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  The Scarlet Pimpernel strikes again!
Posted by: themightyfoo - 4 hours ago - Forum: News and Notices - Replies (1)

To the Arenafighter community:

I've been a contributor here since this latest incarnation got off the ground a couple of years back. I've continued to contribute off and on since then - sometimes I've disappeared for as long as a year or more, but I kept coming back. The main reason why is that I already had a site on FetLife that I'd invested a lot of time and energy in. But over the past couple of years there has been increasing censorship on FetLife and I can foresee a day when I'll be banned there. I joined FetLife in 2010, not long after it started. The TOS has changed a LOT since then, and most of my content would be banned there today if I didn't make it friends-only, and perhaps even then. It's a long story, but for the most part the credit card companies are behind it.

So I've made the decision to migrate most of my activity to Arenafighter. I'm gradually backing things up here - tt will take me some time to do that, so in the meantime you can still see my content on FetLife as I've wanted to present it.

MyBB has a different set of problems (and to be quite clear, my concerns have always been with MyBB and NOT Arenafighter.) The UI is terrible, it's over 20 years out of date and there's no mobile interface  It's impossible for me to format my content the way I really want. That's very important to me. I'm pretty certain the security is as outdated as the UI, and that's important to me as well. Plus, FetLife has been around since 2008 so it's still here when other platforms have come and gone.
So there's no ideal solution. Like most of the guys who post content on "our" kink we are nomads, posting for a while in one place then moving on. I've decided to make Arenafighter my "home" site for the foreseeable future, although it will take some time to fully transition. I do have a request - could I please have a dedicated folder in the Stories section? For a while now I've had to post my illustrated stories in my pictures section. That's never been ideal but there is no Mighty Foo folder under stories.
Anyway, look forward to seeing me post a lot more here going forward.
All the best,

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  Captured on the Plain, part 1
Posted by: jim825 - 9 hours ago - Forum: Sword Battle Stories - Replies (1)

The summer of 1872 was a hot one and the cool water of a nearby stream seemed a good place to take a break after a long day’s labor on the family homestead for the two youths.

The Weyland boys were left alone for the weekend as their parents and younger sister left for a trip to Dodge City that would last five days. Jason was 19 years old and ruggedly looking and his younger brother Joey was 17 and equally tough in appearance yet maintained his fresh boy-like charm.

After splashing about in the cooling water for a few minutes the brothers emerged from pool naked as the day they were born. The water had plastered down the thick crop of hair on Jason’s powerful chest and taunt abs making it even more pronounced and Joey tried hard not to notice his brother’s manliness. But it was a failed effort as the 17 year old’s cock began to swell as he took in the sight. Jason cast a glance at his little brother who he had not seen naked in a while and noticed with pleasure that Joey wasn’t a “little” boy anymore. Though Joey’s chest and belly were not as hairy as his brother’s he was beginning to sport soft tuft of hair growth between his pecs and a neat oval pattern of fur encircled his deep innie navel the kid was also sporting an impressive piece of manhood between his thighs.

Jason reached out and gave Joey’s hardening dick a swat that made the teenager’s cock go bobbing side to side as Jason said, “Liking what you see lil brother?”

Joey blushed and tried to hide his excitement to no avail then repeated the same move to Jason giving the 19 year old’s cock a friendly swat that made it bounce around as it jutted out from a massive forest of thick pubes.

“No more than you are BIG brother!” Joey said.

Living alone on the plains with lack of female companionship was getting tough for both boys to take and knowing they would not be seen they began to fondle each other.

But they were wrong about not being seen. Not far off in the brush there lay five Cherokee Indians. Three were full fledged warriors while the others were younger teens on the path to that rank. The older boys had brought them on this mission to aid them in that process. Today the younger boys would go through a right of passage that was essential. They would learn to kill another man.

The Indians watched and seemed intrigued at what the young white men were doing and when Jason pushed his younger brother to his knees and stuffed his engorged cock into the blonde teen’s mouth the Cherokee youths all hardened with excitement at the sight. But the leader of the party, Red Dove, brought them back to the matter at hand and signaled to the rest to fan out and advance.

At Red Dove’s signal they rushed the Weyland boys who were now in the midst of a full fledged sex romp and were taken totally by surprise.

By design two braves grabbed the bigger boy from behind and Red Dove rammed the butt end of his spear into Jason’s stomach winding him then brought the spear end up like a club smacking the underside of the chin knocking Jason half unconscious. Meanwhile the other two Cherokee tackled Joey. One of the young Indians punched Joey’s cock and balls several times eliciting yelps of pain from the cute teen while the second threw a few well placed punches to his face stunning him to the point where he could be handled easily and hoisted up from behind with his arms behind his back.

The white boys had ropes tied to their wrists and were led over to two trees that had large overhanging branches. Their wrists were forced high overhead and tied to these branches with the arms slightly off to the sides. The restrained wrists were forced so high up that the captive’s toes barely touched the ground. The result was that the brothers were tied upright with their naked bodies totally exposed and vulnerable.

