Dragged. Skinned. Scalped. Mouth-fucked.

callmecaleb

A man is a tasty morsel.
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Cannibal Heaven
It was stupid to ride alone on the plain. But Jeremiah was anxious to get to his hometown to reunite with his family. He’d been away studying in Boston for three years and didn’t want to wait a week for the next stage coach. So, in spite of warnings of Indian unrest in the area, he hired a guy to ride with him and provide security. Bad choice. His protector now lay in the dirt, having lost both his life and his scalp. And Jeremiah was standing, hands tied, staring into the face of a sneering naked savage who stood with a bloody knife in one hand and an equally bloody scalp in the other.

The Indian was tall, with long black dirty silky hair that hung below his broad shoulders. His reddish skin was smooth but his back was striped with the scars of whipping. A scar ran from his left temple to his chin. And his legs were marked with scars from riding through brush. But Jeremiah found him stunningly attractive. A beautiful face with sharp features. Broad chest punctuated with two pink nipple mounds. A tantalizingly deep round belly button above a narrow waist. Thick muscular thighs. Hard tight abdominals. He wore only three items of clothing: moccasins, a headband fashioned from a white man’s bright red necktie, and a thin leather loincloth which barely covered a huge dick.

Jeremiah appreciated the savage’s beauty in a way he never would have before his trip East. Before a new friend at the university had introduced him to a way of life he could never have imagined. Before he discovered the sensual touch of another man. Before he felt the joy of penetration.

The Indian stared at Jeremiah but said nothing, revealed nothing. Jeremiah stared back, desiring to caress the naked savage, but fearful of his intent. The Indian removed the saddles, reins, and bridle from both horses and turned them loose to fend for themselves. He tied Jeremiah’s wrists to a long rope, hopped on his pony, held the end of the rope, and slowly moved away. His captive had no choice but to follow on foot.

The plain was flat, a mix of hard dirt, grasses, rocks, sagebrush, and cactus. As Jeremiah walked, he couldn’t take his eyes off the savage’s broad back. What had caused the scars? A tribal initiation? An enemy’s flogging? Whatever their origin, the thought of the man’s back covered in blood was strangely sensual. He watched the long muscular legs straddling the pony, moving in rhythm with the animal’s easy gait. And the loincloth. What lies beneath? A knife hung from his loincloth string along with the fresh scalp, and an old rusty cavalry sword from the pony.

After thirty minutes of walking over rough terrain and through the dry vegetation, Jeremiah’s feet were hurting. He shouted, asking to stop, but the savage seemed not to hear, and the pony kept its steady pace. He trudged on, struggling to keep pace. The sun was high in the clear, blue sky, and the temperature rose. His dark brown Stetson protected his head from the sun’s rays but absorbed its heat. Jeremiah stumbled and fell to his knees, but the pony didn’t stop and he was pulled forward onto his belly. The ropes dug into his wrists as he struggled to regain his footing. He was successful, but he had lost his hat. Now he was bareheaded under the hot plains sun. His feet were in great pain and Jeremiah had to hop and skip to keep going. The Indian never looked back.

Then the inevitable. Jeremiah stumbled again, but this time he couldn’t gather the strength to regain his feet. He was dragged. Face down. He panicked. Calling out to his captor. Tried to keep his head up so it wouldn’t scrape on the ground. The rocks and brush ripped at his clothes, shredding them. His shirt was soon gone. His jeans slid from his waist to his ankles. Then a boot came off. And the other. And his jeans caught on some sagebrush and were left behind. Jeremiah was naked. Dragged by his wrists over rocky ground, through prickly sagebrush, into cactus. Ripping, tearing, shredding. Holding his head up, he saw a jagged rock ahead. No way to avoid it. His forehead banged into it, before his body slid over it. He felt the rock rip at his chest and belly, then most painfully his nuts hit the jagged edge.

