Page 11
"Now I suggest that you go off and get to know each other really well. Your lives could one day depend on it. There are, I understand. several reputable taverns in the town. Are there any questions?"
"No sir," both men replied.
"Very well, that will be all."
Safely, well away from the De Wet headquarters, Reitz threw a beefy arm around Piet's bull neck and gave a loud guffaw. "My God, I thought we were really for it," Piet said, before he too roared with laughter. When their merriment subsided, both men were acutely aware that their faces were only inches apart and their hard muscular bodies tantalisingly close. Piet whispered, I've been beaten, fucked and tortured in the last couple of days. It tought me a lot."
"Taught you what, for example?"
"That I enjoyed it all, especially getting fucked rough and hard." Reitz made no reply but his dark eyes glittered with excitement and Piet added,
"I've got plenty to show you."
"Come on then let's find that beer," Reitz said, his voice low and husky.
"No," Piet said, "Let's find a bed."
The End
Wednesday, 18 December 2013
The Scout Page 10
Page 10
Chapter 12
As he approached the Boer stronghold, Piet pieced together the story he would tell. The truth, but not the whole truth would be best, he thought as he strode towards the two husky young guards. One of them recognised him and a broad grin split his young bearded face as he shouted, "Van Rieneeck, where the fuck have you been.? The old man's been waiting for you. Go on through, Otto will take you to him."
He followed Otto, the clump of their boots sounding very loud on the bare wooden floorboards, and halted before the closed door. Otto rapped smartly and a moment later Piet heard the familiar voice shout, "Come." Otto threw open the door and said,
"Van Riebeeck has arrived sir."
"Has he indeed, show him in then Prinsloo." Otto stepped briskly aside and Piet saw De Wet sitting at a desk. Feat gripped him and his legs seemed to turn to water. "Don't stand there like an idiot, come here, you've a lot of explaining to do." Piet shuffled forward and stood before the desk. "You were expected two days ago, where the hell have you been.?"
"I...." Piet began and dried up. The old man's fits of temper were legendary and when crossed he was known to make liberal use of his sjambok. Indeed the heavy rhino whip lay there now, curled on the desk beside the general. Piet began again, haltingly, but gained confidence as he got into his stride. De Wet did not interrupt but sat calmly listening. When he had finished, there was a long silence and Piet began to sweat. De Wet suddenly snapped, "Why didn't the farmers kill you right away?" Piet's heart sank, this was the question he was dreading.
"They said that they were going to amuse themselves before they slit my throat."
"Why would two run-away farmers want to torture another Boer? You are not telling me the truth, are you, Van Riebeeck?"
"Yes sir, I mean, I don't know sir."
"They had no intention of tortuing you, did they, so what did they mean by 'amuse themselves' eh Man?" Unable to reply, Piet could only shake his head.
"They intended to commit an unnatural act with you, didn't they? Piet felt himself trembling and he could only shake his head again.
"Don't lie to me Van Riebeeck, they were going to abuse you, weren't they? De Wet shouted.
Piet managed a nod and De Wet said, more calmly,
"Ah, so that was it, the filthy scum. And did they?" Piet was now visibly shaking and tears pricked his eyes as he stared at a point above De Wet's head.
"Answer me, Man, did they?" De Wet roared
"Y..Yes," Piet managed to whisper faintly. De Wet rose to his feet and yelled,
"What? Speak up, Did they? Piet took a steadying breath,
"Yes Sir" and lowered his head.
"Filthy abominations, you killed one and you say the leopard took the other?"
"Yes Sir." Not daring to look up, Piet heard the general give a deep sigh.
"Considering how unlucky, or shall we say careless, you'd been on this mission, that was a stroke of luck."
"Yes Sir."
"It was also fortunate, that you were able to free yourself afterwards. Though its not surprising really. Most farmers can't manage anything more advanced than a granny knot." Piet raised his head and the general said,
"This whole matter is most unsatisfactory and we'll deal with it later. Can you swear that you were not compromised by the Khakis?"
"Yes sir."
"Very well. Be so kind as to bring in my aide from the outer office." Piet opened the door and the young aide came bustling in, notebook and pencil in hand. He sat in the chair beside the desk and the general looked at Piet.
"Well have your report now, Mr Van Riebeeck."
De Wet listened intently and when Piet had finished, asked some very shrewd questions, which he answered, with growing confidence. But when the general finally sat back and stared balefully at him, he felt a stab of unease. "Thank you, that was excellent. Now we must deal with the matter of your capture and the consequences." Piet began to sweat again,when the general turned to his aide
"That will be all. See if you can find Reitz and have him come here immediately." The young man left and De Wet said,
"We will say no more about your treatment at the hands of the farmers but we cannot ignore the matter of your seizure and interrogation by the British. Piet was now really frightened. His eyes strayed to the sjambok and he guessed that Reitz must be some big thug who was going to string him up and flog him. De Wet reached into a drawer, drew out a document, and began to read, ignoring the big bearded man standing before him. The minutes ticked by inexoraby until at last there was a loud knock on the door. Piet started violently, then gaped in amazement as the door opened to reveal Reitz.
The big, broad-shouldered, bearded figure standing in the doorway, eyeing him warily, was the man he'd fucked back in the summer.
"Ah, come in Reitz and close the door," the general said. As the man complied and strode over to stand beside him, Piet ran his eyes over the muscular body, which he remembered so well. He was also pleased to see that, like himself, he wore no underdrawers. He got a fleeting glimpse of the clearly discernable half-hard cock in the tight trousers before he lifted his eyes to meet Reitz's gaze.
He opened his mouth to speak but something in the man's dark blue eyes warned him to silence.
De Wet looked at the two husky men standing before him with their arms behind their backs and their legs apart. Both the same height, dark, bearded and virile, they could have been brothers, he thought as he addressed Reitz,
"Van Reibeeck here fell into the hands of the enemy on his last mission but luckily, for all concerned, he was able to escape before he was made to divulge any information." De Wet paused, and looked each man squarely in the eye, before continuing,
"Although the bravery and loyalty of both of you were never in doubt, your behaviour has, for some time, given me grave misgivings." The scouts exchanged nervous glances and the general went on,
"Your devil-may-care attitude and insistence on riding alone on missions will no longer be tolerated. Is that understood?" Both men nodded.
"In future you will ride together. With your combined skills, you should hopefully, be able to keep each other out of trouble. Piet felt an enormous surge of relief and turned to look at Reitz. His eyes regarded the general gravely but from the way they puckered at the corners, Piet guessed that the neatly trimmed beard hid a small smile.
Chapter 12
As he approached the Boer stronghold, Piet pieced together the story he would tell. The truth, but not the whole truth would be best, he thought as he strode towards the two husky young guards. One of them recognised him and a broad grin split his young bearded face as he shouted, "Van Rieneeck, where the fuck have you been.? The old man's been waiting for you. Go on through, Otto will take you to him."
He followed Otto, the clump of their boots sounding very loud on the bare wooden floorboards, and halted before the closed door. Otto rapped smartly and a moment later Piet heard the familiar voice shout, "Come." Otto threw open the door and said,
"Van Riebeeck has arrived sir."
"Has he indeed, show him in then Prinsloo." Otto stepped briskly aside and Piet saw De Wet sitting at a desk. Feat gripped him and his legs seemed to turn to water. "Don't stand there like an idiot, come here, you've a lot of explaining to do." Piet shuffled forward and stood before the desk. "You were expected two days ago, where the hell have you been.?"
"I...." Piet began and dried up. The old man's fits of temper were legendary and when crossed he was known to make liberal use of his sjambok. Indeed the heavy rhino whip lay there now, curled on the desk beside the general. Piet began again, haltingly, but gained confidence as he got into his stride. De Wet did not interrupt but sat calmly listening. When he had finished, there was a long silence and Piet began to sweat. De Wet suddenly snapped, "Why didn't the farmers kill you right away?" Piet's heart sank, this was the question he was dreading.
"They said that they were going to amuse themselves before they slit my throat."
"Why would two run-away farmers want to torture another Boer? You are not telling me the truth, are you, Van Riebeeck?"
"Yes sir, I mean, I don't know sir."
"They had no intention of tortuing you, did they, so what did they mean by 'amuse themselves' eh Man?" Unable to reply, Piet could only shake his head.
"They intended to commit an unnatural act with you, didn't they? Piet felt himself trembling and he could only shake his head again.
"Don't lie to me Van Riebeeck, they were going to abuse you, weren't they? De Wet shouted.
Piet managed a nod and De Wet said, more calmly,
"Ah, so that was it, the filthy scum. And did they?" Piet was now visibly shaking and tears pricked his eyes as he stared at a point above De Wet's head.
"Answer me, Man, did they?" De Wet roared
"Y..Yes," Piet managed to whisper faintly. De Wet rose to his feet and yelled,
"What? Speak up, Did they? Piet took a steadying breath,
"Yes Sir" and lowered his head.
"Filthy abominations, you killed one and you say the leopard took the other?"
"Yes Sir." Not daring to look up, Piet heard the general give a deep sigh.
"Considering how unlucky, or shall we say careless, you'd been on this mission, that was a stroke of luck."
"Yes Sir."
"It was also fortunate, that you were able to free yourself afterwards. Though its not surprising really. Most farmers can't manage anything more advanced than a granny knot." Piet raised his head and the general said,
"This whole matter is most unsatisfactory and we'll deal with it later. Can you swear that you were not compromised by the Khakis?"
"Yes sir."
"Very well. Be so kind as to bring in my aide from the outer office." Piet opened the door and the young aide came bustling in, notebook and pencil in hand. He sat in the chair beside the desk and the general looked at Piet.
"Well have your report now, Mr Van Riebeeck."
De Wet listened intently and when Piet had finished, asked some very shrewd questions, which he answered, with growing confidence. But when the general finally sat back and stared balefully at him, he felt a stab of unease. "Thank you, that was excellent. Now we must deal with the matter of your capture and the consequences." Piet began to sweat again,when the general turned to his aide
"That will be all. See if you can find Reitz and have him come here immediately." The young man left and De Wet said,
"We will say no more about your treatment at the hands of the farmers but we cannot ignore the matter of your seizure and interrogation by the British. Piet was now really frightened. His eyes strayed to the sjambok and he guessed that Reitz must be some big thug who was going to string him up and flog him. De Wet reached into a drawer, drew out a document, and began to read, ignoring the big bearded man standing before him. The minutes ticked by inexoraby until at last there was a loud knock on the door. Piet started violently, then gaped in amazement as the door opened to reveal Reitz.
The big, broad-shouldered, bearded figure standing in the doorway, eyeing him warily, was the man he'd fucked back in the summer.
"Ah, come in Reitz and close the door," the general said. As the man complied and strode over to stand beside him, Piet ran his eyes over the muscular body, which he remembered so well. He was also pleased to see that, like himself, he wore no underdrawers. He got a fleeting glimpse of the clearly discernable half-hard cock in the tight trousers before he lifted his eyes to meet Reitz's gaze.
He opened his mouth to speak but something in the man's dark blue eyes warned him to silence.
De Wet looked at the two husky men standing before him with their arms behind their backs and their legs apart. Both the same height, dark, bearded and virile, they could have been brothers, he thought as he addressed Reitz,
"Van Reibeeck here fell into the hands of the enemy on his last mission but luckily, for all concerned, he was able to escape before he was made to divulge any information." De Wet paused, and looked each man squarely in the eye, before continuing,
"Although the bravery and loyalty of both of you were never in doubt, your behaviour has, for some time, given me grave misgivings." The scouts exchanged nervous glances and the general went on,
"Your devil-may-care attitude and insistence on riding alone on missions will no longer be tolerated. Is that understood?" Both men nodded.
"In future you will ride together. With your combined skills, you should hopefully, be able to keep each other out of trouble. Piet felt an enormous surge of relief and turned to look at Reitz. His eyes regarded the general gravely but from the way they puckered at the corners, Piet guessed that the neatly trimmed beard hid a small smile.
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
The Scout page 9
page 9
thrust heralded his climax and he held his cock fully buried in Gray's throat as he exploded. The soldier shoved up the convulsing thighs enough for the thick spunk to spew into his mouth, rather than down his throat and, although he swallowed fast, some of the viscous, salty fluid dribbled down his chin. Then Piet was pumping more slowly, discharging the last of his formidable pent-up load and groaning with pleasure.
When the eruption had finally ebbed away, Gray felt Piet's body go limp though it still quivered from the shock of his orgasm. He licked the last of the spunk from the softening cock and, as he swallowed it, Piet pushed away and said breathlessly, "Shit that we wonderful." Then looking at Gray's straining cock, he added, "But you look harder than ever. Do you want me to take care of it, er like that? I haven't done it since I was a youngster."
"No, I've something better in mind," Gray paused, then added, his bruised throat making his voice hoarse, "Ever had it up that beautiful arse of yours Dutchman?" Piet sat up, his face flushed with excitement and looked at Gray's huge drooling cock. He licked his lips then said with a grin, "Last night and I think I'm about to again."
"My Christ, you bet you are. Over on your belly," Gray said, his voice suddenly sounding aggressive. Piet complied and felt his buttocks roughly pulled apart, and to his surprise, a moment later, Gray's tongue in his crack. This new sensation was exquisite and he was soon moaning, squirming and, spreading his thighs as his small puckerhole was sucked and probed by the soldier's tongue. Gray sat back and pushed a finger into the tight moist sphincter. Piet winced but Gray felt the muscle relaxing and slid in a second finger. He gently worked the hole open and suddenly Piet shouted, "Don't," and pulled away. "But if I don't open you up its going to hurt like hell."
"That's how I want it."
"Are you sure, Dutchman, I'm big, there's over ten inches there?"
"That's nothing special, I'm bigger than that. Let's get on with it, if you're man enough."
"Very well then, over on your back."
The aggressive tone was back in Gray's voice and as Piet rolled onto his back, he saw the anger in the soldier's eyes. As his ankles were grasped and lifted onto Gray's beefy shoulders, he hoped he'd riled the soldier enough to get what he wanted.
Piet felt the big glans pressing against him for a moment before Gray shoved forward hard. He gave a gasp of pain as his willing but very tight ring of muscle was forced open and the huge cock slid into him. Gray's was no idle boast and he groaned as the big thick shaft bored slowly, inch by inch up into his guts. As he looked up at the flushed face and luste glazed eyes, Gray bared his teeth and snarled, "That man enough for you Dutchman?"
Pete's rape had not prepared him for the tremendous excitement he felt at being impaled on the handsome virile man's huge ram and he was speechless. But he managed a passable sneer, and Gray hissed,
"All right the, let's see how you like this,"
and withdrew almost to the tip of his glans. Then he slammed his cock back in up to the hilt savagely and Piet gave an explosive before saying gruffly,
"Not bad, I suppose, but can you fuck you khaki bastard, or are you just a bag of wind?"
Although he knew he was being goaded, Piet's words fanned Gray's anger and he began to fuck
furiously
Piet moaned and rolled his head from side to side, as the big cock was driven piston-like into him and he felt the soldier's balls slapping rhythmically against his arse. The exquisite sensation caused by the battering of his prostate, the sharp stabs of pain and the soldier's masculine brutality overwhelmed him. His eyes rolled back and he grunted like an animal as he was pounded nearly senseless. He had no idea how long he had been savagely fucked, before he felt his orgasm boiling up from his balls. He tried desperetely to hold back the explosion but Gray, sensing it, fucked even harder. This triggered Piet's searing gut-wrenching eruption. He fired as he had never fired before, great gobs splattering his chest and face. Piet tasted for the first time his own salty spunk and heard the soldier yell as he exploded into his guts. With a loud grunt, Gray, yanked his cock out and shoving Piet's ankles off his shoulders, continued to fire his spunk over his chest and face. Then as the spasms slowed and the flow ebbed, Gray lowered himself onto Piet's spunk-splashed body. The huge cock pressed against Piet's belly and he could feel it still throbbing as it pumped out the last of Gray's semen. He wrapped his muscular arms around Gray's body and they lay still, naked and plastered together with spunk, as their racing hearts and breathing steadied.
Piet dozed for a few minutes and was woken as he felt Gray begin to stir. He unlocked his arms and the soldier, lifting himself gently off him, began wiping away the drying spunk with a strip of his khaki shirt. Raising himself onto his elbows, Piet studied the muscular naked body and particularly the big turgid cock. Gray saw the direction of his gaze and said, with a grin, Stop ogling me like a dirty old man and clean yourself up, you've spunk all over you." Piet sat up and Gray tossed him the last remaining scrap of his spare shirt. Piet wiped the viscid stuff from his face and beginning to clean his body said, "What happens now Khaki, I suppose I'm your prisoner.?"
"No I don't think so. The corporal said to go after you, not to capture you."
"The corporal, I thought he was dead."
"No, he's got a nasty chest would, but I think he'll live."
"Good I..er like the corporal," Piet stammered. Gray grinned and said, "Lusted after him, more likely."
Then seeing the colour flare in Piet's face, he added, "Dont worry I have too."
"Do you think he is..er would....?"
"Fuck another man?" Gray finished for him. "Yes I've heard rumours."
Piet remembered the big cock tenting the khaki breeches and heard again the deep voice say,
"Another place and time, eh lad." Feeling himself hardening again, Piet said,
"You could perhaps let your feelings show a little."
"Easier said than done, Gray said as he hauled himself to his feet and picked up his shirt.
The men dressed in silence and Piet checked his horse and saddle-bags His papers, of course, were gone but his rifle and the rest of his gear were there. He turned as Gray said, "Well I'd better get after
the corporal and that little arselicker Fowler. The wound should be slowing them down and I should be able to catch up with them easily."
"I'd better bo on my way to Middleburg. Thanks for saving my life back there...and"
"And what?"
