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Spartan to the Last
The executions proceeded as expected.
The Spartans had fought well, yet the superior numbers of the invaders had
sealed their fate. Only about fifty warriors were left alive: naked studs
with hard, sculpted chests that were smeared with blood and gore, their cocks
glistening in hardness as they oozed a perpetual seep of seed. Their Ithacan
enemies, who had themselves lost a hundred men before prevailing against a
much smaller force, now prepared to finish the battle, either by eradicating
the remnants of the Spartan army or by pressing the musclestuds
into a humiliating slavery of use and abuse as workhorses and fuckmeat. The Ithacans expected the Spartans to uphold
their reputation as proud warrior studs who would prefer to die in defense of
their homeland rather than submit to the will of an invader or compromise
their splendid Spartan manhood in any way. They were right. A
condition of being spared the otherwise obligatory headsman's block was for
the defeated Spartan to have his cock and balls hacked off and his wound
cauterized with a glowing blade, after which he would be marched in chains
back to Ithaca and life-long slavery, his ass kept greased for fucking by any
Ithacan who desired him. After the exhausted and unarmed Spartans had their
wrists tied behind them, they were lined up at spearpoint
to be shoved toward the makeshift chopping block. Each was offered the chance
to live if he would press himself close against the block and kneel in such a
way that his manhood would rest on its marred and bloody surface, vulnerable
to quick removal by the axeman. A prisoner could indicate his refusal of
this offer to survive by bending over the block to lay his chest on it and
extend his chin over the edge. As expected, the proud warrior studs
consistently offered their necks rather than their cocks and balls. A moment
later the Spartan would see the bloody ground rushing toward him as his
severed head fell to the earth, his tongue tasting dirt that was soaked
through with the blood of the mate who had died ahead of him. Frequently he
also felt his ass spread wide by a rock hard cock as an Ithacan fucked the
prisoner from behind during his last moment of life. At least, however, he would die with a cock
still between his legs. And
so one man followed the next to the death block, each one poking his stiff
dick against the hard bare ass of the stud who went before him as they waited
in line, then in turn feeling the familiar prong of the warrior behind him as
he was nudged forward. A pyramid of fifty stacked Spartan heads steadily rose
near the chopping block, a grisly monument to the warriors’ demise. The
Ithacans never found it necessary to fell a Spartan with arrows or run him
through with a spear or sword as he tried to flee his fate. Each bound and
naked man strode bravely to the block, knelt, refused castration and slavery,
and bent forward to lose his head. Each man felt the warmth of his comrade's
spilled blood as it soaked into his chest hair while he stretched himself
over the block and awaited the tickle of the blade on the back of his thick
neck. The axe became dull from severing so many sinewy Spartan necks, and the
axeman was spelled from his grisly duty by an
Ithacan captain who bore an exceptionally long and heavy sword of bronze.
This blade took twelve Spartan heads, during which time the headsman
succeeded in sharpening his axe blade sufficiently to resume his role. As
each of the muscular forms was kicked or pulled off the block after the
stud's decapitation, one could see a fresh coating of sperm on the side of
the block, where the victim had spurted his death seed as he felt both the
axe blade touch his broad neck and the thick, hot shaft of his adversary fill
his tight fuckhole. The Spartans made excellent deathfucks, invariably tightening their muscular asses
around the invading cock just as they felt the blade touch the back of the
neck. This involuntary clench of anus around cockshaft
never failed to make the warrior on top nut inside the tight hole. A
succession of Ithacan studs positioned themselves behind a doomed prisoner at
the block, each man beginning his fuck into live meat and retrieving his
spent cock from a fresh, headless corpse. Two
Spartans in the death line received particular attention. A seasoned warrior
of some thirty years
had his stiff cock buried in the ass of the young Spartan ahead of him in
line. The handsome, smooth-skinned soldier was only eighteen and had been the
frequent buttboy of the older man at whose side he
had fought. They were enjoying one final fuck before joining each other in
eternity. When the pair arrived at the head of the line interlocked in a
heated fuck, both with enormous and completely engorged cocks, the Ithacans
found their performance amusing and mocked them. The pair was shoved to the
block as one, the older, hairy-chested warrior's
unrelenting cock still lodged firmly in the ass of his smooth young comrade.
The captors demanded that the lad tell them what he chose to lose on the
block--his manhood or his head. The young warrior’s veteran fuckmate answered for the two of them by pushing the lad
down onto the chopping block underneath him with his cock still in his mate’s
ass. He continued his frenzied fuck into the young stud, determined to seed
him one last time before dying. The younger soldier moaned and arched his ass
back to accept the dick that was fucking him, just as eager to be bred a
final time before death. His chin hung over the edge of the death block, and
he was amazed at the prodigious quantity of blood that had shot onto the
earth from the opened necks of the Spartans who had died there before him.
