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Final Spear A Tale of Manly Death
Jason and his
surviving comrades waited in agony through the cold night, lying wounded on the
battlefield before finally joining their many brother warriors in death. The tall and powerfully muscled stud was
too tough to die from the arrows that had penetrated him during combat.
Through the night, however, as the hours wore on and more men succumbed to
their wounds, Jason had heard successively fewer mates groaning in pain and
calling out to one another. His friend Aaron was still alive and lying
nearby, a warrior likewise known for his skill and strength and whose good
looks rivaled those of Jason himself. Despite their attempts, however,
Jason’s and Aaron’s outstretched arms and extended middle fingers still
lacked nearly a foot of reaching one another across the bloody earth. They
would be denied the chance to touch each other one last time. As he peered
upward from his supine position to see the morning sky turning from black to
gray, his heavy cock lying semi-stiff on top of his right thigh underneath
his soiled loin cloth, Jason comforted himself with the memory of his last
night under a field blanket together with Aaron. His comrade now lay dying
with Jason’s seed in his rectum. Jason had likewise often taken Aaron’s hard,
spurting cock in his ass, and there was sad pleasure in the knowledge that
this bond had now seen them through to their deaths. Their commander, a
promising young general who was also a nephew to the king, had miscalculated
the proper time for their attack and had paid dearly for the error. The
scouts he had dispatched had not returned with news of whether the enemy
would receive reinforcement. Their absence was undoubtedly due to their
capture and horrific execution by impalement, the usual sentence that their
foes meted out to enemy spies. Jason himself had seen the aftermath of more
than one failed reconnaissance mission, his captured mates tied up and stuck
through the anus on a pike, where they had descended to a slow scrabbling
death of agonizing gut pain. The commander had intended to attack at dawn,
the dawn that was now beginning to illuminate the sky over the battlefield,
but fearing that the enemy might be reinforced by means of a night march from
their rear, and lacking any intelligence to the contrary, he had launched the
offensive the preceding afternoon instead. An attack so late in the day is
always a gamble, but the commander had hoped that their move would catch the
enemy at less than full strength. A quick, decisive victory, such as those
which his men had often accomplished in the past, would mean they could bed
down for the night in the encampment of the vanquished enemy and if
necessary, fight any newly arriving reinforcements by the light of the next
day. The commander had rallied his troops before signaling the attack,
striding bare-chested in his scant loin cloth before his men, a royal red
cape clasped at the top of his exposed chest, so that it hung around his
thick neck and shoulder muscles and down over his muscular back and ass.
“Warriors, let it be a swift victory!” the handsome young general had cried
out, lifting his sword for emphasis. His long cock had risen to erection at a
similar angle to his weapon, hoisting his loin cloth, a further inspiration
to his men. “Tonight we will light up the night sky with bonfires in the
enemy’s encampment and we shall roast the nuts of their dead in the flames!”
Jason and the others had cheered mightily at this prospect, and when they
mounted the assault every man among them had a stiff cock. However, the dreaded reinforcements had
already arrived to bolster the enemy’s numbers, and in such force that the
opposing army outnumbered Jason’s comrades by nearly three to one. They had
fought well, of course, as they always did, and no man among them died before
killing at least one of the enemy. Some killed many more than that. In the
end, though, as the battlefield was clouded in encroaching dusk and their
ranks became confused, the sheer numbers on the opposing side overpowered
them. They were wiped out to a man. Or at least, they soon would be. The battle had
begun with a standard strategy of an initial volleys of arrows raining down
on the enemy’s position, after which the archers had fallen back to allow
lightly armed infantry to move ahead and cut a path for more heavily armed
swordsmen to follow. Jason and Aaron
had led the infantry charge with one dagger and one spear per man. Following close behind, the heavy
sword-wielding infantry would finish the slaughter and capture or kill
members of the enemy command. The front line of some fifty warriors clad only
in loin cloths had advanced through the dimming light, their fierce courage
undaunted when they found that most of the arrows their comrades had released
had fallen short. Hundreds of arrows bearing familiar feather colors prickled
the ground like a useless garden of dead stalks, many yards ahead of the enemy’s
position. Only a few shafts had found male flesh as targets. Five or six
muscular point men lay dead, arrows having struck them in the chest or neck.
