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| SHANK! |
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Posted by: shank0000 - 07-27-2019, 12:18 AM - Forum: The Meeting Place
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well im shank some of you know me. ive done videos and photos. plus photoshop. im doing cgi art work right now. im a navel lover arrow bulett what ever its hot. gladiator cowboy soldier I get hard when they get it in the belly!
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| Spam Attack. |
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Posted by: BattlesandDeaths - 07-26-2019, 01:09 PM - Forum: News and Notices
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As many of you may have noticed, we were attacked by spam. I banned the prick and pruned his posts. I also received 8 accounts from Russia requesting activations, which I denied.
Occasionally one of those bastards may get through, so please be patient as we stave off those jerks.
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| A Warrior Proves His Loyalty, by TakeNoPrizners |
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Posted by: TakeNoPrizners - 07-25-2019, 01:43 PM - Forum: Sword Battle Stories
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A Warrior Proves His Loyalty
by TakeNoPrizners
for German Gladiator
Men who serve the rebel leader Sieger know they will be expected to prove their manhood, their valor, and their loyalty to him on a regular basis. Even a high-ranking officer such as Hünenkiller must periodically subject himself to Sieger’s test. The youngest warrior ever to rack up a dozen kills in one-on-one fights against the best of the king’s warriors, Hünenkiller understands that he is no exception to the rule. At the risk of his life, the champion fighter must continue to demonstrate his fealty. Sieger’s rebel forces had captured two of the king’s cousins, Hartbrust and Eisenherz. The king had made these stalwart fighters his generals, and Sieger delighted in the prospect of pitting the two muscle bulls against his best young warrior. Should Hünenkiller fail in combat and fall to one or the other of the king’s burly cousins, then Hünenkiller’s death will merely be the elimination of a weak link in Sieger’s band of hard-cocked muscle warriors. Should he prevail, however, Sieger will be rid of the enemy generals while helping Hünenkiller elevate his prowess and fighting skill to new levels.
Hünenkiller’s cock lurched to full erection when Sieger told him he would fight the two captured bulls. He raised his muscular arm in salute, his perfect biceps bulging and his slab pecs flexing as he intoned the customary “Hail Sieger” in his deeply powerful voice. The captured warriors had been nabbed before they were able to fall on their own swords, as had most of the other officers. Sieger’s forces had wiped out both of the armies that Hartbrust and Eisenherz had led in their luckless attempt to rout the rebel barbarian from his seat of power in the outer provinces. Hung naked by shackles on their wrists, the magnificently built studs had been humiliated over a period of days, fucked in the ass each night by Sieger’s ever-hard warrior-cock, and flogged on their stout chests three times a day. Hartbrust and Eisenherz were each over six feet in height and carried muscular frames of 250 pounds. Each man had a smooth chest with bulging pecs that were decorated with large, prominent nipples. Their bellies were slightly convex but rock hard and creased with muscularity from the sternum to the navel. Eisenherz wore a beard, but his comrade Hartbrust, at least before his capture, had been a handsomely cleanshaven man. His beard stubble now gave his large, square jaw a darkly ominous look, indicating the extent of his stamina by revealing the length of the harsh captivity he had survived thus far. Their thighs were the match of even the strongest wrestlers among Sieger’s men, and the captives’ arms were long and hulked. Each of the two warrior cousins sported a cock some ten inches in length and as big around as their wrists. Their hairy balls hung full and low from their loins. As was customary among their king’s inner circle of loyal warriors, Hartbrust and Eisenherz each had a royal eagle tattooed on his chest, directly over the heart. Sieger made sure that his whipmaster spared this tattoo when laying into the men’s pecs with the lash. Everyone knew that these symbolic eagles marked the spot into which a sword would eventually be thrust when the barbarian commander determined that it was time for the prisoners to die.
Early on the morning of the scheduled fight, the two bulls were released from their shackles. Under heavy guard they were allowed to recover for half a day before being forced into death combat against Hünenkiller. Each naked prisoner ministered to the other’s body by using his big hands to knead stiffened shoulders and sore arms. They restored each other to fighting condition and tested their strength by armwrestling each other. Denied food since their capture, Hartbrust and Eisenherz were able to draw something warm into their empty bellies by reclining in six-nine position and sucking each other’s massive shafts to ejaculation. It was not the first time the cousins had tasted each other’s cocks.
