Goodwin Prescott
the Diary of Reinhard Kurtz

April l4, l897, Quaffari Oasis, French West Africa

This is an amazing place. Deep in the dreadful Sahara, a harsh journey of days from anywhere, hidden away inside a massive granite escarpment, is Eden itself. You'd never guess this lush, palm-studded vale was here, and it is a secret held dear among the Berber band that holds it as their headquarters. It was a true mark of their trust of me that I was brought here, albeit blindfolded, as their guest to study their ways. The reputation of the Germans here is remarkably good compared to the hated English, Portuguese, Spanish and especially the French. The empire's treatment of the natives in our two colonies in western Africa, Togoland and Kamerun, is viewed as almost commendable. I'm not altogether sure that would please the kaiser if he knew. After all, it was he who recently, proudly, compared our German army to the Huns of old, to the delight of our detractors.

I was given a vouchsafe from the N'Kibo when they passed me to the Berber traders following our feast on the English soldiers recorded earlier in this journal. The sub-chief, Jakombo, actually wept (an acceptable practice among the "savages") when I departed and extracted my promise to return one day.

"You bring many beautiful young white men with you when you come back!"
I laughed, realizing the fate that would await such edible companions. Perhaps one day I shall return to the N'Kibo and, if so, I certainly shall not be thoughtless enough to come alone! They have proven to be commendable friends.

I wondered if my new hosts, the Berbers of Ali Mohammed Mahsouddi, would prove as congenial. They enjoy a fearsome reputation as cutthroat brigands in the French occupied deserts to the north. It appears, however, that they value their trading relationship with the N'Kibo and Mahsouddi assured me they were flattered and delighted at my interest in them. I was treated with kindness and deference as we travelled. Nonetheless, when we were approaching the hidden oasis, they blindfolded me so that I would not be able to lead anyone else through the labyrinth of passages that give access to Quaffari. I thought it a most sensible precaution as I have yet to really prove my good intentions.

There is a great pool, fed by a copious spring, the water fresh and sweet. Smaller pools have been created through canals to accommodate the livestock and other polluting activities, keeping the main pool pristine. Clever baths with a waterfall have been created in a rock-ringed depression, and the Berbers are fastidious in their cleanliness. Dates and citrus fruits abound, even grapes, and judging from the obvious age of the vines, man has used this place for a very long time. It was marvelous to be able to clean up after the hot, dusty journey north, then feast on fresh fruit, roast mutton and a rich, heady red wine. Tonight I will sleep soundly!

Tomorrow I shall begin exploring my new temporary abode ... and my hosts.

APRIL l5, l897, Quaffari Oasis

What a remarkable day it has been. I will shortly fall into a sleep of the sweetest, most sated nature but am still pondering the lessons I have learned of Berber expectations of their young men.

Much of the day was spent under friendly but intense interrogation by the tribal elders. They were finally convinced that I was a European unlike any they had experienced and they were as curious about me as I was of them. After lunch, Sidi Barouk, a bearded young warrior who was assigned as my "tutor," had me surrender my western attire for the more comfortable robes and protective headdress or kaffiya of his people. I at once appreciated the practicality of the garb, although in the shaded vale of the oasis most of the younger men wore only skimpy loincloths most of the day.

I knew that Berber males had a very relaxed attitude about nudity within their own gender, so I was not surprised that Sidi watched with undisguised curiosity as I disrobed, intending no disrespect or rudeness. Still, encumbered yet by my lingering European mores, I was a little nonplussed by his attention to my genitals and suspect I reddened a bit at his bluntness as he loudly exclaimed his admiration.

"Ahhhh, honored Reinhard, Allah gave you much blessing between your legs! You are young and strong and are endowed with such a huge penis and balls that there must be great need in your loins. Unfortunately, it is forbidden for a foreigner to take one of our women, or even look upon her features or form, but we have many beautiful, pleasing young men. After dinner I shall send you little brothers of the night to give you pleasure and entertain you."
Homosexual behaviour among the desert Arab tribes has been rumored to be viewed as perfectly natural for a man, at least until he takes a wife, just as it was among the classic Greeks. My experiences this evening among the Berbers at Quaffari confirm the rumors. Such freedom of spirit and celebration of a male's rampant sexual urges proved to be utterly refreshing.

I had never indulged in male-to-male sex before, apart from having orally masturbated one of the condemned English soldiers back among the N'Kibo, which I really didn't feel counted as it was just part of the ritual involved in his killing. I was excited at the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity in an environment in which it was encouraged. Sidi could tell that I was pleased at his thoughtfulness. He beamed.

"You are a most honored friend. I shall select the finest of our boys and they will entertain you in ways you cannot imagine until you are ready to spill your seed into one of their tight, young orifaces."
After dinner, I hurried to my tent and found myself facing three smiling, virile young bulls, Yussef, Abi and Fariq. What beautiful people these Arab nomads are with their smooth, silky light brown skins, glistening dark hair and big, fawn eyes. Judging from these three, they tend to be superbly hung with delicious-looking, perfectly formed genitals. Flickering lamplight played on the nubile, tawny bodies as my three stunningly handsome "little brothers of the night" stood there, stark naked and powerfully aroused, allowing me to savor their exquisite beauty with my eyes. Shortly I was exploring with my hands as well while they disrobed me.

I guess I had expected slender, immature youths to be used for this purpose, but my companions, though just eighteen, were powerfully muscled young studs which I found immensely pleasing. They were clean-shaven as Berber men do not wear a beard until they marry, but there was virility in those strong-jawed boyish faces.

We consumed enough of the delicious, heady wine that our lusts were shortly fired to a fever pitch. While Fariq did outrageous things to my body with his hands, mouth and tongue, Yussef and Abi began to dance. The movement of their naked forms was as sensuous as anything I have ever imagined, every step calculated to feast the eyes and tantalize the viwer's most erotic impulses. Soon they were engaging in heated sexual contact, contorting their limbs and torsos with wonderful effect, like athletes in a wrestling combat.

Suddenly Abi sprang upon Yussuf and wrapped his muscular legs around Yussuf's thighs just below the buttocks, facing him. Yussuf, expecting the move, caught the other young hunk and supported him in his arms. Abi's rectum was perfectly exposed and positioned for his partner and Yussuf's huge rod was pressed tightly into the warm, moist asscrack, probing for the hole.

He found it and with a rough upward thrust while pulling down on Abi's hard body, he embedded himself to the balls. Their mating was about as spectacular as any I could ever hope to witness. Only the most supple and leanly powerful of young men, giving in without limitation to their lust, could have accomplished the orgasms they produced from each other in that difficult, straining stance. Over and over Yussuf raised Abi's form, then dropped him as he gave a powerful fucking thrust upwards. Each time Abi uttered a soft, gasping cry of mixed agony and ecstasy as he was brutally, deeply plowed.
I had assumed that this was the "entertainment" promised by Sidi. I was wrong.

