Copyright 2015 by the author.
garystayton@yahoo.com
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Disclaimer; the story should not be read by minors or anyone not prepared for trashy gay bondage porn. The characters and events exist only in a fantasy setting and are obviously not representative of any realistic narrative.
CAPTURED STUDS of GNOR
Chapter 2.
Byeeror did fall to the road with a plop and an oof when his twine was cut, and he did exclaim in emotional terms to his nine companions in the coffle-line that his nuts and other man-parts did hurt from their fixture to the tree. There was still a length of the strong cord attached to his wrenched genitalia – wrapped and bound around each bulging ball and knotted tightly at the base and cock, and this did lead to more undignified proceedings.
The greasy punker-boy did grab the end of this twine and pull most hard on it, causing Byeeror – strapped helplessly by his arms to the yoke at his back – to yell with anger and run to follow like a tethered bull. The boy did whoop with laughter as he jerked and yanked and pulled Byeeror around in circles, raising dust and causing mayhem amongst the onlookers.
The members of the raiding crew did make fuss, yelling in their turn.
"Come back! Come back here with our captive stud ye lout and punker! We did catch him with honesty from the plain-tribes and he is ours, ye little fuckwad!"
If I had not been yoked like an animal in the coffle, and if I were not exhausted by my three-day journey, I would have found very hilarious the sight of the fourteen year-old brat leading the big native by his lashed male-organs through the dust in wide circles, and in turn, following behind, the angry men of the raiding party – all shouting and hollering their respective concerns.
"Jing! Jing!" shouted the wretched boy who had instigated the chase. "Anger not, for I have a very amusing and capital idea! Tether this native buck to the front of the others by his neck, and I shall tow them all by this single piece of twine, hipping and hopping and dancing a merrie disco all the way to Methane City!" he suggested to the raiders.
But the men were tired from their journey and in no mood for useless amusements, and so Byeeror's collar was hitched back in its place in our line, and our journey continueth.
Reader, ye hath not seen a place like Methane City, and I must take great care in describing it. The desert had given way to trees and razor-grass, and the road did grow busier. The city first appeared above the horizon as a brown cloud in the sky, and this I did later learn was from the great burning and belching of smoke which occurred there. This brown fire-smoke was not a natural thing at all – not the ordinary white wood-haze to which civilised persons are accustomed, and it did stink most foul.
Next, before we reach the city gates, I must tell of the general citizenry which lives in Methane City, for there were a great many persons on the road, walking or riding or rolling in vehicles. These people were white, pasty, small and scrawny. They covered themselves in colored fabrics and wore hats on their heads. Their eyes were wide and watery, and they did stare at us in some manner of wonder.
Presently, we did approach a great wall of timber beams, and a gigantic gate we did go through, and inside we encountered swarming crowds so populous that all ten of us did shout in panic and jump hard in our fastened neck-leash. But that was not all.
The place was filled with boxes of wood and bamboo – big enough for people to be inside, and these dwellings were stacked one upon another in astoundingly tall jumbles with ladders leading up and with smoke-pipes on top. Foul shit did run on the ground in open gutters, and the throng which pushed around us did not seem to notice the wretched stench which was everywhere.
And we did attract much attention, for people did crowd around us as we jig-jogged in line with our yokes. Children did point. Mothers did cover the eyes of their littlest ones, and men did grin at us leeringly. They touched us. They held their noses and screwed their faces at us as if they had just discovered a rotten smell and had not lived their whole lives in the putrid odour.
"Look at their cocks!" someone did shout, indicating our swinging schlongs. Some bustled up to the horse-rider who led us, offering to purchase us with gold.
"Har! Har! Har" said our jolly captors. "Fuck off! Ye couldn't afford one of them, never minding all ten!"
"Then lend me the third so that I may rent him on my tavern fucking-horse. My house is crowded with patrons and they will pay well for that fine ass. I'll give you one tenth."
"Har! Har! Har!"
"One fifth."
Indeed, it did seem very much that Methane City did want to welcome us. At that time I did not know much of what was spake, but I did gather that a tavern fucking-horse was not a device upon which a native stud would want to be.
The raiders did take us to a noisy place, where many men did carouse under a bamboo roof, drinking from jugs and slapping each other on the back. Our in-line leash was hitched to a post and the men of the capture-team did join in the drinking and backslapping, for they were hot and thirsty and did want to celebrate their catch. Small boys were sent out to water us, and we did kneel thankfully for the poured wet-down. It tasted like stagnant ditch-water but we drank most heartily.
All of the men inside did seem to be gript in a kind of intoxicated state, perhaps as if they had eaten nuts from a bedel-tree, and I did gather the cause of their stewed state was the stuff which they drank. The drinking-house was a noisesome and vulgar place, and many did come outside to view us, and others stopped to remark upon us, and some did touch us, my rump being slapped, my nips tweaked, and my schlong flicked. Indeed, my man-part did erect and draw ill-mannered comments and lewd laughter.
The activity and hubbub of Methane City had put me in a bewildered state, for it was new to me, and the shame of my nudity among all these impolite persons added to my confusion. But truthfully I was now a harnessed animal – a piece of livestock amid an interested crowd, and while a horse or a dog or a bull may conduct his most libidinous acts in public without recourse to ignominy, I harboured the temperance of my tribe in my breast and did so wish I may be afforded a small loincloth for my modesty.