The beefy studs had no illusions about their fates. Sieger never allowed a prisoner to live unless the captive betrayed his king and swore allegiance to Sieger instead. No amount of torture had induced Eisenherz and Hartbrust to renounce their royal cousin and join the rebels, and they were certain that even if one or both of them survived the match against Hünenkiller, Sieger would execute them. Even so, each man vowed to the other to do his best to take down the barbarian fighter. Even after sucking each other off, the prisoners’ cocks were hard at the thought of killing one more of Sieger’s men before they were dispatched to the warriors’ afterlife. They would die for the glory of their cousin king and would proudly take the royal eagle on their chests with them to their graves. If Hünenkiller survived the combat and killed the muscle bulls, Sieger planned to reward him generously.
Even before facing the barbarian fighter in the command performance, Hartbrust and Eisenherz had become familiar with Hünenkiller. The horny young warrior had appeared three times daily as a spectator when the prisoners received their regular floggings. The captives had seen the strapping fighter stroke his big cock while watching the brutal lashing of the men’s chests by Sieger’s sadistic whipmaster. Hünenkiller was leaner than the cousins but stood four inches taller. His muscularity and 225-pound stature were more than sufficient for victory against the majority of his opponents. Even so, his agile frame made him decidedly less massive than many muscle bulls. Hünenkiller’s long muscular legs were in perfect proportion with his large, handsome feet. The stud’s lesser bulk gave him the advantage of lightning quick speed during combat.
Blue eyes gleamed fiercely from Hünenkiller’s aquiline face. His cleanshaven jaw was sharp-edged and jutted proudly outward over an impeccable chest. Unlike the broad brown nips that adorned the chest muscles of Eisenherz and Hartbrust, Hünenkiller’s tits were more compact. The tight rose-colored protrusions seemed to cling to the sharp edges of the warrior’s hard pec muscles, as if they were drops about to fall. Hünenkiller’s belly was like an impregnable shield, divided into a perfect symmetry of six sections of muscle. His thick, ten-inch cock naturally curved to the left when it was engorged, giving him a menacing, twisted appearance. His tool gleamed constantly at the cockhead from an ever-present pearl of pre-cum, and the lightly-colored hair that covered his bull balls glistened in the sunlight. Though the young fighter had never been defeated, he was not without wounds. Scars from swords and knives marred Hünenkiller’s left pec, his belly, his right thigh, and both his arms.
At high noon Sieger ordered the fight to commence. None of the three naked warriors cast so much as a shadow as the men sauntered onto the patch of ground where they would fight to the death with both swords and daggers. The sun directly overhead failed even to silhouette the men’s exposed cocks, which were so hard that they stood up flush against their bellies. Each man had a sword in his right hand and a dagger in his left. The assembled soldiers who would watch the carnage formed a generous circle on the bare, sandy earth and created an arena of death. Sieger had a chair brought to the circle and seated himself prominently in order to appreciate the show.
Hünenkiller, Hartbrust, and Eisenherz strode confidently into the clearing, each man swinging his heavy sword over his head, readying his arm muscles for the coming ordeal. Sieger signaled his personal squad of archers to position themselves at evenly spaced intervals around the circle. Each studly archer, sworn to protect Sieger’s life at the expense of his own, drew an arrow and stood ready to shoot it into the chest, back, or throat of the enemy warriors if they turned their weapons against Sieger.
Sieger stood at the edge of the circle and raised his own sword. The assembly of ruggedly handsome musclestuds grew quiet as their leader announced the terms of the contest. “The fight will last until Hünenkiller kills both Hartbrust and Eisenherz, or until he dies in the attempt! This shall be a test of his loyalty to me!” Sieger intoned. The excellent physique of the tall, handsome rebel leader was imposing, even when surrounded by a throng of oversexed musclestuds. Sieger’s authority derived as much from his imposing appearance as from his skill as a commander or his ruthlessness as a warrior.
Hünenkiller lifted his sword in salute to his leader and intoned in a loud voice “Hail Sieger!”
Eisenherz and Hartbrust thrust their groins forward toward Sieger in an obscene gesture of disdain and yelled “Fuck Sieger!” as their big pricks slapped against their hard bellies, and their huge bull balls swung between their massive thighs. Each man symbolically moved his dagger across the front of his own throat, making clear their intention to kill Sieger if they ever got the opportunity.
