Date: Wed, 23 Jan 2002 00:30:44 From: Dream Spinner Subject: "The Brewsters Go To Hell - Part 2/6" (m/m) Caution/Welcome. This is Part Two of a six-part story involving four brothers, one twelve-year- old, one fourteen-year-old, and two sixteen-year-old twins. It is posted at free gay adult story sites for adult entertainment only. Permission is not given to copy electronically nor in any other form for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other than those described here. This is the thirty-third story in the Brewster Boys special events and myths series. In Part One we left the boys plummeting down a dark seemingly bottomless hole which suddenly and mysteriously opened up at the bottom of the hill they were tobogganing down. Comments and invitations to toboggan parties can be sent to the author, J.O. Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com Since we do not know if the boys will survive this adventure, it would be best if you hold any future story suggestions until we know the outcome of this tale. THE BREWSTERS GO TO HELL OR SATAN MEETS THE BREWSTERS (A Scarey Bedtime Story or An Uplifting Moral Story in six parts) PART TWO: HUNS AND MONGOLS, OH MY Frightened out of their minds, the boys did not notice at first as the toboggan began to slow down, and although it continued its descent into the black, seemingly bottomless hole, it was gently floating downward instead of plunging. It was still frightening, and the boys clung to each other in fear and uncertainty as they continued to drop toward a light far below them. Suddenly emerging from the pitch-black tunnel, they landed on solid ground with a jarring thump which would have knocked the fillings from their teeth, had they had fillings. The brightness of their surroundings was painfully blinding after the tunnel, and the boys squinted as they shielded their eyes with their mittened hands. "Holy fuck!" cried Bobby as his eyes adapted. "You can say that again," observed his older brother Benny. "Holy fuck!" he repeated. "I didn't mean for real." "I mean for real. Look!" The five boys glanced around them as their eyes grew accustomed to the brightness of their surroundings, which appeared to be caused by towering flames burning in open pits in every direction. It was not the flames that had caused Bobby's consternation, nor the sudden fear in his three brothers. It was the sight of five familiar figures, five very ugly familiar figures, with anger and pure hate burning in their eyes. "Holy fuck!" the four boys chorused as they leaped to their feet, and the chase was on with the four brothers scattering in all four directions. A good-looking ten-year-old vampire charged after Brent, having had the hots for the blond teenager the moment he had laid eyes on him, and a special burning desire for revenge ever since that fateful evening. Brett found himself being pursued by a forty-two-year-old warlock with the same desire for revenge, his coattails trailing behind him as he chased the boy who had beamed him with a bookcase on Halloween, and who he suspected had his spell book, which having had his memory wiped out, he'd been depending on for survival. Not only had he had to pay a major fine to the Warlock Guild, but for the past two years he'd been outcast and thoroughly ridiculed by its members for having lost the book, and for being not only unable to remember where it was, but unable to cast a spell to find it besides. He did know the last he'd seen it was there in the Brewster household, a chamber of horrors that had haunted him ever since, and there was only one way that he could have been subjected to the tortures that he'd been forced to suffer that night, though that a mere child could master such a complex spell so quickly defied all logic. Bobby, meanwhile, was being chased by a werewolf, eighteen years old now and even handsomer than ever, who for the past two years had dreamed of the day he'd meet up with the youngster again and doggy fuck him until the boy begged him to bite him and turn him into a werewolf also. It would be only the beginning of the payment for the multiple rapes he'd endured by a motley group of weirdly dressed mortals that Halloween night in the Brewster household. As the creature angrily dashed around burning pits and dodged around demons and creatures of every shape and size in pursuit of his prey, he let out a long, fierce howl that sent fear through even the monsters watching the chase, and which caused Bobby to scream even louder as he doubled his speed. Benny found himself dodging not one, but two pursuers, George and Spook, the two boogeyman buddies who had two years to plan the most exquisite tortures for the teenager. His stylish spiked hair and blond highlights made him even more attractive than he had been two years ago, and now that he could cum besides, they had great plans for him after they were done with him themselves. He was going to spend an eternity suffering under the hands of sadists that would make the Marquis de Sade look like a pussycat. Dodging between the legs of a particularly tall and long-legged creature the likes of which he'd never imagined before and which belonged in someone's nightmare, Benny suddenly realized that everyone, or at least almost everyone, was totally naked. That observation certainly did not help as the naturally curious boy now tried to catch glimpses of the men, boys, and creatures that he raced past in addition to finding a refuge from the two determined pursuers. With bloodcurdling screams echoing off the brimstone walls, the four boys dashed about the large cavern, leaping over the smaller fires and dodging around the larger ones, and leaping over, ducking under and trying to hide behind the most bizarre individuals they'd ever seen. With the padding of their parkas and heavy snow pants and with their large fur-lined winter boots they were not as agile as they were two years ago, and on numerous occasions they felt the hands of their pursuers grasping them. Not only that, they were beginning to perspire profusely in their heavy clothing. It was only pure fear that kept them out of the clutches of the demons chasing them. Dashing around a large stalagmite, Brett managed to remove his