- Joined
- Jan 13, 2012
- Messages
- 6,470
- Location
- Cannibal Heaven
Two men staggered into the cabin. Good, it was deserted. Finally, shelter after seventeen days on the run, moving during the cold nights, hiding by day. Seventeen days since their battle unit had been wiped out. All their companions dead. The enemy tracking them. Now a night of rest before moving out again.
Sergeant Paersk yelled. “Private, make a fire. Now!” Private Narfort looked around the cabin, saw a stack of wood in the corner, picked up a log, and smashed it down on his sergeant’s head. Even before the body hit the floor, Narfort had his cord around Paersk’s wrists. He saw a bed and threw Paersk on it. No mattress. Just rusted and broken springs. Instantly, the sergeant was tightly tied spread-eagled. Narfort swung the log again, hitting Paersk in his ribs. “You’re gonna pay, Sarge. It’s my turn now.”
For two years, the entire company of 25 men had terrorized Private Narfort. Beat him. Fucked him. Little Narfort. Only 5’4” and slightly effeminate. Didn’t matter that he was one of their best soldiers. They terrorized him because he didn’t fight back. The little shit was a coward. But, no, not a coward. He actually enjoyed it. Sexually got off on the treatment. But he couldn’t let them know. Couldn’t let them know how he craved abuse by these strong, uniformed men. He loved the bruises. He loved their dicks up his ass and in his mouth. Couldn’t let them know that he had been in Heaven these last two years, staring up at their naked torsos and huge cocks as they tormented their little fairy mascot. He took their torment as an act of love. Little did they know.
They were all dead now. Except for the sergeant who he really did hate. He built a small fire as he waited for Paersk to wake up. Finally, he heard, “Untie me, you little shit”. “Oh, no, Sergeant. I have you where you had me. I’m top sergeant now. You had 23 men to keep me down. Now I got rope to keep you down.” Suddenly, he kissed Paersk on the lips. “I can kiss you. Fuck you. Make love to you. Maim you. Kill you.”
Paersk struggled helplessly against the ropes as Narfort used his knife to cut off his clothes. Fatigue shirt and pants, tee shirt and skivvies. Two weeks in the same clothes, no bath or shower, everything stank bad. The skivvies were brown. Partially filled with dried shit. Not easy to shit when you’re on the run. He shoved them into Paersk’s mouth. “Eat shit!”
The man lay naked on the bedsprings. Except for his boots. Narfort picked up an old broom and broke the handle in two. He whacked at Paersk’s naked body. Arms. Legs. Ribs. Belly. Kneecaps. Fuck! That hurt! With the broken end of the broom, he scraped at exposed skin, making red marks that began to bleed. Narfort knelt by the bed and sniffed at his captive. “I love the smell of filth. The smell of fear. The smell of death.” He put the broom handle between Paersk’s legs and shoved it into his hole. The ragged end wouldn’t slide in easily, but Narfort twisted and shoved hard until it finally ripped into the soft colon. Through the skivie gag, Paersk screeched in pain. Narfort jammed the handle in and out a while and then withdrew. It was bloody and shit-covered. He brought the stick up so his victim could see it, and then pulled out the gag and forced it into the mouth. Paersk gagged as Narfort smeared shit and blood in his mouth. Narfort removed the stick and put the gag back in before Paersk could spit any of it out. Like I said, Sarge, “Eat shit!”
The sergeant began to choke and sob. Narfort watched the helpless man. He loved his raunchy stink. It excited and aroused his senses. He knelt at Paersk foot and began to remove his boots. He could smell it even before the first boot came off. A rancid, fetid stink. The boots came off for the first time in over two weeks. Then the socks. He sucked at the wet, smelly wool socks and tasted rotting skin. Narfort’s dick swelled when he saw the swollen feet. Skin puckered and wrinkled, blistered, scaly, with some sort of white fungus. He took a foot between his hands and brought his face close. Most people would retch at the smell and sight, and turn away. Narfort inhaled deeply and licked it. He was in absolute ecstasy at the fungal taste, and the loose skin against his tongue. He rubbed it with his hand, and skin came loose, which he shoved into his mouth. He began to make guttural sounds like a feral animal. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Mmmmmmmmmmm! His tongue worked the mushy skin around his mouth before swallowing. His finger pulled rancid gunk from between the toes. His mouth encircled his finger. He finger-fucked his mouth, savoring the putrid grime on his tongue and gums. More gunk rubbed between his teeth.