The gross insult from the king’s captured generals was the spark that started the fight. Hünenkiller responded to the effrontery by bellowing a deep-throated battle call and charging toward the naked bulls, his sword swinging over his head. He gripped his dagger beside his left thigh, ready to spring an uppercut strike into the underside of a pec shelf or jaw. The men encircling the deathfighters raised their voices as well, cheering Hünenkiller on and delighting in the prospect of a two-on-one fight to the end. Eisenherz and Hartbrust separated, playing out a strategy of dispersal and individual attack. Hünenkiller managed only to nick Hartbrust’s belly with a flesh wound before he retreated out of range. The rebel watched his back, aware that Eisenherz would try to move in from behind and impale him through the kidneys. The two cousins worked well together, one of them engaging Hünenkiller with his sword while the other advanced on his rear. Hünenkiller’s mighty weapon clanged with the deafening ring of metal on metal as his slashes and strikes were met by those of his opponents and as he defended his own head, chest, and throat from the vicious onslaught of his enemies’ blades. Sparks from the forceful collision of metal flew into the air, sometimes flicking into the men’s eyes as they parried and defended.
Eisenherz landed a cut onto Hünenkiller’s left shoulder with his sword, adding a new scar to the champion’s collection of wounds, but failing to strike him badly enough to coax the dagger from his grip. In response, Hünenkiller lashed at the sword arm Eisenherz had extended and cut deeply into the lower part of the limb. A profusely bleeding wound opened at his wrist. Eisenherz growled at the hit but did not loosen his grasp. Blood coursed down his arm as he continued to slash furiously at Sieger’s best warrior.
Hünenkiller defended with his sword while thrusting his dagger out from his side and to the rear, preventing approach from those directions. His simultaneous offense and defense required great agility, enormous stamina, and constant vigilance. He realized that in order to survive he would have to disable one of the warriors and reduce the odds of his defeat by making the fight a one-on-one match with the cousin who was left standing.
Luck was on the side of the rebel warrior. Eisenherz was now making running attacks against Hünenkiller, charging him with a leveled sword that pointed directly forward. The tactic required Hünenkiller to dodge the attack while taking care not to step within range of Hartbrust’s blades. The allied duo of fighters established a rhythm of running attacks. They took turns swooping in against Hünenkiller while the other tried to impale the warrior when he evaded the attack. In the second such onslaught by Eisenherz, Hünenkiller managed deftly to sidestep the incoming blade, then lash out with lightning speed. He thrust his dagger-wielding left hand toward the muscle bull’s broad back as Eisenherz rushed past him. A sharp cry pierced the air as Hünenkiller’s dagger pierced the middle of his opponent’s lower back. The long blade caught Eisenherz in the spine, only inches above his ass crack. Hünenkiller held on firmly and allowed the momentum of the sprinting warrior to extract the blade from the spinal column while he parried another slash from Hartbrust.
Unexpectedly, Eisenherz collapsed onto the ground and lay on his ass with limbs spread as he looked skyward, a shocked expression on his face. His bearded jaw quivered, and his lips tried to form words that would not come. His face was frozen in abject anger at his predicament. It was clear from his expression that his hate for Hünenkiller had reached a new extreme. If he had been able to rise, he would have snapped his opponent’s neck with his bare hands. As it was, Eisenherz moved his legs desperately but ineffectively, his heels scraping the earth as he attempted to push himself up. His arms likewise seemed unwilling to cooperate. Unable to retain a grip on his weapons, Eisenherz was able only weakly to lift his hands up over his belly. His raised wrist continued to bleed badly, depositing blood on his torso and forming a pool beside him. Hünenkiller had not seen a wounded man behave this way before. There was no sign of a life-threatening wound to his internal organs, yet Eisenherz, while obviously not broken in spirit, was neither dead nor thrashing in defiance. Hünenkiller, however, had no time to speculate. Hartbrust, aware that his comrade-in-arms had been taken out of commission, engaged Hünenkiller with a surge of new ferocity, doubling the rate at which the swords clanged against one another. He slashed laterally at Hünenkiller’s magnificent belly, hoping to rip his gut open if the man ever got close enough. The battle raged on at a frantic pace while the assembled onlookers admired the fighting skills of both swordsmen and puzzled over the strange supine condition to which Eisenherz had been reduced.
