Date: Tue, 23 May 2017 18:23:29 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 19

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your
local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

"Bite me with those sharp teeth, Kucuk my puppy. Scratch me with the edges
of your jewel, my Dasqas. Rage and cry and wriggle and writhe, my perfect
and precious little one. I deserve every nip and every cut. But you will
not escape me, my wondrous little Kucuk. I will never be your master. You
will never be my slave. But perhaps, just perhaps, we will be those things
of each other."

*****

The Heathens 19: The Hunger

By Bear Pup

*****

The tussle, as one would expect, turned to lovemaking soon after. Again,
Harcos began to pet the cleft of my ass and find my puckered rosebud, his
fingers driving me slowly wild. Since my mouth was latched like a tick on
the head of my master's prick, all I could do what whine and whimper. With
a loud POP, he pulled me off my prize and I gave an entirely different kind
of whine, then a cry of delight as Harcos sucked my balls into his mouth,
tongue washing them round and round as his fingers still stroked behind.

Even if I had not been helpless in his powerful arms, I would have been
powerless to move from the sensations he was dragging from my body. I felt
more than saw him reach above him and both hand left my ass for the tiniest
instant, and were back before I could move. This time, his thick forefinger
was slick with what had to be that sacred rabbit grease.

Harcos pushed in and I moaned, first in delight then frustration. He still
had my balls in his mouth but nothing touched my cock. I reached down and
he slapped my hand away, but the pleasure was too great and I simple HAD to
get to my dick. He pulled his finger out, causing me to gasp, then grabbed
both my wrists, pushing them behind my back and securing them with one
giant paw. And then his finger was back. No! Two fingers! I moaned and
writhed, well, perhaps wriggled is better. With my nuts trapped in his
luscious furnace of a mouth, his fingers up my butt and my hands held firm
behind me, there wasn't a lot of room to do more than that.

I felt pain for the first time that night as his third finger entered me,
but at the same time he nibbled on my left ball, distracting me with a
different, far more wondrous pain. All pain, frankly all thought, vanished
when his deepest finger began to poke and prod that magical spot at my
body's sacred, secret core. My cock was so full it was actually painful,
and yet not the slightest hint of sensation was there. The more I
struggled, he harder he held me and the more-forcefully he pummelled that
holy nubbin of flesh. I know that I was making noise, but the Final Trump
could have sounded and I would never have known.

What started to build within me was nothing short of the power of the
Almighty God, spreading from deep in my soul, slowly outwards to every
finger, toe and hair of my body. He changed the tempo of his fingers and
that power redoubled. He trapped that lump of flesh between two fingers and
began to rub it from all sides and it redoubled again until I could no
longer see the tent through the rays of His Glory. My master's hand now
moved as fast as his tongue on my nuts and started to slide in and out at
the perfect pace, slamming into, across and back over that spot.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing, no sensation real or imagined, had prepared me for this. Without
warning, that Holy Fire found and invaded my dick and my entire body
exulted. The Glory, again and unbelievably, redoubled as well, blinding me
entirely and setting my entire being -- body, mind and soul -- ablaze. But
in His Grace, like the Burning Bush of old, I was not consumed but utterly
fulfilled. And with that, I erupted, my voice a strangled gurgle as the
Spirit seized every muscle and nerve.

I found consciousness slowly. Something inside knew that time had passed. I
stacked the tiny fragments of my mind with great care, casting about the
dark and formless void for each new piece and fitting it slowly into
place. The first sense thus born was that which feels warmth. Wondrous,
luxuriant warmth. I then had taste, the rancid flavour of a night spent
sleeping deeply after much exertion. The next, texture. Soft but bristly
hairs dragged rhythmically against my back. Next came sound, the soft snore
behind me and the predawn hunters with their mournful hooting somewhere
distant. Last was sight, or lack of it. I pried open my eyes slowly and
with difficulty, they were glued shut with night-gum.

After sight, self began to fall into place. With it, words, memories. With
that, I was full awake. I felt the warm slickness of Harcos' cock behind
me, planted above the cleft of my ass. The memory of his fingers taking me
came to the fore and I stifled a moan. With it can a sudden thought.

My master's barbarian paws were huge, each finger thick and rough. I
remember the third entering me. His hand laid across my belly and I gently
felt the digits. Could his... cock be that much larger? And with the
slickness of the skin and the way it slides, would it not be even... easier
to accommodate? The thought of having him inside me became a sudden
obsession, to the exclusion of all else.

