Warning: This is an extremely violent, vicious, brutal snuff story. If you are offended by these topics, leave.
The warm summer sun glistened off Seth's deep, amber-colored skin as he lay on the flat stones of the hidden woodland pool where he had stripped off and bathed.
His body shone with an even glow, tanned with no marks. He had spent many hours sunning here, and there was never any need for modesty.
In fact, there was little need for modesty in Seth's life at all. He had been born into the forest and raised there by his father, Adam, keeper of the king's forest, manager of his deer, cutter of his firewood, and warden of all the king's game.
He had been raised without his mother who had died at his birth, but he had enjoyed growing in the privacy of the forests with his brother Marcus.
The two boys, only a few years apart had frolicked about the woods as if it were their private backyard. They knew every trail and rabbit run and burrow, every fox den and had named every kit. They knew the dark and recessed places where even the villagers who were forbidden to enter the king's forest but always did were afraid to go.
The two boys had grown up in the woods and splashed naked in the streams and ran the trails chasing the other who could always be trusted to grab the other's clothing and scamper away, naked himself, with the other naked brother in pursuit.
Often it was just easier to leave the leather and hard-spun cloth rags at home. They needed them to go into town, and they too easily ripped them in the woods.
Their father was much less angry to have them scratch themselves on branches than tear their only clothing and have to spend hours long into the night by firelight from the hearth mending the carelessly torn garments.
Soon, the villagers who stole into the forest for wood or to poach game told stories of small, sun-darkened elves that jumped at them from behind bushes and stole game from their snares.
And as the years wore on, the elves got bigger as did their stories and the villagers fear of them. The two ragamuffin sons of the gamekeeper bore small resemblance to the fearsome wraiths of the woods when they strolled into town on their infrequent visits with their father.
Seth was alone in the woods now. He had been left to care for the game himself, to bring in the firewood to the great castle and arrange for the occasional hunt when someone from the castle cared to seek the plentiful game in the forest.
But not many ever ventured here now, and keeping the villagers frightened with his pranks and occasional sightings of what had now grown from an elf to a monstrous oversized monster of the forest with blonde and flowing hair, massive shoulders and body and strength that could break villagers in two and eat them, though he had certainly never harmed any villager, it was certainly a part of the lore of the village, and the events of the past months had certainly stirred their fears.
And what had begun as two small naked elves with hairless bodies and small manhoods had now grown into a monster whose over-developed manhood was used as stories to scare virgins who might wander too close to the forest.
And many a young boy dreamed of the forest wraith and felt a stirring in his nightshirt and woke to find its cloth stuck to his abdomen.
Seth enjoyed his status as the forest wraith. It meant that few bothered him, and he had many hours to spend in leisurely afternoons swimming in the pools and sunning on the rocks and tending to his swelled manhood that always stood above him like a sundial when he laid himself out on the rocks.
He felt it unfair to not minister to it if it had the audacity to stand itself up from his thigh and blonde bush and beg attention.
Seth was not a hermit. He liked people, but he never found anything to talk to others about when he went to the village to purchase the few things that he could not make or grow for himself or to the castle to carry game or wood for the many heating hearths or the cooking hearths. So he dressed himself in his only deerskin and flax clothing and went about his business as quickly as possible so that he could return to his house hidden in the woods and get out of his clothing and get back to where he felt more natural and at ease.
This time of the year, he had only to supply enough wood for cooking which meant a trip to the castle no more than one time a week and a delivery of a brace of fowl or a half dozen hares ready for skinning, and those were usually left long before the sun ever gave the Eastern sky a rosy glow and the cooks were still sleeping off the night before.
When he saw the sun rise in the East, he thought of his father and brother. The king had been summoned by the high king to join him to save some great city of gold from something called an "infidel", truly a great monster race of people for the high king had commanded each of his subject kings to raise an army to destroy them.
Old King Fredric had called upon his sons and nephews and then upon his subjects to send the strongest and the bravest to battle.
Each received a promise of glory, honor, and salvation, and maybe even some plunder and gold. The king had outfitted his army and marched away with them toward the East. And along with them went the king's warden to supply the troop, and along with him went the warden's oldest son, Marcus, now a golden god of man just turned of age.
But in the woods remained Seth. He would not be of age to join his father for another year even though his size was nearly that of his brother. Besides, the king had need of a warden for the forest to keep the castle supplied and the woods safe.
There had been a time when all three had worked hard each day to catch enough fish and fowl and game to supply the castle and the extended family living there and all the servants, but now the castle was nearly deserted.
The king was gone along with his oldest son, Prince Eric. Seth had been as sorry to see Eric leave as he had his brother.
Prince Eric and Marcus had been nearly the same age, and the golden haired prince had often sneaked out of the castle to prowl the woods with the two wraiths, and many a frightened villager had no idea that the naked wood elf that screamed at them from the dark behind the trees was none other than their future king, and the wild shrieking that they heard at their retreat was the high pitched giggling of three young men.
Marcus and Prince Eric had grown very close over the years, but they rarely ever shut out the younger Seth, though at times Seth had to search for them when they went off together. And he had found them more than once coupling in the woods.
He had wanted to join in with them, but he had never been allowed. But he had watched them from his hiding places, and he dreamed of what they were doing as he snuggled with his brother on cold nights.
The king, too, had spent many of his days in the forest hunting. He enjoyed hunting with his dogs, on horseback, and he enjoyed using the bow to bring down game while laying in wait along some deer trail.
Adam would accompany him on the hunts either leading the group of hunters from the castle or alone, just Adam and King Frederic. They had much in common — both losing their wives to childbirth in the same year and never finding another to replace them, both with two sons.
But Seth and the mighty band of naked warriors were never able to find the two men when they hunted alone. Adam truly knew the woods better than the boys, and indeed there must be a place they had yet to find.
But King Frederic and Adam spent many long hours together in the hunt, though they frequently returned with nothing in hand other than a glow of contentment on their faces.
It had been right for Adam and Marcus to leave together as they had and his father to walk along behind his king and his son, the prince. They were all like matched braces of powerful animals — the king and his father, Prince Eric and Marcus.
Montfort had remained. He had always been just Montfort, not Prince Montfort. Eric was the prince. Montfort was his younger brother who had killed his mother in childbirth, the villagers said. The villagers had loved her, and he had always been held apart from the favored family — an infant who killed his mother.
Montfort had never been a creature of the forest. He had gone along with his older brother when younger. Prince Eric had thought that Montfort would be a good match for Seth since they were only a few months apart in age, but Montfort had no love of the woods.
When he found animals in the villagers traps, Montfort would more often skin the poor creature alive and then threaten to do the same with the villager who had set the trap.
As the years passed, the two brothers grew even further apart, even in appearance. Both were tow-headed blondes as small children, but as Prince Eric played naked in the woods, his skin darkened to a bronze and his hair became a golden crown about the young prince's head.
Montfort found no joy outside the castle and took the castle as his domain. He searched out the inner recesses and hidden passages and rooms and long forgotten chambers and staked claim to them in the same way that the three boys in the woods knew their world.
Visitors to the castle would often find tricks played on them from behind a large wall hanging, only to pull the hanging aside and find what appeared to be a bare stone wall. They never saw the sneering hate in the eyes of the young boy who had slipped behind the hidden stone doorway in the wall.
And as he spent the days in the dark passageways illuminated only by torch or candle, Montfort's skin grew pale and nearly white as if he had been held in a tomb, and his white hair darkened to a dirty blonde that did not wash out.
Yet as he crawled about the spaces and stairwells and crawled up the stone walls using hidden hand and toe holds long forgotten, he, too, grew in strength though his body never took on the athletic mass of young Eric.
At gatherings in the castle, King Frederic would proudly display his heir to the throne, the golden boy Eric on his right and as almost an afterthought the smaller bodied, pale-white Montfort on his left. Visitors often noted that it seemed as if the King were seated between a shining summer day and a winter's storm.
But when the call had come from the high king to go East and save the cities of the Holy Word, he had found that his second son had no interest in serving any other than himself, but that was maybe just as well he figured — someone needed to stay behind and care for the lands and resolve any problems and keep the castle safe from the ever-present rogues who would harass the keep and its inhabitants.
So when King Frederic marched off with Adam at his side and Prince Eric and Marcus behind them, Montfort peered out from the dark inside the battlement tower at the retreating column. His smile lowered the temperature of the already dank space.
Seth had rarely seen Montfort since they were very small and Montfort had been forced by his brother to run the trails of the forest, but Montfort had seen Seth.
Indeed, now Montfort was watching the golden boy sunning himself from behind a rotted, lightning fired oak.
Once the inner sanctums of the castle had been conquered and mapped by Montfort, he broadened his knowledge to that of the forest, especially the darker places.
He had covered himself with dark green in the summer or white in the winter to blend in with the cover and had followed his brother and his friends. He had spied on them and watched them.
Montfort had seen his brother, the king-to-be, coupling with the game warden's son. He had seen Seth spy on the two. And he had watched Seth closely as the boy went through the woods with his brother and Eric and alone.
Only he knew of the special place that Seth had made for himself just outside the village in the tree where he could sit naked and watch the young men of the village come and go.
Only he knew of that stubby limb that had been cut and polished in that special place where the young Seth could lower himself and sit on the branch looking as if he would fall but in fact held attached to the branch itself by nearly a foot of sturdy, polished oak entering into his rear.
Only he knew of the long hours spent by Seth on that wooden impalement stroking himself time and again until his never softening root could spill no more seed.
And he had seen his father and Adam. He had seen the three boys try to follow the two men only to lose them, but Montfort had not. He had followed along in hiding, blending in with the woods and trees, walking stealthily along as he had learned in the castle.
One must be very silent to peer through the holes in the stone walls and watch servants coupling, knights teaching their boys the manly art of inserting their spears in the boy scabbards, or the king laying naked on his bed stroking his manhood until its seed covered his body and he cried out the unspoken names that only Montfort knew.
Montfort had often crept close enough to hear them talk of the affairs of kings and game wardens and of the other things that they shared between them — the things that went unspoken outside that quiet glade in the deepest forest. And he had watched them as his father, the king, was rutted like a cheap whore crying for more.
Only he had impaled himself on that same limb and savored the intense intimacy of sharing so private a space and deed. And when he had finished spilling his own seed, he would pull himself from the wooden plug and urinate on it and the surrounding leaves that made up the hidden canopy and receptacle for Seth's seed.