parka and toss it at the feet of the Warlock chasing him, causing the man to stumble. It wasn't much, but it gave the teenager hope as he turned and dashed off down the nearest tunnel he could find in the hopes of finding a niche he could hide in, and where he could collect his thoughts and perhaps think of a spell that could save him, and of course his brothers, whom he could hear screaming in the distance. Bobby had meanwhile managed to remove his parka too and had tossed it in the face of the teenage werewolf chasing him in the hopes also of slipping down one of the many caverns and losing him. Dashing down the first he came to, he didn't bother worrying where he was going and charged madly ahead, taking whichever tunnel he came across. Zigzagging through the maze of tunnels, the twelve-year-old finally paused and looked behind him, and relieved to find his pursuer had gotten lost, leaned against the stone wall to catch his breath, and to remove his winter boots and heavy snow pants. He had no sooner done so than the teenage werewolf came leaping around the corner, and thanking the boy for starting to disrobe to save him the time, the creature dashed forward and the chase was on again. Benny was managing to keep ahead of his two pursuers, the slight and athletic boy grabbing a hold of a low stalactite and swinging from stalactite to stalactite across a large boiling pit that the bulkier and more awkward creatures had to circle. Even with his advantages of age and agility, it was difficult to shake the couple, two years of anger giving them plenty of motivation. Charging down one corridor and then another, he suddenly spotted Bobby charging toward him. The two boys continued straight ahead, heading right for each other, and at the last moment Benny leaped over Bobby as Bobby ducked and ran under his older brother and between Benny's two pursuers who, charging blindly ahead, collided with the werewolf who'd been unable to avoid them. As they picked themselves up, they resumed the chase with even greater anger. Brent had also managed to remove his parka, and suddenly spinning around, he tossed it over the young vampire chasing him, at the same time throwing the boy into one of the walls, giving the youngster a good bang on the head and giving him a lead. Staggering back and struggling free of the parka, the young boy cursed his prey and took up the chase once more. Charging across the large cavern, Brent hopped on one foot as he removed one winter boot and then the other and tossed them at the pursuing boy, unfortunately without much effect. By this time the pursuit had caught the attention of a number of the inhabitants, and they all paused what they were doing to watch, which was a relief to those who were being tortured by the former. The boys were beginning to tire as they dashed in and out of the tunnels and across the large cavern they had found themselves in, but their pursuers were not the type to keep themselves in the best of shape and were beginning to lag. Brent dashed out of one tunnel as Brett dashed out of an opposite one, and the two identical blond youths dashed toward each other as each headed to the opposite tunnel, their pursuers hot on their tails. At one point all four boys found themselves arriving in the middle of the cavern from four different directions, and spinning around several times in a circle, they dashed for the perimeter again. The boogeymen and werewolf had no trouble switching directions, but it took a moment for the vampire and the warlock to determine which of the two disappearing blonds was their prey. The four Brewster boys, having shed as much of their winter clothing as they could, managed to use their youth and their agility to keep out of the grasp of their pursuers, but the five monsters chasing them were determined, and anger and hate giving them the advantage, ever so slowly they began to gain. The five creatures finally cornered their prey not far from where the boys had first landed in this strange cavern on their toboggan. "All right, all right," Brent panted as he held up his right hand. "Kings X." "What does that mean?" asked the ten-year-old vampire. "I dunno," Brent gasped. "It means like time-out. My grandpa says they used it all the time when they were playing tag or chasing each other." "This is no game," snarled the werewolf. "And there's no time out for you four. Your time is up," the warlock announced, and the other creatures chuckled at his wit. "Hey, wait a minute," Brett said as he slowly straightened up, having been bent over and grasping his thighs as he'd caught his breath. "You guys made a promise Halloween night not to come get us, remember? And you did too," he accused as he looked over at George. "We didn't come get you. You came to us." "Only because of that fucking hole," Bobby retorted. "Yeah," said Brett, thinking quickly. "Where did it come from anyway?" he asked suspiciously. "I created it with a spell," the Warlock replied proudly. He had been slowly relearning all his spells, and writing them down in his own spell book, being unable to get anyone to lend him theirs. Spells were a difficult thing to master, and it was taking him time. "Then it's the same as you coming to get us." "No it isn't." "Is." "Is not." "Well, it's not fair." "Tough shit." "We're gonna make you eat shit." "Maybe bung you up so you can't shit." "Yeah. Like for months." "Big deal, Grandpa Campbell is like that all the time." "Where the hell are we anyway?" "Hell." "Yeah?" Benny said as he looked around. "Wicked." "Why of course," the boogeyman called George responded. "He doesn't mean it that way," his buddy Spook advised. "Wish we had some of that cheese ball with us," observed Brent. "Cheese ball?" his brothers and the five monsters chorused. "Oh maaaan, Brent. This is no time to be thinking about eating," groaned Benny. "No, I mean it had garlic," he said meaningfully as he looked at the young vampire. "Maybe there's still enough on our nuts." "That was Monday. Haven't you had a bath since then?" "Oh yeah." "I haven't," announced Bobby. "Ewwwww," chorused his brothers. "Anyway, there wouldn't be anything left on them, not the way Brett licked them off." "Yeah, well you didn't exactly hold back