Actions of Man on Covert Mission

Grabbed by Demons, Surrounded by Flat Horizon

Dressed in a chiton too short to fully cover Marco’s full length, and a pair of simple sandals to protect against the sharp rocks and crevices on the path, thus was the beginning of this mission. 

Marco had done his share of rough and bare-bones missions during the War. Missions of infiltration that required rapid, unarmed hikes over the least travelled paths of the Alps were something of Marco’s forte. Already in late 44 Marco had managed to infiltrate Nuremberg after crossing north through Austrian mountains, and had it not been for his carefully communicated intelligence about Nazi fortifications of the city, the urban battle in spring 45 would have been even more savage. Square-jawed general Iron Mike had personally commended Marco after the war, adding a very masculine and encouraging slap on the ass… army standard operating procedure they used to say.

Despite that experience, Marco’s current movements down towards a stony valley with the sun baking his flesh barely covered in the minimal outfit was extremely demanding. He had been denied to bring his shoulder bag. Marco had stealthily managed to bring his gifts nonetheless. He had slipped on the ancient cock ring around the base of his cock. The crucifix necklace was around his neck, to which he had managed to attach his holy card. And on the inside of the chiton, he had fashioned a small pocket where the notebook was secured. Otherwise he was left to his own devices.

The elderly man with the exquisite beard had ordered the mission. Although it was not explicitly stated, the subtext was nonetheless clear: Marco had to get it done or be thrown out of the village, quite possibly killed by a swarm of athletic young men with daggers and swords. So this mission was on the path forward, like it or not.

The task to execute, as well as Marco understood it: In the stony valley at the centre of the island, there was another village. It had been described as repugnant, though it was unclear what that exactly entailed. In this repugnant village a prince of the village on the hill by the sea was held captive. His name was Gany and he had to be set free and returned to his fellow men.

Marco had tried to ask about weapons, both for himself and what to expect from the kidnappers in the other village. However, the mission was one of true strength and flux, not one of iron and blunt force, he had been told. 

Damn poets! Spell it out, clarity and precision please, like a no-nonsense Midwestern farmer, Marco had thought. Inevitably, as his mind turned to good old America, he thought about well-oiled, steely and reliable revolvers. How much easier things could be if only…

Just then Marco saw the village up ahead. And soon enough he smelled it. The village had a bland appearance, no signs of creative acts, and a faint odour of unwashed bodies and rancid burps was wafting from the village toward Marco. A few men were moving around in the village dressed in what best could be described as rags. 

Marco tried to find cover to circle around the village and get a better view. But the village was placed in the oddest of locations, no shade, just a flat horizon of stone, and barely any vegetation. In short, it was basically impossible to approach undetected. With the risk of dehydration and debilitating fatigue rising every minute in this place, Marco was left with few options. He had to move in quick, use the element of surprise, find the captured prince and exit before the villagers knew what hit them.

He took aim at a narrow alleyway at the edge of the village. After a dash over open terrain, Marco entered the village, hopefully unseen. He furtively moved forward, keeping an eye at the bland buildings, trying to assess if there was immediate danger waiting for him, as well as what a prison in this place of undifferentiated stone might look like. His heart was beating at an uncomfortable rate, and the odour was starting to get to him. Marco soon realized he had lost his bearings. Was he moving towards the centre, or moving backwards, or in circles, or was he maybe…

The alleyway abruptly ended in a square in which a hoard of dirty men in rags were standing, waving clubs and other blunt instruments, cheering and screaming. A trap.

Alright… assess the situation. Maybe thirty men, each one with a weak look, little sign of coordination and teamwork. Their weapons were crude, still it would have helped to have a sword at hand, Marco thought, a revolver and there would be no issue. He might be able to hold them off while running, but it was not…

Marco’s mind turned from planning an escape to the immediate danger that emerged from the hoard. A giant man, nearly seven feet tall, large and misshapen muscles around his almost naked body, a wicked face and a thick crooked dick dangling between muscular stumps of legs. This was not a man, it was a perverted caricature of manly powers. An ogre, as the Medieval bards in their snug codpieces would have sung, if faced with this creature.

The ogre carried no weapon, his fists were daunting enough. He approached Marco in a forward leaning pose ready for a fight, man against beast, grunting, while the others circled around the pair. There was no time to prepare, no tactical finesse to consider. The fight began. Full steam ahead!