Montfort felt only hate for the beautiful boy — and the boy's brother — and his own brother.
He felt the same hate when he saw his father, weak and helpless under the ruttings of the forest warden, begging for more man-spear, and then seeing his father swallow the sword of this forest outcast and fill his belly with his common seed.
For the two years since the army had set off to the East, Montfort had spent much of his days spying on the golden boy of the woods. He had enjoyed hearing how the legend of the monster in the woods had grown to include the mutilated bodies of the monster's victims.
The golden monster had indeed scared the villagers away from their poaching, but it was not the golden Seth that had trapped the poachers before they found their way back to the village and had taken them into the castle by one of the many secret entrances that opened even in the heart of the forest.
It was not the golden monster who knew the dark pathways without even the blessing of a candle or torch so well that the frightened poacher felt he was being taken into the bowels of hell by Satan himself. And maybe he was.
There, in the dark spaces far below the castle they found themselves in a room straight out of Dante's Inferno — if they had been educated enough to be able to read. Kings of the past had depended long on fear to keep order, and few things brought fear into the mind as well as a torture chamber with engines that could break any and every bone or reduce a strong man to pulp while keeping his mind alive and shrieking in pain.
There were cells to keep the condemned and rings and pulleys and spikes to hold them in place on every wall. And all had been in sad repair, unused for maybe a hundred years behind doors long sealed and forgotten by generations of kinder and gentler rulers.
But each device, each piercing spike and cell lock had been patiently refurbished and repaired and made stronger than it had been when it was new. Each engine of human destruction had been rebuilt with new wood and the gears cleaned and unrusted and well oiled. Some were even improved to fit the even more devious mind of the newest master of the dungeon.
He had first been a solitary Master, but he had now been joined by three men dressed in black who had entered in the depth of the night with their four, secret bundles.
They had traveled by night for nearly a month with their purchased prizes, and they, too, had been purchased by Montfort to deliver his property and to remain in his service, slaves to him for life — his or theirs.
Each had been sold as a small child-slave into the service of the Eastern minor king, and each had been nursed on the breast milk of torture victims and weaned on the screams of dying men. Each had enjoyed the scraps of tossed and wasted dungeon-meat. Each had learned his craft of keeping victims alive for long periods of time or snuffing out a life instantly depending on the orders of the Master. Each had been branded upon purchase and gelded on his eighteenth birthday.
Their price had been included in the exorbitant package that Montfort had secretly traded for, and they had entered, hooded carrying their stunned bundles, into the tortuous passageways of the dungeon below the castle from which they would never emerge. But they had been kept busy in their trade. Montfort's desires were seemingly insatiable.
The poachers had not been the first to visit the castle keep. Much of the reign of terror of the three naked elf-wraiths was not their doing but was in part due to visits to the hidden dungeon by Montfort and some lost traveler or kidnaped youth.
The deep recesses of the castle had many corners and places where the bones of newest victims would be placed with those stacks of the oldest. But seldom did the body have any resemblance to the youth or traveler or poacher who had first entered into the hidden passages.
Since King Frederic had gone, it had been the duty of Montfort, now Prince Montfort, to tend the castle, and the castle keep. And he had taken delight in exercising his control. And he had taken delight in making the villagers fear the wraith of the woods, the wraith they had long suspicioned was the warden and his sons.
Rumor of disappearances had now been replaced by mutilated bodies on the trails at the edge of the village, of heads dangling from branches, of bodies with their manly organs removed, sliced apart or put into the open mouth of the head.
More than one morning found the empty pallet of some missing young man who had not been old enough to go on the march with the men but who had now grown of age. And on the next rise of the sun, he would be returned looking as if he had been turned inside out.
There had been a march to Montfort when the body of Andrew, the son of the village chief, a loyal man who had gone with King Frederic was found scattered about the village.
He had disappeared. There had been fear, but the boy was now a young man and it was known that he had taken a liking to a maiden in a nearby village. They assumed that he had slipped off into the night to bed with her.
But after a week without his return, his worried mother had sent his younger brother to fetch him only to find that he had not been there. Another week went by before they village awoke to the screams of the chieftain's wife, the boy's mother.
On a fence post by their cattle pen was the young man or, at least, she believed it to be him. It was a naked torso, gutted and emasculated. But as the other villagers came from their huts, they found parts of the boy's body. His fingers had been severed joint by joint, his toes had been severed before his bones were crushed and then removed.
When they found the head, it had marks about the part of the neck still attached to it that showed that the body had been hanged. It was clear that after much torture and flaying with whips and other instruments of horror, the young man had been hanged, drawn, disemboweled, and finally quartered, bit by bit.
His manhood had been opened and his globes smashed and ripped from his body while his man-spear had been quartered while still attached and then each piece pulled from his living torso.
His slime-dried intestines had been draped from the doorway of his mother's house. The boy's parts had been gathered, even the eyes from the empty sockets had been scattered in the village. But the boy's sac had not been found.
The villagers had stormed to the castle after the funeral led by the grief stricken mother and the younger brother. They demanded that the forest be ridded of the wraith.
Montfort had promised them that the forest would soon be safe. They took little notice of the small, stuffed pouch that hung from his neck filled with stones to stretch it while it dried.
Only he had slipped to that spot after the boy left and smelled his muskiness, touched the dark stains on the wood from his fundament, tasted the polished wood, put his tongue to the leaves spattered white with the drying spunk of the randy young Seth.
Montfort now moved silently from his space behind the tree. Seth still soaked up the sun and was unaware of his observer's presence.
Montfort moved along the sodden path in the dark of the forest and slid into the hollow of an old tree, too old of a tree to not have rotted long ago. He pulled a root in the middle of three others and the bottom of the hole fell away, and he dropped down into the black passageway. He needed no light.
He did not have much time. He knew the young man would soon rise and go about his way. How stupid to be so routine! He knew that the boy would spend the late afternoon near the village, watching the young men.
How Seth must have missed the chief's son! The two had begun walking in the woods together last year and had often swum naked in the pool and sunning and holding each other and tasting each other and touching each other and filling each other with man seed and sword.
How Seth must miss those times together with Andrew — in the afternoons or the times in the evening when his family thought him attending to a young maiden actually spent in the warden's house in Seth's bed long into the night.
But Seth would soon find out where the boy had gone. Seth would soon find out more than he would ever wish to know. And the golden wraith of the forest would soon be gone.
But Montfort doubted that the wraiths deeds would stop. Controlling the people was much easier if they had fear in their guts. And it was more enjoyable for Montfort to put it there.
Running through the dark tunnels, knowing instinctively when to dodge right or left or to go up a ramp or down some steps or when to jump a pit for the unwary, Montfort made quick time. He would have to get the slow moving guards to the village in short time, and they seldom moved fast.
The slower witted were left behind, but then Montfort did not mind. They were too stupid to be curious of his comings and goings and disappearances, and they followed orders without question — removing the skin from one of their backs with a lash had seen to that.
Seth sat up. He had a strange feeling. He had it often in the woods. You didn't learn to survive here without developing another sense. He often felt something or someone was near to him and maybe watching him.
But no matter how hard he looked, he had never found anything, though he had seen tracks a few times, but they skillfully disappeared in just a few steps. Whoever it was wore no shoes in order to be silent.
But now the feeling had gone. He was alone. He felt good after his afternoon's sleep. Maybe tonight Andrew would come to his house and crawl into his bed. It had been so many weeks now.
Andrew had not said that he was going away, but then they seldom talked. That was not their way. Neither questioned the other.
He had gone each day to sit naked on his perch and flex his hole muscle around his oak stub and think of Andrew and hope that he could see him in the village and maybe that Andrew would wander into the forest.
But each day, there were only the other village youths. Some of them also made him hard as the wooden shaft entering him, but they lacked Andrew's natural grace.
Indeed, Andrew's younger brother William was identical to his brother at that age, but he had another year or so before he reached the age when he might choose to run and rut in the forests with Seth and maybe Andrew.
It would be like Eric and Marcus and Seth. And when the war was over, maybe all of them could join in running together. What a band of forest wraiths that would make! How many villagers could be sent scurrying away at dusk by a band of five, beautiful, and naked young men.
And when Eric and Marcus returned from the war, Seth would be able to join them in their play. He was now old enough to join in. And he would bring Andrew with him. And if the war went on another year, he would be able to bring William, too.
Could his father's small house hold so many randy young men each ready to fill the holes and plug the inner recesses of the other all at the same time? If not, they would have to build on a room just to hold them all.
Montfort peered into his favorite room. The slaves had been busy. It was readied. He changed into his regular clothing. He always enjoyed changing clothing in this room.
And he also enjoyed being naked in this room. Just as the bronzed enemy had cavorted around the forest naked, he had slid through the narrow cracks and crevices built into the castle. And when he had work to do in the dungeon, he like to be as naked as his work.
He scurried up the stairs and through the passageway to the door behind the tall hanging in the great hall. He slipped out of the old door and checked the hall. There was no one there. He slid out from behind the hanging.
A quick check of the castle found the guards lounging in the kitchen already talking the cooks out of small bits of dinner and breads being readied for the meal. And one had the daughter of one of the cooks trapped in the corner while he attempted to convince her to let him sample a taste of something a bit more tantalizing than honey-bread.
They jumped to their feet when Montfort came into the room. Then, as he turned and walked out of the room, Montfort said,
"I thought I would find you lazing about. Grab your swords and come with me. We have a forest to clear of demons."
The fear suddenly struck the small band of guards. How could six guards catch a demon? And what would the demon do to the six guards?
But fear of Montfort and the vision of a back covered with scar tissue left by the acting prince made them scurry for their weapons and drop their assaults on the dinner and the serving wench. They quickly followed him out the door.
He gave them their instructions. He told them where to hide. He told them what to look for. But despite their Lord's confidence, they feared going into the forest.
The wraith of the forest was all too real for them. They all had grown up with the stories of the innocent pranks played by the naked elves, the golden wraiths, but the monster that lurked there had now gone beyond scaring poachers and frightening little children and old women who wandered too far into the forest.
The wraith had now grown into a deadly demon that ripped bodies limb from limb and tortured the poor soul until there was nothing left to feel the pain.
But their fear of the reality of their Master, Montfort, was more than their fear of the uncertainties in the forest. Together they might fight the demon of the woods, but Montfort would take each one, one at a time, and display his displeasure upon their bodies in an exhibition of pain and suffering for the others. They hurried about his instructions.
