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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
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