Goodwin Prescott

Heritage 8

 

 Chapter Twenty-One

Erich slept through the day and into the evening, awakening famished and parched to find attendants standing by with food and drink and a hot tub of water ready for his bath. As he rose from the steamy, scented water, one instantly draped him in a huge, soft towel and began to gently dry his skin. He was obviously unused to such pampering and found that he liked this new life he had been given.

He was also randy as a goat, his cock refusing to subdue its insistent erection, a fact that greatly amused the count when he came to collect his prize possession. After the exchange of a prolonged, wet kiss and emotional, stroking embrace, Von Ritter eagerly escorted his new play-partner down to the dungeons for a blood rite to celebrate his having found a mate to share his pleasures.

That prospect, of course, did nothing to reduce Erich's turgid manpole or churning balls and he found himself enfolded in one of the count's thick, hooded robes, still naked and very much aroused but his body masked and comfortable as they descended to the upper dungeon, locked it after them, then continued down through the secret entry to the cavern below.

Waiting for Erich to awaken, behaving like an eager child on Christmas morn whose parents were slow to rise, the count had already had a pleasing session with his lover's elder brother. In the late afternoon he collected Gunther from his cell, bound a cord painfully tight around his balls and, jerking viciously on the tender orbs with every step, marched the staggering stud down into the secret dungeon.

He forced him to the farthest reach of the cavern, beyond the stone paving to where an earthen floor sloped to a well-like pond, the slow seepage of a small spring keeping a deep pit perpetually filled. At the edge of the wet abyss a sturdy wooden gibbet had been erected, the rope dangling from its pivotal arm ending in a harness of divided, adjustable loops.

Gunti eyed the device with puzzled tension, trying to figure out its purpose for the brief moment before his owner diverted his attention with more immediate concerns. He shuddered as the count's fingers lightly caressed his big, rubbery tits.

The farmboy cringed and made a pig-like grunt that was likely a protest.

His fingers turned into a vise-like fist as they closed around the seeders, jerked savagely and twisted. A nasal squeal erupted from the prisoner and every muscle in the superb body contracted beautifully beneath the smooth skin. After a long time of hand tormenting the testicles he brought both hands to the broad, deep chest and began applying titty-twisters from hell, making a good-faith effort to rip the chest ornaments right off the hard curves of the handsome pecs.

Eventually he gave up that amusing play as well, ready to inflict much more serious agony. He hobbled the stud's thick ankles with a sturdy chain connected to a heavy iron ball-weight and made him lie on his back on the earth by the edge of the well. He had started a poker heating in a brazier upon arriving in the torture chamber and it was now ready, glowing a rich orange-red. He secured it by its insulating wooden handle and walked slowly back to where Gunti awaited, real horror reflected now in his staring blue eyes and gaping mouth.

Men, especially the prettiest ones like this boy, are always so deliciously terrified at the prospect of being burned, Fritz mused, letting the trembling buck get a good look at the glowing iron rod. Only castration seems to rank higher on the list of fears in a man's mental closet of dreads.

He seized one of the big feet with one fist and elevated it to meet the poker wielded in his free hand. There was a loud sputter and stench of burning as he patiently etched a thick, deep burn all down the center line of the sole from the toes to the heel. Gunti bucked wildly and emitted a gutteral bellow throughout the prolonged process that left no doubt about the depth of his suffering.

The feet are so wonderfully sensative, Fritz sighed in deep pleasure as he relished the suffering boy. Too many otherwise skilled torturers overlook this delicious site for infliction of truly excellent anguish.

One by one Fritz then branded the tips of the toes just beneath the nails, then used pliers to slowly rip the nails free before burning the bleeding wounds. Gunti passed out from the excruciating pain while he was finishing up on the big toe and he had to revive him with a bucket of icy water before beginning his work on the undamaged foot. Towards the final stages of its protracted torture Gunti again fainted.

The count briefly contemplated reviving the prisoner and breaking each of his toes, the logical next phase of good foot torture, but he no longer trusted himself to control his brutalization of the delicious prize in his grasp. His need to kill was too keenly aflame now for further stimulation and he abandoned his victim until Erich was ready to help send him into eternal darkness.

As he mounted the steps back into his castle, the thought of seeing the boy torment and dispatch his own brother...Cain and Abel...was just incredibly erotic to the noble, though he wondered if the young stud would balk at the act when it faced him? If so, it would be disappointing, but forgivable. But if not...Ahhhh, how sweet a vision!