"Thanks for giving me the best fuck of my life." Gray chuckled and said,
"I don't think you've had enough fucks yet to judge. I'd guess that, with that beautiful arse yours , you'll have plenty more just as memorable." Piet blushed again and Gray said,
"Come here Dutchman." They hugged each other fiercely and Gray whispered,
"Here's something else to remember me by," and he clamped his over Piet's half open lips. Their tongues met and they kissed passionately, grinding their groins together. When they finally broke apart, both men were breathing heavily and sporting full erections. Resisting the desire to crush the
soldier in his arms again, Piet quickly mounted and watched Gray climb into his saddle. He smiled at Piet and without another word, pulled his horse around and kicked him into a brisk canter. Piet watched the broad-shouldered khaki figure until he was out of sight, then turned his own horse towards Middleburg.
thrust heralded his climax and he held his cock fully buried in Gray's throat as he exploded. The soldier shoved up the convulsing thighs enough for the thick spunk to spew into his mouth, rather than down his throat and, although he swallowed fast, some of the viscous, salty fluid dribbled down his chin. Then Piet was pumping more slowly, discharging the last of his formidable pent-up load and groaning with pleasure.
When the eruption had finally ebbed away, Gray felt Piet's body go limp though it still quivered from the shock of his orgasm. He licked the last of the spunk from the softening cock and, as he swallowed it, Piet pushed away and said breathlessly, "Shit that we wonderful." Then looking at Gray's straining cock, he added, "But you look harder than ever. Do you want me to take care of it, er like that? I haven't done it since I was a youngster."
"No, I've something better in mind," Gray paused, then added, his bruised throat making his voice hoarse, "Ever had it up that beautiful arse of yours Dutchman?" Piet sat up, his face flushed with excitement and looked at Gray's huge drooling cock. He licked his lips then said with a grin, "Last night and I think I'm about to again."
"My Christ, you bet you are. Over on your belly," Gray said, his voice suddenly sounding aggressive. Piet complied and felt his buttocks roughly pulled apart, and to his surprise, a moment later, Gray's tongue in his crack. This new sensation was exquisite and he was soon moaning, squirming and, spreading his thighs as his small puckerhole was sucked and probed by the soldier's tongue. Gray sat back and pushed a finger into the tight moist sphincter. Piet winced but Gray felt the muscle relaxing and slid in a second finger. He gently worked the hole open and suddenly Piet shouted, "Don't," and pulled away. "But if I don't open you up its going to hurt like hell."
"That's how I want it."
"Are you sure, Dutchman, I'm big, there's over ten inches there?"
"That's nothing special, I'm bigger than that. Let's get on with it, if you're man enough."
"Very well then, over on your back."
The aggressive tone was back in Gray's voice and as Piet rolled onto his back, he saw the anger in the soldier's eyes. As his ankles were grasped and lifted onto Gray's beefy shoulders, he hoped he'd riled the soldier enough to get what he wanted.
Piet felt the big glans pressing against him for a moment before Gray shoved forward hard. He gave a gasp of pain as his willing but very tight ring of muscle was forced open and the huge cock slid into him. Gray's was no idle boast and he groaned as the big thick shaft bored slowly, inch by inch up into his guts. As he looked up at the flushed face and luste glazed eyes, Gray bared his teeth and snarled, "That man enough for you Dutchman?"
Pete's rape had not prepared him for the tremendous excitement he felt at being impaled on the handsome virile man's huge ram and he was speechless. But he managed a passable sneer, and Gray hissed,
"All right the, let's see how you like this,"
and withdrew almost to the tip of his glans. Then he slammed his cock back in up to the hilt savagely and Piet gave an explosive before saying gruffly,
"Not bad, I suppose, but can you fuck you khaki bastard, or are you just a bag of wind?"
Although he knew he was being goaded, Piet's words fanned Gray's anger and he began to fuck
furiously
Piet moaned and rolled his head from side to side, as the big cock was driven piston-like into him and he felt the soldier's balls slapping rhythmically against his arse. The exquisite sensation caused by the battering of his prostate, the sharp stabs of pain and the soldier's masculine brutality overwhelmed him. His eyes rolled back and he grunted like an animal as he was pounded nearly senseless. He had no idea how long he had been savagely fucked, before he felt his orgasm boiling up from his balls. He tried desperetely to hold back the explosion but Gray, sensing it, fucked even harder. This triggered Piet's searing gut-wrenching eruption. He fired as he had never fired before, great gobs splattering his chest and face. Piet tasted for the first time his own salty spunk and heard the soldier yell as he exploded into his guts. With a loud grunt, Gray, yanked his cock out and shoving Piet's ankles off his shoulders, continued to fire his spunk over his chest and face. Then as the spasms slowed and the flow ebbed, Gray lowered himself onto Piet's spunk-splashed body. The huge cock pressed against Piet's belly and he could feel it still throbbing as it pumped out the last of Gray's semen. He wrapped his muscular arms around Gray's body and they lay still, naked and plastered together with spunk, as their racing hearts and breathing steadied.
Piet dozed for a few minutes and was woken as he felt Gray begin to stir. He unlocked his arms and the soldier, lifting himself gently off him, began wiping away the drying spunk with a strip of his khaki shirt. Raising himself onto his elbows, Piet studied the muscular naked body and particularly the big turgid cock. Gray saw the direction of his gaze and said, with a grin, Stop ogling me like a dirty old man and clean yourself up, you've spunk all over you." Piet sat up and Gray tossed him the last remaining scrap of his spare shirt. Piet wiped the viscid stuff from his face and beginning to clean his body said, "What happens now Khaki, I suppose I'm your prisoner.?"
"No I don't think so. The corporal said to go after you, not to capture you."
"The corporal, I thought he was dead."
"No, he's got a nasty chest would, but I think he'll live."
"Good I..er like the corporal," Piet stammered. Gray grinned and said, "Lusted after him, more likely."
Then seeing the colour flare in Piet's face, he added, "Dont worry I have too."
"Do you think he is..er would....?"
"Fuck another man?" Gray finished for him. "Yes I've heard rumours."
Piet remembered the big cock tenting the khaki breeches and heard again the deep voice say,
"Another place and time, eh lad." Feeling himself hardening again, Piet said,
"You could perhaps let your feelings show a little."
"Easier said than done, Gray said as he hauled himself to his feet and picked up his shirt.
The men dressed in silence and Piet checked his horse and saddle-bags His papers, of course, were gone but his rifle and the rest of his gear were there. He turned as Gray said, "Well I'd better get after
the corporal and that little arselicker Fowler. The wound should be slowing them down and I should be able to catch up with them easily."
"I'd better bo on my way to Middleburg. Thanks for saving my life back there...and"
"And what?"
"Thanks for giving me the best fuck of my life." Gray chuckled and said,
"I don't think you've had enough fucks yet to judge. I'd guess that, with that beautiful arse yours , you'll have plenty more just as memorable." Piet blushed again and Gray said,
"Come here Dutchman." They hugged each other fiercely and Gray whispered,
"Here's something else to remember me by," and he clamped his over Piet's half open lips. Their tongues met and they kissed passionately, grinding their groins together. When they finally broke apart, both men were breathing heavily and sporting full erections. Resisting the desire to crush the
soldier in his arms again, Piet quickly mounted and watched Gray climb into his saddle. He smiled at Piet and without another word, pulled his horse around and kicked him into a brisk canter. Piet watched the broad-shouldered khaki figure until he was out of sight, then turned his own horse towards Middleburg.
Sunday, 15 December 2013
The Scout Page 8
page 8
his head about and yelled at the vulture which withdrew a short distance. It stood and stared at him with it's expressionless yellow eyes for a few moments before it came forwaerd again. This time it did not retreat when Piet yelled but merely halted in it's tracks. It had decided that Piet's feeble movements were in fact his death throes and that he posed no danger. But even so, the vulture's natural caution held it back until two more birds arrived Then spurred on by greed it hopped forward and jabbed at Piet's thigh. Other birds moved in and Piet tried to scream but he was paralysed with terror.
Chapter 10
Gray went down on one knee and scanned the grass and broken rock carefully. This was the fifth time that he had dismounted and searched in vain for the trail. His fear for the bearded scout had driven him on long beyond the point when he should have admitted to himself that the trail had gone cold. Again there was nothing and he felt tears of despair prick his eyes as he now accepted that the trail was irretrievably lost. He rose to his feet and, as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, heard, very faintly, the whinny of horses. Turning his head, trying to locate the direction of the sound, he saw the circling birds. He scrambled back into the saddle and cantered across the veldt. As he drew nearer, he saw that they were vultures and fear began to squirm in his guts. He threaded his way as quickly as he could through the dense patches of thorny scrub, then rein-in and stared in horror.
There were three groups of feeding birds, Gray noted, as he reached for his rifle. Reisting the temptation to aim into the repulsive things, he fired and they rose clumsily into the air.The scout was spread out naked and Gray whispered, "Oh Please God no," as he saw that his thighs were splashed with blood. The smell of blood and gore was making his horse very nervous and glancing around, he saw that the other animals had been tethered some distance away in a clump of trees. He rode his horse over to join them and spent a moment calming the frightened beast, before tethering him. Then, as he hurried back towards the scout, he paused to look at the bloody remains of Sarel and was violently sick. Wiping his streaming eyes and the gore from his mouth and moustache he turned back to look at the scout and felt his spirits lift as he saw the big hairy balls hanging between the wide spread bloody thighs.
Piet lay very still, his eyes closed and Gray pressed his fingers to the side of his neck. The pulse was strong and steady and as he transferred his hand to gently lift Piet's head, the eyes opened and he muttered something in Afrikaans. "My God Dutchman, you gave me a fright, I thought I was too late," Gray said and the scout's dark eyes gazed up at him and a faint smile hovered under his moustache. Gray grinned back in an attempt to hide his growing excitement and busied himself untying Piet's arms. But when he knelt to free the scout's wide spread thighs, he could not resist staring at the man's beautiful, thick, cut cock laying across his hairy belly, with an expression reminiscent of a dog looking at a bone.
Sitting up with a groan, Piet massaged his sore wrists and Gray noticed that he was trembling violently. Realising that the scout was in a state of shock, Gray tried to put his lustful thoughts aside and said, "We've got to get out of this charnel-house. Can you stand?" Piet stretched his stiff limbs and, as he struggled to his feet, Gray bent forward with the intention of helping him but finished up clasping the naked trembling man tightly in his arms. As they clung to each other, Gray ran a hand down the scout's broad back, revelling in the feel of the hard muscles rippling under the smooth skin. Over Piet's shoulder he saw that the vultures were returning to their interrupted feast and said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper, "We'll get you cleaned up and dressed later, can you make it to the horses?" Gray felt Piet nod against his shoulder and half-carried him towards the tethered animals. Piet was recovering fast and didn't need any assistance but he said nothing, enjoying the feel of the big soldier's hands on his naked body. He let Gray lift him effortlessly into the saddle and they rode slowly away from the blood and gore.
Chapter 11
When they were well out of sight of the circling vultures, Gray halted and gently helped Peit from his horse. He sat the scout down and rummaged in his saddle bags for iodine and his spare khaki shirt, which he tore into strips. Ordering Piet to lay back, he began cleaning the wounds on his thighs made by the vultures' filthy beaks. As he worked, Gray tried to keep his eyes averted from Piet's cock, which had, despite the stinging pain of his wonds, pounded to full erection. Gray bound the deeper cuts and then sat back on his haunches between Piet's thighs and gazed down at the man's awesome endowment. The balls hung big and heavy in their sac and the thick rigid cock jutted out at a slight angle from the hairy belly. Piet raised his head and looked up as the big soldier rose, stripped off his shirt and bent to tug off his riding boots. Gray peeled off his breeches, flung them aside and stood, legs wide apart and knuckles on hips, looking down at the scout. His thick uncut cock thrust out and the fully exposed glans, like a big pink plumb, gleamed with pre-cum. Piet sucked in air noisily between parted lips and felt lust twist like as knife in his guts. Seeing the scout's reaction, Gray grinned broadly and dropped again to his haunches between Piet's thighs.
Gray, leaned forward and licked Piet's balls, inhaling the pungent scent of sweat and maleness, then sucked them in and rolled them on his tongue. He let them drop, slippery with spit, from his mouth and licked his way up the thick veined shaft. He heard Piet whimper as he tongued around the flange of his glans, relishing the exquisite taste and the strong male odour. "Please khaki, for God's sake," Piet whispered and Gray smiled inwardly. He continued licking around the delicious glans until Piet began to squirm before he finally took the big helmet into his mouth. Piet locked his strong fingers behind Gray's head and jammed it down hard until he felt his cock meet the soldier's throat. He gave a snarl and roughly shoved the cropped head even further down, feeling the throat close around his glans and Gray's bushy moustache brush his balls. He felt Gray gagging but he held him down, relishing the moment, "Take it you fucking khaki scum," then began to pump furiously, until the soldier's big muscular arms wrapped around his thighs. He was rolled up until Gray was beneath him and he resumed his ruthless assault on the soldier's throat, now fucking harder and deeper. A mighty
his head about and yelled at the vulture which withdrew a short distance. It stood and stared at him with it's expressionless yellow eyes for a few moments before it came forwaerd again. This time it did not retreat when Piet yelled but merely halted in it's tracks. It had decided that Piet's feeble movements were in fact his death throes and that he posed no danger. But even so, the vulture's natural caution held it back until two more birds arrived Then spurred on by greed it hopped forward and jabbed at Piet's thigh. Other birds moved in and Piet tried to scream but he was paralysed with terror.
Chapter 10
Gray went down on one knee and scanned the grass and broken rock carefully. This was the fifth time that he had dismounted and searched in vain for the trail. His fear for the bearded scout had driven him on long beyond the point when he should have admitted to himself that the trail had gone cold. Again there was nothing and he felt tears of despair prick his eyes as he now accepted that the trail was irretrievably lost. He rose to his feet and, as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, heard, very faintly, the whinny of horses. Turning his head, trying to locate the direction of the sound, he saw the circling birds. He scrambled back into the saddle and cantered across the veldt. As he drew nearer, he saw that they were vultures and fear began to squirm in his guts. He threaded his way as quickly as he could through the dense patches of thorny scrub, then rein-in and stared in horror.
There were three groups of feeding birds, Gray noted, as he reached for his rifle. Reisting the temptation to aim into the repulsive things, he fired and they rose clumsily into the air.The scout was spread out naked and Gray whispered, "Oh Please God no," as he saw that his thighs were splashed with blood. The smell of blood and gore was making his horse very nervous and glancing around, he saw that the other animals had been tethered some distance away in a clump of trees. He rode his horse over to join them and spent a moment calming the frightened beast, before tethering him. Then, as he hurried back towards the scout, he paused to look at the bloody remains of Sarel and was violently sick. Wiping his streaming eyes and the gore from his mouth and moustache he turned back to look at the scout and felt his spirits lift as he saw the big hairy balls hanging between the wide spread bloody thighs.
Piet lay very still, his eyes closed and Gray pressed his fingers to the side of his neck. The pulse was strong and steady and as he transferred his hand to gently lift Piet's head, the eyes opened and he muttered something in Afrikaans. "My God Dutchman, you gave me a fright, I thought I was too late," Gray said and the scout's dark eyes gazed up at him and a faint smile hovered under his moustache. Gray grinned back in an attempt to hide his growing excitement and busied himself untying Piet's arms. But when he knelt to free the scout's wide spread thighs, he could not resist staring at the man's beautiful, thick, cut cock laying across his hairy belly, with an expression reminiscent of a dog looking at a bone.
Sitting up with a groan, Piet massaged his sore wrists and Gray noticed that he was trembling violently. Realising that the scout was in a state of shock, Gray tried to put his lustful thoughts aside and said, "We've got to get out of this charnel-house. Can you stand?" Piet stretched his stiff limbs and, as he struggled to his feet, Gray bent forward with the intention of helping him but finished up clasping the naked trembling man tightly in his arms. As they clung to each other, Gray ran a hand down the scout's broad back, revelling in the feel of the hard muscles rippling under the smooth skin. Over Piet's shoulder he saw that the vultures were returning to their interrupted feast and said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper, "We'll get you cleaned up and dressed later, can you make it to the horses?" Gray felt Piet nod against his shoulder and half-carried him towards the tethered animals. Piet was recovering fast and didn't need any assistance but he said nothing, enjoying the feel of the big soldier's hands on his naked body. He let Gray lift him effortlessly into the saddle and they rode slowly away from the blood and gore.
Chapter 11
When they were well out of sight of the circling vultures, Gray halted and gently helped Peit from his horse. He sat the scout down and rummaged in his saddle bags for iodine and his spare khaki shirt, which he tore into strips. Ordering Piet to lay back, he began cleaning the wounds on his thighs made by the vultures' filthy beaks. As he worked, Gray tried to keep his eyes averted from Piet's cock, which had, despite the stinging pain of his wonds, pounded to full erection. Gray bound the deeper cuts and then sat back on his haunches between Piet's thighs and gazed down at the man's awesome endowment. The balls hung big and heavy in their sac and the thick rigid cock jutted out at a slight angle from the hairy belly. Piet raised his head and looked up as the big soldier rose, stripped off his shirt and bent to tug off his riding boots. Gray peeled off his breeches, flung them aside and stood, legs wide apart and knuckles on hips, looking down at the scout. His thick uncut cock thrust out and the fully exposed glans, like a big pink plumb, gleamed with pre-cum. Piet sucked in air noisily between parted lips and felt lust twist like as knife in his guts. Seeing the scout's reaction, Gray grinned broadly and dropped again to his haunches between Piet's thighs.
Gray, leaned forward and licked Piet's balls, inhaling the pungent scent of sweat and maleness, then sucked them in and rolled them on his tongue. He let them drop, slippery with spit, from his mouth and licked his way up the thick veined shaft. He heard Piet whimper as he tongued around the flange of his glans, relishing the exquisite taste and the strong male odour. "Please khaki, for God's sake," Piet whispered and Gray smiled inwardly. He continued licking around the delicious glans until Piet began to squirm before he finally took the big helmet into his mouth. Piet locked his strong fingers behind Gray's head and jammed it down hard until he felt his cock meet the soldier's throat. He gave a snarl and roughly shoved the cropped head even further down, feeling the throat close around his glans and Gray's bushy moustache brush his balls. He felt Gray gagging but he held him down, relishing the moment, "Take it you fucking khaki scum," then began to pump furiously, until the soldier's big muscular arms wrapped around his thighs. He was rolled up until Gray was beneath him and he resumed his ruthless assault on the soldier's throat, now fucking harder and deeper. A mighty
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The Scout Page 7
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didn't budge and Gray swore as he realised that it opened inwards. They would have to pick the lock he thought, as he rubbed his sore shoulder. Dropping to his knees and peering into the large old- fashioned lock, Gray reached back to get his clasp-knife from the arse pocket of his breeches. The blade was too wide and he called to Fowler, "You've got a pen-knife haven't you?" The younger trooper handed it to him and he inserted the narrower blade into the lock. "Do you know what you're doing Gray?"