The red-hemmed loin cloths common to the opposing army were still moist with
their deathcum. The majority of the enemy, however,
had escaped the rain of arrows. Even
so, the weaponry that Jason and his men carried, a sleek and deadly
metal-tipped spear held with the warrior’s favored arm, and a seven-inch
double-edged knife gripped in the other hand, was sufficient to penetrate
most front lines. They were highly trained in the use of both weapons,
skillfully hurling their spears for initial distance kills, then moving in
close to slash open the throats and bellies of the remaining men on the
enemy’s front line as they engaged in close quarter combat. They were trained
to retrieve the spears from the bodies of the dead and put them to good use
several times. Many men preferred to have the combat knife secured with
straps onto the left hand, making it an extension of the warrior’s anatomy,
but Jason went into combat gripping his blade, allowing himself the freedom
to toss it to his stronger right hand between spear throws. The enemy’s front
line of men had been outfitted with shields, behind which several well-trained
squads of archers were positioned slightly to the rear, firing at low arcs
over the heads of their comrades and almost directly into the chests,
throats, and bellies of the advancing army led by Jason and Aaron. The brutal
volleys of barbed arrows had a devastating effect on Jason’s force even
before they succeeded in releasing their spears and charging forward with
slashing knives and fierce war cries. By the time the swordsmen had advanced,
most of the men in Jason’s and Aaron’s initial advance lay dead or wounded,
and the swordsmen coming up behind them were massively outnumbered, many of
them falling prey in the dim light to blows from enemy warriors who wielded
nothing more than stone bludgeons. The
bludgeons were as devastating as they were primitive, and many of Jason’s
comrades had their brains splattered that day. By nightfall the battle had
been lost. Jason had taken an
arrow in the joint atop his left leg. The shaft had sunk deep into the crease
between his abdomen and thigh, missing his cock and balls by only a few
inches. While he was fortunate still
to have his manhood intact, the shaft penetrating his joint prevented him
from standing. Even if he were able to stand on that leg; however, his other
leg would also not support him. His knee throbbed with a constant dull pain,
but there was no feeling at all below his knee. At first the lack of
sensation between knee and foot made him think the limb had been severed, but
of course if that were the case he would have bled to death hours ago.
Instead, if he lifted his head he could see his muscular right leg extended
along the ground, twisted, bruised, and shattered. One of the enemy’s stone
bludgeons had found its mark and smashed his kneecap. He had taken an arrow
in his shoulder as well, just beneath his left collarbone, though the wound
was not lethal. During the night he had broken the wooden shaft and tossed it
aside, though the barbed head of the arrow was still buried deep in his chest
meat, singing loudly in pain. His spear and knife were no longer within
reach, their whereabouts unknown. A warrior who cannot move or fight has no
purpose. It was clear he had outlived any usefulness as a fighter and that it
was now time for him to die. The valiant
warriors lay on the field of death, most of them clothed only with a bloody
and soiled loin cloth, others sprawled naked after having dragged their loin
cloths off while crawling desperately, or having ripped them off in order to
use the cloth for wound dressing. Some of the men lay by themselves, with no
comrades nearby, slain by a rain of arrows, impaled by a well-aimed spear,
fatally hacked or run through by an enemy swordsman, or bludgeoned to death
with a stone half the weight of a man. Others had fallen in muscular piles
where clutches of men had fought and died or had been mortally wounded as
they used their knives in close quarter combat. Jason lay atop the stout
upturned chest of a dead comrade, his back pressed against the man’s smooth,
cold pectoral muscles. He tried to recall who had been fighting near him when
the arrows had cut him down. Most likely it was the stocky-chested Goran, who had been
fighting at the side of the lean young warrior, Nathan, for whom Goran had been a mentor and lover. Jason recalled hearing
the two studs call each other’s names before the two arrows had brought him