They hurried along the road, over the fields and to the edge of the village at the edge of the forest. They then slid silently, as silently as anyone of their ill preparedness could, and went to the hiding places that Montfort had described for them. The small hiding spots were exactly as he had described.
They had not been in place more than a few minutes when they heard a slight rustle in the leaves. Had they not been alerted to what to listen for, they would have assumed it to be a rabbit or squirrel, but Montfort had made sure that these dullards knew what to hear.
A glimpse of gold in the bushes gave them the confirmation that they both hoped for and feared. Would this demon rend them in pieces before they could get him back to the castle? And if it did, then they knew that the worse fate would be theirs to return empty handed.
Just as the naked youth reached the base of his perch and put his feet into the worn holes in the bark, the men sprang forth. They threw the net over him and waited for the screaming and the shrieking of a demon trapped to subside.
It never came. Instead there was a short struggle, but the legs and arms of the demon were entangled in the netting, and it soon lay silent on the ground, trapped in the strong, rope net.
The men did not want to look the demon in the eye, but they could not help notice that their prize was not so fearsome as they had feared. It might be a demon, but it had assumed the shape of a young man — a beautiful young man — naked and with a man-sword that outstripped any of their own.
But Montfort had said that the demon would likely do as much. They were to pay no attention to its beguiling form or lying voice.
Demons are wily creatures who will try to lure you into believing their innocence, Montfort had told them. But if you give in and believe it is a human and innocent it will assume your own body in its next visitation, and you will be forever possessed and your souls will rot in hell.
If that had not been enough, they also knew that their lives would be hell if they returned with anything less than this demon.
And beware that he does not beguile you with his endowments, they remembered Montfort's words.
The captain of the guard took his short cloak and a piece of line and reached into the netting and wrapped it around the naked youth-demon to cover his threatening weapon.
He feared that it would grab his arm or suddenly spit poisonous acids on his body as he snugged the cloak like a breach cloth around the boy-devil.
Seth began pleading with them. He begged them to let him go. He told them he was playing a game. He told them he had never hurt them.
"Just let me go, and I will slip off into the woods," he said.
But they tied the ends of the net together and made a sack of it and threaded a pole through the holes and put it between the shoulders of the strongest two of the guards.
They marched out of the woods. The villagers saw that there was a commotion among the trees. They had been alerted to something happening when the guards had been spotted, but now they gathered when the devil in the net was brought forth.
"That's Seth, the warden's boy! Here, here! What are you doing with him?" some of the villagers shouted.
"Why is the boy only wearing a cloak? What have you done with his pants, you thieves?" another asked. "Did you steal his clothes?"
"It's not the boy. The prince has sent us to capture the demon in the woods — the one who killed the village boy," the chief guard shouted at them.
"Demon!" a shout came.
"Forest wraith!" another called.
"Kill him!" another shouted.
"Stay back!" the guard ordered as he raised his sword. "The prince has ordered that we deliver this evil creature to him personally."
The villagers continued to press around the men and the netted boy. He was so wrapped in the net that they could not see him well, but his sun-darkened arms and legs poked through the net and were entangled.
The color of his skin gave the villagers a fearsome start. They kept their bodies covered, and when they undressed, if they did, at night after the sun went down and by firelight from their hearths. They only knew skin to be white. This demon seemed to glow with the fires of hell.
"Hit him! Beat him! Grab him! Destroy the creature!" the shout came from the back of the crowd.
"Remember what he did to the boy!"
The guard reacted with an attempt to surround the boy, but not before he had been grabbed through the netting and his cloak partially pulled away to reveal his frightening thick shaft and testicles. One of the younger boys pointed,
"Look at that!"
Seth had wriggled just enough that his donkey-sized cock had slipped through one of the holes in the netting, and the rubbing of the netting on it had made it start to grow.
"Look at that thing! It is Satan's own sword!" one woman shouted.
Another shoved her daughter's gawking face aside so that she would not see it.
Standing in the front of the ring of villagers, William felt a strange feeling down his back and then a stirring in his pants. This devil's own sword was truly massive, but it was not as massive as that of his brother, Andrew, and he had seen it many times, and he had watched how William enjoyed it, and he had hidden away by himself and ministered to his own young sword in the same ways.
This demon's sword now brought those feelings to him again. His hand reached out to touch it, but it was slapped back by one of the guards.
"Demon!" a shout came from the crowd.
"What did you do to Andrew?" another shouted.
"Kill him like he did Andrew!" a shout came from the crowd.
Seth had begun to struggle partly from the fear of the crowd and his capture and partly from his own discomfort at being trussed up in this net and having his legs and arms cramp from the strains, but when he heard the last jeer, he stopped.
"Andrew!" he shouted.
"See he calls his name!" a villager sneered. "Maybe he still has his soul."
"Free his soul, you devil!"
William's mother now had a stick and hit at the bound up boy.
"William, I did not...."
A second stick hit the net as the young man was trying to explain to the boy he recognized there as Andrew's brother.
"Kill it! Kill it!"
A rock hit Seth in the forehead as he tried to peek out through the net. He felt his mind grow like the morning mist.
"Kill the monster!"
Another rock sailed at the netted youth, and then another and another.
Many of the rocks that were hurled at him were stopped or blunted by the thick net, but others had sharp edges that found their way through the net and cut him on his shoulder or thigh. His exposed arms and legs were hit with stone after stone hurled by the villagers.
His cock that had been growing now shrank and almost escaped being hit before it slid back to the safety of his groin and its large head into its hood.
But it was of no use. His man-sword was struck by an especially sharp piece of flint that sliced down its side.
The guards now feared their fate when delivered the damaged goods to Montfort. They hurriedly moved around and began running with the boy between the two bearers.
Each of the guards had been struck by stones several times, and they were bleeding but not as badly as the boy in the net.
Seth's blood streaked the hemp fiber red in several places, and through his haze, he felt the pains in his body and especially in his man-sword which bled rather profusely over his body.
The men slowed their pace when they were far enough down the road that the villagers no longer followed after them, but they were anxious to deliver this changeling to Montfort.
They had no idea what he wanted with it, but they did not want to be caught in the woods or on the road with it after the sun went down, and it was now late afternoon.
The villagers were abuzz with their anger. The killer had been captured. They wanted a trial and public execution, but they also feared the demon's power. If it were driven out of the body of the warden's son then whose body would it take over? Or maybe it had destroyed Seth already and had only taken his form.
William grew silent. He did not enter into the mob frenzy even though the death of his brother had made him feel sad for many days now. For some reason he couldn't understand, when he looked into the eyes of this demon in Seth's form, he did not see the evil there. He saw only fear and sadness.
And the vision of his man-sword had stirred something in him that he could not yet understand. He had asked Andrew about those feelings, and he had always been told that there would be time enough to understand them. And then Andrew would slip out through the window and sneak into the night, moving silently toward the forest. But he was always back before the sun.
Now Andrew was dead, William was alone, and the feelings were stronger than ever. It had something to do with this demon in Seth's form ... or was it a demon at all?
William had watched the second son of King Frederic, the son who had no throne, grow into something that he feared when he rode through the village or came to talk with some of the workers. In those eyes he saw the evil of the demon. But he dared not speak this to anyone.
The guards brought the netted Seth to the castle just as the sun began sinking beneath the edge of the forest to the West. They feared being there with this creature when the sun went down. They believed that any power they might have over him now, would be lost when the powers of the night were brought to the rescue of one of its own.
They gladly removed the battered boy from the net and tied him securely with his hands behind him and his legs hobbled at the direction of Montfort. Truth be known, the guards felt much the same about Montfort and the powers of night.
They moved immediately out of the great hall and back to the kitchen where the smell of game and stew was rising from the six-foot stone hearth.
Montfort looked at his dazed prize.
"They will pay dearly for every mark
on you," he said. "I wanted you as a perfect participant in my games,
but they have flawed you.
Andrew's name worked its way through Seth's mind-fog. He began to realize more of his surroundings and his predicament. He grew fearful, but he realized that he was not able to get away. His hobbles would let him walk or move, but they would not let him run.
Seth's mind was still too foggy to formulate a plan — good or not. He was indeed trapped.
"My brother and the two of you once
tried to show me the forest and all its inner hidden spots. Now
it is my turn to show you my special place, my hidden inner spots,"
Montfort snarled in a serpent's hiss.
Montfort took the naked youth by his arm and pulled him behind the great covering with pictures of some long lost or won battle woven into it. Montfort opened the door that would take Seth into his own battle and his own hell.
The door slid shut behind Seth, and he heard a lock click in place. Seth was pushed down a stairs. He stumbled as his knees collapsed, and he felt the hard, cold stone rise up to meet first his knee and then his chest, and then he slid down the stones on his shoulder and then tumbled over to slide a few more on his back.
Seth hit his head, but it soon was back rising to the top of his balled body, and he slid down a few more steps into a blackness. He came to rest with his chest on the flat floor at the bottom of the stairs and his legs splayed out above him on the steps as far apart as the hobbles would allow.
He heard Montfort padding down behind him, and then felt him brush against his bare feet.
Fire and pain shot through his body. His splayed legs had been spread just far enough apart that his male orbs were flat on a step, and in the darkness, Montfort had found them and stomped on them with his full weight.
"AAAARRRRGGHHHHH!!!" Seth shouted.
He could mouth no real words.
"There, there, now," Montfort whined
in a laughing, mocking sneer. "You must get used to such things.
You are going to find that you are going to delight me in many ways
over your stay here with me.
Montfort removed his foot from the young man's testicles and Seth balled himself up at the bottom of the steps.
Montfort jerked him up by his bound wrists, pulling his arms far back behind him and thrusting his shoulder painfully forward.
"Now we have a ways to go to show
you to your guest quarters. I am sorry you will not be able to see
where we are going, but I know the way — I don't need any light.
I know every crack in the wall, every pebble, every grain of sand.
Montfort pushed and pulled the boy through one narrow passage after another, sometimes making him step to the side and slide along the wall. At least one time Seth felt his toes wrapping over an edge and there was a hollow sound far below him like running water a long way off.
At another spot, he was told to stand very still while Montfort pulled some kind of lever or grated some kind of rock. In the darkness, he could not tell what it was, but he felt a vibration and a movement, and there he was pushed on in a direction where their had been a wall only a minute before.
Seth finally saw a flicker of yellow light ahead from under a door or something. He was pushed toward it and then stood in front of it. Then another stone grated on stone, and the door swung open.
