by Captive Punisher and Musclejock1
Part 1
Rick Montgomery, the handsome bluecoat pony soldier watched as his fellow officers were quickly dispatched. When his captors tore off his uniform tunic to bear his he-man chest, he thought that he would be the next to die… but NO! As they gagged him with a stick, tightly trussed his arms behind his back, and threw him unceremoniously across the saddle of one of their war horses, he realized that his comrades were the lucky ones.
The last thing he felt before the horse began its canter was his riding boots… lashed tightly together with rawhide at the ankle and at the mid shaft.
The ride back to the camp seemed endless, as the war-horse tracked slowly through the desert. The sun was merciless, as it beat down upon his broad back, the muscles undulating under the flawlessly tanned skin, as he tried to find a position that would offer just a little comfort.

Running Bear’s heart began to beat a little faster as he began to imagine the strong white dog tightly bound to a torture frame. He quickly covered the beautiful back with a small blanket to prevent his prize captive from getting burned by the hot sun. He wanted that back to feel the full sting of a whipping from willow branches.
After studying the strong biceps and well-proportioned triceps, Running Bear closed his eyes and again saw the handsome officer hanging from the torture frame. He was glistening with sweat and defiant as Running Bear approached him. Running Bear opened his eyes. His village could be seen in the distance.
The hunting party was greeted with a slowly growing crowd of warriors, young boys, and women. The sight of the bound bluecoat carelessly draped across the war horse brought cries of glee accompanied by the exchange of knowing glances and sneers. Some of the elders already seemed to be making plans and giving orders to gather materials The war party stopped near the center of the encampment.
The change in the motion of the horse brought Rick to immediate consciousness. His nostrils flared at the animal scent of overheated stallion to which his own sweat had glued his torso. As he began to flex his body, the Indian blanket was flung aside as rough hands gripped his belt and trouser waistband and pulled him from the horse. His boots thudded on the dry earth.
A knife quickly sliced the thongs that had trussed his riding boots. His upper body heaved as his eyes surveyed the scene. His stick gag was soaked with saliva and spit dripped from the corners of his sensual mouth. His biceps bulged as he tested the carefully knotted rough rope that held his wrists behind his back.
Running Bear tied a leather leash around his neck and jerked him forward. He was also urged forward by the point of a war lance in his back. The curious crowd parted in front of him. He looked at the faces, some angry, others almost sympathetic, others obviously admiring, as every pair of eyes roamed slowly over his body. Rarely had they been blessed with such a fine captive.
Buckskin pants began to tent as cocks hardened in anticipation. Women even drew aside their modest coverings to finger themselves. They wanted to reach out to touch and savor the hard muscle being paraded before them. Running Bear was very possessive of his captors but usually allowed the women their turn at torture. The women of the tribe were infamous for their methods but they took note of the way Running Bear looked upon THIS one!
Part 2 Even though it was common knowledge that the tribeswomen were most adept at making a strong captive suffer for days, Running Bear had decided, once he had laid his eyes on the beauty of this captive, that at least for the early stages of the torture, he wanted him all for himself.
After having been paraded through the encampment, the lieutenant was led beyond several tepees in order to watch several braves constructing a large square frame consisting of hastily cut timbers, which were being lashed together by hemp. One rather muscular brave stepped inside the frame, and placing his large hands around the timbers, attempted to test their strength. He nodded to the others, suggesting that the straining of the bluecoat’s muscles would not be enough to harm the structure in any way.
The excitement of the crowd subsided as Running Bear ordered everyone to stand back. He approached Montgomery, removing the small wet stick from his mouth.
“Where is the wagon scout? My men were out searching for him because the wagon master said he never came back from trying to talk peace with you. Torturing me is not going to stop more troops from coming onto your land.”
The crowd shouted its approval. Everyone was still eager to get on with the torturing of the muscular pony soldier.
“You very brave, bluecoat.” Running Deer placed both of his hands on Montgomery’s firm and well-rounded pectorals and began to squeeze them to feel their strength. The lieutenant pulled back in disgust as he spit in the face of the Indian chief.
“Hang him up! Stretch out the bluecoat!” The braves who were already holding Montgomery were assisted by three more braves who led him to the frame. Montgomery strained and struggled, but was subdued by a light blow to his handsome head.
As the tribe’s attention was riveted to the scene playing out in front of the sturdy torture frame, another captive lay in a nearby tepee.
Buck Taylor’s deep blue eyes flickered open. The commotion outside had roused him from his fitful sleep. He lifted his chin from his chest; his blonde hair matted to his scalp fell across his forehead. Buck groaned softly as the ache in his limbs flooded over him. He was on his ass with his back pushed against the tall center pole of the tepee. His muscular arms were pulled behind the pole and tethered with rawhide. His legs were spread wide and his booted ankles were lashed with rawhide strips to sturdy short stakes that had been pounded into the ground.
With renewed awareness of his captivity, he began to flex and pull at his bindings. He was still dressed in his buckskins. His half-open shirt revealed the curves of hard pectoral slabs. The sleeves of the shirt bulged over grapefruit sized biceps taut in their futile struggle. His tree trunk thighs and calves undulated beneath the buckskin of his trousers and his boot leather creaked as the scout writhed.
His eyes strained to see out the flap of the tepee. “What the hell was going on?” Only two days ago he had boldly ridden into the camp to entreat cessation of hostilities. His bravery bought him hours of one-sided pleas with the tribal elders. His only opposition came from Running Bear who stared at him intently throughout, seething with anger and hatred and also with something else that made Buck’s flesh crawl.
That first evening without warning several braves had dragged Buck from his campfire, bound him and threw him into the tall tepee. As he lay there contemplating his fate, the words of his best friend Lt. Rick echoed in his ears; “Don’t be a fool Buck. Its too risky to go alone. You know what they do to white captives!”
Part 3. Rick remained dazed as his wrists were unbound and he was hurriedly dragged to the torture frame before he could resist any further. The tips of his heavy leather boots scraped along the dry dirt during the short distance. In practically no time at all, the braves had Rick tightly stretched in the frame, by the use of ropes, which were not tied too securely in order to maintain proper circulation. Rick’s boots and heavy socks had been removed. Running Bear greatly admired the lieutenant’s boots, and he had a thought of a sadistic way to use one of them.
Running Bear demanded that Rick’s cavalry pants be pulled down in order to expose the well-rounded and tight buttocks, as well as his considerable manhood. A rawhide thong was attached to one of the boots and tied to Rick’s scrotum.
He started to moan as he became more aware of his situation. The Chief added a small stone to the boot. He wanted more small stones added to the boot during the torture in order to increase the suffering of the virile captive, whose sexily haired torso was now glistening in the hot sun.
“So, White Dog, where is your insolence now?” Rick’s muscles flexed enticingly as he began to test his bonds. Running Bear’s loincloth was already beginning to feel moist. He could see that the lieutenant was a hard man whose suffering would give him days of pleasure and release. The other villagers were feeling the same way, judging from the reaction of both the men and the women, who were busy preparing the switches for Rick’s whipping.
They could be overheard making comments about his strength and bravery. “Here is another White Dog who would like to watch your torture.” Buck was untied, roughly seized, and pulled from the tepee. “You bastards!” Rick caught a glimpse of one firm, smooth pectoral as he eyed Buck’s partially open shirt. The recent struggle had torn his right sleeve, revealing an impressively muscled upper arm.
Rick had often seen Buck as part of a passing wagon train and had always wondered what he would look like stripped to the waist. He was about to find out as Running Bear ordered two braves to remove Buck’s tight buckskin shirt.
“You also have strong muscles, young one. Tie him so that he may savor the lieutenant’s whipping. I observe that they have a liking for each other.” Running Bear laughed sadistically.
Willow branches were very pliable when stripped of their leaves. They could easily raise a mean welt on bare flesh when wielded with determination. About two dozen switches were now ready and distributed to several braves who lashed the ends together to make them easier to hold and swing.
As the braves took their positions around the captive, Running Bear himself unsheathed his knife and begin to slice off Rick’s uniform trousers. The keen blade bite into the seams, shredding the fabric, allowing Running Bear to use his bear-like hands to pull and strip the shredded cloth. It tore easily along the horizontal strips that adorned the uniform, exposing tree-trunk thighs of bulging flexing muscle covered with damp dark hairs. The trousers were tossed to a nearby fire.
An audible gasp rose from the onlookers at the site before them. Lt. Rick Montgomery, stretched tautly on the torture frame, every muscle taut and flexing. The handsome face defiant. The tall boot playfully swinging between the outstretched legs distending his testicles. “His manhood is the size of a stallion’s! His balls like those on the male buffalo.”
Buck watched in horror as Running Bear completed the stripping. Buck did not recognize the rippling muscled white man before him at first glance. When Rick raised his head though and their eyes met…” Lieutenant! RICK!”
Buck had often seen that face leading a column of bluecoats as the wagon train was escorted through hostile territory and at campfire meetings with the wagon master as they settlers made their way through new territory.
Buck was pushed up against a single rough-hewn stake about 10 feet from Rick’s torture frame. He was tied to it facing the action. Thick strips of buffalo hide were wound around his chest, just under the slopes of his firm pectorals forcing them up and out a bit. His wrists were similarly bound. Yet another strip wrapped around his bull-like neck and across his forehead. He would be forced to watch the torture of the naked soldier.
“Fuck!” Buck realized that the buffalo hide was wet. It had been soaking in water to make it pliable. It would not take long for the sun to dry it and cause it to shrink. As the switch wielders took their positions, Running Bear gripped his swelling penis and shouted, “BEGIN!”
Part 4 One of the younger braves insisted that Running Bear apply the first lashes since Lt. Montgomery had become his prize captive. “You begin, Chief.”
An eager brave handed Running Bear the switches he had been holding, and the tribal leader approached the stretched out captive from the rear. There before him was the broad back that he had admired for some time during the ride back to the village. The first lash would now strike that well-tanned unblemished expanse.
As the switch met its target, it left a nasty welt. Running Bear struck again. And again. Rick pulled up and forward with each lash, which only made his biceps bulge and his bunched back muscles flex. He began to make soft guttural sounds, which only excited the Chief even more.
In between the strokes of the lash, he began to stroke his manhood, which was starting to reach a totally hardened state. But he wanted to go ever so slowly, in order to savor the suffering of the muscular pony soldier. He decided to call attention to the hard and round ass mounds, and ordered other braves to continue the whipping as he stood back to watch.
They assumed their position. “Don’t forget to apply the whips to the tree trunk legs!” Running Bear was saving the hairy chest for himself. He could not wait to slowly whip the muscular pectorals himself, and to watch the handsome lieutenant’s face grimace in pain.
Meanwhile, Buck felt helpless in his rather uncomfortable position. The skins were already beginning to shrink in the sun. Several braves and some of the women were tweaking his large nipples, and squeezing the muscles on his arms and chest. To be fortunate enough to have one well-built captive was enough, but to have two of equal beauty was a gift to behold. Several women were taking note of the scout’s smooth golden skin as they again fingered themselves. Several males had hands under their loincloths.
“Stop whipping the lieutenant! Torture me instead! He did nothing to hurt you!”
Buck was slapped hard in the face by a young brave after shouting at Running Bear. “Your turn will come soon, Blue Eyes. You are even younger than Montgomery, so perhaps you can take even more pain.
And with that dire warning, Running Bear ordered a brave to place one more stone in the suspended lieutenant’s boot, which seemed to be hanging even lower than it had earlier in the day.
The additional stone landed in the boot with a hollow thud. Rick felt a small twinge in his left testicle as the boot pulled a bit more. He lifted his head up to face his fellow captive.
“Looks like we’re in a bit of a bind, Buck.”
Buck squirmed a bit responding, “What the heck are you doing here Rick? How the hell did you get captured?”
“I was looking for you buddy. Jackson and Williams volunteered to help me find you when you went on that foolish mission and didn’t come back. We were ambushed and Williams and Jackson were left staked out in the sun for the buzzards. I think Running Bear had something else in mind for me though.”