He need not have worried. The prospect of offing the despised Gunti was delicious to Erich and sparing his hunky brother never remotely crossed his mind. He'd have even felt deeply insulted if he had known the count had wondered if he might be that weak.

The moment he saw the golden bull lying there naked in the torch-lit cavern, his arms bound before him, his ankles tethered loosely by a chain connected to a sturdy iron weight, that god-like sensation he had felt upon initially condemning him came rushing back. He very nearly spilled his seed at the very sight, the realization of the utterly awesome power he had over his hated sibling almost making him swoon.

Gunti, muted and his face tense from the continuing agony of his branded feet, radiated sheer hatred from his eyes as he stared at his brother. The look was not missed by the count who shuddered at the sheer malevolence he saw there.

Erich was surprised when all the count did was lean his head over Gunti's breast and begin nursing at his left nipple. It hardly seemed a worthy bit of play though Gunti certainly looked terrified enough at the contact, his eyes wide, his mouth open and making little snorting sounds. Then the powerful young body contracted and a grunting bellow erupted, his contorted face leaving little doubt he was in real anguish.

What on earth! Erich leaned in close, trying to devine just what the count was doing. About then he spied a tiny dribble of blood seep from the sucking lips and curl down over his master's chin. With a gasp of understanding, a thrill of deep excitement shot through Erich and a spastic contraction rippled through his turgid cock.

He's using his teeth! He's chewing off the tit!

To be accurate, Fritz excised just the eraser nib, the pain likely even worse than if he'd gnawed off the entire corolla and risked shock and excessive bleeding. He didn't want to detract from the bigger show lurking between the hunk's brawny thighs. Even as he withdrew his mouth and brought it to the undamaged right nipple, his fingers were playing with the big nuts, rolling them within their ample sac.

Knowing Erich was now hovering down, watching with mesmerized interest, he did not suck this time, just deftly imprisoning the tip of the second rubbery chest toy between his upper and lower incisors to scissor it free. Blood began running in tiny cascades from the rosebud of tender, erectile flesh as the skin was quickly broken.

When the flat nib of the second tit had also been removed, Erich assumed, incorrectly, that this phase of play was over and eagerly expected to now watch as his brother was drowned, hopefully very slowly. Thus he was caught off guard as the count, panting like a starving hound, suddenly threw himself over Gunti, burying his face between the stud's thighs which he forced to splay widely with his hands.

He was making snarling sounds like some ferocious predator and Erich actually cringed for a moment in sheer terror. The predatory madness of this Von Ritter scion was so powerful that it was utterly intimidating at times to the boy. It took a second for what the count was now doing to sink in and then the boy was almost overwhelmed at the barbaric, primieval power of the scene unfolding before him.

He had no question what was happening even as Gunti's porcine squeals and writhing, bucking body testified to his excruciating pain. He knew Fritz was not just biting the big, juicy balls in their silken pink scrotal sac. He's going to castrate him like that! He's going to chew open the bag, draw out the nuts one after the other, and bite them off.

Which was precisely what was happening in the recessed, musky-male privacy of Gunther's big-hung crotch. The maddening teeth had already torn a hole in the center of the scrotum, right through both the outer and inner sacs and now the mouth sucked hard, the tongue probing inside seeking the first of the twin prizes.

The ball was coaxed out through the bleeding rent and into Von Ritter's mouth until the teeth could close over the connecting cords and vessals. Then the sharp enamel closed with an audible little snap and began to gnaw, blood spurting out to the side of his lips in a sudden spray that almost caused Erich to ejaculate when he saw it.

After the first testicle was removed, Fritz paused to raise his face, blood dripping from his jowls, and spit the severed nut into one hand and toss it to the younger brother. Erich caught it and stared at the soft, bloody gland now in his grasp. It was the wildest sensation imaginable to be standing there holding his brother's seeder in his palm, playing with it like a small, spongy toy.

The count dove back between Gunti's thighs to resume his lusty feeding and after just a few additional minutes, the castration was complete, both balls chewed free. Only then did they string Gunti up in the harness on the gibbet and swing his writhing, moaning form out over the pond. Blood continued to flow from his emasculated crotch and splash steadily into the water below.

"Be my guest," Fritz smiled at his blond assistant, wiping his bloodstained lower face with a towel. "I've had my fun, now you have yours. Be patient though and take your time. There is no need to be in any great hurry in your sport."