Seth had never seen anything like it. There spread out before him on a level just below him was hell itself. His mind was assaulted with wooden and metal devices and ladders with iron rings that appeared to be cuffs — rings that were spiked into the heavy stone walls — a number of heavy, wooden beams overhead held rings and pulleys and ropes and some had devices hanging down from them.
Seth felt a cold, white hand on his ass. It shoved him forward. He stepped onto the balcony overlooking the bowels of Hell, and the door closed behind him.
He turned quickly and saw the heavy wooden door. It held hinges, but no lock that he could see. Even so, Seth knew it was locked. To release it would take an intimate knowledge of the dungeon, and longer than he feared he would have.
"You are my guest, Seth," Montfort
said quietly in his ear.
Montfort seemed to be enjoying his control of this situation and the obvious fear he was creating in his victim.
An alabaster white figure moved from around a pillar and walked to the fire-pit to throw on another log. The pit opened like a great mouth in one stone wall.
Seth at first thought him a kind of ghost, but he quickly realized that it was a naked male as white as a sheet — a man having never seen the sun.
A man? Seth realized as he looked at him that he was less than a man. He had nothing hanging beneath his rather long and thick cock except a slightly reddened scar running down and disappearing between his legs.
Still, he looked strong and fearsome and heavily bulked up. Seth realized he was no match for this icy white figure if he tried to fight him.
"Paulio will be helping me make this a memorable experience for you, my fine friend."
Montfort used his hand to push Seth down the stone incline into the pit, pushing him on his nearly naked ass with the cloak wrapped around him merely hanging from his shoulders secured by the rope about his waist.
"You might also find Barnabas and
Silas about the place as well. Or they may find you. They are quite
good at providing memorable accommodations for my guests.
Seth could say nothing. He was still shocked. He had known Montfort all his life and had found him so lacking in daring and desire and so isolated from his brother, Marcus, and Montfort's brother, Eric, in the woods that he had no thought of his being able to build such a world of his own.
Seth had thought of Montfort alone or with adults in the castle playing card games and listening to traveling singers or jokesters, but he had never thought of him as capable of building such a world of horror and terror as this.
As Seth waddled down the incline, he looked at each of the instruments in the pit. He saw irons near the hearth that could be heated. They were in many shapes and sizes that could be made to fit any hole or burn one of their own in whole flesh.
A wheel that would have come from a monstrous-sized wagon was on an inverted axle only a foot or so off the stone floor. He had once seen a deserter and woman violator broken on such a wheel in the village.
The spokes were far enough apart so arms and legs could be threaded through and then broken ... or broken then threaded through the spokes ... far enough apart so cocks and balls could be tied to spokes and rim and smashed. And at the center was a bent spike to impale the condemned on to hold him in place while his limbs were entwined in the spokes.
From the stains on the spokes and the stones beneath the device, it was apparent that this one had been used — and probably used a lot.
A ladder reached up one wall, going nowhere. It had iron shackles on the rungs. It was obvious that it, too, was made for threading bodies, not climbing walls. A table with a round log fixed as a wheel and ropes and shackles was to one side.
It had numerous openings in the table top where items could be thrust through the table into the stretched body on it or dropped from the body downward to be tortured below it. Next to the table on the wall were a variety of metal hooks and devices.
Seth had once seen ones like it used by the king on a captain of his guard who had tried to assassinate him.
The traitor had been hanged in the town square until he had lost consciousness, and then he had been stretched on a table much like this until each arm and leg had been pulled from its socket.
The fearsome tools had then been used to remove his orbs from their protection and stretch them until they pulled free from his body.
The captain's manhood had also been shredded with them and then removed while one of the sharp hooks had been inserted between his legs and his intestines had been slowly pulled out and wrapped around a winch at the foot of the table.
After long hours of screaming agony, the man died and his body was cut into many parts and fed to the few men who had joined him in his attempt to take over the throne.
Afterward, they were dispatched with more speed either by hanging or beheading after their male organs had been removed and thrown to the castle dogs who always gathered for such events.
Seth had awakened many nights after that screaming himself. His brother would pull him into his arms and hold the sobbing boy until his tears were replaced with sleep.
An iron cage hung from a bracket on one wall. It was not empty. In it was what appeared to be a dried and rotting body with much of the flesh and muscle gone.
As the white vision of horror, Paulio, came toward Montfort and Seth, he reached over to the hanging corpse and took a knife that had been sheathed along the side of the body cage and sliced a piece of what was left of the thigh off and absently shoved it in his mouth as he walked.
It was apparent that he was used to feeding from his work as he went about his duties. It had always been the way of the dungeon slave to take what he could get.
As he pushed Seth toward the naked man, Montfort said,
"Take our guest here and show him to his quarters. See that he is fed and cared for. I will be back tomorrow night for dinner. See that my guest is prepared and ready."
Paulio nodded his head intently, with care to not look his master in the eyes.
Paulio grasped Seth's arm with a lock-tight grip. He could not have gotten away if he had tried even though he was strong and quick.
As he was led into the blackness of the hall leading from the pit, Seth heard the heavy door open and then close again. He was alone now with this man, these men. His mind raced to find a way to free himself, but he could not think of a way.
Seth heard a door in the darkness open in front of him and then he was thrust into a darkness even deeper than the dark hallway, if that was possible. He hit the floor and heard the door slam and lock shut.
Seth lay there in the blackness for a long time. He was naked except for the rag wrapped around him by his captors. He was used to being naked in the woods, but here he felt truly naked — and vulnerable. Being naked now seemed something to fear.
Seth had no idea of time. It had been close to evening when he had been delivered to the castle. He had no idea how long it had taken to wander the labyrinth beneath the castle to this hell. He guessed it was in the middle of the night but, then, it was probably always in the middle of the night here.
The door opened. The light nearly blinded him and he cowered in the corner, trying to hide from the three silent silhouettes that floated in like angels of Satan.
They said nothing as they moved in, nearly blocking out the light that was now not so overpowering. Seth couldn't imagine how they could see him in the dark — their eyes could not be that quick to adjust from light to dark — they must feel his body's heat.
Seth felt an iron grip on one of his upper arms then on his other arm. He was jerked up to standing then forced to the center of the cell. Each arm was thrust up and out toward the corners by the bulky slave holding it.
The third slave grabbed one wrist and slipped it into a thick, iron manacle. He used a metal spike to lock it in place and manacled the other wrist. Then the slaves to his sides released his arms
Suddenly Seth's legs were jerked up behind him and held several feet off the ground — he was hanging by his wrists.
A slave held each leg and the third one who had cuffed his wrists took metal cuffs and clamped them to each ankle and locked them in place.
They then released his body.
His feet had been held further off the stone floor than he thought so when they dropped him, his belly sagged to just about waist high to his tormentors.
The chains stretched from the sides of the room, and he found himself strung wide open.
His rag was still wrapped around him but the upward angle of his legs now bared his sun-gold ass, and his manhood and orbs hung down below him into the blackness above the floor.
Seth heard the movement of the three men around him. He suddenly felt a thick cock touch his face.
A hand grabbed his jaw and jerked it open with a couple of fingers, and before he could react, the thick truncheon was shoved in his mouth.
At the same time he could feel another naked body brush his spread thighs. He felt his hole spread wide. The fearsome dungeon slave creature used nothing to ease the way, and with the cool stone, there was no sweat to lubricate his opening.
But as they began assaulting him front and rear, his sex-sweat and fear-sweat and the natural juices of his body's interior linings began to make the assault a little easier to accept. Yet fear kept his hole painfully tight in spite of its abuse.
The third slave stood next to his strung body and reached under it to grab his manhood hanging there.
He was not gentle. He first wrapped his hard calloused hand around Seth's hanging balls. They had cowered up to his body in fear, but this monster pulled them back down and stretched them.
Seth heard a chain in the blackness and suddenly he felt cold steel surround his manhood. A smaller manacle had been put in place around his sex tools, and a chain hung from them.
Seth could not scream with his throat filled with cock. A heavy weight had been added to the chain and dropped a foot or more to stretch his nuts. It was picked up and dropped again and again.
The dungeon monster's cock that had been forced into his mouth was long and thick, but as his throat grew to take it all, his lips finally came to rest around the base of the cock.
It was then he felt the lack of hair and the lack of the loose skin and nuts beneath the cock. Seth had sucked many long hours in the woods and watched his brother and the young prince and his father and the king, but he had never thought about sucking something that had no golden orbs of sex beneath them.
His lips moved over the smooth skin beneath the cock, and his tongue could almost trace the scar there. Seth could only think of gelded steers — he had a hard time imagining that men could actually be gelded too. But they could — as these monsters proved.
The men seemed to work together, both shoving at the same time, thrusting forward as if they meant to have their cocks meet somewhere in Seth's middle. After several thrusts that way, they would alter their rhythm enough so when the one shoved in his mouth, he shoved Seth's ass onto the other's cock, and when that one thrust forward, he shoved the cock in Seth's throat deeper.
The third man contented himself with torturing Seth's cock and balls with the weight or with the sharp fire of a leather strap applied to Seth's ass and back. It was all done without seeming rhyme or reason, and Seth never knew if his nuts were to be drawn and stretched or if his back and ass were to be set to fire.
The demon even beat the soles of his feet until Seth wondered if he would be able to walk into Montfort's presence when he returned.
When one slave would tire of using Seth's ass, he would pull out and take the place of the slave in Seth's mouth, and that slave would take the place of the torturer in the middle while Seth's ass was again filled with the cock of the slave who had tortured his cock and balls and back and feet.
His holes were never empty, and he almost grew used to the taste of his ass juices as cocks were switched time and again. These men may have had their manly orbs removed, but it had only served to energize their sexual appetites and angers and keep them hard and dutiful and at attention, and with no release of seed, there seemed to be no end to their ability to ravage him.
Seth prayed to fall unconscious, but the pain was always just below the level that would reward him with blissful sleep. Each time the gagging of a cock in his throat promised the reward of unconsciousness, it was pulled out of his throat and left in his mouth until the fog was worn away.
Seth remained awake and alert for the hours long administration of torture and rape. These slaves truly knew their craft. Seth wondered if it were possible to be fucked to death.