down, and before his right leg had been knocked from under him. In the
closing moments of combat the growing twilight and mounting confusion had
obscured the comrades from one another, and now as the sun returned, it began
to illuminate the dead and wounded. Jason twisted his head to gain a glimpse
of the face of the dead man onto whom he had fallen. Half the face had been
obliterated by a sword or bludgeon or both, and an arrow shaft protruded from
what had once been the man’s left eyeball, but Jason was able to confirm what
was left of Goran’s rugged and determined
countenance. Upon reflection he marveled at the stoutness of the muscular man
who provided him with repose, his corpse elevating Jason’s own chest
surprisingly skyward as he lay wounded on top of him. It was then that he
realized he was atop two corpses, not merely one, and that Nathan’s body
likely lay cold and still, cock down in the earth, with his muscular lover on
top of him, Goran protecting him in death. He smelled the
stench of guts and quickly lifted his head from Goran’s
naked chest, wondering in the dim morning light if, in addition to his many
other wounds, he had also been slashed in the belly. Or perhaps one of the
men on whom he had fallen had spilled his guts in battle. A quick inspection confirmed, however, that
his own convex, creased and strongly muscled gut was still intact, and he
felt no slime or ooze against his back, ass, or legs from the comrade
underneath him who had preceded him in death. Jason realized a moment later
that it was Aaron’s entrails that he smelled. This explained why his comrade
had moaned so loudly through their night of hell. Unlike Jason’s wounds,
which seemed to yield as much numbness as pain, the line of multiple arrow
penetrations in Aaron’s torso had perforated him deeply across his lower
belly, making it difficult for Aaron to keep his intestines inside him, and
sending constant waves of searing pain through his entire body. It was an unlucky
way to be wounded, especially when respite in the form of death at dawn would
not reach him for many hours. Aaron
scrabbled with the heel of his left foot, leaving grooves in the earth as he
writhed in pain, his other leg apparently out of commission due to a
bludgeoning, as was Jason’s. He had torn away his loin cloth, revealing a
large cock that flopped from side to side as he clutched his belly and
screamed like an animal. Aaron experimentally pulled a barbed arrow from his
guts and tossed it aside, a torn mess of bloody entrails clinging to it.
After that Aaron refrained from further extractions, preferring to leave the
foreign projectiles lodged inside him. He would take them proudly with him to
the afterworld. Jason wondered how
thorough the rout had been, if perhaps by some miracle a few men had survived
the slaughter to regroup, resume the attack at dawn, slaughter or drive away
the enemy, and claim the bodies of their fallen comrades. He hated lying this
way, in mid-station between valorous combat and well-earned death. Better to
have died in the thick of the fight with the shaft of an enemy spear through
his heart, his cock shooting a last load of seed, or to have outwitted his
enemy and outlived his brothers. If he had somehow managed to make it through
the battle, he would avenge the fallen with a self-sacrificing counterattack
at dawn. Perhaps some of his mates
could be counted upon to do just that and would now rally and die in a final
exploit of manly glory. As if in answer to
his speculation, Jason heard the quick clip of hooves as a steed wended its
way among the dead and dying. His heart sank as he realized what this meant.
The rout of his commander and his comrades had been completely successful,
and the enemy’s first move at dawn was to ride in triumph among the fallen,
crushing any resistance or hope of it among the defeated. The sun had climbed high enough so that the
mounted warrior cast a shadow across Jason’s face as the horse drew near. The
hooves of the steed now made softer sounds as they sank into the blood-soaked
earth that marked the site of the most intense combat, the place where a
hundred men had died within the time it took for a man’s heart to beat a
hundred times, their mutilated bodies now piled atop one another, comrade and
foe indistinguishable in death and mortal wounds, save for the red stripe on
the loin cloths of the enemy. Jason, lying among the carnage, lifted his
head, feeling the stiff pain of his shoulder wound tug at his chest muscles.