“Well, you found me man. FUCK… sorry that I got you into this.”
Buck could not help but be aroused by the persistent manhandling of his firm trussed body. His nipples were swollen and erect, looking much like tiny cocks jutting up from perfectly smooth chiseled slabs of beefy pec meat.
One squaw became annoyed at the conversation between the two white captives and sank her jagged nail into Buck’s nipple. “ARGHH! Oh fuck!” moaned the young blond stud. He quickly stifled the response and bit his lower lip. The squaw grinned with satisfaction seeing the grimace on the handsome face.
Buck was sure his nipple had been sliced off. The tightening noose around his neck and forehead however preventing him from looking. He did know that the relentless pinching and squeezing had made his large cock grow rigid, making his buckskin crotch bulge obscenely. His smooth torso glistened with sweat, his ridged abs flexed and a rivulet of sweat flooded his pec valley.
Rick fumed. “You fucking bastards! Leave the kid be!” Rick’s defiant outburst was greeted by several blows from the switch placed first across his broad back, then his upper thighs and finally his tight buttocks.
Running Bear gathered a small group of braves around him giving directions and making gestures occasionally casting sadistic leers at one or the other of the white men. With a wave of his hand, they scattered into the brambles and brush that surrounded the camp.
Part 5 Rick stretched his stinging body as he hung suspended. His eyes gazed off to the west where a substantial forest of saguaro cacti with their white flowers, thick spiny stems, and trunks stretched to the sky.
Even in his dazed condition, Rick suspected that his captors might want to use those cacti as the basis for another inventive torture. He had heard that Apache ingenuity in this one area knew no bounds.
His muscles were really hurting now, but he tried his best not to indicate that to Running Bear. His strong arms felt as though they might dislocate at any moment, his breathing was being affected by his tormented chest muscles, and his well-muscled back was in endless torment. If he hung in his bonds, his upper body was in excruciating pain. If he stretched upward to relieve that pain, his thigh and calf muscles would flex in pain.
He was also beginning to feel a considerable degree of thirst. Many villagers had dispersed in order to give Running Bear his opportunity to whip the front of the lieutenant’s virile body. Rick was now licking his full lips as his thirst became agonizing. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of a sadist such as Running Bear, but at one point he involuntarily moaned, “Water.”
He repeated it several times, and each time the moan became more pleading. This was exciting Running Bear, who began to stroke his manhood under his loincloth. The humidity had made Rick perspire profusely. He looked good, especially with his matted chest hair. But he had to replace some of the water he had lost. Running Bear knew that he wanted Rick to remain rugged enough for any further tortures, so he offered him a drink from one of the skins nearby.
The handsome lieutenant gulped the offering until it was suddenly removed. “Not too much, my pony soldier. Just enough to keep you aware and hurting. Does it hurt, lieutenant? In time you will scream like a squaw giving birth. And in more time you will beg for me to kill you. Or, better yet, maybe you will beg the young scout to take you out of your misery.”
Rick remained stoic, as did Buck. Running Bear suddenly walked the ten feet over to Buck when he heard him starting to have difficulty breathing. The wet hide was tightening around the tough scout’s neck. He had remained quiet during this episode for fear of being subjected to more pain.
In his twenty-two years, he had never known such discomfort, but somehow he had a feeling that the worst was yet to come. The Apaches knew that they had two strong male captives, and they were going to make the most of the opportunity.
Running Bear then walked toward Rick, picked up a switch from the dry ground, and proceeded to lay the first stroke on the beautifully haired canvas before him.
The ferocity of the lash took Rick’s breath away. He gasped! The second blow lacerated his left nipple, which exploded in pain. Running Bear made sure that an even number of blows fell across each pec.
He changed his arm position to lay horizontal strokes on the ridged ab muscles, which flexed involuntarily, causing the chiseled ridges to appear even more cut and defined. Rick’s treasure trail darkened with sweat. The Lt.’ s head jerked from side to side, but he would only give up subdued grunts refusing to yield up another further betrayal of the agony he was experiencing.
The lateral blows allowed the frayed tips of the switch to wrap around the Lt.’ s trim waist, licking his writhing flesh with their painful kiss. Running Bear stopped abruptly, gasping for breath.
“Feel the kiss of the switch, white man!” Running Bear paused, looking over the brave soldier before him. “Yes Lt. Montgomery, you make good torture.”
Running Bear then turned and walked to the tub of buffalo skin strips soaking in some brine. He reached in and retrieved several strips. He examined each and selected one of the longer ones. He gazed back at the two captives, measuring with his hawk-like eyes.
Apparently satisfied, he walked back to Rick and roughly seized the soldier’s semi-hard manhood. He carefully made a loop-like noose and tied it to the cock head, just behind the ridge of the meatus. As he worked he playfully poked at the riding boot making it swing. As he finished the task, he picked up yet another stone and held it before Rick’s eyes grinning.
“Your fine pony soldier boots make good torture tools!” He then dropped the stone from a height into the shaft. This produced a sexy groan from deep inside the hunk’s hairy gut.
Tugging on the cock-binding like it was a leash, Running Bear now walked to Buck. Taking a moment to eye the handsome youth, he took a knife and cut away the buckskin crotch. The scout’s meat was already hard and jutted out drawing an audible gasp from the onlookers.
Running Bear grasped the shaft and held it for a moment feeling the heat, the pulsing virility. He glanced at the scout’s face and smiled. Buck spat a thick wad of saliva into Running Bear’s face.
With a bone-chilling stare, Running Bear merely wiped the slime from his nose and cheek maintaining his grip on the scout’s cock. He then quickly noosed the blonde hunk’s meatus as he did Rick’s, pulling it extra tight and stretching it, making it taut across the 10 feet that separated the hapless captives.
It took only a matter of minutes for the sun to begin the inexorable process of shrinking the bindings. Both studs groaned softly and began to arch their bodies as they felt the first pull.
Part 6 Running Bear nodded to an elderly white haired squaw. Mourning Dove had lost three sons in battles with the bluecoats. In her hands she held an earthenware bowl in which she had been busily crushing nettles reducing them to a pale green sap-like juice.
She rose, her face a mask of hate, and walked to Buck. She looked at the turgid pole of man meat that now stretched from his crotch. Using a deerskin rag to protect her hand, she applied some nettle juice to the shaft and head of the scout’s man meat, rubbing it in generously. The blond scout’s abs writhed nervously.
She turned and moved to Rick, repeating the process, smearing the pony soldier’s cock with gobs of the slime, taking care to spread it beneath the folds of his foreskin.
Both men stared down at their meat, already stretched by the slowly drying hides. “OH shit!” Rick moaned. “Fucking bitch! She put nettle juice on our cocks!”
The infernal itch started slowly, first along the tender exposed meatus, then along the shaft itself. Unbearable itching and burning gradually spread and intensified making their cocks even more rigid as the blood flow increased.
As their cocks hardened, the shafts strained even more against the rawhide making it dig deeply. Rick started bucking as if this could provide some relief. Buck flexed every muscle actually causing the stake to shift slightly. Deep manly groans now emanated from both men. Running Bear grinned broadly at the sight and sound.
The Apache village did not afford many areas of shade, but Running Bear was able to find one such area. Though it was small in size, he knew that he would be able to linger there and observe the suffering of the tribe’s two prize captives. Nearby was the small blanket that had covered the back of the young bluecoat on his journey to the village. Running Bear placed the blanket on the dirt, sat down, and prepared himself to enjoy the torture.
Mourning Dove had secretly hoped that warriors would someday return with a strong young male captive. They were often unsuccessful, much to her dismay. However, these two far exceeded even her high expectations. Their strength and beauty only enhanced her sadistic urges.
The nettle juice was still working its magic on the two struggling white men. And struggle they did! Buck’s strong back was now painfully arched as the rawhide continued to shrink in the sun. Running Bear had a feeling that it would not be long before he pulled the stake entirely out of the ground.
Rick’s impressive back was still stinging from the lashing he had received and was in an uncomfortably arched position, which only intensified the pressure on his scrotum from the almost stone-filled boot which was still hanging from it. Running Bear’s right hand reached for his groin and started to caress his considerable endowment.
The lieutenant’s sweat-soaked musculature was a sight to behold, and young Buck’s straining torso was now crosshatched with tributaries of perspiration. Their moans and grunting sounds became more audible as the torture continued. They repeatedly cursed Running Bear, who remained on the blanket and cunningly smiled.
For some odd reason Rick’s thoughts suddenly turned to the plight of Jackson and Williams, who were in the search party to find Buck. As he was being thrown over the war-horse for the trip back to the village, he had observed several young bucks stripping the two men. As Rick’s horse began its trek, he was able to observe several braves hammering strong stakes into the hard desert ground. The last thing that he saw was the two soldiers being knocked to the ground and spreadeagled.
Jackson, a young skinny kid of nineteen, had just joined the unit, even though his parents strongly objected. They were intimidated by the Indian threats in the area. Williams was a gruff sergeant, who owed his thickset appearance to one too many portions at mealtime.
Rick now realized why the Apaches had chosen him to be tortured. Jackson and Williams would never have had the stamina or endurance the Indians enjoyed while torturing male captives. Lt. Rick quietly prayed that their suffering was now over, even though he knew from experience that men had been known to last for days while staked out in the sun.
Part 7 The itching and burning of the nettle juice was driving Rick and Buck to the point of madness. Their bodies twisted and writhed deliciously, which was causing Running Bear’s heart to beat faster. He continued to fondle the man meat between his smooth legs.
And then it happened. Buck’s contortions had pulled the firmly imbedded stake from the ground, saving both men from further torment. Running Bear rose quickly from the blanket, ran to the captives, and removed the length of rawhide from both men
Rick hung limply in the torture frame. Buck had fallen to the ground with a thud, his thickly muscled arms still wrapped around the stake. He realized that his life had been spared because the shrinking rawhide around his thick neck was just about ready to choke him to death. He was not about to beg for mercy, even though only a few minutes ago he was beginning to make peace with himself as he prepared for death. He wished that he was back home with his family, and secretly yearned for his mother’s embrace.
“So, young one. I said that your time to taste the torture would come. This was only a test to observe your endurance. Running Bear stood over the prostrate scout and watched his twisting and writhing.
The Indian leader observed several young braves returning to the village and motioned for them to prepare a rather large wagon wheel that was already placed against a huge rock. While observing the previous torture, Running Bear had noticed the wagon wheel (most likely acquired during a wagon train raid), and began to imagine the handsome blonde scout spreadeagled and securely tied to its rim. The hub would rest uncomfortably on the small of his wide back, jutting his manhood forward. He could hardly wait to hear the scout whimpering. A variety of tortures could then be practiced on the young stud.
“Strip off the scout’s pants! Let me observe the strong legs. In an already weakened state, it did not take much effort for two young braves to lift Buck from the ground. One brave pulled his head up by the honey blond hair on his handsome head, while the other brave began to cut off Bucks buckskin pants with a small knife.
As the wagon train scout stood naked before Running Bear and the two braves, other villagers could be observed as they returned. They were seeing Buck Taylor naked for the first time, and they stood transfixed.
The assembled villagers went wild. Shouts of “Torture him slowly” and “Make him scream” were heard, as Running Bear joined the two braves in dragging the thickly muscled scout to the wheel. Buck tried to resist and pull away, but to no avail.
“Leave him alone!” “You’re nothing but savages!” “He can’t take any more!” “Please!” The lieutenant’s cries could barely be heard as the tribe’s attention suddenly became focused on the wheel, which was about to clasp its muscular young victim to its rim.
“A wagon train scout tied to a wagon wheel!” Now, won’t this be the perfect torture?”
Rick continued to scream for the release of Buck. He was only quieted when a brave took it upon himself to run back to the torture frame. He seized the pail of brine, tossing its contents at the screaming soldier. The brine only increased the pain from his many abrasions. Lieutenant Rick screamed. This time the scream was wordless.
