Fleshburn!: A Brawny Daddy’s Harrowing Plight In Bondage

Look at this poor, poor sexy bastard. He’s clearly in a very, very bad way.

Whatever are we to infer about him based on this troubling image? What dire misfortune has befallen such a brawny muscle bear who clearly fights on the side of Life, Liberty, and Justice? You just know his hands are bound behind his back in this photo — clenching, crimson, chapped with impunity toward his ignoble plight.

Is he a fire chief fallen into the hands of the Anarchist Black Cross Federation, their ranks bent on using his knowledge in arson to light up Park Avenue in a show of anti-poverty direct action? Perhaps he’s a cabby working the graveyard shift to put his daughter through college — kidnapped by human traffickers posing as Hungarian tourists and bound for high-end sex work in a Tangierian brothel that caters to far-flung “exotic” tastes? Could he be the hottest pizzeria owner ever, held hostage by local hoodlums in a robbery gone awry — his marmoreal torso (built-up by years in the military and in his off-time as a backyard wrestler named Sledge Hammer) exposed through a torn and well-worn Hanes cotton tagless T- as he struggles in vain against his captors during a nail-bitingly drawn-out hostage negotiation?

Dear God! What if he’s a Brigadier General who’s been seized in a daring raid by Middle Eastern dissidents opposing a mad tyrant in one of our secret shadow wars — young, sexually-frustrated men who’ve hardly ever even seen a woman, much more an incredible pair of man-nips? Will these young bulls free from the pen fall upon their knees for him, eyes wild with lust as they service those headlights — suckling first one at a time, then two at a time — in a collective fit of displaced mother fixation meets homoerotic mini-mass hysteria?

I can’t go on. It’s too horrible…