In a passion, Narfort ripped off his own uniform and boots. The nasty stink of his own feet only intensified his frenzy. He was losing control. He practically swooned as he saw and smelled and tasted Paersk’s rotting feet. His animal cravings were taking over his mind and body. He bit into soggy toes, ripping at toenails with his teeth. Oh, how easy they came off! How soft they were to chew! Back and forth, from one foot to the other, biting, chewing, scraping loose skin, sucking at the damp, wrinkled soles. Total ecstasy!!!!! The feet moved. Jerked rather. Sarge was feeling Narfort’s teeth.
Narfort lifted his head and shouted, “Hey, Sarge. I never thought someone as ugly as you could taste so good. Tonight, I’m going to have my first good meal in weeks.” Persk let out a long agonizing moan. The private returned his attention to the feet. His teeth ripped at skin, his lips sucked at scaly skin, his tongue tasted fungal rot. When his teeth couldn’t rip some skin, his knife sliced so he could wedge his teeth in, to get to the meat. It took two hours, but Narfort managed to eat most of Paersk’s feet. They were bloody and torn, just pieces of bone attached to ankles.
He stood and climbed onto Paersk’s belly. Two naked men. The one drenched in sweat and helpless, the other also sweaty but fully dominating. The sergeant looked up and saw the naked private grinning down at him. His mouth and face smeared with blood. He poked his knife into Paersk’s nipple. “I’m still hungry.” As Paersk looked up at his tormentor, he heard a noise at the cabin door, a burst of gunfire, and Narfort’s head explode. Half the skull head flew across the room as Narfort’s body pitched forward onto Paersk, spilling brains onto his face. “Thank, God,” he thought. “I’m saved. Now, somebody please get this gag out of my mouth and untie me.” Instead, he heard someone say, “Just faggots. Burn it.”
Moments later, five soldiers walked across a field, leaving behind them a cabin engulfed in flames.
Sergeant Paersk yelled. “Private, make a fire. Now!” Private Narfort looked around the cabin, saw a stack of wood in the corner, picked up a log, and smashed it down on his sergeant’s head. Even before the body hit the floor, Narfort had his cord around Paersk’s wrists. He saw a bed and threw Paersk on it. No mattress. Just rusted and broken springs. Instantly, the sergeant was tightly tied spread-eagled. Narfort swung the log again, hitting Paersk in his ribs. “You’re gonna pay, Sarge. It’s my turn now.”
For two years, the entire company of 25 men had terrorized Private Narfort. Beat him. Fucked him. Little Narfort. Only 5’4” and slightly effeminate. Didn’t matter that he was one of their best soldiers. They terrorized him because he didn’t fight back. The little shit was a coward. But, no, not a coward. He actually enjoyed it. Sexually got off on the treatment. But he couldn’t let them know. Couldn’t let them know how he craved abuse by these strong, uniformed men. He loved the bruises. He loved their dicks up his ass and in his mouth. Couldn’t let them know that he had been in Heaven these last two years, staring up at their naked torsos and huge cocks as they tormented their little fairy mascot. He took their torment as an act of love. Little did they know.
They were all dead now. Except for the sergeant who he really did hate. He built a small fire as he waited for Paersk to wake up. Finally, he heard, “Untie me, you little shit”. “Oh, no, Sergeant. I have you where you had me. I’m top sergeant now. You had 23 men to keep me down. Now I got rope to keep you down.” Suddenly, he kissed Paersk on the lips. “I can kiss you. Fuck you. Make love to you. Maim you. Kill you.”
Paersk struggled helplessly against the ropes as Narfort used his knife to cut off his clothes. Fatigue shirt and pants, tee shirt and skivvies. Two weeks in the same clothes, no bath or shower, everything stank bad. The skivvies were brown. Partially filled with dried shit. Not easy to shit when you’re on the run. He shoved them into Paersk’s mouth. “Eat shit!”