Long after his mind quit trying to time his suffering, the three stepped away from him. What he had prayed to stop, did. And suddenly he felt empty. His mind cried out for the familiarity of the cocks in his body. He caught himself almost crying out,
Seth hung there splayed out and open for a long time in the dark. Then he heard a sound behind him. A strange smell was with the sound of the slave entering. It was food. He realized how hungry he had become.
He was not released from his spread bondage, but a piece of smoked meat was placed to his mouth. He tasted the salty, smoke cure of the meat, smoked in the sweet maple and hickory shavings hours on end to preserve it in the seasons when the meat would not stay frozen.
Seth gulped the meat chaw by chaw as it was held for him. The hunger was soon replaced with a burning thirst. He thirsted to taste the cold, clear waters that bubbled over the rocks and moss in the forest, but suddenly his mouth was again filled with meat — living meat — he felt it twitch.
Seth's thirst was to be slaked by the living waters of one slave after the other as they emptied themselves into his mouth until he could swallow no more and the salty and tangy tasting piss ran down his chin and body and ran down his sway-back belly to trickle off his belly-button like a piss-stream from a woman's cunt.
Seth's belly was now bloated from the meat and the piss. He was then used again. More hours of cock were forced upon him and in him. He eventually came to accept that he was to be used like this. He even found that he began to grow and get hard, and he shot his own juices many times as he was abused, helpless to resist into the blackness.
The cock in his ass was soon joined by another as the third tired of whipping his back and tormenting his cock and balls while waiting for a hole. Seth found he could accommodate the two with great pain, but he could take them.
Eventually both cocks were replaced by fingers in ones and twos and then threes and fours. Soon his body was swinging wildly forward, sheathing the wrist of one of the slaves massive arms.
Seth's mouth ministrations were made more and more difficult as the fist inside shoved and jerked his body forward and back. The image of his body as a hand puppet flashed across his mind — and it rang true — he was a little more than a Punch or Judy.
The hand soon began pulling all the way out of his ass just before it was punched in again. And Seth's ass began to stay open to anticipate the invader. Seth could even feel the cool dungeon air rush inside his guts to fill the void before it was rammed out again.
And then it was over. The shadow-devils stopped almost as suddenly as they had begun. And Seth hung there in his chains in pain until exhaustion overpowered him and he fell asleep.
Seth awakened some time later. He did not know how long. He noticed he no longer hung from the chains, but lay in the cold corner on the dank stones, his hands tied by tight ropes behind his back.
The rag was tied about him, but it had offered him no protection before, and it offered him little now. It was wet with the sex juices of his three torturers whose cocks dripped but not with man seed, and with their piss and his own cum.
His long cock lay limp down his thigh, and the foreskin tip touched the cold stone. The coldness of the stone, more bitter with the wetness he lay in, sent sudden chills up his spine, making his nipples pinch painfully tight.
Seth could feel his own cock had drooled its sex juices involuntarily while he had been unconscious, but the stickiness had been partially washed away by another stickiness — his own piss.
Seth lay there on his side for a very long time, the cold ache in his ribs and spine and loins and thighs and lungs almost freezing to death any will to live. And the stones of the castle keep seemed to scream out in their silence, telling stories of pain and misery and death down through the centuries. Seth wondered whether he could actually hear the hard and damp surface whisper tales of pain and horror as he lay with his head against them.
Seth smelled food. He realized how much the long night's activities had weakened him. He moved his head forward in the blackness, sniffing the food. It smelled rank, but also smoked — it was not as rank as the meat from the night before, but now Seth also found it too rank to be appetizing, but still, his hunger overcame him.
His nose touched a bowl which splashed something on his face. It was acrid and sour piss, undoubtedly from his tormenters. But next to that, his face touched a piece of something that felt and smelled like meat.
Seth reached his toward it and touched it — tasting it before taking it into his mouth, like a fly. It was barely cooked, nearly raw. Seth felt a chill shiver up and down his back again and winced as he opened his mouth around it and nipped it and pulled his neck back and then opened his mouth and shoved his head forward — drawing on instincts that go back farther than life itself.
Seth forced himself to chew then swallow the meat. He suppressed a need to gag at the unfamiliar and gamy taste, but he made himself swallow — he did not want to die though he knew he probably would soon. Even so, he did not want to starve to death.
The salty meat made Seth even thirstier. He forced his mouth to the edge of the bowl and tipped it so that his lips could touch the bitter brew. He swallowed and then went back to the meat and ate as much as his lips and tongue could pull into his mouth. And he tipped the bowl until none of the guards' piss was left. He rolled away from this miserable feast.
The soft, padding sounds of feet on stones outside his dark cavern made his ears command his attention. The castle stones stopped telling their stories. Seth guessed they would now tell his fate to future victims, but they didn't want to tell him his exact future.
Maybe they didn't know. Or maybe they were trying to spare him — or maybe scare him even more. Seth had never had trouble seeing his own future, but he now saw only the blackness that surrounded him like a grave, like the belly of some horrific, Satanic monster.
The door opened to a torchlight and the shadow of three figures again. Without a word, they swirled at him like huge bats in a cave.
Seth steeled himself again for their assault on his mouth and anus and was half-stiff as two of the silent, dark figures jerked him up to his feet and stood him in the middle of the room.
Seth held his arms forward and to the sides, waiting for his wrists to be clamped into the chained manacles. But instead, the third tormentor took a bucket of icy water and splashed it over his filthy body.
Seth gasped at the shock. His skin tightened painfully like he had dived into a mountain lake on a warm spring afternoon. His mind instantly snapped awake, the spider-webs of mist-thinking were instantly swept away.
The two tormentors to his sides now dragged him toward the door. Seth guessed this time they were going to utilize one of the horrific engines of pain and destruction he had seen in the main room when Montfort had brought him into the dungeon last night, yesterday, the day before ... whenever it had been.
As they entered the central room, Seth's eyes had to get use to all the light — there were torch sconces all around the room and a roaring fire in a fireplace as large as many huts the villagers lived in. The fire burned hot but the air was still cold.
There was Montfort, seated in the center of the room behind a large, frightening block of oak heart-wood on legs in the center, between Montfort and Seth — the kind the butcher used..
Montfort had been drinking and had a goblet of wine in his hand. He was obviously feeling the heady intoxication of wine and power.
Seth's heart sank as he realized there was no hope. And as he studied the table, Seth saw rings imbedded into the sides and corners.
He knew what the rings were for — to secure an unfortunate piece of living, human meat for the butchers axe. But a large stake that had been driven into a hole in the middle of the table-sized block confused him.
The guards walked Seth over in front of it, to stand between the fire and the butcher's block. The fire toasted the back of his legs and arms and made the rag covering burning hot in back while the front of his body tightened with cold fear.
Montfort stood in front of Seth and looked him up and down then suddenly shoved his hand forward and grabbed the boy by his manhood, pulling the loose loin-rag together in an obscene cod-piece.
Montfort jerked the boy toward him and the block. As he closed his hand down on Seth's manhood and tender orbs, Montfort hissed,
"You will never know how much you
have made me suffer, you damned forest brat. For all of my life,
you and your brother have been held up as examples for me. Your
father is an enchanter. All of my life he has had my father under
As Montfort talked, his hand squeezed Seth's cock and balls. Seth's balls had been tenderized far beyond any play had ever taken them. Now they were being crushed will simultaneously being ripped from his body — or so it felt.
The pain was so great it brought tears to the young man's eyes and his knees buckled as he tried to relieve some of the strain of the pulling. Montfort's strong grip was so tight his hand almost shook from the strain. And as he squeezed, he also rolled the smashed orbs from side to side, agonizing new nerves, giving tired of screaming nerves a rest so they could be assaulted anew.
Seth whimpered as he prayed under his breath with trembling lip that they would not be ripped from his body by this evil man he had once known as a friend.
"Please, sir. I meant you no harm," Seth whimpered.
"Harm!?! Of course you meant me harm.
You meant to destroy our kingdom — you and your father and brother.
"Please, Sir Montfort, friend! Don't you remember the good times we had? Please, let me go. I will do anything for you. I will serve you in any way."
"Silence! Enough of your soft words — your Satanic tongue. I close my ears. I will not be tricked this time. I will be rid of your accursed spell. I will silence you."
The man jumped forward and took the rag and grabbed Seth's jaw, squeezing his mouth open and shoving the filthy rag into the boy's mouth. He wrapped the tie-cord round the back of Seth's head and tied it in place.
Seth tried to mumble another plea to Montfort, but no words came out — just gurgles.
"Tell me, boy, did you enjoy your stay here so far?" Montfort asked mockingly.
The idolized young man answered from behind his gag with tears as he now stood completely naked in the middle of the stone chamber.
Montfort again grabbed at Seth's organ,
digging his fingernails into it like eagle's talons while tugging.
It was all Seth could do to stand as his knees tried to give out from
"These men are well trained and practiced
in their arts.
Montfort snorted at his sarcasm then continued, lightly stroking the face of the dungeon slave closest to him,
"I am told that they were selected as young boys. Their parents sold them into the service of their trainers where their tongues are burned out of their mouths so they can never cry out for mercy or tell anyone of their work."
Seth now realized why they had said nothing the whole time they had used him. Only now did it seem strange that they had not said anything. When they were torturing him, he had not given their muteness even a momentary thought.
Seth attempted to scream into the gag in his mouth again as his swollen and pained testicles and penis were again clawed and ripped and twisted and squeezed by Montfort, stretching them even further from his body and, agonizing Seth's internal cords beyond anything they had ever felt before.
"They are well trained in the arts of the body and of pain. Each has passed the ultimate test, I am told. Each has kept a charge alive for a month — without rest, without the blessed relief of unconsciousness — fully feeling the agonies of every portion of his anatomy — even when that part has been removed. I am told that they are tested on their fellows — young men who did not pass their tests. You see, that gives true incentive to perform well. Agree?"
Montfort paused, like he was expecting Seth to agree with him. Seth just breathed hard, trying to bear his pain.
"And now I am the owner of three of these trained tools. They have brought me great enjoyment. And they have brought you to great scorn and hate."
Montfort paused and grinned.
"How, you ask? I will tell you. You
will find this most amusing. Your friend in the woods from the village,
poor Andrew. Yes. I am afraid he was not torn apart by some devil
of the forest.
Montfort snortled self-righteously.
"He had fallen under your spell, too.
I saw him sneaking out of his window and into your arms many a night.
Now his arms will hold you no more. He is in the arms of Jesus now.