Fariq arose and, with a broad grin, produced a simple but devilish device, a pair of sturdy, knotted, fire-hardened wooden sticks, bound together in a scissored fashion at one end.

The Arab boy's mammoth cock was in raging erection as he planted one foot on a low ottoman stool, splaying open his crotch for my unhindered view.

Watching my fascinated reaction, he opened the sticks widely and positioned his huge balls directly between them.

With sensuous slowness, teasing me, he closed the wooden jaws and gradually tightened the grip on his testicles, pressing the open ends of the sticks together with one hand while stroking his turgid, dripping cock with the other.

I shuddered inwardly as I watched him abuse himself with gradually increasing severity.

My God, that has to hurt horribly!

He has his balls squeezed directly between those damned sticks!

It had to be excruciating as he compressed his nuts like that, but he displayed only a slight grimace and his muscles contracted and stood out in etched beauty beneath his smooth skin. In the meantime Abi and Yussuf descended upon me with their mouths and tongues and worked me in tandem.

It was a scene transcending any Roman orgy as I watched Fariq viciously torturing his balls to tittilate my vision while Abi nursed at my nipples. Yussuf's hungry mouth was locked onto my cock like a leech.

Only when I uttered my cry and froze, reaching orgasm down Yussuf's throat, did Fariq allow his own steel-corded organ to erupt. He pulsed out spurt after spurt of cream before his body even as he continued to press the hinged sticks tightly closed over his swollen, purplish balls seeming to be making a good faith effort to actually crush them into pulp for me!
I examined the brutalized gonads afterwards.

My touch seemed like fire to him and he flinched powerfully and gasped as I rolled the bruised, swollen orbs around in my fingers.

He moaned softly, almost crying out, when I gave them a quick little slap.

I liked the reaction and slapped them again much harder, then again and again, enjoying possessing him while he just stood there flexing and cooperatively keeping his thighs parted to accept my abuse.

I had expected his balls to have been ruptured by his vicious application of the scissored sticks, but they did not appear to have actually popped.

I wasn't sure whether that relieved me or ... disappointed me. I had nothing against handsome Fariq, but the very concept that such a perfect, huge-hung youngster would actually destroy his precious seeders just for my pleasure was erotic beyond belief!

After I finished my prolonged, painful manipulation of his crotch, Fariq gave me a long, wet kiss on my lips and slipped, limping, out into the night.

Abi and Yussuf are urging me to come to bed and stop writing.

They intend to snuggle with me throughout the night and I can only guess with what abandon and all-consuming need we will greet the dawn. One of them has laid a most cruel looking whip by the side of the bed, apparantly in the hope that I will use it upon them at some point.

I shall not disappoint them. I am, after all, a guest here and should fully honor their customs.

APRIL l6, l897, Quaffari Oasis

In the dawn today, hot with lust and at their fevered urging, I administered a harsh whipping to Abi and Yussuf, slowly, patiently employing the whip, relishing each stroke, until I had covered their backs, buttocks and thighs with thick welts. I made certain there was not a square inch of unpunished skin on either boy's targeted areas. This was my first experience in the whipping of another male and I was stunned at how deeply enjoyable the process is!

I then added yet another new experience to my life, mounting Abi from behind for my first coupling with another man. I fucked him with all the brutal force I could muster while he sucked Yussuf. How wonderful it feels to have your organ embedded fully within the clutching anal muscles of a fellow male. What a delightful way to start a new day!

I sought out Sidi to thank him for his kindness in providing the young men who had given such sublime pleasure. He beamed and explained that all Berber boys are reared to accept pain and savor it as a test of courage, endurance and manliness. Further, pain is a natural part of erotic pleasure between men and it was the right of a dominant older man to savor the suffering agony of a boy to help stimulate him to orgasm. The primary purpose of young males like Fariq, Abi and Yussuf was to give satisfaction and they were all adept at sexual self-torture.

"What if Fariq had accidently crushed his balls? What would have been done with him?"
Sidi laughed. "It would not have been an accident, though, naturally, we seldom encourage our young men to go that far. But he was our welcoming gift to our high honored guest and had been ordered to go to all extremes to impress and please you. He was supposed to have ruptured his balls for you and was mortified that he did not succeed. He has offered to have himself flogged to death for his failure if you wish. Or perhaps you would like to see him beheaded?"
"No, no! He served admirably," I hastily assured.
Sidi shrugged.
"As you wish. To answer your question, had he succeeded in unmanning himself he would have been of no use to us. A proud Berber boy cannot be a eunuch. Whenever one of our men becomes useless through excessive age or injury, he is simply beheaded."
I was delighted at this information. Many human societies devise methods to rid themselves of the aged and infirm and Sidi had just outlined a particularly draconian but immensely effective method of tribal cleansing. Small wonder these Berbers are all so impressively young and fit. It also graphically reflects just how intensely disciplined they are which is undoubtedly why they survive so well in their harsh desert environment.
"Is that the punishment meted out as well when there are serious transgressions of your laws?"

"No, no!" He laughed. "Death under the beheading sword is a swift and nearly painless thing. Such a death is not accorded those who commit crimes. Such sinners are taken to the place of the vultures to be devoured alive."

I gasped,
"That would be an excruciating way to die! They must suffer horribly!"

"Of course," Sidi shrugged. "That is what is intended. Before we discovered the vultures, we would slit open the offender's belly and insert hot coals. You consider us savages for this?"

"No. I am not here to judge you. And I assure you the methods of punishment employed among my enlightened people are often just as harsh and cruel. I understand the need for strong discipline here and find no fault whatever with it. In fact, if the opportunity should arise, I would be most interested in being allowed to witness this vulture business."

He nodded thoughtfully,
"One of our young men was caught stealing yesturday. He has never offended before and usually would just be punished by a severe flogging. But with an honored guest among us, perhaps the shame he has brought to us by his conduct is aggravated. Are you deeply offended, honored Reinhard, that one of our young men should prove to be a thief during your visit?"
I swallowed hard as I fully understood where he was going with this. In truth I could have cared less if a dozen thieves were caught while I was there, but I gave a very deliberate, carefully phrased answer.
"Sidi, I am deeply offended by this boy's conduct."
Sidi kept a serious, straight face but the twinkle in his eyes told me how pleased he was that I had quickly followed his drift and gave the right answer.
"Then he must, of course, be subjected to the punishment of the vultures. I shall inform him of his fate. The sentence shall be carried out at dawn tomorrow. The vultures are most responsive at that time of day."

"I am pleased, Sidi, but I am also concerned. Will the killing of this boy not cause ill will for me among some of your people? He would have been spared but for my presence."