I moved slowly, carefully, and got to where the crack of my ass now was
above the head of my master's dick. I rocked slowly, silently, intently
until I felt it finally nestle where I wanted, needed, thirsted for it to
be. I gasped aloud when the spongy, sex-slick knob met the still-greasy
lips of my ass. I bore down and he slipped. I tried to swallow my own moan
of frustration. I repeated the process and finally, finally felt the
slightest bit move inward, spreading me. I started to bear down and the
pain began, but what was pain compared to my goal? An irrelevancy at best.

I nearly screamed in surprise and frustration as Harcos spoke,
simultaneously pulling back from where I so desperately wanted his cock to
be. His voice was muzzy but indulgent, "No, no, my puppy. That bone is not
for you this day. It will take much work to bring us both that supreme
pleasure." I groaned in frustration, "But that you want it, my Kucuk, my
Dasqas, fills me with joy you cannot imagine." He pulled me around and
devoured me in kisses.

I finally pulled free and took my morning gifts, his night-urine and his
morning seed. The taste of my ass on his cock filled me with need and I
tried to pull even single drop of jism from him as he laughed, then yelped
at the overstimulation. He sent me out with a sharp slap to my ass. When I
returned from making mud, I was in time to braid his sandals. I saw with
dismay that he had again donned the breastplate that covered all the way to
below his balls as well as the guards on arms and shins. He expected battle
again. I equipped myself as well and came out to find Pyrkagia tending the
cookfire.

He gave a me a long, slow smile and I returned it heartily. He was
preparing a different kind of grains-and-fruit gruel than Harcos carried,
but the scent was delightful. Volot came out and looked me up and
down. "Ah, so you survived after all. Between Pyrkagia's demon voice and
the prolonged sounds a slaughter echoing from your tent, I would guess
there is not a savage within a dozen stadia this morn." I blushed
furiously, but laughed as well.

Pyrkagia's rarely-heard voice admonished. "And the terrible, lengthy and
highly-vocal death encountered by an ox a bit later in your tent,
friend-Volot? Surely added several stadia to their flight?" Volot was
mortified, not yet comfortable with the banter about what he dearly wished
would be a far more private (and quieter) pastime.

The three warriors strode into camp as the gruel was setting. Each bore a
pile of misfit weapons. Those of wood went into the fire. With the
exception of a rather nice sickle which Pameten loaded and a dozen iron
spearheads gleaned by Stelio, all other pieces of metal went into the
flowing river. Only the arrows, perhaps three dozen, and fur wooden bows
were spared, along with several lengths of twine well-suited to
snares. Arrows were driven butt first into the dry soil to create a tight,
round picket next to which the bows were stacked. I turned to Harcos with
questions in my eyes.

"The men were starving. We will not take that which feeds them, only that
which threatens the next band of travellers." He was back to curt and
grumpy; I understood why. We ate and packed and were ready to move out when
the three warriors went into quiet council. Volot and I shared a stunned
look as Pam portioned out perhaps a third of the venison, stacking it
neatly in the picket of arrows with the bows atop it to keep craftier
animals at bay, at least for a while.

When we started out, Harcos spoke low, "We are unlikely to need all of the
meat. Perhaps our generosity will ease their hearts as well as their
hunger."

Compared to the night, the passage through the actual cleft in the ridge
was supremely anti-climactic. The rushing river to our left was deep and
strewn with boulders, making a roaring music that delighted the ears. The
day was bright and would later be insufferably hot, but then was still cool
and pleasant. We did not see a living creature, human or otherwise, through
the passage nor even as we trekked across the plain beyond.

The area between the ridges was a barren, blighted place as bereft of God's
bounty as it was of His followers. There were low, ankle-deep grasses of a
type I have never seen. Rough-edged, sparse and stiff, they were not
painful but far from delightful to wander through. They also clawed at the
cart wheels. We could see the cleft in the other, larger ridge as soon as
we set foot on the plain. It should have been less than a day's distance,
but the vile grass meant slow going. Worse, we could not simply cross the
cursed grasses quickly, cutting across a narrow point and paralleling one
ridge or the other for the majority of the trek. The inner faces of each
ridge were deeply score by erosion, a sea of gouges and prominences.

We finally found respite for their clutches and were initially wary as the
grasses ended in a vague and inconstant line on the edges of
cultivation. Cultivation meant people and people meant potential
danger. The fear died quickly, though. The fields were long-fallow and only
the random scatters of tall grain-grasses appeared, most stunted with
thirst. It was clear that things grew in that valley only if men could
provide the water. The pass we sought was no more than an hour's walk from
there.

