt the warm water rising, it stung the wounds on my ass and back. Playing with his cock helped to distract me. That must have been the reason he was allowing me the liberty. His cock grew in my hand and I only hoped that I wasn't getting myself into trouble.

A knock sounded on the front door. Captain Morgan turned off the bath water and left the room with his prong hanging half hard in front of him. In a couple of minutes he returned with a bowl in his hand. I had been dreaming about a steak, or something as nourishing , but I hadn't expected this—a bowl of hot mush.

I knew better than to protest, so I quiescently allowed him to spoon feed me. He scooped the remnants of the goo from the bowl with his fingers and I licked them clean.

It was a dry mess and I asked, meekly, "Could I have something to drink, Sir?

Laying the bowl on the floor, he stood and put one leg in the tub, straddling my face. He offered me his big cockhead. As soon as I took the heavy cockhead in my mouth, the piss began to flow. It certainly slaked my thirst. I found that I needed to pee too. Some of the Captain's piss dribbled out of the corners of my mouth and mixed with the bathwater. As he pulled his spent cock out of my mouth, I said, "I need to piss, Sir." "Let it rip," the Captain responded, so I let my own piss become part of the bathwter.

When I soaked for a while, I felt the stiffness leaving my body. I dried off and returned to the bedroom. Captain Morgan handed me a tattered shirt which was too large for me and a pair of levis which were very tight.

"Here, put these on. It's getting late. You've slept a long time. You're going to make me look good tonight, babe.

I looked at him apprehensively while I donned the shirt and pants, squeezing my cock and balls into the tight pants. I discovered that I could only button the top button while the shirt billowed out like a tent.

There are going to be many demonstrations of electric torture, bondage, whipping, and even a branding. I'll take it easy with you tonight, but, remember, a slave is supposed to make his Master look good. I expect that from you. You'll look hot, baby."

When I had gotten out of the tub, I had caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I almost hadn't recognized myself with my shaved head, moustache and crotch. I had a lot of hair on my arms and legs which was quite a contrst to the rest of my denuded body.

We walked to the small convention center on the grounds where the demonstrations were being held. Captain Morgan wore a body harness under his leather jacket and chaps. The mound of the codpiece of the harness was bulging and heavy. Groups of leather clad men were drifting toward the brightly lit hall.

The action was in full swing when we arrived. A couple of whipping demonstrations were in process. I could see that the tops were experts and that the two good looking guys were grooving on being whipped. Another guy was bent over a table, servicing two cocks at the same time while other dudes were lined up behind the fuckers at his ass and head patiently waiting their turns. Another group watched a man in a sling

being fisted while he was being faced fucked at the other end.

We stood watching for only a few minutes. I could see many of the men watching the Captain, probably wondering when he would put on his own show.

Finally, turning to me, the Captain asked, "Are you ready, babe?" I nodded because my mouth was dry with apprehension. "O.K. Strip naked."

As I shucked off the tight levis, a group formed around us. Embarrassed by the attention, I turned my back to the growing crowd as I removed my shirt. I heard gasps behind me and it took me a moment to realize that my back and ass had shocked and excited the crowd. Captain Morgan grinned at me and I felt a sense of pride over my "battle" wounds which I was sure he shared. He turned me so I faced the crowd. A bag was placed at my feet. He kissed me on the lips, shoving his tongue into my mouth. I sucked on it as if my life depended on it. The Captain pulled free. "You all right?" "Yes, Sir."

My cock stood out hard and proud. With the adeptness of experience, Captain Morgan screwed a cock ring tightly around my cock and balls, making my already hard cock feel harder. He tossed my balls in the palm of his hand, causing me just a bit of discomfort . He ran his hands over my body as if he was examining a prime heifer. From his bag he took a jar and spread a soothing cover over my ass and back. Taking a couple of rolls of surgical tape, he wrapped my arms completely, finishing by covering my armpits Other long strips were wrapped completely around each leg, ending at my groin.

Next, Captain Morgan took rolls of ace bandages, joined my feet together and began to wrap me like a mummy. After my feet were bound, he began his winding process up my joined legs. I found it difficult to maintain my stability, but the Captain was aware and he kept a close eye on me. When he reached my cock and balls, he didn't wrap them, but left them hanging out. Behind me I felt the Captain prodding at my asshole, demanding entry, so I loosened the muscles of my sphincter and felt a large dildo being inserted. Next, he took a tube of BenGay and rubbbed the ointment into my balls which seemed like they were afire; he wrapped plastic around the balls and covered the orbs with plastic, using an elastic around the base of my balls to hold the wrapping in place. The fullness of my ass was forgotten as the raging fury assailed my balls. The bandages progressed higher, and, again, he left my tits uncovered. Finally, he mummified my neck and head with an opening for my nose and mouth.

I could not have moved if I had wanted to. The dildo was worked in and out, causing my hard cock to leap in response and my burning scrotum to retract. Finally, the dildo was shoved into the hilt. "Don't let it come out, or you'll be sorry." I gripped the shaft with my muscles, holding it in place. Next, I felt my right tit being gripped in a clamp which squeezed progressively until I thought I would not be able to stand it anymore. Then, he repeated it on my left tit. The pain became excruciating as Captain Morgan began to rub some abrasive, like sandpaper, over the nipples. The pain in my tits made me forget my balls. The clamp snapped free from one tit and, as the blood rushed back into it, the pain was incredible. He repeated it on the other tit. He began the unwinding. The colder air touched my scalp. When my eyes were freed and I could see the crowd of viewers and there was admiration in many eyes. My balls were freed of their cover- ing and the air seemed to chill my hot nuts. After fucking the dildo in and out a few times, the Captain removed it.

After I was freed of the ace bandages, the Captain led me to the center of the room where I was directed to put on a pair of lace-up boots. I sat on the floor and discovered that the boots were an almost exact fit. Squatting by my side, Captain Morgan attached clamps to the bolts set in the soles of the boots. "It's almost over, babe, and you've done real well." My feet were lifted in the air. The Captain supported my body as I was lifted higher. When my shoulders and head cleared the floor, he released me. He pulled the tapes off of my hands and wrists, causing me to grit my teeth as hair was pulled free with the tape. Leather cuffs were buckled to the wrists and my arms were sprea-deagle , as ropes were fitted into the D-rings and secured to bolts in the floor.

Slowly, the Captain began to pull the tape off of my arm. It was painful but the worse pain was when he ripped the hair out of my armpits. An inhaler was shoved into my nose and I inhaled deeply. Considering my head was shaved, I felt the effect of the amyl as the roots tingled and the erotic awareness coursed into my crotch. The next arm was easier, but there was the armpit again. My hard cock bobbed above me. Another hit was shoved into my nose and I was beginning to groove on the pain. Strip after strip of tape and hair were ripped from my very hairy legs. I felt my balls churning for release. Just as the last strip was being loosened to be ripped off, Captain Morgan caught my eye and ordered, "Come, damn you, come." As the pain seared every nerve in my leg, I shot a long wad of come, some of which hit me in the face. Captain Morgan pumped my cock into his hand, wiped dribbles of come from my body and fed all of it to me. I licked his hand and fingers clean.

"Good boy," he whispered. "You made me look real good.

As I was lowered, he caught me in his arms. Releasing my hands, he told me to get the boots off. Shakily, I stood and he held me close to him.

"Grab your shirt and pants and follow me."

I started to put them on, but he signalled that I was to carry them. My arms and legs had blood blisters, but they gave me no trouble. Captain Morgan received a number of congratulations on his slave. It made me feel proud that I had done so well and I basked in the praise given my Master.

Go and take a shower. We're getting out of here." I gaped at him. I hadn't expected this at all. What was wrong and what did he mean by "we" are going? I decided it was better to do, rather than question him.

When I returned to the bedroom, Captain Morgan was wearing a pair of designer jeans and a plaid shirt. He had found my best jeans and a fresh shirt. He had packed his own bags. "Get your gear together and get dressed.

I packed quickly, searching the drawers to make sure that nothing was left behind.

The car was parked outside. I loaded the bags in the trunk of the Mercedes. We were stopped at the main gate where guards were posted. One of the run managers approached the driver's side. "I'm sorry, Captain , but there's no in and out privileges during the run.

"We're leaving. We won't be back."

"Anything wrong, sir?"

"No. We have other things to do."

At a signal from the manager, the heavy chain was lowered and we drove through.

"Can I ask where we're going, Sir?" I had to admit it was a sign of my growing confidence in the Captain that I had gotten into the car without an explanation, but, now, curiosity was getting the better of me.

"Sure, babe. The run was getting to be a drag and I wanted to get a chance for us learning more about each other. I've got a suite at The Plaza, so I thought we might see the City together tomorrow. Any objections?

"No, Sir." This guy always ended up surprising me. I settled back into the leather upholstery.

