HIGH ANXIETY (1977)

The scene: Mel Brooks (born Melvin Kaminsky) as Dr. Richard Thorndyke checks into the Hyatt Regency in San Francisco, then is escorted to his room by Dennis the bellboy (Barry Levinson). Thorndyke asks for Dennis to get him a newspaper, then tells him later to not forget his newspaper, then asks for a third time. With each request, Dennis becomes more and more agitated, which sets us up for a spoof of the classic stabbing-in-the-shower murder scene from Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho."

We see Dr. Thorndyke taking his shower, while on the other side of the curtain, the door opens and a blurred figure approaches. Pulling back the curtain, Dennis proceeds to stab Dr. Thorndyke with the newspaper, crazily screaming in a high-pitched voice, "Here's your stupid newspaper. Are you happy, now? Are ya? Happy?"

Allow me to play Dennis... 

You would see the blurred figure open the door, but then that figure would undress. Next comes the favorite part of my job as a bellboy.

Ripping back the shower curtain, I frantically poke this startled and naked man with the rolled-up newspaper, while taunting him, "Here's your god damned newspaper, doctor. I don't want no fucking tip, I just wanna make sure you're comfortable during your stay here at the Hyatt Regency."

Before he can react, I've joined him in the shower, while still slapping his wet and furry body with the now soaked newspaper. I close the curtain and go to work. Dropping to my knees, I take his warm cock into my mouth and begin to nurse on it, as Thorndyke stands mesmerized with his back towards the shower head. Water cascades from the back of his neck, down the dark-haired chest and belly, then onto his pubes and my nose. The expertise of my touch forces the good doctor to close his eyes and take it like a man. Soon, what was once a shriveled peck of skin transforms into a fat, pulsating slab of sausage. I twist and turn my head, while thrusting forward and back to efficiently render the man helpless, as his mighty club is crushed in my wet vise.

Once I know he's under my spell, hands join the party. They slide up the wet stomach and separate to squeeze his two pectorals, making certain that both thumbs are positioned to rub on two erect nipples. While I slowly stroke on his ever-strengthening cock, both nipples are taken between fingers and thumbs, then lightly pinched and twisted. A slight groan is heard from the man in my mouth, so I gradually increase the pressure of my finger clamps, while steadily increasing the pace of his oral massage.

I see and feel him take both arms up and lock the fingers behind his head. He has given himself up to me 100 per cent and I make certain he is duly rewarded. My hands move away from the chest and clamp tightly onto the buttocks, then I press my lips hard against the pelvic bone.

That pulsating meat is crushed into the back of my throat, while I contract those muscles and scrape the underside of his trapped mushroom with beaded tongue. He is taken to extreme heights of masculinity, so he begins to thrust, fucking my mouth like a Trojan warrior. I move my head back a few inches, then let him come at me again and again. Deep penetration is what he longs to feel and I am there for every thrust forward. I turn my head each time to give him a different angle of stimulation, then when that mighty spear buries itself into me, I clamp down with all my strength to try and hold him there. This forces him to endure a hair-raising, brutal and wet scrape on the underside of his tool each time he backstrokes.

As my hands leave his buttocks and begin racing up and down his body from chest to toes, he thrusts himself forward one last time and just stands there with the back arched, waiting for the inevitable finishing touch. Like a madman, I frantically stroke to and fro and side to side, licking and scraping every inch of that fat, juicy cock, until I feel the reverberations begin. Three times the thick tool contracts to fire and each one brings an ecstatic moan from its owner. The first one is faint, the second a bit louder, then the third sends the echo of pure, manly pleasure throughout the tiled room.

Dr. Richard Thorndyke sprays my mouth with his glorious semen. Every muscle flexes and highlights his wet and dark-furred body, while my scraping and slurping sucks out a steady and even flow. Painful, yet pleasurable groans and grunts rumble from the depths of his belly, as he pooches the entire cavity out to reveal the knot of his navel. With both hands still racing to every inch of skin they can reach, his sensitive cock head is ruthlessly forced from the back of my throat to the tip of my tongue, there to be mercilessly scraped on the underside before returning to the depths.