"Keep quiet," Gray replied, and a second later they heard the big key fall onto the stone floor. "Now let's have you my beauty," Gray murmered as he began to dig around in the lock. Suddenly he heard a faint sound on the other side of the door and froze. A moment later the key was slipped back into the lock and Gray leapt to his feet. The key turned with a loud click and both troopers stepped back, bodies tensed, as the door swung open.
The corporal stood swaying in the doorway. His rugged face looked gray under his tan and blood oozed between the fingers of the hand he held over his wound. Fowler pushed past Gray and putting his arms around the corporal, half carried him across the kitchen and lowered him gently onto a chair by the table. "I'll get something to clean that wound corp, shan't be a minute," Fowler said and hurried from the kitchen. The dark blue eyes looked up at Gray and the corporal said, "At least I wasn't wearing my shirt. That bullet would have really fucked it up," he said, managing a weak smile.
"How bad is it corporal?"
"Missed my heart and lungs I think, but it hurts like fucking hell."
Fowler returned, ripping a clean sheet to pieces and the corporal said, "I want you to go after him, Gray. I heard what the dutch bastard said I don't want that to happen to that young scout. He deserves
better." Fowler brought cloth and a bowl of tepid water and knelt to tend to the corporal's wound.
"Get moving Gray, Fowler here can patch me up and get me back to camp."
"Yes corporal," Gray replied and donning his damp shirt and retrieving his rifle, he hurried to the paddock. He quickly checked his horse and hauled himself into the saddle. He moved off and soon found the trail of the two horses in the grass. He hurried after them, knowing that the trail would quickly disappear. Indeed it grew gradually fainter and when he reached an area of broken rock and and shrub it disappeared all together. Fighting down his rising fear for the scout, he climbed down and slowly and carefully cast around. Then he saw the clean new scratch on the rock and ahead the leaf freshly broken from a low growing bush.
Sarel at last slowed down and Piet was able to loosen the grip of his knees around the horse's sides. His wrists had been tied to the pommel of his saddle, giving him little control over his galloping mount. They now moved on slowly until they reached an area of flat grass, surrounded by thorny waist-high scrub. Sarel reined-in and dismounted. "This will do fine. When I've finished with you, the scavengers will be able to feed here undisturbed." He released Piet's bound wrists from the pommel and, reaching up, yanked the scout from the saddle. Piet fell to the ground and the toe of Sarel's boot thudded into his balls. He doubled up and Sarel rolled him onto his back. His boots and belt were tugged off. Sarel then ripped down Piet's trousers and tore them free before straightening up and looking down at his naked prisoner, a sneer twisting his thin lips. Naked, Piet sat up and dropped his bound hands to protect his bruised balls. Without warning, Sarel aimed a savage kick at Piet's head. The heavy boot caught Piet under the chin, flinging him back and down into blackness.
A stabbing pain in his wrists, drew Piet back to consciousness. He was spreadeagled and staked out on the coarse grass his legs spread wide apart. Sarel knelt to straddle him and fear wormed in Piet's belly as he looked up at the farmer's sneering face. "Now you murdering bastard, let's give you a bit more of what the fucking khakis gave you," Sarel snarled and punched Piet in the mouth. Blood spurted again from Piet's split lips and soaked into his beard.
Chapter 8
The scent of humans was very strong in her nostrils and fear welled up in her again. But this time she detected the smell of fresh blood and the lust to kill and feed became irrestistible. She moved forward, her belly low to the ground.
Chapter 9
Sarel look down at Piet's battered face. Blood flowed from his nose and mouth and oozed from the
grazes left by Sarel's split knuckles. Tears welled up from Piet's closed eyes and trickled down his bloody cheeks. "Wake up," Sarel snarled, I want you awake when I fix you." Piet groaned and, opening his eyes, saw Sarel reach back for his knife. His blood turned to ice as his balls were roughly grasped and his scrotum stretched. Then he screamed in terror as he felt the cold blade against his skin.
The leopard bounded forward and leapt. Although she struck Sarel with enough force to fling him, bouncing and rolling away from Piet, her wound made her clumsy and she failed to grasp her prey. Hissing with fury, she cartwheeled over Sarel and landed on her back. Sarel was quickly on his feet and he turned knife extended to meet the cat's charge. His blade sank into the side of the animal's neck. He lunged again, missed and was borne backwards. He managed to keep his footing for a moment before the leopard's claws raked his ribs and he fell with a scream, the big cat on top of him.
Raising his head, Piet watched the leopard rip and slash her victim before the two locked bodies rolled away out of his field of vision. He listened in horror to the sounds of the struggle, the harsh rasping hisses of the leopard and Sarel's shrill screams. Then suddenly it stopped and there was an awful deathly silence. Was the leopard feeding, Piet thought, and would it come for him? He listened intently, his fear mounting by the second. Then he heard something move. Straining against the ropes binding him, he craned his neck and saw Sarel standing, still clutching the bloody knife. His body looked like newly butchered meat and what skin could be seen, hung in tattered ribbons. His light blue eyes, blazing with hatred, stared at him from a face that was a mask of blood. He took one faltering step towards Piet and stopped, swaying, before lurching forward again. Then the dreadful eyes rolled up into his head and Sarel pitched forward onto his face. Piet felt relief flood through him and he lowered his head to the ground. Nothing moved and there was utter silence.
Realising that both the leopard and Sarel were dead, Piet now had to face the awful prospect of either,
slowly dying of thirst, or of being torn to pieces by scavengers. Although his naked body was bathed in warm sunshine, he felt his blood run cold as he heard the arrival of the first vulture. The ugly bird immediately attacked the body of the leopard and was quickly joined by more. Another pair arrived and as they began to tear at Sarel's bloody body Piet felt his gorge rise. Then the moment that Piet has been dreading arrived. A large vulture settled beside him and waddled forward cautiously. Piet tossed
I
didn't budge and Gray swore as he realised that it opened inwards. They would have to pick the lock he thought, as he rubbed his sore shoulder. Dropping to his knees and peering into the large old- fashioned lock, Gray reached back to get his clasp-knife from the arse pocket of his breeches. The blade was too wide and he called to Fowler, "You've got a pen-knife haven't you?" The younger trooper handed it to him and he inserted the narrower blade into the lock. "Do you know what you're doing Gray?"
"Keep quiet," Gray replied, and a second later they heard the big key fall onto the stone floor. "Now let's have you my beauty," Gray murmered as he began to dig around in the lock. Suddenly he heard a faint sound on the other side of the door and froze. A moment later the key was slipped back into the lock and Gray leapt to his feet. The key turned with a loud click and both troopers stepped back, bodies tensed, as the door swung open.
The corporal stood swaying in the doorway. His rugged face looked gray under his tan and blood oozed between the fingers of the hand he held over his wound. Fowler pushed past Gray and putting his arms around the corporal, half carried him across the kitchen and lowered him gently onto a chair by the table. "I'll get something to clean that wound corp, shan't be a minute," Fowler said and hurried from the kitchen. The dark blue eyes looked up at Gray and the corporal said, "At least I wasn't wearing my shirt. That bullet would have really fucked it up," he said, managing a weak smile.
"How bad is it corporal?"
"Missed my heart and lungs I think, but it hurts like fucking hell."
Fowler returned, ripping a clean sheet to pieces and the corporal said, "I want you to go after him, Gray. I heard what the dutch bastard said I don't want that to happen to that young scout. He deserves
better." Fowler brought cloth and a bowl of tepid water and knelt to tend to the corporal's wound.
"Get moving Gray, Fowler here can patch me up and get me back to camp."
"Yes corporal," Gray replied and donning his damp shirt and retrieving his rifle, he hurried to the paddock. He quickly checked his horse and hauled himself into the saddle. He moved off and soon found the trail of the two horses in the grass. He hurried after them, knowing that the trail would quickly disappear. Indeed it grew gradually fainter and when he reached an area of broken rock and and shrub it disappeared all together. Fighting down his rising fear for the scout, he climbed down and slowly and carefully cast around. Then he saw the clean new scratch on the rock and ahead the leaf freshly broken from a low growing bush.
Sarel at last slowed down and Piet was able to loosen the grip of his knees around the horse's sides. His wrists had been tied to the pommel of his saddle, giving him little control over his galloping mount. They now moved on slowly until they reached an area of flat grass, surrounded by thorny waist-high scrub. Sarel reined-in and dismounted. "This will do fine. When I've finished with you, the scavengers will be able to feed here undisturbed." He released Piet's bound wrists from the pommel and, reaching up, yanked the scout from the saddle. Piet fell to the ground and the toe of Sarel's boot thudded into his balls. He doubled up and Sarel rolled him onto his back. His boots and belt were tugged off. Sarel then ripped down Piet's trousers and tore them free before straightening up and looking down at his naked prisoner, a sneer twisting his thin lips. Naked, Piet sat up and dropped his bound hands to protect his bruised balls. Without warning, Sarel aimed a savage kick at Piet's head. The heavy boot caught Piet under the chin, flinging him back and down into blackness.
A stabbing pain in his wrists, drew Piet back to consciousness. He was spreadeagled and staked out on the coarse grass his legs spread wide apart. Sarel knelt to straddle him and fear wormed in Piet's belly as he looked up at the farmer's sneering face. "Now you murdering bastard, let's give you a bit more of what the fucking khakis gave you," Sarel snarled and punched Piet in the mouth. Blood spurted again from Piet's split lips and soaked into his beard.
Chapter 8
The scent of humans was very strong in her nostrils and fear welled up in her again. But this time she detected the smell of fresh blood and the lust to kill and feed became irrestistible. She moved forward, her belly low to the ground.
Chapter 9
Sarel look down at Piet's battered face. Blood flowed from his nose and mouth and oozed from the
grazes left by Sarel's split knuckles. Tears welled up from Piet's closed eyes and trickled down his bloody cheeks. "Wake up," Sarel snarled, I want you awake when I fix you." Piet groaned and, opening his eyes, saw Sarel reach back for his knife. His blood turned to ice as his balls were roughly grasped and his scrotum stretched. Then he screamed in terror as he felt the cold blade against his skin.
The leopard bounded forward and leapt. Although she struck Sarel with enough force to fling him, bouncing and rolling away from Piet, her wound made her clumsy and she failed to grasp her prey. Hissing with fury, she cartwheeled over Sarel and landed on her back. Sarel was quickly on his feet and he turned knife extended to meet the cat's charge. His blade sank into the side of the animal's neck. He lunged again, missed and was borne backwards. He managed to keep his footing for a moment before the leopard's claws raked his ribs and he fell with a scream, the big cat on top of him.
Raising his head, Piet watched the leopard rip and slash her victim before the two locked bodies rolled away out of his field of vision. He listened in horror to the sounds of the struggle, the harsh rasping hisses of the leopard and Sarel's shrill screams. Then suddenly it stopped and there was an awful deathly silence. Was the leopard feeding, Piet thought, and would it come for him? He listened intently, his fear mounting by the second. Then he heard something move. Straining against the ropes binding him, he craned his neck and saw Sarel standing, still clutching the bloody knife. His body looked like newly butchered meat and what skin could be seen, hung in tattered ribbons. His light blue eyes, blazing with hatred, stared at him from a face that was a mask of blood. He took one faltering step towards Piet and stopped, swaying, before lurching forward again. Then the dreadful eyes rolled up into his head and Sarel pitched forward onto his face. Piet felt relief flood through him and he lowered his head to the ground. Nothing moved and there was utter silence.
Realising that both the leopard and Sarel were dead, Piet now had to face the awful prospect of either,
slowly dying of thirst, or of being torn to pieces by scavengers. Although his naked body was bathed in warm sunshine, he felt his blood run cold as he heard the arrival of the first vulture. The ugly bird immediately attacked the body of the leopard and was quickly joined by more. Another pair arrived and as they began to tear at Sarel's bloody body Piet felt his gorge rise. Then the moment that Piet has been dreading arrived. A large vulture settled beside him and waddled forward cautiously. Piet tossed
I
The Scout page 6
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and had began to sag against the post before the beating stopped. The corporal dropped the belt and stepped in close to Piet. He lowered his head and ran his nose down the deep channel between the whipped pecs, inhaling the aroma of fresh male sweat. Resisting the temptation to nuzzle further down the hairy belly. he tongued his way instead across Piet's left left pec, savouring the sharp salty taste of the belt-warmed muscle. The corporal heard the scout gasp and felt his body stiffen as he sucked the big erect nipple into his mouth. Piet whimpered as the corporal licked and nipped and his hard cock jabbed the soldier in the groin. Suddenly the corporal bit down hard and Piet gave a yell of pain.
Chapter 5
She heard the faint cry and, lifting her head, sniffed the air. She could smell horses, cattle and humans. A growl rumbled deep in her throat and she felt a flush of rage. But fear lanced through her
like a spear of ice, even though it was many days since the farmer had shot her. Since she had been wounded she had not eaten. Even the smallest prey seemed to evade her easily. Hunger gnawed at her belly and the pain of her shattered shoulder gave her no peace. She seethed with rage but finally it was her fear of humans that outweighed her lust to kill and she turned her back and limped away.
Chapter 6
The corporal released Piet's well-chewed right nipple and the scout groaned as he straightened up and glanced around at his two companions. "Warm him up a bit, while I see what food there is in the pantry." The two soldiers eyed each other for a moment before the younger, Fowler, pulled his shirt out of his breeches and said, "With the greatest pleasure corporal." Watching the trooper shrug off his shirt, the corporal said, "I'd like a full stomach before I get down to the business of making this fucking Dutchman talk."
"That's right corporal," the big trooper Gray said, and added as the corporal turned to face him, "We
wouldn't want to rush things, would we?" His face was flushed and his eyes glittered with excitement.
Looking at his sodden groin, the corporal wondered if that was all pre-cum or if the big soldier had fired a load into his breeches. Fowler took up position in front of Piet and began to backhand and slap him hard. The corporal saw Piet's head rocked from side to side and the first beads of blood drip from his beard onto his chest before he turned and headed for the pantry.
The pantry was well stocked. The corporal gathered up ham, butter and a large loaf of bread and brought them to the kitchen table. He paused a moment to watch the beating before he went back to the pantry to get milk and beer. When he returned the big trooper Gray had taken Fowler's place and was pummelling Piet's body. The corporal put the things on the table and turned to watch, hands on hips. Gray was concentrating on Piet's muscular midriff and hairy lower belly. There was a limit to what the big hard muscles could take and the corporal judged that it had been reached when Gray drove his fist yet again into Piet's lower belly and the scout gave a loud grunt and sagged against the post. Gray struck again and again and Piet's grunts grew louder as he slipped down the post. Finally his wide spread legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.
Gray looked down at the scout. Although he had been beaten to his knees, his upper body, bound as it was to the post, was still upright. Piet lifted his battered bloody face and looked up at the trooper towering over him. He held the man's gaze for a long moment, then lowered his eyes to stare as the sodden bulging groin only an inch from his face. Gray thrust his hips forward and his jutting cock brushed his lips. The smell of the trooper's sweat and spunk assailed Piet's nostrils as he licked the big glans through the spunk-sodden khaki.
The corporal strode forward and put a big hand on Gray's shoulder, "All right lad, that will be enough for now. Let's eat." Gray paused, savouring the feel of Piet's lips on his cock, then he turned away abruptly and strode over to the table. He flung himself down on a chair facing Fowler and noted, with irritation, the look of disdain on the younger trooper's face. The corporal strolled over to join them and Gray watched Fowler's eyes fasten hungrily on his bulging groin. If the corporal sees him looking at him like that, Gray thought, Fowler will, more than likely, get a lot more than he bargained for. But, appearing not to have noticed, the corporal said, "After we have eaten, I want one of you to stand watch."
"But we are miles from anywhere corp, surely that won't be necessary," Fowler said, with his mouth full. "Ah but it will lad. I know the next hour or so will be very er...diverting, but I need someone on watch. You'll have to toss a coin." They continued to eat in silence and when Gray turned to look at the battered half-naked scout, their eyes locked and he felt a hot jolt of excitement in his guts.
Suddenly the door was flung open and a muscular bare-chested man appeared, with a levelled rifle. The corporal made a grab for his gun and the man fired. The bullet smacked into the soldier's chest with enough force to flip him back over the chair. He crashed to the floor and lay, spreadeagled on his back, unmoving. The other two troopers sat stock-still, their mouths gaping with shock as the man moved into the room. "Hands on your heads and stand up slowly," he said in heavily accented English. "Do as I say and you won't be harmed. That is what I came for," he continued, nodding in Piet's direction. "He killed my brother and I have vowed I'd stake him out on the veldt, castrate him, and leave him for the animals to finish off." Gray felt his blood chill and he glanced at Fowler. The young trooper's face was very pale and his eyes were still glazed with shock. "Anyway, what's it got to do with you fucking khakis, get over there and into the pantry, come on move." Walking towards the pantry door, Gray stole a glance at the corporal. He lay deathly still and his huge erection still tented the front of his breeches. Could he be dead and in that state, he thought? A moment later the pantry door was slammed to behind them and they heard the key turn in the lock.
Chapter 7
"Oh God, What has he done to the corporal? Is he dead?" Fowler stammered. "I'm afraid it looks like it," Gray replied and turned to examine the door. "But we won't know until we get out of here." A moment later they heard, through the small barred pantry window, the sound of two horses galloping away. "Now Fowler, let's get out of here," Gray shouted and drove his shoulder against the door. It
and had began to sag against the post before the beating stopped. The corporal dropped the belt and stepped in close to Piet. He lowered his head and ran his nose down the deep channel between the whipped pecs, inhaling the aroma of fresh male sweat. Resisting the temptation to nuzzle further down the hairy belly. he tongued his way instead across Piet's left left pec, savouring the sharp salty taste of the belt-warmed muscle. The corporal heard the scout gasp and felt his body stiffen as he sucked the big erect nipple into his mouth. Piet whimpered as the corporal licked and nipped and his hard cock jabbed the soldier in the groin. Suddenly the corporal bit down hard and Piet gave a yell of pain.