I reached over and did as he told me. I opened his fly. I felt his crotch hair as the zipper opened fully. "Get my cock and balls out." His cock was already half hard and he had to lift his hips so I could free his equipment, "Chow down, babe,

There was some pre-cum in his slit which I cleaned out with my tongue. I made myself comfortable for what I hoped would be a long suck. My head hit the driving wheel, so the Captain adjusted the wheel and moved the seat further back. I slid on the floor and really went to work. His shirt got in my way so I opened it and pushed it aside. I started a long stroke down the shaft until the large head hit the back of my throat. I was determined not to let this deter me. I took a deep breath and forced the huge cockhead and shaft into my throat. I held it in my throat, using my muscles to massage it. After a few efforts, I was able to bury my nose into the crotch hair on each downward stroke, holding the cock as long as I could and coming up with hard suction while the edge of my teeth abraded the sensitive corona at the end of the stroke. I repeated the technique. Gradually, the Captain began to drive his hips up off of the seat to meet my downward, throat gripping course. I knew that he was about to come and I tried to slow down, but would have none of it. He grabbed the back of my head and fucked my face. It was only then that I realized that he had the speed control on. Suddenly, he erupted in my mouth and forced his cock down my throat, pumping load after load nto my stomach.

When I finished, he told me to zip hm up. Then he had me drop my jeans, spit in my hand and start jack- ing off. "Don't come until I tell you to."

I had been so turned on by sucking his cock, that I struggled not to bring my own prick off. "Please, Sir," I begged as I felt my own load ready to burst. Putting his hand over my cock head, he commanded, "Come, baby," which I did immediately. His hand caught all of the come and I licked it off.

When we got to the hotel, we went right to the suite. As soon as we walked in the door, Captain Morgan told me to strip naked. "You stay naked while you're in the suite. Understand?"

"What about the hotel staff?"

"That's their problem. Now let's go to bed. I want to get into that hot ass of yours, baby,

Within minutes I was laying on my back on the bed. Captain Morgan came out of the bathroom with a gigantic hard on. When I asked him if he wanted me to turn off the light, he laughed, "Hell, no, I want to see my cock up that sweet ass of yours.

Captain Morgan rolled on top of me, grinding his heavy cock into my hairless groin. My hips and hard cock rose to meet his heavy thrusts. His fingers tweaked my tits and then he took one tit in his mouth. His tongue teased the tip as his mouth sucked the tit. His teeth nipped and bit while his tongue flicked over

it. Leaving my tit, he covered my mouth with his own. , His tongue forced its way into mine and I sucked passionately on this probing flesh. Our breathing became more and more shallower. Our bellies became slick with the juices each of us oozed out of our cocks.

The Captain lifted up off of me. He took my legs and put them on his shoulders. He rubbed his juicy cockhead against my pucker. I had greased up earlier and felt sure that I could take this raging instrument up my ass. I knew it might hurt at first, but that wouldn't last.

In one fell swoop, Captain Morgan drove his iron all the way to the balls. I gasped at the pain, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been if I had been totally unprepared . The Captain let his thirteen fat inches rest in my ass, I felt it pulse a few times and then he began to withdraw. It felt as if I was being emptied of everything important to me. He pulled out to where only his cockhead was in my hole. I could see his eyes taking in his long shaft ready to plunge back into me. He drove full force back into my hot hole. Slowly, he began a fucking tempo which was punctuated with slaps on my ass, causing my muscles to grip the shaft which assailed them. A warmth permeated my entire being and I hooked my heels firmly on to his shoulders and raised my ass to meet the thrusts. Faster and harder came the drives. I rolled my hips to bring that large corona on his cockhead against my prostate. He slammed harder and faster. I felt his mighty cock growing in my hole. It was impossible flashed through my head. If it gets any bigger, he'll tear me apart. Captain Morgan's breathing became labored and short. My own need became greater and I wondered if I could hold off until he came. We both shot our loads at the same time in an incredible fury. Each of us pumped wad after wad. My chest and stomach were covered with my own come while my ass felt as if it was going to burst with the huge load dumped in it. Some of the come from my ass seeped out of my hole and I felt it dribble to the base of my spine on to the bed.

Captain Morgan collapsed on top of me. His cock was still buried in my ass. Even soft, his big cock would have stayed lodged in me as long as he wanted it there.

Rolling off of me, Captain Morgan lay back on the bed. When his cock had pulled free of my ass, I swear I had heard a pop. I didn't need to be told what he would want now, so I lifted my aching ass off of the bed and began to clean his chest, stomach, cock, balls and asshole with the only instrument at hand—my tongue. I was careful how I cleaned his crotch because I didn't want to stir that monster again tonight. I just wanted to go to sleep. After drinking his hot piss, Captain Morgan turned over and went to sleep while I showered, took a piss and cleaned out. When I rejoined him in the bed, he sensed my presence. Taking me in his arms, I fell into a deep sleep.

We spent Sunday walking in Central Park after a hot morning's fuck. I was glad that we had left the run and returned to the City. It afforded me an opportunity to get to know the Captain better. I found that we had a lot of things in common. Like the Captain said, you can't build a lasting relationship in a bed-though it helps! called in sick Monday morning and spent the day with him. That evening he left for home. He had spent most of the day at my place and I guess all we did was fuck, fuck, fuck. I promised to come out to California to visit and I meant it.

The Captain just finished reading this. He isn't in total agreement with what I have said, but I guess I'm still a bit of a pushy bottom-even after eighteen months in California.

THE END

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Earthspring. We still honor the tradition of seasons, even here. The great ship moved beyond the moons of Jupitor in its ceaseless prowling of the heavens. Guiding this cruising citidal has long since become routine; riding the gravitational pull of suns and lesser luminaries with plenty of time to contemplate the immense expanses of space. This cycle Lyres and I have scanner duty.

We are fortunate—in many ways. We trace our descent from one of the tribes that rose to prominance during the Conspiracy. This gives us some measure of renown, as those events took place 500 years ago. One learns early on about how the earth lords set up the groundwork for exploiting the heavens. They bred our ancestors to survive in space and plotted their initial course. They gave them all the tools necessary to exist externally in the void, and said, "go to it."

Need I say more.

The earthlords thought they had taken thorough precautions to prevent this likelihood. They soon thought again. Once in space the takeover went ahead with mathematical precision. Our Declaration consisted of blasting their shuttle station and raiding all their carefully stored energy satilites. The harsh but necessary reality continued by our ships annhilating the earthforce sent out to restore authority. It meant perpetually ringing our father planet with a guardian satallite system. This dusted any ship attempting to leave earth's atmosphere. One small error, the system also blasted any and all ships entering the forcefield of earth. So in one stroke we severed ourselves from the corporate tyranny of Earth and denied ourselves forever the chance of a return to our home sphere.

Profound results followed, not the least of which was the way we viewed earth. It was both the bastion of tyranny and our beloved father. This final severance unhinged us to some extent. Events came fast and hard. The First Council had to consolidate power quickly in the vacuum left after the earthforce was destroyed. A few of their starships were captured , and the crews used for slaves. Others, mainly transport vessels or pleasure ships, sought refuge in whatever habitable planet they could find.

Despite the pick of choice worlds to colonize, the Ships-men opted for settling permanently in space. It was a matter of control. As in the ancient days of the earthkings, we made endless progress around the cosmos, gathering slaves at one port of call, produce and livestock at another, and oxygen and minerals at yet another. And like the earthlords before us, all the while we are sniffing about for signs of insurrection or subversion, flushing out occasional pirate nests, the usual.

The slaves admirably filled the gap between high technology and the mundane chores that support any new enterprise . As usually happens, what began as a temporary expedient evolved into a permanent measure. Soon nothing was thought of anyone tethering a studstable which their rank and pay could accommodate. A slave could earn freedom , but that took time. One way was through combat. Become a hero of the arena. What better diversion than blood sports. The charioteers and thrusters were the idols of us all. (Of course you could enter the games of your own free will. More than one hero or amazon has made a name for themselves by enlisting in the combat ranks for a season or two.) Or one could buy their freedom by being the most sought after bondstud. Many such had reached freedom and fortune through sheer sexual stamina, selling themselves for a sufficient price, sportng on a tattooed arm the record of campaigns staged in any number of private sessions.

We also opted for the old earth religion. Their pagan abandonment served as a welcome counterpoint to the emperical discipline that manning the great ship requires. The women among us insisted on the worship of the goddess in the temple, while sports like Lyres and myself went all out for the Great God. When Lyres and I offer our ejaculation to his image in the temple, it binds us closer to Him, to the endless void which is His realm and to each other. It was a strange, invigorating, this combination of frontier mentality joined with pagan worship.

Off duty the time and method of diversion are your own. Lyres sometimes accuses the whole system as being decadent . That one must judge for oneself. Some shipsmen constantly frequent the arena, others the great libraries. Sometimes Lyres and I enlist in the indoctrination and discipline sessions. These can be very interesting. This particular earthspring began in the usual manner, observing the alignment of the planets. Biologically we are still very much earthmen. That is, the sap still surges up in the spring. The Diety demands abstention, says the Council. Shipsmen are devout. We know the keeness of pent up seed. Like all mates, Lyres and I sleep apart that month. Once the solemn ceremonies were over, the Council formally lifts the rule of abstenance, and madness rules.

We spent a wild night of ramming and popping in free fall. The cokpit is a large, circular space with soft light, warmth and padded walls. Thank Diety for that. Every heavy jetload shot us weightless through the air, our ejaculations propell-ing us across the room and had us literally bouncing off the walls. Catching each other, we reconnected mouth to mouth, shaft to butt, or any which way we happened to grab on first. Yin-Yang is the trickest, but I managed it once or twice with Perseus. Before the drugs carried us too far afield, we constructed a free-fall slave chain, spinning recklessly throughout the huge dark chamber. At one point I remember having my fists locked into two warm caverns of sensation and my own butt played with. It had to be Lyres. He works me up and over the edge of sanity with just the right combination of challenge and gentleness.