either, brother," observed Brett. "Up yours." "Will you stop it!" screamed the Warlock. "Hey Brent, take off your socks and wave it at them. They got to be real sweaty in this place." "My feet don't stink." "Do too." "Do not." "Do." "Stop!" screamed the Warlock, gripping his head as if he had a headache. "Yes, stop!" thundered a voice that echoed through the cavern. There was immediate silence. The four boys, five creatures and everyone watching turned and looked at the speaker. The five denizens of the underworld, and those of the watchers who were followers, quickly dropped to their knees. There before them stood an impressive, muscular, six-foot-six tall, knockout gorgeous angel, perfect in beauty and body even if it was bright scarlet, with glittering gems as a necklace imbedded in his skin, narrow goat's horns on his head, a black goatee and a long arrow-headed tail, large raven-like wings, and a humongous cock the size of which the boys had never seen before. He was wearing a studded black harness, studded leather bands about his biceps and wrists, and link chain anklets. "Whoa," gasped Benny as he looked up at the individual. "Oh yeah," agreed Bobby, staring at the humongous cock. "What is going on here?" the new arrival asked, his voice deep and resonating and demanding respect and attention by its mere tone. The nine of them began to speak at once. "One at a time," he interrupted. All nine began to speak again. "You!" he thundered, pointing at the Warlock as he was the oldest of them all. The Warlock described in a halting and clearly frightened voice how the four boys had interfered with George's attempt to kidnap their neighbor, Charles Elwood, slightly more than two years ago, and had actually subjected the boogeyman to spankings and other humiliations, including boy rape, and had made him promise to not only protect Chucky, but to stop kidnaping kids and to release and return those he had kidnaped, which of course had left the man a total wreck and a total outcast these past two years. He went on to explain how they had gone to Earth on George's behalf on Halloween the month after to seek revenge and to have the boys cancel the promises they'd forced George to swear to, only to also be bested by the boys and humiliated and assaulted not only by them, but by every young kid out Halloweening in the neighborhood. "Tell him about your promises," Brett said defiantly. "Yeah, tell him," prompted Bobby from behind Brett. Brett was after all his older brother and supposed to protect him. The warlock did, arguing of course that creating the hole to bring them down to hell was not the same as going and getting them. "That's lame," protested Brett. "Yeah," agreed his twin brother. "He did not at any time leave hell," Satan responded. "It is a valid point." "Were you a lawyer or something in Heaven?" asked Bobby. "It is a valid point," Satan responded in that tone their father used to indicate it was the end of the discussion, even when the discussion, in the opinion of the boys, had not really begun. "Oh sure, side with your own why don't you," Benny objected. "The Brewster brothers, eh?" Satan said, looking at the four. "I've heard of you." "You have?" the boys asked together, falling silent as they looked at each other. "The book," Satan said, snapping his fingers, and one of his followers whom the boys had not even noticed disappeared. "You have a book?" "Everyone has a book." "Uh-oh," Benny responded, looking at his brothers. The minion returned with a large leather-bound volume almost two feet thick, which Satan placed on the minion's back as he bent over for his master. "Whoa, that's some fucking book," Bobby observed. "That can't all be just about us," Brent observed hopefully but not confidently. "No," Satan replied as he opened it up. "But there is a chapter just for you boys." The four brothers glanced at each other with wide eyes and fell silent once more as they turned to watch the Lord of the Underworld. He turned to the appropriate page and studied it. "Mmmm," he said, and the boys glanced at each other with growing concern and the creatures chortled with glee and hope. "Well," he said, finally looking up. "You have had your evil moments. Santa particularly has written some very stern words about your behavior, especially the Christmas of 1998." "Santa wrote you a note?" "Of course. We collaborate every December. The world has gotten much too populated for us to keep tabs on everyone who has been naughty by ourselves." "Jeez," Benny sighed. "No. He has Saint Peter keeping His books," Satan responded. "And besides, we don't correspond." The boys glanced at each other, their hearts sinking. This was not good. "Still," Satan continued, "despite your shenanigans and your pranks, and the things you've done to these five, and the humans on the surface, you've always acted out of goodness." "Fu-, fu-, fuck yeah," Bobby responded, wondering if his vocabulary counted as a sin. "You've acted to protect the weaker, and to punish the bullies and bring the proud and the arrogant down a notch or two." "Right!" the boys chorused eagerly. "Though usually in punishing them you also saw your own desires were satisfied." "Totally by accident," offered Brett. "Yeah, it just happened that way," his brothers agreed in support. "But you did do some very nasty things to these five." "Self defense." "Putting gummy bears on my fangs and making me suck off three dozen horny teens and preteens?" retorted the young vampire. "That wasn't self defense." "Changing me to look like a voluptuous big-boobed slut and making me service three boys at a time?" added the Warlock bitterly. The boys twittered at the memory, and even Satan could not prevent the corner of his lips curling in a smile. "Tying me up and getting my backside repeated fucked by a bunch of horny teenagers?" growled the werewolf. Several nearby devils quickly dropped their hands before their groins to hide the effect that thought had on them. "Having me spanked by young Charles Elwood, and then forcing me to have sex with all of you?" George whined. "Having two little boys shove screwdrivers up my ass, and then their tiny dicks?" countered Spook. "Weeeelllll," the boys responded. "Each of you