Marco threw an old-fashioned haymaker with full force aimed at the throat of the ogre. A meaty thud was heard, but no effect. A second haymaker, right at solar plexus. Another meaty thud, an annoyed grunt by the ogre, but no other effect. A well-aimed kick at the shins. Again the ogre showed no sign of having a body with which things around it were felt. Desperate and fatigued, Marco’s fourth strike was as ill-judged as it was dishonourable and unmanly: he swung his knee forcefully at the groin of the ogre. 

Marco’s leg was blocked and grabbed by the ogre before it could hit its intended target. The other hand grabbed the throat. Marco was lifted off the ground, then thrown to the ground. The ogre quickly locked the legs of the disoriented Marco, and placed his full weight on Marco’s torso. Escape impossible, the defeat swift and total, the humiliation complete… well, almost complete. The consciousness was fading fast from Marco, his ability to flex his muscles and resist the force applied onto him was quickly draining. The last few seconds before he fainted, Marco felt — and smelt — the thick crooked dick of the ogre as it slapped several times across his face. The ogre grunted and laughed, the crowd hollered and burped… 

Darkness…

Above sun-kissed clouds a mountain top. Silently he descended, the touch of cool lush grass against bare feet next to a mighty tree. The breeze caressing the skin. In his arms, a handsome naked man, arrows in his body, wounds bleeding. The face unclear. The ass, though, in perfect focus, pretty, probable and inviting. The man should be dead from his wounds, but he wiggles and comes alive. Despite arrows still deep in the body he takes off heading towards a nearby mountain top. What is the mission? Who is the mission? 

“Wake up hero”… Is that the word? Is that the purpose? “Let your strength come forth.”

Marco regained consciousness, his head resting in the lap of a young man of the most classical features as if he was an exquisite statue that had acquired life, firm and determined in spirit and body. The young man wiped Marco’s face with a damp cloth. He smiled. “You woke up, hero”, he said.

They were indoors, away from the sun, though not removed from the ugly village odour. It was dark, but clear enough that Marco saw the iron bars that locked them inside. A prison in the repugnant village. And this man — this ideal — could be only one person.

“Gany… I am here for the rescue.” Marco felt great pain in the leg and chest as he tried to sit up, and one of his eyes was swollen with little to add to Marco’s sight.

He felt stupid. Rescue? He was now in a worse state than the prince he was supposed to free from his bondage to this ugliness. The prince, with nothing but a simple loincloth around his waist, was despite his capture filled with vitality, generosity and the unmistakable masculine life force. Gany was the more likely rescuer right now.

“I am Marco. I have failed, damn it… sorry. If only I had a map or a revolver, and… I should have…”

“Doubt not. Heal, ponder your condition, but know that act you must. A direct attack on Goggos was unwise. Tonight I will give you time, however. Your presence has given me confidence, renewed my courage and fortitude. I need you to free us. Your strength must return to do good.” Gany spoke prophetically, while his hands moved lovingly over Marco’s chest. It was impossible for Marco to not feel aroused and his small chiton was pushed aside by his rising penis.

“What do you mean you will give me time?” Marco asked, while he sat up to get a clearer view of this handsome man and also hide his erection, because arousal was not appropriate at this time, was it?

“Your attack has made the villagers worried, fearful and angry. Very soon they will try to calm their aggressive urges and diffuse their confusions. I am their only source of joy and contentment, they can only take, not create. That is why they captured me in the first place. Tonight they will take from me. When done, their dicks limp, their minds bathing in the juices they have taken, their guard will be down. But you need to lead our escape… I will be too hurt and drained, both in spirit and body.”

Marco heard the words, but could not quite make sense of them. He understood he had a mission, and doing heroic deeds for this prince felt absolutely natural. The prince behaved with such grace, his posture so confident… and the skin was so suckable, the ears so lickable, and under that loincloth there was going to be firm and playful stuff that would feel so great to grope, caress and probe.

Marco restrained himself from pursuing that train of thought further. Instead, he had to focus on the mission. That was the duty. What weird place was this, really? Had the modern world not brought these kinds of people and villages to an end? Is there not a written law against this that can be enforced?

But there was no time to quiz Gany about this strange island. The prison door swung open and a crowd of ugly villagers pushed themselves inside. They grabbed Gany and roughly pulled him outside. Marco lacked the power to fight off this many of them. And the ogre Goggos was probably nearby anyways. 