Part 8 The jeers of the crowd and the feeling of blood rushing back to his limbs gave Buck a sense of regained strength. He resisted every pull of his arms and legs as the grinning braves drew him to the wheel. His bravery drew some cheers. His youthful body in full active display drew appreciative comments. He cursed and spat. He grimaced as the hub with its metal core dug into the small of his back.
His arms were pulled to the side and drawn back. His skin was drawn sensuously over his taut musculature. His abdominals took on new definition as did his meaty pectoral slabs. His large brown silver dollar sized nipples now jutted out straight rather than curved downward in their unfettered state. Running Bear supervised every movement.
“Bind him slowly. Let him feel the thongs slowly tighten about him!” Buck opened and closed his fists as the thongs were looped through the opening of the rough wood of the wheel, then around his thick wrists, and then around the rim and pulled securely. His broad shoulders bulged as his other wrist was similarly secured. The sinews of his arms were on voluptuous display.
The young braves seized the scout’s sturdy legs, mightily developed by years in the saddle, and spread them in a wide V. “Remove the white dog’s boots and socks!”
Apache hands gripped Buck’s boots and tugged them until the heels loosened and slipped off his thickly socked feet. His sweaty socks were also peeled off his meaty muscular feet. Running Bear retrieved them and brought them to Mourning Dove.
For you old one. A trophy of the day! The white captive’s own boots! The white man yearns to die with his boots on. It is the way a man dies. To go bootless is to die the death of a squaw! The fair young one will be denied this!!”
Running Bear cackled with perverse glee as they handed the dusty boots to the squaw. Mourning Dove accepted the offering, inhaling the musky scent of damp leather and sweaty feet. She set the boots down, picked up a knife, and began carving tribal runes in the shafts in memory of her fallen sons, entreating the great spirit to send the handsome youth to an excruciatingly agonizing death.
Buck saw the ritual and remembered when he was first able to afford a good pair of boots. He had to use almost all of his first salary payment on those boots. He could remember how they felt when he first pulled them on and tucked his buckskins into the tall shafts. They had protected his feet from the dirt and grime of the trail, from the scorpions and snakes of the arid landscape. He even slept in his boots at times.
Now, he felt the air on his meaty feet as he flexed ankles and wriggled his toes. The leather thongs bit deeply into his ankles as they were lashed to the bottom of the wheel. His inner thigh muscles twitched and his heavy endowment was completely exposed. Buck raised his head high, looked into the sun for a brief second and blinked. His blonde hair fell over his forehead. He threw back his neck and screamed, “Fuck you all, you red bastards! FUCK YOU ALL!”
The manly growl of defiance excited his captors.
Running Bear could feel the sticky drops of his precum anointing his inner thighs as his cock swayed to and fro. The young blonde torture toy was spread tightly and helpless. Every curve of his perfectly proportioned male body was available and on erotic display.
Running Bear picked up the basket of cactus needles and walked to the wheel. He looked deeply into Buck’s blue eyes. His large hands touched the scout’s manly chest. His fingers slowly explored the expanse of well-defined muscle. His ran his fingers through the rivulets of sweat that glistened in the pec valley. He almost caressed the youth’s pecs, cupping them, inspecting them. His thumb flicked the already hard tits.
He turned his gaze to the basket of evil looking cactus spines. He took out a few. Some were longer than others. Some came to points so fine as to almost vanish from sight, while others flared to almost knifelike blades. All broadened at their bases.
Running Bear broke into a grin as he sifted through the basket contents. Mixed between the cactus needles were some finely honed pieces of deer antlers that were in the shape of crescent moons and came to sharp points on both ends. He looked up and saw the smile of pride on Swift Arrow’s face. The 12-year-old was an artist. His bone carvings of animal figures made him quite the celebrity in the camp. He wanted so badly to play a role in the torture of his people’s enemies.
Running Bear nodded his approval to Swift Arrow’s delight and lifted up one of the crescent carvings for all to see. He turned to the scout. Using his thumb and index finger he gripped Buck’s right nipple and placed the point of the deer bone at the areola. He pressed the point into the flesh, seeing the entire pec tense. He pushed it further seeing it enter and producing a drop of blood.
He looked at Buck’s face. It betrayed nothing but anger and resignation. He then pushed the sharpened bone deeper and up through the resistant pec meat until he could see it just behind the nipple. Running Bear then shifted its direction to arch downward and with a final thrust, the bone emerged from the other side of the nipple, piercing the surface of the areola.
Buck’s breathing had audibly increased during the insertion, but he was otherwise silent. The area around the nipple swelled a bit from internal bleeding while a few drops of bright red blood fell from the pec and landed on the writhing ab ridges.
Running Bear moved to the left pec. He gripped it and visualized the progression of the cruel bone through the young man’s beautiful chest and in two short thrusts achieved the same design.
Buck tensed and drew in an audible gasp. His nipple swelled a bit. Additional drops of pec blood anointed his flexing abdominals. Running Bear wiped the blood with his fingers, mixed it with chest sweat, and licked it from his hands.
He gestured to Swift Arrow and the boy moved nervously forward. Running Bear put his arms on the boy’s shoulder and pushed him to face Buck. “See Swift Arrow! Your skill has adorned the fine chest of the white captive. He body tastes the skill of Swift Arrow.”
The young Apache beamed with pride and stared at the smooth muscular chest adorned with the downward sloping crescents of sharpened deer bones. Buck closed his eyes.
Part 9 Running Bear decided to leave Swift Arrow with the spreadeagled scout. The boy was young, and eager to participate in the torture of Apache enemies. Perhaps the young brave would contribute something particularly thrilling to the experience. His mind, after all, appeared to be quite imaginative.
Running Bear walked back to the frame holding the lieutenant. He was obviously in great discomfort. He was writhing in his bonds due to the effects of the brine on his tender wounds.
“I’m going to cut you down, dog. You must regain strength for tomorrow’s torture.”
After removing a rather sharp knife from the buckskin casing tied to his waist, Running Bear cut the bonds which were securing the soldier’s well-formed legs to the corners of the frame. He hesitated before releasing Rick’s beautiful arms from bondage, and stepped back a few feet to watch him hanging by his wrists, crucifixion style.
Rick bit his lower lip until it began to bleed slightly. A thin line of blood began to run down his dimpled chin. He began to make odd guttural sounds, which began to excite Running Bear. He reached once more under his already moist loincloth to finger his considerable member, and regretted that he had missed the lieutenant’s previous scream, strongly wishing that another one would soon be forthcoming. The tribe would see to that.
Rick’s suffering was an incredible thing to witness. His corded muscles flexed in the hope of finding just a little relief from the pain. There was really none to be had. His chest muscles were spent and breathing was becoming extremely difficult.
When Running Bear became conscious of the fact that the lieutenant might die, he once more approached the frame and cut Rick down. He was now prostrate before the sadistic Apache leader, who readily took note of the bruised well-muscled back, as well as the hurting firm mounds of ass muscle. Even the back of Lt. Rick’s legs were obviously in pain.
Running Bear reached down and pulled up the handsome head by the hair. “You will be nursed by Mourning Dove and many squaws. They are experienced in the use of herbs and oils that can restore your strength and relieve your pain.”
Running Bear summoned two braves. They were to drag Rick to Mourning Dove’s tepee. As the weary captive was pulled up from the dirt, the braves began to rub Rick’s chest hair. Running Bear approached the limp form and moved his hands along the chest hair pattern, paying particular attention to the sexy treasure trail, which led to a treasure that was no longer buried.
He squeezed meaty pecs and abdominals, feeling their firmness. After running his eager tongue down the treasure trail, the braves were ordered to bring Rick to the tepee. Running Bear watched as Rick’s feet were pulled along the ground. The flaps of the tepee were opened by the braves and Rick disappeared from sight.
At the age of twenty-eight, Rick was becoming aware of the fact that he might not be able to survive for very much longer. However, he knew that he was very strong.
Running Bear returned to the wheel. Thin and rather long pieces of rawhide had been tied to the deer bone piercing the handsome scout’s meaty nipples. The two ropes had been pulled over a narrow, overhanging tree branch and two braves were pulling them, causing Buck’s nipples to rise from the firm pectoral muscle below. He was moaning softly and twisting his head back and forth.
This was my idea,” said Swift Arrow. “Do you like it?”
“Yes!” “Yes, indeed!” Running Bear was ecstatic. Even he had not thought of this possibility.
Allow me!” Running Bear grabbed the two rawhide pieces and began to gently move them back and forth. The scout moaned and writhed even more. His rapid inhaling and exhaling was noticed by all. He did not want to scream. Even though the lieutenant was now out of sight, Buck did not want to show the Indians any sign of weakness. And he wanted to be brave in front of Rick. His eyes stung from the amount of perspiration flowing into them
“Show me your muscles, Yellow Hair!” Running Bear pulled, and Buck had no choice but to flex every muscle in his young body.
Part 10 As Buck looked up, he could see several braves in the distance, near the cluster of cacti. Could they be dreaming up something even more sadistic for him? Maybe the Indians were thinking about how the strong captives would look while being tortured together.
Running Bear continued to pull the ropes. The small of Buck’s beautiful back was now being lifted from the hub.
The distension of his meaty nipples and surrounding pec muscle provided more surface area to work with. Running Bear dipped his hand into the basket and retrieved several six-inch cactus needles. He lightly pricked the stretched nip flesh with the points, testing, deciding. Then, while stealing another glance at the handsome face: JABBBBBBBBBBBBB! STABBBBBBBBBBBB!
With one thrust he pierced the nip flesh until it emerged from the other side. He repeated it again and again until a star shaped pattern decorated the manly chest. Buck jerked wildly in his fetters, moaning, “Nghhhhhhhhhhh! Nghhhhhhhhh!” His handsome face contorted in a painful grimace.
The rawhide made a squeaking noise as his flexing made it rub on the wagon rim. Running Bear handed the ends of the nip pulls to Swift Arrow exhorting him to “Pull them taut! Stretch the nip flesh! Torture the pec muscle!! Make Yellow Hair experience Apache revenge!”
As the young Indian continued to pull the ends, Running Bear decorated Buck’s other pec. Soon both the young man’s firm pecs displayed a four-needled star pattern behind the crescent shaped deer bone. There was surprisingly little blood. What blood there was oozed slowly along the shaft of the cactus needle with the occasional drop to the flexing abs. Buck writhed sensuously in a continual display of tormented muscle.
The writhing scout continued his dance of pain for several minutes. Considering the agony he was presently enduring, they must have seemed like very long minutes indeed. Several villagers had surrounded the large wheel to observe the proceedings. They had seen torture many times before, but had never witnessed its effect on one so vigorous and well-built.
Young children, some who were even younger than Swift Arrow, approached the scout and made several comments about his obvious predicament. Swift Arrow continued to use the nip pulls, pulling them individually and together. Observing Buck’s suffering was exciting his young loins. He had never felt such feelings before, and he was enjoying them. He was a little embarrassed when one of his young friends took notice of a slight rising in Swift Arrow’s brief loincloth.
The afternoon light was beginning to fade. Buck’s musculature had acquired a sheen, owing to the fact that he had perspired profusely during his torture. This only made Swift Arrow and the other braves lust even more as the scout’s torment continued. Buck was even beginning to become erect, and the assemblage eagerly watched as his large penis gradually rose skyward.
There were no women about. They had all apparently joined together and were contributing to the nursing of the exhausted lieutenant.
Buck could only hope that he would also be permitted to rest at some point and became a little worried when he thought of what tomorrow might bring. There were still several braves gathered around the cacti in the distance.
The well-developed scout’s thoughts turned to his companions on the wagon train, and to asking himself why there apparently had been no attempt to rescue him up to this time. This reverie helped to take his mind from the unending pain on his chest. His back muscles were beginning to cramp as well.
Either way he was in trouble. As the nip pulls were being used in the most sadistic manner, the small of his back was gratefully lifted from the nagging wheel hub. If Buck attempted to relax by pulling away from the lengths of rawhide, it felt as though his nipples would be pulled from his firm chest.
The roseate shade of the scout’s nipples had darkened, due to their endless torment. The nipples now adorned the beautiful chest like two rare jewels. He suddenly relaxed, falling on the hub. This was why he was in trouble either way.