When Jason finally came to with a shake of his head he pulled at his restraints to no avail. He then looked over to his left and saw his little brother tied the same as he himself was. The Indians were surrounding Joey and stroking his blonde hair and rubbing the teen’s hard pecs and furry stomach like he was some sort of curious pet. Joey was wiggling but could not stop the humiliation. One of the braves began stroking Joey’s cock and seemed pleased it responded with an immediate hardening.

“Leave him the hell alone!” Jason yelled.

The braves didn’t understand the white man’s words but did turn their attention back to the older captive. Red Dove walked over to Jason with a war lance in hand and poked the razor sharp flint tip into Jason’s fuzz covered navel and applied just enough pressure to draw a drop of blood. It was an obvious demonstration that Red Dove had the power of life and death over Jason. But Jason was not easily intimidated and responded in a way he was sure the savage would understand and spat on Red Dove’s face.

The other four Indians shouted in anger and raised their own spears to skewer the offending white man but Red Dove reacted differently.

He simply wiped the saliva from his face and held up a hand ordering silence. He then ordered the two younger members of the party, White Willow  and Green Feather, go get their bows and arrows. The two young teenagers responded and returned brandishing their weapons.

Red Dove was indeed insulted at what Jason had done but decided the best form of punishment would be for Jason to watch as his young lover/brother was executed with arrows fired by the young braves in training.

Red Dove backed the two young Cherokee back a point about 40 feet away from where Joey stood tied in a near crucifix stance.

Jason had a good idea now what was going to happen as did Joey who cast a fearful glace over to his brother and gulped down a lump in his throat.

Acting like the perfect teacher Red Dove stood behind White Willow and showed him the proper way of aiming. The boy pulled the arrow back as the older brave guided his aim gently then stepped back. White Willow let his breath out and let the arrow loose.

Joey’s eyes were clenched tight awaiting the pain that was sure to come but instead he felt the “swoosh’ of the arrow sail past his left ear.

The disappointment and shame on White Willow’s face was obvious yet Red Dove made no condescending comment and patted the boy on the back for a good first attempt and told him to try again.

Somehow Joey wished the kid would just put the next shot through his heart and end this ungodly waiting. Jason was actually wishing the same thing hoping that Joey’s death, that was unavoidable now, would be a quick one.

White Willow pulled the arrow back and again accepted the instructions from his teacher and this time let his breath out as he let the arrow go. The missile with the sharp flint tip streaked toward its target.


The arrow embedded itself in Joey’s slightly soft and thickly furred belly just to the left of his big navel knot. Joey let out a groan as he felt the hard point rip deep into his bowels. Surprisingly little blood came out of him. Just a small trickle worked its way around the shaft and ran in a tiny stream down his gut ending in his blonde pubes.

Jason winced in sympathetic pain and turned away but had to look back as White Willow rushed forward to see his handiwork along with the rest of the Cherokee.

“Excellent work White Willow” Red Dove told his young student in their native tongue.

“You have pierced the belly of the white man-boy.” Red Dove held his finger to Joey’s side indicating just how far in the arrow had penetrated. He then showed how important it was to have adequate barbs on the arrows and gave the shaft a hard pull.

Joey screamed as the well-barbed tip ripped his guts apart as it was yanked on.

Green Feather stood by enthralled and wanted to get a try too. He was about to have that chance as Red Dove told him to go back to the same spot and load up.

Green Feather was a little bigger than his friend White Willow. His stout muscles pulled the arrow back further and Red Dove guided his aim in the same helpful way. He stepped back and the boy let go.


Green Feather’s arrow hit the mark on the first try and Joey kicked his legs out and threw his head back as the arrow plunged through his hair covered lower belly him just above his lush crop of golden pubes.

Again the Indians rushed forward with Green Feather leading the way eager to see the wound he had inflicted.

Joey’s cock was actually throbbing at half-mast even with two arrows in his gut. A slick wetness adorned the bulbous head while the two low hanging balls churned in their hairy sack. Red Dove indicated again how far the point had penetrated and the second arrow was further in then the first.

More blood oozed out from around this wound too and Joey’s cute young face still yet to grow a whisker grimaced with pain.

Another of the older braves made a joke about Green Feather almost hitting the boy’s cock and all the Cherokee laughed as they returned to the firing point.

White Willow was up again and this time his first shot didn’t miss.

“THUMP!” the dull sound of an arrow hitting the tender abdomen was audible.

Joey cried out in pain as his stomach was hit dead center in the valley of his abs a few inches above his belly button.

Green Feather was eager to shoot again and his arrow too found the target.

“THWACK!” Again Green Feather’s arrow hit low finding a home near his first shot going through the upper portion of Joey’s pubic patch and stabbing through the boy’s bladder.

“AGGGGHHHH,……Shit!” screamed Joey at the intense pain.

The same brave that had made the earlier comment spoke again of the boy’s enthusiasm for shooting low and again the braves laughed.

“Hang in there Joey!” it was a feeble encouragement and Jason knew it but there was little he could offer at this point.

“THUMP!” Came the sound of White Willow’s third shot as it hit Joey just to the right of his navel.

Green Feather’s third shot went higher this time and hit Joey in the upper abdomen just below the left ribcage puncturing the handsome teenager’s stomach sack.