Finally, his body becomes limp and I slow the pace. With both hands again clamping onto his butt cheeks, I squeeze and lick the last droplets of cum, send it all down the hatch and give that beautiful cock back to the warm water cascading down his torso.

The newspaper lay on the tub floor - ink trickling around his feet and down the drain, just as Janet Leigh's blood had done in Hitchcock's scene, and as Mel Brooks himself had filmed it in his very clever tribute to the master of suspense. Mel Brooks's High Anxiety - I sure am glad he chose to put himself in that shower sequence.

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GREEN ACRES (1965-1971)

The scenario: Eddie Albert (born Edward Albert Heimberger) plays Oliver Wendell Douglas, a successful New York City lawyer who gives it all up for the good life. He buys a run down farm near Hooterville, where everybody is goofy except for him. This includes his wife Lisa (Eva Gabor) who is like a fish out of water on the farm and has no intention of changing her cosmopolitan personality. Thus, the song by Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs... "New York is where I'd rather stay, I get allergic smelling hay."

One of the running gags is that Lisa is from Hungary and several times one of her relatives shows up to mooch off of them for a few days, until Oliver loses his temper and runs them off. Usually, Lisa and her cousin or uncle or whatever would speak to each other in their native tongue, which Oliver did not understand.

Now, I always thought it would be an adventure to play one of her relatives, because my presence would cause Oliver some sort of grief in one way or another, so one day I just happened to enter the Douglas home as Oliver was preparing to do his morning exercises. Every time the bedroom closet door was opened, it would slide off the track and crash to the floor, so this is how I came in, which of course riled Mr. Douglas.

"Don't you ever knock?"

I grunt at him, but he can't understand what I said, so he shouts to his wife, "Lisa, Uncle Anton is here."

Mr. Douglas was wearing his pajama bottoms, shirtless and barefooted, which intrigued me. He stood with hands on hips, as we both waited for Lisa, who undoubtedly was in the kitchen trying again to make hot cakes. She never has and never will learn how to cook. My niece is the epitome of what Americans call a "dumb blonde," but I like her. She is as pretty as a human female can be and is also good to me. Plus, I can talk her into doing anything.

Mr. D. thrust his arms straight forward and began to do deep knee bends, then his wife entered and greeted me in Hungarian, which is the only language I knew - or so they thought.

"Oh, good morning, Uncle Anton."

"Good morning, Lisa. Your husband sure keeps his body looking tip-top."

"What a nice thing to say. Uncle Anton says you are very handsome, Oliver."

He just looked at me and sneered, while continuing the exercise, "Gee, thanks."

"Golly, Lisa, I'll bet he's really quite the man in bed."

She turned a bit red in the face, but said what I wanted to hear. "Oh, he certainly has his moments."

Mr. Douglas continued the knee bends, but clearly was upset. "Lisa, I can't concentrate on this with you two carrying on. What are you talking about?"

Before she could answer him, I got her attention. "Gee, look at that, Lisa. He's getting all angry and sweating like... well, like a man. You ought to give his peter a ride and calm him down."

She looked at me with curiosity, then at him with lust, as I continued, "I'll bet he's got a big ol' healthy American dick. Why don't you take care of it, while I watch TV?"

I strolled over to flip the switch, then sat down to pretend like I was gonna watch a cowboy and Indian movie.

Oliver stopped the exercise and fumed, "Turn off that TV. Can't he watch some other time?"

"Oliver, let's go to bed."

"I'm not going to bed with that man in the..."

At that moment, Mrs. Douglas stripped off her robe and stood there buck naked. Gosh, she sure was well-rounded. She stepped close and pressed ballooning breasts against her husband's sweaty chest, which rendered him into a quivering rag.