Buck was so beautiful in his torment. “You suffer good, white man.” Buck found it difficult to believe that one so young could be enjoying the torture of his fine young body. Buck had always been proud of his muscles and knew that he had often been the object of some female’s lust. But he was not naive enough to believe that there had never been a man who felt the same.
He suddenly remembered the young Wilkins lad, who had always showed the scout much attention whenever he would be stripped to the waist, attending to some chore as the wagon train trekked westward.
The result of Swift Arrow’s contemplation became evident to all when he strongly yanked the nip pulls, and, throwing them over the branch with all the strength his twelve-year-old arms could muster, he tied them securely.
Buck looked pleadingly into the youth’s dark eyes. Oh, how he wanted to scream. The pain was so great. And then it came.
Running Bear caressed Swift Arrow’s small shoulders. “Good work, young one. You shall be rewarded.” And as he savored the once stalwart scout’s agony, he laughed softly. The laughter grew in intensity as the large circle of sun began its descent in the west.
Part 11 Rick slipped into unconsciousness as he was dragged into Mourning Dove’s tepee. It was his body’s way of escaping the agony.
His incredibly strong body offered no resistance as the squaws laid him on his back. With their knives they cut the bindings that held his cavalry boot to his stretched ball sac. They gripped the heel and shaft of his other boot and with some exertion tugged it from his meaty foot, also peeling away the thick sweat-soaked sock and stuffing it inside the boot shaft. Rick’s boots were tossed aside.
He felt nothing as his mighty arms were pulled out to the sides and his wrists tied to short stakes that had been hurriedly pounded in the earthen floor of the tepee. His legs were stretched and similarly staked but not too wide. After all, this hunky pony soldier was not being prepared for further torture – not yet!
The squaws knelt around the hapless soldier. In repose, they marveled at his masculine beauty. His tan skin was still paler than that of their own Apache men, but his thick pelt of chest hair and liberal fur on much of the rest of his body was a novelty.
They became moist between their thighs as they gazed down at Rick. Mourning Dove directed the activity with knowledge and patience. Their task was clear; tend to the captive’s wounds and allow him to regain some strength. There were further torture ordeals to visit upon his studly frame.
Bowls of water were brought in. They lifted the heavy semi-hard penis between the soldier’s thick thighs and swabbed it removing the nettle juice. They crushed a variety of leaves in wooden and clay pots creating a paste, which they applied to the angry welts over his body and to his raw wrists and one ankle. Then around the base of his cock, that had been cruelly stretched by the shrinking rawhide in concert with Buck Taylor’s own swollen organ.
At one point, they had even untied one wrist so that they could lift him up and reach his broad back and ass. His handsome head lolled to the side. His thick lips parted and a low moan escaped his lips.
The same squaws who had reveled in his agony now caressed him, stroked his thick black hair, marveled at his high cheekbones and the stubble that now appeared on his cheeks and along his firm jaw line. They allowed themselves the luxury of exploring the manly fur, letting it curl about their probing fingers, pressing the firm musculature, nodding to each other.
Indeed, this handsome soldier oozed virility. At least six pair of hands ministered to Rick’s motionless body. The ministrations to his male organ had the inevitable effect. Blood flow returned and a certain tumescence ensued. Rick’s cock swelled, lengthened, and rose in their hands.
“His manhood rivals that of Running Bear’s own stallion! His man cock is made for further cock torture!” There was a murmur of approval and a flurry of grabs at the almost dripping recesses between their legs. Rick’s eyes fluttered a bit.
“ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHhhhhhhhh!” The agonized cry from the bull-liked throat of the young scout went through the soldier like a knife. He was jolted to consciousness so suddenly that the circle of squaws were startled and drew back. The object of their lust was awakened, arched his body and flexed. Unconscious, he was an object of desire; awake, strong and brave, he was an object of torture lust!
Rick quickly assessed his situation and knew that the cry was from Buck. Testing his new bonds, he realized he was helpless and lay back on the damp earth. He turned his head sideways and saw his boots standing proudly beside him. Next to them Mourning Dove set another pair of white man’s boots, except that the high smooth leather shafts were now decorated with slashes and cuts in various totems and signs.
Rick closed his eyes and realized he had seen those boots on the shapely legs and calves of the young wagon train scout, his brother in Apache torture!
In a peculiar way, the two captives had become brothers in torture. Rick had previously heard other accounts from captives who had endured slow torture at the hands of the Apache. They had either escaped or had been rescued before death took them. But to be subjected to Indian torture, especially along with one as well-built as Buck, was creating thoughts in his mind that he had never experienced.
The ministering of the many squaws had excited his manhood. When they pressed his hard muscles or sensuously allowed their long-nailed fingers to caress his thickly-haired pectorals, he found it easy to get stirred.
But now something else was happening. Buck’s masculine screams were keeping his cock hard, and it was getting harder. He secretly wished that he could witness the scout’s suffering. What was he being made to endure? Seeing the scout’s impressive nakedness for the first time had made Rick feel that the muscular young body could take the torture well. But the bastards had probably thought up something unbelievably cruel and sadistic for Buck.
What were they doing to him? Rick attempted to struggle, hoping that he would be able to release himself from the four stakes. Even though he was loosely tied, the effort soon became futile.
He wanted to escape from the squaws, release Buck from his torture, and have them both escape from the village. However, he soon realized that this was not to be. At that moment, Running Bear violently pulled the flaps from the tepee and entered.
“Do you hear the scout’s screams, Dark One? Do you wish to rescue him?”
One more high-pitched yell was emitted from Buck’s already painful throat. “He screams like a woman. And children are making him scream like that.”
Running Bear approached the staked out form and, bending his knees, looked straight into the handsome face of the bound lieutenant. “Do you hear me, lieutenant?” Running Bear raised his voice. “I SAID CHILDREN!!”
Rick growled, and with all of his muscles flexing, tried to pull the stakes from the moist ground. He wanted to wrap his strong hands around the Indian leader’s throat and squeeze the air out of the cruel sadist. Another scream came from Buck. And then another. It was getting to be too much.
“Let the boy go, you bastard!!” Running Bear raised himself from his knees and, smiling knowingly, started to leave the tepee. “Make him strong again, Mourning Dove. His next stakeout will not be as gentle as this one.”
Rick growled even more loudly this time as Running Bear exited.
Swift Arrow could see that Buck was beginning to lose consciousness. He had been given some water earlier to help keep up his strength, but it really wasn’t doing very much good. Every muscle was corded and in obvious pain. The toes of his beautiful feet were even flexed, pointing up to the night sky. His body glistened with sweat.
Swift Arrow was seen observing one careless drop of perspiration as it proceeded along the scout’s well-defined abdominals. Running Bear approached the wheel.
“Enough, Swift Arrow. We want Yellow Hair to be strong for more torture. Release the white dog.”
Swift Arrow ordered the rawhide nip pulls to be loosened from the branch. Buck’s breathing became normalized as the small of his back again struck the hub. He grunted as his strong body fell to the wheel. Every muscle hurt, especially his strong leg muscles.
“Take him to see The Dark One.” Running Bear lifted the beautiful blond head from the wheel. It felt quite sweaty in his large hand. Buck moaned in his delirium. He could hardly see the Indian’s sharply-featured face.
“You will spend tonight with The Dark One. You will worry tonight with The Dark One. His arrogance must be punished. You will also suffer tomorrow.”
“Take him away.”
Buck was released from the wheel, and lazily dragged toward the tepee.
Part 12 The manly cries ceased. “Did they kill him?” Rick asked himself. No, the Apaches would not have let that happen, unless some careless brave was busy carving the scout’s muscle and cut too deeply, severing a vital artery.
Rick did not have much time for more conjecture. The tepee flap flew open again. Rick could see the darkening sky. He heard the grunting and exertion of braves and the sound of something being dragged. Then a head of sweaty blonde hair attached to broad manly shoulders appeared, followed by beefy biceps grabbed by strong Apache arms, and strong legs leaving a deep rut in the dry earth as they dragged.
As the braves flipped the unconscious scout on his back, Rick caught a glimpse of the face. God! The boy was incredibly handsome, thought Rick. He had a rugged firm jaw line, now showing some beard stubble, high cheekbones, straight nose. His thick pouting lips were parted, dry, and caked.
The Apaches laid the youth on his back and spread his arms and legs. Rick craned his neck to see. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Buck’s chest. Holy shit! What did those red devils do to him!!? His beautiful pecs were mutilated. His huge brown nipples were bloody, distended, swollen, and pierced with what looked like cactus needles and other cruel sharp objects.
The captors hurriedly pounded four short stakes and secured the unconscious scout. The same team of squaws arrived with their bowl of water, herbs, branches, and cloth. They knelt around Buck’s body and almost religiously swabbed the nettle juice marinated cock.
With gnarled fingers they held the massive pec slabs while slowly withdrawing the torturous needles. When it came to removing the finely honed deer bone there was some heated discussion. For some reason, they decided to leave them in place. They might serve as handles for later tit torture.
The dried flecks of blood on Buck’s abs and pubic hairs were washed off. Some of the deeper cuts were treated with the crushed herbal paste.
Rick noted that, as with him, the women seemed to caress and admire the male body they tended. Rick suddenly became jealous. For an insane moment he wanted to be kneeling in that circle. He wanted to have his hands on that body. He wanted to feel that muscled flesh. He wanted to kiss away the pain and suck away the poison that threatened infection. His cock swelled and for a moment he let his hips thrust upward as if the thick humid air inside the tepee would offer some resistance to his turgid manhood.
As the squaws gathered together their implements and began to leave, Rick could see the huge erect penis that stood erect and swollen between Buck’s thickly muscled and slightly spread thighs. It reminded him of the flagpole at the Fort, thick, stout, and proud. Rick yearned for the fleeting release that a good CUM always afforded him. He turned his head again to look at the blonde scout’s virile pillar of flesh. It glistened in the light of the dying fire at the corner of the tepee.
“Buck… BUCK!” Rick hoarsely called out. There was no immediate reaction. Rick lay back, once more futilely testing first the bindings at his wrists, then his ankles. He listened to the muffled sounds from outside and to the steady breathing of his brother in torture staked out just a few feet from him.
The air inside the tepee was stifling. The humidity was becoming intolerable, and Rick was beginning to feel intense thirst. As he turned his head to stare at the spreadeagled form next to him, he wished that he could offer Buck some water. Buck’s beautiful lips had become cracked and very dry, which was an indication to Rick that the scout must also crave water.
He called out to Buck once more, but again there was no answer. Oh, how he desired to see Buck returned to his former unmutilated condition. The lieutenant’s lust was growing, and his manhood stiffening, as he continued to admire the masculine beauty of the staked out scout. Buck’s penis had remained semi-erect, though he was still unconscious.
Mourning Dove bent over and picked up one of Buck’s already etched boots. “I see Dark One like Yellow Hair. You stare at him and rise. He has beautiful muscles. My squaws enjoy to touch them all. Maybe you want to spill juice?”
The squaw straddled the lieutenant, and began to rub the boot along the thick shaft of his penis. It was Buck’s boot. Buck’s beautiful feet had been in that boot. Mourning Dove removed the boot, placing it under Rick’s nose. Buck’s scent permeated his nostrils. It was intoxicating. She then returned the boot to the shaft of the penis, pressing it and rubbing it harder and faster along the bottom of the throbbing member. Rick’s breathing became heavier.
“Buck! ” Buck!!” His breathing increased in intensity. He pulled at the stakes holding his strong arms and legs to the hard ground. The squaw stared down at the hairy-chested pony soldier. Rick was writhing in ecstasy. He did not want to surrender to the devil squaw above him. He could smell her acrid breath on his handsome face.
“You like, Dark One?” Rick did not respond to the squaw, as he violently tossed his sweaty head back and forth on the ground. He did not want to surrender, but he was getting ready for his release. He looked over at Buck. He took in the muscular chest, mutilated though it was. His eyes devoured the strong arms and beautifully shaped legs.