Sieger arose from his chair and strode angrily to the fallen fighter, suspecting Eisenherz of prematurely giving up. “Arise and fight, you cur!” he shouted angrily as he kicked Eisenherz in the side of his chest and stomped down on his pecs with his foot. However, the stimulus did nothing to encourage Eisenherz to lift himself up. He merely continued his pathetic twitching as his lips wordlessly formed a vile epithet for Sieger’s benefit. The knife that had stabbed his vertebrae had largely paralyzed him, and Eisenherz lay helpless with his prick frozen in an impressive hard-on. He was unable to aid his fightmate and unable to defend himself if Hünenkiller prevailed over Hartbrust. Sieger spat with disgust onto the massively muscled chest of the wounded Eisenherz and returned to his front row seat. With Eisenherz helpless on the ground, the fight now appeared to be between Hünenkiller and Hartbrust.
Hartbrust cut diagonally downward with a powerful descent of his sword, which was met by an even more powerful diagonal parry from Hünenkiller’s weapon. The two blades met by sheer chance in ultimate perpendicularity, each surface of heated metal yielding at its narrowest point to the cutting edge of the other sword. Miraculously, the blades cut into each other and locked in place. Each man gripped the hilt of his sword with unyielding tenacity, pulling against the bite of the other sword. The right arms of the two fighters bulged as their muscles strained to the maximum in an effort to dislodge the blades. They growled fiercely at each other as they found themselves locked in an involuntary dance of death, neither man willing to relinquish his hold on his sword, thus ensuring that his opponent would remain within arm’s reach. The two warriors lashed furiously at one another with their daggers, slashing each other’s massive pecs and bellies with the sharp blades. They growled from the pain and from their fierce determination to cut the opponent’s body to ribbons. Blood sprayed in a radius of ten feet from the fighting pair as they slashed each other’s beautiful chests. They wounded each other’s arms and nearly slit each other’s throats as they ducked and pulled their heads back for protection, then leaned into each other for a new attempt at a kill. The spectators yelled wildly at this display of frenzied bloodlust, many of the men chanting in unison “Kill! Kill! Kill!”
Finally Hünenkiller lifted his big right foot and placed its sole flat against Hartbrust’s hard, protuberant belly. Hartbrust promptly slashed the lower leg of his opponent to shreds with his dagger as he continued desperately to grasp the hilt of his sword, which, along with Hünenkiller’s weapon, was locked into place above his head. The wounds to his leg did not deter Hünenkiller from thrusting powerfully outward with his foot, pushing Hartbrust backward and causing him to lose his balance. Hartbrust cried out as he realized he would have to let go of his sword. Hünenkiller continued to grasp the hilt of his own weapon, and as Hartbrust released his grip, Hünenkiller’s right arm now bore the weight of both men’s interlocked weapons. Still clutching his dagger, Hartbrust fell hard and heavy, his broad back smashing into the ground so that he lay sprawled before his deadly adversary.
A huge roar arose from deep inside the chests of the men watching the fight. They hailed Hünenkiller’s brave escape from the gridlock and lustily anticipated Hartbrust’s death. Hartbrust was spitting mad, his face a deep purple from the intensity of his anger. He determined to kill Hünenkiller in the most painful way he could. Spurred by the angry energy that flows from being knocked down during a fight with another man, he lifted himself onto his elbows and began to roll to the side to scramble back to his feet. However, before Hartbrust could lift himself back into position, Hünenkiller discarded the two interlocked swords, tossing them to the side of the ring where they stuck in the sandy soil with a dull thud. With blood coursing down his lacerated chest from the cuts he had received during their close combat, Hünenkiller quickly clamped his right foot onto Hartbrust’s left arm, preventing him from inflicting still more wounds with the infernal dagger. Hünenkiller dropped with the full force of all 225 pounds of bull muscle, so that his right knee met Hartbrust’s rib cage just below his left nipple. The sound of cracking ribs was audible even over the cheers of the men watching Hartbrust’s demise. The blow from Hünenkiller’s body weight sent an intense shock wave through the fighter’s strongly pumping heart muscle. It was as if a fist had reached inside his breast and punched his heart. Hartbrust was momentarily dazed as he glared upwards, but no less angry or determined to fight. He lifted his head in protest, just as Hünenkiller executed a second full-force knee drop onto his chest, sending more shock waves through his opponent’s solidly muscled torso and breaking more ribs.