I turned to urge her on. "Work him over good, Lisa. Take charge. Tie his wrists to those bedposts and ride on him like the red-blooded stallion he is."

She pulled down his pajama bottoms and clamped her wet thighs around his cock. "Oliver, you will do as I say. You will be rewarded, or you will be punished if you do not obey."

I chuckled at how he melted before her, like some sort of pubescent teenager. He just stood there with his peter getting swollen and drool coming from the corner of his mouth. She coaxed him onto the bed and soon had him lying there face up and spread eagle. After removing his pajama bottoms, she walked over to the closet and proceeded to grab cloth ties from her assortment of bath robes. One by one, she secured his wrists to each corresponding bed post, then moved to the end of the bed, pulled his ankles towards each corner and tied them to those posts.

Turning to look, I saw the man helplessly stretched and naked, while she hovered above and circled the bed like some sort of ravenous vulture. I was right about his cock - it was mammoth. Soon, I drifted to the side of the bed to get a better view. That damned thing was laying on his belly way past where his navel should be, while the thickness appeared to be a good two inches and maybe more. Kinda scared me, but at the same time got me all excited thinking about that pile driving ram rod laying there all helpless, just like the man it was attached to.

He put up a little meaningless protest when he saw me standing there. "Lisa, tell him to go away. We are busy."

"You leave him alone, Oliver."

"I can't concentrate with him here. Make him leave."

My instructions gave her the confidence she needed, "Ok, Lisa, he's all yours. Time to go to work, then he'll shut up. Ride on that big pole."

Before he could mention my name again, she got his gigantic peter stuck in that slimy hole of hers, which caused him to collapse his head between the pillows. I figured he wasn't going anywhere or planning to say much for awhile, so I started taking off my clothes, which nobody seemed to notice. By the time I was ready to join in, Lisa was gliding up and down on that endless chunk of meat, while the owner just laid there in a trance.

I climbed up to the right side of his chest and put my tongue on him. Making contact with his sternum, I tasted the manly sweetness of dried and still-moist sweat. Apparently it did not dawn on him that I was doing the licking, because he kept his eyes closed and a silly smile on his face, oblivious to everything except what his cock was feeling. So, I began to work my magic, until my tongue and lips made contact with his ever-shrinking left nipple. He flinched a bit and kinda flexed his chest, but didn't look to see what was going on, which prompted me to get my hands into the action.

With my lips now encircling his nipple and the tongue working on its tip, I took the left hand in the direction of his other pectoral and started a deep muscle rub. Meanwhile, my right hand made its way to the sloping-downward stomach and then flattened belly, where I massaged and felt the strong muscle just under his skin. This combination got his attention and he looked up.

"What the hell's going on? Lisa, get your god damned uncle out of here."

I let go his nipples and told her what to do. "Tell him to be quiet. He is here to perform for us and there is nothing he can do about it."

My niece was doing a frenetic number on that big unit and she let him know who was in control, "Shut up and be a man. We can be naughty or nice, depending on what you want us to do."

I could see her squeezing the hell out of that impaling spear, as she flexed her inner thighs and continued ramming the tool deep inside her. Realizing he had little choice, he made the wise decision and lowered his head, fully succumbing to the amazing heights of masculinity to which we were taking him. As I resumed my nipple punishment and body massage, Oliver Wendell Douglas began to perform like the man we knew he was.

He strained against his bindings to arch the back and flex his powerful body. The mighty chest rose high into the air, as he invited the slavish worship and torment we were inflicting upon him. The pace of stroking on his penis increased, while my hand rubs and nipple assault pressed deeper and deeper into the now sweat-drenched and sensitive skin. Writhing like an electrified eel, this amazing man was brought to orgasmic heaven, as he fired a big volume of semen into the warm and juicy receptacle. An ecstatic grin enveloped his face. Masculine groans of pleasure echoed against the tired walls, while shrieks of delight coincided with another orgasm - that of the female.