“Buck!” The squaw’s rubbing and pressing with Buck’s boot intensified as Rick continued to stare at the staked out scout. The musky smell of Buck’s boot was still in his nose.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” “BUCK!!” The muscular lieutenant spilled all over Buck’s boot as the laughing squaw clasped it and ran from the tent. She was shouting something at the top of her lungs.
“Rick?” Buck was gaining consciousness. “Is that you, Rick?” Rick was spent and just a little embarrassed. How was he going to explain the large amount of milky fluid clinging to the thick hair between his twin globes of thick pectoral muscle?
“Yeah man, its me! Been waiting for you to come around. God! Heard your screams, man. Thought maybe those savages gutted you!”
Buck’s face reddened a bit and felt hot. The stud did not like the idea that the Lt. had heard him cry out. “Fuck, Rick! I tried to hold out… not show any weakness.”
“Don’t sweat it, Buck. I saw what they were doing to you. NO man could have held out under that kind of torture to his pecs and nips. The way they stretched your body on that torture wheel!” Rick felt his now cold jiz cooling on his hairy chest and start to slide downward between his pec fur.
“Rick, I never felt that kind of pain. But, now, what did they do to us in this tent?”
“The squaws tended to our wounds. They want us to regain some strength so that we will be ready to be tortured again! The Apaches are experts in the art of torture and Running Bear is the most sadistic of them all. I bet they are sitting round a fire now and planning our next round of torture.”
Now fully awake, Buck systematically tested his bonds. His biceps and pec muscles swelled impressively as he jerked on the stakes at his wrists. Then his abs flexed as his impressive young legs pulled at the ankle stakes. “Damn, they have me staked down tightly.”
As Buck lifted his head a bit and looked at Rick’s staked body he noted the lake of man cream glistening on the mat of chest fur and Rick’s still thick prong nestled in the gooey puddle. “Rick, what the fuck did they do to you?”
“That bitch devil squaw milked me! She coated my cock with those weird herbs and got me all tingling, then milked me like some kind of man-cow; my prick like an udder.” Buck chose not to go into further detail. In his heart though, he knew that he had given Mourning Dove a weapon, one that he was sure would be used against them both in one way or another.
As Rick averted his face, Buck’s eyes took his body in. There was the body that he had often seen in the well-fitted uniform of a dashing cavalry officer, now helpless as he himself. Buck could almost see the steamy heat rising from the staked out form, the solid muscles with the grace of a puma, even in their bondage. Just behind Rick’s head were his army issue boots and one of his own beside Rick’s.
Part 13 Even in his dazed condition, one thing struck Buck as being a little peculiar. He began to wonder why there were only three army issue boots in the tepee instead of four, and began to ponder about the whereabouts of his missing boot. Buck remembered that Rick’s boot had been used by the Indians when they had tied it to his scrotum. What possible use could they have for his boot, and where was it?
Buck was still devouring the glistening army officer, admiring his flared lat muscles, when the tepee flap flew open and in walked Running Bear. He was holding two steaming wooden bowls in his hands. The small fire in the corner of the tepee illuminated his strong features. There was a grimace on his face as he approached the two staked out men below him.
Some soup for you, lieutenant. For young scout, too.” The two stretched out captives had felt hunger, but did not want to beg for food. The soup smelled terrible, but it would give them some sustenance for the inevitable torture session the next day.
As two young braves entered to observe, Running Bear reached down to untie the muscular arms of Rick and Buck. They were told to sit up as bowls of hot liquid were offered to them. As the contents of each bowl was eagerly devoured, the men came to the realization that the contents did not taste as bad as it smelled. Within minutes the bowls were empty. The captives were pushed back to the ground by Running Bear, who stretched out their arms and retied them. Running Bear handed the two empty bowls to the braves, who were told to leave the tepee.
There was a pounding sound from outside.
“Do you hear that, brave ones? When the sun rises you will find yourselves staked out once more. There are six stakes being forced into the earth. Your wrists and ankles are going to touch as you suffer the same torture together. Who will scream first? Will it be you, Dark One? Or you, Yellow Hair?”
The stretched out men regarded each other anxiously.
“Go to hell, you dirty bastard!”
Rick’s outburst was greeted by a slap across his handsome face. “As desert ants begin their torment, your arrogance will cease, defiant one! You will see Yellow Hair twisting in pain next to you, and feel his hot breath on your face as he whimpers for me to stop the torture.”
Rick noticed that the anticipation of torture was causing Buck’s member to harden. Buck felt as if he had to have some release soon. Running Bear became keenly aware of the young scout’s situation, and having been told by the squaw about the boot, he reached over and grabbed one of the lieutenant’s boots. Rick could not believe his eyes as Running Bear approached the sweaty scout and, reaching down, began to masturbate Buck with his boot.
Buck raised his head to watch. At first, he was repulsed, but the thought that it was the muscular lieutenant’s boot made his manhood stiffen even more. His undershaft was being caressed by Rick’s beautiful boot.
“Ohhhhhhhhh.” He looked over at Rick. He now knew what the squaw had done to him. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh” “RICK!!” The boot was pressed and rubbed harder along the shaft by the now smiling Indian. Buck continued to watch and writhe in his bonds. Staring transfixed at Rick’s beautifully haired muscular chest caused the scout to shoot hard, the cream landing on his firm left pec. “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
Buck’s eyes burned from perspiration as his head fell back to the dirt. The two bound captives turned to stare at each other, as Running Bear, holding the moist boot up high, ran from the tepee. They said nothing to each other as they fell into a deep sleep, with the echo of Rick’s lie to Buck still alive in the humid night air. The mystery of the scout’s missing boot had been solved.
Blessed slumber encompassed Rick. He mind drifted through mists. The sounds of gunshots and war whoops were in the distance, growing gradually louder. Then the sound of thundering hooves. Then the rush of bullets and arrows all around and wind in his face and hair.
Rick was astride his stallion, his uniform tight on his muscular body, his legs spread across the back of his horse. He was at the head of an entire column of troopers with bugles blaring. Rick had a saber in one hand and pistol in the other. Apaches were running in all directions.
He took careful aim felling one, then another. His saber slashing across Indian chests. Blood spattered. He executed a rapid dismount, cutting his way through several attackers. Apaches were scattering. Rick shot and his saber lashed his way through several more.
There in the distance was a torture frame, swaying with the weight of its hapless captive. A muscular blond stud, spread, his handsome body marked and bleeding, his head lolling on a massive chest.
With a slash of the saber, the wrists and ankle bindings fell away and the torture victim’s arms fall across Rick’s shoulders. The Lt. caresses the limp body, lifting him to his saddle, and mounts the stead himself. The blonde head nestles in Rick’s chest. His uniform shirt is slightly torn revealing the thick pelt of chest fur. The blonde head nestles on Rick’s chest and the arms weakly but urgently encircle his waist as the horse bolts forward.
As they gallop off and the sound of fighting recedes, Rick holsters his regulation pistol and puts his arm around the slim waist of the rescued captive. The fingers of his leather gloves experiencing the firm muscle beneath. The cavalry Lt. pulls back on the reins and the horse comes to a halt. Rick gently releases his grip on the youth. He pulls his head back only to see…
NOOOOOOO!!… the grinning yellow toothed face of Running Bear hideously twisted in hatred… the arm raised and an Apache dagger glinting in the sunlight.
A blood curdling war whoop, the blade cutting through the air, and a searing pain across his throat. Warm blood rushes through the fingers of his tan glove as he clutches his throat and falls from the saddle.
Rick bolted into consciousness just in time to hear his own scream dying in his throat. He lifted his head and looked down the length of his body. A fresh coating of sweat glistened on his trunk. There was no blood. His legs and arms were still secured. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest.
Part 14 “Lt. Rick! Lt. Rick! Are you OK?” Buck had been awakened by Rick’s nightmare, and turned his head in the trooper’s direction. “Sounds like you were havin’ a bad dream, Lieutenant.”
Buck was taking in the beauty of Rick’s stretched out form, glistening with sweat. The low fire in the corner of the tepee only enhanced its sensuality. The scout had to admit to himself that seeing Rick staked out so close to him was arousing him. He began to wonder how he would react once they were forced to suffer the same torture.
Running Bear had threatened to stake them out in the sun today. And both captives had heard what sounded like stakes being forced into the ground. However, it had sounded as if the hammering was taking place at some distance from where the two men were being held. Buck knew it was already morning because sunlight was filtering into the tepee.
“It was frightening, Buck. I wanted to save you, but the nightmare just kept getting worse. I don’t want them to hurt you anymore. Even though the devils made me scream on the frame, I couldn’t take hearing you scream.
Running Bear is a savage sadist. It became common knowledge at the fort that he preferred to capture strong young soldiers who could provide him with an outlet for his cruel tortures. He knew that they would be able to endure long hours of pain, and that as they suffered, their well-built bodies would please everyone in the village. You were also aware of this, but your eagerness got you in trouble.”
“I know.” The scout had to admit that he wouldn’t be in this mess had he thought the whole thing out from the beginning. But he had always taken risks, even as a little boy.
The lieutenant was noticing how Buck’s bruised nipples stood out on his beautiful chest. The deer bone had been left in the nipples for some reason, and Rick wondered if his chest would eventually be subjected to the piercing. The scout’s golden skin was causing Rick to feel lust.
Rick was urging Buck to be strong, when the flap of the tepee flew open once again and several braves entered, untied the captives and dragged them out into the glare of the morning sun. Running Bear stood before them.
“The time has come, brave ones.” The sadist circled Rick and Buck, running his callused hands over pectorals, biceps, and back muscles. “Beautiful. And very strong.”
Both men tried to pull away, but several strong braves were holding them. One older brave took delight in slapping them both in the face. Some blood was already trickling down the scout’s strong chin.
“I want them staked out!” Running Bear screamed his order and the two muscular naked men were force-walked some distance out of the immediate area to accept their fate. They found the six stakes firmly embedded in the dry earth. The sun beat down mercilessly.
Running Bear grinned. “I want the Dark One to tie down Yellow Hair. Do it, Dark One! Do it!!”
Rawhide thongs were handed to Rick. “I said to tie down Yellow Hair.” As Buck was thrown to the ground, Rick realized that resistance could prove fatal.
“Bastards!” Rick hissed under his breath. The short rawhide thongs were wet and pliable in his hand. They had been soaking in a bucket. They would shrink as the hot sun dried them. The Apache lost no opportunity for inflicting agony.
The savages had Buck on his back and were holding onto his arms and legs. Running Bear stood to the side with his arms crossed at his chest. “Do it! Tie Yellow Hair to the stakes! NOW!” he shouted.
Rick knelt at Buck’s right arm and looked into his face. The boy-man’s beauty took his breath away. He still struggled even in his predicament. His biceps swelled and the veins that snaked across them swelled with youthful blood. The smell of the scout’s body also assaulted his nose. It was ripe, a bit rank with the dried blood, herbs, and sweat, but it was ALL MAN and Rick’s loins began to throb.
Buck caught his eye. “Lt., do it man, you have to. We have no choice, Sir.”
He took the arms and pushed the wrist to the first stake. He wound the piece of rawhide around the wrist, pulling it tight, then looping it to the stake itself. A moccasin appeared in Rick’s peripheral vision kicking him in the flanks.
SLAMM! Rick keeled over and growled. Looking up he saw Running Bear. “Tighter dog! Pull the bindings TIGHTER!!”
Rick did as ordered and heard the young scout moan softly as the thong dug deeper. As it dried the pain would increase. Rick moved to the other arm, repeating the process. He was supervised carefully along the way.
When he knelt at the legs, he got his first glimpse of the handsome youth’s feet. They had high arches and were meaty, thickly veined, and muscular. The toes were straight and long. Buck flexed and rotated his ankles.
Rick trembled just a bit as he grasped first one ankle, then the other, and pulled it to the stake. He then wound the rawhide about the ankles and pulled them taut, looping them to the stakes.
He stood up and looked down at his own handiwork. His cock was already rising.