The older Spartan found himself sandwiched between his youthful comrade and
an Ithacan stud who in turn raped him from behind as the Spartan’s massive
chest pressed on top of his fuckbuddy’s smooth,
muscular back, his ass exposed to any Ithacan who wanted to take him. The
bronze sword was brought into play once again, and with a mighty heave the
Ithacan captain managed to sink it through the necks of both Spartans,
lopping off two heads with one blow while the older of the two prisoners
thrust his dick into the ass of the younger one, shooting his death seed into
the body of the naked warrior impaled beneath him. He in turn received a buttload of Ithacan cum as he died. Both studs
contributed huge jets of neck blood to the grisly red muck soaking the earth
in front of the block. Their heads were placed cheek to cheek on the growing
pile of severed Spartan skulls. The
line rapidly diminished to one last Spartan, a tall, hairy-chested stud with pronounced nipples that decorated slabs
of pecmeat; a rounded but rock-hard belly; an
exceptionally thick bush of crotch hair; and a long, thick, heavily-veined
cock with a large purple head that arched stiffly outward over a pair of
fleshy, sperm-packed balls. This last remaining stud prepared to advance to
the block to follow his brothers in death. “You
need feel no shame,” the Ithacan captain addressed the sole surviving
Spartan, halting his advance with a calloused hand pressed against the
prisoner's hard, hairy pec. “Your comrades are
dead. They cannot scorn you if you choose to live.” The captain eyed the
stud's well-proportioned physique and perfect ass and considered that this
soldier's admirable musculature was the result of swinging the sword, hurling
the spear, and sending untold dozens of Ithacans to ignominious deaths. He
desired to sever the exquisite cock and balls from this specimen and use the
Spartan as his personal slave. The captain would tan the stud's ballsac and carry it as a pouch, then fondle it each time
he fucked the man. His cock leaked cum as he contemplated the possibility. The
Spartan hawked a throat full of mucous spit and spewed it into the face of
the captain. “Defile me if you will with your rank Ithacan pigseed, but take my head off as you did with my
brothers!” the Spartan demanded. The
captain was enraged, yet contained himself and did not slay
the defiant prisoner on the spot. That would have made it too easy for the
impudent cur. He unsheathed his dagger and bent over the body of one of the
beheaded warriors who lay sprawled on his back near the death block. He knelt
at the side of the corpse and in one swift movement used his knife to slice
the large, hairy nutsac off the dead Spartan. The
captain used the furry meat as he would a rag, wiping the stinking goo from
his face. He tossed the used testicles aside as a discarded piece of carrion.
Even the proud Spartan had never witnessed this degree of callous spite. He
sensed correctly that his death at the hands of this Ithacan would be long
and difficult. “We
Ithacans have a saying,” the captain said evenly. “We enter battle with the cry
that we will fertilize the enemy's soil with our manseed.
You will help us do that, Spartan.” Then to his men he barked the order,
“Fuck this pig's face! Fill his belly with the cream of your cocks!” A
broken spear shaft was planted in the earth, the sharp and splintery point
protruding upward. Another broken shaft was likewise driven into the ground,
this one to serve as a stake to which the doomed Spartan's cock and balls
would be tethered. He was forced down onto the splintered spear shaft, which tore
painfully through his anus and guts until he was in a kneeling position,
riding the stick. His hands were lashed together in front of him, and a spear
was placed against his back, pinned between the crooks of his arms and his
back, in order to restrain him. His
impressive set of balls and his large, well-used cock were cinched and tied
off to the stake in front of him. A swordtip forced
his proud, strong jaw to open sufficiently for the first hard piece of
encrusted manshaft to be forced down his gullet. It
reeked of piss and smegma, and its bitter taste
prompted the Spartan to gag as the cock was partially withdrawn, then
re-inserted again and again with the increasing tempo of a stud rutting a
piece of meat. The other Ithacans laughed as the Spartan's eyes grew wide
with shock and degradation. His face reddened as he struggled to breathe
around the obstruction in his mouth and throat. Each time he tried to escape
the onslaught of hard cock invading his face, the broken spear jabbed the
Spartan's ass more deeply and more painfully, forcing him to remain as
upright as possible as he kneeled before his conquerors. The leather thong
constricting his cock and balls cut deeply into his manmeat
as he pulled against the tether. The
burly soldier whose cock was being sucked drew his sword and kept the point
positioned at the Spartan's ribcage. The metal penetrated his flesh slightly,
creating a bloody cut that trickled a stripe of red down the prisoner's side.