My prok was at a degree of hot hardness that was blissfully painful. It's not many men who can honestly say he has abstained for a whole month. The weight and tension on my stones made the slightest touch of a hot tongue on my sheath enough to send me over the edge. I felt the eruption build and found it impossible to hold back. The seed began to spill out in small spurts, which increased, sending out long pale ropes of sperm throughout the chamber. My arms were locked behind me by Lyres. We kissed as my sperm jet shot us both the entire length of the chamber leaving a jet trail of my manseed in our wake. On the rebound, I floated in a state of warm, satisfied bliss, while Lyres sucked up my sperm which clustered around us in the air. Silent, blissful satisfaction!

Lyres and I arose about 11 shipstime and cleaned up, replacing the smells of the cokpit with soap and lightly applied body oil. Then we joined the holiday throng on the

Grand Concourse.

Whoever designed the Concourse really knew their business . It runs 2000 feet topside the spine of the great ship. Several wide, flat topped towers stand at each end of this majestic promenade. The Concourse is comprised of wide open spaces on several different levels. It blends large rock projections with fountains and tress. Circular platforms for observation can be reached from the curving stairways. Above at a lofty height, runs the seamless transparent vault, allowing in the light of whatever suns happen to be nearby. This vault extends another 2000 feet to cover the Arena, adjacent to the Concourse and with only the towers separating the two spaces. From anywhere in the Concourse you can hear the sounds of combatant and spectator clearly.

The Grand Concourse serves as our forum. It provides the focus for our existance during the wandering; it's the stage that gives our lives purpose. The Council has erected two striking statues: the Goddess as form and tradition demand, but give true worship to The Diety in a thousand small ways, as in last night's combat. In Him is manifest the sustaining power of the male seed and supreme self worth.

Recently the Council has also erected another more particular structure. In a semi circle are a series of high rectangular frames, hung with chains and hooks. We like to think this is a silent warning to certain roamers that regularly ripple across the cosmos, but no one knows for sure. Thus far the device has not been used, but one does wonder. Not that we are much concerned—our days are filled with activity. Life in the great ship stimulates competition. This in turn gives rise to the flaunting of self and the rites by which we pass our time. As we were doing on this particular morning.

Lyres and I sauntered along with an occasional touch of hands. We shared a deep vital need for each other and felt the bond would last through whatever. So fine, strong and sure, we threw greetings to friends, strongly aware of the impression we made. Both of us are hard, muscular, Myself smooth, save for a short black beard. Lyres, stalwart and goldheaded, moustached and sporting a thick thatch of black hair on his proud chest. Hairy forearms and calves. Lots

I leaned against a Live Oak (California's contribution to the galactic city) and let my crotch net the admiring glances that I pretty much expect as my due. I have been the showpiece at more than a few private banquets, with my buddy here as willing recipient of my prod; or me taking his studfist in my vitals nice and deep. Lyres deplored my stance, but with a quick smile and a slight movement of his butt. Diety. he's right. Our slave, Nestor, was recounting news of recent partings and joinings of friends.

Then the gong ringers showed their skill. The booming sound reverberated throughout the Concourse. Something was up. We looked at each other, then hurried ahead to find a vantage point on a nearby fountain. There we saw the three prisoners. They were being led along by the guards. They were naked, stones held by slaverings. All were well endowed, possibly cloned. It's getting hard to tell. It was obvious that these three had done something serious. The crowd murmured in surprised curiosity.

A magnificent blond giant with steaks of grey in his head and beard was led before the prisoners by a boy. The man was blinded and scarred, but still straight standing with the vestige of hard pride. I sensed immediately that the Council was behind this. As the crowd's murmur subsided, his voice rang out clearly.

"Hail Diety. Hail Goddess. All honor to the Giver of Light. Pain and darkness to those who defile their honor. They have denied themselves forever the rites of fulfillment, the brotherhood of their companions, the wholeness of their bodies. See the fate of those who desecrate the Oracle, who would rob its treasures from Father Earth."

Gasps of horror went through the assembly. To steal the most sacred relics of a bygone world, the home of our proud race! (So the Council said.) Silent looks passed between Lyres and myself. Best to go along with their pronouncement was the thought in both our minds. Horror was registered on every face. There was also anticipation of what was to come. Most likely this entertainment was being broadcast throughout the great ship. I felt Lyre's hand in mine. The boy led the blond giant aside and the space around the racks widened. Paying more attention to the three, I examined their splendid bodies being trussed vertically into the framework and harness and hanging free above the ground. Leather straps and chains were attached only where necessary to restrain movement. Their ankles were bent up behind them and secured to the waist belts. Guards moved in and attached a length of chain to their slave rings. It pulled their stones down sharply. The two captives on either side groaned in pain. The center captive showed strong white teeth and gave out no sound. He was obviously the showpiece in this group. I could not take my eyes off him.

Their bodies were coated with a shining gelatinous oil. The slings were cranked up on the metal framework, giving everyone a clear view. Whatever was in store for them, it looked good. Their fists clenched and the tension on their faces was evident. All had the physique that testified to their power. I looked around at the faces in the crowd. They were a curious blend of "suffer you traitors" and "show your stamina, men." I felt my stones tighten up and my sac rise. I noticed three men without the uniform or insignia of a guard. They stood before small tripod boxes, which resembled calculators. They had the detached look of scribes, their fingers poised above the box. At a sign from the guard they slowly hit a series of keys. The reaction of the prisoners was amazing. I had heard of radar torture, but never thought I would see it demonstrated. It was only a few volts, but it served as a prelude of what was to come. Two of the captives moaned and writhed right from the start. The crowd hissed their displeasure. "What the shaft are you fellows made of" I thought. The third was clearly manstuff. Just a show of teeth, but he gave out no sound. They all started to sweat, as the radarions were used with selective precision on their bodies. The three silent men were expert in their work. They manipulated the keyes, directing the ions up and down the captive's bodies. The men would jerk suddenly, arch their backs, twisting what little they could, opening and closing their fists. Their guts churned with anxiety and tension. They breathed in huge gasps. The stalwarts around me were transfixed by the spectacle. I noticed fists clenched and mouths half open, eyes rivited on the punishment.

Soon it was time for a change of pace. The men were lowered slightly in their harnesses. At a nod from the guard, the three men played another series of keys. The pleasure on the face of the captives became strongly evident. They began to respond against their wills. Oh Diety I thought; I know this trick. They threw out their chests, as their nipples felt the caress of the ions. Their prods became rapidly erect, as if they were being serviced with exquisite understanding. They knew, and we knew, that this would not last. Sobs of submission came from the two lesser animals. The third manbeast offered himself up to pleasure and groaned, not in fear, but in sure strong pleasure. His big thick shotput hardened to erect attention. He threw his body forward, working off the ions in the air. His butt rotated as if it was gently massaged from within. I felt my prok begin to stir. An inhailer was put to his nose. He took a healthy snort and gave over to the moment.

The three branding irons descended swiftly to three captive butts. All of them pitched, bucked and screamed. The one man was so into the promise of one last ejaculation that he was caught totally off guard. He bellowed like a bull. You could hear his pain and humiliation. He writhed and twisted, musculature contorting. His head snapped back and forth. His screams gave me a fast erection. His body shuddered involuntarily. As despair caught up with him, choking gut sobs came from him, and he watered and dumped simultaneously . He strained for gasping intakes of air. All three had a bucket of salt water thrown over their brands. The other two had already passed out, but superslave clung to consciousness, still managing to bare his teeth in last defiance.

Lyres and I found ourselves hoping for the salvation of this

mutilated brute. He was lowered to a foot or so above the cart. The blond giant was led before him to quench his thirst with a long, hot stream from his shaft. The captive drank his fill, then let his head fall back and joined his comrads in unconsciousness. If he was condemned, we would never sele or hear of him again. So we thought. If the Council decided otherwise, he would have a chance for life. I was sure the other two were fodder for the arena. Their humiliation was complete. Public punishment! Where would it lead. It had its effect on us. The ringers sounded the gongs again, and the three were unstrapped and carried off. The crowd stepped aside, murmuring among themselves.

That night Lyres and I sat in silence in our chamber, still reeling from the drama of the day.

'The look on his face when the brand struck home, Artos. Did you see it—the fleeting look of surprise just before the pain hit. Diety, the pride in his eyes. He had met a challenge that's been a fantasy of mine. And all were there to watch his agony. What a door for a man to go through. Right on the line. I wonder if he only thought of his pain and humiliation. or was he aware of the impression on all the shipsmen that worshipped his degredation. Every one of them would willingly be his bondslave, right?"

Lyres moved closer to me on the bed. We gazed into the fire. I felt his hairy warmth against me, as he gently stroked my back. Then he moved around behind me, prod against my butt and he cuped my pec in his paw. "It bothers me Lyres," I said. "What if that were me.

Would I be able to take the punishments?"

Lyres began to play with my nipple.

"What would either of us do if the pain and terror became unbearable?" I said.

