Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
I set to like a man-child dying of thirst at a trickling spring, desperate for more and determined to find it. My tongue drilled as deeply as it could, seeking any vestige of that divine flavour. My licking and probing tongue dove next into the meaty skin to seek and explore, and it found a wealth of my liquid god in the folds of his skin... then my senses exploded. My tongue had found a nugget of taste so rich and musky and dark and deep and profound that it undid me and I attacked the area like a wild creature. I could feel Harcos trying to pull me away, but it would have taken a dozen strong men to prise this precious prize from me. With a loud bellow, Harcos began to erupt like a forge of Vulcan, his lava-like seed engulfing my mouth, my soul, my universe. He panted and cried out as I nursed, sucking great gushes of this sacred liquid into my own body. This was my benediction. My consecration. My baptism in my new faith, the worship of my master, Harcos.
The Heathens 7: Of Tooth and Claw
By Bear Pup
M/T; oral; piss;
I have never slept as I did that night, spent and in the hands of my personal God, a man to whom I'd given exultant (if forbidden) pleasure and who had given me both a new name and a new soul. His scent enveloped me as did his arms, and the feel of his massive hairy chest rasping against my back as I slept was a lullaby of its own accord. I woke twice in the night, hard both times and once with my warrior's mighty hand upon my cock.
It was a strange feeling. The previous night, that very touch and my own desperate need and fear fed each other, the idea of the sin and its inevitability actually driving me to that sin, or what I mistakenly thought of as sin. Tonight, in such loving comfort, it simply felt wonderful and I drifted back to sleep without even considering reaching completion with my slumbering giant.
I awoke a third time and knew that dawn was not far off. I laid and luxuriated in a way I don't think I'd ever done, sighing deeply at the warmth and touch of Harcos. Speaking of touch, fur was not all that was stroking my back. His massive flesh-sword was hot, hard, heavy. I moved with utmost care and nearly unspeakable need until I could take the head into my mouth, desperate for another taste of his precious seed.
His sleep-musk redolent of sweat and power and very, very naughty dreams drew me in, inviting then enticing then entrancing my senses. I dug my agile tongue deep in the folds of his puckered skin to draw this essence into me, then clamped my mouth around the head, the only part that I could really fit! I suckled and nursed with increasing hunger. My hands stroked the immense pole as I dove my tongue into the slit and tried to force more and more of the monster into my throat with no real success, but apparently with a lot of sensation. I felt Harcos being to pant, then huff and watched in awe has his massive orbs writhed and rose. With a soft cry of bliss, Harcos again delivered what I had been working so hard to draw from him.
Last night, I was literally overwhelmed with his pleasure and my part in bringing it, setting about it like a suckling wolf. This morning, I could taste and listen and enjoy. His cum was salty with a tang that was related to but utterly different than his musk. This taste was so pure and so potent that it was like drinking power, each spurt pumping life into me without diminishing what was left in my barbarian master. His massive paws stroked and caressed my head and face and he released and I could feel the love there.
As the pulses and moans waned, I heard his sleepy voice rumble and purr, "Oh, my little rooster. How I love the way you crow each morning." Suddenly the taste of his precious cum was overwhelmed with something alien, but irresistibly-powerful in its own right. Acrid and salty, I jumped when I realised this was my master's piss. I should have been revolted and disgusted, but the taste was too intense, too mysterious, too... perfect.
Harcos had felt my startlement and the stream cut to nothing. "Oh, Kucuk! Oh, my Dasqas! I wrong have done!" He moved to pull my mouth away and stopped suddenly when I clamped my jaw, teeth pressed firmly behind the ridge of his glans. He yelped and moaned, low and deep. "Oh {?-forceful, emphatic word}! Oh, puppy, you have sharp teeth. Let go, my puppy. Chew another bone... Oh {the word again}!!" I remained resolute and he relented, piss returning in a gushing and forceful torrent. It was my turn to purr and growl, eliciting a sharp gasp and shuddering intake of a delighted, impressed, needy breath.