Hartbrust snarled desperately at his opponent as his chest was crushed. He struggled vainly to get back to his feet. Hünenkiller lifted himself up and once again performed a well-aimed knee drop onto his adversary, this time aiming for Hartbrust’s left arm. Hünenkiller broke the arm between the wrist and the elbow, forcing his opponent to release the dagger he held in his left hand and preventing him from using that arm to defend himself. Winded, and with broken rib bones piercing his lungs, Hartbrust was no longer in a condition to pose a serious threat. Hartbrust lay quivering with anger, pain, and frustration as he screamed “Barbarian fuckswine!” and other vile curses at Hünenkiller and tried vainly to lift himself up with his badly broken arm. His struggles succeeded only in inflicting more agony on his ravaged lungs. Hartbrust let his head drop back to the ground as he coughed up bright red heart blood. Defiant even in his broken state, the tattooed warrior lifted his now empty-handed sword arm and raised a clenched fist of defiance as he gurgled “Fuck Sieger! Fuck all you rebels!” through the blood that threatened to choke his throat.
Hünenkiller did not acknowledge the cheers of his comrades as he strode wearily over to Eisenherz, who still lay largely paralyzed and was only able to scrabble pathetically on the ground. Hünenkiller kicked the fallen warrior in the head to express his disdain for him, then retrieved the sword of the fallen man so that he could use it to kill both cousins. He returned to Hartbrust and angrily slashed at the warrior’s still extended right arm, cutting the insolently balled fist off with a mighty slash that took half of Hartbrust’s limb away. The severed arm flew with a spray of blood, flying fist over elbow for a distance of twenty feet. It struck one of the muscular soldiers watching the fight, thudding into the bare chest of the surprised man and occasioning an outburst of laughter from the assembled studs. The spectator lifted the muscular, severed arm and held it aloft so that all could get a better look at Hünenkiller’s work. As the cheers rose, Hünenkiller turned the sword downward, pointing it directly at the tattooed eagle on the muscle bull’s tanned chest. He slowly moved the tip of the sword around the mighty chest of his opponent, scraping the flesh with the tip of the sword to cut a bloody groove in the sculptured surface of the man’s magnificent physique. He was taunting Eisenherz by delaying the death thrust. Eisenherz looked over at the bleeding stub where the rest of his right arm had been, then gazed up at Hünenkiller’s massive, slashed chest muscles and fiercely determined face. Resigned to his fate, Eisenherz lifted himself upward slightly, jutting his chest out toward his opponent as if he were both taunting Hünenkiller and making it easier to accept the blade that was about to finish him. Even as he did so, his face contorted into an expression of hatred for his killer. His rock hard pecs jutted forward, as if they were invincible. His gesture was simultaneously an act of defiance and a final surrender.
“Die, scum!” Hünenkiller muttered. “One day I will kill your king too!” Eisenherz seemed about to respond with a last interjection of insolence, which was just forming on his lips. Hünenkiller cut him short and drove Hartbrust’s sword forcefully down through the stud’s chest, impaling his eagle tattoo and skewering his thickly muscled torso. The blade exited the muscle bull’s broad back and descended into the sand beneath him. Eisenherz bucked against the intrusion, throwing his head back and screaming briefly from the pain before his throat filled with heart blood and all sounds were choked off. Hünenkiller twisted the blade, separating a couple of ribs and lacerating the man’s wildly pumping heart. As Hünenkiller clasped the sword with both hands, he felt the last pulses of his opponent’s life. A desperate rhythm vibrated through the metal of the sword and then stopped. A warm spray of fresh semen splattered Hünenkiller’s badly cut legs. Eisenherz was shooting deathcum from his still erect cock. The victorious killer placed his foot on the belly of the defeated warrior and pressed down for leverage as he angrily jerked the sword out of the loser’s dead torso. Sieger looked on approvingly from his position at the side of the ring. The handsome rebel leader stroked his massive cock, acknowledging the singular eroticism of men fighting and dying.