The pressure on my nipple incresed. I felt his shaft harden against me.

"I mean, what are my pain limits now compared to what they could be?" I said.

Lyres looked at my face in the mirror and saw the challenge in my eyes. We started to wrestle playfully. It turned into a hard contest of wills and strength. The scene evolved to where he casually reached for his strap and I casually reached for the inhailer. Then I stood before him at attention . He played the belt across my physique and I strutted my stuff, letting him work me up by slow degrees. We traded snapperhits. The image of the captive passed through our minds. The pain on my body was getting a little hard to handle, but the challenge kept me silent. Until I gave some indication that this was getting too brutal, I trusted Lyres to continue. He knew my mind, and kept up with the strokes. I took another snort, tensed up again. Lyres took a snort and ent a little crazy, raising up welts all over me while I gasped, eated and bore the pain.

'May the strength and courage of the Great God be with you," he chanted as he poured the vial of oil over Thor's hair. The priest oiled Thor's shoulders, arms and back with strong sure strokes, teasing Thor's nipples slightly before kneading the last of the oil into his muscleheavy chest. Thor involuntarily tensed his pecs and felt his prok start to strain against his kilt.

This reaction was not lost on the priest. "You are favored by the Diety indeed brave one…but the will to win is yours alone." The priest saluted him and Thor looked directly into the man's eyes, drinking in the stern pride and admiration he saw there. He returned the salute, then quickly turned and left. His chariot stood waiting.

Taking the whip from the attendant, Thor mounted his chariot and cleared his head from the incense of the chamber. Intensely aware of his own sensuality and power, he sucked in great lungfuls of clear air. He felt alive throughout his whole being. The trumpets sounded again. His four

black chargers reared up before lunging forward to the starting post. As Thor came into view, muscles shining in the hot suns, the arena went wild. His smile came from his heart, and he raised one arm high to acknowledge the worship of the spectators, who were drenching him with cheers and applause.

Thor knew that Lyres and Artos were watching, perhaps even betting heavily on him. During their last session, after the roughness, the tenderness and their triple thundering climax, they had talked for a long while. He thought he discerned in them the same hate and fear of the Council that stirred in him. Would they risk it with him? He knew he would have to move soon. And what better way to attain the favor of the Council than to win the games. Easy fellow, he thought. Time to dwell on that later. Now just win this final game and win big.

"Steady mates," he called softly to his stallions. Their ears pricked forward at his vibrant voice. Pulling alongside the other chariots, Thor fixed his gaze straight ahead and awa- ited the starting gong in tense anticipation.

The priest tied two more death knots in Thor's hair. Then he pulled Thor's head back and served him the victory cup. It would deaden the pain.

The images all ran together. The mad roar of the multitude , the frienzied tangle of horses and chariots amid the cracking whips. It was a thrilling sight. Ten strong charioteers in a controlled ballet of death. Stampeding around the arena, the charioteers were free to use any foul trick they could devise. But win! The rules of the arena were out bounds of all galactic law. Once in the game, you set yourself up for anything. Thor simply had what it took. Kill to win. Challenge your comrad to kill you first, then once he's taken the bait, rack the scumbutt up.

By the fifth turn around the course, Thor's juices were at full flow. His mental and physical machinery were at the maximum point of death dealing effectiveness. He swerved his stallions right, cutting off Helios (blasted startwink too pretty to live in this game). Helios saw the move too late. Thor had maneuvered him into the path of one of several metal bars set into the course. They were just high enough to trip up a fast moving chariot and send the driver flying. As Helios flew butt over head, Thor savagely whipped his soaring frame. Before Helios completed his final arc, Thor's bullwhip had torn a big chunk of flesh from his back and shoulder. He landed just as the up and coming chariots thundered over him.

Thor had no need to look back. The roar of the crowd told him he could add another deathknot to his long queue of hair. He felt his bullshaft harden at the glory of the kill. Then he remembered himself and lashed his steeds to top speed.

The victory was not in the stars however. Thor had a few rough moments of his own when Paxton forced him into the same tight spot over the trip-up bars. Over he went, but had the muscle and mind to grab Paxton's whip. Summersaulting to his feet, he jerked Paxton off his car and to his death. Sing Diety! Two kills. That meant four free laps. So he had just one more to go! Thor ran for the wall as the other chariots dashed past, a few lightening whip lashes caressed his bulk as he hugged the all. Then, taking his knife from his arm sheath, Thor ran out to the mangled remains of Paxton and made a trophy of his stones. Holding up the bloody organs in full view, he ate one, then the other, masticating slowly, letting the blood spill out his mouth and over his chest and belly. He was paying Paxton the highest compliment he could to a vanquished challenger. He smiled inwardly. It was also his last act of love for a brother. When he and Paxton had last locked bodies in bed, they had vowed to so honor the other if the circumstance arose.

The arena went insane. Artos and Lyres looked at each other silently, mouths open, then back at Thor down below. The bloodlust was total and every teletglass focused on Thor as he swallowed the last of Paxton's manhood. His chargers had never slowed their pace. They rounded the bend towards him. Instant silence—in that moment the arena was for him. They could hear his hoarse command for the stallions to slow, and he quickly ran to remount. Before Thor could gather speed, the other chariots were upon him. He felt the lashes on his back even as he felt the power from Paxton's rocks surge through him. He laughed madly, taking the lashes as manly caresses, thrilling to the manpain, manb-lood . Thor whipped his own horses to surging speed. They sensed his madness and raced for the finish line. He took two full turns around the course to slow their five pounding hearts, his chest heaving, one arm raised, fist clenched and taking all the deafening praise as his due.

The hardshaft manhood of him was so hampered by the leather kilt, Thor shucked it all, as he strode to the victor's circle. He ascended the stairway, clad only in his sandles, all blood-sweat and pride, prok semi erect. The First Lord of The Council rose as Thor moved with a victor's sureness to claim his prize. The other council members rose also. They beheld a noble champion. The rays of several suns bathed his physique in white light gold light. He was the supreme embodiment of male strength and virtue. The First Lord said, "Well Thor, the moment is yours, so it seems." His voice was dry, languid. Thor felt the priest's eyes on him and knew that he must not look in his direction. He tried not to let the

Lord's attitude affront his maleness.

Before I take the victor's prize, I entreat the right to train with the bondslave for his final combat. I promise you it will be a match worthy of the Council. The slave will die as befits a traitor, and it will give me the challenge I crave. He is not to know that I will be his combatent. And that is the victor's wish." This was said with spit flecking his mouth and his eyes glazed over. He played with his spermheavy stones and rubbed his sweaty, bloody chest. Best let them think that the bloodlust was still on him.

The First Lord looked to the Council and they raised their staffs in assent. Thor turned and faced the multitude. The priest came forward with two accompanying priestesses who bound the champion to the altarposts. With deft expertise the priest tied two more death knots into Thor's hair. Then he pulled Thor's head back and served him the victory cup. It would deaden the pain. Thor knew that this was more than just ceremony. He felt the dominance in the man's grasp. He drained the cup. The priest thrust him back upright and gave the cup to a priestess. She handed him the brand. The priest held this before Thor. It glowed red from the embers. Thor blew the brand to white heat. Then he closed his eyes and the arena fell silent.

The priest rammed the brand into his musclethick back. He bucked and pitched and screamed even as had the prisoner before him. Trumpets, gongs, cheers surrounded him. The howl of worship in the arena was deafening. He was supreme. The priestesses unbound him. The priest steadied Thor on his feet. He was totally aware of his majesty and nobility and savored the moment to the fullest. He had come this far. With the help of his companions, the slaveship would be free. He grasped the priest's arm for support and made his grip felt. They did not look at each other. Then he shook himself free, lifted his arms and turned from side to side, showing his newly branded back to the worshippers in the stands. At that moment Thor knew that he was the only Diety in their universe.

Continued Next Issue

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GOODLOOKING LEATHERMAN CASTRO VALLEY, S, 36, 6', 160 lbs., goodlooking Leatherman seeks M. for Leather Action, obedience, outdoor-bike scenes, bondage. (415) 582-1162 or reply Box 1582

SALINAS, Piss stop, W / M, 40, wants leather / levi MEN. Feasts on stiff, rigid white dickmeat, greedily swallows cum / piss, devours virile asshole, worships boot leather, wolfs down dirty, sweat drenched sox, feet, sucks toes, eats richly on toe jam. Arrogant wolf mean, boot leather tough, levi / leather, blond, blue eyed mavericks a real plus. Prefer 18-30. Photo, phone. Box 1670.

LEATHERMEN

W / m couple seeks versatile topmen in California, Holland, Germany, Denmark in Summer of 82, GR, FR, FF, WS, fantasy scenes wanted 5'11", 160 lbs., beard, smooth, hung (and) 5'6", moustache, hairy, uncut, hot ass. Photo assures response. Box 60661, Sacramento, CA 95860.

SF MOTORCYCLE SWEETHEART Likes to wrestle. Me: 6' tall, loving eyes, fair haired, thin skinned, empa-thetic , great cock, 170 lbs. of vitality, wants to dance, camp out and ride double on my Honda. You. Like to eat, will take out the trash, can pick me up with one hand, likes movies. music, and doesn't mind a messy house. We: Can do the dishes together, look for pinochle partners, and save for a vacation. Box 1707.

