Torin was the youngest son of the Chief of the fabled Bear Clan. His Father, and two older brothers, and indeed all of the other warriors of the Bear Clan were tall, ruggedly handsome, hirsute and massively muscular, but Torin, to his endless frustration and chagrin was a foot or so shorter, and his smooth hairless body, while packed with lean muscle, was lithe and wiry rather than musclebound like the rest of the clan. His facial features were finely constructed, and delicate rather than rugged.Torin was always treated with respect by the other clan members, but he was sure that this was only because he was the son of the Chief, and he frequently felt inadequate and unworthy due to his lack of stature. It played on his young mind constantly, comparing his tight young musculature to that of the bigger, bulkier clan members.
As is often the case with headstrong young warriors, Torin decided he would have to prove himself to the rest of the clan, and earn the respect that he was already given, but that he felt he did not deserve, and so he came up with a plan. He would perform an act of such courage and bravery that no one would ever again doubt his abilities as a warrior. Indeed, if he succeeded he would be heralded as one of the Bear Clan's greatest warriors. Yet Torin was unsure what task he could set himself that would accomplish such a goal.
Then one day a traveling Bard visited the Bear Clan, and to thank the clan for a hot meal and a warm bed the Bard sang songs telling of heroic deeds and epic adventures for the Warriors as they gathered around the fire in the Meeting Hall. While most of the Warriors applauded the Bard when he was finished, Torin just felt more frustrated that he could not think of his own heroic adventure that might one day become a song sung around the fire in the Halls of his own, and the other neighboring clans. So Torin went to the Bard who was circled by several of the younger warriors of the clan, and spoke with him, bemoaning the fact that there were no great deeds left that might become a song like those that the Bard had recounted.
The Bard, being a well traveled man, disagreed with Torin. He had heard of a few places where a brave warrior could prove his mettle. For example, hidden in the treacherous Jungles to the South stood the Temple of the Snake God, where wicked cultists would send out raiding parties to capture and enslave men to work in their deep dark and dangerous mines. Meanwhile in the far North the Bard claimed, there stood an ancient stone tower, surrounded by barren lands where nothing grew, and no animal or bird would dare to venture. The tower was said to be occupied by an evil Sorcerer who caused the land around the tower to be blighted, and who, rumor had it, performed dark rituals in the bowels of his stronghold, sacrificing anyone foolish enough to pass close by, to Eldritch Gods in order to unnaturally prolong his corrupt and dissolute life.
So it was that Torin resolved that he would venture to the North, confront the evil Sorcerer, and end his reign of terror, then bring back his severed head as proof of his worthiness to be a Warrior of the Bear Clan. So one night he strapped a bedroll, water bottle, a pack of food and his bow and arrows to his horse Nuala, leaped up onto her back, and set out on his quest.
As he rode North under the light of a full moon, which the Barbarian Boy saw as a good omen, Torin made an imposing figure. Soft calf length leather boots covered his lower legs, but his tanned and toned thighs were bare, and their sinews strained as he gripped Nuala's flanks. A leather loincloth hung low on his narrow waist. His torso was mostly bare as well, his taut belly flexed alluringly as he rode. A leather harness crisscrossed his chest, accentuating the nicely developed pectoral muscles, and small brown nipples. The harness held a scabbard on his v-shaped back, and the wickedly sharp sword within. A light travel cloak hung from his shoulders and rippled out behind him in the light breeze. The same light breeze tugged at Torin's light brown shoulder length hair. Despite his own dissatisfaction with the way he looked, Torin was a prime example of youthful virility, and many who the boy might encounter on the road would likely admire the comely youth, and some, both men and women, would undoubtedly lust after his fit young body. Fantasizing about the things they could do with a boy as beautiful and finely put together as Torin.
Torin decided that he would ride half the night, then rest for few hours before continuing on for his first full day of travel, and so when, a little after the moon had reached its apogee, he came across a thick grove of trees, with a floor carpeted with fallen leaves he chose to make a camp for the hours until sunrise. Entering the grove Torin could smell a sweet almost sickly scent emanating from the trees. Inhaling deeply the odor made the boys head swim, and he realized that he was more tired than he had thought, and as soon as he sat with his back against one of the trees, he was asleep...
After a while Nuala heard some rustling coming from the trees, and she snorted nervously. She didn't like the sickly sweet smell that enveloped the grove, and the rustling disquieted her even more. She backed out of the grove a little way, and the smell dissipated calming her uneasiness.
Meanwhile, back in the grove a sinewy vine had slithered down from the leafy canopy above the sleeping boy, and slowly began to encircle the youthful warriors broad chest, eliciting an involuntary shiver as the teasing tendril touched the boys hot flesh. Even as the creeping vine looped itself several times around Torin's strapping teenage torso and slowly began to retract into the canopy, lifting him inch by inch from his place of repose, he did not wake. The pernicious pollen which created the sickly sweet smell within the treacherous thicket of trees had a soporific effect on any unwary traveler who sought refuge within, but only the males of the species, and Torin was blissfully oblivious to his potential peril.