The rutting soldier was ready to thrust the sword between the Spartan's ribs
and impale him at the first indication that the prisoner might attempt to
bite the dick that was filling his mouth. It did not take long before the
Spartan felt the back of his throat filling with hot cream as the Ithacan
warrior grunted out spurt after spurt of seed, which the Spartan rapidly
drank down to prevent himself from choking or even drowning. This first fuckrod was immediately replaced by a second, even
larger, even harder cock, as the next warrior likewise drew his sword and
planted it against the Spartan's chest to discourage him from biting the dick
that was violating him. Redfaced from exertion and
anger, the Spartan reluctantly chose to forego the brief gratification that
would come from biting off one of the Ithacan cocks. He accepted his final
supper of enemy cum and extended his life a few moments by complying with the
repeated rape of his ruggedly handsome face.
Man after man proceeded in quick succession and penetrated the Spartan's
mouth and throat with his heavily-veined cock, each one spurting a fuckload of hot sperm into the victim, forcing him to
drink them all down. Some of the Ithacans had balls that hung so heavy and
low, they batted painfully against the Spartan’s adam’s
apple as the men rammed their cocks into the unwilling orifice. It was like
being struck repeatedly in the throat with a pair of stones in a sack. The
Ithacan captain occasionally leaned over and ran his hand over the Spartan's
belly, noting the roundness of his hard physique protrude even further as he
took in the scum from the cocks of his executioners. Eventually
his jaw became dislocated as his mouth was repeatedly fucked by huge cocks.
The inside of his legs ran red with the blood from his impaled ass as the
broken spear fucked him up the rear. He groaned in abject misery as he saw
some of the soldiers returning for “seconds,” their hard cocks not sated by
the first face-fuck. The Spartan endured their shafts in his gullet a second
time and once more drank down their bitter cum, their swords always in position to run him through if he should
resist. Occasionally he would gag and eject some cocksnot
out his nose as he struggled to breathe. This always won him a shallow jab
into the ribs with the sword his fucker was holding on him. The captain
intervened twice on such occasions and struck the kneeling Spartan hard
across the face, beating him until he nearly lost consciousness, warning him
not to “waste good soldiers' seed.” Then his mouth was immediately filled
again with hard soldier cock. When
the Ithacans had finally spent themselves inside their Spartan captive and
the prisoner's belly was distended with the gutload
of balljuice he had been force-fed, the captain ordered
the men to proceed with the execution. Leaving his hands tied before him and
the spear shaft against his back, they untethered
the Spartan’s cock and balls from the stake in front of him and pulled him
off the stake that raped his ass. It
was not to be the swift drop of the headsman's heavy axe that would end the
warrior's life, rather he was to suffer a long and agonizing demise as he
hung from a death tree. “Raise
the pole,” the Ithacan captain ordered. A strong young tree trunk was hoisted
and dropped into a deep hole near the headless bodies of the other executed
Spartans. Though most of the branches had been hacked off of the tree trunk,
part of one branch had been left protruding from the side of the pole. This
afforded the Ithacans a place to suspend the doomed Spartan. The spear shaft
behind his back was hoisted and hooked over the branch, and the Spartan was
left hanging against the death pole, his feet suspended three feet above the
ground, his arms pulled up behind him in a painful stretch that tore fiercely
at his shoulders. The Ithacans retrieved the heads of the two Spartans who
had been beheaded together in mid-fuck. They attached leather thongs to tufts
of hair on the severed heads of the 30-year-old and the 18-year-old studs and
fastened the other ends tightly to the cock and balls of the Spartan they had
hung on the death tree. He cried out in a high-pitched call of agony as his
dick and nuts were tortured anew, this time by the heads of his comrades. The
constraint around the Spartan's agonized cock and balls was not sufficient to
prevent the stud from pissing himself and also spewing piss all over the
severed heads of his former comrades as their skulls dangled from his
testicles. His belly was hard and full from the enormous quantity of seed he
had taken in. After the piss, the Ithacans played with the Spartan's dick,
taunting the dangling meat with the shafts of their spears, teasing him to
erection. From his elevated vantage point the condemned Spartan surveyed the
carnage laid out beneath him, his eyes able to see only the naked and
beautifully-muscled bodies of studs he had fought beside, fucked, and who had
likewise fucked him. Though the dying Spartan was himself capable of meting
out dire punishment to his adversaries, the agony he now felt was greater
than any he had ever inflicted on a captured enemy soldier. He hoped they
would finish him soon so that he could join his brothers in the warriors'
afterlife. The Ithacans jabbed his chest and thighs with spear points and
sword tips, inflicting shallow but painful wounds on his torso and bringing
themselves to new climaxes as they stroked their ever-hard dicks and spurted
their hot seed onto the naked legs and belly of the prisoner they had
face-fucked and hung up to die. They left him suspended in pain for more
hours than he could measure. Each breath he took was a renewed agony. The
otherwise normal act of expanding his rib cage to breathe became a protean
effort as his body weight pulled downward on his tormented arms and shoulders,
constricting his chest. He began to hope with each breath he took that it
would be his last. Toward
sundown the captain announced it was time to finish it. He selected a bowman
who had excelled in the battle against the Spartans and rewarded him with the
kill. “Execute the last Spartan,” he said to the naked young warrior as the
bowman drew an arrow from his quiver, “and fertilize the ground with our
seed.” The young archer had observed
this procedure before and knew what to do. He stood some fifty feet from the
naked Spartan and positioned himself at a 45° angle from the death pole so that
he could strike the man slightly from the side rather than head on. The
hanging Spartan, his lips, strong young jaw, and hairy chest encrusted with
the spilled scum he had sucked from his victors' cocks, watched the archer
take an arrow and draw his bowstring back. He tensed his stretched muscles as
best he could, determined to give the archer a target of enviable manhood.