The smell of the meat he had eaten earlier again met Seth's senses. He felt his stomach knot and begin to gorge up, but the gag stopped anything from being released. He gagged and almost choked on his own stomach juices and the meat that he now realized had been human.
"I believe he has a brother who might
also provide me with some entertainment. But he is already being
watched. When people believe the wraith has been destroyed, they
will become complacent again. Then I shall enjoy his agonized demise
Montfort paused and stared into Seth's face with the cruel interest of a cat intently watching a mouse skewered on its claws.
"I am told these trained artisans have been known to stay hard and ready enough to actually give continual perverted pleasure to a man for days on end."
Montfort leered then grinned a toothy grin — one that could be friendly if circumstances were different.
"But then, I am also told, after a period of time the pleasure actually becomes agony. Can you believe that, my beautiful young devil-god?"
Montfort feigned an incredulous amazement at such an idea.
"I am told it is possible to actually
fuck a man's holes enough that he begins to bleed — and continues
to bleed until he eventually dies. He is fucked to death.
Montfort shoved his hand between Seth's thighs, his middle finger curled to probe the quivering pucker. He grinned into Seth's face.
"Think so? Maybe you would enjoy finding out how that felt."
Montfort shoved his middle finger in, quickly followed by his pointer and ring fingers, scrunched together like a tripartite phallus.
Montfort spread his fingers, making Seth gasp. Then he suddenly yanked his fingers out. He squeezed Seth's mouth open with his clean hand and wiped each shitty finger off in Seth's tongue. Seth tried to bite, but Montfort pressed his cheek between his molars with his thumb. Seth just couldn't force himself to bite through his own cheeks to nip the nauseating Montfort's shit-coated fingers.
Montfort chuckled at Seth's consternation and growing doubts of his self-worth. He tilted his head back and looked down his nose at Seth's tear-filled eyes as he reached for Seth's cock and balls again with his newly cleaned fingers then withdrew his other hand from Seth's face, but not before stroking Seth's soft cheek with his thumb then slapping his face, snarling,
"Trying to beguile me with your charms, wraith!"
He thumbed Seth's cock out of his grip then squeezed Seth's orbs hard, digging his fingernails into them then squeezing them back and forth like marbles in a draw-pouch.
"Or maybe you would like to see some of the devices my accomplished artisans brought with them — ingenious instruments that strap on."
Montfort took hold of Seth's cock with his free hand and stroked the head with his thumb, playfully pulling the foreskin back and tickling the frenum, slowly stroking one side and under the flaring head, then the other side, again teasing the super sensitive skin under the flare.
"With such devices, they don't have to be hard. Despite their renowned endurance, I imagine they could rub themselves raw — and that wouldn't do, now would it?"
Montfort snorted as he simultaneously tickled under Seth's cock-flare tenderly with one hand and squeezed Seth's orbs so hard with the other hand that one squeezed free.
"Besides, these devices are designed to create very interesting agonies when inserted into the body. Maybe your body?"
"Eventually you will be reduced to begging for a quick death, any death. Can you imagine such pain, my beautiful siren? That you would beg for the release of death?"
Montfort let go of Seth's cock and playfully tousled Seth's hair.
"You can't? Yes ... such pain is beyond most men's imaginings. But it exists. But don't worry, my boy. You will learn. You will beg. You will plead. You will pray. But to no avail. My minions are not to be your liberators from this life. It is up to me to break your spell over me and rise to my rightful place. You will take this curse from me and bless me when I finally grant you death, my tool of Satan's desires. You will. Do you understand that?"
As he said this, Montfort jerked down hard on Seth's scrotum. Seth thought he could feel something inside give way, a testicle ripped from it's cords. Seth tried to scream through the gagging cloth.
"You are the last bewitcher that must be taken care of. Today it will end. From today on I will be free and this kingdom will be free of your family's control."
Montfort grinned, loosening his grip and staring Seth in the eye as he shouted,
Montfort looked over to the dark men who immediately jumped forward and grabbed Seth's bound arms. They reached up and grabbed a rope that was fed through an eye in the wood beam above them and pulled the other end, bringing Seth's arms high behind him and forcing his chest over painfully.
As his three men went about their work, Montfort chortled,
"See that he can not move and cast his charms upon me."
It was obvious that they knew what to do and had done it before many times. They had no need for the speech they could not utter if they had wanted.
The other two picked up Seth and moved him closer to the block of wood. They each grabbed a leg and chained it to rings just above the block's legs. When Seth was secured, they picked up a wide leather strap with cords on each end and put it around his exposed ass cheeks, tying the thinner leather cord ends to the rings at the top of the block.
As he grabbed a handful of leather cords, Montfort chortled,
"Now let me help them a bit. I will especially enjoy this next. I apologize that you may not."
He took the first cord and tied it around Seth's still bruise-reddened scrotum and pulled it hard across the top of the table. Montfort stretched Seth's balls nearly to the peg in the middle of the table. Montfort wrapped the leather string round the peg and knotted it, holding Seth's large, manly orbs right where Montfort wanted them — for whatever fun flitted across Montfort's evil imaginings.
Montfort took another cord and tied a slip knot in one end. He grabbed Seth's cock and slid Seth's foreskin back with his thumb and slipped the noose over the head of Seth's organ. Montfort pulled it tight with bemused concentration, like he was tightening the noose round the neck of a man he was about to hang.
Montfort tightened the knot till Seth's glans was smooth, shiny purple. He stretched the cord out toward the peg, pulling Seth's cock like a fat, down filled comforter over the young man's fleshy nuts on the table. Montfort chortled then pulled the cock cord to the side and tied Seth's cock out of the way.
"Now it is time to make you ache as you have made me ache all the nights these many years."
Montfort winced his eyes, showing some of his hate — a hate that Seth had never known in any man before. Seth's fear of what was inside Montfort almost overcame the pain of his strappadoed arms and agonized organs. Montfort motioned to his men and they moved up his chair to the table. Montfort sat and looked at the bound and helpless youth. A self-congratulatory smile crossed Montfort's lips.
Montfort slammed fist came down on the
tied nut-sack on the table. The helpless sylvan boy-god jumped despite
And as he jerked, his arms nearly popped from their sockets, straining if not spraining ligaments in both shoulders and elbows.
Montfort slammed his fist down with all the fury of the high justice's gavel at the trial of some infidel tried for treason. Seth tried to scream, but nothing escaped through the gag.
Montfort slammed his fist a third time into the poor boy's swelling, shiny purple-black generative orbs. Seth would have fallen to his knees, vomiting, had he been able.
Again a wave of unimaginable pain jolted through him. The chest-crushing pain was almost continuous now — throbbed even more intense with each increasingly rapid throb of his heart.
If possible the pain now seemed to be less. Seth realized what was there inside his pouch was being numbed, probably destroyed. They would likely never be the same — if he was ever released to find out. But, then, Seth knew he would never be released — except by death.
Time and again Montfort's fist pounded down into the helpless boy's testicles. The waves of pain became different — worse and not so bad all at the same time — a continual churning of his guts inside his generative orbs.
Seth's eyes were full of tears, making it hard for him to see his nuts being smashed beyond recognition time and again. His mind was floating away from his body, seeing what was being done to him in a detached manner, while at the same time feeling all the heart-crunching pain coursing through his body.
Seth no longer felt the individual strikes anymore. They came as one mass wave of pain washing over him, churning his body in the roil.
Seth's consciousness nearly freed itself, but Montfort seemed to sense when he was about to lose the boy to blessed blackness and stopped, giving him time to recoup.
"I have searched long and hard on how to break your spell over me, Satan's spawn. I have visited with many learned seers, and I am told that to just kill you will not do it. To just torture you to death will not break your spell over me. I am told I must become one with you and take your powers into me. Then your powers will be mine. I must consume your power, your source of power."
Seth was confused. He had no idea what Montfort meant. He could not understand what Montfort meant by all this talk about powers and spells, and he certainly didn't know what could be the source of his supposed powers.
His father had never spoken of any such power. He had seen the king and his father and his brother and Eric together many times, and it had never seemed that anyone was under any spell of any kind. It only seemed that they enjoyed each other's company, laughing, joking, playing and touching and sharing of their bodies. There seemed to be no spell or binding other than the love of men for each other.
Yet Montfort imagined something else. Seth feared Montfort's imagination now more than he feared Satan and the fires of hell.
"Soon I will possess your family's powers — all of them. I already possess the power of your father and brother. I wager you didn't know that, devil-boy. I possess your brother's and father's power. And now I will have yours and be done with it."
What did he mean? Seth looked down at Montfort sitting there at the table talking to his swollen and pained nuts as if they were a person.
"Did you enjoy the meat this morning? You should have. You have sampled that meat many times before last night. How many times have you sampled your brother's flesh in your disgusting perverted rituals? How many? Now you have now eaten of the unholy communion both of your brother and of that fool in the village."
"And I shall take your body and blood for communion long after your death. I now own your brother's power as I do your father's. I consumed them as I shall you."
Montfort brought his knife out of its sheath at his belt and skillfully brought it downward and into Seth's scrotum stretched across the table. Seth screamed through his gag. Montfort set the knife into the wood after having sliced through Seth's flesh above his trapped nuts — the flesh that was stretched taut by the leather cords. The knife slid between the two internal cords but trapped the long strand of flesh to the table.
"Your father's power is mine, can't
you tell? As well as your brother's. Those stupid fools marched
off to fight and did not know what stood in their way. All those
men who followed my father and brother to war — they were all fools.
Those that were not killed were captured. Those not sold into slavery,
I am told, were given to torturers to practice their trade. And
those who had a price that could be paid for them were imprisoned
"I have found that how wonderfully
a skinned and salted king can provide many hours of entertainment
— and many meals. Father suffered so. I wish I could have said I
was glad to see him finally die, but I was not. I really wanted
him to suffer so much longer.
Montfort looked up away from the bound and swollen nuts and into Seth's downcast face. Montfort's rage that had been there before had been replaced with a maniacal gleam — in the eye and tooth.
"My dear brother, the crown prince,
took so very long to die. And I made sure every moment was one of
utter agony for him. An agony that purged the sin from him and may
have allowed him to enter the blessed presence of our Lord, though
he never thanked me for it while he was alive. His body was sliced
and healed so many times that it was hard to tell if there was any
part of him left without scars. I really could not find any.
Montfort filliped Seth's doubly trapped orbs, snorting a wicked laugh.