ASIAN DADDY'S BOY

25, goodlooking, strictly top, seeks unique W / m daddy, 35-40, who is very masculine but strictly bottom. Must have full black leather outfit and be open to all scenes. Will reply to responses with recent photo. Box 1623

SAN FRANCISCO, Muscular, big dick, butt, daddy seeks same for hot times. Must also have hot receptive rear (FFA questionable), must like spanking, tit work, some bondage, dildoes, piss up your butt, and a nice ripe asshole for eating, I'm 33, 5'9" 148 lbs., well-endowed and uncut, hairy, hunky, intelligent, nice man. I also like to kiss & cuddle Do you? See issue no. 35, Tough Customers, Bay Area Daddy." Send photo and frank letter, will get prompt reply Kent, Box 5171, S.F., CA 94101.

SAN FRANCISCO, W / m, 32, slim, trim beard, 6'2", 160 lbs., M, but can be versatile, new to scene, willing to learn, into dudes who take care of their bodies, enjoy light S&M, B&D, some WS, 3-ways, and have lots of fantasies. Not into FF, scat, heavy pain. Box B10.

S.F. LEATHERMASTER

38, 6'5", 165 lbs. 61 / 2" uncut, black hair, mustache, wants slave with beard or moustache who does a good blow job, rimming and licking crotch & balls for life of obedience and servitude, into B&D, TT, CBT, MD (mad doctors), witchcraft, leather and rubber, FF optional, No. scat or WS. Live-in a possibility for the right person. No overweights, fats, fems, olds. Send pic to Box A44.

GERONTOPHILES

Et al: Corrupt early 50s, articulate tongue, kind but ruthless, even if I have knowledge of autohypnosis and sex. Send photo. No fats or hardcore drugs. Can you rise to the occasion? Box A52

SAN FRANCISCO FIST ACTION

Seeking buddles for mutual fist fuck-ing and piss drinking. I'm 5'10", 170 lbs. Moustached Chicano hunk with 7%" endowment and a strong active imagination and curiousity. Dig Leather, levis, beer, non-smokers, dildoes, drugs. I'm also a 31 year old Cancer. It would help tremendously if you're into ancient religion-earth-sex -magic, and pagan arts. I come more from compassion than from heavy humiliation, photos answered first. Box 1445.

BALL BUDDIES

SAN FRANCISCO W / M, 34, 6'2", 160 lbs. Bald, medium brown beard, light blond moustache, hairy, into ball torture , weights, vices, slapping, hitting, punching, mutual play seeks same. Box 1514

NEW RECRUIT

SAN FRANCISCO 27, W / M, 5'9", 158 lbs. Beard, needs to learn how to achieve what have been only fantasies , an "apprenticeship" to an experienced or not so experienced Master and his slave would be a great start on this journey. I deserve to be humil-lated for my inexperience which will only intensify my need to serve. Box 1633

TWO HOT HUNKYS

SAN FRANCISCO 45, 190 lbs. & 27, 170 lbs. Open and trusting, two or three ways into sweat. Enjoy big wrestlers, BB types with STAMINA and "SNAP." Also looking for roommate for our place at Market & Cas-tro . Call Larry or Fred (415) 861-0430. Please, no calls after 10 PM. Write to Box 1556.

ENEMAN

6'1", 165 lbs., brn / blu, 35. Enemas, whips, V / A, B / D, as Top. Enemas and cunt-fucking as bottom. Photo exchange. Can travel. P.O. Box 3532, Q.H., CA 93534.

Answering a Drumbeat ad is easy, but the few rules we have are hard and fast. So observe them or else. Seal your letter in an envelope on which you have written the box number in pencil. You can write the box number on the back fiap of the envelope, if you wish. Put your return address on the envelope if you want the letter returned should there be some problem with delivery. Put proper postage on the envelope. Include 25¢ for each letter you want forwarded. Put the whole thing (sealed letter and fee) in another envelope addressed to Drummer. Letters not properly prepared will be destroyed.

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15 Harriet Street . San Francisco, California 94103

Anyone corresponding with advertisers must comply with all local, state and Anyone corresponding with advertisers must comply with all local, state and federal laws. No advertisements accepted from persons under 21 years of age. Drummer will not knowingly accept fraudulent, obscene, offensive or

Name Address _

City / State / Zin City'State / Zip' ideclared a mover 21 years of age and that the information in my ad is true indeclare that I am over 21 years of age and of a will be supplied to age to and correct. I understand that no proofs of ad will

BEARDED OR MOUSTACHED FACE-SITTERS WANTED

I'm 39, 5'10", 140 lbs., bearded, and have no age or race restrictions. Write Horst, Box 101SF.

W / m, masculine, husky hunk, 49, 6'3", 235 lbs., virile, experienced, wants macho studs near my size, 30 plus only. Into tit play, body contacts. One on one possible. California body builders, cowboys, leathermen, etc. reply to Box 170.

SAN JOSE W / m, 5'7", 160 lbs., 31, seeking goodlooking W / m bottom, 18-30, into leather, bondage, tit work light S&M. No drugs, fats, fems, FF. Novice preferred, limits respected. Fantasies considered. Box 2047.

OAKLAND Need your cock and balls bound and tortured? I am the one who can do it for you. Write with details and photo to: Box 19065, Oak-land , CA 94619.

EX-RANCH HAND

Loves horsemen, cowboys, troopers, and deputy sheriffs with full discretion . Corrals, stalls, barns, tack rooms, saddles, rawhide and ropes turn me on. Greater S.F. Bay area & Monterey Bay area. Willing to travel California and neighboring states. Need stockade detention, stake-out, immobilization. Over 32 years. If you are in authority, write with photo to Box 832.

S.F. PENINSULA Goodlooking, young M in 40s, white, top man, 5'9 155 lbs., cut, seeks goodlooking, well built, masculine SM, 27-40, for intense asshole sex (including FF). Will also fuck your face, use abusive language, and experiment in water sports. Prefer men into snow skiing, other constructive interests. Could consider as a roommate. Photo preferred . Reply Box A50.

SAN FRANCISCO SM 33, 5'8", 135 lbs., 8" cut, goodlooking, hard-edged Libran into Top / bottom trade offs or one way clashes with serious leathermen intent on hot bondage and belt sessions, bodies in leather and toys in hand, we'll put tits, cock and ass to their proper use. Skip the bullshit, forget the scat, tune into the head and the body and let's explore. Photo brings photo. DRUMMER Box A56 or c / o Jay, 795 Buena Vista West, No. 4, S.F. CA 94117

LEATHER BIKER TOP WANTED I'm into heavy leather, leather bondage , and need to get into a heavy leather scene with a leatherman and or biker. Must wear full leather, as I do. I am W / m, 29, 5'8", 152 lbs., and am bearded. Tall shiny leather boots, gloves and a beard a plus. Write to: Chris West, 1900 Eddy Street, No. 11, San Francisco, CA 94115. No fems, Blacks or heavy S&M.

Hot queer, 36, 6', 185 lbs., W / m, 6". Your queer slave worships leather. shit, heat in sick scenes for your pleasure . Train me to be your queer. S.F. travel possible. Bill. Rt 2 Box 2489. Oroville, CA 95965

BLACK MAN

40, 5'7", 128 lbs., looking for man 21- ? to train to my specifications. Should be 5'6" to 6', 120 to 180 lbs., into kink & raunch & capable of blind obedience. Body should be in good shape, age, race & endowment unimportant . Uncut with big feet have preference. Require recent photo with letter detailing your capabilities. Box 852.

HANDSOME COWBOY

Blond, 27, 5'8", 135 lbs., hung, seeks hot versatile men to 35 for action. Write: Michael, 1285 Oak St., No. 3, San Francisco, CA 94117

DOMINANT BODYBUILDER

31, 5'8", 160 lbs., 29" waist, 40" chest, sadistic but sane, into intense testicle pressure, bondage, titwork and unusual equipment. If you are a bodybuilder with a high pain threshold and a sense of adventure, write: Don, 1851 Hayes St., San Francisco , CA 94117 or call (415) 864- 5566 or (707) 869-0243 from 10am to 8 pm only.

SAN FRANCISCO W / M 32, 5'11". beard / moustache, former Army Sar-geant ; enjoys hot times, Leather, Levi, Uniforms, fantasies, W / S, FF(top), toys, J / O. Phone & exchanged, etc. Even enjoys light play & cuddling. No Fats or Fems. Prefer W / M within SF area, 21—40. If you wish to make an attempt on a Fantasy, drop a note with photo (if available-photo returned upon request), include a description of yourself & a phone number &/or address for response, to Box A98 (c / o Drummer) or 470 Castro Street. Ste 207-3025, SF 94114.

OLD FASHIONED BUTT SPANKING! BY DAD

Be direct and don't waste anyone's time! Call (415) 826-8705.

BLACK MEN

OAKLAND / BAY AREA W / M. 5'11" 167 lbs., 38, gdlkg. slave wants to worship at your crotch and ass. Use me for your pleasure, abuse me. spank me, bind me, fuck me, let me suck your cock, smell your ass, eat your ass. No fats. Write Box 1854.

ABSOLUTE TOP

SAN FRANCISCO, W / m, 31, 6'1". Absolute top, demands genuine motorcycle CHIP for obedience, servitude and respect. You produce and I'll provide. Only the Genuine need respond. Send photo and brief profile . Write Box 773.