He laughed,
"Honored Reinhard, the death of one silly boy is of no moment when compared to honoring the desires of a great guest. Abdul's family is deeply disgraced by his conduct and had already urged that he be put to death. Knowing of your desire to witness the punishment of the vultures, had this boy not so conveniently provided himself, I'd have sought volunteers and I can assure you that every one of our young men would have eagerly offered himself. To die serving the cause of the tribe is a great honor for our young men and assures instant entry to paradise. If tomorrow we ordered it, our young warriors would charge the French fort naked and unarmed, screaming in joy."
I cringed uncomfortably for just a moment as I recalled the utter fanatacism of young muslims. The rabid dervish attacks on the English in Khartoum and the slaughter when it fell was still a subject of awed discussion in Europe. I would not want to provoke the displeasure of these men!

I accompanied Sidi when he sought out the condemned boy. His father looked immensely pleased and his mother wept for joy at the news, kneeling and kissing my hand and thanking me repeatedly for having intervened and gained the proper punishment for her shameful, pitiful excuse for a son. Abdul was l9, a handsome, finely muscled youth. He was obviously distressed at the news that he was to die ... it showed in his widened eyes and the gulp in his throat. But he quickly recovered his self-control and masked his feelings, averting his eyes downward and bowing his head.

"Allah akbar," He said softly in complete acceptance of his fate.
He offered no resistence as he was bound and put under guard to await the dawn.

APRIL l7, l897, Quaffari Oasis

I engaged in exhaustive pleasures half the night with a fresh pair of "angels", and had just barely arisen when Sidi came to guide me to the execution site. The handsome, muscular boys were in deep, peaceful slumber, having been thoroughly used, and I was distressed that I had not awakened in time to administer the whipping that I had intended for them. I wanted to try to improve drastically on the punishment I had meted out to Abi and Yussuf. I had discovered that my favorite axiom had now become "spare the rod and spoil the child."

Since the vulture punishment was popular entertainment, a host of chatting, grinning Berber men streamed up the long,steep path we took to the top of a small plateau high above the oasis. Abdul didn't seem to share their enthusiasm, but he gamely trudged steadily up the mountain behind us with no prodding needed by his guards. We reached a huge ledge and the audience fanned out to take viewing positions all around on the crags and rocks surrounding a vast flat stone. I could see instantly why this place would appeal as a ritual site. The surrounding boulders and cliffs were of dark granite while the great stone upon which Abdul was being positioned was a solid chunk of ancient rose quartz, shimmering white and glowing as the dawning sun blazed upon it. The contrast was dramatic, creating a breathtaking effect.

The condemned boy was stripped naked and secured prone on the rock by iron manacles attached to iron stakes driven deep into the stone, perfectly positioned to secure his arms and ankles. His beautiful body was stretched out tautly and he had little room to move though he could raise his shoulders and lift his head. While that was being done, I wandered over to the edge of the sacrificial altar, which was really how I was viewing the monstrous piece of quartz, and looked down into a deep cleft just below. Staring back were the empty eye sockets of at least two dozen skulls scattered among a pile of bleached skeletal bones. I gathered that the remains of the vulture feasts were unceremoniously dumped off into the little chasm. It was also clear this site had been frequently used!

High above in the sky I could see the slowly circling vultures and by the minute more arrived. I realized the birds had been conditioned to what the gathering of men at this plateau portended for them. What an interesting study in animal behavior this would make!

I had decided to interefere slightly in the killing process. I had secured a substantial supply of aphrodaisic jungle root from Jokombo as well as the anti-shock powder that the N'Kibo make from yet another plant. I wanted to experiment on Abdul with these and had mixed a tiny amount of both drugs before departing the oasis. The Berbers watched with great curiosity as I had Abdul swallow the small dose of the anti-shock mixture, then dipped a thin woody reed in the second mix to coat it. There were excited murmurings as I stroked Abdul's massive cock to erection and then forced the reed up inside the length of the organ's piss tube and ran it back and forth. The boy groaned and flexed in pain at this harsh abuse of his man shaft but offered no protest.

After I extracted the reed, the cock, as intended, stayed steely hard in involuntary erection.

I joined Sidi where he was positioned far enough off so as to not be alarming to the birds. He was fascinated at what I had done to Abdul and when I explained the nature of both drugs he became very excited. The concept of having a man stay concious much longer than normal during the prolonged execution with his sexual organ fully erect as it was eaten was a novel and happy experience for the Berbers. I imagined they would promptly seek to secure their own supply of the drugs from the N'Kibo.

Within minutes the first of the great vultures swooped down and alit on the stone a few feet from the prone, naked boy. It stood still for some time, carefully craning its long, flexible neck all around and surveying us suspiciously with its cold, yellow eyes. The filthy carrion-eater was dark gray, nearly black with reddish tufted rings around its throat and a bright orange beak and clawed feet Up close it was much larger than I had expected, the size of a turkey with a broad wingspan, the razor-edged beak long and hooked. We all remained still. Shortly the scavanger, usually too cowardly to attack living prey, decided it was safe to examine the meal being offered again at this place where it was used to dining. I was sure it was much bolder than any of the birds would have been back when the first man was manacled down on the stone to be devoured.

The bird made a few ungainly hops forward even as another of the vultures landed nearby. A third was close behind. The new arrivals watched as their scout made its approach to Abdul. The boy watched it come with wide, staring eyes, but held his body as still as he could so as to not frighten or discourage the hungry creature. Sidi had explained that some of the victims did struggle and yell to try to keep the birds away. It took the vultures longer to assure themselves that such a man was indeed helpless despite his show of force, but inevitably the result was the same.

Suddenly the vulture lashed out and ripped its beak into Abdul's muscular right thigh. It deftly, expertly tore a small chunk of bloody meat free and gulped it down. At once the other two vultures scuttled forward as more began to come down to land. One of the vultures went after Abdul's face, clearly trying to blind him. The boy rolled his head around wildly and the beak raked his cheek, tearing it and ripping forth flesh.


Abdul screamed and the birds jumped back, startled, wings flapping and emitting angry squawks of protest. But within seconds they were back on him as more joined in. The feasting began in earnest. Soon a vicious beak started working on his huge balls and Abdul's screams became demented. The birds, emboldened and in a feeding frenzy, now just ignored his cries and writhing flexes as they fought with each other for a place at his body.

Soon he was covered with the vultures, at least a dozen ripping at him as fast as they could swallow the bits of meat they procured and additional birds arriving by the minute. Through a perfectly timed gap that opened in the mass of feathery bodies, I briefly spotted the teen's big rod jutting up still in full erection just as a beak closed over it and bit off the flared crown head. I watched the bird lift its head and toss the bit of meat up to position it, then it disappeared down the gulping maw.

Blood was spurting and pooling over the white surface of the quartz. Abdul's face was just a bloody mess, the one determined vulture having finally succeeded in pecking out his eyes. As I watched, its beak darted deftly into his gaping, screaming mouth and ripped out most of his tongue.