The Spartan hoped for an arrow through the chest, a swift and sure
penetration that would pierce a lung and stop his heart, yet he knew this was
not what his executioner had in mind. Indeed, the arrow flew at an angle
toward the Spartan's protruding belly rather than straight into his chest. It
entered the gut just above and to the left of the navel and tore open the
side of the stud’s belly. The pressure from within did the rest, allowing the
Spartan's gut to burst open like a full wineskin. As the tip of the arrow
lodged in the death tree on which the Spartan hung, the doomed soldier's
destroyed belly spewed forth its contents and sprayed the ground in front of
him with a shower of gut juice, gore, blood, and of course large quantities
of swallowed manseed, which speckled the chests,
backs, and upturned asses of the beheaded Spartans who lay around him. The
gory juices from his torn belly soaked the ground for several yards around. The
Spartan's chin sank to his chest a few moments later, even as his agonized
death call was still echoing off the nearby hills. It was only then that the
bowman shot two more arrows into him, lodging them deeply and firmly into
each of his mighty pectoral slabs, impaling one of his lungs and his heart
and ensuring that the prisoner had indeed been turned into carrion. The
arrows sank into dead meat and elicited no further protest from the stud
whose chest they now decorated. The Spartan’s dick remained erect even in
death and stiffened further as his corpse became rigid. No attempt was made to remove and bury him.
Eventually his dead prick became the perch for a young crow that lit there to
survey the area as the victorious Ithacan army withdrew from the killing
field to make their bivouac nearby. Their nostrils filled with the scent of
cum and victory, each man would seek a hot and hard partner with whom to bed
down for the night. Some
months later the Ithacans returned to this same spot, their army now in
retreat as a re-grouped force of Spartans drove them back, slaughtering as
many of their enemy as they could in order to avenge their fallen brethren
and repulse the invaders. At the site of the executions they found the death
tree leaning with a few bones still hanging from it. It was all the buzzards
had left of the last Spartan to be executed there. The corpses of his fifty
comrades who had stretched their necks over the block for decapitation had
been savagely ripped open by wolves, their bones chewed clean and strewn
about the field of death. Occasionally a liberated nipple stud or cockring glinted in the sun amidst the bones of the
warrior who had once worn it. A
pyramid of stacked skulls was still visible near the former chopping block. The
Ithacans would soon join the Spartans in death as this same field became the
site of a pitched battle with a superior force of high-spirited and very
determined Spartans. The naked young Spartan studs accepted no surrender from
their opponents and did not cease their advance until every last Ithacan
warrior lay dead or dying with an arrow in his chest, belly or neck. Those
that survived were put to the sword or beheaded after they were fucked up the
ass by the raging hard cock of a Spartan stud avenging his fallen comrades.
Only the Ithacan captain was spared execution. He screamed when the Spartans
castrated him with his own bronze sword; he bellowed when his hard, spurting
cock was amputated; and he futilely begged for execution when his now dickless, ball-less crotch was cauterized with a hot
stone. His captors placed him in chains to begin his long forced march to
Sparta, making sure his ass was liberally greased for frequent fucking along
the way. The defeated captain cast a final wistful glance upward at the death
pole, and though he no longer had a cock between his legs, he felt a manly
stirring in his loins as he regarded the remains of the Spartan whose
execution had made his cock harder than had any other death he had witnessed
in all of his gory career. |
