Scared Stiff

by Laura Baumbach, William Maltese, Josh Lanyon

  Glynen, who hadn't, until that moment, realized his eyes were even shut, did as requested.

  "Is this manifestation possibly more cock-hardening than the one before it?” the magician asked, transformed. Younger. Taller. More muscular. More masculine. No clothes. Round and coral-nippled pectorals. A thin but distinct fanning of red hair across the top of his chest to cascade his pectoral cleavage and bisect his washboard stomach and, in doing so, parenthesize his innie navel. His cockhead was the same color as his nipples. His bulky foreskin wrapped about his large cock like a coat wrapped an Eskimo in deep winter. His balls were large within their impressively red-furred scrotum.

  "Delimar-Gloo?” Glynen was amazed; his cock's immediate stiffening was decidedly noticeable in his pants.

  "This is merely a visage I first summoned for a Gwasi warrior who I wanted to fuck my ass; he was genuinely particular as to the appearances of those whose assholes his dick plugged. Should you prefer minor adjustments—blond hair, rather than red? Blue eyes, instead of green? Dimples instead of not? A cleft? A unibrow? Less muscle? More muscle? A larger cock? As regards cock-size, I've opted for not-too-enormous, since I find this present size most manageable for masturbation (by myself, or by others) while I have hard cock rammed up my ass. But, if you'd prefer something bigger..."

  "You're fine.” Glynen's cock confirmed with additional extension within his trousers.

  The decision already made (no thought of now turning back) that Glynen's dick would (and, yes, very soon), tickle the magician's prostate and spear even deeper, Glynen actually now looked forward to getting started. He couldn't remember getting as hard and as hot for any of the girls he'd ever screwed. Even his fantasy fucks of Krydon were hard-pressed to produce such anticipation.

  "Ah, but what about my ass?” Delimar-Gloo turned his backside in Glynen's direction. “Perhaps, you'd prefer it less solid, more femininely round and pliant?"

  "Mighty Knosis, no! It's always been my fantasy that my first ass fucked would be one just as perfect as this one."

  Delimar-Gloo turned his head back over one shoulder. “Surely, an attractive and nicely hung young stud like you isn't really still a virgin at fucking male ass?” He smiled as coyly as any young girl on the make.

  Glynen blushed.

  "I think we might do this by chains.” Delimar-Gloo decided. He lifted both arms toward the cave ceiling that miraculously dropped two lengths of braided metal with bracelets attached. Fur-lined metal cuffs opened and closed around the magician's wrists. “I've not been fucked in chains since my screw by Milocan Moore-ban who came to me for a bit of necromancy in the days when even raising the dead was doable."

  Glynen hesitated. His genuinely continuing desire to fuck the magician's butt still didn't translate into the actual doing.

  "Shall I walk you through this, then?” Delimar-Gloo proposed.” Since you've come to learn from the master, why limit your instruction to making candles?"

  Why not, indeed?

  "Yes, please, and thank-you,” Glynen made his willingness final.

  "First thing is to strip. While some, in a hurry, fuck with their clothes on, we're in no hurry. Besides, someone as physically attractive as you shouldn't ever deprive your partners of the voyeuristic and aesthetic pleasures of viewing the anatomical perfection you've obviously worked so hard to achieve."

  Glynen did know he looked good, naked—no matter that Krydon had always complained of Glynen being too thin. Glynen, though, couldn't remember a time, even at the outset of puberty, when his cock had been quite as impressive, quite as stiff, and quite as anxious to fuck, as it was at that very moment.

  "Second thing, you walk on over here and up behind me,” Delimar-Gloo said, “because it'll take long-lost magic for you ever to fuck my ass, even with that monster dick of yours, while you're standing that far away."

  Glynen crossed the distance and felt the heat emanating from the red-head's muscled back and ass. The way Delimar-Gloo's arms extended up and slightly outward, sexily put the man's spinal column in the groove formed by scrunched shoulder blades and back muscles. Attention was, thereby, focused down to the small of the magician's back where Delimar-Gloo's asscheeks folded into his asscrack.

  "Put your hands to my buttocks, widen its crack to see my asshole for targeting by your cock. You'll want to be flat-footed once your cock is shoved comfortably inside me. Sometime during the course of the fuck, you'll want to raise up on your toes to try and shove even more of you even more deeply inside me."