Abdul remained fully concious for an incredibly long time as he was eaten. After a bit Sidi gave me an enthusiastic slap on the back. He confirmed that Abdul was remaining concious far longer and thus suffering worse than any previous man put on the stone. He thanked me over and over for enhancing their pleasure so much. The boy's heart finally stopped from sheer loss of blood. By then he had been virtually skinned from head to toe and his belly and gut penetrated, his internal organs being eagerly devoured. More and more vultures arrived. Eventually I counted over 30 that participated in Adbul's execution.

Back at the oasis I sought out my two bed boys from last night and took them back to my tent. I lashed them until my arm was too tired to raise the whip, satisfied that I had given them the most severe whipping of their lives. They were both so cute that it was hard to choose which one to then fuck. I finally flipped a coin.

APRIL 22, l897, Near Fort LeClerc, French West Africa

I am discovering that the thrill of dangerous adventure makes one feel truly alive! Taking high risk and getting by with it is absolutely the stuff of life for a man. I became a spy today and lived to tell of it! So far at least. I will not truly feel safe until I rendezvous tommorow with Ali Mohammed's Berber force to brief them on the fort's amazing vulnerability. I am saddened, however, by the killing of sweet natured young Kalil ... I dread telling Sidi.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

My eager participation in the execution of Abdul had endeared me to my hosts and I was fully accepted now by them. They then confided their intent to overrun the French fort blocking the main caravan pathway to the east, seeking my advice on tactical issues. They were stunned and delighted when I went further and volunteered to examine the fort's defenses in the guise of a French merchant. I speak the language with native fluency and had very authentic looking (but very fake) French travel documents created by a clever friend back in Heidelberg.

I was guided to the fort by Sidi's nephew, l8 year old Kalil, a beautiful, powerfully muscled youth with, as I said, the most pleasant personality. He was to wait with the horses in a nearby Wadi until I finished my espionage and we would then meet the Berber attack force a few miles away at a site shown me by Kalil.

I was accepted at the fort with only minimal interrogation and had free run of the place. It was apparent the commander had no inkling of peril. With complacent arrogance he assumed the "ignorant, lazy ragheads" would never dare directly attack a French garrison and had become lax beyond belief. The sentinels acted bored and inattentive and often slept on duty. I found a little used but solid looking wooden gate near the the post corral that was not even guarded at all. I discovered to my excitement that the wood in that gate had been permitted to rot so that it could be forced with ease and provide unhindered access into the very heart of the fortress.

Fort LeClerc could be penetrated with childish ease!

I was then astounded to determine that the French were so criminally careless as to leave their vital armory unguarded. The door looked weak and decayed, but then I discovered it was not even locked!

The French commander might have been complacent, but the savagry for which he was notorious had not abated. I saw graphic proof of that. During the afternoon, a patrol dispatched to pursue a deserter returned with not one but two prisoners in hand. The deserter and Kalil! Foolishly, the boy had ventured from his hiding place to take a look at the fort and stumbled into the patrol. I began plotting schemes for his rescue, but the opportunity never arose. The French commander held an immediate summary trial for both prisoners and decreed death for the deserter. He was to be given forty lashes, "ironed," and hanged.

Just what is "ironing?" I wondered.

Kalil convinced the captain that he had been spying on the fort because he hoped to steal a horse from them, thus cleverly turning his capture into an isolated minor event rather than one alarming to the French that might have heightened their lax security. I was proud of his courage as he stood before the one-man tribunal. The officer was amused that the "idiot" would have thought he could possibly steal from the fort.

"So much," he laughed, "for the intelligence of these thieving natives."
Of course, he then sentenced Kalil to death as well, to be inflicted "in the usual manner for a native," whatever that might be.

The sentences were carried out immediately. Henri, the handsome, muscular deserter, a big sandy-haired boy of no more than twenty, was executed first and the death accorded him was hideously prolonged.

First he was whipped.

Stripped naked, he was manacled facing a post while a brawny young trooper named Andre positioned to his rear with a wicked bullwhip. He proved quite expert in wielding it.

He drew back his arm while the naked prisoner steeled himself, cringing. The whip hissed through the air, recoiling with the strength of the arm guiding it. It's harsh braided knot curved down to deliver its full power to the right buttock.


Henri flexed wildly and gasped loudly. A large, blood-flecked welt rose angrily in his fair skin. Andre examined the wound, rubbing and pinching it with his fingers and looking very pleased. He stepped back and raised his arm again.


Over and over the vicious whip cut the air, the wielder knowing precisely when to pop his wrist to maximize its payload. His aim was unerring. He was slowly, steadily skinning the backside of the prisoner. Here on the buttocks. Now the upper back. A thigh. Right on the tailbone. The buttocks again. Square up into the tender asscrack itself, a stroke that made Henri scream as if in the fires of hell and buck so hard that I thought he might break his chains! Blood was dripping steadily from the abrasions and rents in the swollen, bruised back, buttocks and legs.

The young hunk was writhing and flexing without cease in his dreadful agony and each new visit by the braided leather evoked a fresh scream. The assembled troops were enjoying the show immensely, laughing and taunting the condemned man as he suffered. Many were openly groping their crotches, receiving erotic stimulation from the specacle. He had been sentenced to forty lashes and Andre made certain he received them all, relishing each as it was applied. Henri passed out once and was revived so the whipping could continue.

I had been quietly scanning the crowd of assembled soldiers. Almost all were very young, late teens and early twenties, and gifted with the exquisite good looks and beautifully formed bodies for which French youths are noted. What I found astounding was that there were so few of them. The garrison had only about a hundred men, fewer than half the total expected by the Berbers!

After the whipping, the prisoner was conducted to the dangling noose and it was looped around his throat, his wrists tethered behind him and his ankles bound. But he had yet another ordeal to endure before his life would be choked out on the rope. Andre approached with a red hot iron in his hand. He teased Henri for a while, bringing the searing metal close to his flesh then pulling it away, laughing at the terrified cringes of the naked boy. But then he stood behind him and looped his free arm around to pull him into a close embrace while bringing the hand with the iron around to his naked belly.
This time he was not teasing. He let the tip of the glowing rod connect with the skin just at the base of the sternum. There was a hiss and puff of smoke.

The stench of burning filled the air. The prisoner screamed and bucked but could not escape his tormentor's grasp.

Slowly, steadily a continuous deep, blistered line was branded all down the soldier's corded belly, then up between his pecs to the top of his chest.

Henri fainted again and was supported in the arms of his grinning torturer while assistants splashed him with water, the iron taken off to be reheated.

While the boy was again fully concious, the iron was applied in a line all down the nerve-rich inside of his right thigh from crotch to knee.

His shrieks were demented and he fainted again and was patiently revived. There was now the left thigh to undergo the excruciating branding.

The hysterical, sobbing young stallion was undoubtedly praying for death by now. He was learning firsthand why the French are reputed to be the most accomplished torturors among the "civilized" peoples.

The Marquis D'Sade was French I recalled with a little smile. At least they're good at something!

The patience and skill with which Andre wielded the hot iron was beautiful in its artistry. His intent was to extract every bit of suffering possible from the victim for his own pleasure and the entertainment of his rapt, appreciative audience. He was succeeding.