We found the ruins of the hamlet, a cluster of six small stone houses
surrounded by an inner, protective wall and an outer one intended to
constrain the livestock. Only one structure still provided shelter, and
that was tentative at best. It had probably been the house of the
clan-chief or family-elder as the floor was about a man's height off the
ground and made of thick (and thus precious) beams. It was the floor that
remained and held the feeble structure together. It was utterly clear that
a strong wind would collapse it fully. Directly in front of the ruined
house sat the reason for the ruin of the settlement, a well long dry and
dust-filled. The water had failed and thus the viability of the group who
once lived here.

Volot's voice was low and worried, and deadly certain. "There are ghosts
here."

Pameten's contemplative voice responded, "Yeeees. And those ghosts might
smile and make this a safer night indeed." He shared a look with Harcos and
they turned each to slowly scan the walls. None were as tall as a man, but
all where stills standing, and only three points -- the original gate and
two subsidence-collapses -- broke the protective ring.

Volot's eyes grew wide. He hissed to me in our own tongue, "Kucuk, brother,
please don't let this happen. This is a cursed and dangerous place. Please,
please make them move on!" I felt so as well, but when I thought deeply, it
was the quiet emptiness that stoked the fear, not the fullness of demons
and ghosts. I watched Harcos for some hint and saw him being to loosen his
stride, relaxing and rolling his sore shoulders. He felt safer here.

"Yes, my brother, but we have two things that others would not." I spoke
slowly and confidently. I had no scruples against playing to prejudice and
calumny if it would calm and soothe my simple friend. "We have a sorcerer,"
I glanced to Pyrkagia, "and we have a Christian who can destroy the ghosts
of other's ancestors." It was a common myth of the mountains, that we
followers of the One True God possessed such a frightful (to them) power.

The ability of the Holy Word to cast out the fiercest demons was widely
known (if restricted to the holiest and most God-favoured, a detail we
chose not to mention). Volot and most Heathens of this arm of the world
relied upon the spirits of their forbearers as much or more than any gods
to protect the hearth and home. The fact that we could banish or destroy
them was a perpetual protection/danger as caution and fear fought for their
hearts.

I freed myself from the chafing straps and began to twist life back into my
back. Volot, trembling visibly, did the same. I moved to Pyrkagia who had
already started assembling their tent. "Friend-Pyrkagia," I whispered, "our
brother is terrified of the ghosts of this place. What you know and I
believe as craft he sees as sorcery, and he believe the faithful of my
tribe as dispeller of demons. Have you some simple but flashy thing that is
not precious?" The slow, conniving smile alone would have proven beyond all
other evidence that this was a man of many years; no child could have worn
such an expression.

He nodded and I spoke briefly. I got another nod and left him, quickly
assembling our own cart-tent. The warriors returned, having set a different
sound-trap this afternoon and I muttered to Harcos, "Volot is petrified of
this place. Pyrkagia and I will fix this at true-dark if I have your leave,
my Aldus." Harcos got an odd look and nodded curtly, then set about pulling
a variety of lethal-looking weapons from his store. Stelio was doing the
same as Pam worked on his shelter with little real help from his trembling
servant who startled at the slightest noise.

The afternoon was one of weapon-repair and treatment, Harcos and Pam
teaching Volot and me the subtle differences in sharpening various blades
and edged weapons, then how to protect each type of metal once the
knife-shine showed the hone. It was tedious but fascinating work. As dusk
neared, Pyrkagia prepared the meal.

Dinner was the venison again, this time dressed with grains and a
half-cupful of precious wine taken from the bandit leader three days
before. It was wrapped, then allowed to create its own sweet wine-steam as
it heated over the slow coals. It was beyond simply delicious, it glowed
with the life the beast had held, that the grain potentiated, that the wine
preserved.

By the end of the meal, though, Volot looked ready to vomit. He was so
scared his breath was in short pants and I could see the white between his
eyes' irises and lids. I made sure to approach him where he could clearly
see me. He was obviously ready to bolt, and I could tell his master was
worried for him, even though Harcos spoke to Pameten with a clam and quite
voice.

"My brother, my strong ox, my brave and steady friend. I know you feel both
the ghosts who welcome us and those who wish us destroyed." He nodded
spastically. "I will remove the latter ones from us, my brother. Have no
fear at what you hear and see for the One True Gods protects me and all
with me in this."

Pyrkagia's head whipped round and Stelio started in surprise when I began
to speak. Pam cocked his head and listened closely as if he could make some
vague sense of the words. The reason was simple, I spoke as I'd been taught
the passage and the language in which the Apostle Luke had written the Holy
Word, Greek.  I knew the meaning from my own tongue, but we'd been forced
to recite in Greek as well.

