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They are intended for submissive men and slaves who are lovers of BDSM practices. Each participant lives out their favourite practices, performed by experienced Masters. The main conditions are that the participant must be of legal age and in good health — appropriate for such an adventure event. There is also a Slave Tournament to challenge their skills.

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A length of rope was wound around his ankles, securing them to the bottom of the post. This next torture was going to be a supreme test of his will power. Then the slave screams from the explosion of pain in his gut. All he had to do was to keep moving, despite the anticipated shredding of his back and ass by the barbed wire.

Camp Alpha Male was like graduate work to that!

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Only difference was that his name was slave They marked his chest and back with thejust like They did to the other two slaves. I was amazed that had the presence of mind to thank the Trainer. The Trainers forced to his hands and knees at the opening to the wire tunnel. Gut punching is totally bloodless, of course, but the red splotches speak to the torment.

I followed the two of Them as they held up, almost dragging him across the dirt.

He immediately yelled as a section of barbed wire slid over his shoulders. The slave screams again in torment. Seeing just how much pain the stud could take. The peaks of pain are almost unbearable. The slave is screaming non-stop by now, immersed in a private ocean of pain. His hands were retied behind the post. This Guy was good. Plus, he paid extra for that particular scene.

This is the moment all Alpha Males crave: the total blood-lust to hurt the stud helpless in front of Him. He gets a hardon, bulging out the camo pants crotch.

His initial fear of the pain is vindicated as the residual ache builds up in his gut. When we sat down in the alcove, Mr. They checked his contract sheet and he had indicated he wanted a POW interrogation scene. Then again, there was the cattle prod!

The worst punch was a direct upper-cut aimed just below the rib cage. I saw a long, low net of barbed wire close to the ground, a very small bamboo cage, a whipping post, and a small thatched hut. Another pattern of jabs, this set lower on the abs. Bend him over, Scott!

Then They tied his hands behind his back and put a black sack over his head.

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The whole thing was like a cage from hell. I was also astonished at how much pain had taken so far. Prepping the POW for the nightmares to come. The Trainer is an expert boxer and knows how to inflict maximum pain on the vic.

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He stepped back to admire his handiwork. It took a combination of total will power and desperation for intense pain to be able to endure torture. This is the moment all slaves covet: the mix of intense fear for the awful pain about to start and the lust in the blood for that same pain.

The leather was thick and the collar was quite tall. All his big muscle groups go tense.

The dirt ground inside the cage had hills and bumps in it, guaranteeing the vic would rub against the barbed wire. Trainer Scott explained the setup to All you have to do is crawl on your belly to the other end. It was maybe thirty or forty feet long, five or six feet wide, about sixteen inches off the ground. The sides were actually razor wire to prevent escape. Still, he wretched and wretched until he hit the dry heaves. His dog tags hung down from his neck which was now encased in a very uncomfortable collar and his ab muscles probably screamed from pain after their recent punishment.

At each step you will get another. Sweat broke out all over his body; I could feel his skin getting slippery as I clutched his thick bicep. He gestured for me and the third observer to go to one of the corners of the room where there was a small alcove.

The barbs left thin, red traces on his skin. All his ab hair is matted down to the skin. Hell, you pay a few hundred bucks for a fantasy week, that sort of commits you. The Trainers directed to the whipping post. The Trainer s the torture. The Trainer who had punched him reached into a back pocket of his camo pants and withdrew a small cloth and a bottle of water.

How long, indeed, would he last? Notice the sides are covered in razor wire. Before the slave can yell his pain, He hits him again, another round house, this one with his left hand.

Sharing the hero-in-distress fantasy

Do you have the cattle prod? I can feel his upper arm muscles swell; I hold him tighter. The ab muscles still quivered from the abuse they had been visited. As I recalled, his background was just suck and fuck in the showers as part of submission wrestling. Once a vic entered, the only way out was to crawl to the opening at the other end. The first thing They did was to put a set of dog tags around his neck. They said this guy was easy; he checked off all available tortures, so They had free reign with him.

His big chest rises and falls. It brutalized his diaphragm.

“slave training at camp alpha male” – by steve mchalperin – part 1, chapters 1–9

Perhaps we would have a touch of peace there so we could talk without shouting. We have this here cattle prod to make sure you keep moving. That squared jaw, big chest, and strong abs fit the image. He was quite a sight on the ground like a true slave. He certainly fit the part. The four of us then went over to a corner of the camp devoted to the POW scene.

So this is how a real pain pig behaves! The slave immediately realized what was going to happen: gut punching.

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Another perfect union: a submissive craving abuse and pain and a Top craving to hurt another man, hurt him bad. He unhitched a foot-long black rod from his belt. We laugh at the joke, further humiliating The slave is breathing hard by now, gasping for air. I want to work over those lower abs.

Softening up. The pain, the screaming, the anguish are just ready to start. Then He hits him hard in the stomach with a round house punch with his right hand.

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He looked phenomenal, all naked and bound up like a real POW. The two Trainers, by the way, were wearing tight camo pants with black boots. Since he had nothing solid to eat for the whole day before starting his week at Camp Alpha, there was nothing but stomach juices to come up. The tags were pretty authentic: name, rank, serialall that. He knew a dozen different punch combinations and kept changing the pace to keep off balance.

Each blow generates its own patch of red pain. I released my hold and stood back out of the way. Their destination was the low barbed wire net I had seen upon our arrival at the POW area. It was a leather slave collar.

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Although trapped in the wire cage, he would not be bound. They were both bare-chested and really looked the part! The other Trainer pulled a long leather piece from a back pocket in his camo pants.

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