So began our long, long day. We kept this man tied up for what seemed forever, while taking turns to milk his incredible phallus. My participation was relentless, as I orally serviced him, then took that ungodly tool to the depths of my abdomen. Yes, I impaled myself with this impressive organ, sitting on it, then riding up and down to crush the life out of it. On occasion, I would simply lower myself to leave that cock buried deep, while I flexed my innards and reduced its diameter to nothingness. The other one would be kissing him all over, but he'd wake up and whimper a bit when he felt my strong muscles assaulting him. Then, I'd let his balloon fill up again before continuing the bouncing up and down. My attack got him to fire another round and from the sounds of it, I'd have to say he enjoyed me as much as he did his wife.

Then it was again Lisa's turn, while I worked my lips and tongue onto the lower extremities. I saturated his muscular thighs, calves and manly feet with my warm, stimulating spit until the loving confines of the female brought another round of cum.

He tasted good under my tongue. He overwhelmed me with his masculine strength and when that powerful rod was buried into my bowels, I thought perhaps some manly god had chosen me for breeding.

We tortured the man for hours - in a good way - and he relished it. We lost count of how many times he got off, but after awhile it didn't really matter. After all, every episode of the show featured the poor guy being tormented in one way or another. Surrounded by crazy people, he tried each week to maintain his sanity. He was the only real man in Hooterville and he proved it to me time and again.

Just as handsome in his business suit as he was in pajama bottoms or in the outdoor shower, Oliver Wendell Douglas was hell on wheels in the bedroom. I've dreamed it, so I know it's true.

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CASABLANCA (1942)

I know I am not alone in thinking that this movie ended too soon. After all, the American character Rick Blaine, played by Humphrey Bogart (born Humphrey DeForest Bogart) ends the film with this very famous line, "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," as he and Capitaine Louis Renault (Claude Rains) walk across the wet runway and into the night mist.

They both have proven that they are committed to the Free French of Charles DeGaulle - not necessarily by choice - but since this is now the case and Capt. Renault is still in charge of the local police force, what is to stop them from returning to Rick's Café Americain and further strengthening this friendship? Nothing, says Jardonn, who has suddenly become Capitaine Louis Renault.

Our stroll takes us back to Rick's Café, where his apartment is situated above the casino. 

Rick lights a cigarette with his usual, masculine flair and offers me a drink, which I accept.

"Make yourself comfortable, Louis."

"Thank you, I will."

As I proceed to undress, Rick peeks over his shoulder from the bar, then turns to stare at me with his typically stoic expression. "Louis, I like your way of thinking."

Of course he does. The poor man just watched the love of his life fly overhead on a Lisbon-bound airplane, perhaps never to be seen by him again. Adding to this heartache, she left with her husband, thanks to Rick himself. Such a sacrifice had to be rewarded somehow and I was eager to relieve him of this pain.

By the time Rick filled two tumblers with alcohol, I had stripped naked and sprawled across his bed. He handed me one glass, clanked his against mine and we both took a sip. I rested on one elbow and watched as he peeled each article of clothing, carefully hanging his raincoat and suit jacket in the closet, then draping his shirt and trousers over a chair back.

A ceiling fan slowly circled above, uselessly stirring heavy and warm air from one part of the room to another. As Rick stood beside the bed, puffing the cigarette, tasting his liquor and lustfully gazing down at me, he was still clad in boxer shorts and black socks. Wiry is the best way to sum him up. Lanky and chiseled with black chest hair forming a line down his stomach and spreading around the navel. I liked it.

He extinguished his smoke and set the drink on the bed side table, "Roll over."

I laid on my belly and folded the wrists under my chin, as I heard the shorts slide down his moistened legs and hit the floor. Then, I heard a drawer open, followed by a squirting sound. His weight lowered the mattress between my legs and I felt a cool substance between my butt cheeks, as Rick's fingers first rimmed, then invaded the asshole.