The rider held a long pike in his left hand. The severed head of Jason’s
commander was mounted ornamentally at its tip. Jason moaned at the sight of
the handsome general, his head with its light brown locks, aquiline nose and
fine lips now used to intimidate any lingering resistance among his defeated
followers. The rider smiled, pleased that the tactical display had elicited
the desired groans of despair among the fallen enemy. It was difficult to
know how the commander had died, whether in combat or as a prisoner. However,
the tide against them having turned so swiftly during the preceding evening,
Jason was nearly certain that either the rear ranks had been penetrated from
the front and the commander’s field tent overrun, or that they had been
flanked with an unchecked force from the rear. It was likely that the commander’s
immediate adjutants had fallen to enemy swords, and that the general himself
had been taken alive and later beheaded over a log or rock in front of the
exultant soldiers of the victorious army. It had not been lost on the
enemy that this general was of royal
blood, and his head would likely be sent by courier to his uncle the king. It
was worth the life of a rider, who would surely be executed upon arrival, to
deliver such a devastating cargo to the seat of their enemy’s power. Jason
saw that the fallen commander’s cheeks protruded from his face and understood
immediately that his captors had butchered his cock and balls. The handsome
young general’s sizeable nuts now forced his jowls outward, and the head of
his thick royal cock protruded from between his lips, his executioners having
stuffed the severed fuckmeat into his mouth as a
further sign of their disdain for his power. Jason’s deathmate
Aaron likewise caught sight of the grisly show as it passed them by, and he
lifted a fist and cursed the rider, who merely laughed and responded with a
laconic remark as the horse plodded away. The enemy warrior’s language was
unknown to them, but Jason understood instinctively that he rider was
assuring Aaron and his mates they would soon join their commander in death. Two warriors
followed on foot behind the horse that bore the trophy head. Both soldiers
had their eyes cast intensely downward, scouring the ground for weapons. They
collected the swords, spears and knives of the dead and dying, running up to
the horse and clanking them into side satchels that were already heavily
laden with the abandoned weaponry of a defeated army. Then the scavengers
fanned out, inspecting the naked bodies and the ground around them, snatching
up still more arms. The archers who had been in the rear of the advance,
behind Jason, Aaron, Goran, Nathan and the others,
had eventually also been overcome by the superior numbers of the enemy, and
their mutilated bodies now lay among
those of the infantry, often still clutching a bow or an unloaded arrow. The
weapons collectors broke the bows over bended knee to end any thought of
their being used again. The sleek metal-tipped spears such as Jason had used,
however, held a distinct fascination for the enemy. When they found these lying on the ground
or stuck in the belly or chest of a dead comrade, they retrieved the weapon
without destroying it. Just as the
snapping of destroyed bows and the clanking of metal weapons was receding
into the distance, Jason heard more footsteps. Aaron likewise jerked his head
up expectantly. A small party of
spearmen came into view, their aroused cocks tenting their loin cloths
up at stiff angles as they made their way among the fallen studs, performing
their manly post-battle labor. This was the crew that ensured death for all
who had fallen, especially the enemy, but including also some of their own
brother warriors who were no longer fit to fight. They made quick work of the
bodies they encountered, only occasionally finding a fellow comrade from
their own army still alive among the piles of naked and nearly naked men.