started it." "Did not," the five responded "Did too," the four retorted. "Did ." "Stop," Satan said quietly and the nine immediately ceased their bickering and turned to face him once more. "I will tell you what," he said, thinking carefully. "I'll give you four tasks. Four challenges. For each one you succeed in achieving, one of you may return to the surface. Those left behind will be left at the whim and pleasure of these five." "What sort of tasks?" asked Brett, he and his brothers having done plenty of negotiating and the sixteen-year-old being very aware of unspoken conditions. He and his brothers had certainly used the unspoken to their advantage in the past. "Yeah, it depends on what sort of tasks," agreed Brent in support, his brother's courage bolstering his own. "I ain't shoveling the crap out of no cow barns," Bobby observed. His three brothers, their five protagonists, and Satan all turned and looked at the twelve- year-old in bewilderment. "Hey, that was one of Hercules' challenges," Bobby responded, recalling his ancient Greek history from grade five. That one in particular had caught his attention and at the time he'd wondered how he could make the school bully, fat Scott Hurd, have to do something like that. "They will be challenges of my choosing, and there will be no negotiating the terms. Or I turn you over to these five now." "You got one humongous cock," Bobby suddenly observed. Satan and the others all looked at him in surprise once again. His brothers rolled their eyes. Sometimes their kid brother could be totally in his own world. "Bet you could fuck your own ass with it." "I imagine I could, if I so wished," Satan responded, secretly admiring the twelve-year- old's spunk and, no pun intended, devil-may-care attitude. "If we win all four tests, you gotta do it." "Do it?" "Fuck yourself." Bobby's three brothers, their five protagonists, and all those watching inhaled deeply and held their breaths, unable to believe what they had just heard. Bobby had pretty much just told the Prince of the Underworld to fuck himself. Satan looked at the twelve-year-old incredulously also. He had challenged God and His dominions in heaven, he had challenged and tried to tempt His Son on Earth, and he had millions of demons who would do his bidding at the snap of his fingers, even die for him, and this kid not even yet in his teens was making a deal with him! He chuckled. The kid did have spunk. He chuckled louder. Why not? There was no way they'd achieve one of his challenges, never mind four. "It's a deal," he said, "but if you don't, I get to fuck you." "Scout's honor," Bobby added, raising his hand. "Scout's honor," Satan replied, raising his. "All right," Bobby practically shouted, and Satan wondered if maybe even if the youngster lost, that accepting his punishment really wasn't seen by the boy as a punishment at all. "So what is the first challenge?" Brett asked. "On that I will have to think," replied Satan, slowly stroking his goatee as he began to walk. The four boys followed him, and no longer being chased, were able to look about them really for the first time. Pits of hot bubbling oil, pits of steaming, boiling water, and small and large pits of flame that flared up all around them were scattered in all directions. There were people being tortured everywhere, some hanging by their thumbs and being whipped, some being dipped in the pools, some picking up huge boulders and moving them from one place to another while devils cracked whips at their naked backsides if they moved too slowly. Here and there were assorted creatures out of the worse nightmares imaginable, talking, laughing, and torturing men, women, and even children of every imaginable race. On the slopes of rolling hills in the distance far to the right were two armies hot in battle. Even though several miles away, the boys could hear the cries of pain and agony and the clash of swords, and even from where they stood they could see men being pierced by arrows and falling to the ground. Far to the left on an open plain again several miles away was another battle being waged by men on horseback, some of them riding in chariots. They were also using swords and arrows, and though their uniforms were different from the men fighting on the right, the scene was the same as men attacked with death cries and others fell with death gurgling in their throats. "What's going on over there?" asked Benny, his curiosity getting the best of him as he nodded over to the plain. "The Battle of Chalons, in central France, in 451," replied Satan. "Attila the Hun's worst defeat at the hands of the combined armies of the Roman general Flavius Aetius and the Visigoth King Theodoric l. Although Theodoric was killed on that day, Aetius was victorious and Attila retreated all the way back across Europe to Hungary. The barbarian is now destined to repeat that defeat over and over, living again and again the humiliation, without the slaughter and looting and savagery that followed in his revenge as he was driven back across Europe, the savagery and brutality that characterized his life and condemned him to eternity in hell. And over there," he continued, pointing to the rolling hills to the right, "is the great Genghis Khan, Temujin, fighting his blood brother, Jamukha, in the Battle of Khalakhaljit Elet, in which his blood-brother defeated him for the second time and sent him running to the swamps of northern Mongolia, a bitter defeat especially after spending ten years in exile in China after his first defeat by his blood brother. However," he said with a satisfied grin, "unlike after his first defeat in which he boiled seventy of his enemy clan's leaders alive, and unlike after his second defeat in which he returned a year later to defeat his blood brother and conquer most of Asia, here he is destined to live his defeat and the humiliation of retreat only. Like Attila, his barbaric cruelty has brought him to me, but he will never again enjoy such sadistic pleasures." Satan looked at the one army and then the other as he pondered. "According to your record you four have dealt with bullies and arrogant and pompous individuals before. For your first task, impress me. Prove to me your reputation for