They stopped. The Indian dismounted, and rolled Jeremiah onto his back. Lifting his head a bit, Jeremiah could see his body ripped and torn, covered with a mix of blood and dirt. A piece of belly skin was hanging loose. His dick skin shredded. The savage looked down at him, made a noncommittal grunting sound, remounted the pony, and resumed their journey. Jeremiah’s unblemished backside would now suffer as his frontside had. He struggled to hold his head up so it wouldn’t drag but had little strength to do so. Almost immediately, the pony pulled him into a cactus. He screamed as the spines ripped into his hair, his neck, his back, his butt, his legs. One spine caught his ball sac. His freshly bloodied backside was dragged over hard rocky dirt. His head, scalp ripped by the cactus spines, bounced on the ground as they continued on. His pain was so intense that he passed out.

Jeremiah shocked awake when he was dragged into an icy cold creek. It was shallow but he struggled to keep his head above the water. Several times he gagged as he was totally submerged. The mud at the bottom of the creek soothed his ravaged body. The pony pulled him out of the creek and halted. Jeremiah lay on soft dirt, caked in blood and dirt, looking up into the branches of a great tree. The Indian came into view, looking down at him, and grunting. Jeremiah was transfixed as he looked up at the huge uncut cock hanging beneath the loincloth. He felt the ropes being loosened from his wrists. His whole body screamed in pain but no sound emanated from his mouth except a low moan. Though free from his bonds, he could not move. He lay still, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but green leaves high above.

Dusk was setting in and Ka-leb began to set up camp for the night. He hobbled his pony where it would have plenty of grass to eat. He built a campfire and set his blanket nearby. Squatting by the fire, he pulled out his whisky bottle and took a deep swig. He loved firewater even if it did make him crazy sometimes. But no problem here, in a deserted camp, with only an incapacitated paleface as a companion. He was happy. He had a fresh scalp and would have another by dawn. The naked paleface, whose body had been torn to shreds during their trek in the desert, would soon die.

Ka-leb readied the fire for his dinner. He squatted over Jeremiah, ran his hands over the dirt and blood crusted body. The boy cringed as the savage fingered his wounds and pulled at loose skin. The face was taciturn but Jeremiah could see a smile in the eyes as he explored the ravaged body with his hands, pinching his skin, caressing his pecs, and fondling his torn cock. Then he roughly rolled the boy over onto his belly. Ka-leb’s knife scraped away the layer of dirt/blood, and he rubbed his hand over the shredded back and buttocks. His knife plunged into Jeremiah’s ass cheek, made some quick cuts, and came away with a sizable piece of ass meat. As Jeremiah writhed at this new pain, he could hear a satisfied grunt from the Indian.

Ka-leb returned to the campfire, squatted, speared the buttmeat with his rusty sword, and held it over the fire. The flesh sizzled in the flame, and then began to cook slowly. Ka-leb made a humming noise as he waited for his dinner to cook. Meanwhile, tears streamed from Jeremiah’s eyes as he lay with his face in the dirt and the hole in his butt slowly filled with blood. In the light of the fire, he could see the Indian patiently cooking the meat and sipping from his whiskey bottle. In time, Ka-leb stood and walked back to Jeremiah. Squatting, he pulled the well-cooked meat from the sword and laid it on the boy’s filthy back. He ripped a small piece off, dipped it in the blood in the hole, and chewed his dinner. He continued to dip and chew until he finished. Having swigged from the whiskey bottle with each bite, Ka-leb had become drunk. He wrapped his blanket around him and curled up by the fire.

Jeremiah could hear his captor snoring during the night. At one point he thought he heard a loud crack. Then silence again. Despite his pain, he slipped into unconsciousness.