So, I intoned the story of demon-ridden child Christ met after coming down
from the mountain in Luke the Evangelist's ninth chapter. Greek lacks the
majesty of Latin, but it had one saving grace: Volot could not understand
more than a few words. I was clear that one such word, pneuma -- the one
Luke used for demon spirits -- was among that handful. As I reach a false
crescendo more-or-less mid-verse, I made a quick hand gesture and the air
above the fire suddenly erupted in golden sparks. The glitters danced for
an eyeblink and were gone.

There are times when a Christian thinks that he is working WITH the One
True God only to find out that he is working FOR His great and unfathomable
plan. Thus it was that night. Before the afterimage of the sparks had
cleared from our eyes, the hovel behind us, the one with the intact floor,
erupted in a flurry of ghostly shadows and flicking wings. Ghosts and
demons driven out by the force of the Holy Spirt and the Word of God? I
mean, I *knew* they were bats, startled by the flash of light... right?

Regardless, Volot was suitably amazed and hugged me so tightly I thought
he'd break me. He then flew into Pameten's arms, begging forgiveness for
ever doubting the man's vow that he would be kept safe. Pam was utterly
bemused, but more than open to accepting this unexpected boon. They left
the fire immediately, and the noise of their jubilant rutting made my
master beam with pride. He pulled me into his lap and began to diddle under
my tunic. I was squirming and giggling in minutes.

I watched Pyrkagia's head roll languidly where he sat between his
'master's' thigh. It took a moment to realise that he was doing to Stelio
with his head what Harcos was doing to me with his fingers. I watched as
Stelio's face got tighter and tighter and his breath shorter and shorter
with the effort to hold his composure. When there was no doubt that he was
at the knife's edge of losing that battle, Pyrkagia stood and Stelio
followed, his need now clear, apparent and (based on the spreading stain)
apparently leaking copiously.

I was approaching my own climax as well when the faintest tinkle rang
out. Harcos jumped, dumping me on my ass. He threw wood on the blazing
embers. They flamed up and I could suddenly see the pinprick
of... eyes. Harcos roared, "PAMETEN! TO ME!"

If the situation had not seemed so immediately dire, the sounds from the
two other tents would have been uproariously funny. Cursing in at least
four languages and various slaps, yelps and squawks were instantly followed
by three naked and very well-armed bodies (Pyrkagia, as he had told, had
little proficiency with 'mundane' weapons). Harcos had thrust a spear with
a wicked, three-pronged head into my hands just seconds after I had Agyar
from his sheath. Harcos himself had two swords, short and long, flashing
from the neat row where he had laid them to dry after honing and oiling.

A screaming snarl told us in no uncertain terms what foe we faced, just at
ghostly grey-brown shapes boiled through the three gaps. Perhaps seven
wolves, one trailing the now useless sentry-string with unnecessary bells
bouncing everywhere, faced us, snarling. Wolves rarely attacked men in the
mountains and certainly never a large group around a fire. The reason,
though, was painfully, excruciatingly clear, and identical to the previous
night's cause; the beasts were clearly starving.

Stelio's weapon of previous days was useless in such a tight space. Instead
of the whirling death of his chained disks, he held two strange... knives?
Not completely unlike the trident of the false-god Poseidon, it had a long
central spike and two shorter ones, each perhaps a third the length on
either side. The creatures circled for perhaps ten seconds before rushing
us in their desperate, gnawing hunger. I fancied I could see the despair in
their eyes, knowing that they were choosing a fighting death over a sad and
lingering starvation.

I accounted for one wolf. My triple-prong spear pierced it in the chest as
it rushed from the side, snarling and snapping. My Agyar finished the beast
with slash after slash under its slavering jaws. Harcos and Stelio took one
apiece as well. Pameten, again, was Death come calling. His adzes ripped
and shredded the wolves that came within range. As each fell, Volot was on
it with a razor-sharp, sickle-like blade, either at throat or belly,
killing quickly and as painlessly as possible. It was over in minutes, the
shrunken, emaciated creatures lying dead and sad amongst us.

Harcos suddenly cried out and I looked at him in alarm. He dropped his
longer sword (I doubt anything could part him from the shorter one) and
rushed to me. It was then that I realised the wolf had done more than snap
and snarl. The hand that held my spear was running with blood from my
forearm where the wolf had ripped at me. I stared at it in wonder, unable
to reconcile my eyes with the signals from my body that seemed, briefly, to
be all about well-being. With a crashing wave, the lance of pain for my arm
now presented itself for consideration. "That HURTS!" I complained to
Harcos as I fainted into his arms.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 26 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 17 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 19 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 12 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 11 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Shark Reef: 4 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 2 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (4 installments)
.../incest/in-gods-love/