meting out justice for those who would dominate and hurt those weaker than themselves. Design a punishment for these two great warriors equivalent to the punishment I have chosen for them, and if it is to my liking, one of you may return to the surface." The boys looked at each other, and then at Brett. As usual, and as his brothers had hoped, he had an idea. Taking them aside, he whispered his plan and they roundly approved, and added a few typical Brewster refinements. "Very well, we're ready," the slender, effeminate, blond youth announced, turning to Satan as he and his brothers broke their huddle. "Bring the two leaders to me." Satan smirked as he looked at the sixteen-year-old and then at his three brothers. This was going to be like taking candy away from a baby. There was no way the four could have come up with a plan equal to his so quickly. He snapped his fingers and several of his minions immediately left to do his bidding. "Would you not like a throne or something to sit on when you inform these two barbarians of their punishment?" "No," replied Brent, not having thought of something like that and sorry now that he hadn't. "But a glass of water would be great. Ice cold water. And glasses for my brothers." An hour later the minions of Satan returned with the two warrior leaders. The pain of centuries of defeat and humiliation was etched into their faces, dusty and streaked with sweat from the battle, and despite their fear of the omnipotent demon standing before him, they glared at him with a hatred that only years of suffering can build up. The great Genghis Khan, a short, stocky, heavyset man of thirty-five with swarthy yellow skin, a large, round head with a broad face, wide flat nose, prominent cheekbones, and a long, thin, drooping moustache, and with fire in his dark almond-shaped eyes, a fire renown since the age of nine when he'd been betrothed, threw back his shoulders proudly. He was wearing an unwashed silk blouse under a brocade vest and a calf-length surcoat split at the sides and gathered in at the waist by a girdle, a fur cape over his shoulders, and a fur lined cap, unusual and uncomfortable clothing for a place so hot, but typical of the dress of his time, and comfort of their guests not being one of the considerations in hell. Beside him stood Attila, the King of the Huns, a short, broad-shouldered, brown-skinned man of about fifty-five, also with a large head and a swarthy complexion, with small, deep- seated, slanted eyes, a flat nose, and a few scraggy, greasy-looking hairs in the place of a beard. He too was uncomfortably dressed, wearing the traditional animal skins of his time, a conical, rabbit-skin cap rimmed with rabbit fur, a heavy fur-trimmed cloak over a coarse cotton shirt, and dirty, stained deer-skinned trousers tucked into heavy boots extending half way up his calves. Cleanliness was not a valued attribute in the days of either man, and the Mongolian warrior actually thought washing his clothing angered the gods. "This boy has orders for you," Satan said simply, gesturing at Brett. The two men looked at each other and then at this slender, effeminate youth with long, flowing hair and dressed in the strangest-looking garb, a thick cotton shirt, padded pants, and strange black boots made of a smooth shiny material. The boy beside him was identical in appearance and dress except he was in his stocking feet and he had some sort of jewelry hanging from his ear and stuck in the bridge of his nose. The two younger boys, one on each side of the two blonds, were also dressed in this strange garb, the youngest also in his stocking feet and instead of thick, padded pants, was wearing a pair of obscenely tight blue trousers. They all looked weak, and had they been in their homelands, they would have been bested by children half their age if they were human. The blond youth the Lord of Hell had indicated had to be a sorcerer or a demon child of some sort to be giving them orders, and the others had to be also, or his servants. Knowing the vile habits of demons all too well, they could even be the youth's concubines. "Yes," said Brett, inhaling deeply as he summoned up his courage, and catching a whiff of the two mighty chieftains, sorry that he had. "You must be getting terribly bored losing, and losing, and losing, day after day, and knowing no matter how hard you try, you're just going to be a loser again tomorrow." The men smarted with his words, as Brett knew they would, and they glared at him. Back in their time they would have drawn and quartered one such as him, perhaps after some other elaborate tortures. One of those tortures Attila had in mind was being the main entertainment for men who had a fondness for effeminate young boys, and soldiers who had been away from their women for too long. "So," Brett continued, clearing his throat nervously, "we are going to give you a chance to be a winner for a change." He wiped his hands on his snow pants. "Well, actually, just one of you. For every winner, there has to be a loser, doesn't there." He stated the obvious as a statement, not a question. He was not toying with them, though in his nervousness that was how it was appearing to the two men, and to those watching, including Satan, who gave no evidence of it, but was impressed with his approach. The two men glared at him, and even though he knew he was acting with Satan's permission and was safe, at least as safe as anyone in hell could be, Brett felt his heart pounding in his chest. "How it will work is this," he continued, trying to keep his composure, "instead of battling your worst enemy, today you will get to battle a new enemy." He paused dramatically, or so he thought, but in reality he was making the two men think even more certainly that this effeminate child was toying with them. "Today you will fight each other." The two warriors glanced at each other. Although they'd been in hell for centuries, and had been fighting across the Stygian plain from each other, neither had really had the opportunity to observe each other. With experienced eyes they quickly calculated their chances and assessed the strengths and weaknesses of the other, and what each saw was a leader as brutal and as callous as