YOUNG HOT MASTER WANTED Hot stud, W / m, 29, 5'8", 145 lbs., will lick your boots, your balls and your ass, dig jock straps, leather, beer and hot action. Write with photo. Ted, 724 Fillmore, S.F., CA 94117

DISPLINARY FATHER NEEDED Over 50 only, by W / m, 45, 200 lbs., 9". Need firm spanking and loving from older gent. I am waiting to service you. Box 2072.

PHONE J / O HOT LETTERS

Hot BB into fantasy J / O, hot letters, hot photos. Top cops, BB, Daddies, truckers, levis, leather, cowboys send photo, phone & hot letter to: Box 904, S.F., CA 94101.

S.F. WANTED: Men into mud and sleeping in it with our clothes and boots. Like to fuck and get fucked. Fur covered dirt bikers prefered by 6'4", 30 year old man. Box 2078.

SAN FRANCISCO ASS GAMES

Spreadeagled, maybe tied down, enemas, butt plugs, dildoes, vibrators , spreaders, hot oil, balls, balloons and other toys. Maybe even a cock or tongue (your hole and / or mine). I'm 26, 5'10", 155 lbs., brown hair, green eyes, uncut. Send a description or photo of your favorite toy & let me know how you like to use it. Box 1277

Experienced San Francisco slave, white, 24, 5'8", 155 lbs., seeks serious leather Master for training in bondage and bootlicking, water sports and whipping. Box 994

Whipping Sessions wanted with leather / uniform men. Have experience both as bound cocksucking slave and as booted heavy whip weilder. I am uncut, thick cock for heavy sucking. Age 36, 175 lbs., 6', bearded. Box 841

LATRINE DUTY

SAN FRANCISCO-bottom, 36, 6'3". 165 lbs., 8%" uncut, looking for white beer-gut leather-master for toilet initiation, use me as a latrine, piss-soaked jocks sucked dry, also into levis and leather, bondage, shaving, recycled beer from cheesy uncut cocks. Box 562

SAN FRANCISCO Particular Master, 32, seeks 19-22 leather, levis & barefoot type for bottom role in light S&M sex. Traveling companion into outdoors activities, possible S role toward 3rd parties with masterful supervision. Box 789.

Selective Sadist requires muscular masochist. Object mutual satisfaction . Me: W / m, 38, 6'1", 190 lbs, 8" uncut, inventive. You: ready for new adventures. Photo please. Box 817.

SF BAY AREA, 27, white, blond / blue, new to leather scene, like to watch the action. Let me watch you make it work, make me a convert. Box A47.

I want a hot, no-holds-barred, rough-ass time with someone who can be my Master and live up to it! Am bored with "green horns"! Hope the right hunk will contact me. Prefer Macho Blacks or Latinos. Box B13.

HOT HUNKY

SAN FRANCISCO AREA, Well-put-together , pierced and tattooed M. new to area, 38, 6'3", 195 lbs., brown / blue, mustache, cut 6%", with heavy experience looking for serious Leather Master any race, 25-50. Uncut meat a real plus. C&B torture, WS, whips, ass work and a lot more just for openers. This animal into damn near anything with your pleasure his center focus. Have complete Leather and toy collection waiting for you. No fats or fems. All photos get mine and immediate reply. Box 1283.

UNCUT THIRD WORLD

If you're Latin, Asian, Arabic or Indian and like to have your uncut cock sucked by a handsome young man who is also uncut and well hung. like to have your hairy or hairless ass eaten; if you're looking for sex and not romance and are interested in getting it on more than talking about it, and live in the Bay Area, send phone number (photo, if possible) to: Box 2034

SM SAN FRANCISCO

Looking for biker or leatherman for permanent relationship. P.O. Box 4244, San Francisco, CA 94101.

SANTA CRUZ

Aquarius, 52, 5'11", 196 lbs., white, 6%". Knowledgeable, seeks lover & exhibitionist nude house slave. Must be obedient and eager to please with a tight ass, a good cocksucker and rimmer. Good tit sucker, body hair will be shaved. Under 50. No role switching, no one night stands, drinkers or smokers, also no dopers, hustlers, freeloaders or jailbirds. No photo, no reply. Box 1298

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA AND S.F. AREA UNCUTS

Brown hair / eyes, bearded, UNCUT, nicely portioned, W / m, 32, 5'10", 170 lbs., looking for MEN / UNCUT MEN. Hairy w / beer gut! Into heavy cock with big hairy legs spread wide, with uncut thick cock, hanging balls, hairy ass for servicing. My face needs to be used as a saddle. Long sessions , enjoy leather, military and western attitude. Sexual interests include cock and body worship, oil, movies, j / o, enemas, rimming, W / S, sweat, spit, toys, rope art, occasional FF and B&D (novice but interested). No scat and limited pain mixed equally with affection. Prefer slightly dominant, adventurous but levelheaded partner(s). No fats or fems. Answer with photo for HOT reply. Box 784

SAN FRANCISCO Take this proud, lean, horny fucker and use him, B&D. TT, WS, face and ass fucking; teach me your trip. I'm 33, 5'11", 140 lbs., 7", and can top. You're 30-50, big. well built and hard (daddy?). Photo gets mine. Steve. Box 2051

HOT S.F. COWBOY

140 lbs., Top. If you're a horny dude who likes getting his ass worked over real good and knows the meaning of submission, let's meet. Only hot bottoms need respond with letter and recent photo. Box 2002.

HANDSOME AIRLINE CAPTAIN SAN FRANCISCO 30, 5'11", 163 lbs., versatile seeks goodlooking dudes into jocks, uniforms, Leather, shorts, athletic gear. Have 71 / 2", thick, for good long workouts. Travel NYC, SF, Miaml, Canada, London, Photo, phone. Dick, 625 Post No. 727, San Francisco, CA 94109.

MUSCULAR SLAVE

SAN FRANCISCO Well defined, muscular slave seeks trim S for training , S&M, Bondage, Face Sitting, Tit, Cock, Ball work, piercing, Raunch, But your trip, your way. Travel. Am 40, 5'10", 150 lbs. Relation poss. Phone, Photo. Desc. letter to PO Box 5906, San Francisco, CA 94101,

LOCAL ONLY

SAN JOSE AREA. Asian seeks W / m (local only) who like me, loves wearing Black Leather, but not into S&M. and wishes to establish friendship. Possible relationship (open or monogamous ). Also like me, you're 25-35, stable, intelligent, attractive and masculine. No drugs. Moustache a plus. Send your photo, letter and return address to Box 1632

MASCULINE S WANTED SAN FRANCISCO LIBRA, M, 50, W, 165 lbs., needs Master into 5'8". Leather, Boots, Hood, Heavy into bondage, C&B Torture, Shaving, Piercing, Whipping seeks masculine S, who knows what he wants and does it. Photo gets mine, SIR. Box 1357

NEW IN SAN FRANCISCO YOUNGISH DAD, Smart, cigar man, looking for "son": trim, cute, ass whipped, pushed, fucked. If good, invited to breakfast. Box 1463.

NOVICE

SAN FRANCISCO, 27, needs help learning the joys of S&M pleasure. Am 5'10", very hairy, husky build, 8" cut. Novice. Want 25-35, experienced , 5'10" or over, caring, patient Teacher, Prefer Blond, Brown eyes, lean! Box 1289.

MUSCLE BUILDER

SAN FRANCISCO, Hard-ass SM hunk 28, 5'7", 155 lbs. & cut, solid muscular stud for HOT action and limits expansion. Interests include weightlifting, Harleys, Leathers. Levis. Uniforms, boots, whips, porn art, amyl, military SS, J / O, jocks, riding ass and fuckin' face. Seeks to earn attention and service with S- local (S.F.) or worldwide M's earn right to serve. Box 1536.

BOOTS THE TALLER THE BETTER

SAN FRANCISCO, This hunky black-leather motorcycle riding stud looking for guys who think they're good enough to serve my boots and me. Have this insatiable desire for boots and the man that wears them: Just can't get enough of them, esp. black engineer and logger boots-taller the better. I'm 31, and good-looking , honest. If you're man enough and serious enough to get down with my boots or make me get down with yours, drop me a line. Box 1504

MASTER JOHN

SAN FRANCISCO, Tall 6'4", handsome , aggressive, soft spoken Man with San Francisco's most complete workroom. Looking for slender dudes into full S&M action. Must be clean, intelligent and anxious to serve a reasonable but demanding top man. For interview send description and phone number. Box 1403.

YOUNG SLAVES WANTED OAKLAND, Young slaves diapered, spanked by handsome Master. 484 Lake Park Ave., No. 36, Oakland, CA

SAN LUIS OBISPO AREA

Leo Bottom 26, (look 21), 5'8", 125 lbs., brn / brn, 61 / 2" Cut. Big balls. Need to be bound in Leather / Ropes. Into B&D, Light S&M, C&B / Tit work, toys, getting fucked. No heavy drugs, Scat, FF, Piercing or injury. Rural setting a plus. Box 1422.

HOT SAN FRANCISCO LEATHERMASTER

32, 6', 165 lbs., will train slave(s) in complete subservience. Will guide right slave from bootlicking to shaving , to whipping, to piercing, to branding. Be prepared to give yourself without thought. Box 1455.