“Uuuuuuuugghh” went Joey whose head fell forward with his legs giving out. Only the ropes that bound his wrists supported him now and he drooped forward with his chin resting on his chest. Blood dripped out of his mouth as it surged up his throat from the severe abdominal trauma caused by the six arrows in his guts.

The braves walked over to him and heard the heavy wheezing as the dying boy gasped for breath. Red Dove grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled his face up. Joey opened his eyes. They were filled with pain yet still showed defiance. Amazingly his long cock was now at full mast and Red dove stroked it slathering it’s impressive length with pre-cum. A bit of red stained the normally clear fluid indicating some damage to Joey’s reproductive system from Green Feather’s low shots.

Jason could not watch the sight of his beloved baby brother being slowly shot to death. The moans Joey was making were bad enough for Jason to bear. When Red Dove noticed this he knew he had selected the right torture for the elder white man. This was indeed worse for him than his own torture or death.

Red Dove let Joey go and Joey leaned forward outstretched. His head was still down but he continued his raspy breathing spitting up an occasional wad of blood that landed on his chest. Joey’s furry stomach with its six arrows sticking from it heaved in and out as his labored breath came in gasps. The motion of the arrow stabbed belly made the protruding shafts almost appear to be dancing, as they all seemed to be stuck into the undulating belly at different angles.

Red Dove ordered both his students to load their bows. They did and he thrust his own taunt, brown skinned Cherokee belly forward and pointed to his deep innie navel to indicate what the boy’s target was.

White Willow and Green Feather both grinned and aimed their arrows at Joey’s arrow riddled abdomen.

Jason watched in abject horror and screamed, “NOOOOO BSTARDS!”

But the insult was in vane as the arrows were let loose.

The two THUMPS were so close together they sounded like one.

“Unnnnngghhhh” Joey just let out a grunting moan of pain as both arrows hit their mark ripping through his navel and burrowing deep into one of the few undamaged parts of his gut.

Again the five Indians went over to see the damage. Joey was slumping forward and Red Dove raised his head by the hair. Gone was the defiant look replaced by one of acceptance of his death that was just moments away. Joey tongue hung out the side of his mouth as blood dripped over and around it.

Green Feather and White Willow were celebrating as both of them had sunk their arrows into the birth scar of the white man-boy.

The dual arrows had obliterated what was once a beautiful navel and the side by side wood shafts stretched the wound open wide allowing copious amounts of blood to gush out of it.

Joey’s eyes began to gloss over and he coughed feebly a few times. The incredible damage his body had absorbed from now 8 arrows in his soft belly was about to take its price.

White Willow noticed Joey’s cock still at full mast. Red Dove instructed the two shooters to stroke it on till it spewed seed as Joey had faced death with incredible bravery. It was a way of honoring him.

White Willow rubbed the engorged cock back and forth while Green Feather massaged the low hanging cum filled balls. He even stuck his index finger up Joey’s ass and it was that action that caused Joey to moan as his shot his now blood stained cum all over White Willow’s hard, brown skinned pectorals.

Joey’s cock continued to spray his pink cum even after White Willow stopped manipulating him.

Red Dove cut Joey down and laid him on his back. The eight arrows in the teenager’s stomach bobbed up and down a few more times as he took his last few breaths till Joey let out a gurgling noise and all motion on his body stopped. His body sagged forward supported only by the ropes tied to his wrists, his chin resting on his chest.

Jason tried to blink away the tears as he saw Joey die.

The five Cherokee then advanced on him.

The Native American’s were free of body hair and were captivated by the carpet of fur that grew over Jason’s chest and stomach. They rubbed it like a pet dog while they discussed what would become of the second of the captives.

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  Greasetank and Me
Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:30 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: My complex relationship with the late great SM artist Greasetank*

I've been thinking about Mitch's blog entry comparing my work to Greasetank. Aside from being flattered, I thought it might be interesting to explore that comparison a bit. There are some undeniable similarities, but in other ways we are poles apart.

First, the similarities. There is one Greasetank image that has inspired many of my own renders and which I will refer to by the caption he gave it: "Why don't you officers just eat me!"


I encountered this image very early on while learning 3D and it greatly inspired me, so much so that I have often riffed on his caption:






It's actually my avatar!

As you can see, I've been strongly influenced by this one image from Greasetank. But only this one image, and no others; as a rule I find much of Greasetank's work a major turnoff. Why is that?

For the most part it's because Eat Me contains elements that do not appear in any of his other renders: bravery, defiance, stoicism. Masculinity too, but all his works have that. Almost all of Greasetank's other work is about sadism, fear, brutality, bullying, and redneck gangs inflicting homophobic violence on a victim. Not so with Eat Me. Here the handsome, masculine young prisoner is cocky in the face of death; he is cuffed and facing an impossible situation that may very possibly result in his death, but he is unbowed and undefeated. He may die, but he has already won.

*That's masculinity for me. I want his sperm. What bottom wouldn't want to be impregnated by him?* And that's the key to understanding my art.

Greasetank is problematic. He's racist, he's vulgar, he's violent, he fetishizes fascist symbols and he uses homophobic imagery. He is also incandescently talented, and I don't mean just from a technical perspective although given the 3D tools he had to work with at the time he's quite adept at that too.