himself. They looked back at Brett. "The winner will be the one who kills or captures the army of the other, and who in front of the defeated army, will have his way with that army's leader." He quickly glanced over at Satan to see his response, but the Lord of Hell was a master at this game, and if he was pleased or displeased with Brett's plan, he was not letting on. "Have his way?" the older of the men, Attila the Hun, asked. "Use him for your sexual pleasure," Brett said, swallowing hard. "I will defeat this young pup," Attila snarled, looking over at the younger Mongolian, "but I will not defile myself by laying with another man." "And I will easily kill this old man," declared Temujin angrily, Attila being twenty years his senior, "but I will not engage in such an unmanly act. Man's greatest good fortune is to chase and defeat his enemy, seize his total possessions, leave his married women weeping and wailing, ride his gelding, and use the bodies of his women," he declared. "Whoever is guilty of sodomy is to be put to death. Such was the way of men in my time." "Well, if you don't, then we will call the battle a tie and my brothers and I will use the two of you," bluffed Brett, thinking quickly on his feet. "In front of both armies," he added when the men didn't respond, and to his disappointment, even that did not elicit a response. "Now go prepare for battle. You will begin in the hour." As the two men were lead away to the battle field that had been selected, a high plateau ideal for the type of battle the two were accustomed to leading, Satan strolled off to attend to whatever it was the King of the Underworld had to attend to in hell after warning the boys' five adversaries to leave them alone, leaving the four boys to themselves. Brett's brothers crowded around him. "Oh maaaaaannnnnn! You were awesome," observed Benny, looking at his brother proudly. "Oh yeah. You were wicked brother," agreed Brent, putting his arm about his twin. "Fucking right," agreed Bobby, giving him a big hug around the waist. "Awesome? I was scared shitless," admitted Brett. "Aw, com'on. You were fierce." "Really. I've never been so scared in my life." "I couldn't tell," observed Brent, and his brothers quickly agreed that they couldn't either. "You think Satan could?" "Naw," Brent said after a moment's thought. "If I couldn't, he couldn't. I know you better than anyone." "Yeah, I guess," Brett said, giving his twin a hug. "You think they're gonna go through with it?" Benny asked "Fight you mean?" "Oh, they'll fight," the fourteen-year-old observed. "They like doing that. What I meant was after." "Screw?" asked Bobby. "Yeah." "That I don't know." "They'd better," observed Brent. "Oh yeah," agreed Benny. "Cuz I sure the fuck won't be able to fuck either one of them." "Me neither," Bobby added. "Did you smell them? I never thought it possible, but they stink even worse than ." "Don't say it," Brent warned. Bobby looked up at his older brother with a grin. "Besides, I never seen anyone so ugly." The four brothers looked at each glumly. For Bobby not want to fuck someone they had to be ugly. Joining Satan an hour later, they watched floating from a vantage point above the two armies, an experience in itself. It was a fierce battle, the two leaders being highly skilled and their men top fighters. Temujin employed the basic battle formation used by the Mongols, a formation that had served him well in life. Armored soldiers, both foot and mounted, formed the two front ranks and fought with sword and lance. The three rear ranks used bows and javelins and sent out mounted skirmishers to harass the enemy as the five ranks advanced, in addition to backing up the front ranks with missile fire. The Huns also entered the fight in order of columns, filling the air with discordant cries to frighten the enemy and their horses. Typical to their manner of fighting, the Huns soon broke out of their columns to fight in no regular order of battle, but rather, being extremely swift and sudden in their movements, dispersed, rapidly came together again in loose array to attack, and dispersed again, spreading havoc over the vast plain. And so the two armies clashed and hundreds of men fell to the ground with arrows in their chests and with fatal wounds from sword and lance. The Huns tossed nets over their enemy to entangle them and then sliced into them with their swords. Each had one minghan, or regiment, of a thousand men, the Huns deploying their men in units of ten, the Mongols deploying theirs in larger columns. For the first time in over seven hundred years for Temujin, Universal Prince of the steppes, and for twice as long for Attila, King of the Huns, each leader had a chance to win a battle, and their men knew it. For the first time since arriving in this accursed land of punishment, they had the opportunity to once again relish the ultimate pleasure of conquering their foe, and they fought with a zeal and passion of true warriors. It was a ferocious battle, each man having his own personal motivation to at last taste victory, and each leader determined to finally relish the joy of defeating the enemy. The battle waged for hours, neither side willing to submit, and it waged first in favor of one and then the other. In the end, it was Attila's forces who captured the small troupe of men left of Genghis Khan's force. "I will not bend over and submit to you like one of your concubines," Temujin spat, holding up his sword defiantly. "I would die first." "My answer to you would be the same were our positions reversed," Attila responded. "But rather I would have you as my concubine, than bend over for the effeminate boy that has pitted us against each other." "Then you will have to pleasure yourself in your perverse sin with my dead body," Temujin replied, charging forward with his sword raised. And so the two men fought, and both being excellent swordsmen, it was a long battle, each inflicting wounds that would have brought any normal man down, but neither was about to lay down his weapon before his men, and neither was willing to accept the ultimate humiliation that Brett had demanded. In the end, buoyed by the win of his army, Attila knocked the sword of the younger man out of