I kept suckling and teasing every last, precious drop until Harcos was whimpering and begging me to desist. I pulled off and looked up at his wide, puzzled and thrilled gaze with a smile that split my face in two. He looked quickly to ensure that I'd not damaged him (as if I would or could ever do so to my beloved master), then laughed and tousled my hair and set to tickling me.
I was a man-child, certainly beyond the world of boyhood but still with the tender nerves of youth. And Harcos was a master tickler, finding every bone that would make me giggle, every crease that elicit a squeak of outraged delight. I was also a young man who'd had a long night's sleep. The outcome was both inevitable and inescapable and I felt a tiny spurt of pee escape me, trying between gasps and squeaks and giggles to remember the words for begging, or at least to warn my Harcos. Another spurt and my voice went even higher in desperation, but this one Harcos had felt as it dampened the forearm of the hand torturing my exquisitely sensitive knee.
With effortless grace and power, and without missing a single tickle, Harcos elicited a howl as I felt his mouth engulf my raging dick. If anything, the tickling intensified and concentrated on the very area (my lower sides) that caused the worst contractions. With a massive and prolonged squeal of ecstatic torment I let loose with my gushing pee and moaned and cried out as Harcos swallowed and sucked. I was soon empty but Harcos refused to relent. Even as the last of my piss was consumed, Harcos dove deeper and I felt my boyhood engulfed him his throat.
His throat! His convulsing and stroking and wet and powerful THROAT! I howled again, this time deep and gravelly and began to growl much as Harcos himself had done. It was a matter of moments before Harcos was rewarded. With an almighty scream I unloaded, my spasming body trying to drive my entire torso into that wondrous throat!
My solid warrior held my flailing and jerking body through my orgasm, then refused to stop or even deign to notice my increasingly-agonised squeaks and squeals. The sensitivity of my cock, especially my cockhead, was indescribable, and what Harcos was doing to it deep in his gullet had me seeing stars and pleading in every language I knew or invented. Then as quickly as a candle snuffed, the agony was gone and a new surge of breathless pleasure overtook me.
My moans and groans and guttural cries obviously pleased Harcos and he redoubled his efforts, again sucking a somewhat lessened but far more vocal and writhing load from my now-aching balls. I was weeping and sobbing with ecstasy and release when I vaguely realised that the magical throat was gone. I looked up to see the sculpted, mammoth ass of my warrior-god prowl off into the brush. I was still not recovered enough to move of my own volition when Harcos returned and set the cookpot in the embers and rekindled the banked coals for a morning fire.
I had thought I knew bliss minutes before, but the broad, satisfied and delighted smile I saw on my barbarian's face skewered my mind, body and soul. The was true rapture, beyond anything the mere body could produce.
The morning suddenly became busy after we ate our warm cracked-grain and fruit-filled meal. Harcos showed me all of the things required to strike a camp, to eliminate all trace of our presence, to reassemble and triple-check the cart and contents, to dress for a travel day, to equip Harcos himself for the day. With every bit, I had to repeat back the words and instructions, hanging on every smile or frown. I was again the gambolling pup and Harcos would frequently either laugh or give me a (more-or-less) playful cuff to pull my attention back to important things.
It took some time dressing me for the day, as the sandals took constant adjustment until I could walk without them slipping (quickly learning words like 'blister' and 'sore'). Harcos taught me how to tie my personal cloth to prevent chafing. As he did so, I tried and failed to get him to play, but he was all business today.
He also taught me the various ways to propel the cart. The most effective and comfortable was the harness. It could wrap over the shoulders, crossing the chest or over each shoulder separately. It could be pulled by the short pole/handles as a handcart, pushed from behind or even dragged with one man on each side. Harcos patiently explained why it was versatile. If you were expecting even the slightest threat, straps made defence difficult, and if actively engaged in a fight, the gear on the cart was second only to personal safety; it contained what we needed to survive. If separated from the cohort, as now, we would likely die in three days without the shelter, medicine and armaments it carried.