"The small slits in his manhood were also filled also with the salt rocks. My royal brother screamed so very loudly when I let my new slaves take his royal manhood in hand and get it royally hard and work it to a royal conclusion. His royal fluids were even royally red from the abuse."
Again Montfort filliped Seth's testes, snorting that wicked laugh.
"I am not sure which one of my slaves
it is now, but one of them enjoys taking the manhood of others into
him — not that it matters what he enjoys, but he did enjoy taking
my royal brother into his fundament and working it in and out vigorously
while the salt rocks tore at the inside of his cock flesh.
Montfort pulled the knife out of Seth's scrotum and sliced it upward separating the two halves of the distended sack. He then took the knife and deftly cut around the skin where it stretched from the body being careful to not cut any large blood vessels.
As soon as the skin was released from the body, Seth felt a release of the pressure that had kept him bowed over so well. But as he looked down at his manhood, he saw that the cords that held his nuts to his body were all that remained.
Montfort then cut the skin away from behind the trapped testicles so that nothing was between the boy and the tied nuts except the cords and some gray matter — the two testicles were still covered by the trapped, glistening skin.
Montfort's knife slit the surface of the skin between the bound orbs and they popped free, released from the pressure that had held them bound together under the skin.
He then cut the skin away from them so that now Seth was left with a bleeding stump of flesh where his scrotum had been at his body and his two testicles stretched out on their stalks and tied to the peg.
Montfort reached to the side of the table and brought out a fork.
"Pardon my manners here, but I want to savor these two sources of your power."
Montfort smacked his lips and inhaled deeply, sniffing the bloody male musk in the air.
"I did this with your brother, I want you to know, before we salted him and prepared him. Did you enjoy him? It was his meat you ate last night. I believe it was a part of his ankle. Or was it his upper foot? There just isn't much there to consume, but it is more than enough for the likes of a prisoner such as you."
Seth felt his stomach rising again, but he fought it down. He had almost strangled the last time he had brought the rotted meat up. It was not a way to die for him, but then he did not have many choices, he realized.
"My royal brother was fond of this royal table. I shared many a royal meal at it here with him. Or I should say that I ate while he provided the royal meat and royal entertainment."
Montfort took the fork and jammed it down hard into Seth's right
The boy tried to scream, but the saliva and gorge soaked gag kept most of the sound inside still. Montfort took the knife and split the orb down almost in half and then jabbed the two pieces again with the fork and sliced it in quarters as Seth tried to cry and scream and beg for mercy all at the same time. Seth's upper body jerked, and he felt the pain in his shoulders as more muscle tissue ripped loose.
"His breasts and nipples provided a nice snack one meal. They slit off so nicely though they did bleed a bit. I found that applying salt to most of the wounds did seem to help them stop bleeding, though rather painfully don't you think?"
Seth wondered at his words a second, whether Montfort was talking about his own brother or Seth's brother — or one of their fathers ... or maybe Andrew ... or maybe just any man? But Seth only wondered a second or two before he was struck with another wave of torrid pain.
Seth looked down at his ripped testicles and realized Montfort had thrown a handful of white and milky crystals on his exposed body parts. As he used the knife to slice one of the quarters away from the rest and brought the tender organ meat to his bearded lips, Montfort chuckled,
"I do like salt on my food. I hope it doesn't hurt too much."
Montfort chuckled and watched Seth's eyes as he opened his mouth and let Seth watch. He took the gray and bloodied piece into his mouth and half-closed them to pull the savory dainty off the fork. Montfort chewed slowly with exaggerated savor in his eyes then jammed the fork back into another piece of Seth's testicle and left it there while he chawed and smacked the piece in his mouth, watching Seth's face closely.
The still beautiful young satyr could see what had been inside him crushed and ground and shredded and pulverized by Montfort's the teeth, blood and fluids and saliva oozing out with each slurpy smack. He could almost feel those teeth gnaw and grind. After what seemed like an eternity, Montfort swallowed the masticated piece of man-flesh, and reached down and picked up the fork and knife again to repeat the process.
"My royal brother provided me so many hours of royal enjoyment here. I almost wish I could trust you to do the same, but I can not. He was weak, but your devil spells can not be trusted. I am strong, but I am not going to risk the chance that you could turn these weak minded slaves. No, my young friend, you will not live to see tomorrow."
Montfort took the next piece and moved it toward his mouth. He chewed as before, but this time he talked as he slurped,
"I finally grew weary of hearing my
brother scream, so I did end up gagging him for his last hours on
earth. By the time I was nearly through with him, his manhood was
an almost unrecognizable chunk of meat, with the cuts and swellings
and weepings from the salt in and on it. And even the slightest
touch to it would bring him into screaming fits of hysteria.
Montfort grabbed his wine goblet and slurped noisily as he stabbed another quarter and popped it into his increasingly wine-laxed mouth.
"I could not stand to hear it any more of that caterwauling. I cut his poor tortured royal orbs and blunted royal sword from his body and stuffed them into his royal mouth. They barely fit. Despite his unroyal weakness, his masculine endowments were of distinctly royal proportions. But then you know that, refugee from Sodom."
Montfort chawed noisily with his mouth half open.
"I had to tie the royal endowments in place, but that did keep my royal brother from screaming as I slowly pulled out his royal intestines and organs out through his royal hole and then filled that royal bung-hole with salt and spices to prepare him for smoking."
Montfort had finished eating the one testicle and then slit the other into quarters as he had the first.
Seth's screams into the gag must have been nothing compared to Eric's screams Seth thought, but he could not help himself. Seth lost control of his bladder and he felt his water rush downward, but it could not escape with the cord tied so tightly around his now purple-blue cock-head. It was just another new pain to add to his agonies. Montfort set the fork aside and reached his head down to the quartered but still connected testicle. He snortled,
"You must pardon my unroyal manners, but I do so enjoy this fresh."
He laughed and licked the naked male orb, rolling it back and forth across the chopping-block,
"But then a king does not have to beg pardon from his subjects for anything — especially from his dungeon prisoners.".
Montfort tongued Seth's testicle to his lips and sucked the bleeding and oozing testicle into his mouth and pressed it against the top of his mouth. Seth's guts churned, his abdomen quivered, his esophagus fluttered as he could feel Montfort's attentions to his remaining generative organ.
Montfort sucked at the oozy secretions, rolling the man-orb side to side to lap every drop. He tongued the orb between his molars and gently closed down on it, more like a wine press than a grist mill — to squeeze out all the masculine juices.
The assault was gentle compared with what had gone before. Seth breathed deeply and slowly, trying to drive from his mind the reality of what was happening to him.
After a few minutes, though, Montfort had pressed out all the savory he wanted, despite more pounding into it with Seth's every heart beat. He bit down harder and harder, chortling to himself as the hard-boiled-eggy orb flattened and deformed more and more.
Seth gasped as the pain suddenly returned with a vengeance, roiling his guts. It was all he could do to hold his vomit down. Montfort ground his molars back and forth, twanging his tongue on the stretched muscle and nerve strings still attaching the orb to Seth's groin.
The pain now surpassed anything Seth had ever experienced — even worse than the quartering of his other testicle. His head pounded like his heart was in his skull, his arms and thighs quivered like an old man's, his throat closed on him like it was being squeezed from inside, his lungs burned like ice, his guts churned like a stormy sea, and his testicle screamed in pain beyond measure.
Despite his determination to go to his death with dignity, Seth was screaming continuously into his drool and retch sodden gag. He didn't want to watch, he tried not to watch, but Seth could not close his eyes — he could only look straight down on the back of Montfort's head as he felt the slow, deliberate, calculated grinding of what was left of his masculine orb.
Seth wanted to pass out. He tried to pass out. But he could not. Then the intense, grinding pain suddenly stopped. And all that was left was the dull ache of innocence destroyed.
Montfort lifted his head and sat up then back and snorted,
"That was good."
He forced a burp and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve that wasn't there. He grinned and widened his eyes like peeled grapes, chortling,
"I already feel your power in me. I am robbing you of it. And when you have no more, I will have it all."
Seth drooped his head again, looking down, seeing that there was now nothing left on the top of the table where his generative orbs had once been — nothing except for the loose flaps pieces of skin that had been his pouch that had been partially cut away.
Seth's cock was still stretched to the side of the table. Montfort
now used his knife to slit the cord and released it.
A stream of trapped piss escaped and ran over the table and down its sides, washing some of the bloody fluids away.
"Now for the rest of your power. It is now mine. It will be mine to control and to use."
Montfort aligned his blade carefully along Seth's shaft and pressed it down. The point was at the base atop the shaft, and the hilt was beyond the head. The shaft flattened somewhat and Montfort slid the point downward and into the cock-shaft and pulled it forward.
Blood sprayed as the blade bisected Seth's proud cock into two. Seth's spurting blood now washed away his piss, painting the block bright, shiny red. As he took his knife and spread the skin away form the shaft leaving the bloodied red gristly meat standing alone, Montfort gloated,
"I will especially enjoy this."
Montfort tightened his grip on the knife hilt and sliced the cock
crosswise behind the head. He then used his fork to tear a piece of
the gristle meat loose and shoved it in his mouth.
Seth was weak from blood loss but he still felt the pain as the pieces of his shaft were removed until nothing was left but the head, still attached to the two pieces of skin.
Montfort again set the fork aside and bent forward. He tongued the head of Seth's cock to his lips and palpated it, pulling the head, still attached by thin skin, into his mouth. Montfort lipped the head between his teeth then pulled his lips back, twisting his head and looking up to Seth so Seth could see his cock-head there.
He grinned as his teeth squeezed the head half in two. Montfort then pulled back and away from the bound boy's body, stretching the now empty cock-skin to a thin strap of raw leather. When it would stretch no more, Montfort ground his teeth back and forth through the skin, slurping at the blood while sawing through.
Seth watched through watery tears as the tip of his once proud manhood was ripped away and fressed by this animal masquerading as a king.
For the first time in his memory, Seth drew some strength and hope from what a priest had said. A long, long time ago, he remembered, a priest had preached a sermon about martyrs fed to beasts in a public square in old Rome. He said they were God's special children. They would sit at the right hand of Jesus. He said their bodies were not destroyed because human flesh is not the proper food of beasts. Surely, Seth thought, he was a martyr. He was being eaten alive by a beast masquerading as a man. He would be one of God's chosen.
The comfort was only fleeting, though as Seth's body twisted involuntarily, ripping loose what little remained of his shoulder muscles. Seth now hung limp — by the muscles and ligaments of his arms, his shoulders dislocated.
