Another artist who will be of interest to you is MSSF. He's a digital artist, who deals with homoerotic muscle guys. He has a whole section, called "The Flavian Arena" about manly muscular gladiators. I've attached a sample below. Here's the link to his website:

artmssf.wordpress.com

Magnus gathered up his sword and shield: no armor would be worn in the death match.
 
The Nubian awaited him in the passageway. They exchanged cold stares, then entered the arena together. They marched across the field to the Imperial box and raised their sword to the Emperor. The mob hushed, saving their voices for the violence to follow.
 
The fight was brief, almost too brief, From the clash of steel, Magnus knew that the Nubian was his. It was bad form to end a match with the first wound.  He would have to toy with the Nubian.  A successful fight was like the act of sex; it was best to hold back, to thrill the crowd as long as possible before the climax.
 
The energy passed from Magnus's groin into his arm, and through his fingers to his blade. His sword became his erection, hard and gleaming, eager to penetrate, unyielding and sensitive to every touch.
 
Magnus first deprived the Nubian of his sword, wrenched it from its owner's grasp and sent it skimming through the air. The mob awarded him with a reserved round of applause.  The more experienced spectators knew now that the Nubian would die.  They relaxed in their seats to observe the master's technique as Magnus began the process of paralysing his victim.  He began with a series of superficial wounds - cuts across the Nubian's left shoulder and arm, a slice across the man's taunt belly that brought a thread of blood to the surface.
 
The Nubian, slashing awkwardly in desperation, drew blood - a glancing oblique scratch across Magnus' thigh. Magnus decided to end the game.
 
He penetrated the Nubian's defence and landed a deep cutting blow across the biceps of his sword arm, severing the thick muscle.  The Nubian jumped back and transferred his sword clumsily to his left hand, his useless right arm, a burden now, hung limp and bleeding at his side.  His left arm was weaker; in seconds Magnus struck the sword from his grasp.
 
He made a lunge at the Nubian's lower chest and scored a deep wound.
 
The Nubian groaned and staggered back but did not fall. Magnus approached him slowly, frowning; he was angry the fight had not been more interesting.
 
Magnus raised his sword, swung it upward and down, upward and down, marking a crimson X across the Nubian's dark chest.
 
The mod roared; Still the Nubian did not fall.  Magnus flicked the tip of his blade about the Nubian's skirt and cut the strap that held the man's leather cup.  The garments fell away and the Nubian stood, naked, his arms hanging useless at his sides.
 
The Nubian's sex was swollen, almost erect; magnus had seen this curious phenomenon before in his victims, the concentration of blood in the sex even as it drained form the rest of the body.  He slid his sword between the man's legs, forcing him ot open his thighs and rise to his toes.  He lifted the Nubian's shaft for display, the fleshy rod lay balanced along the sharp edge of his blade.
 
The crowd was silent. Magnus looked at the Nubian's face.  His dark eyes begged for an end to the humiliation, for release into death.
 
Magnus lowered the pommel of his sword and stabbed upwards, entering the Nubian below his testicles and impaling him on the blade. A rain of blood and offal poured hot over Magnus's fist. A thrill like fire ran from the buried steel into Magnus' arm, welling in his chest and filling his leather codpiece.
 
The Nubian screamed in spastic agony.  The mob roared.  There were shrieks among the crowd, Hysteria filled the coliseum.
 
Magnus pulled the sword free and stepped back.  The Nubian jerked wildly and collapsed to his knees. Magnus raised this foot to the man's throat and pushed him backward to the ground, He placed his sword to the Nubian's chest and looked at the Imperial box.
 
The Nubian's performance had been disastrous. There could be have been no reprieve for him, even if there was a chance that he might survive his wounds.  The Emperor extended his arm and made a fist, thumb pointing down.
 
Magnus drove the sword into the Nubian's heart.  There was no thrill in the penetration. His sword was lifeless again, insensate; the power had returned to his shaft.
 
(Extract from"Slaves of the Empire" By Aaron Travis)

Drawings by "John"

Attached Files

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Well, It's been a great first month back up and running.  We now have 44 activated members and continue to grow.  Posts are popping up regularly and the Forum is coming to life.  It's great seeing old friends reuniting, as well as welcoming new friends.