Chapter 5
She heard the faint cry and, lifting her head, sniffed the air. She could smell horses, cattle and humans. A growl rumbled deep in her throat and she felt a flush of rage. But fear lanced through her
like a spear of ice, even though it was many days since the farmer had shot her. Since she had been wounded she had not eaten. Even the smallest prey seemed to evade her easily. Hunger gnawed at her belly and the pain of her shattered shoulder gave her no peace. She seethed with rage but finally it was her fear of humans that outweighed her lust to kill and she turned her back and limped away.
Chapter 6
The corporal released Piet's well-chewed right nipple and the scout groaned as he straightened up and glanced around at his two companions. "Warm him up a bit, while I see what food there is in the pantry." The two soldiers eyed each other for a moment before the younger, Fowler, pulled his shirt out of his breeches and said, "With the greatest pleasure corporal." Watching the trooper shrug off his shirt, the corporal said, "I'd like a full stomach before I get down to the business of making this fucking Dutchman talk."
"That's right corporal," the big trooper Gray said, and added as the corporal turned to face him, "We
wouldn't want to rush things, would we?" His face was flushed and his eyes glittered with excitement.
Looking at his sodden groin, the corporal wondered if that was all pre-cum or if the big soldier had fired a load into his breeches. Fowler took up position in front of Piet and began to backhand and slap him hard. The corporal saw Piet's head rocked from side to side and the first beads of blood drip from his beard onto his chest before he turned and headed for the pantry.
The pantry was well stocked. The corporal gathered up ham, butter and a large loaf of bread and brought them to the kitchen table. He paused a moment to watch the beating before he went back to the pantry to get milk and beer. When he returned the big trooper Gray had taken Fowler's place and was pummelling Piet's body. The corporal put the things on the table and turned to watch, hands on hips. Gray was concentrating on Piet's muscular midriff and hairy lower belly. There was a limit to what the big hard muscles could take and the corporal judged that it had been reached when Gray drove his fist yet again into Piet's lower belly and the scout gave a loud grunt and sagged against the post. Gray struck again and again and Piet's grunts grew louder as he slipped down the post. Finally his wide spread legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.
Gray looked down at the scout. Although he had been beaten to his knees, his upper body, bound as it was to the post, was still upright. Piet lifted his battered bloody face and looked up at the trooper towering over him. He held the man's gaze for a long moment, then lowered his eyes to stare as the sodden bulging groin only an inch from his face. Gray thrust his hips forward and his jutting cock brushed his lips. The smell of the trooper's sweat and spunk assailed Piet's nostrils as he licked the big glans through the spunk-sodden khaki.
The corporal strode forward and put a big hand on Gray's shoulder, "All right lad, that will be enough for now. Let's eat." Gray paused, savouring the feel of Piet's lips on his cock, then he turned away abruptly and strode over to the table. He flung himself down on a chair facing Fowler and noted, with irritation, the look of disdain on the younger trooper's face. The corporal strolled over to join them and Gray watched Fowler's eyes fasten hungrily on his bulging groin. If the corporal sees him looking at him like that, Gray thought, Fowler will, more than likely, get a lot more than he bargained for. But, appearing not to have noticed, the corporal said, "After we have eaten, I want one of you to stand watch."
"But we are miles from anywhere corp, surely that won't be necessary," Fowler said, with his mouth full. "Ah but it will lad. I know the next hour or so will be very er...diverting, but I need someone on watch. You'll have to toss a coin." They continued to eat in silence and when Gray turned to look at the battered half-naked scout, their eyes locked and he felt a hot jolt of excitement in his guts.
Suddenly the door was flung open and a muscular bare-chested man appeared, with a levelled rifle. The corporal made a grab for his gun and the man fired. The bullet smacked into the soldier's chest with enough force to flip him back over the chair. He crashed to the floor and lay, spreadeagled on his back, unmoving. The other two troopers sat stock-still, their mouths gaping with shock as the man moved into the room. "Hands on your heads and stand up slowly," he said in heavily accented English. "Do as I say and you won't be harmed. That is what I came for," he continued, nodding in Piet's direction. "He killed my brother and I have vowed I'd stake him out on the veldt, castrate him, and leave him for the animals to finish off." Gray felt his blood chill and he glanced at Fowler. The young trooper's face was very pale and his eyes were still glazed with shock. "Anyway, what's it got to do with you fucking khakis, get over there and into the pantry, come on move." Walking towards the pantry door, Gray stole a glance at the corporal. He lay deathly still and his huge erection still tented the front of his breeches. Could he be dead and in that state, he thought? A moment later the pantry door was slammed to behind them and they heard the key turn in the lock.
Chapter 7
"Oh God, What has he done to the corporal? Is he dead?" Fowler stammered. "I'm afraid it looks like it," Gray replied and turned to examine the door. "But we won't know until we get out of here." A moment later they heard, through the small barred pantry window, the sound of two horses galloping away. "Now Fowler, let's get out of here," Gray shouted and drove his shoulder against the door. It
Thursday, 28 November 2013
The Scout page 5
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Piet watched with growing concern as the corporal searched the contents of his pouches and felt a shiver of fear when, at last, he pulled out the maps and documents. Without giving them more that a cursory glance, he tossed them onto the table and looked up at Piet. "I don't read Afrikaans but that doesn't matter, they're bogus anyway, aren't they?" Piet said nothing. "You're a scout aren't you?" the corporal snapped. Not trusting himself to speak, Piet shook his head. "Oh come on lad, we are scouts too, we know your're one of DeWet's boys." Piet still said and the corporal continued, "We were passing this farmstead early yesterday evening and the cattle were making a hell of a racket. Gray, here, a country boy, said there was something very wrong and we came to investigate. We found the farmer shot dead on the kitchen floor and the upstairs rooms had been ransacked. While Gray saw to the animals, we buried the old boy in the backyard." He paused and his shrewd dark blue eyes studied Piet's face, before he continued again in his deep voice, "Why did the farmer die, we wondered? Was it plain robbery or was there some double-dealing?" Again the dark eyes bored into Piet's.
We know you scouts use remote farms as places for gathering information along with your victuals."
The corporal's voice held a hint of mence as he said, "It would be wise for you to tell us what inform-
ation you are taking to Middleburg and what you know about this little imbroglio. If not lad, I'm afraid it will go badly for you." Piet was sweating and he could feel his heart pounding. He wet his lips and said, "Fuck you, khaki scum." It was meant to sound tough and defiant, but it came out as little more than a croak. "That's what I expected you to say though not in those precise words," the corporal said as he stroked his stubbled chin and eyed the rough wooden posts that supported the kitchen's massive central rafter. "Will one of those be strong enough for our purposes, Gray?" The big soldier frowned in puzzlement for a moment, then his brow cleared and he strode over and pushed and yanked one of the supports. Piet watched the trooper's rippling muscles and bulging biceps, trying not to think about the damage they could do. "Rock solid corporal," Gray said, grinning broadly. The corporal stood up and Piet saw they were the same height and build. "I don't want to do this lad, why not cooperate." Piet spat in his face.
Calmly the corporal wiped away the saliva running down his cheeks and dripping from his moustache, with the back of his hand, but when his gaze met Piet's, the dark blue eyes were blazing.
He brought his knee up hard into Piet's balls. Piet yelled and, as the pain lanced up into his guts, dropped top his knees. "Well he's asked for it lads, let's rig im," the corporal snarled. Piet was hauled up and pushed back against one of the posts. Gray slung a length of rope around his neck and tugged his head back against the rough wood. "Keep still, or I'll choke you Dutchman," Gray hissed in his ear as the corporal stepped forward and began to bind Piet to the post. The rope was passed around the back of Piet's neck, under his armpits and knotted between his shoulder-blades. Brought back over his shoulders, the rope was then knotted over his breastbone. It was pulled down between his pecs, where it was knotted yet again and the ends tugged back and tied tightly behind him. The corporal stood back to admire his work. The rough rope divided Piet's pecs and bit up under them, emphasising and lifting the big firm muscles. Satisfied, he then roped Piet's upper body firmly to the post and said, "All right Gray, you can let go now, he's rigged." The rope was removed from his throat and Piet tugged and twisted his bonds. Although he would be able to move up and down, he could not bend forward as his torso was held rigidly against the post.
Chapter 4
The corporal pulled the khaki shirt out of his breeches, shrugged it off, and strutted over to hung it neatly over the back of a kitchen chair. Then he turned and, fists on hips, surveyed the half-naked prisoner. He saw the the boer had the broad shoulders and hard muscles of a man who works out of doors. The roped pectoral muscles were magnificent and almost hairless though hair spread thickly over the hard-ridged belly and disappeared invitingly under the wide buckled belt. Lowering his eyes further, the corporal noted the huge bulge between the man's widespread legs and felt himself hardening as he strode towards him. Looking the scout in the face, he thrust his hand between the spread thighs and brought it up to cradle Piet's balls. He saw Piet's lips part in surprise and colour flood his stubbled cheeks as he gently rubbed the thick shaft with his thumb. Piet made no sound but groaned inwardly at he felt his cock responding to the soldier's touch. He heard the corporal say, his voice little more than a whisper, "Still want to play this the hard way, lad?" Not trusting himself to speak, Piet glared defiantly at the soldier. The men's eyes locked and the corporal's fingers grasped the glans of Piet's fully erect cock and rubbed and kneaded it through the rough material of his trousers, which quickly became damp and sticky. "Another place, another time, eh lad?" The corporal said huskily and, still holding Piet's gaze brought up his hand and licked the salty lube from his fingers. Piet still made no reply but the corporal could see the excitement in the boer's eyes as he placed his hands on the hard roped pecs and flicked the jutting nipples roughly with his thumbs. Then he gripped them and began to twist and maul them savagely. Piet moaned and twisted in his restraints as the corporal's rough, jagged thumb-nails sawed his tortured paps.
Gray watched as the corporal tortured the husky boer. He had always admired the tough taciturn corporal and relished the brief, rare glimpse he had of his hard muscular body and impressive endowment. Now the big cock tented the front of the corporal's breeches and thrust against the boer's jutting manhood. Gray saw the corporal give the nipples a last vicious twist before releasing them and stepping back a pace. He could see that both men were sweating and breathing heavily and watched with growing excitement as the corporal unbuckled the boer's belt and yanked it free. He grasped it by the buckle and wrapped it once around his fist before stepping back a further pace or two. For a long moment the two men held each other's gaze, before the corporal swung back his arm and brought the wide belt down hard across Piet's sore mangled nipples.
Piet moaned and his head dropped back against the post, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain. The belt lashed his pecs hard and relentlessly and the pain in his nipples increased until it felt as if they were
being pierced by red-hot needles, each time the belt struck them. His chest turned pink, then fiery red
Piet watched with growing concern as the corporal searched the contents of his pouches and felt a shiver of fear when, at last, he pulled out the maps and documents. Without giving them more that a cursory glance, he tossed them onto the table and looked up at Piet. "I don't read Afrikaans but that doesn't matter, they're bogus anyway, aren't they?" Piet said nothing. "You're a scout aren't you?" the corporal snapped. Not trusting himself to speak, Piet shook his head. "Oh come on lad, we are scouts too, we know your're one of DeWet's boys." Piet still said and the corporal continued, "We were passing this farmstead early yesterday evening and the cattle were making a hell of a racket. Gray, here, a country boy, said there was something very wrong and we came to investigate. We found the farmer shot dead on the kitchen floor and the upstairs rooms had been ransacked. While Gray saw to the animals, we buried the old boy in the backyard." He paused and his shrewd dark blue eyes studied Piet's face, before he continued again in his deep voice, "Why did the farmer die, we wondered? Was it plain robbery or was there some double-dealing?" Again the dark eyes bored into Piet's.
We know you scouts use remote farms as places for gathering information along with your victuals."
The corporal's voice held a hint of mence as he said, "It would be wise for you to tell us what inform-
ation you are taking to Middleburg and what you know about this little imbroglio. If not lad, I'm afraid it will go badly for you." Piet was sweating and he could feel his heart pounding. He wet his lips and said, "Fuck you, khaki scum." It was meant to sound tough and defiant, but it came out as little more than a croak. "That's what I expected you to say though not in those precise words," the corporal said as he stroked his stubbled chin and eyed the rough wooden posts that supported the kitchen's massive central rafter. "Will one of those be strong enough for our purposes, Gray?" The big soldier frowned in puzzlement for a moment, then his brow cleared and he strode over and pushed and yanked one of the supports. Piet watched the trooper's rippling muscles and bulging biceps, trying not to think about the damage they could do. "Rock solid corporal," Gray said, grinning broadly. The corporal stood up and Piet saw they were the same height and build. "I don't want to do this lad, why not cooperate." Piet spat in his face.
Calmly the corporal wiped away the saliva running down his cheeks and dripping from his moustache, with the back of his hand, but when his gaze met Piet's, the dark blue eyes were blazing.
He brought his knee up hard into Piet's balls. Piet yelled and, as the pain lanced up into his guts, dropped top his knees. "Well he's asked for it lads, let's rig im," the corporal snarled. Piet was hauled up and pushed back against one of the posts. Gray slung a length of rope around his neck and tugged his head back against the rough wood. "Keep still, or I'll choke you Dutchman," Gray hissed in his ear as the corporal stepped forward and began to bind Piet to the post. The rope was passed around the back of Piet's neck, under his armpits and knotted between his shoulder-blades. Brought back over his shoulders, the rope was then knotted over his breastbone. It was pulled down between his pecs, where it was knotted yet again and the ends tugged back and tied tightly behind him. The corporal stood back to admire his work. The rough rope divided Piet's pecs and bit up under them, emphasising and lifting the big firm muscles. Satisfied, he then roped Piet's upper body firmly to the post and said, "All right Gray, you can let go now, he's rigged." The rope was removed from his throat and Piet tugged and twisted his bonds. Although he would be able to move up and down, he could not bend forward as his torso was held rigidly against the post.
Chapter 4
The corporal pulled the khaki shirt out of his breeches, shrugged it off, and strutted over to hung it neatly over the back of a kitchen chair. Then he turned and, fists on hips, surveyed the half-naked prisoner. He saw the the boer had the broad shoulders and hard muscles of a man who works out of doors. The roped pectoral muscles were magnificent and almost hairless though hair spread thickly over the hard-ridged belly and disappeared invitingly under the wide buckled belt. Lowering his eyes further, the corporal noted the huge bulge between the man's widespread legs and felt himself hardening as he strode towards him. Looking the scout in the face, he thrust his hand between the spread thighs and brought it up to cradle Piet's balls. He saw Piet's lips part in surprise and colour flood his stubbled cheeks as he gently rubbed the thick shaft with his thumb. Piet made no sound but groaned inwardly at he felt his cock responding to the soldier's touch. He heard the corporal say, his voice little more than a whisper, "Still want to play this the hard way, lad?" Not trusting himself to speak, Piet glared defiantly at the soldier. The men's eyes locked and the corporal's fingers grasped the glans of Piet's fully erect cock and rubbed and kneaded it through the rough material of his trousers, which quickly became damp and sticky. "Another place, another time, eh lad?" The corporal said huskily and, still holding Piet's gaze brought up his hand and licked the salty lube from his fingers. Piet still made no reply but the corporal could see the excitement in the boer's eyes as he placed his hands on the hard roped pecs and flicked the jutting nipples roughly with his thumbs. Then he gripped them and began to twist and maul them savagely. Piet moaned and twisted in his restraints as the corporal's rough, jagged thumb-nails sawed his tortured paps.
Gray watched as the corporal tortured the husky boer. He had always admired the tough taciturn corporal and relished the brief, rare glimpse he had of his hard muscular body and impressive endowment. Now the big cock tented the front of the corporal's breeches and thrust against the boer's jutting manhood. Gray saw the corporal give the nipples a last vicious twist before releasing them and stepping back a pace. He could see that both men were sweating and breathing heavily and watched with growing excitement as the corporal unbuckled the boer's belt and yanked it free. He grasped it by the buckle and wrapped it once around his fist before stepping back a further pace or two. For a long moment the two men held each other's gaze, before the corporal swung back his arm and brought the wide belt down hard across Piet's sore mangled nipples.
Piet moaned and his head dropped back against the post, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain. The belt lashed his pecs hard and relentlessly and the pain in his nipples increased until it felt as if they were
being pierced by red-hot needles, each time the belt struck them. His chest turned pink, then fiery red
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the fire. After what seemed ages, the rope parted and his hands were free. Quickly cutting the rope securing his neck, he turned just in time to see Sarel charge towards him. He was borne backwards and went down heavily on to his back with Sarel's hands around his throat. Grabbing the farmer's wrists, he tried desparately to prise them loose. He bucked and twisted, managing at last to partly roll Sarel off him but not breaking his grip on his throat. He smashed a fist into the farmer's face and felt the fingers loosen. Striking again and at the same time heaving sideways, he dislodged the lighter man. He pulled back Sarel's head and brought up his knee hard into his balls. The farmer roared with pain and his body went limp. Resisting the urge to drive his knee again into Sarel's groin, he straddled him instead. Then pinning the man's arms down with his knees, Piet punched him senseless.
The sky was quickly lightening as Piet climbed groggily to his feet and gazed down at the spread-eagled bare-chested farmer. He looked down at the bulging groin and although his cock stirred, anger blazed in him afresh. Casting around, he found the clasp-knife in the trampled grass but, knowing that he could not kill Sarel in cold blood, he closed it and bent to gather up his scattered clothes. Piet untethered his horse, checked his compass and left. He would check his possessions later as, for now, he was interested only in getting as far away from this debacle as possible. He would head for the farmstead, beg for some breakfast and see to his horse. Then he would head on east to Middleburg.
Chapter 3
The sun was rising in a blaze of gold as he turned onto the red dust track leading to the farm. Smoke spiralling from the chimney made Piet think of breakfast and his stomach groaned as he reined-in. He sat back in the saddle and carefully looked around. Everything seemed peaceful. Five horses were feeding in the paddock near the porch and he could see half a dozen cows grazing contentedly in the meadow behind the farm. He trotted his horse into the yard and, as he dismounted, a bare-chested man came out onto the porch. He was beefy with broad-shoulders and dark hair swirling over his barrel chest and belly. He wore only skintight brown trousers over riding boots. Piet eyed the well-displayed manhood, then lifted his gaze to meet the man's dark blue eyes as he mounted the dusty porch steps. The man smiled, his teeth looking very white under the black moustache, and waved Piet towards the open door.