  "What if I need you lifted higher in your chains—here and now?"

  Automatically, immediately, the chains obliged.

  "Finally, as regards lubricant,” Delimar-Gloo resumed. “Spit, I think. I have alternatives available, but it's hard to beat the original."

  "How about pre-cum?” Glynen suggested. A large bead of the referenced liquid had oozed his cockmouth to pose like a rare gemstone.

  "Have I lucked out with a leaker, then, along with all the other wondrous physical attributes you've brought me? Possibly proving my magic to conjure hasn't yet completely run out?"

  Glynen's bead of pre-cum swelled larger. Finally, it was too large for its surface tension to contain it. It collapsed and drained three separate streams down his cockneck. Glynen helped it along by wrapping his dick and its leakage to smear his cock from top to bottom.

  "I'm ready for you up my ass whenever you are,” Delimar-Gloo decided.

  Oh, Glynen was more than ready. It was as if he knew he was about to have a once-in-a-lifetime experience, without even considering how, after the great lead-in, the finale might prove anticlimactic.

  His left hand to the wizard's ass, just beneath Delimar-Gloo's backbone, his thumb and index finger pressed firmly into rock-solid buttflesh to widen the space between asscheeks and provide better visual of sexy and puckered anal opening.

  Glynen's free hand levered down the neck of his dick, drawbridge-like, to rest its leading edge to the small of the magician's back. Bending his knees, he saw how his cock left a slug-like trail of leaked natural lubricant all of the way to the target. Where it paused while Glynen indulged a couple deep breaths in sheer anticipation of what was soon to come (cum!).

  "Slow and easy, if you please,” Delimar-Gloo said. “It's been awhile for me, my want-to-make-a-candle student."

  Slowly, Glynen thrust his hips forward, at the same time losing the bends at his knees. His pre-cum lubricated cockhead made Delimar-Gloo's brown pucker concave and, then, open wide.

  Glynen's cock slotted itself into the breach and was squeezed from all directions.

  "Ohhhhh!” Delimar-Gloo moaned his appreciation. It had been a very long time, if ever, since he'd been subjected to such wondrous cock-sticking. It wasn't something Gillium Head was capable of doing. And, if Delimar-Gloo had tried his best to construct an automaton to do for him what Glynen was now doing, all efforts in that regard had failed, probably due to sabotaged schematics. The selection of dildos, rubber and otherwise, that he did use, was nothing compared to the sensuous pleasure of the real thing.

  Glynen was up close and personal—so much so that Delimar-Gloo's scrotum experienced the tickle of his young companion's scrotal hair as Glynen's ball-containing sac swung forward. Delimar-Gloo's back experienced the pinpricks from the nipples that punctuated Glynen's naked chest. Delimar-Gloo's ass experienced the hard grind of young-man's belly as Glynen's dick tried to push even more tightly up the hanging magician's asshole.

  Glynen's lips ever-so-close to the old man's ear, whispered, “Shall I hand-hold your dick and pump it to climax while my cock fucks your ass?"

  "First, pinch my nipples,” Delimar-Gloo instructed. “Pinch them hard and revolve your hips to stir your dick into grinding contact with my ... Ahhhhhhhhh, my lovely boy, that is just exactly ... oh, exactly ... yes, yes, yes."

  Glynen found this easier than he'd ever expected.

  * * * *

  Dabu-pol hated this gwabdi-din man whose face he fucked. He
hated all people not dallin-de. If Dabu-Pol had heard rumors that there were actually a small group of barbarians whose physical characteristics could pass them off as verified members of the human race (rumors which he seriously doubted), this man was not one of them. Khli-Lao had the distinguishing flat facial features of a barbarian that made feeding him cock—through thin lips, beneath pug nose—like putting dick to knife-slice in poor-quality pork belly.

  Dabu-Pol hated Khli-Lao and the gwabdi-din as any conqueror hated a conquered race that refused to recognize it had been conquered, even after the winner was fully entrenched and, for all intents and purposes, fully in control.

  The inhuman gwabdi-din had held out longer than most. Some analysis blamed their lengthy successful defiance to their native habitat in the north of Laon—rugged hills, deep valleys, serrated crags, dense jungle, swamps, quicksand, and meandering cave complexes. But the dallin-de had quickly defeated other uncivilized cultures existent within just as rugged hills, deep valleys, serrated crags, dense jungle, swamps, quicksand, and meandering cave complexes.