reach. "Kill me," said the fearless warrior even though even here the pain would be just as great as when he'd been mortal. Attila would have desired the same and willingly raised his sword, but he found he could not lower it no matter how much he tried. The two warriors looked up at the floating platform, and knew that death was not an option. The four brothers crossed their fingers and made a silent wish. Faced with the choice of being used by the boys, or using the man he'd just defeated, Attila tossed aside his sword and stepping forward he pulled back the man's stiff brocade tunic and quickly tied it to pin the man's arms behind him. Spinning him around and tossing him to the ground on his stomach, the old warrior quickly grabbed and pulled off his victim's thick felt boots, and cutting the cord holding up his coarse hemp cloth trousers, he yanked them down and pulled them off, and his filthy under garment, a diaper like linen wrapped about his waist and between his legs. Placing a booted foot against his back as the Mongolian tried to get up, the Hun quickly unfastened the rope holding up his deerskin trousers. Unlacing and yanking off his boots, he quickly stepped out of his trousers and ripped off his loin cloth to revealed a hairy and generous endowment. Tossing himself upon the back of his adversary to knock the wind out of him, the Hun began to gyrate his hips, working his limp organ against the man's backside in a desperate attempt to arouse himself. The Khan's Mongol warriors cursed him, calling him every foul epithet they knew in derision, and it was only the sharp swords of his own men that kept them from defending their leader. Attila knew the disgust that was in their hearts, and he knew in the hearts of the real men of his own forces, for he felt the same way about what he was doing. Grinding his hips against the backside of the Mongol, he felt no pleasure as he would have had this been the woman of his enemy. Despite his aversion, he knew he had no choice, and it had been almost seventeen hundred years since he'd had sex. The heat of the Khan's backside, the friction as he rubbed his cock against the man's rough skin, the memories of the delight of having a horn, and his determination to bring this to an end all worked together to result in his first erection in centuries. Raising his body, he reached down and placed the tip of his swollen flesh against the butthole of his adversary. Gritting his teeth, he thrust forward, driving his firm organ against the resisting but softer flesh. The firm knob wedged in the Mongol's asshole, and he pressed forward with more force, driving his cock in a bit further. He inhaled deeply and pressed forward a third time, and was rewarded with the yielding of the resisting flesh. Grimacing with the pain of entering the tight and resisting hole, he drove onward, succeeding in driving his shaft up the man's rectum. Temujin lay there on his stomach suffering the final humiliation. Being defeated by the barbaric forces had been bad enough, the defeat being all the more bitter knowing that for this one time he'd had a chance to win, but being mounted by this barbaric savage, in front of his own men, was a humiliation he could not bear, and he avowed that when he got to his feet he would grab the nearest sword and run himself in, as was the only honorable thing left to do. As he felt the man above him slowly draw back and his cock ease back out of his asshole, he closed his eyes and accepted his defeat. The Brewster boys looked down at the scene with keen interest. They'd seen men engaged in anal intercourse before, but even for them it was a rare experience, and seeing two of the greatest and cruelest conquerors of all time going at it was not something they ever expected to see again. The short, square-bodied, fifty-five-year-old Hun, his deerskin trousers about his ankles, thrust his hips to and fro savagely, attacking the man under him with the same savagery and ferocity as he'd attacked in battle. His small, deep-seated, slanted eyes blazed with anger and pride as he furiously fucked his hapless victim, his weathered, brown skin contrasting with the swarthy yellow skin of his enemy. He was angry with the effeminate boy who had demanded he perform this foulest of acts, he was angry being forced to debase himself, and he was angry that he was in this accursed afterlife. He thrust his hips forward with that anger, taking it out on the man beneath him. The great Khan lay there motionlessly, but the boys could see the anger and the humiliation in his dark almond-shaped eyes. Although only thirty-five, he looked older, his leathery skin weathered by the elements despite being smeared with grease for protection. His cap had been knocked off, revealing a shaved head except for a piece of straight black hair on the sides of his head braided and looped up behind his ears. He glared at the ground before his nose as he felt the accursed Hun using him, using him as he would use his wife had the Hun defeated him back in his time. As he felt the man's organ pumping in and out of his body, he set his face and imagined the joy he'd have slicing off the organ that was being used to defile him if he only had the chance. As the pleasure rippling through the knob of his aroused and aching cock grew stronger, Attila forgot his aversion and began to thrust his hips to and fro with a greater eagerness. Closing his eyes, he imagined the short, stocky, heavyset man beneath him to be a woman, one of the virgin daughters of an enemy just conquered, and the hot, moist channel gripping his throbbing cock to be a virgin cunt, not the virgin rectum of his enemy. As his dick knob itched and sent ripples of arousal down the shaft, he concentrated on that pleasure. It had been so long since he'd felt that joy it was not possible to deny the pleasure he was feeling. And why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't he enjoy the humiliation and abuse of the enemy he'd just defeated? Why should he pass up the one opportunity to once again feel like a man? Temujin, meanwhile, could not deny the burning arousal of his tight sphincter, nor the pleasure pulsating through his rectum, and especially the fact that the pumping of