Part 15 Rick could feel the eyes of Running Bear on his rising manhood. Several other braves were pointing in the direction of his groin. One ugly older brave even began to laugh mockingly.
But the soldier could not prevent this reaction. Having seen Buck naked as they were staked out in the tepee excited him. Now he was lying below Rick even more tightly stretched than before. And the shrinking rawhide could eventually tear the tendons of the muscular scout.
Lieutenant Montgomery was tall and broadly built, but he fell to the ground like a mighty oak after being struck on the back of his handsome head by the broadside of Running Bear’s tomahawk. The last thing he saw was a flash of white light.
As Rick opened his eyes, he could see the glare of the sun, which was already at its zenith. He tried to move his head to avoid the light, but found that there were two small stakes on each side, preventing movement of any kind. He felt grateful that the savages had not cut his eyelids off. He had heard that the Apaches loved to do this to a man staked out in the sun so as to prevent him from tasting any relief from the relentless rays.
Rick immediately closed his eyes. He suddenly felt his hand being squeezed by another hand. He quickly opened his eyes, and immediately recognized the staked out form of Buck. He tried to move his arms and legs, but could not budge. As he became more alert, he understood that he and Buck were staked out again, but this time it was in the sun, with their wrists and ankles touching.
Rick squeezed Buck’s hand. The two men could not face each other.
“How ya doin?” Rick’s inquiry was sincere.
“Not so good. It hurts.” Small stakes were also preventing Buck from moving his head. His eyes were closed to avoid the sun. Wet rawhide was also securing the lieutenant to the stakes.
“You must hurt also.”
“It’s not so bad… yet.” Rick was not telling the truth. The Apaches had him very tightly stretched, and it hurt like hell. He was already having trouble breathing.
“So, my brave ones. Are your muscles strong enough to fight the stretch?” Running Bear was smiling as he observed how the skin of the captives glistened in the sun. Rick’s beautifully haired chest was already matted with sweat.
“My braves are out looking for anthills to bring back for you.” Buck began to struggle in his bonds. “Is Yellow Hair nervous? You will both soon know great pain as you try to escape my little friends, as your muscles try to pull away from the stakes.
“Two years ago a strong young corporal begged me to kill him as the ants began to crawl into his eyes. His pleading became hysterical. He and a pretty young white girl were captured. She was tied to a tree and forced to watch his torture. She screamed as we stripped the corporal naked and tied him to stakes. When the ants began their work she fainted. The corporal lasted for days before losing his mind.”
Rick also began to twist his body.
“Before my braves return, there’s one thing I have to do.”
Running Bear pulled a small knife from its sheath around his waist. He bent down next to Buck and made a shallow cut on his right pectoral. He repeated the same thing on the underside of his left arm. Buck flinched as he stared in horror at the Indian.
“The ants will enjoy the blood of two strong white men.”
Running Bear smiled broadly as he heard the lieutenant’s plea. “Now it is your turn, defiant one.”
The sadistic Apache rose from Buck’s side and strode over to Rick, knife in hand…
Part 16 Running Bear could not hide his own arousal as he squatted on the lieutenant’s tight hairy torso. His loincloth breeches were open and his turgid penis dripped copious amounts of sticky precum that painted Rick’s ab fur and belly trail.
As the Indian proceeded to make the ceremonial cuts, his hard shaft nestled in the damp hairy valley between the soldier’s pectoral mounds. Running Bear made the pectoral incision with a slow merciless tempo.
Rick gasped slightly and his pec flexed. The bright red blood emerged, mixed with sweat, and flowed to the side to mix with the dry earth.
Running Bear then caressed the thickly pumped and veined biceps, cutting one deeply enough to let it bleed, but not enough to damage it. He anticipated it flexing and writhing as the captive suffered.
Running Bear stood and surveyed the captives, apparently satisfied, but his face changed abruptly. Something was missing! He recalled an earlier incident with the burly teenage son of an earlier settler. The father and sisters had been killed during the raid on the farmstead, but the younger braves asked if they could have the young bull for torture.
Stripped to his boots, he had been staked out. The lad’s huge horse cock had also swelled and risen from his flat belly.
His captors had staked his cock too.
Running Bear turned and quickly retrieved two more pointed stakes and some rawhide strips. He knelt between Rick’s wide spread legs, admiring the muscles of the inner thighs. He then pressed the short stake flush at the base of the lieutenant’s large testicles so that they were spread apart.
Using the flat end of his tomahawk, he pounded the stake deeply into the earth. With one hand he grasped the soldier’s cock and pressed it against the upright piece of wood. He slowly wrapped the cockshaft to the stake with loops of wet rawhide and then tied it off at the base. Rick’s cock swelled to its max and would stay that way.
“Lt. Rick!!!” Buck was hoarse. “What’s he doing to you man?!”.
“Just staking out my cock, man. Tying it off real tight so it stays hard.”
Buck knew he was going to be next. Running Bear’s body blocked the sun momentarily as he positioned himself between the scout’s spread legs. The sound of the pounding stake did not need an explanation. Rick heard also a couple of small grunts from Buck as Running Bear slowly laced the scout’s thick column of man meat to the stake.
Buck and Rick continued to offer each other solace by intertwining their fingers and flexing their ankles so that their bare feet rubbed together. Rick chuckled for a moment.
“Glad you’re finding some amusement here, Lt., or is your mind beginning to slip?”
“Naw,” Rick responded dryly. “I was thinking about the old saying, you know, bout ‘dying with your boots on’.”
Running Bear stared down at both of them. He had reveled in the torture of white men before, but this time, this pair, their apparent camaraderie, along with their magnificent bodies, aroused him as never before.
He reluctantly allowed his gaze to be drawn to the horizon. The braves who went in search of anthills were returning and the Indian chief hoped that they had been successful in their pursuit. Running Bear wanted to see his two magnificent captives suffering as the ants carried out their torment.
His man meat was still turgid. Precum was clinging to the tip of the shaft. However, he did not want release just yet. That would come later. But before the braves arrived at the site, he felt that he had to once again straddle the lieutenant’s manly chest and rub his manhood between the hard pectorals. The hair was thick there and it would feel warm as he moved back and forth over it.
He proceeded to do the same thing to the staked out scout’s smooth hard chest valley. This was only after his bad teeth had tenderly nipped at the sexy belly trail that Rick wore so proudly.
The mouths of both men were quite dry, so they could not spit at the offending Indian, nor did they currently have the strength to yell. The bound victims merely twisted as best they could. This only excited Running Bear even more, since their muscular beauty was only enhanced.
The sadist rose from the scout, hiding his member under his already damp loincloth. The braves had arrived.
Two younger braves dismounted, each one carrying a small burlap bag. “We have ants, chief.”
“Let me see!” Running Bear peeked into the already opened bags. His face radiated delight.
“Rick? What is that?” The scout was getting nervous.
Rick was also getting to feel just a little uneasy, but he knew what was in the bag. “I think our little friends have arrived.”
The lieutenant had heard stories about Indian ant torture, and what it could do to men, even strong men like Rick and the scout. He thought back about Running Bear’s tale of the young corporal, and how he suffered in the sun. This was something he never dreamed he would have to endure.
The rawhide bindings were already beginning to dry in the sun. Rick could feel Buck’s wrist being pulled upward along with his. Their ankles were also moving slightly downward and out.
“Let’s move, Buck.”
As they both attempted to find a more comfortable position, Running Bear grabbed both bags from the eager braves and began to empty them around the two men.
They knew what was happening, but could not move adequately enough to see any ants. The two small stakes were holding their heads in position.
“It will not be long now, brave ones. The scent of your blood will soon draw my friends to you. You will soon feel them crawling up your stiff poles and trying to enter your slit. I know you will both try not to scream, but even your strong young bodies will eventually surrender.”
“Shut up, you savage!!” Rick’s defiance heated up the chief even more.
He continued to pull at his bonds as he felt the rawhide shrink. His chest muscles were starting to hurt, and his contorted facial features were showing that he was also in discomfort from the small cuts on his upper body.
Meanwhile, Buck was beginning to moan softly as his wrists and ankles began to move nearer to the deeply embedded stakes. Leg and arm muscles flexed as the captives tried to find some comfort. The sun felt warm on their bodies.
It wasn’t long before both Rick and Buck felt a few ants crawling up their legs. Buck already had a few crawling along the cut on his large chest, and the lieutenant had several exploring the hair under his flexed right arm.
Running Bear and the braves surrounded Rick and Buck, studying the faces of each as the pain and discomfort increased. The party had just begun.
Part 17 The smell of sweating manly flesh and blood proved a stimulant to the marauding fire ants. Their progress was torturously slow. It seemed an eternity as both men just experienced an increasing number of legs slowly scurrying across their inner thighs, lats, and shoulders.
Unable to see, they could only guess at the progress and the number. The thick man sap that oozed from their piss slits also proved to be a sweet treat as the insect pheromones drove the red devils gradually into a frenzy. The segmented bodies infested the sweaty hairy crotches of both men and advanced toward the turgid pillars of male flesh that jutted up from the forests of pubic hairs. With an uncanny instinct they climbed the pulsating flesh.
Running Bear watched with glee. His eyes moved from the handsome faces of his victims to their manly poles now sporting several dozen red invaders.
Rick and Buck resumed their slow writhing in anticipating of they were not sure quite what. What they could not see was the phalanx of ants lining themselves in the deep groove behind each man’s cock. Almost at once the hungry insects sank their mandibles deep into the tender flesh.
Buck moaned audibly while Rick gasped. Their abdominals tensed in a show of brawny musculature as the stings and resulting venom entered their bloodstream. The first ants to reach the piss slit drowned in the precum that was pooled in the deep slit. But the precum evaporated rather quickly in the hot sun and the succeeding assault used their strong front legs to spread the tender lips to the cock and enter, first one, then another.
The soft wet mucous excited them. The mandible sank deeply and ate. The staked cocks of the white men danced and throbbed turning from red to swollen purple.
Their cocks felt like they were on fire. The rawhide was shrinking fast squeezing the rigid columns of meat that were now covered with ant bites. Rick and Buck groaned out loud now. “UUUUGGGGGGGGGGh!” “Fuckarhhhhgggg!” – gyrating their pelvises in a vain attempt to dislodge the insect tormentors.
Mourning Dove’s face suddenly appeared over Rick’s eyes. She grinned down.
“So, Dark One, you can feel their bites?!” She waved something in front of his eyes. At first he could not make out what it was – a stalk of some kind.
“OH, Dark One, you do not recognize the root of the desert yucca? See, I need only to make a cut in its stem to release it sticky sweet sap. It is a favorite of the fire ant.”
With that pronouncement, she dripped the sap onto Rick’s nipples and then rubbed both his pecs vigorously, enjoying the feel of hard muscle.
“Now, handsome Pony Soldier, our little brothers will be encouraged to work faster as they taste of the sweetness.”
With that, the minute sensations of feet racing across his brawny musculature increased. The blood from his cuts, mixed with the sap, proved a savory treat for the ants as they now began to swarm over his pecs and abs. Within minutes, Rick could feel multiple stings and bites in his tender nip flesh. He arched his back as far as the cruel bindings would permit and released a manly growl.
Buck was already feeling delirious from his long exposure in the sun. He was suddenly roused when he became aware of Rick’s growling.
“ARGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” The muscular soldier cried out again with another manly growl. His corded muscles glistened in the hot sun as he strained in his bonds in a futile attempt to throw off some of the industrious ants that were enjoying their afternoon feast.
“ARGHHHHHHH!!!!” Buck again heard the lieutenant’s growl.
Rick was trying his best not to scream. He did not want to give the sadistic savages that pleasure. His arms and legs were now painfully stretched almost to their limit. He began to wonder how long it would be before his limbs began to dislocate, as he was already starting to feel pain from obvious nerve strain.
The Apaches stood over Rick and savored every grimace on his masculine face. The stubble on his cheeks and chin was already beginning to form a beard. He craved a few sips of cool water, but did not want to beg for it. Running Bear would enjoy hearing the handsome lieutenant plead. Rick tried to take his mind off of the intense thirst.
“AAAAAAAAARRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” Rick’s growl was the loudest one yet. Buck wondered what the Indians could possibly be doing. He began to panic when he realized that he could be next. Mourning Dove had moved over to the handsome staked out scout. When Buck became aware of someone standing over him, he slowly opened his beautiful blue eyes. He knew his time had come. He was next. He was frustrated by the fact that he could not move his head to see what was happening to Rick.
Without saying a word, Mourning Dove crouched down beside the muscular scout and began to apply the yucca sap to Buck’s firm chest muscles, paying special attention to the large nipples. The scout writhed and tried to get away from the squaw, knowing deep inside that there was no way that was going to happen.
Mourning Dove began to hear Buck softly moaning. “Please… please don’t. Please… let us go.”
Mourning Dove began to pull at the deer bone, still protruding from the scout’s sumptuous nipples. She alternated the muscle rubbing with the pulling of the deer bone. The scout’s firm flesh felt warm to the touch. There was quite a contrast between the scout’s smooth golden skin and that of the pony soldier, which was dark and covered with hair.
The Indians laughed as they heard Buck plead for release. This brought them to a frenzy and they began to jump around the victims, prodding them with spears and lightly kicking them with the moccasins on their feet.
“STOP!” Buck yelled as loudly as he could. “STOP!!”
Mourning Dove rose and looked down at the ants as they began to attack Buck’s already punished nipples. The biting on his nipples and chest increased as the scout’s writhing intensified. He began to growl also as he pulled at the stakes. The shrinking rawhide was working its magic.
Mourning Dove reached down and tugged again at the deer bone. The scout’s head was viciously twisting back and forth as the pain reached an almost unbearable height. He also felt thirst that was about to drive him out of his mind.
The ants were now scurrying around in full force. Both victims were squirming as much as their already taut limbs would allow, muscles flexed and straining.
Rick’s growls were about to form a scream, but he fought it as hard as his tortured body would allow. Listening to Buck’s agony only increased the lieutenant’s torment, and he again wondered why the scout had ventured out alone, even after having been made fully aware of the fact that Running Bear enjoyed torturing strong young men.
Part 18 Mourning Dove remembered the special bond that seemed to exist between the two captives. She remembered how one had pleaded for the other, and of course the special “boot torture” she had inflicted upon them.
She approached Running Bear. “Great one, let them watch each other suffer the ant torture. Release their heads so that they can witness. It will add to their agony.”
Running Bear pondered the suggestion and then motioned to the attendant braves. They knelt at Rick’s head and tugged the stakes from the ground. Rick was too weak to move at first. Running Bear knelt beside him and sneered, grabbing a handful of his thick sweaty black hair and jerking his head upward.
“Look white dog! Observe what is happening to your body.” Rick’s bloodshot eyes gazed downward over the mounds of pec muscle and saw his chest fur crawling… alive… teeming with the fire ants.
Sitting atop each pec slab were his thick swollen nipples, each covered with ants, each with a solitary ant atop the nipple stalk sinking its mandibles deep and eating. Further down his body he could see his abs ripple not just with thick muscle but with a blanket of ants. Then the top half of his trussed penis, sickeningly swollen and purple, covered from balls to cockhead with the attackers.
“Now, Dark Brave One, look at your comrade.” With those words, Running Bear jerked Rick’s head to the side and upward.
Rick moaned, “Sweet Heaven! Buck, oh Buck.” There was the blond scout just feet away in all his muscular beauty arching his back and moaning, gritting his teeth, his enormous pecs swarming with flesh eating insects, his thighs flexing wildly, his cock trussed as was Rick’s own.
Gyrating Indians were dancing around Buck. One was beating a drum. All had been aroused to a torture lust frenzy, and had removed their loincloths, and were jerking their cocks over the writhing stud captive.
Buck’s fists trembled, his biceps flexed, his sensuous mouth was open in a silent scream. His strong jawline and high cheekbones were shadowed by the young man’s growth of facial hair, making the young Adonis even more masculine.
Rick stared and felt himself reaching a point of no return. With a loud “RRRRROAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!,” his cock erupted. He released a geyser of thick sperm-sauce into the fetid air. Not once, but three powerful blasts shot from his tortured manhood. The pony soldier’s lava drowned dozens of ants. Running Bear grinned savagely into Rick’s face as the soldier retreated into unconsciousness.
Mourning Dove straddled the muscular scout who was now fully stretched in the hot sun. The wet rawhide had worked its magic on the strong scout. His tugging at the bindings had exhausted him, and he just lay there resigned to the fact that there was to be no escape.
“Let Yellow Hair be next, Great One. Release his head so he can see what the ants have done to the lieutenant.”
Running Bear turned his head in the direction of two young braves who stood nearby. “Release the scout.”
The braves quickly knelt down near Buck’s head and pulled the restricting stakes from near the scout’s head. Running Bear approached the scout’s head and dropped to his knees. He lifted the sweaty blond head in his hand.
“Look, Yellow Hair. Look at the brave lieutenant now.”
The Indian twisted the young man’s head in the direction of Rick’s staked out form. Buck was dazed and could hardly see. The perspiration was clouding his blue eyes. After a moment his eyes cleared and his saw the unconscious Rick tightly staked out next to him.
“Rick! Rick! What have they done to you? Answer me. Rick! Rick!”
He was very weak, and could hardly speak. His skin was on fire from the long exposure to the merciless desert sun, and his mouth craved a few drops of water. Buck noticed the ants wildly crawling all over Rick’s muscular body. They were feasting on the small cuts with their caked blood. They were dancing on the tip of his beautiful penis, and feasting on Rick’s two succulent nipples. Buck managed to turn his head around to observe his own ravaged body and saw a similar scene.
His stomach started to turn as he saw his own turgid manhood as the main object of the ants’ desire. The precum had already drowned some of the attackers, but many others were drawn to this focal point, nonetheless. Buck found it almost impossible to move in this position.
Buck did not want to die, but for the first time he felt that his young life was going to end at the hands of these sadistic Apaches.
Running Bear had picked up a long stick that was on the ground. He began to poke the scout’s hard member with the point of it. Poking and rubbing the stick along the underside and top of Buck’s pole, he knew that it would not be long before the brave scout had his release.
The Indian increased the motions with the stick. Buck began to moan. His movement was totally restricted. He thrashed his head from side to side, opening his mouth widely.
And then it happened. The hot manjuice flew up and landed on his rippled ab muscles. Running Bear laughed.
“You must like our torture, Yellow Hair. And you and the lieutenant can take so much.”
“Wake up the defiant one!” One brave bent down near Rick and slapped him hard on both sides of this handsome face.
“Listen to me, dogs. Tomorrow the cactus awaits. My braves have been particularly creative when it comes to their use.
“My father liked to tell about the time the muscular son of local settlers was captured and brought back to the village. He hung on the cactus as fire was used and tiny quills were slowly inserted into his young muscles. He kept calling for his mother and father to help him, but they had already been killed. He suffered so nicely.
“Tomorrow you both will be hanging, maybe with your unburned backs facing the sun. But that I will leave to my braves. Even Mourning Dove has some ideas.”
Rick and Buck stared at each other, and wondered how much more torture their already punished bodies could take.
They were about to find out.
Part 19 The requisite abatement between torture trials was now called for. The force of their intense orgasms, their super sensitive sunbaked flesh and the formic acid of the ant bites coursing through their veins had drained both torture captives of energy and resistance.
Two long poles were delivered by some of the young braves. Rick and Buck’s bindings were cut, their limbs freed, their ant-bitten and partially eaten penises were released from the cock stakes. The youngsters tied their wrists and ankles to opposite ends of the poles, lifted them, and carried them outside the immediate campground. Running Bear shouted instructions and delegated immediate authority to Mourning Dove and a gaggle of squaws.
The procession proceeded down an embankment to where a narrow but deep mountain stream gushed through some rocks, creating small lakes here and there of slower moving water. The white men hung like hunting prizes and sides of masculine beef, their heads thrown back, their mouths open, saliva dripping from their lips. Ants still scurried over their musculature, biting, eating, tearing small pieces of flesh from the cock and nipples. Upon reaching the stream, they were plunged into the cold waters.
Using crude brushes and switches, the men were bathed and washed. The ants drowned and were wiped off. The sweat and blood and remaining yucca sap was removed from the firm muscles. Both men moaned loudly into a higher level of consciousness and writhed slowly, their bodies responding to the icy water’s stimulation.
Their faces and hair were lovingly washed with soft deerskin. The squaws attended to the task with love, admiration, and determination. The firm muscles were caressed and cleaned. The ugly ant bites that erupted in the flesh were doused with appropriate herbal astringents. The handsome men were being re-invigorated, allowed to recover. Their youthful studly bodies primed for yet another day of slow Indian torture in the cactus valley at the foot of the ravine by the village.
Running Bear was unable to contain his lust. He sought privacy in his tepee. He tore aside his garments and griped his turgid man stalk. He sat and leaned against the central support post and closed his eyes. His fingers barely were able to encircle his swelling member.
He lit some peyote and let the smoke swirl around his head. His hand moved slowly up and down. His vision in turn became clouded. His thoughts went back to a month-old vision of a hapless teenage Pony Express rider. The beautiful youth had been stripped and was suspended from his wrists over a long stake that was sharpened to a fine spear-like point. The struggling and pleading youth begged for mercy as his legs were spread wide, weighted with stones, and his flexing ass was positioned over the sharpened stake.
With agonizing slow motion his stretched form was lowered until the stake entered his anal cavity – unable to fight the force of gravity. The Apaches slowly loosed the wrist bindings. The Pony Express rider expired slowly from the gradual implement as the stake worked its way up through his body cavity.
The daze blurred until only two men occupied his drugged trance. The Yellow Hair scout with the huge pectorals and fleshy hard nipple stalks and boy/man bravery, and the Dark Hair pony soldier with his hard hairy body and manly defiance. Their writhing bodies, undulating muscles, and manly cries of agony grew louder and they were engulfed in flames.
Running Bear opened his eyes and saw two pairs of boots. Both were dusty and semen encrusted. One pair was decorated with the ancient runes that condemned the wearer to a slow and painful death. The other tall shafts were the proud symbols of the hirsute and muscular pony soldier now at his mercy.
The savage groaned loudly. “ARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” A thick column of semen arced into the air.
Just at that moment the river party was returning with the handsome heroes to their tepee for food and refreshment. Running Bear’s loud exclamation made heads turn and drew knowing grins of approval.
“ARRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!!” Running Bear trembled as a second smaller burst of manjuice was emitted from his rapidly pulsing pole. Members of the river party kept their heads pointed in the direction of the Indian chief’s tepee. He had just been to a place he had never been before. The scout and the lieutenant had exceeded his expectations as far as finding male captives who were suitable for days of torture.
Their beautiful and hard bodies had suffered much, and were about to enter one more phase of their captivity. Just a few minutes earlier they had excited him beyond reason. He was returning from the place of the powerful orgasm and knew that he had to leave the tepee to meet the members of the village. After wiping his already flaccid member, he placed it under his loincloth and, after opening the flaps of the tepee, he exited to greet the returning party.
Rick and Buck had once again been tethered to their poles. Running Bear instantly saw how most of their original beauty had been restored due to the careful application of the brushes and switches. He also saw how the astringents had acted as a balm to help mitigate the severity of the ant bites and the knife cuts that had preceded the actual torture.
The two captives writhed and twisted as they hung from their strong poles. Their heads were thrown back, and it was painful to try to lift them. The humidity had already caused a fine sheen of sweat to coat their flexed muscles.
The young scout’s well-formed pectorals looked particularly enticing bunched together, which enabled a small pool of perspiration to gather in the now deeply tanned and somewhat sunburned ravine. The biceps of both men became etched under their skin as their struggling increased. The beards only enhanced their masculinity.
Running Bear ran his right hand over the sweat-covered bodies. He pulled Rick’s chest hair on his treasure trail, which caused the soldier to wince and moan. The two men found it very difficult to see because of the sweat pouring into their eyes.