I mean he's talented because he puts it ALL out there. Greasetank holds nothing back with no quarter asked or given. He does not apologize. I think that's what I admire most about his work, and it's probably the thing he and I share the most in common: not the extreme nature of our images, but the way we just put it all out there and don't give a rat's ass about the niceties. We come from vastly different places but we both end up in some similar, brutally cold places.

The question of motive is of central  importance for me: the why of the violence. In Greasetank's work the motive is private murder. That is the reason I am repelled by most of his pictures; I can't eroticise murder. It's a turnoff. I am not a sadist and derive no pleasure from inflicting pain, nor do I get off on humiliation. I identify with the victim in these renders, and in every case there is a sexual tension between the top and the bottom and the victim dies with honor. In my work the violence is fully integrated with the sex. This is sexual consummation in its most literal sense, i.e. the top consumes the bottom in a perfect union. Nothing is wasted and nothing is tainted by extraneous moral considerations like homophobia. This is why I so often use a ritualistic military setting for these; the characters are obeying orders. The system bears the guilt, not the characters. Just as warrior societies often have purification rituals to absolve those who have killed in battle from any moral social violations and protect them from being pursued by the ghosts of those they have slain, so too does my work take place within a highly ritualized context. Parallel WWII is a context I carefully constructed to support gay mating where one party must sacrifice his life to complete the act.

In other words: *spawn and die*. I deliberately anchor my erotica in the deepest, most ancient part of the human mind, the fish-brain. That is what gives my work its power, why so many guys go WOW when they view it. It resonates so deeply that they can't put it into words; but this is a form of mating immediately familiar to other species from salmon to spiders. All I have done is to create a context where spawn-and-die reproduction is logical in a gay male context. This is why I must absolve and purge the moral violation of murder. To create the proper setting the characters must act as nature compels them. If Stravinsky's Rite of Spring ballet were adapted for an all-male cast, it might not be too far off from my renders. And we are protected from being haunted by the ghosts of the dead through using the same characters over and over. These men aren't being killed: they are being reborn.

In my mind that is why Greasetank and I are poles apart. I'm not motivated or aroused by crude animal brutality. There are larger and older wheels turning here, both in terms of character motivation and artistic motivation. I know where I am coming from and where I am going. I must have the element of sacrifice to be fulfilled - preferably virgin sacrifice but at least heroic. It is the quintessence of masculinity to give your all to protect your progeny. I've simply used the psychological tools that are already there, deep in the human mind, to create a uniquely powerful erotica that is private to a gay male milieu. *Yes, boy, the officers will accept your invitation and eat you. They will devour you in the act of mating, a story as old as animals themselves.* But who is the top, and who is the bottom? *It is the female who eats the male.*

It has long struck me as odd that guys won't think twice about seeing some really violent movie and are happy to watch porn afterwards, but they can't make the connection or face the idea of combining the two. It's just too out there and scary, they're afraid of the power of these images. I suppose it's fear of the Id, of losing control to the subconscious mind. That fear is well taken. Certainly we've all seen some very dark things on the internet. I turn away from that darkness and reject it. To keep from getting lost in that it's vitally important to understand yourself and know where you are coming from, and where you want to go.

In the end, Greasetank is a deeply complicated artist. I owe him a lot, in terms of inspiration and revulsion. Thanks to him I gained a better sense of my attractions and their limits - and I know myself better as a result.

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  The Scarlet Pimpernel
Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:28 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: metadiscussion of my blogging history*

I recently became aware of the excellent Mitchmen blog, which apparently has been around quite a while and has reviewed many gay male erotic artists. He recently published two blog posts about me featuring some renders from my old Tumblr FSQ. I am deeply flattered to be compared to Greasetank, even if I'm nowhere in his league artistically. Anyway, here's a link to get to both posts on Mitchmen:


A few comments about his take on my work.

First, it's quite interesting and I enjoyed his psychological analysis very much, even if it differs from my own understanding which I've discussed on several previous occasions including my About page here. In fact I found myself getting turned on by this mysterious Mighty Foo he describes, to the point of whacking off to my own images as if they had been produced by someone else. My actual motivation behind these images - being 10 years old again and reliving my childhood play acting "WWII Army Men" or "Captured Spy" or "Old West Cowboys" or "Conan the Barbarian" games with my schoolyard buddies - seems pretty mundane by comparison. The over-the-top bloody entry/exit wound explosions, the highly selective targeting (torso only, usually the heart or abdomen or navel, and on no account inflicting disfiguring head wounds) and other improbable details (e.g. ejaculation at the instant of death; condemned prisoners wearing only fetishistic uniform elements that serve as totems to confer identity and nothing else, like dogtags, helmets, combat boots and tunics open at the chest; heavily ritualized and sexualized executions that invariably involve penetration weapons such as bullets, swords, arrows or spears) seem to me like they should be a dead giveaway. Who wears a combat helmet to their own execution? I intend for my images to simply make manifest what a 10 year old gay boy might fantasize about when he makes a gun with his finger and goes "bang bang you're dead!" to a cute playmate that he's crushing on, but I get that not everyone will see that when these images get taken out of context - hense Mitch's interpretation. One's own creative intent is very often misunderstood by others; that's just the human condition.