It was light when he opened his eyes and sensed movement nearby. Ka-leb was standing spread eagle, wrists tied to a tree branch, and his feet spread wide and tied to short stakes in the ground. A man, another Indian, was standing with his face inches from Ka-leb’s, speaking softly but gesticulating forcefully. Then he turned and approached Jeremiah. He squatted and poked at the boy’s chest with his knife. He was filthy and smelled even worse than Ka-leb. Pointing his knife toward Ka-leb, he said, “Ka-leb. Bad. Bad injun.” He pointed at himself. “Tak-po. Tak-po more bad. Mucho bad.” He laughed and picked up Jeremiah, carried him across the clearing and dropped him roughly onto a rotting tree trunk. He took off his loincloth, shoved his knife into the boy’s butthole to create lubricant, and began to fuck him. It was a brutal fuck, worse than any Jeremiah had ever experienced. The savage rammed him so hard that Jeremiah’s body slid back and forth on the log, his torn skin ripping even more on the rough bark. As the frenzied fuck continued, the Indian in his passion dug his fingers into the boy’s head, gouging at his eyes, and biting his ears. When, at last, he shot his load into Jeremiah’s ass, he lay on top, panting heavily, and pounding his fists into the boy’s sides. As he finally raised himself off the helpless boy, he punched both of Jeremiah’s ears hard, laughing. This is one vicious Indian.

Tak-po roughly pulled the boy by one foot, and propped him against a tree. Jeremiah was not tethered. In shock and severe pain, his cut buttock sitting on an uncomfortably sharp rock, he sat quietly, slack-jawed, observing the two naked savages. Beaten down but aware, languishing in pain but sexually aroused, he simply watched.

Tak-po turned his attention back to Ka-leb. He stared intently into his eyes. The other’s face revealed nothing. No concern. No fear. Both naked, the foes stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. Slowly, Tak-po’s cock rose. He smiled and raised his knife to Ka-leb’s forehead. He made a short horizontal cut, two vertical cuts an inch apart, and began to peel back Ka-leb’s skin. Working the knife expertly, he removed a strip of skin from hairline to nose. A couple quick slices on each side of the nose, and then peeled the skin totally off his nose, and down to Ka-leb’s upper lip.

Tak-po knelt. He put his knife at the top of Ka-leb’s muscular thigh and slowly began to peel away the skin from his leg, down to his knee. Strip after strip, Ka-leb’s skin was separated from his leg. He gritted his teeth in pain but never cried out. Tak-po worked his way around the leg, side, back, and the sensitive portion of the inner thigh until he had opened the entire thigh. It oozed blood. Portions of Ka-leb’s thigh muscle were exposed, while in other parts, the inner skin remained intact. The savage leaned back on his heels and admired his work. With a murmur of satisfaction, he ran his hands over the raw thigh. Then he began his methodical stripping of the other thigh. Again, Ka-leb made no sound, although his leg quivered from time to time, an involuntary reaction to the intense pain he was suffering.

In moments, both of Ka-leb’s thighs had been stripped of every bit of skin. Oozing blood, they glistened in the sunlight. Blood ran down his calves and soaked the dirt. Bloody strips of skin, still attached at the knees, hung loose. Tak-po remained sitting on his heels, admiring his work, grinning at the involuntary twitching, glancing up at the implacable face above.

Finally, he moved closer. He grasped Ka-leb’s nut sac and carefully removed it, leaving two testicles to hang loose. Pulling on Ka-leb’s cockhead, his knife skillfully peeled back the skin of his dick, rolling it, until the cockskin hung from the cockhead. Ka-leb’s dick, soft but still long, oozed blood, which dripped from the loose skin onto his skinless thighs. His face tense with pain, Ka-leb looked down into Tak-po’s eyes. Their eyes remained locked on each other in mutual hatred.

Tak-po stood and touched his knife to the sensitive skin just below Ka-leg’s armpit, and began to strip the skin from his upper torso. From armpit to waist, in short strokes and long, Ka-leb’s skin peeled away. Blood oozed from his body, dampening the strips which hung from the body, some loosely, some clinging to the body. Tak-po worked methodically, slicing, stripping, from Ka-leb’s side, across his chest and belly, to the other side. Most of Ka-leb’s skin was removed, including nipples, and hung in strips. From time to time, Tak-po ripped a strip off to see if he could get a reaction, but left most of them hanging.