“You rest once more, because tomorrow, as sun begins to appear, you will be taken to the great cactus valley. There you will be tied to cactus to once again suffer for Running Bear.
“Your backs will be facing the sun as your beautiful chests rub against the quills. Rawhide thongs will be attached to deer bone in Yellow Hair’s nipples, and then tied to deer bone now being inserted in the nipples of pony soldier.
“The more you struggle, the pain will increase. And then, the fire below. The slow fire below. Your screams will pierce the hot air.”
As Running Bear finished speaking, he could see the small pieces of deer bone being inserted into Rick’s already bruised nipples.
Rick’s scream excited Running Bear, who ordered the men to be returned to their tepees. Rick’s pierced nipples were causing him indescribable pain as the two men were led away. They continued to tug and writhe as two braves opened the flaps of the tepee
Buck and Rick were roughly thrown to the ground with their backs up against the center pole of the tepee. Their arms pulled behind and tightly tied. Their legs were staked down slightly apart. Their flexing biceps and shoulders were now pressed against each other.
Their sweat began to mingle as it dripped from their hair to their shoulders and down their arms. The nipple blood was quickly drying and coagulating in streaks on Rick’s hairy chest. They had swollen quickly and were throbbing. Rick looked down and could see how the finely honed sharp points of the deer bone had skewered his hard pecs and impaled his fleshy nipple stalk.
As the braves left them they took the opportunity to revile them. “Tomorrow, white dogs, new pain, new trials will be yours!”
The threats uttered by the braves continued to haunt Rick and Buck long after they found themselves alone once again. Rick’s irregular breathing was beginning to concern Buck, who soon realized that it was due to the intense pain that the virile pony soldier was enduring. He had suffered the same pain when his own nipples were skewered by the sadists. The scout wondered if Rick could even begin to imagine the intensity of pain he had suffered as his nipples were almost pulled from his thick chest while he was stretched on the wheel.
Buck closed his eyes for a moment and heard the cries of the young children who had participated in the excruciatingly slow torture. They knew how to make the strong scout suffer with refinement.
He was quickly forced back to reality when he heard Rick ask, “What more can they do to us? The bastards have no limits when it comes to these things. I had heard so many stories from men who had survived Indian torture, but I never realized what it could really be like.”
Buck shook his sweaty head in agreement, although he did not want to let on that he was really quite afraid that death was near. He looked over at Rick’s sunburned chest covered by the bloody streaks and began to become more aware of how the sun had burned his own chest and massive legs to an extremely painful degree. Rick’s burned skin must also be adding to his considerable discomfort. The chest hair was matted.
Both captives squirmed a bit, which enabled them to alter their position just a little. The humidity in the tepee was unbearable and they were perspiring profusely.
“I have a feeling they’re gonna use the cactus next, Rick.”
Rick turned his handsome head to look at Buck.
“Yep. That’s gonna be it. I just have a sneakin’ suspicion.”
Rick had never seen Buck as a foreboder, but these comments began to send chills down the soldier’s spine.
“I hope I’m wrong.” Both men began to recall the time when they had seen several braves gathered in the cactus valley. The captives had become curious at the time as to the nature of that particular meeting, and now began to fervently hope that they would not discover the answer to that question.
The night passed slowly for the two young men. They barely slept, although there was a short time when their heads touched as they nodded off. Their muscled arms pressed together. As the sun became barely visible over the horizon, the flaps of the tepee were pulled open by several young braves, two of whom bent down to untether the tightly bound men, who rubbed their wrists to restore circulation. They were lifted to their feet and led out of the tepee into the warm morning air, which was still several degrees cooler than the atmosphere in the tepee. The scout and army soldier were still able to demonstrate defiance, even though their strength had been considerably compromised.
Their fears were soon to be realized as they saw themselves being led down to the foot of the ravine where the cactus valley was located. Buck felt a sense of nausea as the location was finally reached. The sun was becoming more evident in the distance.
Running Bear was there to greet the arrival of his two prize captives. Before them were two almost identical saguaro cacti.
Without uttering a single word, several braves pulled Buck to one of the cacti, and lifted his still hard and muscled body onto the cactus, forcing him to sit on a short extension. His beautiful arms were raised and quickly tied by rawhide strips to the two large arms of the cactus.
“Stretch the Yellow Hair’s arms as high as they’ll go! Higher. I said higher!” The braves were doing the best they could to please the chief, but Buck was showing some resistance.
In actuality, Buck was attempting to lift himself off the part of the cactus that was slowly and painfully resting on his asscrack. His manpole was resting on quills.
The lieutenant looked on in horror as he saw Buck begin to writhe as he became a prisoner of the cactus. His round and firm buttocks twitched in pain every time they settled on the quills of the tormentor. Quills would slowly cutting into his meaty pectorals, if he failed to pull away from them as he tried to escape impending impalement when he reached upward for some relief. His broad back was covered with a sheen of perspiration, and Rick became aware of the scout’s back muscles dancing to the rhythm of his pain.
Buck moaned and continued to writhe as Rick was led to an almost identical cactus, which was located a short distance in front of Buck. As the hairy-chested lieutenant was led to his fate, he passed in front of Buck and was able to see the beautiful face twisted in an expression of obvious pain. Rick knew that he was about to be strung up in the same manner, to suffer along with the wagon train scout for however long these clever sadists felt it was necessary. His heart began to almost leap through his muscular chest as the cactus drew nearer.
Part 21 Running Bear’s squinting eyes followed Rick’s tortured progress across the desert sand, noting the firm and flexing legs and buttocks. Rick’s bare feet were pricked by pieces of cactus that had dried and fallen to the dry earth. He winced and limped as his broad manly feet were pricked and stabbed.
Running Bear’s careful observation of the two captives over the last two days had revealed a bond between the two men. At the height of agony and torment, they had sought to help each other, to ease one another’s torment. They had even invoked each other’s name as their turgid man flesh had hardened and released its seed.
Running Bear’s sadism near no limits, as he abruptly shouted new directions to the braves holding Rick. Pointing to the cactus now holding the struggling blonde scout, he dictated new instructions.
“Bring the Dark One here. Bind him to the same cactus as Yellow Hair!! The same cactus shall embrace them both!!!”
With great force, Rich was dragged to the first cactus and pushed into it. His sun blistered chest and abs pressed into the thorny pillar. Moistened rawhide strips were tied to his wrists and his arms wrapped around the body of the cactus as far as they could go. The rawhide was now looped across the lower back of the writhing scout and pulled taut. This motion drew Buck closer to the quills and he MOANnnnnnnnnnned. Another long piece of rawhide was looped across the upper backs of both men and tightened.
The tying of the two men to a single cactus was slow and torturous. Rick sought Buck’s face. They met as the rawhide was drawn. The pain shot through their bodies simultaneously, but they somehow drew strength from each other’s eyes. They both moaned, their lips parted to gasp for air.
Running Bear stood to the side and gripped both men’s hair, pulling their heads back as far as they could go.
“Enjoy the embrace of the cactus, white men. The sun will rise further into the sky and do the rest of the work! The buffalo strips will dry and shrink and pull your flesh closer to the spines. You will both experience their tender kiss. As one of you pulls back, the other will be drawn closer. You struggles will result in even greater agony for the other.”
The braves roared with approval.
Buck was already losing the battle with keeping his arms pulled upward. Gravity was winning and the spiny cactus branch dug deeper into his ass crack. The scout’s futile attempt to reposition his scrotal sac was ill-timed. As his muscular body settled, three large quills punctured his sac. His testicles seemed to have escaped skewering, but his flesh nut bag was pinioned to his abs and crotch.
He closed his blue eyes and threw his back back again…” O FUCK! Oh fuck! It hurts man!!”
Rick stared into the handsome young man’s face. His own increasing pain was magnified by the thought of what Buck was enduring. The quills had already punctured large sections of Rick’s broad hairy chest as well as his furred abdominals. Blood and sweat quickly congealed in the chest fur.
As he looked down, he could see Buck’s twitching left leg streaked with blood that worked its way down his calve to his broad foot and eventually drip to the earth at the base of the cactus. His eyes moved upward where he could see the hideous quill stab wounds to the twitching flexing left pec mound. A thick swelling drop of blood hung suspended in time from the scout’s hard erect nipple.
The sun worked its power. The rawhide shrank. The struggling man beef, suspended like crucified heroes on this diabolical plant were Spartan in their agony. Running Bear walked around the torture plant fondling the stretched and tortured tendons, savoring the sight, relishing every moan.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of horses. Two young braves drew him aside. With a glance at the torture scene, he mounted an extra war pony and rode off.
Rick and Buck came to the inevitable conclusion each on their own that today they would meet their maker. The Cavalry Lt. began a simple prayer and urged the blonde stud, separated by a mere foot of cactus stalk, to join him.
Both men stared into each other’s sweat and blood streaked faces as their lips moved. Buck repeated the words he had learned at his mother’s knee and longed for the safety he once felt in her arms. They prayed for a swift death however unlikely that now seemed. They both repeated a final “Amen” several times.
Despite the intensifying pain, Rick’s manhood hardened as he took in the young man whose fate he shared. He had endured unbearable pain and torment with a stoicism and bravery that few of Rick’s own troopers could have mustered. Rick’s cock filled with blood and snaked upward along his taut hairy abs now pressed against the cactus. As it moved the quills jabbed at it, tearing and scratching the cock shaft. One quill stabbed the tender meatus of the soldier’s thick cockhead. He bit deeply into his lip to suppress a cry.
“Buck… hey kid!”
Buck barely recognized the hoarse voice. “Yeah Lt.?” The blonde scout managed a half-whispered reply.
“Just wanted to tell you… I am proud of ya… you took it like a real soldier, man.” Buck’s handsome face wrinkled in a weak smile.
They were drawn so closely now to the cactus that their stubbled faces had to lean into it. The sun baked their exposed broad muscled backs. Their torsos were pierced in dozens of places so that writhing was even limited. Movement was restricted to muscle spasms here and there.
Rick and Buck drifted into semi-consciousness. The last image Rick had was Buck’s eyes closing as he passed out, and his high cheekbone sliding down the edge of the cactus allowing one particularly sharp quill to etch his beauty with a bloody streak from blonde stubbled chin to temple.
Rick’s eyes closed. He was back on his charger, in full uniform, leading a charge of an entire brigade. The regimental flag fluttered in the wind. His saber was drawn. The young bugler proudly blared the call to arms beside him.
As his horse reached a crest, he came upon a young muscular stud in buckskins and leather boots. The Lt. griped the extended arm, and felt forearm and biceps harden as a booted leg swung behind him on the saddle. Their hard bodies pressed against each other as they rode. The End


  1. Awesome story. So freakin HOT. I’ve loved Native American torture stories since I first read about them in high school. My only complaint is that you didn’t have the wet burlap wrapped around their balls so it could dry and constrict! But, hey, next time. Thanks for writing!

    • Loved the story but feel sad that like all gay tales of this nature phrases like “turgid meat”, “man juice” or “pecs and nips”are used. Erection, penis or cock, spunk or semen as well as chest and nipples would give this story a professional finish and for me would be a real turn on. Despite that a great story. Pure torture without the victims being sexually used makes for a good torture story. Torture is what it is all about me. Proper descriptions of both the torture, the men’s bodies and their reactions are a real turn on. But please just turn off the typical gay references one finds in most gay books. Please?

      • Yes. Pure torture, man’s body and will pitted against masculine tortures; sweat, muscle, straining, power, matted down chest hair, defiance. That floats my boat.

  2. Some people actually do have the time to “waste”. For them, they are not wasting anything at all. Let them revel in their ability to immerse themselves in any and all of it. For those who do not have the time now, be patient. It will come.

  3. I really love the scenario and the explicit description of muscled, hairy MEN being tortured like this, especially the cock-torture with ants while the victims are sweating in the desert sun. Would even love it more if the story would content a longer scene where the victims are buried neckdeep in the sun, their cocks bound to a stake between their legs, gagged and facing each other and the indians are pissing and cumming on their heads to attrack the ants.

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