Within the leafy branches, expectantly awaiting fresh prey, hung half a dozen ponderous seedpod-like tumescences. Five of the pods were virulently green and unpleasantly veined, while the last was tinged with a ruddy blush, and seemed to pulse unnaturally. Each of the pods was bisected lengthwise by a seam that almost looked like sensuously scabrous lips, and as the boy's stupefied form was hoisted near to them, several of the prurient pods split open along the seam, gaping like hungry chicks awaiting a worm.
The vine hefted the muscular barbarian boy into the nearest pod, and as the licentious lips began to close around Torin, the tendril released the loops that had held him and slipped out just as the pod sealed itself once again. Within the pod, where it was joined to the branch that carried it, a thin tubular appendage hung flicking and curling sinuously like a tongue, sensing that fresh nourishment had been delivered. Cunningly the tube slithered over the handsome visage of it's prey, and insidiously inserted itself between Torin's plump pink lips. Once inside the warm wet cavern of the boy's mouth the tube began to secrete a sticky sweet slime and, like a newborn baby, the boy instinctively began to suckle on the slick tubular tentacle.
Another side effect of the soporific spores that Torin had inhaled was that they gave rise to dreams, wanton, erotic carnal dreams. For the pods did not just feed on flesh, they required the seed of their prey to survive, and this they procured by inspiring animalistic arousal. Still suckling on the phallic protuberance that penetrated his mouth, Torin stirred, and behind his tightly closed lids his eyes began to flicker back and forth, and beneath the soft leather loin cloth his cock began to twitch.
Torin's well trained senses woke him with the sound of a twig cracking nearby. Instantly the boy was on guard, and silently slipped his sword from the scabbard that he had placed beside him before he had fallen asleep. With catlike agility the finely muscled young warrior crept forward in the direction from which the sound had come. Somebody or something was entering the shadowy grove. Torin stealthily concealed himself behind one of the trees, and as the darkly cloaked figure passed his position he slid out behind it and placed the tip of his blade between the shoulder blades. "Who are you, and what is your business here" he growled. The figure stopped and Torin heard a soft chuckle, before the man threw back his hood, revealing the ruggedly handsome face, and long platted blond hair of his best friend since childhood, Gunner. With a shout Torin leaped at his friend and hugged him. Then stood back taking in the sight of the young warrior before him, who was everything that Torin aspired to be. "What are you doing here" Torin demanded. "You didn't think I was going to let you sneak off at night all by yourself did you?" Gunner admonished. "I knew you were up to something. You have been so sullen recently. Where exactly are you planning to go, and what do you plan to do?" "I intend to travel North to the Barren Lands and find the evil Sorceror's Tower. Then I am going to kill him and return with his head, to prove my prowess as a warrior, and gain the respect of my Father, and the rest of the clan." Torin proudly responded. "You are going to do no such thing, you impetuous idiot." Gunnar scoffed. "If you enter the Barren Lands by yourself you will never return. The cursed servants of the Sorceror will find you, subdue you, and take you to the Tower where you will be sacrificed to the Dark Gods of the Underworld." "You see?" Torin objected "Not even you believe that I am a true warrior." "You are the Chiefs son". Gunnar soothed his friend, placing a hand on the boys bare shoulder. "Of course you are a true warrior, but venturing into the Barren Lands is foolishness. If you must prove yourself then choose a different course." "My mind is set." Torin insisted. "Then I will come with you." stated Gunnar. "NO!" Torin shouted. "I must do this by myself. Go back to the Clan, and tell no one of my plan. Otherwise my Father will just try to stop me." " If you truly are set on this quest, then this will be the last time that I see you." Gunner sighed sadly. "Not so. I will return in triumph with the sorcerer's head." Torin declared.
Gunnar reached out a hand and touched his palm to Torin's tanned cheek almost tenderly. "Torin, you are my oldest friend. I love you like a brother... Perhaps even more than a brother." Gunner leaned forward, and Torin's eyes opened wide as his gruff brawny young friend brushed his lips against the smaller boys own soft inviting lips. Torin was shocked, but something deep inside him stirred. This was wrong. He should not be kissing another boy, but it felt good. So good, and as Gunnar's tongue slipped between Torin's lips, the wiry young warrior began to return the kiss, and felt his cock swell within his supple leather loincloth. Gunnar's hand slid from Torin's cheek to his neck and for a moment the lusty barbarian's grip tightened, and a thrill shivered through Torin's body. He wanted to submit to his more powerful friend. He wanted his childhood playmate to take control of him, and force him to obey. For a split second he wanted Gunnar to choke him, make him beg... and then the grip relented, the hand slid further down to Torin's chest, teasing a nipple, then down over his rippling abs, veined lower belly and under the soft leather loincloth to grip his throbbing cock. Torin gasped and groaned "Gunnar, by the God's"...
