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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
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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
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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
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
The Scout Page 4
page 4
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.
Monday, 25 November 2013
The Scout Page 3
Page 3
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
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