Piet stepped into the big farm kitchen and froze. A British soldier stood before him with a lee Enfield levelled at his chest. "Put your hands on your head and come forward, nice and slowly lad," the khaki said, and Piet's heart sank. A trap, another bloody trap."Now slip off your shirt and put your hands behind your back," the soldier continued. Blinking back tears of rage and chagrin, Piet complied, then raised his eyes to study the armed soldier. It was hard to tell the man's age, Piet thought, as the rugged square-jawed face was weather beaten and deeply tanned. He noted the soldier's two stripes as he turned to the trooper beside him, "Tie his wrists please, Fowler."
"Yes corporal," the young soldiers replied, and pulling some rope from his pocket, stepped forward.
The corporal strode across to the big kitchen table and, placing the gun on the scarred, scrubbed wooden surface. dropped onto a wooden chair. He stretched his legs out before him and crossed his ankles, affording Piet a fine view of his more than ample endowment, clearly displayed in his tight khaki breeches. He'd seen the direction of Piet's gaze and the scout thought he could detect a faint smile under the corporal's thick cavalry moustache. "Bring him over here, Fowler," he said then turned his head as the big bare-chested man entered carrying Piet's saddlebags overs his shoulder.
Piet followed the corporal's gaze and realised what a fool he had been. The big soldier was wearing the trousers of a much smaller farmer and it seemed that they would burst at the seams at any moment. As he swung the heavy bags off his shoulder and dumped them on the table, there was a loud ripping sound. The corporal snorted with laughter and said, "For God's sake get those trousers off and put your breeches back on Gray, they're indecent." The soldier grinned and began to unbuckle his belt. He glanced across at Piet and their eyes locked. The scout, feeling himself hardening rapidly, stared back until the soldier lowered his eyes to appraise his muscular torso. When the trooper's eyes eyes finally fixed upon his groin, Piet's cock was jutting out proudly. Gray licked his lips and, without shifting his gaze pulled the belt free. Not bothering to unbutton the straining flies, he ripped the trousers open to the crotch. Piet got a brief glimpse of dense public hair and the base of a thick cock, before the trooper swivelled around and plonked himself down on a chair beside the corporal. He tugged off his boots, rose and again turned to face Piet. Then he shoved the trousers down over his musclar legs and straightened up, staring into Piet's eyes. Piet gawped at the huge, swinging tumescent cock in awe. The big gleaming glans had pushed clear of all but a narrow band of foreskin
and as Piet watched, a big bead of pre-cum dropped from it to hang on a glass-like thread.
The young trooper, Fowler, suddenly flung Gray's discarded breeches at him and shouted, "Stop showing off and get those on you dirty bastard."
"What's riling you Fowler, haven't you seen a real man's dick before?" Gray smirked as he bent to climb into his breeches Fowler bridled, "Why you arrogant fuck....."
"That's quite enough," the corporal cut in, as Gray buckled and buttoned up and Piet was glad to see that the thick shaft was still clearly discernable under the khaki serge. "Now, let's see what we have here," said the corporal, turning his attention to Piet's saddlebags.
the fire. After what seemed ages, the rope parted and his hands were free. Quickly cutting the rope securing his neck, he turned just in time to see Sarel charge towards him. He was borne backwards and went down heavily on to his back with Sarel's hands around his throat. Grabbing the farmer's wrists, he tried desparately to prise them loose. He bucked and twisted, managing at last to partly roll Sarel off him but not breaking his grip on his throat. He smashed a fist into the farmer's face and felt the fingers loosen. Striking again and at the same time heaving sideways, he dislodged the lighter man. He pulled back Sarel's head and brought up his knee hard into his balls. The farmer roared with pain and his body went limp. Resisting the urge to drive his knee again into Sarel's groin, he straddled him instead. Then pinning the man's arms down with his knees, Piet punched him senseless.
The sky was quickly lightening as Piet climbed groggily to his feet and gazed down at the spread-eagled bare-chested farmer. He looked down at the bulging groin and although his cock stirred, anger blazed in him afresh. Casting around, he found the clasp-knife in the trampled grass but, knowing that he could not kill Sarel in cold blood, he closed it and bent to gather up his scattered clothes. Piet untethered his horse, checked his compass and left. He would check his possessions later as, for now, he was interested only in getting as far away from this debacle as possible. He would head for the farmstead, beg for some breakfast and see to his horse. Then he would head on east to Middleburg.
Chapter 3
The sun was rising in a blaze of gold as he turned onto the red dust track leading to the farm. Smoke spiralling from the chimney made Piet think of breakfast and his stomach groaned as he reined-in. He sat back in the saddle and carefully looked around. Everything seemed peaceful. Five horses were feeding in the paddock near the porch and he could see half a dozen cows grazing contentedly in the meadow behind the farm. He trotted his horse into the yard and, as he dismounted, a bare-chested man came out onto the porch. He was beefy with broad-shoulders and dark hair swirling over his barrel chest and belly. He wore only skintight brown trousers over riding boots. Piet eyed the well-displayed manhood, then lifted his gaze to meet the man's dark blue eyes as he mounted the dusty porch steps. The man smiled, his teeth looking very white under the black moustache, and waved Piet towards the open door.
Piet stepped into the big farm kitchen and froze. A British soldier stood before him with a lee Enfield levelled at his chest. "Put your hands on your head and come forward, nice and slowly lad," the khaki said, and Piet's heart sank. A trap, another bloody trap."Now slip off your shirt and put your hands behind your back," the soldier continued. Blinking back tears of rage and chagrin, Piet complied, then raised his eyes to study the armed soldier. It was hard to tell the man's age, Piet thought, as the rugged square-jawed face was weather beaten and deeply tanned. He noted the soldier's two stripes as he turned to the trooper beside him, "Tie his wrists please, Fowler."
"Yes corporal," the young soldiers replied, and pulling some rope from his pocket, stepped forward.
The corporal strode across to the big kitchen table and, placing the gun on the scarred, scrubbed wooden surface. dropped onto a wooden chair. He stretched his legs out before him and crossed his ankles, affording Piet a fine view of his more than ample endowment, clearly displayed in his tight khaki breeches. He'd seen the direction of Piet's gaze and the scout thought he could detect a faint smile under the corporal's thick cavalry moustache. "Bring him over here, Fowler," he said then turned his head as the big bare-chested man entered carrying Piet's saddlebags overs his shoulder.
Piet followed the corporal's gaze and realised what a fool he had been. The big soldier was wearing the trousers of a much smaller farmer and it seemed that they would burst at the seams at any moment. As he swung the heavy bags off his shoulder and dumped them on the table, there was a loud ripping sound. The corporal snorted with laughter and said, "For God's sake get those trousers off and put your breeches back on Gray, they're indecent." The soldier grinned and began to unbuckle his belt. He glanced across at Piet and their eyes locked. The scout, feeling himself hardening rapidly, stared back until the soldier lowered his eyes to appraise his muscular torso. When the trooper's eyes eyes finally fixed upon his groin, Piet's cock was jutting out proudly. Gray licked his lips and, without shifting his gaze pulled the belt free. Not bothering to unbutton the straining flies, he ripped the trousers open to the crotch. Piet got a brief glimpse of dense public hair and the base of a thick cock, before the trooper swivelled around and plonked himself down on a chair beside the corporal. He tugged off his boots, rose and again turned to face Piet. Then he shoved the trousers down over his musclar legs and straightened up, staring into Piet's eyes. Piet gawped at the huge, swinging tumescent cock in awe. The big gleaming glans had pushed clear of all but a narrow band of foreskin
and as Piet watched, a big bead of pre-cum dropped from it to hang on a glass-like thread.
The young trooper, Fowler, suddenly flung Gray's discarded breeches at him and shouted, "Stop showing off and get those on you dirty bastard."
"What's riling you Fowler, haven't you seen a real man's dick before?" Gray smirked as he bent to climb into his breeches Fowler bridled, "Why you arrogant fuck....."
"That's quite enough," the corporal cut in, as Gray buckled and buttoned up and Piet was glad to see that the thick shaft was still clearly discernable under the khaki serge. "Now, let's see what we have here," said the corporal, turning his attention to Piet's saddlebags.
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and bound the scout's wrists, yanking the knots tight and felt a shiver of excitement as the naked man winced. He gave a small grim smile and said, "No need to act the strong silent type with us, we know
who you are, Piet Van Riebeeck."
"How?" was all the scout could say.
"Your horse came in about two hours ago. It's over yonder with the others. I waited out on the ridge for you."
"How did you know I'd come this way?"
"I didn't for sure, but we couldn't chance being taken by surprise. I saw you against the night skyline half an hour ago and knew you'd head for the fire."
"You know who I am and will let me go. I shan't remember seeing or hearing anything."
"You stupid bastard," Sarel snarled and suddenly grabbed Piet his balls and tugged him forward. Piet grunted but felt his bloody cock hardening as Sarel said "You're just like my brother, you've got it all down here and nothing between your fucking ears." Piet winced and moaned as his balls were squeezed and twisted and Sarel grated, "Nobody sees us and lives. I'm going to cut your throat. After the scavengers up here have had you, your mates will think a cat got you. But that's only after.. "
"After he's fucked the daylights out of you," Fanie cut in. "For God's sake, take him up to a tree and get on with it. I going to sit by the fire and have a drink" Piet was pulled roughly by his balls to a big old stinkwood and Sarel ordered him to kneel. He looped a length of rope around the trunk and attached Piet's wrists. "Ever had it up the arse, man?"
"No my God, never," Piet shouted and felt a jolt of fear as he saw the size of the rock hard cock that jutted out of Sarel's flies. "Then its high time you did, on you belly."
"Please man, don't do this," Piet stammered, "I..." Sarel's heavy boot thudded into his arse, throwing him hard against the rough trunk. As Piet sprawled against the tree, Sarel grabbed his ankles and hauled him down onto his belly. Piet's legs were flung wide apart and, as he felt rough hands on his arse, he fought down his rising panic. His sphincter was deep set, and Sarel had to pull the cheeks wide apart to see it winking at him from its little nest of hair. Piet instinctively knew that he must relax and, as he tried to unclench his arse muscles, Sarel jabbed a big thick finger into him. The sharp stab of pain made him yelp and his ring closed tightly around the invading finger. But Sarel roughly rubbed Piet's prostate and the intense sensation that welled up made him moan and writhe as he pushed his buttocks back against the farmer's hand. "You randy sod," Sarel whispered, withdrawing his finger and positioning himself. He shoved forward and met a moment's resistance, then Piet's ring opened and he slid easily up the warm tight tunnel. The scout gave a long deep groan as inch after inch of the massive ram bored up into him. All the way in, Sarel savoured the wonderful feeling, his balls crushed against Piet's hard muscular buttocks. Then he drew back and began to fuck hard a deep. Piet moaned in exquisite pain and pushed back involuntarily against the remoresless thrusts.
Fanie listened to the men's noisy orgasm and without looking over his shoulder, tossed back the last of the brandy. He wrapped his blanket around himself and lay down beside the fire. He felt uneasy, he knew they should have killed the scout on sight. He'd do it as soon as his brother had finished with the bastard he thought. But aware as he was of his brother's huge sexual appetite and stamina, he knew that wouldn't be for a long time yet. Sure enough, Sarel began again and the sound of the men grunting like animals made Fanie increasingly excited. He gave a sigh and unbuttoned his flies. He was determined now to have the scout. Yes, cut the bastard's throat while firing into him, he thought, as he stroked his aching cock. Sarel shot another four loads into Piet before Fanie heard him have a piss, come back to the fire and roll himself into his blanket.
Piet rolled onto his side, hoping the night air would dry the spunk-slicked hair on his belly and groin.
Spunk oozed from his battered arsehole, but with his hands roped in front of him, there was no way to wipe it. When Sarel had finished with him, he tied the rope around his neck and attached it to a tree branch. The slack would enable him to move around a foot or two in case he wanted to piss or shit. He did not let his mind dwell on the way he had reacted to the rape. Tied as he was, like a bitch to a tree, he concentrated his thoughts on his anger at the way he had been abused. Sarel had promised him a lot more of the same in the morning, before his brother slit his throat. He got to his feet and once again tested the ropes. He'd been expertly tied and there was no way of getting free. With a sigh, he dropped back onto the grass.
He must have dozed, because it seemed only the next moment when the toe of a boot jabbed him in the ribs. He saw Sarel's brother, the huge Fanie, towering over him and sat up. Fanie kicked his legs apart and, squatting between them, grabbed Piet's thick half-hard cock. It hardened instantly and the farmer pumped it roughly a few times before leaning forward and taking the big spunk-slicked glans into his mouth. Piet knew this would be his only chance of escape, and ignoring the wonderful feeling of his cock in Fanie's throat, he formed the slack of his neck rope into a loop. Then he yanked up the bobbing head and quickly slipped it over. Fanie tried to scream but the rope was already crushing his windpipe. He kicked, tossed around and clawed futilely at his throat. He was immensely strong and Piet hung on grimly as he was pitched about.
Sarel heard the sounds of the grunting men thrashing about and grinned to himself. It sounded as if Fanie was really giving the scout a seeing to, he thought as sleep claimed him.
Piet felt for Fanie's pulse, nothing. He rolled the limp body over, groped in the back trouser pocket and pulled out the clasp-knife. He struggled frantically but could not cut the rope binding his wrists.
Forcing himself to calm down, he plunged the knife into the tree and used the blade to saw through the tough rope. It was slow work and he looked anxiously over his shoulder at the bundled figure by
and bound the scout's wrists, yanking the knots tight and felt a shiver of excitement as the naked man winced. He gave a small grim smile and said, "No need to act the strong silent type with us, we know
who you are, Piet Van Riebeeck."
"How?" was all the scout could say.
"Your horse came in about two hours ago. It's over yonder with the others. I waited out on the ridge for you."
"How did you know I'd come this way?"
"I didn't for sure, but we couldn't chance being taken by surprise. I saw you against the night skyline half an hour ago and knew you'd head for the fire."
"You know who I am and will let me go. I shan't remember seeing or hearing anything."
"You stupid bastard," Sarel snarled and suddenly grabbed Piet his balls and tugged him forward. Piet grunted but felt his bloody cock hardening as Sarel said "You're just like my brother, you've got it all down here and nothing between your fucking ears." Piet winced and moaned as his balls were squeezed and twisted and Sarel grated, "Nobody sees us and lives. I'm going to cut your throat. After the scavengers up here have had you, your mates will think a cat got you. But that's only after.. "
"After he's fucked the daylights out of you," Fanie cut in. "For God's sake, take him up to a tree and get on with it. I going to sit by the fire and have a drink" Piet was pulled roughly by his balls to a big old stinkwood and Sarel ordered him to kneel. He looped a length of rope around the trunk and attached Piet's wrists. "Ever had it up the arse, man?"
"No my God, never," Piet shouted and felt a jolt of fear as he saw the size of the rock hard cock that jutted out of Sarel's flies. "Then its high time you did, on you belly."
"Please man, don't do this," Piet stammered, "I..." Sarel's heavy boot thudded into his arse, throwing him hard against the rough trunk. As Piet sprawled against the tree, Sarel grabbed his ankles and hauled him down onto his belly. Piet's legs were flung wide apart and, as he felt rough hands on his arse, he fought down his rising panic. His sphincter was deep set, and Sarel had to pull the cheeks wide apart to see it winking at him from its little nest of hair. Piet instinctively knew that he must relax and, as he tried to unclench his arse muscles, Sarel jabbed a big thick finger into him. The sharp stab of pain made him yelp and his ring closed tightly around the invading finger. But Sarel roughly rubbed Piet's prostate and the intense sensation that welled up made him moan and writhe as he pushed his buttocks back against the farmer's hand. "You randy sod," Sarel whispered, withdrawing his finger and positioning himself. He shoved forward and met a moment's resistance, then Piet's ring opened and he slid easily up the warm tight tunnel. The scout gave a long deep groan as inch after inch of the massive ram bored up into him. All the way in, Sarel savoured the wonderful feeling, his balls crushed against Piet's hard muscular buttocks. Then he drew back and began to fuck hard a deep. Piet moaned in exquisite pain and pushed back involuntarily against the remoresless thrusts.
Fanie listened to the men's noisy orgasm and without looking over his shoulder, tossed back the last of the brandy. He wrapped his blanket around himself and lay down beside the fire. He felt uneasy, he knew they should have killed the scout on sight. He'd do it as soon as his brother had finished with the bastard he thought. But aware as he was of his brother's huge sexual appetite and stamina, he knew that wouldn't be for a long time yet. Sure enough, Sarel began again and the sound of the men grunting like animals made Fanie increasingly excited. He gave a sigh and unbuttoned his flies. He was determined now to have the scout. Yes, cut the bastard's throat while firing into him, he thought, as he stroked his aching cock. Sarel shot another four loads into Piet before Fanie heard him have a piss, come back to the fire and roll himself into his blanket.
Piet rolled onto his side, hoping the night air would dry the spunk-slicked hair on his belly and groin.
Spunk oozed from his battered arsehole, but with his hands roped in front of him, there was no way to wipe it. When Sarel had finished with him, he tied the rope around his neck and attached it to a tree branch. The slack would enable him to move around a foot or two in case he wanted to piss or shit. He did not let his mind dwell on the way he had reacted to the rape. Tied as he was, like a bitch to a tree, he concentrated his thoughts on his anger at the way he had been abused. Sarel had promised him a lot more of the same in the morning, before his brother slit his throat. He got to his feet and once again tested the ropes. He'd been expertly tied and there was no way of getting free. With a sigh, he dropped back onto the grass.
He must have dozed, because it seemed only the next moment when the toe of a boot jabbed him in the ribs. He saw Sarel's brother, the huge Fanie, towering over him and sat up. Fanie kicked his legs apart and, squatting between them, grabbed Piet's thick half-hard cock. It hardened instantly and the farmer pumped it roughly a few times before leaning forward and taking the big spunk-slicked glans into his mouth. Piet knew this would be his only chance of escape, and ignoring the wonderful feeling of his cock in Fanie's throat, he formed the slack of his neck rope into a loop. Then he yanked up the bobbing head and quickly slipped it over. Fanie tried to scream but the rope was already crushing his windpipe. He kicked, tossed around and clawed futilely at his throat. He was immensely strong and Piet hung on grimly as he was pitched about.