The system is still a little quirky, but I think we are managing well.

I noticed a couple flaws, in the stories section, I noticed the new thread button was missing in both the real stories and slasher stories categories.  I fixed those just now and you may start posting in those categories. 

I am still working on trying to find ways to improve the categories, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know.

It's great to be back up and running.  Thank you all for returning.

And As Always,
Happy Battlings and a Glorious Death to You All!!!

B&D

        They had warned me that he had changed, but I just couldn't believe them.  Ricky and I grew up together.  When there were reports of demons in the jungle, we just ignored them as nonsense. 

        When they told me Ricky had gone missing in the forbidden caverns, I decided to go after him.  I entered into the dark cave armed only with a short dagger I had made.  My lantern was the only light.

        Before too long, I could hear echoes in the towering chambers.  With a flutter, he flew out of the darkness.  I had little time to react, so I thrust my sword forward, ramming the blade deep into Ricky's gut.  

We were bitter enemies in a heated battle. I am an infamous sniper, you are the last survivor of your unit who hasn't fallen to my aim. Your commanders have continually spoken about how dishonorable your unit has been for having all fallen to one man. Your anger towards me is unquenchable.

You embark on a personal mission, vowing to your commanders that you will kill me and return my head to them. It is a hot and humid evening when you finally find the secret entrance to my outpost. You take off your shirt and wipe the sweat away from your sleek, muscular body and sneak inside. Armed only with your bayonet, you sneak through the building and spy me standing, looking out the window for my next victim, my bare torso glistening with sweat and reflecting the moonlight.

As you step slowly towards me, there is the crunch of a piece of glass under your boot. I turn to see you and quickly take aim and fire.... For the first time (and the last time) ever, I miss and the shot whizzes past your head. You let out a war-cry and run at me with full force, not wanting to give me any time reload, as you know I would never miss twice. You aim your bayonet straight for my glistening abs and drive the blade deep into my upper gut, causing me to lurch forward and holler out in pain and shock.

"AAARRRGGHH!!!

After the initial shock, our eyes connect and I stare at you, wide-eyed in disbelief. I had known this day would soon come. But I had not been expecting it so soon. I arch backwards as you rip your blade out of my gut. My shocked glance leaves your eyes as I look down to assess the damage. I feel the deep burning in my gut. I cup both hands over the wound and bend slightly forward, flexing my abs to apply pressure to ease the searing pain.

You drop your bayonet to the floor at our feet and pull out your bowie knife.

"This is for my friends," you say.  Placing one hand on my shoulder, you drive the full six inch blade into my navel. I am pushed back against the wall and unto my toes as the crisp blade pierces into my guts. I step forward as you pull it out and desperately reach out to hold your knife hand away. You shove me back against the wall. My arms fall to the sides, to keep myself up, exposing my bare torso to your next strike. “Is that all you got.”

My cockiness infuriates you and you press your sweaty body, chest-to-chest, against mine, pinning me between you and the wall.

You drive the blade in-and-out of my navel several times in a fury of rage, until you tire, short of breath.

You lean your tired, hot sweaty body against mine and strive to regain your breath. You can feel my breathing becoming heavy and course. You look again into my eyes seeking some sign of remorse or surrender, but only find a defiant stare. I place both hands on your chest and try to push you away, but your stabs have already weakened me.

"This is the end of you." You say, staring into my eyes, catching a glimpse of loss and confusion in them.

You then place one hand on my bare chest and drive your blade just below my navel. I arch my gut backwards and my chest presses hard against yours, our sweat sliding down our bodies, flowing down my bloody abs. My eyes have widened as semen stains the front of my pants. UUUHHHHH!! 

You mercilessly rip the blade out of my bowels as I let out a grunted moan.

As you back away from me, my arms wearily wrap around you as I slide down your body to the floor, bringing me to my knees before you. "That's right," you say. "Kneel before me, bitch. Look into the eyes of the man who you weren't able to kill."