When they did find one of their own still alive, they would speak to him
quietly before either spearing him to death in mercy or carrying him off the
battlefield to either die or heal as the gods would will it. Their strong arm
muscles flared as they shoved their spears into solid male muscle with
uncompromising determination. They were meticulously thorough. No enemy
warrior was spared the shaft, even those whose bodies were already cold and
stiff. Groans and deep belly grunts could be heard in regular succession, the
sounds coming ever closer to Jason and Aaron, as one by one, the wounded were
finished off. The scent or sperm-rich cum wafted to Jason’s nostrils,
blessedly obscuring the gut stench, and he realized that the skewered studs
were spurting off final wads of semen as they were run through. Unlike Jason and
his comrades, the enemy used barbed spearheads. The wickedly complex design
of the enemy weapon offered more ceremonial ornamentation, with a
corresponding attempt to intimidate the enemy, than it provided practical
efficiency in the slaughter of men. It was barbed on two sides near the tip,
and two more elaborately curled extensions spread from the spearhead below
the top barbs, creating a geometrically balanced quadruple-gigged arrangement
that was aesthetically appealing, but with the disadvantage of having to tear
huge portions of a man’s entrails, organs, muscles, or even ribs out
when extracting it from a speared
target. By contrast,
Jason’s infantry spear, before he had lost it--hopefully in the body of an
enemy warrior—had been honed to a finely sharp point. The shaft itself was
less than an inch in diameter and cut from the dense, hard wood of the kalaba tree that grew in only one valley of their
homeland. The tip of the slender weapon had been wrapped in a thin layer of
metal, pounded flat by craftsmen who knew how to adorn a sleek and sturdy
shaft in such a way as to make it possible to kill two men with a single
hurl. Such a spear, when thrown
properly and with sufficient strength, could pass all the way through the
body of a man, quickly entering his torso and exiting his back, coated with
the blood of its slumping target, and then lodge in the chest or belly of
another man to his rear. A man’s unobstructed gut was always the safest
target, due to the relative lack of resistance from his internal organs, yet
the smooth and unbarbed design of this spear
created relatively little impediment to hurling it into a man’s chest as
well. If it entered the chest, it either glanced off the ribs before slipping
between two bones, or if the placement was fortuitous, it immediately passed
between the ribs, usually skewering a vital organ and ensuring a kill.
Circumstances permitting, this sleek weapon could easily be pulled from the
chest of the target in which it finally came to rest, after which it could be
used to kill still more enemy fighters. There was also a distinct advantage to
the chest shot, since men with gut wounds had been known to continue fighting
for some time, sometimes scoring several more kills before finally succumbing
to the impalement through their entrails. While certainly deadly in its own
right, the enemy’s barbed weaponry was conducive only to a single chest shot,
since the multiple barbs of the elaborately wrought spearhead would
inevitably become lodged in the rib cage and would be difficult to extract
and use again, especially during the heat of a pitched battle. For this reason, many enemy spears were
abandoned in the thick chests of the dead warriors they had terminated. If
circumstances permitted after the battle, the spears would be laboriously and
gruesomely retrieved from the chests of the dead for re-use in a subsequent
campaign. This is why Aaron
was now being dispatched by means of a shaft inserted into the tender exposed
area beneath his jaw. There was little there to entangle the enemy’s
ornamental spearhead. Jason heard Aaron emit an explosive cough and then a
desperate gurgle. A tall muscular spearman had expertly gigged him through
his throat so that the spearhead scraped past Aaron’s spine and then pushed
through his brain stem. Aaron’s finely sculpted chest heaved upward as his
body arched in a brief moment of final agony before at last finding rest. The
spearman jerked the weapon from Aaron’s throat, pulling a length of trachea
with it. It was an ignominious way to die--almost as unfortunate as their
commander having his head lopped off. Every true warrior hopes one day to be
granted a beautiful death, a death that honors his chest, that challenges the
sculptured armor of his exposed and muscled torso, a thrust that drives
ultimately to the center of his manly power, simultaneously demonstrating and
destroying his beauty as a man. As he expired,
Aaron’s cock shot hot seed out onto his chest and his mutilated belly, the
cum trickling down the arrow shafts that protruded from his abdominal
muscles. Aaron’s virile sperm died on the expanse of his exposed chest, just
as the stud who shot it was dying on the expanse of a blood-soaked
battlefield. Jason knew that if the battle had gone in their favor, this seed
now spurting uselessly from Aaron’s cock would instead have been pumped into
his own ass as he and his mate celebrated another victory. In the alternating