  There had been many recalcitrant peoples who'd mistakenly thought that they could survive the inevitable steamroller that was the dallin-de out to crush them. Of course, it was only a matter of time (as Dabu-Pol's predecessors had been saying for hundreds of years), before eventually all the embarrassingly bad seed would be eliminated. In the interim, the momentary remnants, still kept alive, by Dabu-Pol's good graces, were good for very little else than sucking Dabu-Pol's big dick.

  Of course, there were the whispers of gwabdi-din magic, possessed by a few gwabdi-din sorcerers who had pooled their resources to delay—for so long—this day. Dabu-Pol, though, didn't put much stock in any such potency of gwabdi-din witchcraft. Wasn't Khli-Lao supposedly one of these gwabdi-din shamans, and what had he done to prevent having his ugly face forced down upon, and over, and routed up-and-down, along the length of Dabu-Pol's big (very big!) and powerful (very powerful!) dick? Nothing supernatural had come to Khli-Lao's aide, during his confinement, during his torture, during his frequent hearty suckings of Dabu-Pol's superior dallin-de dick.

  Dabu-Pol took a firmer hold of Khli-Lao's bird-wing-like ears and held barbarian head stationary for a series of hearty Dabu-Pol hip thrusts that buried Dabu-Pol's massive erection first to its roots and then pulled the same back out to its knobby head ... again, again, again.

  Dabu-Pol had no fear of gwabdi-din deities. Hell, these savages worshipped a three-legged monster (the third leg a genuine leg and not a big dick). They worshipped a two-headed reptilian goddess with scaly tits and armor-plated cunt. They worshipped an unseen “something” that had supposedly taken a decidedly difficult dump and literally pooped the world into existence. The modern world was definitely going to be a better and more civilized place without such archaic shitty (Dabu-Pol had to smile) nonsense.

  "Eating my dick is far better than chowing down on your usual meal of dog shit, isn't it,” Dabu-Pol said; it was a statement. “Too bad for you—” He had every intention of killing this gwabdi-din as soon as the suck was done. “—there are other peoples to be conquered, anyone of whom can likely gobble prick just as good as you do."

  Dabu-Pol's father had once had an anthropologist killed who had off-handedly proposed the heretical theory that the dallin-de and gwabdi-din had once been one and the same, the dallin-de merely a splinter group of the original gwabdi-din gene pool that early-in-the-world had headed off for greener pastures and found them. Dabu-Pol would as easily have killed anyone else who would suggest such an absurdity. Dallin-de were unique! Dallin-de were superior. Gwabdi-din and their ilk were shit and would flushed into complete oblivion, just as Khli-Lao would soon be flushed!

  * * * *

  Glynen checked the time and couldn't believe it was the end of day five. That Pwslen-Ti had lasted so long was something Glynen found staggering. Glynen had lasted only five hours; on Glynen's insisted second attempt, he'd lasted only two.

  Glynen, on more than one occasion, had thought Pwslen-Pi dead, perhaps the victim of an air passage inadvertently closed at his mouth, at his nose; perhaps from fright; perhaps from starvation; perhaps from dehydration. Each time, upon closer examination, there had been observed the slight rise and fall of the human wrapped within the confining plastic, like a caterpillar wrapped in the restraining silk of a cocoon. Like the caterpillar, would Pwslen-Ti emerge transformed? Lesser time spent in similar mummy wrappings had certainly seen Glynen changed. He was made so paranoid by closed-in places that he'd been, at times, at his wit's end, these last five days, merely to maintain his promised vigil over the plastic-wrapped Pwslen-Ti within this actually quite-large grotto of the Maridian Cave Complex.

  If he had thought Delimar-Gloo, now buried, the victim of old age and, now, in the niche in the cave wall behind him, would offer adequate company, he'd been mistaken. Glynen just kept remembering, over and over, how Delimar-Gloo had warned that—even if the magic still works to make the deed possible, a soul used to being contained within a human form, which has a certain vastness of anatomical nooks and crannies, and veins, and arteries, and lungs, and testicles, and liver, and bladder, and kidneys, and heart, and brainpan, is entirely different from a soul confined to a wax-solidified container wherein there is nowhere to go, no movement allowed, no freedom experienced until the wick is lit and the soul is freed to do whatever it can do, chosen weapon in hand, until it is quickly snatched away to the official land of the dead. Glynen just kept remembering, over and over, how he'd thought himself not only ready and willing but able. Self-delusion—such a lie: Glynen's overestimation of his ability to put mind over matter. How he'd fooled himself into thinking that he would ever be the one to wreak revenge when it would, under the best of opportunities, obviously take more than a mere five hours (let alone two hours) to put the candle into play, once any avenging soul was locked securely inside it.