Gany looked at Marco. Eyes so beautiful, face so determined, urging him. Before Gany had been fully removed outside the prison, the ugly crowd ripped off the loincloth and Marco witnessed a handsome, rounded and perky butt along with dick and balls of such natural rebelliousness and playful bounciness that Marco wanted more than ever to reach out, free, protect, hug, kiss, lick and penetrate, and all kinds of warm, hard, manly acts. But he was locked inside the cell again alone as Gany had been dragged outside.

Marco climbed up and looked out the small window. He saw an open area outside, where loud, screaming villagers were standing, most of them naked. Gany soon appeared and he was placed on his back on what looked like a stone altar. Gany’s arms were grabbed, his legs push up and apart. The handsome man’s most precious spots were exposed and immediately at least eight of the dirty villagers began grabbing, fondling, pinching, probing and sucking all of Gany.

Small fights broke out as the ugly men tried to gain access to the deliciousness on the stone altar. One of the men had placed himself securely between Gany’s legs, his mouth firmly attached to the butt, eating and lubricating Gany’s hole, while trying to fight off those who desired the sensation of spreading the tight hole with the tongue. Another man had just clubbed someone to death and taken the place near Gany’s handsome face and full lips. With one hand around Gany’s throat, the other hand playing with Gany’s curly hair, the ugly man pushed his misshapen hard penis between the lips, deep into the mouth. Gany closed his lips and rocked his head.

Two men had come to an uneasy accommodation and were jointly licking and sucking Gany’s dick and balls. There was enough room for both of course, and two reasonable men would have sucked, kissed and tickled the tender parts with tongues, beard and lips, and felt the life force of the pulsating dick and would have observed and encouraged each other’s masculine creativity. These were not reasonable men, however, and the worry they may receive the smaller portion of the seed that could squirt out anytime meant they were prepared to strike a deadly blow to the other. 

Four men had by now sucked and bitten the superb ass, making it sensitive to touch. Two men forcefully removed a particularly ugly man who was sucking on the firm buttocks like his life depended on it, his teeth taking one last bite on the tender buttocks. The two men began spanking the wet buttocks, and despite the loud cheering and the dick thrust in his mouth, Gany was clearly wincing. He was receiving too rough stimulation, the sound of slapped ass cheeks were not harmonious. No real man of strength and honour would treat his bottom like this. There was a code! There were laws of nature to respect!

Hoping they could be the ones inserting their dicks between the pretty lips next, two men had directed Gany’s hands to their hard yet small penises and closed Gany’s palms around their sensitive stumps. Gany could not move much, but using small precise motions he was jerking the two men in a fast pace towards orgasm. 

Marco had learnt some of the tricks expert bottoms used when they managed their bodies, and he saw how naturally Gany did the moves that would drain and tire and men assaulting his body. These were not moves meant to please and connect. They were efficient, machine-like, optimized for speed and volume.

After a minor skirmish down by the ass, leaving a few bleeding on the ground, three men had emerged victorious and they had inserted one or two fingers each inside Gany’s twitching, gripping hole. Inside these ugly men felt warmth and comfort and convulsing life they had never felt before. Ecstatic by the sensation this singular young man at their mercy and his perky ass gave them, they probed quicker and deeper, trying to somehow take and feel more from the delightful source they were knuckle deep inside. 

They were too aroused and hypnotized by their efforts to feel and take as much they could of the sweet and smooth ass in front of them, they failed to notice when Goggos the ogre appeared behind them. With two swings of his heavy fists the three men were left bleeding at the sides of the young lively body they so intensely had probed.

With the pretty ass exposed, lubricated and twitching with fearful anticipation, Goggos aimed his dick right at it. He pressed forward and entered Gany, grunting loudly as amazing pressure was applied all over his dick. Using some kind of deep breathing technique, Gany managed to receive the crooked penis. Gany endured, but just barely. He had been forced to take so much ugliness, his energy was running low. Goggos foul penetration was the final stage, so just a bit more teasing of this thing thrust inside him, and he would be returned to the cell. Breathe, squeeze, survive…

Inside the cell, Marco was shaking with anger. He had seen enough. This was plainly wrong. Gany had to be saved. He had to be protected from this gutter of subpar men, weak and ugly, and nourished instead with love from a strong properly equipped man who knew the code of sexual conquest and masculine power. Marco had to act. Failure no more.