The rope was strung through a well-oiled pulley and Erich found it surprisingly easy to move his brother's weight up and down. He edged the bleeding, castrated ex-stud slowly down into the murky, dark water as, belatedly, Gunti seemed to suddenly become really aware of what was happening. He began to writhe but the weight on his ankle chains forced his body to remain in a fairly straight line as the cold water ascended inch by inch over his flesh.

Shortly only his head and the roof of his shoulders were visible. Erich latched off the rope and left him like that for several minutes, sitting on the bank of the well and reminding the muted hunk of various abuses he had heaped on Erich over the years. He finished with a last cold, dispassionate phrase as he rose and again took up the rope.

And then he lowered him and left him submerged for two minutes before suddenly pulling him back up to about belly height. As water cascaded from his rising form, Gunti began gagging and choking, spewing torrents from his heaving lungs and belly, his face a contorted mask of agonized torment.

When he pulled him up a second time after another two minutes, Gunti was clearly weakened and in far greater distress. He took much longer to recover and then not as completely before Erich dipped him out of sight again...and this time just left him. For a while the rope vibrated and jerked and splashes and bursts of bubbles roiled the surface but after a very short while all of that activity ceased.

The newly-blooded killer and the count made love there in the soft sand edging the water-filled pit, both so powerfully aroused that neither could long avoid his explosive climax.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The count decided to dispose of the prisoners purchased from Major Drevcik in separate orgies over two nights. He teamed the two austrian hussars with the french lieutenant for the first night's thrill kills and after he and Erich had manhandled the three into the hidden torture chamber in the cavern he lost little time in spilling blood.

All five prisoners had had their tongues cut out already and their hair butched short. Fritz studied the group of trembling young bulls and smiled with almost boyish glee. "It is so hard to decide which one to start with, Erich. Choose for me!"

Erich eyed the group, then pointed to one of the hussars, a dark-haired adonis. "He's cute enough. Do him."

Fritz drew an ancient-looking jeweled dagger from a newer looking scabbord and it's razored edge and needle point glinted in the flickering light of the torches illuminating the death chamber. In the past he would have had to request temporary use of the magnificent weapon from the current Baron Von Giltfestung, its traditional custodian, but he happened to be away serving in a cabinet post in the imperial government in Vienna. Fritz didn't like the baron much anyway. He was old, a contemporary of his father, and did not relish killing enough to suit Fritz's tastes.

He had always sensed that something dark haunted the aging baron and, in curiosity, had finally heard the tale from an elderly servant nearing the end of a lifetime of service in the castle. It seemed that Fritz had had an uncle, Karl, who had been caught in flagrante with a monk, a teacher of his. Fritz could not imagine why that should have so enraged his grandfather, but it had. He supposed the markgraf of that day must have had a prudish attitude towards homosexuality or maybe just disliked his youngest son and was looking for an excuse to dispose of him.

If the servant was truthful, after his father, Franz, executed the monk, Karl was imprisoned in the castle dungeon and Franz refused to obey his father's order to kill the boy. He had apparantly made the monk a promise to spare him. That night the baron, though loath to play the role of assassin, had been ordered by the count to use the dagger now in Fritz's hand and dared not refuse. He had slipped into the cell where the boy was sleeping and slit his throat.

Now Fritz reached between the thighs of the tall, muscular young hussar indicated by Erich and seized his manhood. He jerked the big genitals up and out to expose the slim, vulnerable neck and placed the edge of the knife beneath, touching the delicate skin. Realizing what was to come, the boy wildly convulsed and started babbling indecipherable grunts that were likely pleas for mercy. The sound changed abruptly to a loud squeal as the blade was drawn upwards and blood fountained between his legs.

In seconds he had been castrated, his severed cock and balls hefted before his disbelieving, anguished eyes. Fritz let him suffer for a short while, then finished the sport. He seized the stubbly hair on the back of the dark head and jerked it backwards to arch the throat before deftly stabbing the suffering soldier, skewering his neck side to side before twisting the blade.

He died almost instantly.

They dealt with the second hussar next, a blond teenager with a wonderfully sculpted form. Before that, however, Fritz indicated the handsome, sullen-eyed french lieutenant. He was a stocky, thick-muscled young bull, ruggedly good-looking and equipped with a cock that, shorter than some, was unusually thick and had a fine crown head.

A steady line of peasant hunks had been procured from surrounding farmsteads over the past three years to provide blood sport in the dungeons. Erich had honed his skills as a torturer and executioner under his patron's eager tutelage and they made a perfect team.