You revel in your mind of the glory you have brought yourself and your unit by laying waste to the flesh of your enemy. The adrenaline builds within you, as you realize that you are the one who has done what so many others were unable to. The dreaded sniper who killed off your whole platoon now kneels before you with bloody flowing from his bowels.

You look down again into my eyes, hoping to see some sign of remorse, sorrow, or even pain, but what you do see surprises you.

In my eyes, all you can see is a final flare up of rage. You stare into them curiously for a mere couple of seconds before you realize that the bayonet you had dropped on the floor at our feet was now in my hand.

Before you can react, I ram the full blade upwards into your navel with a thrust so hard, that the full, cold blade pierces you through and instantly brings you onto your toes with a loud gasp of pain and surprise. You drop your knife as you arms hangs out to your sides. You can feel the end point sticking out of your back. Your breath becomes ragged from the shock. I give the blade a slight twist, which sends a second shutter through your body. You feel your manly juices explode into your pants.

I place one hand on your pulsating upper abs, and pull the blade out with a single jerk. You fall down to your knees on the ground with me, with your torso arched backwards, exposing your abs to another blow from the blade.

This time, you see it coming and flex your abs and let out a grunted cry from between your teeth. You, do not want me to have the pleasure of seeing you writhe, but the pain was so unbearable. You stare into my eyes in unbelief, knowing that you had lost all the honor of killing me and had become another one of my victims.

You place your hands on the blade, trying to pull it out, but I have a firm grip and am intent with keeping the blade in you . You place your hands on my breasts and try to push me backwards.

I twist the blade again, causing a final shock of pain ripping through your guts. We again, stare into each others eyes, knowing full well what the other is feeling and thinking.

I begin feeling light-headed and fall backwards pulling the blade from your guts. You look down and watch the blood pouring out of the wound. You know you have only moments left and fall forward with your head against my body.

In your last effort, you have to know for sure that I am dead. So you slowly crawl forward, your sweaty and bloody body sliding against mine until you can see into my eyes. Struggling to find something to hold onto, I reach my arms around you broad shoulders in a tight embrace, I can feel you gasping breath against my face. My torso begins to shake and tremble as the last bit of air finally leaves my lungs and my stare blankens.

You lay your head against me as the world around you darkens and you go limp.


Our muscular bodies lie there, embracing each other, in complete and eternal surrender.

Hey,

Happy this board is back, and glad to see you all again.  Hopefully we'll be joined by a few more of us in a while.

I've had this fetish since I was a young teen.  I remember watching one of the old Italian gladiator movies on TV growing up in the suburbs of New York.  One afternoon one was on and I remember getting so turned on seeing the hot guys with their exposed chests and legs.  And then when they started killing each other with their swords I just got so hard I had to take out my cock and jack off right in the family room.  Luckily I was the only one home.

After that I searched for the movies and luckily they were often on late night after everyone else was in bed. 

A little later I was in Times Square NY and they were showing a marathon of the old Roman movies.  I went with a buddy of mine who also liked action.  I could tell he was getting into it.  We were near the back and the theater wasn't that crowded.  I told him I was going to jerk off and if he wanted to he should too.  That was the only invitation he needed!  We both took our our cocks and I remember during one big arena battle I shot off, with my buddy right after....  After that point we went whenever they were advertised, and we would usually jerk each other off during the fights.  This was before VHS so we couldn't have the movies whenever we wanted.

Anyway that is how it all started!

I like any kind of manly combat to the death.  Though gladiator fights are my favorite I also get turned on by westerns.  I love how many guys get plugged in the belly.  And the old TV show The Untouchables always had a gun fight between the feds and the gangsters, with the gangsters always getting riddled with bullets and dying in pools of their own blood.

Looking forward to what comes next on this board!

    How will the loser meet his end. He wraps his arm around the victors leg in anticipation. Where will he take the final blow? Will he die bravely or as coward

Oliver Frey is an artist who works in homoerotic themes. Here are some of his pics. These are posted in Yahoo at the following address;
https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/Freyartworkone/info

                   

How would you kill him?

94145A11-1EF1-4025-B116-242A55F4D879 by Levin Ludwig, on Flickr