It was erotic beyond words. Every soldier present was hotly aroused with more than a few openly masturbating. I was myself painfully erect within the confines of my pants. When we had camped out the night before en route to the fort, Kalil had serviced me with wonderful enthusiasm, but I was now as randy as if I had been deprived for days.

I cared nothing for the deserter. He was just another useless Frenchman and I relished watching his exquisitely applied punishment. I enjoyed every second of it and hoped he would not be hanged too soon. I was also admiring his tormenter and imagining how delicious it would be if Andre were taken prisoner when the Berbers came. I wondered how he would stand up under torture! I hoped fervently to find out! The primitive beast within me was out again and in full, delicious control.

The mob of soldiers was calling for the hot iron to be applied to the prisoner's manhood and I joined in the chant. Henri was gloriously hung and the thought of seeing those massive organs branded was intoxicating. There was a moan of disappointment when, finally tiring of his sport, Andre had the boy deposited atop a barrel and the slack noose pulled taut.

With a leer, he then kicked the barrel from beneath the stud's bare feet. Henri dropped just a few inches and became a pendulum, swinging slowly back and forth by his neck, his body writhing and kicking and dancing as he began what would be a prolonged strangulation. I was pleased to note that he had a thick, strong neck and deep, broad chest. His life would not be snuffed out easily or quickly by the rope.

Andre continued to be a crowd pleaser. He reached up and began to play with Henri's undamaged manhood. Amazingly, as much pain as the hanging boy was experiencing from his welts and burns, the combined erotic effect of the strangling noose and Andre's careful masturbation quickly brought him to a raging erection! In a short while, to the amused delight of the watching soldiers, the orgasm exploded forth. Andre gave him a push as he stepped back, snickering as Henri again became a living pendulum, this time with his partially wilted cock oozing a long string of sticky cum.
If Henri thought he would now just be permitted to find the merciful relief of his approaching death without further torment, he was bitterly mistaken.

I wondered what he thought as he saw Andre approaching again with a grin and a freshly re-heated iron.

The sadistic French soldier studied the hanging body and then slowly brought the iron, pulsing wuth red fury, up to the heaving, gasping chest.

He touched it to the right nipple and there was a loud hiss. Henri could only emit loud gurgling noises to signal his new agony.

Andre next burned off the left nipple.

Then as the crowd, myself included, screamed in joy and urged him on, he let the glowing tip of the iron slowly kiss the lips of the half-erect penis.

Though he was beyond screaming, the way Henri's body bucked and corded left no doubt he was fully feeling the hellish agony between his thighs.

It took the boy another twenty minutes of strangulation before he finally died. Throughout that time, the hot iron was being applied in tiny little thrusts to his penis, balls, cockroot and anus, destroying them with the patient, devoted care of an artiste.

I was standing between two magnificent French bulls, both stripped to the waist. I had been covertly admiring the perfection of their superb chests and backs and enjoying the warm, musky male aroma of their flesh. I could almost feel the warmth radiating from the smooth, tanned skin. Now one turned to me with a beaming smile.

"Wasn't that just incredible! No-one can make a man suffer better than Andre. He's a magician!"
He glanced down at the incriminating bulge between my legs and laughed.
"I see you enjoyed it too!"
The massive snake lurking in the trooper's pants was starkly outlined and he was clearly hard as a rock. When his companion turned as well, he was just as hotly in lust.
"Now," he said, almost licking his lips in anticipation, "They'll cook the raghead. They always kill them that way. It's just great to watch! They scream and scream for the longest time."
On impulse, almost without realizing I was doing it, I reached out and let my fingers lightly play over the massive bulge in his pants. He gasped and shuddered as if ice water had been dripped down his spine. He let out a long breath of air but offered no angry protest. Instead he slightly parted his thighs and thrust his gut forward towards me. I accepted the invitation and gave his outlined organ a much harder, detailed examination with my groping hand. It flexed and contracted powerfully within the cloth.
"Easy," he whispered urgently. "I'll cream my pants if you keep doing that."
His partner had eagerly pressed his own hips close to my free hand and was moaning as I rubbed between his thighs. He too, reluctantly, pulled back to avoid an embarrassing accident. The first soldier introduced himself as Louis, his friend as Marcel. Though both were spectacular specimens of manhood, Marcel was breathtaking.

No-one had paid any attention to our little fondling and a number of the soldiers were being very physically free with each other. I gathered that in this isolated, all-male post, the men found their relief and pleasure however they could. We watched with renewed interest as Kalil was now brought forward and stripped naked for his execution. He was a superb young man with a wonderfully developed and proportioned body and hung as well as Henri had been.

He was indeed going to be slowly roasted to death. That this was a form of execution regularly employed by the French was evidenced by the existence of a well-used site comprised of two sturdy posts supporting an overhead beam from which a rope dangled. Stout iron stakes were embedded in the ground some feet apart and the earth all around was scorched and blackened from repeated fires. A pile of fresh, dry wood had been piled to one side for use in Kalil's killing.

The boy's bound wrists were drawn over his head and secured to the dangling rope. His feet were tied to the stakes, parting his smooth, brown thighs to fully expose his sex parts. Small heaps of wood were positioned a foot in front of him and a foot behind and without ceremony, these were now ignited to begin his torment. Shortly both little blazes were crackling and pouring out intense heat.

It was diabolical. Kalil was just far enough from the fires that he would not be fatally injured with any great speed, nor asphyxiated by the smoke. But he was close enough that the heat would sear him with increasing effect over time, baking and blistering his skin and then cooking deeper and deeper into his flesh. Anyone who has been warming himself close to a fire and discovers the need to withdraw as the heat becomes too intense can understand how dreadful it would be to be unable to do so. They would know what Kalil was to experience.The pain would be maddening and it would take a long time for him to die, especially since the heat would be concentrated on his lower body rather than the more vital chest and head.

I mentally congratulated the French on taking the time to devise a really excellent, fiendish mode of execution.

As the heat slowly built up, Kalil became more and more restive, twisting and writhing, trying to escape the grip of the steadily increasing pain. He would feel his ass being scorched and thrust it forward, only to then bring the full force of the fire in front of him to bear on his thighs and crotch. He was in an no-win posture. His face shortly was a grimace and his body beautifully contracted into slabs and curves of lean, tawny muscle, his suffering graphic, sweating all over as his body desperately sought to combat the heat.
After about five minutes, he began to moan out loud.

After fifteen minutes, as his genitals first began to blister, he began to scream.

I was fond of Kalil and, though I must confess the sight of his gorgeous body in bondage and torture was wonderfully erotic, I felt bad at taking pleasure from his ordeal.

I had been surrepticiously stroking and groping at the crotches of my pair of soldiers as we watched and had them so super-heated that they readily accepted my offer to slip into the barn to find relief.

Kalil's screams were still audible as I stripped them but it was not as emotionally disturbing as witnessing his pain.