His touch left me and I could hear the sound of him stroking his penis. Once he had it fully engorged, I felt the bulbous head pressing against me.

All muscles relaxed, as I invited him inside. The mushroom slid past my anal portal with ease and he slowly brought himself forward, slowly driving the entire length of his cock to the deep part of my rectum. Then, I took over. I squeezed with all my might and crushed this impressive tool in my grip, causing him to lower the entire weight of his body onto mine.

This man's man, the care-free, whiskey-drinking, cigarette-smoking, 100 percent purely male animal belonged to me. The amazing length of his organ filled my every desire, as his sweat-moistened, fur-covered chest pressed against my equally moistened back. His breath was hot and scented with manly flavors, while the impaling rod was rammed into the deepest part of me, laying in wait and gaining strength.

He lifted the pelvis a few inches and retracted, then drove his cock in with full force, repeating the procedure in an even and steady pattern. Using his arms and legs for support, he raised himself and twisted slightly, before returning to impale my rectum from a new approach. Each time his penis reached its deepest penetration, my muscular innards would clamp the tool in their warm and wet grip, daring him to withdraw. I followed his pacing to greet and meet the magnificent organ, further stimulating and energizing him to perform.

As his breathing became heavier, so did the pace of his thrusts. He raised his torso up by resting on the elbows and came at me from every direction, left, right, above and below. His intercourse was a masterpiece of power and grace, while my talented flexing and crushing further heightened his feverish, rhythmic fury.

Then, a grunt... then another. This impressive man drove the spear home and flooded my insides. Beads of sweat dropped from his forehead to my back, as he continued to ram rod his cock to the depths, then retract a few inches to return for more deep penetration. I relaxed my body and absorbed the power of this animal atop me, relishing the sweat squishing between our skin, the matted belly hairs gliding along my lower back and the ungodly tool piercing my thoroughly stimulated anus. I took his pain and ingested it, perhaps allowing him a temporary relief from his sorrows. Having drained him, perhaps he would not think of loves lost, opportunities sacrificed - at least for a few hours. This was my wish and nothing more, but my perception of Rick Blaine was a bit misguided.

It seems that his disappointment over the loss of Ilsa was not nearly so deeply ingrained as I had thought, because no sooner had he slipped his fading cock out of my ass did he quickly roll me over and hook his elbows under my knees. Lifting up the legs, he draped my knees over his shoulders and began to re-energize that magnificent pole with manual strokes. As I smiled with the satisfaction of total submission, he masterfully re-inserted the throbbing organ into my battered rectum and proceeded to further tenderize me.

He lowered his torso and brought my knees with him, then planted a juicy kiss on my lips. As he rose a few inches and renewed those masculine thrusts, I realized that Rick was not some saddened lover, but a purely physical being. He wore his emotions not on the heartstrings, but in his penis - his unyieldingly powerful and dominating penis. Is there anything more satisfying in this world than to take a man such as this?

No longer stoic, a lustful smile gazed down to me, while spittle drooled from the cut on his lower lip. Rick had received this scar from a childhood accident and sloppy repair, which he had related in a story regarding the doctor involved, "instead of stitching it up, he screwed it up," and thus, the slight lisp he carried with him all of his life. This, for me, only added to his charm. I watched in awe as he masterfully stroked the peter for round two, shards of perspiration dripping from his ruggedly handsome face and onto my chest. I placed my hands onto his slick and sinewy forearms, racing up and down their furry surface and lightly squeezing the muscle.

He rose to a vertical knee stance, taking my legs and pelvis with him, then began to magically thrust his tool into me from an endless array of angles. Dipping his waist, he lifted up and drove the cock in deep, only to retract a few inches, shift to the right and come in for more. Like the face of a timepiece, this amazing lover stroked me from 12, 3, 6 and 9 o'clock.