SAN FRANCISCO Nipple / Navel man with hairless, hard chest seeks same. No S&M or drugs, I am 36, 130 Ibs., Box 1734.

TELEPHONE NUMBERS

Drummer can no longer accept telephone numbers in PERSONAL ads. Existing ads with verified telelphone numbers will be allowed to run until the ad expires.

SLAVES AND POTENTIAL SLAVES: SAN FRANCISCO, Are you ready for complete servitude as a way of life and not just a game. (Experience not necessary.) I am a retired army NCO ready to take complete control of your life with Bondage, Discipline, Daily spankings & Humiliation, I am not into Fist Fucking, Scat, Heavy S&M, or Drugs. Box 1505.

S.F. AREA M, 45, 5'7", 130 lbs., 7" cut, into bondage, especially with padlocks . No scat, FF. Your place or mine. Photo & phone, please. Box 14316, S.F. CA 94114

SKANDINAVIAN KINK

SAN FRANCISCO, DOMINANT Kinky artist looking for bottom, patron. I am 6', 165 lbs. Lean. Muscular . Masculine. Best Face-Sitter in the Brotherhood-needs help. Chest 42", Waist 30", have blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled features, large nip- ples. Very goodlooking man into Barbaric Sex. Box 1528.

SAN JOSE, Looking for Leather Master into B&D, and some light S&M. I'm 30, 6'1", 160 lbs., Dk Br eyes & slender in build. No Fats, fems, stupids or hard drugs. Box B66.

MAN EATING SLAVE

SAN FRANCISCO, Hot w / m 24. Will worship your Ass, Cock, Balls, Boots, Nipples and Arm Pits with my HOT MOUTH. Also dig B&D, W / S, Greek Passive. Photo appreciated. Greg, Box 1501

VERY GOODLOOKING WEIGHT LIFTER

SAN FRANCISCO, M, 30, 6'1", 42" chest, 30" waist, 7". Very goodlook-ing . Masculine. Jogger-Weight lifter build. Needs piss, shit, spit, VA, C / B / T torture from other goodlook-ing bodybuilders. Mr. Right gets it all. Fats, fems, phonies, average looks / builds-don't waste my time. Box 1534.

ARROGANT

Smelly, abusive Master (W, 32, 5'11" 186 lbs., beard) and his personal slave-dog (W. 32, 5'9", 180 lbs., beard) invite meetings and correspondence with pigs, latrines, Tops, bottoms, voyeurs, exhibitionists, and adventurors, animals to explore all extremes. Box A65.

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

TELEPHONE NUMBERS

Drummer can no longer accept PER-SONAL ads with telephone numbers. Existing ads with verified telephone numbers will be allowed to run until ad expires. Drummer will accept no new ads with telephone numbers.

HEAVY TIT WORK

LOS ANGELES, muscular hunk, 34, wants to meet other muscle studs into pecs, J / O, visuals, tattoos, leather, B&D, the max. Box 2097.

ENEMAN

6'1", 165 lbs., brn / blu, 35. Enemas, whips, V / A, B&D, as top. Enemas & cunt fucking as bottom. Photo exchange. Can travel. POB 3532, Q.H., CA 93534.

SAN DIEGO This hot toilet slave wants your filth. No pain, just raunch: piss, scat, snot, head cheese, farts from unwashed topmen under 35. (714) 574-1892.

WANTED: HOT STUD INTO GENITAL PAIN

EXC opportunity for attractive, well built guy into having his balls worked over. Room, board, frequent vacation travel other benefits, I'm 27, stable, friendly. Write 2265 Westwood Blvd., Suite B-168, L.A., CA 90064. Photo a must

SLAVE WANTED

NORTH HOLLYWOOD-LOS ANGELES, Master, 52, 5'10", 152 lbs., Br / Br. In fair shape for my age. Dig slaves 18-28 only. No Beards or Mustaches. Smooth bodies. Have nice assortment of leather & S&M gear. Slaves must dig bondage, Verbal abuse, mutual heavy tit work-my tit especially. Must dig raunchy games, but will respect slaves' limits, and any unexceptable sex play. No fats or phonies, however. I am Greek passive, also dig eating hot ass & piss both ways. If the ad fits call Tony at (213) 985-7001, or write with Phone & Pix to: Tony M., Box 1023, Hollywood , CA 90028.

SENSATIONAL AND FREE

Out of this world servicing for muscular top studs any race, especially Orientals and Blacks. Punish my red hot buns or fantastic mouth job. You'll go crazy for more, nothing like Absolutely discreet. Orange County, Los Angeles. Write your thing, I'll phone or reply. Box 1366. Don't miss this super servicing.

LOS ANGELES SM, 45, 6'1", 175 lbs., white, 8" cut, looking for some heavy scenes. Can endure much in either role and wants no-nonsense partner who knows what he is doing. If you're a man, work me over. S&M, B&D, new ideas. Dork, 1365 Edgecliff Dr., Los Angeles, CA 90026.

CALIFORNIA

GERMAN slavedog, 32, 6'1", 175 lbs., Totally submissive, is available for Master and / or groups for your total pleasure. Your slavedog is often in Ca. and New Orleans and needs a lot of training. Into tits, piss, and fucking. Box 101.

WANTED HOT STUD into genital pain, looking for same. Room / board available. Write: 2265 Westwood Blvd., L.A. CA 90064.

TWO LEATHER MASTERS

VENICE AREA 2 W / m's, 31, 5'11' 185 lbs., blond / blue and 27, 5'7", 125 lbs., blond / blue. Looking for W / m slaves to serve, limits respected, novices welcome. Must be 18-35 into B&D, S&M, whipping, W / S. Send photo and Description. Box 1594.

TRAINING CONTROLLED BEHAVIOR

Slippery Dick. Novice. Cut / Uncut, hot, used ok. Proper request to: Sir, Box 1103, Los Angeles, CA 90068.

LOS ANGELES AREA W / m, 5'6", 128 lbs., 28, HOT. Seeks patient master for training novice. Must respect limits . I desire to serve. No pain or drugs. Exchange photos, ideas. Box 1399.

SAN DIEGO Top, 40, 6'1", 195 lbs., into all scenes, tits, W / S, FFA. Have full equipment. Will train novices. Box A70.

SAN DIEGO MEN

Two men, 38 and 39, seek contact with other men into fucking, fisting, W / S, jack-off, jockstraps, leather, and funky wear. Couples preferred. No fats, fems. No non-smokers! Box 895

LOS ANGELES M, W / m, 34, 5'7", smooth, slim, good body, 125 lbs., intelligent, goodlooking, looking for intelligent S. I need to serve my man and expect eventually only the limitations my Master has for me. Especially like to serve others for you. I need to be me to properly serve you. Box 280

LOS ANGELES I dig licking your big balls and swallowing your hot cum. Am 38, 5'7", 140 lbs., 7", neat body. Will fulfill any fantasy. Box 975.

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LOS ANGELES MS 28, 6', 170 lbs., swimmer's build. Did you play cow- boys and indians as a kid? I still do. I'm into wrestling, being captured and tied up to please my captor. If you like games, write to: Box 3021, Burbank, CA 91504.

HOT HORNEY HAIRY HUNKY HUNG

LA AREA 46, 5'9", 179 lbs., brown hair, blue eyes, 8%" uncut, into light S&M, B&D, jocks, leather, WS, TT, FF, JO, fantasy trips. Open to most new scenes, will answer with phone and photo. Box 349.

SLAVE WANTED LA / ORANGE COUNTIES

This is a serious ad. No fantasies or part time considered. Again, time, equipment and space are available to train, educate and provide totally for another male slave in a complete life of strict regimentation, obedience and service. Must be over 21 with a true submissive will and desirous of a life commitment to a MASTER. Novice or experienced okay. Will be molded to the high standards acceptable in a style of total sub-servience sought by all proud Masters. Be prepared to act when applying, for IF accepted, it will be the final decision regarding the future. Submit befitting petition to: MASTER C, Box 5850, Huntington Beach, CA 92646. for consideration, appointment and initial interview to fulfillment (include name, address and telephone number). Willing to consider acceptance of other Master's property for specific training or boarding.

HOT & READY IN LA

Scandinavian man, 33, vesatile (very), good body, goodlooking. Enjoy 3-ways and groups also. Levis, leather, jocks, grease, outdoor scenes. Good men and good sex get same, Box 853

LOS ANGELES slave, 43, 6', 165 lbs., with large C / B, digs receiving C / B / T work. S&M, leather / levis, etc. Box A68.

WANTED

W / M, Hot, young (18-35) Topmen into B&D, S&M, WS, Levis, Leather, Jocks, Master / slave games. Face sitting , fucking, ass play (no FF), and in need of head to toe service in hot masculine encounters, I'm a good- looking W / m, 46, 6', 185 lbs., with trim beard & moustache and with brown hair and blue eyes, send photo. Box 1320.

HOT M, 40, 5'10", uncut. Experienced piercer or piercee, needles, S&M, C&B, Bondage. Most far out kinky scenes in my fully equipped playroom. George, Box 5641, Hunt. Bch., CA 92646.