Louis and Marcel were both hung like horses and I enjoyed using my mouth on such splendid male tools.

They were taking great delight in Kalil's torture and each new scream echoing from the courtyard sent a fresh spasm of pleasure through their cocks.

I alternated sucking them as they stood before me side by side, keeping a steely grip on both sets of balls and abusing them brutally by squeezing, jerking and twisting.

That only seemed to increase their heated lust and both were moaning and thrusting feverishly with their hips, desperate to get off.

It wasn't long before first one and then the other filled my nursing mouth with a copious explosion of thick, salty cream. Then, rather to my surprise, Louis, who was clearly the dominant of the two, made Marcel turn and bend at the waist and plant his feet widely apart. He then invited me to fuck Marcel as if he owned the other soldier!

I certainly did not have to be asked twice and from the lecherous grin Marcel was casting back over his shoulder he was perfectly willing to be mounted. He even raised one foot and planted it on a feed barrel to utterly expose his anus for me.
I suspected he was plowed by Louis on a regular basis and the ease with which I made entry further suggested he was well used and stretched nicely.

It was nice being inside him. I almost chuckled at what their reaction would be if they knew what I was imagining as I drove in and out of the brawny young soldier.

I was conjuring up the tortures to be applied if the Berber attack was successful.

I was beginning to pray that it would be!

While I fucked Marcel, Louis stood before him and tormented his nipples, pinching and twisting them savagely, pausing occasionally to give Marcel's face hard, stinging slaps that knocked his head to and fro.

How fascinating, I thought. These two will be a lot of fun if they are taken prisoner! Particularly Louis!

After I finally vented my great load up inside Marcel's clutching gut, we washed ourselves at the pump in the barn and dressed.

"You obviously enjoy inflicting pain," I observed to Louis.

"I love it!" He replied without hesitation. "Nothing excites me more."

"If you were assigned to execute another man and could do anything you wished, what would you do?"

His eyes gleamed,
"There is a large fire ant colony just outside the post in a small wadi. I have fantasized repeatly of staking a naked man on that anthill and watching as he is devoured alive by them. Their stings are the most agonizing thing any of us have ever experienced. We all dread being stung by them when they wander into the fort. It feels like a red hot needle is being thrust into your skin."
We returned to the courtyard. Kalil had finally lapsed into unconciousness and efforts to arouse him were failing. His genitals had been roasted away and his legs and buttocks, belly and lower back were a blistered mass of brutal burns. Death could not be far off.

I had learned all I needed and as the soldiers broke out a supply of bad wine and rotgut liquor to celebrate the entertainment, I slipped away from the fort unnoticed. The horses were still where Kalil had left them and where he tragically had failed to remain. I rode what I considered a safe distance from the fort and bedded down in the shelter of an arroyo.

APRIL 24, l897, Fort LeClerc, French West Africa

Yesterday I rendezvoused with Ali Mohammed's forces. Sidi was obviously saddened by the death of his nephew but pleased that the boy had died bravely under torture.

"He will be avenged," he said simply and grimly.
The Berbers were ecstatic at my assessment of conditions at the fort. It was decided to launch the attack at once and in the dawn today scouts entered the fort through the rotted corral gate and used knives to kill all the drowsing guards. The armory was secured and a supply of modern French rifles, pistols and ammunition supplemented the older weapons wielded by the Berbers steadily streaming silently into the sleeping fort.

The French were caught totally off guard. Nonetheless, when the Berbers were prepared and, screaming, stormed the barracks and headquarters buildings, many of the stunned soldiers tried to resist. These were ruthlessly gunned down or gutted with the long, curving Berber daggers. The survivors, many with hangovers from the extensive drinking that went on at the lax fort, staggered from their barracks at gun and knife point, most of them having been sleeping nude. The few who were partially clad, mostly just in underwear, were swiftly stripped and all were tightly bound and roughly thrown into the barn to await their fate later in the day.

I went with Sidi as he checked the barracks for wounded soldiers who might still be alive. We found several. He knelt by the first and tore away his underwear. He pulled out his knife and proceeded to castrate the man, taking off his penis as well as his balls. He then just left him to suffer and die slowly from his injuries. The other wounded were sexually mutilated as well and left to linger on in excruciating agony. With the last wounded man, Sidi offered me the knife. I hesitated just a moment, then, while Sidi held the man's thighs apart for me, I performed the act he desired, the boy writhing and screaming as I slowly made the cut between his splayed legs.

Why not? When in Rome ...

There were forty-three prisoners and I was delighted to note that among them, unscathed, were Andre, Louis and Marcel. As a special favor I asked Ali Mohammed if I might have those three and he happily made them a gift. Further, the three soldiers who had been the execution detail at Kalil's execution had all been taken alive. Sidi was delighted when I pointed them out and promptly started planning their deaths.

Unfortunately the French commander had been up early and armed. He had managed to kill two of the Berbers who stormed his quarters and one of the attackers gunned him down, despite Ali Mohammed's strict orders that this officer was to be taken alive no matter the cost.
Ali was in a fury and ordered the boyish warrior who had panicked and fired the fatal shot to strip and kneel before him.

I noticed it was Fariq, the boy who had failed to destroy his balls for me the first night at the oasis.

There was irony in the fact that he now faced the same fate that would have been his if he had followed orders to crush his seeders to a pulp for my entertainment.

Ali Mohammed drew his heavy, razor-edged scimitar and stood by the trembling youth.

He seized a handful of the boy's dark, silky hair and jerked his head up to stretch his neck.

The Berber chieftain was an immensely strong man and the stroke of the blade, delivered with one hand, took the head off cleanly.

It remained in the air, held by the hand gripping the hair, while the decapitated body tumbled forward into the dirt, blood gushing in great spurts from the severed neck.

"Let all see what is done with those who disobey my orders," Ali Mohammed growled.
Then he dropped the head to the ground beside the corpse.

The fort was looted, especially the priceless store of weaponry from the armory.

Then came the orgy of killing that I had been eagerly anticipating. It started around noon with the young lieutenant who was the only officer captured alive.
Naked, he was no different from the rest of the captives, just a year or two older than the majority, but because he was an officer he would be put to a dramatic death.

He was catholic, judging from the silver crucifix he wore around his neck.

That gave the Berbers the idea for his mode of execution and they permitted him to continue wearing the little cross.

Anyone reading this, from that hint just given, should be able to guess what was done.

The handsome, dark-haired lieutenant was crucified, nailed to a rough-hewn cross that the Berbers quickly constructed, his anus deeply impaled on a stout peg they positioned at the right spot on the upright post.

This gave extra support to his body, albeit in agonizing fashion, and he would last much longer and suffer far more because of that simple innovation.

He screamed loudly and writhed as he was forced to take the peg up his ass, his sphincter tearing in the process.

He screamed louder as the thick iron spikes were driven through each wrist and through his overlapping feet.