Not only was he a stylized master in the art of intercourse, his facial expressions defied any hint of sadness. Rather, he was totally consumed and elated by his newfound friend and his friend's equally professional performance. My innards greeted him with a powerful and enveloping crush each time he came forward, as spit continued to dribble from his lower lip and drops of sweat flew in all directions from his face. One corner of his mouth was turned slightly upwards and he glared down at me, locking our eyes together in a mutual gaze of admiration and respect.

Rick Blaine's penis was happy. All the troubles in the world were no longer of concern to us - not the Nazis, not the Free French, nor the Vichy French nor anybody else. Rick and Louis had found each other with the beginning of a beautiful friendship, just as Rick had said. That part of the script can never be altered.

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BEN HUR (1926 and again in 1959)

It makes no matter which version we use or the actors involved. The scene of chained men in the belly of the galley ships would have to be an atmosphere of mind-boggling masculinity. Air filled with the stench of sweat and body funk, powerfully muscular men exerting unholy amounts of energy to perform their tasks, every one of them in chains, how could it not make your dick hard?

I should know. I live aboard one of those galley ships and my duties take place in the hold, where 200 some odd men are rotated in twelve hour shifts to row the oars. My taskmaster? That would be my faithful companion.

The name given to him is Phallus Gargantius - this done by the Emperor Tiberius when Phallus was a young man. He was the Emperor's favorite in the entourage of male attendants, because (as Tiberius himself had told him after having measured it) the youthful man's penis was the most glorious in all of Rome. That wart-faced old lecher claimed its width capable of dislocating jaw and rupturing rectum, while as for the length, well, it tends to dangle nearly to knee when NOT aroused.

Phallus came to me for protection the day Tiberius was poisoned by his nephew, who decided it was his turn to be Emperor. At the time, I was a member of the Praetorian Guard, but that was many years ago. Since then I have used our connection to my advantage. I am in charge of the galley slaves aboard this war ship - the men who with stroke after stroke after endlessly mundane and back-breaking stroke propel this vessel through the vast oceans. Our ship is the quickest of the fleet for one reason - my method of punishment for those slaves who either collapse from exhaustion or defeat of spirit; or refuse to row out of defiance.

Whereas all others in my position would have the failed man unchained and whipped before the eyes of his fellow slaves; or thrown overboard to his death; or one and then the other, my punishment is a bit more meaningful.

Near the aft of our ship are two round and wooden support columns spaced four feet apart. I have had two holes bored through each - one above, one below and threaded through each hole are ropes. One end of each rope is knotted twice the size of the holes, so the rope cannot be pulled through from the opposite direction. This knotted side faces the outside of the beams, while on the inside these ropes dangle free - waiting for the next victim.

When we have just cause and sometimes when we don't, Phallus and I will have one of the slaves tied by ankles and wrists to the free sides of these four ropes. Unless the man is extremely tall, his binding will leave him suspended vertically and spread eagled between the beams, with toes (or fingers) inches from the floor.

Our victims are categorized into three forms of guilt and suffer three forms of punishment, or to be more specific, three positions for the same punishment. From the front, I attack their helplessly dangling genitalia with mouth and tongue, while from behind, Phallus ruptures their innards with his super-sized fuck tool.

We might alternate between him fucking as I watch or me sucking while he watches, or even a simultaneous assault from rear and front, but the end result is the same - our disobedient slave will be made a spectacle before the others, as they continue their drone-like and rhythmic rowing of the oars.

Our least favorite victims are those who collapse from exhaustion, because these are the ones that come closest to stirring pity in my heart. A man in the galley is good for about four years, so even though the body becomes weak and loses its resilience, the man himself may indeed be young in years. To make matters worse for me, I remember when such a man was first brought to the hold. Only the strongest captives are put into the galley service and believe me, after 3 weeks of rowing a man becomes powerfully muscular and handsomely designed. Combine this with the constantly unbearable heat and poorly ventilated air of his work area, this man is forever drenched in sweat, while his chest and back are bulked to the maximum in order to intake sufficient oxygen to perform the task.