Tak-po turned away and began to dig in the dirt. Using Ka-leb’s knife, he dug a deep, narrow hole. Then he dropped the cavalry sword into the hole, hilt first, and refilled the hole, leaving about fifteen inches of the blade protruding above ground.

He turned back to Ka-beb, still stretched spread-eagle from the tree, reached in and squeezed a testicle. This time, Ka-leb’s head flew back as let out a screech, loud and long. The iron grip did not let up. Ka-leb struggled to stop his scream but utterly failed. Tears streamed down his bloody cheeks as the relentless pain coursed through his body. He lurched wildly in his bonds, until Tak-po loosened his grip. Tak-po smiled, settled back on his haunches, and watched patiently as his victim’s naked body twitched and quivered, and his screams began to subside, until finally he hung still and silent, his full weight pulling on his wrists. Tak-po had won a victory when his enemy screamed. And Ka-leb knew. His screams were an admission of defeat. His manhood had been lost, not when his dick was skinned, but when he gave in to the pain.

Tak-po’s dick stood tall and hard throughout the skinning.

Tak-po quickly cut the ropes on Ka-leb’s ankles and wrists. He grabbed his weakened captive around the waist and lifted him, holding him tight against his body. Then, before Ka-leb could resist, Tak-po forced him down on the sword. Through his butthole, the sword penetrated up into Ka-leb’s bowels. Ka-leb’s mouth flew open and his eyes bugged but he made no sound. Tak-po picked up one the sharp wooden stakes and used a rock to pound it through Ka-leb’s hand, pinning it to the ground. In moments, the other hand and both feet were also staked firmly to the ground. There was no way Ka-leb could lift himself from the sword.

Tak-po knelt in front of his foe. Still no smile. Just a look of hate, as he stripped the remaining skin from Ka-leb’s face. Forehead. Cheeks. Chin. Lips. In moments, the face consisted only of a red mass with white eyes staring out, and white teeth. Tak-po grunted, leaned forward, and scalped Ka-leb. It had been quick, only a few minutes before Ka-leb’s head and face were a red, oozing mass.

He set the scalp on his loincloth, which lay nearby, and as if suddenly remembering something, turned to Jeremiah who still sat helpless against the tree and in great pain. The boy had watched the torture of Ka-leb with a mix of horror and fascination. His whole life, he had heard and read about the savagery of the Plains Indians. Now he confronted it from just ten feet away. He wasn’t repulsed or sickened as he might have thought. Indeed, the mutilation of Ka-leb was more stimulating than horrifying. He felt sexually aroused, but his torn cock was no longer capable of an erection. Still, he felt stimulated as Tak-po cut Ka-leb. But as these thoughts flickered through his brain and his groin, he was still terrified at his situation, being at the mercy of this vicious savage. With good reason. Tak-po walked to Jeremiah, knife in hand, grabbed his hair, scalped him, and returned to Ka-leb, all in less than a minute. Jeremiah shrieked once. Then sat in a silent stupor, staring vacantly at the two Indians, aware of blood flowing from his head over his face, into his eyes, around his nose, into his mouth, and down onto his torn body. This new pain mixed with the pain of the dragging was overwhelming. But he did not pass out. He did not die. He merely sat, stunned and immobile, staring at Tak-po and Ka-leb. Still aroused.