The cross was positioned to give the suffering officer full exposure to the blistering heat of the midday Sahara sun.

I had expected the balance of the captured soldiers to be tortured and I'm sure they expected the worst. Instead they were brought from the barn in groups of two or three at a time and forced to their knees and beheaded. Several of the Berber warriors stripped naked except for their kaffiya headgear to wield the swords. They saw no reason to bloody their clothing.

The killing strokes were delivered expertly and head after head flew from the shoulders of the victims as if springing forth of their own free will, some tumbling or spinning through the air from the sheer force of the sword slash.

It was not so much mercy that prompted the easy deaths accorded the prisoners as concern for time. Ali Mohammed was so shocked at the ease of his complete victory that he wanted to get his loot and his men back into the sanctity of the hidden oasis before anything could occur by chance to spoil things.
I would have been disappointed if I was not aware that Sidi had his trio of soldiers upon whom he intended to extract vengeance for Kalil.

I would still get to witness Berber torture methods as I had hoped.

And, of course, I had Louis, Marcel and Andre to dispose of myself as I deemed fit.

After the last of the other soldiers had been put to the sword, the fort was burned and the bulk of the Berber force departed, leaving Sidi, myself, Sidi's nephews ... Kalil's brothers ... and a few guards assigned for our protection.

We began taking our private pleasures with the six living Frenchmen.

I pointed out the buff young bull who had actually ignited the fires around Kalil and he was taken to the spot where that execution had occurred.

A pile of dry firewood was laid directly beneath the overhead bar between the posts where the Berber boy had been roasted.

A thin rope was dropped from the bar and the struggling, terrified, weeping soldier hoisted up horizonally on his back by our arms.

We held him still as Sidi looped the trailing end of the rope repeatedly around the neck of the young French stallion's huge genital package and tied it off tightly.

Of course, this attention to these most sensitive pleasure organs had the effect, despite his terror, of causing a most impressive erection.

Then we just dropped him. He fell about six inches before being jerked abruptly to a halt by the tether to his crotch. The pain of being crotch hanged was obviously excruciating judging from the young man's screams and writhing, flexing body.

Then the fire beneath him was lit and he shortly was learning the true definition of hell.

Sidi's other two prisoners were destroyed in radically different fashion.

The second to gain his attention was made to stand on two sturdy short posts driven into a sandy spot searched out carefully by Sidi. His feet were nailed down, evoking loud screams from him as each spike was driven home. A third, slimmer, post, whittled to a sharp point, was implanted between the soldier's parted thighs, the point positioned just pressing against his exposed anus. I supposed that the idea was that he would eventually tire and sag down onto the post, impaling himself.

Then I suddenly noticed that the wood seemed to be slowly moving upwards on its own power and invading the boy's ass-hole. Already it had stretched the sphincter widely enough to tear it. Blood was curling slowly down the post as it cuddled up into his ass-crack. His new screams made clear how much the slow impalement was hurting.
But how, I puzzled. What is the mechanism?

Then I realized the center post wasn't moving at all.

The posts to which the man's feet were nailed were steadily sinking at a snail's pace into the sand! Sidi had located a place where the sand had pooled and was soft and yielding.

The soldier's weight was forcing the footposts to sink while the center post was remaining stable, or at least more stable than its companions, enough to enable it to crawl its insidious, excruciating way on up inside the prisoner's gut and belly.

The rough bark had been left on the post below the whittled tip and as this was forced into the soldier, his pain would be even more intensified.

His death was going to be very, very slow and agonizing. It was diabolically clever!

I suppose it should have been no surprise that the Berbers would invent a clever use for the sand of their homeland in the torture and killing of their enemies.

The third boyish Frenchman was given over to Kalil's brothers. They skinned him alive.

The tightly bound soldier was laid out on his back and the young Berbers prepared to take turns working on him with their knives.

I told the soldier what was about to be done to him.

"But why me!" he cried in anguish. "Why was I not just beheaded like most of the others?"
I explained that the young men about to torture him were the brothers of the young Arab he had helped burn the day before. His eyes got very big as understanding flooded his brain.
"Please," he begged, "Intervene for me! Ask them to kill me swiftly ... not this!"
I frowned.
"Why on earth would I want to do something stupid like that?"
And suddenly he screamed as one of Kalil's brothers began making a shallow slit in the skin down the inside of the captive's right thigh beginning just below his crotch and cutting with deliberate slowness.
The anguished scream of the captive broke the air as the first avenging brother continued to carve slits all down the muscular legs, preparatory to the gradual peeling away of the of the skin.

The second of Kalil's brothers really evoked demented screams. He chose to skin the soldier's penis and proved so skillful in the process that I was sure he had done it before.

After witnessing that delightful sport for a while, I left Sidi and his nephews. I was more than ready to attend to my living gifts from Ali Mohammed. Louis looked glum and angry when he recognized me, taking me for a French traitor. His feelings abated somewhat when he learned my true nationality. At least he had not been betrayed by one of his own countrymen.

"Do you remember what you told me about the anthill?"
He nodded, swallowing just a bit.
"I'd like you to show me where it is."

"So you can tie me over it? Stew me in a soup of my own creation? How nicely ironic."

"True, that would be" I agreed, "But actually I like your idea so well that I intend to reward you for it and make your fantasy come true. I have no intention of putting you to the ants if you cooperate with me. Rather, I will allow you the pleasure of carrying out the execution of another man in the wonderfully agonizing method you suggested."


He frowned and I could see he at least had the decency to find the prospect of killing his devoted sex-slave bothersome. But he then shrugged.
"Sure, why not. He'll make a fine dinner for the ants."
I shook my head.
"Not Marcel. I have other plans for him. No, I want you to kill Andre."
Louis almost salivated. His eyes widened in delight and a slow, happy grin moved over his face.
"Now there's a proposition to my liking. I would love to see Andre suffering over the anthill!"
How sweetly delicious, I smirked inside. Sadist on sadist. What fun!

We went to Andre and Louis informed him that he had agreed to torture him to death for my pleasure.

"It's that or I am put to the torture I plan to inflict on you. I'm sure you can understand why I find that unacceptable, Andre. Besides, it will be such a nice, erotic sight to see you screaming out your lungs in agony. I expect to have an orgasm watching the show!"

"Fuck you!" Andre spat in venomous fury. "And fuck your mother! I'll never give you the satisfaction of hearing me scream. Never!"

Now there was a nice challenge!

Louis was most intrigued as I used my nasty little drugs to prepare Andre for torture, insuring he would not lapse into unconciousness as he suffered and that that big, juicy cock would stay at least mostly erect. Andre flinched as I inserted the dope-smeared reed up the inside of his piss tube, but did not cry out.