Erich found himself breathing hard in excitement. There were two forms of killing that he had found especially erotic. One was drowning, as with his brother Gunther, and the thought of feeding this superb french stallion to the water-filled pit in the back of the cavern was immensely appealing.

Erich began playing with the captive officer's cock and shortly succeeded in getting it to harden. He then slowly stuffed it with a slim wooden twig, forcing it to remain involuntarily erect. It was obviously a terribly painful process but the frenchman had tremendous staying power and self-control and managed to handle the searing pain in his most private, sensitive flesh without crying out.

Splendid! Erich thought, surveying the bullish hunk with his wrists manacled before him. He will last a long time in the pool and die well for us!

For his part, the lieutenant was resolved to represent his people with honor, dying with as much courage as he could muster. He was well aware that he was about to be tortured to death and held out no hope of reprieve or rescue. He had watched the castration of the austrian hussar, rather enjoying seeing the enemy soldier unmaled and then put to death, but had been disgusted at the cowardice and panic the young man had displayed.

I will not seek to cling to life nor will I give them the satisfaction of my screams if I can help it, he grimly resolved.

Turning their attention back to the wide-eyed, trembling hussar, Erich watched with interest as Fritz drew down an iron collar suspended by a chain from above and snapped it around the boy's neck to hold him steady in a standing posture. His wrists, like the lieutenant's, were manacled before him.

"Wait here," Fritz grinned impishly. "I just received a gift from a merchant with whom I do business and who watches for things in his travels that might interest me, knowing in a general sort of way of my tastes in entertainment."

He went to a cabinet and brought forth a long cloth bag from which he extricated three very odd-looking sticks of a shiny, yellowish wood, divided into sections by slim joints, each segment displaying harsh little ridges down its length. Two were slimmer than the stubly third, about four feet in length. The third was half as long and close to one end there was a large, rough swollen knot, likely the result of some damage or fungal growth, giving it a club-like appearance.

The two sadists had stripped naked for the night's revel and as Fritz stood there showing his treasures to Erich, his cock was jutting up like a spear, turgid with blood at the excitement of their play. Around his neck was the gleaming badge of the ancient Order of The Golden Fleece, the one item he never removed, though tonight it dangled by a slim chain rather than the more normal red and white ribbon.

Erich had never seen bamboo. The merchant had brought it back from a trading voyage when his ship docked in venice, explaining to Fritz how savagely the canes were utilized in southeast Asia as a whipping tool, particularly by the british in Burma and Malaya. He shared the explanation with the boy and liked the excitement he saw in his blue eyes when he offered one of the longer canes.

The blond soldier's name was Manfried and he had originated on a farm near Linz in upper Austria. Though he had been conscripted, he had been thrilled to serve the emperor, and his strength and bravado had brought him quickly into the ranks of the elite hussars, the cavalry regiment that was part of the imperial guard.

Just now the farmboy turned warrior was not feeling elite. He was terrified and utterly confused. He had no idea why he had been singled out for imprisonment and, now, torture and execution. He had searched his memory unsuccessfully for some disobedience or offense that would have justified the major and the colonel turning him over to these savage brutes about to take obvious pleasure in his suffering. Completely trusting himself, he had difficulty understanding the concept of betrayal.

The count positioned the end of the bamboo club to his puckered anus and began shoving it home. The hussar was quite virgin back there and his sphincter fought furiously to resist the invasion until it was torn in a flash of burning pain beyond anything the boy had ever imagined. The swollen knot in the wood stretched him wider than nature ever intended and blood began steadily oozing from his ruptured asshole to dribble to the stone flooring beneath his naked feet. With his tongue removed, he could only utter an animal howl of anguish but he emptied the breath in his lungs in that snorting scream, convulsing in agony as the cane continued to be shoved further and further up inside his gut.

Erich took position behind the manacled prisoner and drew back the slim cane. It whistled as it cut the air and the soft, wet thud as it slammed over the creamy, bubble butt was unlike any whipping sound Erich had yet encountered. He instantly liked the new punishment tool that had traveled so far around the planet to reach his hand.

Such a really excellent device! Look at the delicious welt that produced, so deeply red and swollen but slim and distinct. This could easily draw blood!

He and Fritz alternated laying on strokes and in a short while the dimpled lobes of Manfried's ass were striped like a candy cane at Christmas as the boy howled and writhed before them. The club stuffing his gut multiplied the level of agony almost beyond comprehension. Not only did it vibrate horribly with each slashing impact but his abdominal muscles contracted involuntarily around the invading wooden plug each time to produce a special brand of hell.