But now, his body has been worn to uselessness and my only recourse is to punish him in the least shameful manner. He will be suspended upside down, with his buttocks facing his former companions. Phallus will scrape with his hand a thick layer of sweat from the man's back, use it to lubricate his impaling tool and insert the weapon into our slave's anus. Usually with such a man, I merely watch rather than participate and Phallus makes quick work of him. With little or no resistance, the devastating organ is allowed to penetrate and puncture the rectal wall, then invade the intestines, thus bringing the man's demise from internal bleeding. The purpose is served, as the rowing men are witness to the crimson gushing from the man's rectum, signaling his end as though a whale spewing its last exhale of bloody air. It is with the whales and fishes that he now will reside.

Now, a man who refuses to row from loss of spirit is a different matter, because Phallus and I will like to restore his spirit. He also will be suspended in inversion, but facing the men at the oars. To this man, Phallus and I will rekindle the joys of life and I am always first to begin. Keeping my legs spread wide in order to reveal the man's face between them, I lay my tongue onto his magnificently dangling testicles. Coated with untold layers of manly sweat, the stench and taste of brine burns my nostrils, until I have sufficiently saturated the jewels with my own spit, thus replacing his smell with mine. Most men will resist my furious, yet loving assault upon the vulnerable nuts, but despite commendable efforts, I will arouse his penis whether he agrees or not. Once this is accomplished, I allow Phallus to join in.

I step back to look into my victim's eyes and note that already his lost daze of hopelessness has begun to fade. Once he feels the heavenly penetration of the mighty Phallus, it is eradicated forever. Just as efficiently as he used it for a weapon of death, my hero also can use his glorious cock as a portal to heaven. Thrusting the tool a mere one-fourth of its length, the hugely satisfying width immediately brings our subject to full erection, which is when I resume my duties. Lifting the upended tool upwards to horizontal with my hand, I insert his engorged unit into my mouth and lovingly crush it between tongue and roof of mouth. As I slowly bring my lips towards the pelvis, Phallus thoughtfully stirs the inside of the man's rectum to complete the two-pronged assault.

Increasing the pace of my oral strokes, I quickly bring our formerly depressed prisoner to a newfound, ecstatic joy. This is the time when we usually begin to hear deep-throated and masculine groans coming from our slave and, upon hearing such expressions, it is the time when Phallus performs a feat that defies all known laws of physics. Withdrawing his cock until the head of the unit touches the inner rim of the ass hole, he folds the tool and doubles its width, then thrusts the entire mass of meat into the ecstatically charged victim.

Howls of crazed lust reverberate throughout the hold of our ship, as our prisoner is transformed from a defeated man into a babbling lunatic. Immediate salvos of his seed jettison into my worshiping mouth, while orgasmic and insanely ecstatic expressions consume his face and exit his lungs. This is what the other men hear. This is what they see, as Phallus and I suddenly become this man's lord and master - forever. No longer will he refuse to do anything we ask of him, because the promise of our divine touch will drive him to obey. A false promise it is, but of course only Phallus and I know the truth and it is to our advantage that he believe this until his body is no longer of any use to us at the oars.

The defiant ones - they provide our most cherished moments. Made to suffer for endless minutes, a defiant man is suspended upright and facing his peers. Stage one involves only me and it will be a desecration of his body with tongue, lips, hands and fingers. As he struggles against the bindings, I attack his powerful and flexing muscles, licking, kissing and inhaling the manly sweat and ungodly, yet mesmerizingly manly odors. My preference is to start at the floor, where I saturate his feet and toes with spit. No inch of skin is spared, as I delve in between the toes and slowly work my way up each ankle, shin and calf - first one leg, then the other. After licking dry the bulging thighs, I bypass the genitals and sink my face into his tensed and flattened belly. He recoils from the touch of my tongue into his navel, sucking in the belly as a useless defense, then feels me working my way onto the hardened muscle of the stomach. Finally, I reach his massive chest, helplessly stretched and fully expanded. I transfer his sweat onto my tongue, taking it from the sternum and in between every well-defined rib. Before reaching my ultimate goal, I bury my face into the funk of his drenched arm pits, while Phallus secures his head from behind. No doubt the man would attack me with his teeth if he had the chance, but he will not. He may spit on me, but who gives a damn?