With a furious looking Andre in tow, his big, steely cock bobbing before his gut, Louis guided us to the narrow draw nearby and in a small clearing amid scrub oaks there was a small mound punctured by a deep hole from which reddish-brown ants were busily coming and going. The insects were large, half an inch long, and equipped with jagged pincer jaws and a prominent stinger on their abdomen. The things just looked evil and dangerous. Nature had made Africa her cradle for an infinite variety of brutal, murderous creatures and these ants were certainly at home in that regard.

Andre at least had the good sense to stop cursing Louis and turn pale as he realized what was planned for him. To his credit, he was manly enough to cooperate as Louis aided the guards in positioning his naked form over the anthill. I had expected him to be placed prone, spread-eagled, perhaps with the opening of the den between his thighs. Instead I was delighted at the creativity employed. Andre was tightly bound into a squatting posture, his wrists, ankles and knees roped tightly to stout stakes driven into the ground in the desired pattern. His huge genitals dangled down directly over the hole in the anthill.

The ants regarded the intrusion as an act of war and even before we had Andre fully tied down, they were swarming up his feet and legs and he began to grunt and moan, his body contracting beautifully in deep, writhing flexes. I accidently took a sting from an ant on one hand before I scrambled back and gasped in dismay. The searing pain was beyond belief!

Andre's suffering transcended anything I had ever imagined. With dozens ... hundreds ... of the insects stinging him from head to toe, I could hardly believe his intense self-control and strength. He was still keeping his vow not to scream, even as his hairy crotch became infested with the stinging ants. His cock sported at least half a dozen, and I watched one as it positioned itself right on the flared crown head and began to repeatedly jab its stinger directly into the slit lips of the organ.

It was entirely too much and finally Andre broke, screaming as if fire was flowing over his flesh, which was exactly what he was feeling. As he had promised, Louis slowly masturbated himself as he watched the spectacle. After a bit I took over the duty with my own hand and then employed my mouth. I was rewarded with a deep, pulsing orgasm from the young French sadist that went on and on.

The ants were large and the accumulated injection of oxalic acid, one of the deadliest poisons known to man, reached a fatal level after less than half an hour. Andre's sweating body began to gasp and choke for air as his diaphragm was slowly paralyzed by the venom. His lungs were swelling internally and filling with fluid. His heartbeat became irregular. Then the heart stopped altogether.

I have seen men suffer far longer and subjected to mind-wreching tortures, but I believe I have never seen anything match the dramatic intensity of pain experienced by Andre during his half hour on the anthill as he was stung to death. I gave Louis hearty congratulations.

Then I killed him.

I think he had gotten his hopes up that he might actually be spared, and he looked disappointed as I had him suspended from a tree limb face up by ropes at his knees, shoulders and bound wrists. I gave his monster cock the hardening treatment used on Andre. Resigned to his fate and gamely determined to put on a brave show under torture, he cooperatively swallowed the draught of anti-shock drug without being forced. His first inkling of the nature of my plans were when I smeared his crotch, nipples and inner thighs with sticky pitch from a weeping scrub pine I had found nearby in an arroyo watered by a copious little spring that had been the fort's water source.

"Fire," he almost whispered. "You're going to burn me. I won't be able to withstand that. No man can handle fire! I'll break and scream!"
I could see how much that distressed him, but I shrugged even as I ignited a dry twig and held it up.

"I'm just going to burn selected parts of you," I responded. "Then I'll leave you to hang in the sun and suffer from the burns until you finally die. I suspect you'll last quite a long time so you'll get a chance to prove to yourself how strong you are."

Not that it mattered a twit to anyone! Men are so incredibly involved with their masculine posturing!

I ignited his nipples first, then touched the burning switch to his turgid cockhead. Fire exploded between his legs and spilled like a glowing flow of water down into the insides of his thighs.

He began to dance in the air as he bucked and writhed. His piercing screams rent the desert air so loudly that Sidi came to see what I was doing. He nodded in great satisfaction as he watched the burning soldier suffer.
"Honored Reinhard, you would have made a great Berber warrior."
After the flames had snuffed themselves out into Louis' charred flesh and he was just hanging there moaning softly, the anti-shock drug of the N'Kibo keeping him fully concious, I left him to see to my last task. Beautiful Marcel was as yet untouched.

In the courtyard of the ruined fort, both the impaled soldier and the one dangled over the fire had finally died after prolonged suffering. Kalil's brothers were just finishing skinning their soldier and the bloody mass of raw muscle was, amazingly, still slowly writhing on the ground and making gurgling noises. Death could be but minutes away, however.

Marcel was being detained in the shade of a ruined wall of the fort and I knelt by him and looked into those pale blue eyes.

He filled his deep chest with a long breath and exhaled it tensely.

"Could I ask, at least, for a quick death, sir? I ... I've been watching them skin Francois alive. Please don't let them do that to me."

"There's been enough killing," I responded. "I had the Berbers bring my things when they came to attack the fort. They are giving me their finest horses and are going to escort me to the nearest caravan outpost to the east. I am going from here to Egypt and eventually home to Germany. I propose to take you with me. You'll be classified as a deserter by the French army, of course, so you can never go home. I can arrange a new, false identity with my contacts in the kaiser's government. I could use a companion with your ... predilections."

A timid, tentative, nervous little smile edged over the handsome, virile features as the impact of my words sank into his unbelieving brain. Finally he spoke, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion, probably terrified that I was just teasing him.
"I was getting a bit tired of the army and, truthfully, of Louis. I didn't mind the things he did to me but I didn't like the way he had started handing me around to others, though I enjoyed the episode with you. I enjoyed being taken by a somewhat older man."

"I think you'd say that just now even if it weren't true."

I smiled down at him, admiring the spectacular beauty of that wonderful body of his and running an admiring hand over his chest. He was just about the most perfectly formed man I had ever seen. I think I had fallen into some form of deep attachment to him at first sight.

He shrugged and smiled more broadly, gaining confidence as I continued to gently stroke his skin. "True enough. But give me a chance and I'll prove to be a loyal servant and ... whipping boy."

"I take it we have a deal?"

"Certainly ... master."

"Marcel," I became serious. "I will vent my basest lusts upon you. There will be pain, which I think you rather enjoy and which I have found I enjoy inflicting on muscular young men, though never beyond your tolerance. But I shall treat you well and seek to give satisfaction to your needs as well. I shall, in fact, give you a love that will be deep and caring. You will not just be flesh to be used as you were to Louis."

"If you treat me that way, you will have a loyal and devoted lover that no other man in Germany can ever match. If you spare my life today, it shall be yours so long as you choose to preserve it. I take it you killed Louis?"

"Oh, I think he's still alive. He probably wishes he were dead. He's strong and may last a long time, but his injuries are beyond surviving."

Marcel was untied and given Berber garments. Shortly after that we departed on the first stage of our long journey to the Nile valley far to the east. Interestingly enough, not only was Louis still clinging to life as we left but the handsome lieutenant was still alive and suffering horribly on his cross, his body badly blistered from exposure to the broiling sun.

I wondered how much longer they lasted after we left the smoldering, shattered ruins of Fort LeClerc.