After a while, the skin almost peeled from his ass, they started in on his back and chest, Erich behind, Fritz to the front, alternating strokes in a sort of rythmic cadence. Fritz occasionally lashed the hussar's crotch with his cane and after just a few such savage visitations Manfried's genitals were reduced to a bloody mess.

So violent did Fritz wield the deadly rod that at one point the chain around his neck broke and sent his knightly crest flying to the floor behind him. Startled, he stood there panting with exertion and excitement as Erich dove after the emblem to retrieve it. It was undamaged and after they threaded the more regular display ribbon through its ring and returned it around the count's neck, they resumed their efforts to flay Manfried alive.

Each blow to his back stunned him and the slashing blasts to his chest and belly drove the air from his lungs and caused his diaphragm to contract powerfully. As the tempo increased to a maddened lust by his two tormentors, he was slowly, steadily asphyxiated by the beating as the canes rose and fell...and rose and fell. And rose and fell.

Once Manfried had finally been whipped to death, the count and his rabid aide returned to Jean-Claude Gironde and led the lieutenant to the waiting pond and gibbet. The bull offered no resistance as Erich made him lie on the floor of the small scaffold by the water's edge. As Fritz watched with great interest, instead of fixing the harness around the broad shoulders of his studly birthday gift, Erich removed it and simply bound the trailing end of the rope tightly around the frenchman's thick, strong ankles.

Drawn up, he was swung out over the water by the pivoting arm of the gibbet and then simply lowered until his body was immersed, upside down, up to the hips. Jean-Claude held his breath as long as he could, then bent at the waist and was able to thrust his head above the surface to suck air into his burning lungs. It was an uncomfortable position and he had to strain to maintain it for even a minute or so.Taking a deep breath, he straightened to rest his muscles for so long as he could hold his breath before jackknifing his frame at the hips and poking his head back up.

It was a losing proposition and he knew it. It was clear that Erich was going to simply let him continue to struggle like that, growing weaker and more distressed with each cycle. The mere strain from a protracted period of hanging inverted by his ankles would take a harsh toll on his system all by itself and eventually prove fatal even absent the water. The pool would simply hasten the inevitable.

It would take a long time, but as his stays above water became shorter and the strain on his body more tortuous, his strength would wane and he'd start taking in water. Then the gagging, choking reaction and muscle flexes when he surfaced would cause even worse stress on his weakening back and legs. Eventually, he'd be unable to make it all the way to the surface no matter how hard he tried.

Erich thought, then spoke,

Erich shook his head,

Intrigued, Fritz pressed hard to pry the secret from the blond hellion he had purchased and then adopted. When the words, reluctantly, came forth he was stunned. It was indeed outrageous but he knew at once he would grant the wish.

And Erich indeed won the bet. Jean-Claude shortly decided that it was insane to continue his dreadful self-torture in an effort to extend life a few more minutes or even an hour or two before dying as a defeated, spent wreck. He simply stayed down, expelled the breath from his lungs and then sucked in the water. His body convulsed and stirred little ripples and eddies for the awful minute or so that it took for the drowning to be completed. One of his manacled hands shot up to break the surface briefly in a contorted claw of agony, a stark dramatic touch.

When the body went suddenly slack and the hand sank limply below the surface, Fritz cast an impressed eye on his grinning assistant. "Wipe that smirk off your face," he warned, "Or I may cane that gorgeous ass of yours anyway."

The count turned and Erich, trembling, stepped close behind to circle one arm around Von Ritter's shoulder and upper chest as he pressed the front of his hard, warm body against the older man's backside. Below, his steely cock found the cleft in the noble's ass and deep within it the tight pucker of his anus. Fritz writhed powerfully as he felt that contact and his sphincter contracted powerfully in protest.

With steady, gentle pressure Erich coaxed the virgin assring to uncoil and accept his invading organ. When it was buried, pressing against the prostate, he felt his lover's rigid muscles soften and a sigh of shocked pleasure escaped the man's lips.

Erich ran his wet, probing tongue over the upper back and neck of his master, heading for the ear, even as he began the slow, firm thrusts with his hips, thrilling to be the first man to ever couple like that with the feared master of Teufelstein Castle.

As he fucked the count with steadily increasing need and tempo, he thought back to that day when, a foolhardy boy of eighteen, he had stood there in the courtyard and looked death recklessly in the eyes.

I would never have dreamed I would, three years later, be doing this!