As we readied to depart well before midmorning, Harcos got extremely stern and serious. He reached into the cart and withdrew a sheath that was similar to the one he had with him at all times, just shorter. It was in the shape of a sharp triangle, perhaps a hand wide at the top and two long. Inside was pugio like the one he'd trained me with, only shining and wickedly-sharp. I was in awe as he attached the sheath to my belt and then handed me the dagger hilt-to-me. He bent close and stared into my eyes, unsmiling.
"Dasqas, this is your pugio. You will fight with it. You will kill with it." My eyes were large and my breathing became short and tense. His voice was more than one of command; it was a voice that could not be ignored or disobeyed. It was steel and flint and fire. "Your pugio does not leave you. Your pugio is not set aside. Your pugio is always clean. Your pugio is always ready. If I ever find those things to not be true, for even an instant, you will have trouble sitting for days. Spanking yesterday was to teach. Fail in this and spanking will be to punish. Explain that you understand."
Literally shaking with fear now, I responded. "This is my pugio. I, I {gulp} will fight and kill w-with my pugio. My pugio will not leave me. My pugio will never be dirty. My pugio will always be ready."
He continued to stare deep into my eyes to make damn sure that I knew how utterly, inconceivably serious he was in this before he grunted and stood back. Before he turned away, I blurted, "Is it wrong to give a name to a weapon?"
His eyes flicked back to mine and widened. "No, Dasqas. But that is a warrior's question. It.... impresses me. Yes, it is a goodness to name things that your life protects. Tell me, my Kucuk, what would you name it?"
There was no hesitation in my voice, none at all. "In your tongue, Harcos, what is the," I tapped my eye-tooth, "of a puppy?"
His laugh was long and hard. "That, my priceless Kucuk, would be 'catula dens' or perhaps..." For the first time ever, I cut across my master's voice.
"No, Harcos, not in the language of Rome. In the language of your home, your heart?"
Harcos face went flat, but I could see his lip tremble so slightly. No one whose entire world was not bounded by his form (as mine was) could have seen it.
His voice was soft and far-away. "That is 'szemfog' or 'agyar'."
"Then this is Agyar. I am your Kucuk and this is my fang."
Harcos spun as if stung by a wasp and grabbed the cart-handles. I nearly had to run to keep abreast. I was convinced I had make an unforgiveable mistake, desperate to find a way to make it right. After walking perhaps a stadion, he allowed the cart to thump on its forefeet. He turned to me, crushing me into a hug like none I'd ever felt of imagined. Harcos was doing something I didn't think possible at the time, but his face was wet and he clutched me to him, murmuring, "My Kucuk. My Dasqas." and words from what must have been his native tongue.
I was nearly blue from lack of breath when he set me down, turned again without a glance at me, and resumed his pace with the cart. I caught him up once I could breathe enough to scamper in his wake, in which time he'd secured the harness shoulder-fashion. Perhaps ten minutes later, my barbarian's deep and somewhat-hoarse voice began to quiz me, working outwards from words and roots I'd learned and forcing me to guess at variations, plurals, conjugations and phrasing. This lasted for at least two hours, until the sun was already past its zenith, before he pulled me and the cart under the shade of a tree next to a pool of water.
I didn't know why, but I cried out to Harcos when he moved toward the pool. He turned and raised an eyebrow.
"The water is wrong!"
"Explain."
I thought back to the explanations that Strasta had given me, but could not really explain. I knew it was wrong, not why or how.
Harcos smiled at me. "You do well, my Kucuk, even if you cannot put the words. The pool is fouled. Watch colour and stillness. No tracks of animals. But the stream that feeds it -- see there? -- is surrounded by the spoor of many small creatures and runs clear. We will not take water from there, either, but from many yards further in case the demons of this pool have found a way to reach beyond it, or the tracks have other meaning."