Ka-leb sat, silent, head turned upward, eyes wide, mouth agape. Tak-po laughed loudly. He tossed his knife to the side, and pissed into Ka-leb’s open mouth. He choked and then swallowed. Tak-po continued pissing, aiming the stream at Ka-leb’s bloody face and scalp. Red piss ran down his body. Then back into the open mouth. When he ran dry, Tak-po shook his cock. Then stroked it. Slowly it grew until it stood straight out from his crotch. Bending his knees slightly get the right angle, Tak-po slammed his huge hard cock deep into Ka-leb’s throat. His hands grasped the back of Ka-leb’s bloody head, pulling it forward, slamming Ka-leb’s nose into his pubes as his cock rammed into the throat. Pounding, ramming, slamming. Tak-po’s ecstasy grew more frenzied. Ka-leb eyes glazed, even narrowed as his enemy’s cock destroyed whatever pride and manhood he had left. Totally defeated. Skinned. Scalped. Mouth-fucked. Ka-leb’s mind was scrambled. He had nothing left.

Tak-po continued fucking Ka-leb’s mouth. His hands, slick with blood, held the head as he slammed into it. Tak-po’s passion grew as he neared the climax of his greatest fuck. His magnificent triumph over his despised enemy. His panting was turning to uncontrollable cries of passion as he neared climax. All men know that tremendous feeling as we are about to blow our load. Just as Tak-po shot his down Kaleb’s throat, as he was taking his supreme triumph over his hated enemy, Ka-leb’s mouth snapped shut. Not totally shut, for Tak-po’s dick was in his mouth. But, with no warning, his teeth clamped down, digging deep into the cock.

So, instead of screaming with pleasure as he blew his cum into Ka-leb’s throat, Tak-po let out a shriek of pain. He tried to pull out but teeth were buried deep into his dick. He slapped Ka-leb’s head, tried to push it away, but his hands slipped on the bloody skull. The teeth held. Lurching in pain, Tak-po tried to straighten his legs and stand up. The teeth held. He couldn’t pull free, so he tried to pull Ka-leb up with him. But hand and feet were staked to the ground and wouldn’t yield. He couldn’t push him sideways because he was impaled on the sword. He had tossed his knife too far away to reach it. Frantic, he used his thumbs to poke out Ka-leb’s eyes, but that changed nothing. Tak-po’s dick had long since gone soft, but the teeth had closed even more, sinking deeper into the soft shaft, cutting through dickskin, embedding in the tough, spongy corpus.

Glassy-eyed, Jeremiah watched from his tree. He could not tell if Ka-leb was dead, but assumed so. The teeth clamped on to the dick with a vise-like death grip. It was obvious the grip would not loosen. He watched Tak-po stop struggling and consider his situation. Impaled and staked down, he would not be able to move Ka-leb. If Ka-leb was dead, he could not hurt him in any way to get the mouth to open. His legs were getting tired from being in the half-standing position. And the pain in his dick was huge.

Jeremiah watched all this play out as dusk fell on the campsite. With no campfire, it became pitch black. He could hear Tak-po still struggling, moaning desperately. He was still on his feet but could not move in any direction. Suddenly, Tak-po went quiet, making no sound. Jeremiah saw spots of fiery white light in the surrounding forest. Wolves! Tak-po knew, too. In the dark, Jeremiah heard him struggling again, more frantically, and also hear the fear in his grunts and moans. Then, a growl, and a flurry of motion, as the wolves pounced on the two Indians. Tak-po screamed, a long high-pitched scream, as teeth sunk into his body, tearing him apart. Then silence. Except for the sound of teeth ripping and tearing at human flesh, chewing their fallen prey.

Jeremiah remained silent and motionless. Motionless because there was no way his ravaged body could move on its own. Silent out of fear. But it wasn’t long before he could see two set of shining eyes approach. Felt hot breath. Heard heavy breathing. Felt a wet tongue lick at his face. A short growl and, finally, teeth clamped on his throat. One more unbearable pain, as his throat was ripped open and his blood sprayed across his body.

Throughout the night, there was no sound at the campsite other than wolves contentedly munching on their meal. In the morning, crows and buzzards alighted to pick at the remains of three human cadavers. A month later, the campsite was barren except for a knife, two loincloths, a rusty sword blade in the ground, and scattered bones, smooth and dry.
 
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