  Well, at least, a consolatory Delimar-Gloo had been right in one thing: "You're best bet, Glynen, is to merely wait for someone to come along who does have the capacity to withstand the ordeal. Then, if the magic still works, by way of accompaniment, you may have your revenge by proxy. Revenge often a meal best enjoyed cold. What better place to wait than here, with me, learning what you can of the magic that still exists and using it, hopefully, to keep alive the magic of soul transmigration long enough for you to see your original objective realized?"

  Glynen got up, crossed the distance to the rocky slab and the encapsulated man atop it. He reached for the scissors couched within a nearby stony niche. Carefully, beginning at the plastic-wrapped sole of one foot, he began to cut. The combined and compressed swathes were thick, but the scissors were sharp. He sliced the material up the side of one leg to where one arm was snug in its parallel alignment with the torso. He cut the wrap that ran up the arm to the shoulder. He clipped across the shoulder, up the side of the face, across the top of the head, down the other side of the face and neck, down the other arm...

  He stopped at the sole of the second foot, surprised that Pwslen-Ti had yet to make any response, except for the slow and easy expansion of the ribcage now partially revealed by the split material that had so securely bound it. When Delimar-Gloo had released Glynen, it had been a maddening experience—Glynen so anxious to get free, and struggling to do so, even before Delimar-Gloo's clipping had provided an adequate breach, that the magician had warned that Glynen was liable to end up accidentally dead by scissor point if he couldn't achieve some self-control.

  Glynen returned to Pwslen-Ti's head and scooped the fingers of both hands into the breached material sliced across Pwslen-Ti's hairline. With a gentle but persist tug of his handhold, Glynen lifted the compact wrapping free of Pwslen-Ti's hair and forehead. The greasy lubricant, applied five days before, now prevented more than just a few strands from pulling free with the bandage. Additional pulling unveiled the face, death-mask waxy.

  "Wake up you self-controlled bastard,” Glynen wanted to yell, then and there,
"and stare upon the face of a man who tried and failed at what you've tried and succeeded." Glynen said no such thing; Pwslen-Ti would make his consciousness known when it best suited him, obviously knowing the capabilities of his psyche and body far more than Glynen ever knew his own. Or, perhaps, Pwslen-Ti's consciousness had slipped whatever the ties that bound it to the still breathing body and would never return

  Glynen fished one hand into each scissor-breach of material located at each of the man's shoulders, and began the steady tug to peel more sliced wrapping—down along Pwslen-Ti's stale-grease-covered naked torso.

  Pwslen-Ti's revealed nipples were actually taut so that Glynen was expecting the man's cock to be hard, except it wasn't; Pwslen-Ti's impressive dick was a thick python curled within its grease-sparkling black pubic-hair nest, his nuts needing a bit more concentrated effort by Glynen to see them completely released from wrapping that seemed lovingly reluctant to let go.

  Glynen succeeded in freeing all the face-up part of Pwslen-Ti, from head to feet, the under half of Pwslen-Ti still cupped by the same cocoon that had once wrapped all of him.

  "You are revealed my vengeful warrior,” Glynen said, actually surprised when Pwslen-Ti's eyelids lifted on cue.

  If Pwslen-Ti has survived his preparatory ordeal, it was obvious from the look he gave Glynen that it hadn't been a journey in any way easy.

  * * * *

  Tsu-Lao, who had promised himself that he wouldn't fall asleep, came awake with a start.

  Immediately, he reached for his weapon which wasn't there.

  "Pwslen-Ti has sent me,” Glynen said, not wanting Tsu-Lao to do anything foolish to screw up, now, things having come this far. “If he hadn't given me an accurate description, I would have thought you were the enemy trying to sneak on up."

  Tsu-Lao, still furious at himself for having been caught off-guard, took a good look at the man across from him. He hadn't realized Glynen was quite so old.

  "I was testing your defensive perimeter,” Tsu-Lao explained.