Sarel heard the sounds of the grunting men thrashing about and grinned to himself. It sounded as if Fanie was really giving the scout a seeing to, he thought as sleep claimed him.
Piet felt for Fanie's pulse, nothing. He rolled the limp body over, groped in the back trouser pocket and pulled out the clasp-knife. He struggled frantically but could not cut the rope binding his wrists.
Forcing himself to calm down, he plunged the knife into the tree and used the blade to saw through the tough rope. It was slow work and he looked anxiously over his shoulder at the bundled figure by
Saturday, 23 November 2013
The Scout page 2
page 2
With a smile, he undid his heavy belt and fly buttons, and, lifting his arse a fraction, pushed his trousers down over his massive thighs. He cupped his big balls in his hand for a moment before grasping his thick shaft, which was unready slippery with pre-cum. Although he tried to imagine his wife's big tits and remember the smell of her wet cunt, the image that came into his mind was that of a naked man. Groaning, he began to pump as he remembered the man that had made love to him one hot night, under canvas, back in the spring. He shivered with pleasure as he recalled the man's moist lips caressing his body, far better than a woman could, and his gut-wrenching explosion, after the man had steered his aching cock into his tight warm fundament. His hand pumped harder and he gave a grunt as big gobs of spunk shot into the air. After the spasms had died away, he drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke later, the sun had dropped below the horizon and the first stars were already in the sky. The spunk splattering his hairy chest and belly felt cold against his skin and he sat up. He tried wiping it off with grass but in the end had to use his shirt. Getting to his feet, he dressed, buttoned his fly amd gazed up at the stars before heading west across the dark veldt. He trudged along, stopping occasionally to check his bearing and thought again about his intimate encounter with another man. Like him, the man was married and had not seen his wife for over a year and they'd put the whole thing down to too much booze and deprivation. When they'd gone their separate ways the next morning, he'd vowed to put it out of his mind, though the other scout had hinted that he'd have liked to do it again when next their paths crossed. Feeling himself hardening again, he cursed under his breath as he slogged up yet another incline. But when he reached the top his erection was instantly forgotten, he saw light.
Chapter 2
Flickering in the velvet blackness of the veldt below him, he decided that it was a fire, not the light of a farm. Instinctively checking the stars, he noted that is was directly in his path and he headed down towards it. He decided to approach with caution because, as likely or not, the owner of the fire would be unfriendly or even worse. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was indeed a campfire and that a figure was seated before it. There was a shallow fold in the veldt and as he moved into it, he lost sight of the fire. He knew that when he reached the top of the incline he would be very near, close enough
in fact to be visible to anyone watching by the fire. Slowly he mounted the gradual slope and stopped when the fire was again in view but only his head would be visible from the fire. He studied the man seated before the small blaze. His back was towards him but he noted the balding cropped head, the bull-neck and the massive shoulders. There was no sign of a weapon and he transferred his attention to the man's horse, tethered outside the ring of flickering light, and almost invisible. The beast shook itself and snickered and he sensed, rather than saw, that it was not alone. As realisation dawned that this was a trap -a second horse- the second man spoke, right behind him, and a knife was pressed against his neck. "Put them hands up high where I can see them," the deep voice said in Afrikaans.
As the scout obeyed, the knife was quickly transferred to his back and he felt the cold steel puncture the skin between his shoulder blades. "Now put your hands on your head and move down to the fire."
And as he complied, the scout felt the cold trickle of blood down his spine.
As he reached the fire, the seated man rose to his feet, turned, and levelled a rifle at the scout's chest. He was a huge man, half a head taller than the scout and a sleeveless jerkin hung open over his naked torso. The scout noted the thick hairy pectoral muscles and the bulging biceps before his eyes involuntarily dropped to the man's groin. Seeing the huge mound thrusting against straining flies, he quickly transferred his gaze to the man's face. He had a shaggy unkempt walrus moustache and a five-day growth of stubble. Having noticed the direction of the scout's gaze the big man gave a smug smile but it did not reach the cold iceblue eyes. Now the deep-voiced man behind the scout stepped forward to join the man with the rifle. At about six feet, he was a head shorter than his companion and though having the same bull neck and wide shoulders, did not have the same massive build. But
he had the same cold blue eyes, sported a neat moustache and had the same growth of stubble. His brown shirt was open to the navel and the sleeves were rolled up over his impressive biceps. Suddenly he barked, "Strip." The scout stared in amazement. "I said strip. Come on man, strip bollock naked." The scout looked at the rifle levelled at his belly and the cold eyes glaring down the barrel and knew with certainty that the man would pull the trigger if thwarted. As he shrugged off his shirt, he decided that the two must be brothers and dropped his gaze again. It was also very apparent that the formidable endowment ran in the family.
Kneeling to tug off his riding boots, the scout heard the bigger armed man say, "Let's pack this in Sarel. Why don't we just cut the bastard's throat before that bloody cock of yours gets us in to more trouble?" There was no reply and as the scout straightened up, Sarel ran his eyes over his musular torso. "For God's sake, you raped your own nephew," the bigger man continued. "You didn't exactly try to stop me," Sarel sneered, his eyes fixed hungrily on the half-naked scout. "Anyway, the lad was begging for it."
"Maybe he was, but that didn't stop him yelling rape afterwards. Now the whole family is after our blood."
"It would have died down, probably after the war finishes and the women come back," Sarel said and then added, "If you hadn't shot that bloody farmer. Pity you don't have a little less between your legs and a bit more between your ears."
"Now don't blame me, it was your idea to raid the farmstead," the bigger brother protested. The scout stared, realising that these men were fugitives and he had just heard an often repeated grouse between them. He also realised that he was in great danger. They were hard ruthless men and he was surprised that they had not already killed him, as the big one had suggested. Keep your mouth shut Fanie, this bastard doesn't have to hear any of this," Sarel said. Then he turned back to the scout, "I told you to strip, come on, get those fucking trousers off." As the scout began to undo his fly buttons
Sarel said, "Keep him covered Fanie, I'll get some rope.
Sarel rejoined them just as the scout tossed his trousers aside and stood naked before them. Fanie gave a loud whistle and said, "Will you look at that beauty Sarel. He'd give you a run for your money when he's hard." Sarel looked at the scout's long thick cock with its drooling glans like a large gleaming plum and admitted to himself, grudgingly, that it was true. He gave a dismissive grunt
With a smile, he undid his heavy belt and fly buttons, and, lifting his arse a fraction, pushed his trousers down over his massive thighs. He cupped his big balls in his hand for a moment before grasping his thick shaft, which was unready slippery with pre-cum. Although he tried to imagine his wife's big tits and remember the smell of her wet cunt, the image that came into his mind was that of a naked man. Groaning, he began to pump as he remembered the man that had made love to him one hot night, under canvas, back in the spring. He shivered with pleasure as he recalled the man's moist lips caressing his body, far better than a woman could, and his gut-wrenching explosion, after the man had steered his aching cock into his tight warm fundament. His hand pumped harder and he gave a grunt as big gobs of spunk shot into the air. After the spasms had died away, he drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke later, the sun had dropped below the horizon and the first stars were already in the sky. The spunk splattering his hairy chest and belly felt cold against his skin and he sat up. He tried wiping it off with grass but in the end had to use his shirt. Getting to his feet, he dressed, buttoned his fly amd gazed up at the stars before heading west across the dark veldt. He trudged along, stopping occasionally to check his bearing and thought again about his intimate encounter with another man. Like him, the man was married and had not seen his wife for over a year and they'd put the whole thing down to too much booze and deprivation. When they'd gone their separate ways the next morning, he'd vowed to put it out of his mind, though the other scout had hinted that he'd have liked to do it again when next their paths crossed. Feeling himself hardening again, he cursed under his breath as he slogged up yet another incline. But when he reached the top his erection was instantly forgotten, he saw light.
Chapter 2
Flickering in the velvet blackness of the veldt below him, he decided that it was a fire, not the light of a farm. Instinctively checking the stars, he noted that is was directly in his path and he headed down towards it. He decided to approach with caution because, as likely or not, the owner of the fire would be unfriendly or even worse. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was indeed a campfire and that a figure was seated before it. There was a shallow fold in the veldt and as he moved into it, he lost sight of the fire. He knew that when he reached the top of the incline he would be very near, close enough
in fact to be visible to anyone watching by the fire. Slowly he mounted the gradual slope and stopped when the fire was again in view but only his head would be visible from the fire. He studied the man seated before the small blaze. His back was towards him but he noted the balding cropped head, the bull-neck and the massive shoulders. There was no sign of a weapon and he transferred his attention to the man's horse, tethered outside the ring of flickering light, and almost invisible. The beast shook itself and snickered and he sensed, rather than saw, that it was not alone. As realisation dawned that this was a trap -a second horse- the second man spoke, right behind him, and a knife was pressed against his neck. "Put them hands up high where I can see them," the deep voice said in Afrikaans.
As the scout obeyed, the knife was quickly transferred to his back and he felt the cold steel puncture the skin between his shoulder blades. "Now put your hands on your head and move down to the fire."
And as he complied, the scout felt the cold trickle of blood down his spine.
As he reached the fire, the seated man rose to his feet, turned, and levelled a rifle at the scout's chest. He was a huge man, half a head taller than the scout and a sleeveless jerkin hung open over his naked torso. The scout noted the thick hairy pectoral muscles and the bulging biceps before his eyes involuntarily dropped to the man's groin. Seeing the huge mound thrusting against straining flies, he quickly transferred his gaze to the man's face. He had a shaggy unkempt walrus moustache and a five-day growth of stubble. Having noticed the direction of the scout's gaze the big man gave a smug smile but it did not reach the cold iceblue eyes. Now the deep-voiced man behind the scout stepped forward to join the man with the rifle. At about six feet, he was a head shorter than his companion and though having the same bull neck and wide shoulders, did not have the same massive build. But
he had the same cold blue eyes, sported a neat moustache and had the same growth of stubble. His brown shirt was open to the navel and the sleeves were rolled up over his impressive biceps. Suddenly he barked, "Strip." The scout stared in amazement. "I said strip. Come on man, strip bollock naked." The scout looked at the rifle levelled at his belly and the cold eyes glaring down the barrel and knew with certainty that the man would pull the trigger if thwarted. As he shrugged off his shirt, he decided that the two must be brothers and dropped his gaze again. It was also very apparent that the formidable endowment ran in the family.
Kneeling to tug off his riding boots, the scout heard the bigger armed man say, "Let's pack this in Sarel. Why don't we just cut the bastard's throat before that bloody cock of yours gets us in to more trouble?" There was no reply and as the scout straightened up, Sarel ran his eyes over his musular torso. "For God's sake, you raped your own nephew," the bigger man continued. "You didn't exactly try to stop me," Sarel sneered, his eyes fixed hungrily on the half-naked scout. "Anyway, the lad was begging for it."
"Maybe he was, but that didn't stop him yelling rape afterwards. Now the whole family is after our blood."
"It would have died down, probably after the war finishes and the women come back," Sarel said and then added, "If you hadn't shot that bloody farmer. Pity you don't have a little less between your legs and a bit more between your ears."
"Now don't blame me, it was your idea to raid the farmstead," the bigger brother protested. The scout stared, realising that these men were fugitives and he had just heard an often repeated grouse between them. He also realised that he was in great danger. They were hard ruthless men and he was surprised that they had not already killed him, as the big one had suggested. Keep your mouth shut Fanie, this bastard doesn't have to hear any of this," Sarel said. Then he turned back to the scout, "I told you to strip, come on, get those fucking trousers off." As the scout began to undo his fly buttons
Sarel said, "Keep him covered Fanie, I'll get some rope.
Sarel rejoined them just as the scout tossed his trousers aside and stood naked before them. Fanie gave a loud whistle and said, "Will you look at that beauty Sarel. He'd give you a run for your money when he's hard." Sarel looked at the scout's long thick cock with its drooling glans like a large gleaming plum and admitted to himself, grudgingly, that it was true. He gave a dismissive grunt
Friday, 22 November 2013
The Scout Page 1
Page 1
The big man lay sprawled on his back. He wore a travel-stained suede jerkin, rough shirt, open to the navel, and brown homespun trousers, very tight at the crotch and across is massive muscular thighs, now flung wide apart. His heavy, well-worn, riding boots were scuffed and dusty and his battered sweat-stained slouch hat lay some feet to his left. His head was closely cropped and his face lean and deeply tanned. His moustache was thick and bushy but the dense black beard, that covered his square jaw, was close trimmed. The only sound was the soft sigh of the wind in the thick grass of the veldt, which stretched, undulating to the horizon.
The man's deep-set brown eyes opened and sitting up, he looked about him. He detected movement far ahead and swore as he watched his horse disappear over the brow of a ridge. Snatching up his hat, he hauled himself to his feet. Nothing broken he realized but he'd collected a nice set of bruises. That stupid horse carried everything, maps, water, food, clothing, gun and most important of all, his compass. He knew that to chase after the damned animal would soon get him lost. Calmly he reviewed his options. When the horse had thrown him, he'd been heading west and would have passed the foot of the kop about three miles ahead. Recalling that his map had shown a fair-sized farmstead, some twenty miles west, he would have to make for there, if he was to get another horse. He started walking towards the kop.
The sun was covered by a thick haze and did not cast enough shadow for him to get a bearing so when he reached the kop he wouild have to wait for nightfall. The heat haze would then dissipate and he should have no difficulty navigating by the stars. True there was no moon, he thought, but the starlight out here on the veldt would be more than bright enough. He strode on confidently but the tough calf-length grass snagged his boots constantly and the going was slow and tiring. When at last he reached the coarse scrub and tumbled rock at the foot of the kop, he found a patch of grass and sank down gratefully. He dug into the inside pocket of his jerkin and pulled out his watch. Two hours to sunset he thought, as he stowed it away in his shirt pocket and slipping off his jerkin, folded it to form a cushion for his head. Taking off his hat, he sank back with a sigh and let his mind wander. He hoped that the stupid horse would soon be discovered or perhaps come after him. It wouldn't starve out here but it would need unbridling. He felt confident that any boer who found the animal would see that his gear was returned to him. His name and destination were the only true details that would be found in his saddlebags, all the rest was bogus.
Like all the boer scouts, the messages and information that he carried were commited to memory.
The documents, although appearing genuine, would be of no use, if they fell into enemy hands. The theory was that the Khakis would think that they had everything that he carried and he would not be beaten or tortured. He fervently hoped that this would prove to be the case but deep down he did not believe that they would be that gullible. Pushing this unpleasant thought from his mind, he became aware of the glans of his thick cock rubbing against the rough material of his tight trousers. As he
lowered a big hand to stroke it, his engorged cock pounded to full erection. He loved this sensation, that kept him almost always half-hard, so much so that he refused to wear drawers of any sort. This despite being told repeatedly that a man as well endowed as he should wear some sort of support or keep his groin covered.
The big man lay sprawled on his back. He wore a travel-stained suede jerkin, rough shirt, open to the navel, and brown homespun trousers, very tight at the crotch and across is massive muscular thighs, now flung wide apart. His heavy, well-worn, riding boots were scuffed and dusty and his battered sweat-stained slouch hat lay some feet to his left. His head was closely cropped and his face lean and deeply tanned. His moustache was thick and bushy but the dense black beard, that covered his square jaw, was close trimmed. The only sound was the soft sigh of the wind in the thick grass of the veldt, which stretched, undulating to the horizon.
The man's deep-set brown eyes opened and sitting up, he looked about him. He detected movement far ahead and swore as he watched his horse disappear over the brow of a ridge. Snatching up his hat, he hauled himself to his feet. Nothing broken he realized but he'd collected a nice set of bruises. That stupid horse carried everything, maps, water, food, clothing, gun and most important of all, his compass. He knew that to chase after the damned animal would soon get him lost. Calmly he reviewed his options. When the horse had thrown him, he'd been heading west and would have passed the foot of the kop about three miles ahead. Recalling that his map had shown a fair-sized farmstead, some twenty miles west, he would have to make for there, if he was to get another horse. He started walking towards the kop.
The sun was covered by a thick haze and did not cast enough shadow for him to get a bearing so when he reached the kop he wouild have to wait for nightfall. The heat haze would then dissipate and he should have no difficulty navigating by the stars. True there was no moon, he thought, but the starlight out here on the veldt would be more than bright enough. He strode on confidently but the tough calf-length grass snagged his boots constantly and the going was slow and tiring. When at last he reached the coarse scrub and tumbled rock at the foot of the kop, he found a patch of grass and sank down gratefully. He dug into the inside pocket of his jerkin and pulled out his watch. Two hours to sunset he thought, as he stowed it away in his shirt pocket and slipping off his jerkin, folded it to form a cushion for his head. Taking off his hat, he sank back with a sigh and let his mind wander. He hoped that the stupid horse would soon be discovered or perhaps come after him. It wouldn't starve out here but it would need unbridling. He felt confident that any boer who found the animal would see that his gear was returned to him. His name and destination were the only true details that would be found in his saddlebags, all the rest was bogus.
Like all the boer scouts, the messages and information that he carried were commited to memory.
The documents, although appearing genuine, would be of no use, if they fell into enemy hands. The theory was that the Khakis would think that they had everything that he carried and he would not be beaten or tortured. He fervently hoped that this would prove to be the case but deep down he did not believe that they would be that gullible. Pushing this unpleasant thought from his mind, he became aware of the glans of his thick cock rubbing against the rough material of his tight trousers. As he
lowered a big hand to stroke it, his engorged cock pounded to full erection. He loved this sensation, that kept him almost always half-hard, so much so that he refused to wear drawers of any sort. This despite being told repeatedly that a man as well endowed as he should wear some sort of support or keep his groin covered.
Tales of the Veldt
The hero of this tale we met briefly in the alrady posted story 'The Bridge.' Let's begin
TAM
TAM
Sunday, 10 November 2013
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
Naval punishment
Hi Pote
Thanks for your kind post. This picture was just a one-off. But, its a cold very wet day so... I grabbed a pencil and I'm doing you a follow-up. But be patient.