Now it was Hartbrust’s turn.
Hünenkiller strode over to the side of the fight area and retrieved the fused swords from their resting place in the sand. He returned to Hartbrust and planted the locked blades firmly in the earth just below the warrior’s chin, pinning Hartbrust’s neck to the ground by trapping it in the crux of the joined blades. Hartbrust struggled and hurled raging curses at Hünenkiller, but the blades cut into his throat when he tried to lift his head from the ground.
“You shall escape the blade no longer, Hartbrust!” Hünenkiller announced to the stricken stud as he straddled the muscle bull with a foot planted on either side of the mighty warrior’s lats. Hartbrust had lost considerable blood from his badly slashed chest and from his arm wound. A pool of fresh warrior blood formed beside his body. Hünenkiller’s left foot sank into the blood-moist soil as his toes dug into the earth. He secured a firm foothold and prepared to deliver the death thrust to his enemy. The tattooed eagle heaved upward and downward on Hartbrust’s bull chest. Glistening with blood and mansweat, the royal emblem awaited its inevitable impalement at the hands of a superior fighter.
Hartbrust managed to lift his right hand to his crotch and had enough mobility to grasp his own bullcock between his thumb and curled fingers. Hünenkiller considered chopping Hartbrust’s arm off, as he had done with the man’s cousin, but decided to allow him to pleasure his cock while he died. If shooting a wad of cum was all the warrior was still able to do, the final wank would make his enemy’s exit all the more pathetic.
Hünenkiller positioned the sword tip over his opponent’s heart, pricking the tattooed flesh and adding another fresh wound to the many that already adorned the muscular torso of the fallen stud. Hartbrust would die more slowly than had his comrade. Having dispatched his other adversary, Hünenkiller could now afford the indulgence of a sadistic chest fuck.
While Hartbrust curled his lips and snarled at Hünenkiller, he stroked his own cock toward orgasm. Hünenkiller gripped the hilt of his weapon with both his massive hands. The victor forced the death blade into his enemy’s chest with agonizing slowness. Hartbrust squirmed and flailed his legs as the relentless blade made its way through his solid chest muscles, grazed his already broken ribs, and then pricked the external wall of his warrior heart. The strong muscle pumped frantically inside the chest of the doomed fighter as it succumbed to the deathfuck. Hartbrust continued to jerk himself off, tugging on his doomed prick as he struggled vainly against the two swords that pinned his neck to the earth. If he had been able to speak he would have begged Hünenkiller to proceed with merciful swiftness, to impale the heart muscle and quickly send him to the netherworld as his big cock exploded with a final burst of mancum. Mercy was not a quality with which Hünenkiller was familiar. He grinned as his own cock throbbed against his abs, leaving track marks of glistening pre-cum on his belly. His mighty arms bulged as he gripped his sword even more tightly, this time extracting it from the chest of his enemy only to re-insert it and drive it ever so slightly farther downward than before. Hartbrust grunted with each merciless swordfuck to his manly chest, his face contorted with a pain more severe than he had ever imagined.
Hünenkiller reveled in the abject agony of his victim as he systematically destroyed the man’s heart. The victorious fighter took his time, killing Hartbrust slowly but surely with a third insertion, this one slightly deeper than the first two. He was determined that the pain to his enemy’s chest would exceed the pleasure he was allowing Hartbrust to create for his cock. As the blade entered the stud’s chest for the third time, Hartbrust suddenly lurched with a violent muscle spasm. His body stiffened. Hartbrust’s hand fell away from his cock as he brought himself off and blew several powerful shots of deathseed onto his belly, chest, and throat. Then the stud’s muscular body suddenly relaxed and lay limp. The cock, however, continued to pump out the last of his sperm. The dead warrior’s handsome face tilted to the side, his eyes open in death, heart blood trickling from his mouth.