Nevertheless, my urges were great, perhaps being brought about by my agitation at being bound, collared, and yoked in a public street in Methane City, and I did begin to fuck Zelkor who was before me on the leash, and who could not escape my thrusting lunges. Many people about us did exclaim upon my energetic sex, and presently there emerged a number of different opinions, expressed with growing momentum.
The first was a general mirth upon the sight of ten naked young bucks from the Wild Plains, coffled and fucking in a leash-line whilst hitched to a horse-post, and this insolence toward us I could not help but resent, and somehow it added to the vigour of my lively and angry fucking of Zelkor.
"Look at `im go!" they did cry as they observed the animated congress, and I did grunt and grit my teeth as I slid my rigid meat in and out of Zelkor's hole, lubricated as we were by the sweat and filth of our desert transit. For his part, Zelkor did also grunt and make piteous noise, but fuck him, I thought.
A second opinion with currency in the crowd was that of disgust, and some people did say that beastly animals such as these should not be displayed thusly, and small children were taken away, and I did hear mention of the Ladies of the Methane City Society for Decent Conduct, and I did hardly know who these Ladies might be or what they meant.
"Things have gone too far in Methane City when tribal animals are brought inside the city-gates and left to their rutting in the gutters!" said one woman, who wore a white dress and many rattling gee-gaws and gimcracks for decoration. She did make a number of hurrumphs and huffs and continued to look with abhorrence at the offensive sight. "We already have many lecherous establishments in this district and that is enough!"
Others mused upon the idiocy of our drunken captors, who left such a valuable shipment of meat in the thoroughfares whilst they revelled in a bawdy tavern. Indeed, a sharp-nosed man did inspect us closely, and I could tell from his eye that he had a view to owning us, perhaps by dishonest means.
Methane City did employ a group of men whose job it was to go about and contain disorder, and these Officers of Law did carry clubs and whips and wore a special badge. Presently they arrived and discerned the cause of the commotion.
"These natives are not properly collared, nor marked, nor licenced," they did say. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! Ten counts of foul conduct! Ten slices of the Castrator's knife!"
These denizens of authority did take us away, tethered in our line at the rear of a wagon, and our disorganised captors in the raiding-team did follow in pursuit and make many cries of outrage as the crowd made merry at the comical sight.
Reader, I had worn a wearisome yoke at my back for three days and followed the fatiguing pull of the collar over one hundred leagues, and I did view my situation with no measure of satisfaction. But finally, in a wood-walled station with strange objects inside, the ropes and beams were cut from us and the collars disengaged. The men did beat us well, and when we fought, they did renew their attacks with long, leather whips, and to teach us a lesson, we were all hog-tied by our wrists and ankles together behind us and suspended from a roof-beam. Outside, the raiding-team could be heard making earnest applications as to their ownership of the studs, and several conversations with the authorities were conducted thus as we hung with our limbs twisted behind us and our schlongs dangling.
My body was laced with whip-stripes, and the rope did cut hard at my ankles and wrists as my weight was supported, and I did struggle and shift to ease the burden. Under this tremendous difficulty I did resolve to undertake every effort to maintain my dignity, for my home-tribe did not raise me to be a snivelling wuss, and I did then consider every citizen of Methane City to be my enemy and I did spit venom and insults.
"Ye are sons of whores and dogs and unspeakable cowards!" I did splutter, and for a while the men of the station did deign to ignore this abuse. The raiders and the lawmen did continue to argue, and tempers did grow sour, and an impatient Sergeant did finally say;
"That one, that one there," said he to the raiders, pointing to me "He is payment to the City for the trouble caused."
"But he is the prettiest!" sayeth the raiders. "And the most streamlined! A rich sporting man will pay grandly for that! Forsooth! Do not waste him in the methane-pits!"
"Very well," the Sergeant did say. "That other one."
Thusly Njor was cut down and separated from us. We later learned he was consigned to the grinding hell of the methane-pits, and we never saw him again.
We were now nine captured studs. "Secure them properly," the raiders were told. "Have them washed and registered. You dumbasses should know better than to have these skunks at risk of escape!"
One by one, we were lowered to the floor, held by eight men, and shuttered and nailed into regulation yoke-braces – two pieces of heavy wood with neck and wrist cutouts. The ends were fastened with hammer and spike, and we did each emerge from this operation with our palms and fingers secured twelve inches from our ears. Roped together, we were herded through the streets again to an iron-barred compound where we were watered and fed with a loaf of mouldy bread each.
It was now evening, and as I knelt and devoured my meal from a stone floor with my hands flapping uselessly each side of my head, my hunger did overcome me. My previous impertinence had departed and I lapped at my tin of water gratefully like a dog.
Readers of this missive, ye may commiserate with my plight at that time, or indeed, ye may find a great deal of interest in it. In fact, some persons have communicated with me about these events and expressed some measure of curiosity as to what will happen next. Whatever the case may be, know that the episodes contained herein did really happen to this Wild Plains buck and he will do his utmost to transmit them with accuracy and attention to all the fascinating details.
garystayton@yahoo.com