He moved up the trickling stream and found a second, much smaller pool, this one fresh and clear. I could see the prints of the tiny deer that roam the hills, forelegs spread wide meaning they had dipped to drink here. Still, Harcos moved upstream of that, and filled his waterskin from that source before we both returned to the cart.
We lunched on a highly-spiced dried sausage, nearly a jerky, and some hard and flavourful cheese. We both relieved ourselves before setting forth again. The rest and the food and most of all Harcos' praise at my recognition of the fouled pool had sent irrepressible energy through me. We had gone no more than half an hour when Harcos tired of it.
With little ceremony, he simply said, "You have strength to play, you have strength to pull," and harnessed me to the cart using the cross-chest position. He also strapped on a longer, straight, blunt-ended sword, perhaps the length of a normal man's arm. I puzzled it for a while and then realised. When he'd been pulling, his strength and speed would let him throw off the shoulder-harness and seize a weapon quickly and I could simply hide or run, with me strapped in this way, I could do neither and Harcos would have to defend himself, me and the cart at once. Being ready was important.
By the time Harcos chose a spot for us to overnight, I was sore, sweaty, exhausted, disgruntled and had spent a good part of the last hour explaining the imprecations and curses of my tongue that I kept using. He was far more amused by this than I was. We had passed a steading several hours earlier and Harcos had bartered with the unfriendly and suspicious man for a small haunch of meat, lamb as it turned out. Whilst I tried to relearn how arms worked, Harcos had the fire blazing so I set about constructing the shelter using the poles he'd strapped on from the previous camp.
He seemed satisfied, perhaps even impressed when I was done, and explained some minor mistakes as he corrected my work. He carved the joint and dumped the bone and perhaps a quarter of the meat into the cookpot for what would become stew and indicated that I should tend to that. For me, lamb meant parsnips with mint and basil if either could be found. We had no parsnips, but did have some rather tired carrots which were nearly as good, and I found a nice patch of wild marjoram which would add that minty bite I liked.
Harcos had done something complicated with coals he transferred between two good-sized rocks downwind a few spans. He went to the weapons cache of the cart and drew out four long, thin, round daggers. I watched as he trimmed, dressed and heavily-seasoned the meat that we wouldn't use tonight. then set the daggers-cum-skewers across the stones, two spans above the heat. He threw in a large bunch of some fresh herbs he'd found that bloomed immediately into thick, cloying but very delicious-smelling smoke. He would later turn the lamb and throw more herbs down. At nightfall, he carefully packing away the then-smoked meat.
We had at least an hour for the stew, half of which would be light and the other twilight, so it was back to the well-abused practice pugio and the wooden sword that would be aimed again at my well-abused ass. I whined that I was tired and sore, which earned me a hard THWACK across the ass before I even saw it coming.
"Enemy LIKES you sore. LIKES you tired. Because he likes you DEAD. We will discuss words of whining and consequences later. For now, defend, Kucuk."
Note to self: Never, ever, ever piss off Harcos just before training. I thought my arms were sore before? He seemed to target every ache with malicious accuracy. My ass got it's share, but arms and thighs got hard pokes, stinging slaps or downright evil thwacks. What changed tonight, though, was I belated realised that I had two arms, two hands, not just the one holding the practice knife. After twenty minutes of abuse, I finally began to use both arms to defend and the pugio mainly on attack and the stings and slaps became fewer and usually were diminished as I deflected some of the force of each blow.
I got two good scratches on Harcos, one actually across his bare chest which really impressed him, and did I ever pay for the pride that flushed through me. I also (more by accident than design) got one hard punch into my master's nuts. He fought like a tiger as he recovered himself, his flurry of moves giving him space in which to return to fighting trim.