Best Regards
TAM
Thanks for your kind post. This picture was just a one-off. But, its a cold very wet day so... I grabbed a pencil and I'm doing you a follow-up. But be patient.
Best Regards
TAM
Saturday, 12 October 2013
The Bridge Page 18
Page 18
Flint floated just below the threshhold of consciousness and felt hands tending his wounds. Then a voice, young and excited said loudly, "Doctor come here quickly." He opened his eyes and saw the young officer carrying the limp body of Birch. "Hurry, he's alive but very weak." As the doctor got up from his side, tears welled up in Flint's eyes.
Chapter 7
"I'll be back for you in about an hour," the officer said as he helped Flint out of the trap. Then he added, North's funeral must have exhausted you. You should be resting, no sick visiting."
"I'll be fine sir, really I will. Please don't bother to come back for me. I'll find my way back to camp."
"If you are really sure."
"Yes Sir, I'd like to be alone with my thoughts for a little while."
"Very well sergeant, but please don't overdo it."
"I won't Sir, goodbye."
As the horse and trap clip-clopped away, Flint resplendent in his dress uniform walked slowly, leaning heavily on his stick, through the dappled shade of the Jacaranda trees towards towards the beautiful white, high gabled building that now served as a military hospital. The black armband on his left arm was in stark contrast to the pale khaki of his uniform and the matching sling. He passed into the cool interior and a nurse rustled forward to meet him. "The lad is drowsy and very weak sergeant," she said as she led him along a corridor. "I'm afraid I can only leave you with him for a minute or two."
"I understand Sister," Flint whispered as the nurse quietly opened a door and stood aside for him to enter.
As Flint clumped across the polished wooden floor towards the bed, Birch opened his eyes and smiled. He was deathly pale and his blue eyes looked huge in his pinched face. Flint felt a tightening
around his heart and, clearing his throat said softly, "How are you lad."
"I've felt better Sarge but they say I shall be able to go home on the hospital ship leaving tomorrow. How about you? I hear you were pretty bashed up when they found you."
"Oh I'm staying on. The bullet is my broken shoulder came out cleanly and my ribs and shin bone should mend, given time. My sprains and bruises are getting better already. But..I..I'm going to miss you." For a moment Birch did not reply but lowered his eyes to look at Flint's thick shaft, clearly discernible under the freshly pressed khaki. Softly he said, "Come closer Sarg." Flint stepped nearer.
"Closer." Flint moved forward until his groin was only an inch or so from Birch's face. Lifting his head, the trooper gently ran his mouth along the length of the hardening cock. Then his lips encircled the huge glans and for a few moments he savoured the taste and smell of this virile man, before his head dropped back onto the pillows. His eyes slowly closed as he murmured, "Goodbye Sarge, I'll never forget you."
"Goodbye lad," Flint replied and saw that Birch had fallen asleep. As he gazed down at the sleeping trooper, his cock throbbing and thrusting against the tight khaki serge, the realization came to him that he loved the young man. Tears pricked his eyes as le leaned forward to kiss the cropped head and he felt the tangle of emotions within him begin to unravel. He knew that the feelings of shame and guilt would nag him no more. Straightening up, he glanced down at himself and chuckled. There was
a very conspicuous dark disc of moisture on the pale khaki, where his jutting glans pressed against it. My God, he thought, I need a man, a blond man. He took one last look at the sleeping trooper and made his way out of the hospital into the bright sunlit courtyard.
Moving as briskly as his injured leg would allow, he passed the tubs of vivid blue African Lillies, the gravel crunching under his gleaming riding boots, and saw the soldier guarding the arched entrance. He noted the sturdy wide-spread legs and the more than adequate bulge between them. The brim of the sentry's topi was pulled down over his nose, shading his eyes but Flint knew that from the angle of his head, the soldier was looking at his groin. As he drew nearer, the topi'd head tilted up to meet his gaze and Flint surprised himself by winking. The sentry's face broke into a broad lop-sided grin, his even teeth looking very white under his blond moustache.
The End
Flint floated just below the threshhold of consciousness and felt hands tending his wounds. Then a voice, young and excited said loudly, "Doctor come here quickly." He opened his eyes and saw the young officer carrying the limp body of Birch. "Hurry, he's alive but very weak." As the doctor got up from his side, tears welled up in Flint's eyes.
Chapter 7
"I'll be back for you in about an hour," the officer said as he helped Flint out of the trap. Then he added, North's funeral must have exhausted you. You should be resting, no sick visiting."
"I'll be fine sir, really I will. Please don't bother to come back for me. I'll find my way back to camp."
"If you are really sure."
"Yes Sir, I'd like to be alone with my thoughts for a little while."
"Very well sergeant, but please don't overdo it."
"I won't Sir, goodbye."
As the horse and trap clip-clopped away, Flint resplendent in his dress uniform walked slowly, leaning heavily on his stick, through the dappled shade of the Jacaranda trees towards towards the beautiful white, high gabled building that now served as a military hospital. The black armband on his left arm was in stark contrast to the pale khaki of his uniform and the matching sling. He passed into the cool interior and a nurse rustled forward to meet him. "The lad is drowsy and very weak sergeant," she said as she led him along a corridor. "I'm afraid I can only leave you with him for a minute or two."
"I understand Sister," Flint whispered as the nurse quietly opened a door and stood aside for him to enter.
As Flint clumped across the polished wooden floor towards the bed, Birch opened his eyes and smiled. He was deathly pale and his blue eyes looked huge in his pinched face. Flint felt a tightening
around his heart and, clearing his throat said softly, "How are you lad."
"I've felt better Sarge but they say I shall be able to go home on the hospital ship leaving tomorrow. How about you? I hear you were pretty bashed up when they found you."
"Oh I'm staying on. The bullet is my broken shoulder came out cleanly and my ribs and shin bone should mend, given time. My sprains and bruises are getting better already. But..I..I'm going to miss you." For a moment Birch did not reply but lowered his eyes to look at Flint's thick shaft, clearly discernible under the freshly pressed khaki. Softly he said, "Come closer Sarg." Flint stepped nearer.
"Closer." Flint moved forward until his groin was only an inch or so from Birch's face. Lifting his head, the trooper gently ran his mouth along the length of the hardening cock. Then his lips encircled the huge glans and for a few moments he savoured the taste and smell of this virile man, before his head dropped back onto the pillows. His eyes slowly closed as he murmured, "Goodbye Sarge, I'll never forget you."
"Goodbye lad," Flint replied and saw that Birch had fallen asleep. As he gazed down at the sleeping trooper, his cock throbbing and thrusting against the tight khaki serge, the realization came to him that he loved the young man. Tears pricked his eyes as le leaned forward to kiss the cropped head and he felt the tangle of emotions within him begin to unravel. He knew that the feelings of shame and guilt would nag him no more. Straightening up, he glanced down at himself and chuckled. There was
a very conspicuous dark disc of moisture on the pale khaki, where his jutting glans pressed against it. My God, he thought, I need a man, a blond man. He took one last look at the sleeping trooper and made his way out of the hospital into the bright sunlit courtyard.
Moving as briskly as his injured leg would allow, he passed the tubs of vivid blue African Lillies, the gravel crunching under his gleaming riding boots, and saw the soldier guarding the arched entrance. He noted the sturdy wide-spread legs and the more than adequate bulge between them. The brim of the sentry's topi was pulled down over his nose, shading his eyes but Flint knew that from the angle of his head, the soldier was looking at his groin. As he drew nearer, the topi'd head tilted up to meet his gaze and Flint surprised himself by winking. The sentry's face broke into a broad lop-sided grin, his even teeth looking very white under his blond moustache.
The End
Friday, 11 October 2013
Ther Bridge Page 17
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Kotze the moment that the boer fired. The bullet passed under Flint's arm as his body struck Kotze and the boer dropped the detonator and gun as he went down under the soldier. Locked together the big powerful men rolled over and over on the tracks swopping blows. But neither could manage to get much weight behind their punches. Then Kotze get his hands around the soldier's throat. Flint tried to break the boer's death-grip and bucking and twisting his body desperately, at last managed to get his hands around Kotze's head. He pulled, muscles straining and the boer felt his neck being bent back. Aware that this very powerful man could snap his neck like a twig, Kotze released his grip on Flint's throat and grabbed the soldier's wrists. Both men's huge biceps bulged and trembled as they fought to break each other's grip. Inexorably Kotze's head was pulled back and it was the sweat pouring from him that saved him. Flint's hands slipped and he lost his grip. The boer drove his elbows back into Flint's belly and rolling free, sprung to his feet. And beaten and weakened though he was, Flint was up an instant later. Kotze threw a punch to Flint's head but the soldier seemed hardly to notice as he waded in delivering two blows to the body that made the boer reel. Flint came at him again and Kotze tried to bring his knee up into the naked soldier's low swinging balls. Flint sidestepped and swung a haymaker at Kotze's jaw. The boer stumbled backwards and Flint watched in horror as he toppled onto the detonator. The explosion was like a sharp crack of thunder and huge pieces of wood were flung into the air as the far end of the bridge tumbled down into the gorge. First to recover, Kotze snatched up the gun and fired at the gaping soldier.
The bullet hummed past Flint's ear, bringing him to his senses. He turned and made off down the track as fast as his battered body would carry him. Kotze fired and missed again. But his third shot took the soldier in the shoulder. He saw Flint stagger to a halt and sway for a moment before vanishing down the side of the embankment. He ran to the point where the soldier has disappeared and gazed down. It was very steep but the young trees offered plenty of holds for hands and feet. Tucking his gun into his belt, Kotze stepped carefully over the edge and began to lower himself. Below him he could hear Flint crashing to the bottom. He'd hunt the naked soldier down like an animal.Then his mind turned to the coming carnage on the bridge and he smiled to himself. He didn't give his dead colleagues a second's thought. Reaching the bottom, he saw Flint running away from the bridge and along the embankment, and sprinted over the veldt to the trees where they had left their horses. Unhitching his mount, he climbed into the saddle, and cantered after Flint.
By the time he had the naked soldier within range, Flint had cleared the embankment and was running alongside the railway line. Kotze took his horse up onto the track and riding along between the rails, fired a shot at Flint, who veered off into the scrub. Ahead Kotze saw smoke and felt a surge of elation. The train was coming. He rode down off the line and fired again at Flint, forcing him even further away from the track. The train was appoaching fast. Time now, he thought to finish this and dug his heels into his horses flanks. Kotze quickly drew level with Flint and, swinging his horse round, rode straight at him.
Kotze's horse struck Flint and reared up almost unseating him. He quickly calmed the startled
animal and slid from the saddle. The soldier lay spreadeagled on the ground and, as Kotze approached he groaned and lifted himself up onto his elbows. Kotze kicked him in the face and knelt, straddling the semiconscious soldier. "Hear that khaki, he train will be on the bridge soon." Flint made no reply but his dark eyes glared up at Kotze, who ripped open his flies and pulled out his engorged cock. You're going to have a foot of Afrikaaner meat up your arse, you fucking whore khaki, when your mates go down into the gorge. He waved his stiff cock in Flint's face and suddenly the solder raised his head again and bit into the thick shaft. He drew back and blood spurted from the deep wound. Kotze shrieked and, as he thrashed about in panic, trying to stem the blood gushing from his cock, Flint got to his knees and snatched the gun from the boer's belt. He was so weak he needed both hands to aim the gun a Kotze before he put the last two bullets into his chest. The boer's screams ceased and Flint could again hear the train. Flinging down the gun, he hauled himself to his feet, gasping with pain, and began a shambling run towards the railway track. He waved his arms and pointed to the bridge. The train had passed him but he staggered on until his feet tangled in the undergrowth and he pitched forward onto his face. Too late he thought as he spiralled down into darkness.
At the end of the train, a young officer lounged against the open window, in a futile attempt to get cool. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a naked man appeared, covered in blood. He chased after the train gesticulating wildly and pointing to the brige ahead. The officer stared open-mouthed, the gasped as he saw that the man was wearing army cavalry boots. As an awful premonition began to dawn on him, the officer saw the naked man fall. The British soldier was warning them of something up ahead, he reasoned, and he shoved his head out of the window. Then he saw the approaching bridge, and he knew. Its the bridge he thought, I've got to stop the train. He pushed past a dozing soldier, climbed over his kit and pulled the emergency cord. Nothing happened. Sabotaged he realized, like everything else the bloody boers could get their hands on. He had to think fast. He'd never get through the jampacked train in time, but he could send a message. Shaking awake the soldiers around he shouted, "I think the bridge up yonder is mined and we've got to stop the train."
"Gawd Sir, what shall we do?"
"We'll pass the message to the driver like we used to in the game we played at school."
"Right you are Sir, listen lads. The bridge is mined, stop the train. Right pass it on to the driver."
The officer heard the message being sent, with added expletives, rapidly up the train and looked out of the window again. The train was now on the embankment and to jump from here would mean certain death. He hoped they had time.
The bridge was only yards ahead when the driver was given the message, loud and clear. "The fucking bridge is minded, stop the bloody train." As the fireman clanged shut the firebox door, he applied the brakes. The train gave a jolt and slowed as the engine's locked wheels screeched like a banshee. But it continued to move across the bridge, propelled by the tremendous weight of the packed carriages and the driver saw that the last trestle was gone and only the metal rails spanned the gap. Slower and slower the engine came and out onto the unsupported rails. For several incredible seconds they held, then sagged down and gave way. Very gently the engine tipped into the gap and became wedged between the broken wooden supports. Immediately the troops began an orderly evacuation, unaware that they were a hair's breadth from death.
There were still more than fifty men on the train, together with the fireman and driver when the supports shifted and the engine slipped further into the gap. There was a tremendous jolt which flung some of the men to their knees. Then they carried on trotting briskly along the train and leaping down onto the bridge. When the supports finally gave way, the engine plummeted down into the gorge, dragging the now empty carriages with it. The train hit the rocks with an earsplitting crash and the squeal of tearing metal put the watching men's teeth on edge. Then the engine's boiler burst and the sound of the explosion, amplified by the walls of the gorge, was truly deafening.
As clouds of steam hid the horrific scene of destruction in the gorge, the young officer rounded up a dozen men he knew and they ran down to the bottom of the embankment and back along the track.
When they reached the point where the officer thought he'd seen the naked soldier he halted the men and spaced them out in a line parallel to the track. Then they moved forward slowly and found the unconscious soldier in a matter of minutes. The officer gathered Flint into the crook of his arm and wiped the blood from his face before forcing a little water between his battered lips. Flint moaned and opened his eyes."Its all right soldier, we lost the train but all the men are safe." Flint moaned again and his head dropped forward. "Don't sleep yet soldier," the officer said and gently lifted Flint's head. "Were you alone? Were there any more of you?" Flint's eyes opened for a moment and he said, his voice little more than a croak "Yes back there...dead." He weakly waved his arm in the direction of the tree and his head slumped forward again.
Kotze the moment that the boer fired. The bullet passed under Flint's arm as his body struck Kotze and the boer dropped the detonator and gun as he went down under the soldier. Locked together the big powerful men rolled over and over on the tracks swopping blows. But neither could manage to get much weight behind their punches. Then Kotze get his hands around the soldier's throat. Flint tried to break the boer's death-grip and bucking and twisting his body desperately, at last managed to get his hands around Kotze's head. He pulled, muscles straining and the boer felt his neck being bent back. Aware that this very powerful man could snap his neck like a twig, Kotze released his grip on Flint's throat and grabbed the soldier's wrists. Both men's huge biceps bulged and trembled as they fought to break each other's grip. Inexorably Kotze's head was pulled back and it was the sweat pouring from him that saved him. Flint's hands slipped and he lost his grip. The boer drove his elbows back into Flint's belly and rolling free, sprung to his feet. And beaten and weakened though he was, Flint was up an instant later. Kotze threw a punch to Flint's head but the soldier seemed hardly to notice as he waded in delivering two blows to the body that made the boer reel. Flint came at him again and Kotze tried to bring his knee up into the naked soldier's low swinging balls. Flint sidestepped and swung a haymaker at Kotze's jaw. The boer stumbled backwards and Flint watched in horror as he toppled onto the detonator. The explosion was like a sharp crack of thunder and huge pieces of wood were flung into the air as the far end of the bridge tumbled down into the gorge. First to recover, Kotze snatched up the gun and fired at the gaping soldier.
The bullet hummed past Flint's ear, bringing him to his senses. He turned and made off down the track as fast as his battered body would carry him. Kotze fired and missed again. But his third shot took the soldier in the shoulder. He saw Flint stagger to a halt and sway for a moment before vanishing down the side of the embankment. He ran to the point where the soldier has disappeared and gazed down. It was very steep but the young trees offered plenty of holds for hands and feet. Tucking his gun into his belt, Kotze stepped carefully over the edge and began to lower himself. Below him he could hear Flint crashing to the bottom. He'd hunt the naked soldier down like an animal.Then his mind turned to the coming carnage on the bridge and he smiled to himself. He didn't give his dead colleagues a second's thought. Reaching the bottom, he saw Flint running away from the bridge and along the embankment, and sprinted over the veldt to the trees where they had left their horses. Unhitching his mount, he climbed into the saddle, and cantered after Flint.
By the time he had the naked soldier within range, Flint had cleared the embankment and was running alongside the railway line. Kotze took his horse up onto the track and riding along between the rails, fired a shot at Flint, who veered off into the scrub. Ahead Kotze saw smoke and felt a surge of elation. The train was coming. He rode down off the line and fired again at Flint, forcing him even further away from the track. The train was appoaching fast. Time now, he thought to finish this and dug his heels into his horses flanks. Kotze quickly drew level with Flint and, swinging his horse round, rode straight at him.