Anyway, if these images seem more than a tad unrealistic, then my work here is done. I've no use for realism when it comes to this sort of thing.

Second, I loved how he called me the Scarlet Pimpernel of extreme male erotica for my occasional vanishing-and-resurfacing act - from The Shot Dead Guys Zone, Blindfolded and Alone, Depictions of Death, FSQ, and my spotty appearances on Arenafighter (and a scattering of others over the years.) The reality is that my images aren't everyone's cup of tea and I've had trouble over the years finding the right venue. I've been on FetLife since the very beginning of this site and have been lucky enough to mostly escape censorship here by keeping as low a profile as possible. I am not interested in building up a bunch of followers. I would rather have a smaller number of followers who are following me for the right reasons. Lots of followers draws too much attention - and also there are certain dark and fascist types whom I won't allow to follow me. People who have trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality.

Third, it was nice seeing all those other artists on Mitchmen, especially The Hun. Bill Schmelling was a personal friend of mine and I'm grateful of the role that he and his partner Roland played in bringing me in contact with my husband of over 25 years. (If you've seen the big Black stud in The Hun's work then you've seen Roland.)

Fourth, anyone has free permission to repost my work anywhere, just please tell them I sent ya (and if you see my work posted anywhere, drop me a line and let me know where so I can add a link here.) One of the biggest disadvantages of FetLife is that they don't make it easy to download the renders I post here. If I could have it my way you could keep and repost any of them.

Anyway, I wanted to say thank you to my devoted followers. You have sought me out like moths drawn to a flame despite everything I have done to keep a low profile and avoid being noticed. All I've done is leave a few clues as to my location and you have done the rest. I'm very happy that my shocking little pew-pew-pew 5th grade pictures have helped you with your furtive self-abuse. My notion is that if a given image didn't do the trick for me, then it won't prime the pump for you either.


Regretfully, my current life circumstances preclude me producing much if any new work - all I can do right now is raid the vaults for any past images which might induce swelling. That sometimes involves posting lower quality unfinished drafts that I otherwise wouldn't bother sharing. I've posted almost 900 images here on FetLife, more than I've posted anywhere else, most of which are visible only to Friends so if you want to see my bloodier renders just send me a Friends request and I'll give you access.

Hopefully my current life situation will change in such a way that I can resume producing new images again.

Until then, I remain your naughty-minded childhood playmate,

PS. You can find my work on Arenafighter here:

And here:

And a little bit here.

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  Big Jake
Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:27 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: two sexy ranch hands are gunned down at the moment of orgasm.*

When I was a kid I saw the John Wayne movie Big Jake at the drive-in. It opens with a bloody raid on a ranch in which all the hands are shot and killed.

But if you watch the movie today, you're not seeing the way it originally premiered. Big Jake was released in 1971, two years after Sam Peckinpah made The Wild Bunch and set a new standard for movie violence. Westerns in particular became very bloody, "a dozen men killed or your money back" as my parents used to moan.

In the original cut of Big Jake, the raiders kick in a bedroom door and surprise a handsome, naked young ranch hand in the act of fucking his girl. He reaches for his gun and the bad guys pump his beautiful nude body full of slugs, shooting him over and over in slow motion Peckinpah-style as he writhes orgiasticly. Slowly his lifeless body slides down against base of the blood-spattered wall, his useless gun in his dead hand.

There were complaints that the film was too violent and the scene was cut - it has since been lost - but I was 10 years old when I saw the original version and I never forgot it. I have jacked off to that image of the sexy, brave young ranch hand's heroic sacrifice many times.

Except that, in my imagination, it was always two *male* ranch hands who are caught fucking by the bad guys, and both are gunned down just as they came. As the first slug tears through the bottom's navel, I imagine the blonde's sphincter reflexively clamping down hard on the top's spurting cock, milking him and causing him to cum even harder at the same instant the slug exits out the bottom's back and blasts through the top's navel. They shudder and quiver and jerk in tandem as they are blown away by a fusillade of bullets. The dying cowpokes grip each other in a quaking deathgasm while the bad guys shoot them over and over in slow motion. I imagine the scene replaying from multiple camera angles, some showing close-ups of the bullets blowing apart the bottom's muscular chest and abdomen, then cutting to show the same slugs splattering out the top's back, spraying the wall behind them with blood and bits of their exploded hearts and organs. Quick cut to a close-up of both boy's ecstatic/agonized faces, then another quick cut to show them arching together as they are pinned against the back wall by the hail of bullets. White-hot lead explodes over and over into the boy's helpless, sagging bodies. The two slowly crumple into a tangled heap on the floor, their eyes staring vacantly into the distance, the top still embracing his lover and pumping the last drops of his seed into his spasming, dying ass; but slugs continue blasting their lifeless young bodies until the final shots blows both their cocks off.

Thin wisps of smoke curl upward from dozens of wounds. Semen and blood pool on the floor. The top's severed cock remains inside his lover, his seed slowly oozing from the blonde's destroyed boipussy.

Here's my version.


Similar idea, but different setting.