But when we finally stepped back, Harcos gave me a smile that melted me. We sat for a few minutes before eating to rest and stretch, and Harcos went over our "battle", pointing out subtle details and correcting stupid mistakes. He made a point to poke his finger hard into my 'wounds' each time he explained how I could have avoided or spoiled the particular attack.
As the stew was slowly consumed, we went on to tell me that he was happy I remembered my spare arm, and that many soldiers have to be actually taught to do so. He talked about using feet, legs, movement -- and that we would work on those for years to come. I was flushed with pride (and aches) by the time we policed the camp for evening.
We tucked into the tent and Harcos took no time stripping me and putting me over his knee, face up this time as several of his strikes had abraded my chest and arms. Welts and weals got soothing rabbit-grease, but sore arms, legs and shoulders got something that nearly killed me: strong, deep massaging rubs that would make me shout in pain and relief, rabbit-grease allowing Harcos' hands to glide across my smooth skin and torment the muscles beneath with hard, rolling rubs and tight, clenching hands. I was soon face down, biting down on a strip of leather Harcos had shoved to me.
He worked the achingly-sore muscles of my ass that, along with thighs and shoulders, had borne the brunt of today's mule-work. It was either heavenly pain or excruciating joy as he kneaded and rolled my round butt in his powerful hands. Suddenly, my back arched like seizure and I saw stars. Harcos had just brushed a greasy digit like a soft but insistent claw across my puckered nether hole. I'd never felt that much pleasure from a touch, and nearly bit through the tanned hide in my mouth.
Harcos chuckled. "My puppy likes to be petted there, I see." I began to writhe and wriggle, moan and squeal as he teased and stroked and circled my defenceless opening. It was unendurable but the thought of it ending was so, so much worse. When his finger finally poked through, I near launched myself straight up. The pleasure was so intense it set every part of me on fire with need.
Thought was a distant concept by then. I was nothing but squirming, squeaking, squealing sack of desperate need. I felt Harcos' other hand slip under me, coating my rock-hard dick with grease, then moving me so my crotch was directly over his mammoth thigh. He pushed in, slow and steady, and my ass opened to his huge finger. It was again the pain and pleasure from the massage, distilled and intensified a thousandfold. Then his probing digit hit something and I screamed, losing the leather bit completely.
My body went wild with lust, trembling, clutching, quaking. Suddenly my ass was empty and Harcos' hands were up and away. I turned in horror. "I think puppy has had enough. We should sleep, yes?"
I don't know what I said. I'm not sure that I even knew what words were at that point. But I fired a string of abuse at his smirk that clearly meant something like, "Get your fucking finger back in there or I will chew your goddamned nuts off in your sleep you monstrous fucking bastard! NOW!" Harcos laughed so hard he almost unseated me, but his finger was once again stroking that place deep within and through it every nerve in my body, mind and soul. I was again purring and groaning in satisfaction.
He quickly shoved two massive fingers in my mouth and I suckled and nursed them in true desperation. Harcos would push in, forcing my cocklet into his massive thigh, then wiggle or prod or strum that wondrous, horrible, unbelievable spot with his barbarian claw. Over and over and over. I was out of my mind with need until he pushed in hard, one final time, and began to rhythmically thump that tiny knot of flesh inside. Cum exploded from me like a fountain. I bucked and whinnied like a colt; growled and roared like a lion cub; squealed and grunted like a piglet as my seed flew out of me as if to flood the world. And with that, sound went away and my vision shrank from the edges to a single glowing point before winking away, and taking me with it.
So puppy gets his fang and Harcos get his ass. Let me know your thoughts. Reader suggestions are the only way for me to know what you like and make my stories hotter for you. orson.cadell@gmail.com
Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Karl & Greg: 17 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/ Canvas Hell: 14 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 6 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 7 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Mud Lark Holler: 6 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/ Turntable Rehab: 5 chapter .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/
New One-Off: .../historical/that-lion