Kotze's horse struck Flint and reared up almost unseating him. He quickly calmed the startled
animal and slid from the saddle. The soldier lay spreadeagled on the ground and, as Kotze approached he groaned and lifted himself up onto his elbows. Kotze kicked him in the face and knelt, straddling the semiconscious soldier. "Hear that khaki, he train will be on the bridge soon." Flint made no reply but his dark eyes glared up at Kotze, who ripped open his flies and pulled out his engorged cock. You're going to have a foot of Afrikaaner meat up your arse, you fucking whore khaki, when your mates go down into the gorge. He waved his stiff cock in Flint's face and suddenly the solder raised his head again and bit into the thick shaft. He drew back and blood spurted from the deep wound. Kotze shrieked and, as he thrashed about in panic, trying to stem the blood gushing from his cock, Flint got to his knees and snatched the gun from the boer's belt. He was so weak he needed both hands to aim the gun a Kotze before he put the last two bullets into his chest. The boer's screams ceased and Flint could again hear the train. Flinging down the gun, he hauled himself to his feet, gasping with pain, and began a shambling run towards the railway track. He waved his arms and pointed to the bridge. The train had passed him but he staggered on until his feet tangled in the undergrowth and he pitched forward onto his face. Too late he thought as he spiralled down into darkness.
At the end of the train, a young officer lounged against the open window, in a futile attempt to get cool. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a naked man appeared, covered in blood. He chased after the train gesticulating wildly and pointing to the brige ahead. The officer stared open-mouthed, the gasped as he saw that the man was wearing army cavalry boots. As an awful premonition began to dawn on him, the officer saw the naked man fall. The British soldier was warning them of something up ahead, he reasoned, and he shoved his head out of the window. Then he saw the approaching bridge, and he knew. Its the bridge he thought, I've got to stop the train. He pushed past a dozing soldier, climbed over his kit and pulled the emergency cord. Nothing happened. Sabotaged he realized, like everything else the bloody boers could get their hands on. He had to think fast. He'd never get through the jampacked train in time, but he could send a message. Shaking awake the soldiers around he shouted, "I think the bridge up yonder is mined and we've got to stop the train."
"Gawd Sir, what shall we do?"
"We'll pass the message to the driver like we used to in the game we played at school."
"Right you are Sir, listen lads. The bridge is mined, stop the train. Right pass it on to the driver."
The officer heard the message being sent, with added expletives, rapidly up the train and looked out of the window again. The train was now on the embankment and to jump from here would mean certain death. He hoped they had time.
The bridge was only yards ahead when the driver was given the message, loud and clear. "The fucking bridge is minded, stop the bloody train." As the fireman clanged shut the firebox door, he applied the brakes. The train gave a jolt and slowed as the engine's locked wheels screeched like a banshee. But it continued to move across the bridge, propelled by the tremendous weight of the packed carriages and the driver saw that the last trestle was gone and only the metal rails spanned the gap. Slower and slower the engine came and out onto the unsupported rails. For several incredible seconds they held, then sagged down and gave way. Very gently the engine tipped into the gap and became wedged between the broken wooden supports. Immediately the troops began an orderly evacuation, unaware that they were a hair's breadth from death.
There were still more than fifty men on the train, together with the fireman and driver when the supports shifted and the engine slipped further into the gap. There was a tremendous jolt which flung some of the men to their knees. Then they carried on trotting briskly along the train and leaping down onto the bridge. When the supports finally gave way, the engine plummeted down into the gorge, dragging the now empty carriages with it. The train hit the rocks with an earsplitting crash and the squeal of tearing metal put the watching men's teeth on edge. Then the engine's boiler burst and the sound of the explosion, amplified by the walls of the gorge, was truly deafening.
As clouds of steam hid the horrific scene of destruction in the gorge, the young officer rounded up a dozen men he knew and they ran down to the bottom of the embankment and back along the track.
When they reached the point where the officer thought he'd seen the naked soldier he halted the men and spaced them out in a line parallel to the track. Then they moved forward slowly and found the unconscious soldier in a matter of minutes. The officer gathered Flint into the crook of his arm and wiped the blood from his face before forcing a little water between his battered lips. Flint moaned and opened his eyes."Its all right soldier, we lost the train but all the men are safe." Flint moaned again and his head dropped forward. "Don't sleep yet soldier," the officer said and gently lifted Flint's head. "Were you alone? Were there any more of you?" Flint's eyes opened for a moment and he said, his voice little more than a croak "Yes back there...dead." He weakly waved his arm in the direction of the tree and his head slumped forward again.
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Badly winded, North knew that the boers would be there in a couple of seconds. He plunged into the undergrowth and forced his way through the dense vegetation as fast as he could. Very aware that he was leaving a trail any skilled tracker could follow blindfolded, he expected the boers to be on him any second. But there were no sounds of pursuit and as the minutes ticked by he began to realize that they had lost him. Halting his headlong flight, he cautiously peered over the top of the bushes. He saw the boers searching the scrub a mile or so away to the west and heaved a sigh of relief. His first concern now was to find shelter. Although still very early in the day, the sun was very hot. He looked about him and soon found one of the curious tumbles of rock, very common on the veldt. A large slab of rock formed a slight overhang on the northen side and this, together with the screening thorn- bushes, offered an ideal place for him to rest and take stock. After first making sure that no other creature was already in residence, he crawled gratefully into the shade.
Naked and with no horse, food or water, North knew that he'd not stand much chance of getting across the veldt alive. So he'd have to try to stop the boers killing a trainload of soldiers himself. He'd
even have to rescue the youngster and that tight-arsed sergeant. Not that he'd be so tight-arsed, he thought with a grin, after Kotze had finished with him. He reached for the rifle and what he found wiped the grin from his face. Two bullets, only two fucking bullets.
Flint and Birch stood in the hot sunshine watching the boers ranging further and further afield in their search for North. Kotze appeared outwardly calm but he couldn't keep still and he was sweating heavily. Birch was surreptitiously loosening the rope binding his wrists behind him. He'd managed to untie one knot but it was slow work. He turned to glance at Flint and his eyes dropped to the man's huge cock. The sergeant caught the directioon of his gaze and grinned. He blushed and looking away, saw that the young afrikaaner Lang had quietly joined them. His very pale face was bruised and swollen. He had recovered his clothes and was again neatly dressed. But he hadn't found his drawers Birch thought with amazement as he noticed the large prominent bulge in his trousers. Then he recalled Lang's screams and pleas for mercy during the night, and sobered instantly. Suddenly Kotze grabbed his pistol and fired into the air. As the sound of the shot reverberated over the silent veldt he waved and yelled, "That's enough, come back. We've got to get down to the bridge.
Lying in his lair, North heard the shot and also knew that it was time to move.
Chapter 6
North lay in the scrub and watched the men standing before the steep tree-clad embakment that carried the railway line up onto the long wooden trestle bridge. He could hear the distant roar of the falls. The lean young man produced some items of equipment from his saddlebags and as Kotze hunkered down beside him, North recognised a detonator and what he took to be yards and yards of fuse. He aimed the rifle at Kotze but his target stood up and moved away. Lang got up too and North saw that he had headphones slung loosely around his neck and held a wide belt in his left hand.He watched Lang approach the nearby telegraph pole and with the aid of the belt begin to work his way up. He made a perfect target and when he reached the top, North put a bullet neatly between his shoulder blades. Without waiting to see Lang fall, he quickly sought his next target. But everything was a blur of movement and he lost valuable seconds trying to get Kotze in his sights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the men running for his horse and brought his rifle round. Then, there in his sights was another of the boers. Without hesitation he fired and blood fountained from the man's chest as he fell. North flung the rifle away and dived back into the undergrowth. As he crashed through the bushes, a mounted boer appeared on his right. Frantically he ducked to the left and into the path of another man who opened fire.
For a second after Lang had been shot and tumbled from the telegraph pole everyone had stood stock still in shock. But recovering fast, Kotze had sprung towards the two remaining prisoners and was safely behind them before Wessels went down. Flint winced as Kotze jabbed his pistol into his sore back, and a few moments later there was a volley of shots. Flint's heart sank as the two boers in the scrub whooped with delight. "Oh my God, Sarge, they've got North," Birch whispered and as he turned his stricken face towards him, Flint saw the glimmer of tears.
The two boers moment of elation was brief and by the time they dismounnted in front of Kotze their expressions were grim. "We put six bullets in him, pity we didn't do it sooner."
"Ja" this companion added, "The bastard's really fucked things up. What the hell are we going to do?"
"You Myburg, are going to tie these two bastards to this tree and me and Malan here are going to get the dynamite onto the bridge. When this is over, we'll fuck their arses red raw before we chuck them into the gorge to join their khaki mates."
The last knot finally gave way and Birch got his wrists free of the rope securing them to the tree. It was past noon and the heat was fierce. Myburg was dozing in the shade of a nearby tree, his back propped against its thick trunk. As the young trooper worked, as quickly as possible with his numb fingers, to free the sergeant's wrists, Flint suddenly yelled, "Behind you lad, look out." Birch spun round just as Myburg came at him with a knife. Flint struggled frantically to finish untying himself as the boer lunged at Birch and missed. Birch struck out, but Myburg dodged the blow easily and lunged again. The trooper danced out of danger and Flint broke free. But as he stepped forward, Birch made a grab for the knife, missed and Myburg drove it, up to the hilt into chest. With s roar of rage, Flint flung himself onto Myburg and they crashed to the ground. The boer lashed out with the knife, red with Birch's blood, and slashed Flint's forearm. Ignoring the pain, Flint grabbed Myburg's wrist in a vice-like grip and wrapped his free arm around the boer's neck. Myburg twisted and kicked futilely as the life was slowly crushed out of him and was already dead when Flint snapped his neck. Getting to his feet, Flint felt a wave of grief threatening to engulf him. But this isn't the time, he thought, as he looked at the embankment before him. There would be time to grieve later. He brushed the tears from his cheeks with a hairy wrist, and without looking back, headed towards the embankment.
The climb was very steep and Flint had to use the trunks of trees and the tough thornbushes to haul himself upwards. With sweat pouring from him and bleeding from a score of deep scatches, he reached the top and saw Malan standing on his left, facing down the track. He looked to his right out across the bridge but there was no sign of Kotze. As he sprung forward the boer spun round and swung the rifle butt at his head. The blow sent Flint staggering backwards and Malan thrust the rifle again at his head. The blow struck Flint's forehead and he dropped to one knee, blood dripping from his brows. Malan feinted with the rifle and, as Flint's arms came up to ward off the blow, swung his boot hard into soldier's big balls. Flint gave a loud grunt and went down onto his back. Malan stood over him sneering, with the rifle poised. "I'm going to pound those big fucking donkey balls into schnitzl meat." When Flint tried to rise Malan again struck him on the side of the head. The naked soldier fell back and the boer stamped down hard on his groin. Flint pulled up his knees and rolled unto his side. Ducking his head and taking the next rifle blow on his shoulders he grabbed the boer's legs and yanked. Malan felt himself falling but flinging out his free arm he managed to save himself.
He quickly righted himself but Flint was already up and ready for him. The boer lashed out again but Flint ducked under the swinging rifle and drove his fist into Malan's belly with enough force to lift to lift him off the ground. The boer doubled-up and stumbled back perilously close to the embankment's edge. Then Flint's huge fist struck his chin, lifting him up and pitching him out into thin air. Malan's scream ceased abruptly when his falling body struck the first of many trees on its way down to the veldt below.
Flint dropped to his knees, badly winded, and sucked in huge mouthfuls of air as his spinning head steadied. Suddenly he heard a voice and whirled round to see Kotze standing on the track, the detontor, trailing yards of fuse, under one arm and a pistrol in his free hand. He launched himself at
Badly winded, North knew that the boers would be there in a couple of seconds. He plunged into the undergrowth and forced his way through the dense vegetation as fast as he could. Very aware that he was leaving a trail any skilled tracker could follow blindfolded, he expected the boers to be on him any second. But there were no sounds of pursuit and as the minutes ticked by he began to realize that they had lost him. Halting his headlong flight, he cautiously peered over the top of the bushes. He saw the boers searching the scrub a mile or so away to the west and heaved a sigh of relief. His first concern now was to find shelter. Although still very early in the day, the sun was very hot. He looked about him and soon found one of the curious tumbles of rock, very common on the veldt. A large slab of rock formed a slight overhang on the northen side and this, together with the screening thorn- bushes, offered an ideal place for him to rest and take stock. After first making sure that no other creature was already in residence, he crawled gratefully into the shade.
Naked and with no horse, food or water, North knew that he'd not stand much chance of getting across the veldt alive. So he'd have to try to stop the boers killing a trainload of soldiers himself. He'd
even have to rescue the youngster and that tight-arsed sergeant. Not that he'd be so tight-arsed, he thought with a grin, after Kotze had finished with him. He reached for the rifle and what he found wiped the grin from his face. Two bullets, only two fucking bullets.
Flint and Birch stood in the hot sunshine watching the boers ranging further and further afield in their search for North. Kotze appeared outwardly calm but he couldn't keep still and he was sweating heavily. Birch was surreptitiously loosening the rope binding his wrists behind him. He'd managed to untie one knot but it was slow work. He turned to glance at Flint and his eyes dropped to the man's huge cock. The sergeant caught the directioon of his gaze and grinned. He blushed and looking away, saw that the young afrikaaner Lang had quietly joined them. His very pale face was bruised and swollen. He had recovered his clothes and was again neatly dressed. But he hadn't found his drawers Birch thought with amazement as he noticed the large prominent bulge in his trousers. Then he recalled Lang's screams and pleas for mercy during the night, and sobered instantly. Suddenly Kotze grabbed his pistol and fired into the air. As the sound of the shot reverberated over the silent veldt he waved and yelled, "That's enough, come back. We've got to get down to the bridge.
Lying in his lair, North heard the shot and also knew that it was time to move.
Chapter 6
North lay in the scrub and watched the men standing before the steep tree-clad embakment that carried the railway line up onto the long wooden trestle bridge. He could hear the distant roar of the falls. The lean young man produced some items of equipment from his saddlebags and as Kotze hunkered down beside him, North recognised a detonator and what he took to be yards and yards of fuse. He aimed the rifle at Kotze but his target stood up and moved away. Lang got up too and North saw that he had headphones slung loosely around his neck and held a wide belt in his left hand.He watched Lang approach the nearby telegraph pole and with the aid of the belt begin to work his way up. He made a perfect target and when he reached the top, North put a bullet neatly between his shoulder blades. Without waiting to see Lang fall, he quickly sought his next target. But everything was a blur of movement and he lost valuable seconds trying to get Kotze in his sights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the men running for his horse and brought his rifle round. Then, there in his sights was another of the boers. Without hesitation he fired and blood fountained from the man's chest as he fell. North flung the rifle away and dived back into the undergrowth. As he crashed through the bushes, a mounted boer appeared on his right. Frantically he ducked to the left and into the path of another man who opened fire.
For a second after Lang had been shot and tumbled from the telegraph pole everyone had stood stock still in shock. But recovering fast, Kotze had sprung towards the two remaining prisoners and was safely behind them before Wessels went down. Flint winced as Kotze jabbed his pistol into his sore back, and a few moments later there was a volley of shots. Flint's heart sank as the two boers in the scrub whooped with delight. "Oh my God, Sarge, they've got North," Birch whispered and as he turned his stricken face towards him, Flint saw the glimmer of tears.
The two boers moment of elation was brief and by the time they dismounnted in front of Kotze their expressions were grim. "We put six bullets in him, pity we didn't do it sooner."
"Ja" this companion added, "The bastard's really fucked things up. What the hell are we going to do?"
"You Myburg, are going to tie these two bastards to this tree and me and Malan here are going to get the dynamite onto the bridge. When this is over, we'll fuck their arses red raw before we chuck them into the gorge to join their khaki mates."
The last knot finally gave way and Birch got his wrists free of the rope securing them to the tree. It was past noon and the heat was fierce. Myburg was dozing in the shade of a nearby tree, his back propped against its thick trunk. As the young trooper worked, as quickly as possible with his numb fingers, to free the sergeant's wrists, Flint suddenly yelled, "Behind you lad, look out." Birch spun round just as Myburg came at him with a knife. Flint struggled frantically to finish untying himself as the boer lunged at Birch and missed. Birch struck out, but Myburg dodged the blow easily and lunged again. The trooper danced out of danger and Flint broke free. But as he stepped forward, Birch made a grab for the knife, missed and Myburg drove it, up to the hilt into chest. With s roar of rage, Flint flung himself onto Myburg and they crashed to the ground. The boer lashed out with the knife, red with Birch's blood, and slashed Flint's forearm. Ignoring the pain, Flint grabbed Myburg's wrist in a vice-like grip and wrapped his free arm around the boer's neck. Myburg twisted and kicked futilely as the life was slowly crushed out of him and was already dead when Flint snapped his neck. Getting to his feet, Flint felt a wave of grief threatening to engulf him. But this isn't the time, he thought, as he looked at the embankment before him. There would be time to grieve later. He brushed the tears from his cheeks with a hairy wrist, and without looking back, headed towards the embankment.
The climb was very steep and Flint had to use the trunks of trees and the tough thornbushes to haul himself upwards. With sweat pouring from him and bleeding from a score of deep scatches, he reached the top and saw Malan standing on his left, facing down the track. He looked to his right out across the bridge but there was no sign of Kotze. As he sprung forward the boer spun round and swung the rifle butt at his head. The blow sent Flint staggering backwards and Malan thrust the rifle again at his head. The blow struck Flint's forehead and he dropped to one knee, blood dripping from his brows. Malan feinted with the rifle and, as Flint's arms came up to ward off the blow, swung his boot hard into soldier's big balls. Flint gave a loud grunt and went down onto his back. Malan stood over him sneering, with the rifle poised. "I'm going to pound those big fucking donkey balls into schnitzl meat." When Flint tried to rise Malan again struck him on the side of the head. The naked soldier fell back and the boer stamped down hard on his groin. Flint pulled up his knees and rolled unto his side. Ducking his head and taking the next rifle blow on his shoulders he grabbed the boer's legs and yanked. Malan felt himself falling but flinging out his free arm he managed to save himself.
He quickly righted himself but Flint was already up and ready for him. The boer lashed out again but Flint ducked under the swinging rifle and drove his fist into Malan's belly with enough force to lift to lift him off the ground. The boer doubled-up and stumbled back perilously close to the embankment's edge. Then Flint's huge fist struck his chin, lifting him up and pitching him out into thin air. Malan's scream ceased abruptly when his falling body struck the first of many trees on its way down to the veldt below.
Flint dropped to his knees, badly winded, and sucked in huge mouthfuls of air as his spinning head steadied. Suddenly he heard a voice and whirled round to see Kotze standing on the track, the detontor, trailing yards of fuse, under one arm and a pistrol in his free hand. He launched himself at
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