The man lay naked on the bedsprings. Except for his boots. Narfort picked up an old broom and broke the handle in two. He whacked at Paersk’s naked body. Arms. Legs. Ribs. Belly. Kneecaps. Fuck! That hurt! With the broken end of the broom, he scraped at exposed skin, making red marks that began to bleed. Narfort knelt by the bed and sniffed at his captive. “I love the smell of filth. The smell of fear. The smell of death.” He put the broom handle between Paersk’s legs and shoved it into his hole. The ragged end wouldn’t slide in easily, but Narfort twisted and shoved hard until it finally ripped into the soft colon. Through the skivie gag, Paersk screeched in pain. Narfort jammed the handle in and out a while and then withdrew. It was bloody and shit-covered. He brought the stick up so his victim could see it, and then pulled out the gag and forced it into the mouth. Paersk gagged as Narfort smeared shit and blood in his mouth. Narfort removed the stick and put the gag back in before Paersk could spit any of it out. Like I said, Sarge, “Eat shit!”
The sergeant began to choke and sob. Narfort watched the helpless man. He loved his raunchy stink. It excited and aroused his senses. He knelt at Paersk foot and began to remove his boots. He could smell it even before the first boot came off. A rancid, fetid stink. The boots came off for the first time in over two weeks. Then the socks. He sucked at the wet, smelly wool socks and tasted rotting skin. Narfort’s dick swelled when he saw the swollen feet. Skin puckered and wrinkled, blistered, scaly, with some sort of white fungus. He took a foot between his hands and brought his face close. Most people would retch at the smell and sight, and turn away. Narfort inhaled deeply and licked it. He was in absolute ecstasy at the fungal taste, and the loose skin against his tongue. He rubbed it with his hand, and skin came loose, which he shoved into his mouth. He began to make guttural sounds like a feral animal. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Mmmmmmmmmmm! His tongue worked the mushy skin around his mouth before swallowing. His finger pulled rancid gunk from between the toes. His mouth encircled his finger. He finger-fucked his mouth, savoring the putrid grime on his tongue and gums. More gunk rubbed between his teeth.
In a passion, Narfort ripped off his own uniform and boots. The nasty stink of his own feet only intensified his frenzy. He was losing control. He practically swooned as he saw and smelled and tasted Paersk’s rotting feet. His animal cravings were taking over his mind and body. He bit into soggy toes, ripping at toenails with his teeth. Oh, how easy they came off! How soft they were to chew! Back and forth, from one foot to the other, biting, chewing, scraping loose skin, sucking at the damp, wrinkled soles. Total ecstasy!!!!! The feet moved. Jerked rather. Sarge was feeling Narfort’s teeth.
Narfort lifted his head and shouted, “Hey, Sarge. I never thought someone as ugly as you could taste so good. Tonight, I’m going to have my first good meal in weeks.” Persk let out a long agonizing moan. The private returned his attention to the feet. His teeth ripped at skin, his lips sucked at scaly skin, his tongue tasted fungal rot. When his teeth couldn’t rip some skin, his knife sliced so he could wedge his teeth in, to get to the meat. It took two hours, but Narfort managed to eat most of Paersk’s feet. They were bloody and torn, just pieces of bone attached to ankles.
He stood and climbed onto Paersk’s belly. Two naked men. The one drenched in sweat and helpless, the other also sweaty but fully dominating. The sergeant looked up and saw the naked private grinning down at him. His mouth and face smeared with blood. He poked his knife into Paersk’s nipple. “I’m still hungry.” As Paersk looked up at his tormentor, he heard a noise at the cabin door, a burst of gunfire, and Narfort’s head explode. Half the skull head flew across the room as Narfort’s body pitched forward onto Paersk, spilling brains onto his face. “Thank, God,” he thought. “I’m saved. Now, somebody please get this gag out of my mouth and untie me.” Instead, he heard someone say, “Just faggots. Burn it.”
Moments later, five soldiers walked across a field, leaving behind them a cabin engulfed in flames.