ebb and flow of their warrior lust, today would have been Jason’s turn to be
playfully wrestled into submission and manfucked by
Aaron. Just as they would no longer fling spears in combat, so too would they
no longer spear each other with their hard cocks. As Jason braced
himself for his own final spear, he admired the masculine perfection of his
dead friend and bade him silent farewell. But his attention was drawn to
another enemy warrior who was following on the heels of the party of
spearmen. Jason shuddered as he
watched the man bend over a fallen warrior whose chest bristled with arrows
and whose throat, like Aaron’s, had been gigged by a spearman for good
measure only a moment earlier. In his right hand the warrior gripped a blade
that glinted in the sunlight as it descended to the studly
corpse. Then his left hand tore the sweat and cum-soaked loin cloth from the
fallen warrior, gripped the dead cock,
and, with a quick swipe of the amputation knife, rendered the stud less studly. Moving in an accustomed routine, the trophy
collector quickly placed the sexmeat in a satchel
slung over his shoulder and stepped toward Aaron, the next body in sight. Even as he hated
his enemy, Jason could also not suppress admiration for their thoroughness
and efficiency. Within the first hour of daylight the battlefield would be
successively scoured of weapons, the wounded speared to death, and the cocks
of the dead systematically collected to emphasize the complete disempowerment
of the foe and to facilitate the statistics of the body count. Jason was
familiar with this latter practice, and in fact had participated in it after
several of his own army’s victories. After their first successes in war under
their young commander, the general had ordered each man to return to the
field of battle and cut an ear off the men they had slain. The death count
became inflated, however, when a few dishonest soldiers, in their eagerness
to expand their trophy necklaces as quickly as possible, cut off both ears
instead of just one. These fools paid for their selfishness with their heads,
but after that the commander began to emulate the longstanding practice of
the enemy in totaling the body count.
A man has but one cock, and he will fight ferociously to keep it.
Claiming the cock from a fallen warrior symbolizes the power of the victor
and the powerlessness of the defeated, while also proving beyond doubt that
its owner is dead. The cock-cutter
reached Aaron’s freshly gigged body and leaned over, gripping the stud’s once
powerful fuckmeat and using it as a handle to lift
Aaron’s pelvis and ass from the ground. Aaron was briefly suspended in the
air as he hung by his tough dead cock, only his head and his arms still
resting on the ground. The cock collector’s arm muscles strained from the
exertion of hoisting such a strongly muscled warrior. He grunted, apparently
enjoying the challenge. He sawed twice with his blade, which was nearly
enough to cut through the cock, then he administered a short third stroke as
the thick, stiff shaft was finally severed.
Aaron’s muscular buttocks thumped to the ground as his beautiful cock
came free and disappeared into the satchel, joining dozens of fuckshafts already there and soon to be lost among many
more, including Jason’s. As
humiliating as this defeat was for Jason and his mates, as grisly as this
demise was proving to be, he still breathed a sigh of gratitude for his
impending death at the sharp end of a final spear. Whether a mercy kill or a
kill motivated by vengeance, at least he and his mates would die with their
cocks still between their legs and not suffer the sight and the pain of their
meat being cut off before they were granted death. A shadow crossed
Jason’s face, and he turned his attention from the harvester of cocks to the
stud who would send him on his way. It was not the same warrior who had
dispatched Aaron. He approved of this
man, though. He stood tall with squared muscular shoulders, his tanned and
lightly furry pectoral muscles scarred with evidence of frequent hard combat
and harsh wounds that had not killed him. His belly was hard, creased, and
ribbed with muscle, like a giant tortoise shell. He had a square jaw, stubbled with
dark manly beard that matched his head, chest and the pubic hair visible
above his low-slung loin cloth. The loin cloth was embroidered at the bottom
with a red stripe, the insignia of his army, giving it the appearance of
having been dipped in the free flowing blood of his enemies. The cock, at
least an inch of which hung down below the red stripe of his crotch flap, was
obviously nearly as large as Jason’s, who was known admiringly and with good
natured jocularity as the best endowed stud in his outfit. The warrior held
the fateful spear, its barbed metal head clotted with the blood of many of
Jason’s brother warriors who had already preceded him to the afterlife. Jason
shook his head, fighting his blurring vision in order to get a good look at
the stud. It was then that he heard the man speak and noticed for the first
time a second figure standing to the side and slightly behind him. The second
man was a young warrior, obviously still in his teens, likewise tall and,
like Jason himself, extraordinarily handsome.