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  Fatally Distracted
Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:25 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: Fascination with the enemy warrior's huge penis is a fatal mistake during a swordfight.*



Their battle neared its end. Outmatched by his foe, the elf had already been weakened by several blows when he slipped in his own blood and stumbled. As he lost his footing he careened backwards and instinctively lashed out with his free hand to steady himself with any available support - as fate would have it, his foe's swollen male member. The girth and size of his opponent's manhood surprised the elf, distracting him just long enough for his foe to get past his defenses and drive his blade home in the elf's exposed navel with a sickening CHUKKK!


The elf writhed in agony as his foe slowly drove his long blade through his belly and out his back, impaling and pinning him to the ground. His opponent felt the elf's death spasms transmitted through the haft of his sword, giving the victor great satisfaction and further stiffening his already steel-hard erection. The victor also felt the pleasure of the elf's death-grip rhythmically tightening and milking his engorged member. The warrior groaned and spat hot seed onto the flat of his sword, spattering his vanquished foe and mingling his seed with the elf's blood. He owned the elf.


As the elf convulsed and gasped his last breath, he twisted his body to face the spurting, conquering penis that had marked and owned him. In the deepest part of the defeated elf's brain, an ancient urgent command raced to his dying testes: spawn now and die. The elf spontaneously ejaculated with tremendous force.


The elf ejaculated as never before, holding nothing back. Six, seven, eight spurts jetted high into the air as the elf's soul departed his body, shot from the tip of his spasming, erupting penis.


As darkness took the dying elf, the last of his sperm - still spurting from the tip of his death erection - uselessly soaked into the dust.


In the Afterlife the elf would be forever enslaved to the penis that had so fascinated him and thereby captured his soul.


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  Death of the Heir
Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:24 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - Replies (2)

*Synopsis: The heir to the throne is ritually fucked and sacrificed after the fall of his father's kingdom.*

The battle was over, the city had fallen to the army of the Usurper, and the old King was slain. One last task remained, one that would mingle duty with pleasure - the teenaged Heir to the throne had to be taken. As long as he lived, the dead King's bloodline would continue to threaten the Usurper's ability to consolidate power over his new Kingdom. The Heir must die, at the Usurper's hand. But these things need not be unpleasant, for the young Heir was exceptionally handsome, and the Usurper had time. With the old King dead and his armies scattered, the Usurper could enjoy the spoils of war.


In truth there was something soft and feminine about the boy Heir, something pliant and yielding. He meekly accepted the Usurper's Alpha male invasion of his body, even moaning softly as the Usurper's long member stabbed his secret place again and again.


Did the boy guess his fate? Did he know he was doomed to die as soon as the Usurper finished marking him with his seed? Surely the boy-Heir must know, but if so he gave no sign of understanding. He seemed as sheltered and innocent as he was pliable and submissive.


The truth dawned on the Usurper that the boy was accustomed to being used in this manner, that the old King must also have enjoyed this boy as the mood took him. Why else was the boy so accepting of the natural order of things, of being dominated and mounted? He was used to being enslaved.


Whether the young Heir understood it or not was immaterial. His royal bloodline made it too dangerous for the Usurper to treat him as a mere spoil of war, to be enslaved and used at will. However enjoyable this pleasure was, there could be only one outcome in the end. He stabbed the innocent youth again and again with his long conquering penis. The boy's whimpers and childish tears only made the warrior ram him deeper and harder.


The Usurper's member pummeled the boy's vulnerable prostate as brutally and relentlessly as his battering ram had shattered the gates of the fallen city. The boy surrendered himself to the thrusts of his conqueror and new Master, his raped and ruined secret place spasming helplessly on the Usurper's penis. The boy's tender sphincter buckled and collapsed under the invader's determined and ferocious assault.


The Heir's orgasmic ass-spasms pushed the Usurper over the edge and he unloosed his hot fluid deep into the boy's destroyed secret place.


The next day, the townspeople gathered in cowed silence to witness the final act of their subjugation. The ritual "battle" was a foregone conclusion since the Usurper outmatched the boy in every respect. As was their custom, they fought naked The Usurper toyed with his prey, waiting for the right moment when he had extracted the last exquisite drops of fear from the boy. When the Usurper disarmed the boy at last and he gestured for mercy, with a single powerful thrust the Usurper drove his blade through the boy's navel, the symbol of his beginning and now of his end as well.


The dying boy gasped and shuddered in helpless agony on the Usurper's impaling sword.


The Usurper stared into the boy's dying eyes and twisted the sword as the Heir silently mouthed expressions of shock, agony and disbelief.


This cannot be happening, his eyes said. He was too young to die. He had begged for mercy. He would be good. But there could be no mercy for him.


In his last throes the boy's dying brain sent an urgent, unthinking, ancient final command to his teenaged testicles: spawn now and die.


The Heir spat his boy-seed uselessly into the dust.


The Heir's orgasmic death-spasms pushed the Usurper over the edge and he unloosed his hot fluid all over the boy.


The handsome youth spasmed helplessly on the sword thrust deep through his navel. The trembling sensation traveled through the sword to the Usurper's hand, giving the conqueror a feeling of great satisfaction and pleasure and steeling his warrior's erection. He came even harder on the dying, ejaculating boy.


The boy's unthinking genitals continued uselessly pumping out copious amounts of his youthful seed onto the dusty arena floor even after Death had claimed him.