HOLLYWOOD

M, 44, 5'6%", 130 lbs., willing to try anything with the right Master. Prefer S / M, 35-55 in leather, levi, jockstrap. Box 392.

LOVE TO EAT BUTT

LOS ANGELES W / m, 30, love to eat butt. Seek Enema instructor. You are 27-45, maybe dark complexion. Box 1498.

LOS ANGELES AREA SOUTH Goodlooking, 38, trim and hot. Experienced , mustached, bartender and waiter would like to work at your next party or just hear from you leather / levi fuckcuddlers. Will travel to New Orleans, D.C. and NYC in '81. Your photo gets mine, Box B61.

LOS ANGELES M, hot young animal, W / m, 25, 6'1", 155 lbs. Wants wild leather / levis stud to take this punk to the limit in S / M, B / D, Wax, Cuffs, Collars and heavy Gr. Come work this punk's ass. Box 997

WEST COVINA W / m, 40, 61, 158 lbs., uncut, Cancerian, versatile, hot, goodlooking macho dude, into most scenes except scat, FF and heavy pain. Enjoy worshipping a beautiful body and cock, servicing a cock completely, and I mean completely. Looking for oversexed, hot dude, 21- 45, who likes his cock taken care of royally. Your photo gets mine. Box

Well defined nice looking masochist- … who is free spirited yet certain kinds of 'ties' is looking for paradoxical paradise to find a goodlooking Master who is as good at kissing as he is at disciplining. Somewhere there's a romantic candlelight setting with champagne all a flow, but who also is tops at letting inhibitions go; taking that candle and letting it glow on a secret gameroom where secret desires are explored, while taken slow where the password is trust, while there is no word as taboo, ever, amongst the two of us. Box 2046.

Am 6'4" Brown hair, blue eyes, moustached, 190 lbs. I've modeled, looking for warm contact. Brain and body. Box 1413.

L.A. WATER LOS ANGELES Stud fuckee wants hot stud fucker meat between his cheeks or for a "Warm Ocean" fuck, shoot some hot water in first, before you hit it with your best shot. 6'1", 165 lbs., 34. Photo exchange. Box 1562

WIDE OPEN ASSHOLE LOS ANGELES W / m 33, 5'11", 150 lbs., goodlooking, has HOT asshole into long heavy FF scenes. Seeks liberal-minded men into long lasting heavy ass trips. Box 1617

RIDE A COWBOY RIVERSIDE AREA Urban Cowboy. 27, wants 2-plus hung stallions to ride him, saddle, harness as you like-wants limits tested but with respect. Seek wild colts with trim mane, moustache over 30, Must travel to your stable. Will arrive in leather, torn levis, on motorcycle. Your photo gets same. Box 1559.

WANT REAL MASTER NORTH HOLLYWOOD Wanted: white male, 25-40, into motorcycles, camping, backpacking, S&M, Bondage , discipline. Am white, 130 lbs. slave in search of a REAL MASTER to obey entirely and worship com- pletely. Box 1515.

DEMANDING MASTER SAN DIEGO Slave wanted by HOT HUNG San Diego Master, demanding but loving if earned. For more information write, Photo a must, Box 1542.

MASTER SEEK SLAVE.

Santa Monica Area, W / M 40, 5'11" experienced in all scenes. All limits considered. If you have your head on and are ready write now, 2307 Santa Monica Blvd., No. 136, Santa Monica, CA 90404.

SHORT TOP FFA MEN LOS ANGELES W / m, 31, 6'4", 166 lbs. Wants short men with hot experienced hands to plow ASSHOLE into ecstasy. Box 1539.

SPANKINGS GIVEN BY LOS ANGELES White Dad, 44, 6'3" to youthful, trim guys who need a lot of attention. Prefer non-Jocks, thin, inexperienced OK. Box 1565 LEATHER UNIFORMS

VAN NUYS Looking for Leather Master to bind me with leather, ropes, and affection, Light S&M. Your photo will get mine. Paul, 6375 Van Nuys Blvd., Van Nuys, CA 91401.

LOS ANGELES M, goodlooking 25, 5'11", 147 lbs., enjoys giving plea- sure being totally dominated by intelligent , strong, stern topman familiar with positive character forming side of leather sex. Don't write unless you are able to gain control and keep it. In return receive my respect, devotion, hero worship and full rights to my body. Box 1272.

Have bondage, leather, toy fantasies; Greek passive for you and your buddies to use. Need my balls in bondage , my tits used in bondage, with my ass in the air, wrist bound to feet, one or more to use my ass to piss in, use dildoes to widen it and my scene. Please reply with phone and photo. Box 2067.

LOS ANGELES W / m, 46, 6', 220 lbs., seeks leather or rubber master to be put into heavy bondage for fist fuck-ing , shaving, WS, enemas, S&M, B&D, etc. Box 2068.

TALL HAIRY M

In need of belt before, during and after. S&M, B&D, WS, FF, VA. Tie me and hood me, then make me lick your boots while you whip my ass, Sir. No scat, fems or fats. Photo and phone to: Dean, Box 2058.

Well defined nice looking masochist- . who is free spirited yet enjoys certain kinds of 'ties', is looking for paradoxical paradise to find a good-looking Master who is as good at kissing as he is at disciplining. Somewhere there's a masculine top who likes a romantic candlelight setting with champagne all a flow, but who also is tops at letting inhibitions go; taking that candle and letting it glow on a secret gameroom where secret desires are explored, while taken slow where the password is trust, while there is no such word as taboo, ever, amongst the two of us. Box 2092

COLD NIGHT? FIND A HOT MAN IN DRUMMER'S DRUMBEATS!

HOLLYWOOD Goodlooking uncut stud seeks dominant butch uniformed law man, cycle cop, leather-man SS or Gestapo types for head trips, discipline, submission, mad doctor C&B. Witchcraft and a few other outrageous farout things that we will talk about. Aroma, etc. No one who doesn't know where his head is. Please Sir. Box 167

WHITE SCANDINAVIAN HUNTINGTON BEACH Male, Muscular , surfer 36. Blonde, blue eyes, looking for permanent relationship with very heavy top into leather, plercing, whipping, wax, FF, WS, dildoes , etc. Will consider all tops but prefer someone with smarts and a sense of humor who is a romantic and likes desert and surf as well as smoke and aroma. Ray (714) 842- 6843 or write with picture to Box 1427

LONG BEACH / ORANGE COUNTY Bearded, hairy dude 39, 6'2", 190 lbs., seeks to correspond and / or meet hot, horny, uninhibited studs into fucking, sucking, V / A, and prolonged play sessions. Willing to take orders, and try most anything with experienced instructor. Frank photo and letter gets mine. Will answer all. Box 1435

ORANGE COUNTY Hot, hung. leather studs who want to bring hot, blond, blue-eyed cowboy to his knees, send photo. Details. Box 1264.

LOS ANGELES White male animal slave to be trained and broken as work-horse, needs demanding male master or masters with facilities to use him as such on occasional weekends leading to permanency. To be stabled, bitted, harnessed and worked under reins and whip. Mature submissive to all demands, Box 1263.

LOS ANGELES Hot, hunky, cowboy, blue eyes, beard; wants to start a Dildo Club. Interested dudes drop me a line and state sizes and interests . Box 1270.

BIG WIDE OPEN

ASSHOLES WANTED L.A. W / m, 31, 5'11", 165 lbs., wants men with hot assholes into FF, huge dildoes, punch-fucking, able to withstand several hours of heavy ass play. Serious men only, no J / O. Box B11

TOTAL SLAVE

BURBANK Slave Danny will submit to bondage, whipping, piercing, armpits and tits, shaving, photography for parties, groups or one Master. Phone (213) 846-9486. Danny Payne, 241 East Alameda Ave., Burbank, CA 91502

THREE WAYS-GROUP SEX LOS ANGELES Obedient slave and his Master looking for hot Leather / Levi and Uniform Studs into three ways and group sex. S&M, B&D, Dildoes , Fist fucking and other interests . We have the place. Explicit letter gets immediate response. Box 1469

HOLLYWOOD BOTTOM 24, 6', 135 lbs., white. Seeks knowledgeable partner, 25-40, into B&D, light S&M, Toys, etc. Want to try everything once, some more than once. Letters with photos answered first. Box 1462.

TORTURE FANTASIES LOS ANGELES Raunch. Hungry pig-slave -master 30, 5'7", 150 lbs., wants to explore intelligent fifth and torture fantasies with hairy-assed scuz-mongers , top and bottoms. HOT men 18-50 into C&B Torture WS, scat and natural fist fucking. Write Box 1339.

HOTTEST ASS IN L.A Hot adventurous bottom, 30, hairy, horny, & high, into Leather / Levis & toys. Gets it on with smooth hot guys. Needs Topmen with class to plug this tight little ASS. Box 1252

HOT ASS WANTED LOS ANGELES W / m, 29, 5'9", 155 lbs. Leather / Levi Top seeks W / m, into FFA, B&D, belt worship. Have playroom, all that's missing is your hot ass hanging in my sling. Photo and phone number. No fats or fems. Box 1564

HOT MUSCULAR BLOND LOS ANGELES 6'3", 185 lbs., 38, seeks trim Gr / act buddy, 18-28, Photo gets mine. Aries, Box 60851, Los Angeles, CA 90060.