His lean muscularity, as yet unscarred by battle, was impressive and
promising. His chest was smooth, with dark pink protuberant nipples
decorating the edges of his pectoral shelf. His belly was flat, tanned and
strong. Like the hair of his companion, who was evidently his mentor, the lad’s
head was dark brown in color, the head hair curly and healthy, the pubic bush
still soft and glinting slightly in the morning light, the short curled hairs
not yet stiff and wiry like those of his more mature comrade. The young
warrior was naked, indicating he had not yet accomplished ten kills, the
prerequisite in his army for being issued the red-striped loin cloth. Prior
to the tenth kill, the youths fought in the tradition of their cousins the
Spartans, their cocks swinging. The lad’s cock protruded expectantly from the
soft bush, arching over a beautiful set of walnut-sized testicles that hung
low and brushed against the young man’s thighs. The dick was as yet inexperienced, but its
girth and shapely prominence indicated future power for its owner. With a
single glance Jason could tell from the youth’s self-assured yet innocent
bearing, from his unconscious masculinity, from his naturally powerful
musculature, that this young cock would sire many warriors and fuck the asses
of many men, sometimes roughly and at other times tenderly, sometimes filling
the rectums of men who gave themselves willingly to it, at other times
forcibly penetrating the asses of the unwilling, as would be his right. The veteran warrior
spoke to his charge. The naked young man watched as his mentor held the
spearhead close to Jason’s lowest rib, letting it touch his belly. Then he
lifted the spearhead and brought it forward, allowing the tip to prick
Jason’s throat, a few inches beneath the jaw. The man was instructing the youth
on the best insertion points for finishing off the wounded without entangling
the barbs of the spear. The lad nodded, studying Jason’s predicament, and his
young cock extended unselfconsciously at the prospect of sticking such a
worthy opponent, a fallen warrior of such power and beauty. Likewise, Jason’s
thick meat rose in anticipation of manly demise, lifting his loin cloth and
letting it fall back onto the pubes and the ripped muscles that adorned his
lower abdomen. His cock saluted the men who would give him his warrior’s
reward. The man clutched his spear between his right arm and his chest,
freeing his hands, and spoke again. The language was impenetrable to Jason’s
ears, yet it was clear to the doomed warrior what was transpiring before him.
The man was extending the decimal count
of all ten fingers as he spoke. The veteran soldier handed his spear
to the youth, gesturing to Jason as he lay awaiting his fate, inviting the
lad to insert the spear. Jason was to be the
young warrior’s tenth kill. As if to verify the
scenario unfolding before him, the veteran warrior reached down and ripped
Jason’s loin cloth from his ass, then strode over to where Aaron’s corpse lay
in a pool of blood and cum. The mentor dipped the stolen loin cloth into
Aaron’s blood, letting the bright red fluid soak a stripe along the bottom
edge of Jason’s scant warrior attire. Although the young warrior’s ascendancy
was coming at his expense, Jason admired the man for doing this. It was a
gift of sorts, allowing a young stud to make rite of passage by gigging the
tallest, most fiercely muscled, and best endowed warrior still alive on the
battlefield, then to wear his captured loin cloth. The young warrior accepted
the spear from his mentor, his meaty cock bobbing up and down, a pearl of
pre-cum on his piss slit. He was obviously excited
by his assignment but also serious about proving himself. As Jason lay
sprawled over the bodies of his mates Goran and
Nathan, he extended his jaw downward and brought the top of his head up, letting
his chin touch his chest while at the same time pushing against the ground
with his left foot. He grimaced from the pain this brought to his leg, but
the movement allowed his back to slide farther across the cold muscles of the
dead stud lying underneath him. This
slight shift in position had the effect of further exposing his gut to the
two enemy soldiers while stretching out his rib cage and pectorals. If he
lowered his head now, it would hang down over Goran’s
shoulder, but Jason strained to keep his head up, the chin pinned to his
upper chest. He deliberately exhaled,
so that his mighty belly sank as the air escaped his frame, creating an
inviting insertion point into the gut, then up underneath the lowest rib and into his
chest cavity. In this way the wicked spearhead of his enemy could penetrate
his heart without the necessity of having to rip his chest apart in order to
retrieve the spear afterward. Jason was proud of his massive, sculpted chest
and saw no reason why it should be mutilated, even in defeat. His thick cock
lurched to final stiffness. The veteran warrior gestured again toward Jason
and spoke to his charge. Without understanding their tongue, Jason knew what
the warrior was saying. “He is showing us how he prefers to die. He has fought
bravely. Grant him his wish.” The young warrior
replied to his mentor, and his smooth deep voice caused Jason to open his
eyes and regard the pair with new interest. The lad was stooping to retrieve
a bloody spear from the ground, a spear like Jason’s-- indeed it was Jason’s.