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Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:22 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: The last thoughts of a condemned soldier as he faces his firing squad.*


There is nothing left but the wait, and the fall. With his eyes blindfolded all of his other senses are unusually alert. He can hear the distant gunfire where the battle has moved on, and the click of the rifle bolts as the firing squad prepares to fire. He can feel the cool grass and mud between his toes, and the cloth brushing his shoulder as a slight spring breeze wafts by. There will be no more springs for him. He can smell the smoke from the battlefield and taste the fear in his throat. Oh, please God, let it be over soon. His heart is racing and his muscles are tense. The base of his brain sends an urgent message to his balls to CUM NOW, THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE. The soldier is in a trance, the adrenaline pumping thru his veins as his last orgasm washes over him...just as he feels the terrific force of twelve white-hot bullets explode thru his chest. His executioners circle around his body, which death has frozen into a grotesque pose. This fallen warrior is magnificent in death, poignant and sexy as hell. His stiffening cock still manages with its final strength to pump a few tiny spurts of jism onto the ground where it pools and mixes with his blood and bits of his heart. They drag his body away, but his seed remains and soaks into the ground. Later, as the tide of war moves on from this spot, the grass and the birds return. Rain and wind soften the pockmarks on the low wall where the bullets pierced his beautiful body. On the spot where he died a strange plant now sprouts. A mandrake plant marks the lonely place where the executed warrior ejaculated his last drops of semen.

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  The MP
Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:21 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: A young soldier condemned to the firing squad finds comfort and closure from an unexpected source.*


So my CO orders me to take this soldier to prison. Says they're gonna shoot him - firing squad. Usually that means the prisoner is a rapist or murderer. It's not my favorite assignment to escort a desperate condemned guy like that for a heavy date with some hot lead. I asked my CO what he done. "Boosted a jeep," he says.

Boosted a jeep? That don't square. "Just follow your orders and keep your questions to yourself, soldier."

OK, I get the picture.

Then I seen him - I was expecting a pretty rough character, but he's just a scared kid, barely 18 and kinda pretty like with big brown puppy dog eyes. I cuff him for the train to the prison. On the train, this panicked kid can't stop talking, he's so desperate for someone to believe him. Tells me there was a black market ring operating in his unit, stealing and selling medical supplies. Then he tells his CO about it - big mistake. The next thing this kid knows he's under arrest. Fifteen minutes later a kangaroo court sentences him to be shot by firing squad. This kid can't believe it. But I can - I know his unit. Nasty bunch of Mafia operators. This naive kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time and trusted the wrong people, and now they're making sure he don't squeal. Happens more often than you'd figger.

Long story short, this kid badly needed a friend. Only he don't get that an MP ain't your friend. As I said, he's young and naive, just off the farm.

But he certainly had talent for treatin' me nice, I'll give him that.



He was a hot piece of boy pussy, too. I figger the least I can do is make sure they don't shoot no virgin. Plus which, dead boys don't tell no tales.



But orders are orders. He's crying and begging me to let him go, I tell him he needs to man up 'cause he's gonna die and ain't no use crying about it like no baby. I feel sorry for the kid, but I can't help him. I got my orders - deliver him to the prison firing squad or shoot him myself if he tries to escape. Elsewise it's my turn to be the guest of honor at a firing squad.

He gets quiet for quite a spell after that, I can see he's got a lot of thinking to do. Never went in much for that myself, it don't pay to think in the Army. We sat quiet like and watched the scenery roll past the train.

Finally he turns to me with them sad puppy dog eyes and asks if I'd shoot him. He says if he's gotta die anyway he don't want no bunch of strangers to croak him. I'm the closest thing he's got to a friend. How's that for naive.

So when we get off the train, instead of taking him to the prison I take a jeep and ride him out to an abandoned barn in the country. When it's just us two in the barn I ask him again if he's sure he wants it this way. He gets down on his knees, looks up to be with them big sad eyes, and pleads with me to shoot him. I got hard again at seein' him on his knees begging me like that. Fuck this boy was sexy, and I was gonna get to waste him.


"Please...please..." he whispered as he opened his tunic and bared his chest for me.


"Finish me off, sir! Fucking do me!"


So I said OK, I'd give him what he wanted. I pulled my pistol from its holster, and my hard dick from my pants.

Kid was real brave at the end. I jacked myself off with one hand and with the other I aimed and squeezed the trigger.


I pumped five rounds into his chest, with at least two slugs going straight through his heart. He just gritted his teeth, bulged his eyes, and took my load. All the while he looked straight at me with them disbelieving puppy dog eyes. He blinked a couple of times, then his eyes went glassy and unfocused as he finally toppled backwards. I couldn't get over them big brown puppy dog eyes, open wide and staring up at the sky. I grabbed him roughly by the hair, pulled his face up til it was touching the tip of my cock, and jismed all over his pretty, staring dead face. Then I smeared cum on them bloody smoking holes in his chest.


I'll never ever forget that. Best kill I ever had. It gets me hard ever time.

Sorry kid. "War is hell", heh heh.