Without even touching his cock, Hünenkiller spontaneously ejaculated eight thick, celebratory ropes of cum onto the body of his opponent. He defiled Hartbrust’s ruggedly handsome face with lines of thick white cream. Hünenkiller plunged the sword all the way through the corpse of his enemy. He felt the tip sink into the bloody sand beneath Hartbrust’s back as he completed the ultimate fuck of the royal eagle on the dead warrior’s chest. Extracting his sword and pulling the crossed swords off of Hartbrust’s throat, Hünenkiller wiped the blood of his enemies from his trusty blade by kneeling beside the corpse and lifting Hartbrust’s head. The dead warrior’s thick, wiry hair and the beard stubble on his square jaw were soon smeared with his and his deathmate’s own blood as Hünenkiller cleaned the gore from his weapon. He rose, lifted his shiny sword above his head, and placed his bare foot onto the bloody, cum-spattered chest of his opponent. The spectators cheered Hünenkiller’s victory with deep-throated salutes, and even Sieger raised his voice in unison with those of his men.
The barbarian leader who had ordered the fight strode with an erect cock into the blood-soaked fight circle. Facing Hünenkiller, Sieger drew his sword and gently touched the broad side of the blade to the left shoulder of his victorious fighter. Hünenkiller understood the meaning of this gesture and promptly lowered his gaze, bowing his head in respect to his leader before kneeling in front of Sieger. Sieger stepped forward, closing the gap between them to cock’s length, whereupon Hünenkiller gratefully accepted his leader’s fuckrod into his mouth. He sucked and tongued the enormous shaft, allowing it to slide warmly to the back of his gullet. Within seconds it emitted forceful shots of cum. Sieger’s ejaculate pelted the back of Hünenkiller’s throat. The warrior was privileged to pleasure Sieger’s enormous cock and to drink his commander’s bitter seed. Skilled at ministering to the needs of men, he took the hot, thick jism into his belly without spilling a drop.
Hünenkiller was granted leave to recover from the scars of battle. Sieger ordered his attendants to salve the warrior's many wounds, and the champion soon found himself reclining in a bath and enjoying the application of warm, healing oils to his ravaged body.
Sieger ordered the ankles of the two dead muscle bulls tied together, after which they were attached by ropes to Sieger’s steed. The great barbarian chief rode from his camp, dragging the naked bodies of Hartbrust and Eisenherz behind him. When he had reached an open field several miles distant, Sieger cut the ropes and abandoned the corpses amidst the forlorn carcasses of hundreds of warriors who had been slain in battle there a few days before. The wounded from the engagement had been put to the sword, and the dead had been stripped of anything useful. As was the custom, they had been left as carrion for the jackals, wolves, and vultures to consume. Sieger ripped the men’s bellies open with his sword to prepare a feast of his enemies’ guts for the scavengers. The once powerful muscles of Hartbrust and Eisenherz, as well as their cocks and balls, would soon be ripped from their bones to fill the bellies of many hungry beasts.
The vicious wounds Hünenkiller had sustained during the deathfight healed quickly, leaving his hulking torso covered with gnarled flesh. As word of his victory spread among Sieger’s vast rebel army, Hünenkiller had his battle-scarred chest tattooed with an image of crossed swords, symbolizing the weapons that had miraculously fused together in his fight with Hartbrust. The X-shaped tattoo directly over Hünenkiller’s heart served as a constant reminder of his prowess as a warrior. Before long other men in the squadron that Hünenkiller led emblazoned their own pecs with the same insignia of crossed swords. Their burly chests professed enthusiastic fealty to the renowned killer. Many of the men willingly succumbed to the touch of Hünenkiller’s sword on a bare shoulder, whereupon a warrior so chosen would kneel before the young god and take Hünenkiller’s cock into his gullet. Sieger observed Hünenkiller’s pride and his growing popularity with the wary suspicion of a commander who is not inclined to accept any rivalry to his power.
It was clear to Sieger that another test of Hünenkiller’s loyalty would soon be necessary.
end
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| The Mighty Foo |
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Posted by: themightyfoo - 07-24-2019, 05:00 AM - Forum: The Meeting Place
- Replies (7)
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So glad to see old friends again. I loved the old Arenafighter and am looking forward to seeing the new site grow. I took an extended break from my old blog Blindfolded And Alone to focus on making original 3D content (the blogging was competing with that.) Had a Tumblr blog, FSQ (for Firing Squad) until they purged the adult content. For the last couple of months I've reinvigorated my old FetLike account and have posted over a thousand of my favorite images there including many fantasy swordfight renders. I'll look to post some of those here as well - but the apparent lack of a mobile app makes that a challenge.
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