He tested the sharp metal tip with his thumb and spoke to his mentor while
regarding Jason’s outstretched chest, as if making an alternative suggestion
for the kill. The older man nodded and placed his hand on the youth’s bare shoulder,
as if in approval of the lad’s initiative. After the veteran warrior took the
quadruple-barbed spear back into his own grasp, the lad turned the tip of
Jason’s spear toward Jason’s chest, preparing to kill him with his own
weapon. Rather than gigging him up through the gut and into his heart with a
barbed spear, the preference Jason had indicated, he would insert the sleek
metal-tipped shaft through Jason’s tough chest armor and between his ribs. In
so doing the young warrior would honor the brave stud with a quick and
efficient pierce through his heart while also not mutilating Jason’s
beautifully sculpted chest. Jason’s admiration
for the youthful warrior now transformed itself to a kind of love. They were
bonded by the spear that Jason had relinquished to this young soldier, yet as
two men who were born in order to make war, their bonds extended deeper,
transcending their differing allegiances. Jason’s career had been as fine as
any warrior could hope for. He had fucked many men and killed many more. He
had rendered unquestioning loyalty to his king and commanders, never
flinching for a moment in the face of lethal combat. His impressive stature,
good looks and military skills had inspired the men around him to give their
utmost for the cause of victory. In these final moments, dying at the end of
his own spear was made easier by the knowledge that as his blood, semen and
guts fertilized the earth, new generations of courageous studs were rising up
to take the field of battle, honoring the unstoppable drive that men have to
fight, fuck, kill, and yes, to die a beautiful death. Jason now inhaled a
chest full of air and tensed himself, preparing to greet the lethal spear tip
with his chest muscles. He would show the lad just how much tough chest armor
this finely crafted spear could penetrate, demonstrating the weapon’s
effectiveness with his own body. The young man’s arm muscles flared as he
gripped Jason’s spear with both hands and forced the death shaft into the
body of the tenth man to die at his hand. The trophy collector watched from
behind them, his knife and satchel at the ready. The sharp spear tip had been
positioned well over Jason’s left pec, beside his
sternum. It broke skin, then descended through muscle, then fucked its way
painfully through Jason’s chest cavity, sliding between his ribs, never
slowing until it finally skewered his tough heart and forced a forlorn death
call from his anguished throat. The spear ran his heart through, descended
through his thick torso, exited his back and entered the chest of the dead
comrade beneath him. As his body bucked in final violent agony, Jason felt
the hot rain of pelting semen splatter down upon his magnificent chest and
handsome face. With his young stiff cock erect and throbbing, the lad jerked the
spear back out of the meat it had skewered. The enemy would use this weapon
again and probably emulate its manufacture. Jason’s head
dropped back to hang down over Goran’s dead, meaty shoulder,
affording Jason a dying upside-down glimpse of the victorious warrior pair as
they strode past the body pile, moving toward their next objective. Now that
the lad had passed the rite of manhood, his mentor had wrapped Jason’s
crimson-stained loin cloth around the waist of the young stud. The tightly
muscled and protuberant ass of the youth was now clad with the hem-striped
flap of Jason’s meager gear. Jason could already
feel the callused hand of the trophy reaper gripping his sexmeat.
As he slipped into merciful oblivion before losing his cock, a chill crossed
his massive body. It was triggered by the sensation of large quantities of
warm cum quickly cooling on his belly, chest, throat and face. Jason took pride
not only in the massive wad his mighty cock had pumped out, but also in the
knowledge that not all the semen on his body was his own. |