Seth's thighs and legs were still attached to the table, holding his knees from buckling and pulling his arms from his body even more. Seth was beyond reason now. He had lost so much blood that he seemed to be watching what happened from a distance, as if he was a disinterested but bemused spectator.
Montfort cleared his throat and laughed, snapping Seth's mind back to reality.
"You are without power now. I own your power — all your power. And your father's and brothers devil powers. And the royal powers of my father and brother."
Montfort placed his knuckles into Seth's blood and stood, leaning forward. He whispered into Seth's ear,
"I possess them all — all their powers and charms. There is no one who can stand in my way now. I am the king, and you can beguile me no longer, Satan's spawn."
Montfort bit Seth's earlobe, drawing blood. He sucked on it then pulled back and snarled,
"Finish him. Prepare him for his feast."
The two slaves who had attached Seth to the table began now removing his bonds. The other released Seth's shoulders from the strappado. Seth's arms fell helplessly to his back. Only his golden skin and internal gristle held them in place. Seth would have collapsed like a rag doll if they had not been holding him. His body was weaker than he could ever remember it being — even when asleep it had more muscle tone than now.
The one good thing — if it was a good thing — he still felt his body. He could still feel his thighs and legs — even the ache of his dislocated shoulders.
The two who had released his legs laid him on his back on the table and spread his legs wide. The third who had released his arms brought a long metal spike from near the fire-pit as the two each grabbed a thigh and held it tightly.
The third torture slave took the point of the rod and lined it up to Seth's hole. Seth felt the heat of the metal that had been so near the fire. It made him shiver — he realized how cold he had become as his blood drained from his body.
The torturer used his fingers to start the first few inches of the rod into the hole, easing the lips over the nonconforming metal. Seth's man-hole had known many invaders before. But these had all been fleshy — the wooden stump, that he had controlled himself — it was nothing like this.
He had enjoyed many invaders in play, but this invader was not tender. It was not thrilling. It was not passionate — not with love and companionship — maybe passionate with hate, but not with tenderness. It gave no quarter.
The torture artisan now pushed it in with more determination, more strong persistence — far beyond what any of his play partners had ever gone. It stopped for a moment seemingly caught on something hard inside him.
Seth panted hard. Then he felt it shove deeper inside. And with it came the next stage of his pain education — pain again beyond what he even had felt before. The hell-burning and horrid ache from his manless crotch was now replaced with an ache deep in his gut more intense than any gut-sickness he had ever suffered through. This rod kept pushing into him like a soldier's spear, but so slow he could feel every fold inside his guts it straightened — or pierced.
Seth's mind fixated on the invasion. It was his death creeping through him — inward and upward, eating through his very life guts.
The dungeon slaves knew their art. Inside Seth were vessels and organs that if pierced would bleed him to death in a matter of short moments. But the rod slid into him and passed them without even touching a one them — there would be no quick release for this man — innocent forest waif or vicious man-eating wraith — it didn't matter to them. All that mattered was their job — performing it with artful skill — and enjoying every whimper, every cringe, every gasp.
With the bending and the probing, feeling the right resistance — not more nor less — Theothree slaves threaded the rod passed spleen and liver. But this was the easy part. The difficult part was now upon them.
Seth suddenly felt it hard to breath. His diaphragm he had never even given thought to was pressed up against his lungs so he could not breath down into his belly. He had to lift his shoulders to breathe. He tried not to, but his body wanted to live more than his will to die.
The pain from his dislocated shoulders was intense, but not as bad as the burning fire-ice in his lungs as he desperately panted. A blinding white flashed through Seth's eyes as the sharp point pierced his diaphragm and chittered up to the right of his heart. His throat and chest felt like it was being pummeled by spiked fists.
Suddenly Seth couldn't breathe even by lifting his shoulders. His mind looked at his throat and saw the metal rod blocking his airway. It had ripped and torn its way through his body, between his lungs, passed his heart. Seth tried as hard as he could to expand his lungs and was able to suck whiffs past the filling rod, but not enough to live off of.
Like the dozens of men he had seen hanged, Seth knew he was suffocating and he would soon die of that if not something else. He tried to jerk his head, but the two held it and bent it backward over the edge of the table, opening his jaw and throat — enough for a breath of air to gasp, beating back the icy fire in his lungs, perhaps for the last time ever.
Seth felt the rod, now body temperature, greased with his own fluids, slide into his throat and into the back of his mouth. His mind was now more outside his body than inside and he watched from a safely detached distance as the three slaves worked together. One massaged Seth's throat and held the jaw open as the second held Seth's tongue with his middle finger and the third shoved slow and steady from the other end.
Seth's mind-eye watched with amazement as the second torture slave
put his other fingers into Seth's mouth and grabbed hold of the rod-tip
and pulled as the third slave pushed.
The second slave's hand emerged with the rod, wet and shiny from blood and saliva and slime. The smooth rod was then shoved even harder, and Seth felt it as it was slid through him enough so there was as much out his mouth as had never been shoved through him.
The deep breath Seth had managed had given him enough oxygen that he was not mercifully suffocating, and as the rod was lifted from the table, Seth found his air passage opening enough for breath to wheeze through.
Seth's mind floating in air cried for him — both it and he wished the passage had remained stopped — that would have made death come easier — without having to will his body to stop breathing. More than anything, Seth wanted not to breath so he could die now, but his body lived despite his desires.
The third dungeon slave now moved to Seth's legs and bound each of them to the metal rod with stout cords so they could not fall down. The rod would keep his body from bending at the waist as he was turned.
Seth's detached mind could still feel his body and it seemed strange to have his entire weight suspended so. His guts were churning horribly, but he could feel his body's weight mostly balance on two points — the bones between his hips and the bones and ligaments between his shoulders.
Seth's body-spasms and the wrestle of tying his legs to the pole had jerked him around a bit, teaching Seth to be as still as possible now — any movement brought yet more new and horrible pains to his living-dead body — so that Seth learned to feel his every organ inside.
Despite this lesson, though, Seth's body was shaking — from death-fear he had still not accepted — or loss of blood — or whatever. The shaking gave him even more pain as his body vibrated on his impalement.
The dungeon slaves carried Seth's body over to the hearth. There they set the ends of the pole into stones that had been prepared for such spittings. A wheel was attached to one end of the spit to serve to rotate it over the low flame.
One torture slave stood at the wheel
and began his duties as the other two tended the fire.
Seth's mind was back in his body again and could feel the low coals give off heat that rose and lapped around his body. His head was not over the flame — that would cook his brain and give him release too soon. So it would not be for a long time until Montfort was sure Seth could no longer enjoy the delicious pain he was being given.
The heat rose and washed over Seth, first sizzling his hair that was at his demanned crotch. The rest of his light blond body hairs shriveled to tiny black balls and then fell off, popping as they quickly burned in the fire, giving off a whiff of stench that many associate with burning heretics at the stake. But Seth had little body hair, so there was not much stench till Seth's mane began to sizzle — much delayed because of the sweat and grime now turning it dirty brown.
Seth's body-trapped mind felt his skin grow warm. His body wriggled and tried to move away but he was rewarded with more new pain sensations from deep inside. As his body was turned over and again, Seth saw Montfort sitting at the table picking through the bits of flesh left there and the pool of blood. Absent-mindedly, Montfort stabbed at them with his knife while looking Seth in the eye. He smiled at the sylvan god he had stolen the power from.
From deep inside, a voice began speaking to Seth — a voice he had never heard aloud but that sounded so familiar. He steeled his body to the pain and it suddenly went away. As Seth was rotated around the fire, his mind could imagine his flesh turn colors and begin to pucker and blister, but it no longer separated from his body to look from the outside. His mind just became dimmer. It was like the sun was going down on his mind — more and more his senses were leaving him — no pain, no feeling of heat, now almost no thought.
Seth was dead. Or he should have been. But somehow his mind did not cease. His consciousness came back. It was again fed the sensations of a body being slowly roasted over a spit, of breath struggling to take superheated air into lungs, of lungs on fire with the desert air that filled it. He should not be alive.
Somehow there was still some awareness, something of Seth alive. A spark of consciousness. Seth was no longer being tortured, being cooked alive. It had all been a dream — a very bad dream. Instead, he was in the forest. He could see his brother and father, the king and his son — they were cavorting in the field, playing, having fun. They saw him. They waved for Seth to join them. Seth went running.
The spit was set into an upright position and braced in a hole in the stone floor and against the stone wall. Seth's cooked carcass sagged but was held on the spit by its still trussed ankles. His knees were bent slightly, but the rod had fused with Seth's insides, keeping the carcass from shifting down the pole.
Montfort approached the lifeless body and looked at it. He opened the covering on his leggings and took out his male sword and began to stroke it in front of the smoked and prepared forest god he had so despised in life. The young man's gray-blue, clouded eyes seemed to be watching him as he stroked it to maturity.
Montfort masturbated himself to climax, spraying his white seed in globs onto the crackled skin. Montfort did not pull his cod piece back in place. Indeed, he often wore nothing in the dungeon, but he also enjoyed the power that clothing held over his more naked slaves.
He turned to the butcher block table where the bloodied pulps of Seth's manhood remained stuck in coagulated blood. He picked up a plate and the fork, and pulled his knife from its sheath. He walked to the spitted and cooked boy.
Montfort raised his knife to the well-defined
but blackened chest and drew the knife in sawing motions down through
the hardened pectoral meat.
A slab of pure muscle, still red inside with burnt flesh fell to the plate. He turned and went to the table and sat.
Through a distant fog, Seth felt the knife saw into his body and the meat fall away onto the plate. Through some distant fog, Seth saw Montfort move to the table and sit. And from deep inside, Seth felt something else. He felt a stirring inside him that was suddenly pleasurable and actually made even his pain suddenly seem pleasurable, desirable. From deep inside came a voice that was not his own, but it was that one that sounded so familiar.
"This is my son with whom I am pleased. Let all who would defile him know the wrath of the all powerful angel of night. Let any who would defile my son know that the eternal fires of hell will be a blessing!"
Montfort sat at the table looking at the naked and burned body of the youth he had hated so much — the naked body perched like a trussed bird on the spit. He stared blankly at it. He closed his eyes and fell forward on the bloody table, his face into the meat he had just sawed.
The torture slaves looked at Seth with terrified awe as a smile flickered across his face. It may have been the fire light, but it may have not been.