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Posted by: themightyfoo - Today, 03:19 AM - Forum: The MightyFoo - No Replies

*Synopsis: An American PBY Catalina tail gunner and a Japanese Zero fighter pilot fight a deadly sexual duel in the Pacific War.*

A lot of pilots in flight school joked about Catalinas – they said gooneybirds was ugly. But there wasn’t nothin’ ugly about that PBY that taxied up to rescue me when I was floating in shark-infested waters near Rabaul. I thought it was the most beautiful plane I ever seen. Rabaul was the biggest Japanese base in the South Pacific, the center of their whole war effort. It was plenty well defended, believe you me. Admiral Halsey told us to go in there and turn Rabaul into Rubble. I flew a 4F4 Hellcat off the USS Saratoga, providing fighter escort for our divebombers. We did a number on their drydocks, but I got hit over the target by antiaircraft fire and had to ditch in the St. Georgia Channel on the way back to the Lady Sara. I got banged up pretty good when I ditched – the medics told me later that I had a concussion and nearly didn’t make it back. Anyway, there I was, floating in my life raft, way too close to Rabaul for comfort. If the Japanese patrols didn’t get me, the sharks probably would. I don’t know how long I was floating there - maybe a few hours. I don't know, I was getting pretty slap-happy and startin’ to hallucinate.

Then the next thing I know, this gooneybird was pullin’ up alongside me. There in the open hatchway was the most gorgeous young sailor I ever seen. He was lean, tanned, blonde, and completely naked - and he had a long, thick piece of uncut meat swingin’ between his legs. He jumped in and swam over to me, hauling himself onto my raft. He searched my face and frowned – I guess he was worried about me passing out with my head injury, so he started a banter with me to keep me awake. “What’s your name, flyboy? You married? Got any kids?” I told him no, but if he got me home in one piece I’d marry him and have his kids. Ha ha ha. Except then he gave me a sly look and I wondered if maybe he was planning to take me up on that offer. I decided right then and there that I would thank my hero properly when we got back to base. Make him feel real good.

He said his name was Sky.

As soon as Sky got me hauled up into the plane he manned his station at the tail gun mount and gave the pilot the high sign to take off. The PBY pilot gunned the engines and we were airborne a few seconds later. No sooner were we in the air than Sky frowned and reported over the intercom that a bandit was coming in at 5 o’clock high.

I immediately got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach – takeoff is when a plane is most vulnerable, especially a big, lumbering seaplane like a Catalina. PBYs are slow and not very manuverable, no match for an enemy Zero. The life of everyone on that plane now depended on our beautiful naked tail gunner, manning off against that enemy pilot.

I could see Sky was getting an erection – that was just natural, guys often popped boners in combat situations. They just usually weren't naked at the time. God, he was beautiful.


The Zero opened up on us and Sky let loose with his .50 cal Browning. They blazed away at each other for a couple of seconds, then the Zero got a bead on us. Richochets riddled the fuselage as the Zero raced past us; a seaplane is painfully slow compared to a fighter.

All our hopes depended on this naked kid blazing away with his machine gun. Sky was fully erect now and his foreskin had half-retracted over his swollen cockhead; he was leaking precum as he swung around to fire at the Zero, who was coming in for another pass.

Sky and the Zero were now firing directly at each other, but the enemy pilot nailed Sky first with a string of bullets.


Caught in the harness of the machine gun, Sky could not escape – he helplessly convulsed and shuddered as slug after slug slammed into his gut. Sky gasped and ejaculated, squirting the last of his cum onto his still blazing machine gun. The Zero pilot then mercilessly blew both of Sky's balls off, together with the tip of his still-spurting cock. Sky cried out in agony as his foreskin landed in my lap.

Yet Sky was still somehow managing to return fire. As the fighter roared past us Sky shot up its engine with his Browning. I watched out the side canopy as the Zero smoked, sputtered, and went into a death spiral. Before his plane spun into the sea the enemy pilot managed to eject and float away in his parachute, unharmed.

Now that I could clearly make out his features, I could see that that the Zero pilot was quite a handsome young man.

Sky lay dying, still strapped in his harness, slumped over his smoking machine gun. His beautiful lithe body was oozing life from a dozen bullet holes; semen and blood flowed from his ruined, empty scrotum. With the last of his strength Sky raised his eyes and saw his handsome executioner drifting off in the breeze, mocking him with the ease of his escape.

Grimly, Sky set his jaw, mastered his pain, and gathered himself up for one final effort. His machine gun blazed to life for the last time. At first Sky's aim was wild and tracer bullets zipped off into the sea, but slowly, painfully, inexorably, he was able to redirect his stream of fire onto the enemy parachutist. His handsome opponent was at his mercy, and Sky pressed home his revenge. He riddled the young enemy pilot with machine-gun fire, who jerked and danced as madly as a puppet on a string. Sky smoked his opponent, blowing his chest to pieces and exploding his heart. By the time had Sky ceased fire, the handsome Zero pilot was hanging limply in his harness, shot to pieces and swaying to and fro in the breeze as crazily as a hanged man.

Then Sky let go, arching backwards in his gun harness, his arms and legs spread eagle, his head rolling back on his shoulders, his beautiful body smoking from at least a dozen bullet holes. Sky stared at me with wide-open blue eyes, gave a long last exhalation, and surrendered his life. I would never forget how this brave young warrior had selflessly given his life to save his buddies.

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