It is time for his degradation and discipline to begin. I now turn my attention to the prisoner's defenseless nipples. One is licked and kissed, while the other is pinched and twisted between my finger and thumb. His useless struggles only further motivate me to savagely attack him here, because I know that in time the desired effect will overtake his anger. He begins to feel like a man. He begins to feel as though he were the strongest, most invincible, most virile man on the face of the earth and that is exactly where we want him to be, because now we can take his manhood from him.

With no warning, Phallus inserts. I stand aside, so the chained men of the galley can see our prisoner in all his naked, suspended and stretched glory. Instantly, his fevered masculinity is replaced by an unknown femininity, as the mighty cock hovers just inside the rim of his ass hole. Fully swollen and spreading the man wide open, the invader forces our victim's ass muscles to endure this penetration, until they relax and begin to accept it. Feeling the pressure on his penis subside, Phallus inches forward, taking as much space as the still-rejecting rectum will allow.

As for the prisoner's cock, it has been taken up and down the hill - up from my ruthless nipple stimulation, down from the invasion of the amazing Phallus, but now our victim's penis once more climbs the hill. That magical little gland known as the prostate cannot be denied and the massive meat slowly increases the stimulation of this orb. Phallus is an expert in the art of the fuck. He knows just how much to take and when to take it. I watch, along with the men at their oars, as our once savage and defiantly masculine prisoner is slowly transformed into a groveling bitch. His penis surges to full strength and points directly towards his peers. His manly screams of anger and flexing muscles of resistance soon become pitiful moans of longing and yearning undulations of desire.

Another inch is thrust into him and his face is consumed with lust. The cock piercing the air contracts with each heartbeat, lifting itself up towards the belly, then returning to point horizontally forward. He looks to me with eyes glazed, begging for the same touch he rejected only minutes before, but I have lost interest. His desires will go unfulfilled, until I am satisfied he belongs to us.

As I pace the aisle between the chained galley slaves, their eyes focus on the helplessly bound and impaled man before them. Phallus masterfully fills the prisoners rectum with his heavenly girth, then slowly begins to fuck like an animal. He undulates by bending his knees and twisting the hips, attacking the suspended ass from every possible angle. No matter how many times I watch my companion perform this feat, his artful skills impress me more and more every time. It seems he never loses his magic and I am torn between watching him execute and witnessing the ever-changing expressions of the recipient of this precious gift.

By the time I am ready to drain our prisoner's begging cock, he is a subservient and mumbling idiot. Sometimes I allow Phallus to finish firing his seed into the broken man before taking the neglected penis into my mouth. Other times I wait until he has removed the massive tool and if our victim has been extremely troublesome, I will punish him further by leaving his cock unattended. After it has returned to a dormant state, then I will take it into my mouth and rekindle the flame. Thus, the ultimate humiliation, as he is forced to orgasm with no stimulation other than my magic touch. He no longer cares. His mind as well as his body has surrendered and no longer will he be an annoyance to us.

So, now you see why our ship is the quickest of all Roman galley ships. These men perform for us in hopes that some day we will again perform for them. That day will only come as their final farewell, when their bodies are of no use to us, but they can always dream.

Tomorrow we arrive to port where new slaves will be brought to us. Knowing this, Phallus and I have been carrying erections nearly every minute of the day, but we will gladly wait until our fresh meat comes aboard.

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