Cocooned within the warm welcoming confines of the pernicious pod Torin's body shuddered. The Barbarian boys cock was achingly erect. Pulsing with every beat of his powerful, young heart. Lost in a fervid erotic reverie Torin eagerly nursed on the tubular teat that fed him more of the sickly sweet hallucinogen. The walls of his verdant prison began to exude a milky white substance somewhat akin to a slow acting stomach acid, for the pods preferred to keep their victims alive for weeks as they slowly digested their prey, milking them of their seed over and over again.
Gunnar released Torin's priapic pole and placed both his hands on the smaller boy's shoulders. Gradually Gunnar pushed down with increasing force, and Torin succumbed to the pressure, dropping to his knees. Looking up into his best friends face he saw only lust and carnal desire. Gunnar's loincloth slipped from his waist, and Torin gazed in awe at the massive erection that throbbed in front of his eyes, oozing a crystal drop of precum. "Gunnar" he groaned. "You knew it would always come to this Torin." Gunnar hissed. "Gunnar, no." Torin whimpered, yet his lips inadvertently parted. "Suck it whore" Gunnar demanded, and Torin flinched as if he had been struck across the face. Torin had never been spoken to in such a manner before. As the son of the Chief of the Bear Clan he should have been outraged, but the part of the boy that fed his insecurities about his size and masculinity whispered to him that this was where he belonged, and his knees being treated like a whore. Torin licked his lips lasciviously, and allowed the head of Gunnar's cock to pass between them...
Something was wrong. Torin felt a tingling sensation on his skin. His eyes flicked open and he realized that he was somehow ensnared within some kind of fetid trap. The last thing he remembered was Gunnar... but that could not have been Gunnar. His friend would never have spoken to Torin like that... would he? His mind was hazy. He tasted something sweet in his mouth, and felt something pulsing between his lips. He tried to spit it out, but he was unable to...
Gunnar pushed forward, his erection filling Torin's mouth, and Torin began to lick...
No! Torin tried to think... But wouldn't it be easier if he just gave in, submitted to Gunnar, and sucked his cock?
Yet somehow Torin knew that if he did he would be lost. He had to resist... Or he could just let go, and never have to suffer the self doubt that plagued him. Just allow his lean muscular young body to be consumed and absorbed by the pod, to feed the grove of trees. No more worries, no more pain. Just let go of all of it, and surrender...
With a tremendous act of will Torin reached down to his boot and pulled out a small knife...
Gunnar gripped the back of Torin's head and pushed forward, causing Torin to gag and choke as Gunnar's cock hit the entrance to his throat, and Gods did it feel great. This is what he had always needed. To surrender himself to the carnal desires of a more powerful man. This was where he was meant to be.
Torin's fevered body vibrated with arousal. His cock pulsed and his hot teenage spunk began to erupt from it's tip. It was over. The boy would be locked in a never ending cycle of sensual stimulation and orgasmic eruption. His well-formed and fetchingly athletic frame would succumb to the internal secretions of the pod. He would be milked of his seed over and over, while his fine young muscles and youthfully virile flesh were ever so slowly corrupted, corroded and consumed by the caustic secretions. As Torin mindlessly embraced his fate, his limbs convulsed in erotic rapture and miraculously the knife still clutched in a death grip in Torin's hand sliced through the flesh of the plant as the boy's limbs flailed in a febrile frenzy.
The pod shuddered, and the fleshy tube which would have nourished it's prey until all the seed that was needed had been harvested, was torn from Torin's mouth as the Barbarian boy's body slipped through the fissure and slithered to the ground as if he was being rebirthed. Quivering and convulsing in continued ecstasy, and coated in his own cum and the slow acting digestive juices of the pod. With a final groan and fountain of spunk Torin fell into a flushed, fevered slumber.
As the sun peaked above the eastern horizon Nuala sensed her boy was in peril. She steeled herself against her uneasiness and trotted into the grove of trees. Seeing Torin sprawled on the leaf strewn floor of the thicket she snorted and nuzzled the boys neck.
With a start Torin woke. Seeing Nuala nuzzling him he stroked her muzzle.
"Fuck girl, that was a close one. The Gods must be watching over me. I have to be more careful if I'm going to succeed in my task."
High in the leafy canopy a strapping young farmers boy was not so lucky. A week before Torin had entered the grove, the farmers boy had succumbed to the enchantment of the blissful slumber and found himself swallowed and swaddled inside one of the pods, which now quivered in a disturbingly unpleasant fashion, and flushed a perniciously prurient pink. As Torin made his way to a nearby stream to wash the pod-slime and his own cum from his lithe young body, the farmers boy twitched and writhed in his pulsing prison, locked in an unending rapture of orgasm and ejaculation, as the pod began its painfully slow, exquisitely torturous assimilation of it's unlucky prey.