the man's cock in and out of his rectum had sent spasms of a new and unknown pleasure from a spot beside his rectum to his dick, causing it to become erect. It was the first erection he'd had in seven hundred years, and the first time he'd felt pleasure in that time, and despite the perverse act causing it, he allowed the pleasure to sweep through his body and his mind. If he had to subject himself to the barbarian, then why not at least enjoy the physical pleasure and the first erection he'd had since arriving in this accursed place. As the two men approached their peak of ecstasy, they grunted and snorted with the pleasure that had taken over their minds, sounding like two rutting pigs. Their heavy shirts became drenched with sweat as it trickled down from their armpits. Perspiration ran down their foreheads and cheeks and down their ribs, leaving paths in the grime and dust coating their unwashed bodies. Their breathing became heavy and labored, and they forgot about their troops watching them and the audience above as they panted and grunted in their perverse pleasure. It had been centuries since either one had felt the pleasure of sex, and that throbbing arousal blocked out all other thoughts. Attila thrust his hips to and fro as if attacking the man below him, running him in with his fleshy sword. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the pleasure rippling through his erect cock. Temujin closed his eyes also as he concentrated on the unique pleasure throbbing deep in his body and on the stimulating burning of his sphincter. As he felt his seed spring from his loins, Attila thrust his sword of flesh in and out his enemy with a final burst of desire, and as he felt his own seed begin to boil deep in his loins, Temujin raised his hips and thrust them forward and back in an uncontrollable fit of desire. As the great King of the Huns trembled and shot his seed deep up the swarthy yellow-skinned ass of his newly conquered enemy, the great Khan, the Warrior of Warriors, trembled and shot his own seed, spraying the earth and his hairy stomach. Their stiff, aching cocks, one yellow and the other brown, throbbed out their cum and the men snorted and grunted as their bodies trembled with the ecstasy of climax. The two great conquerors finally collapsed and lay there, the King of the Huns still deeply embedded in the Great Khan, until finally Attila's dick softened and he raised himself. As Attila stood, Temujin also got to his feet, and the two men, totally ashamed and defiled, drew up their trousers. They could not look at each other, the rapist and the one who'd been raped feeling equally defiled. Considering the joy they'd felt in those final moments, the two great leaders had great difficulty even looking at themselves. Brett and his brothers slowly turned to look at Satan. He was staring at the two men in surprise at what had happened, and in surprise at the passion with which they'd executed the blond youth's command. He slowly looked at the four boys. "A fine punishment," the Evil One admitted. "Most deserving, and entertaining." The boys began to grin. "But," he continued, and their countenances dropped. "But it is over. It was great while it lasted, but here in hell we have an eternity to live. And in that, it cannot compare to their original punishment." "But it is not over," replied Brett. Satan looked at him, waiting for an explanation. "This was only the first battle, not the only battle," Brett continued. "I am sure the great Genghis Khan would want a chance to redeem himself, as would his army, which I assume can be resurrected to fight again just as has been happening for decades. In fact I'm sure they would fight even harder now that they have had one defeat, and I'm sure the Great Khan would fight even more ferociously than he just did with the hope of being able to do what has just been done to him." Brett looked down at the defeated Mongolian leader, and he knew from the fire in the man's eyes that he was right. He may have felt in the past that those who commit sodomy should be put to death, and he might even still feel that way, but he'd just been raped and used as a woman before his men, and the chance to redeem himself and avenge the assault by doing the same to the barbarian who'd just ridden him overrode any laws of the land. He was, after all, the law maker. "And," Brett continued, "I'm sure having tasted victory once, the troops under Attila will also fight all the harder the second time in the hopes of achieving a second victory, especially those who were killed the first time and denied the final pleasure of triumph. And," he said with a slight smile, "I'm sure that Attila will fight all the harder also knowing that his adversary now has an additional grudge." The sixteen-year-old had enough experience to know from the look in Satan's eyes that he'd won the argument, and he waited to let him think on it before continuing. "You see, the beauty of our plan is that instead of knowing they are going to lose each time they fight, neither leader knows who will be the winner, which will make them fight all the more ferociously, and will make their loss all the more painful. And given the skills of the two men, I'd wager that the battles will be evenly matched so that each one will be the winner as often as the loser over time." Satan looked at the boy, and slowly grinned. "I will not bet with a Brewster," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "But I will acknowledge you have accomplished the task I set before you. I am impressed, and it is a punishment as fitting as the original. So now you must make a decision. As the one who conceived this punishment and succeeded in meeting my first challenge, are you the one to return to the surface, or will you choose one of your brothers to be saved?" ************ What a dilemma for a sixteen-year-old boy, even for one who can think on his feet like Brett. How cruel to taste the sweetness of success only to have the sourness of having to make such a choice. What will he do? Will he save himself, or select one of his brothers to send back to the security of the surface, and if the latter, which brother? What for Part Three of this exciting adventure next week.