Bandits in the Wood

Vincent was leading his horse through the woods when he was attacked by bandits. They came from nowhere, six of them, and surrounded him in seconds. Vincent drew his sword, prepared to fight, but he knew he would not be able to fight against so many; he was no combat expert.

“Put away your sword,” one of the bandits growled, “and we won’t kill you.”

Vincent considered this. If he fought, he would surely be killed. If he didn’t, the bandits might not honor their word and they might kill him. Or they might not. Either way, there was a greater chance of his survival if he did not fight. He dropped his weapon.

He heard footsteps approaching behind him, but did not turn. Arms grabbed him roughly, and a strip of cloth was abruptly lowered over his eyes and tied around his head, blinding him. Dead to the world of sight, he felt only instead of saw as the bandits divested him of his clothes, yanking his tunic roughly over his head. Anonymous hands unfastened his belt and pulled down his breeches and underclothes. Hands under his armpits lifted him and the clothes were pulled away off of his legs, followed by his boots.

When he was completely nude, his hands were wrenched behind his back. He felt a course rope wound around his wrists as his hands were bound together. He wondered what they planned to do with him, to treat him so. Was he blindfolded to be taken to their camp? Had they divested him of clothes to sell him to the slavers?

Rough, callused hands pushed at the small of his back, making him stumble forward. There were several hands on him all at once; he could not keep track as they kept appearing and disappearing. There was no way to tell if they were the same hands, or others. The crunch of their boots on the dead leaves and sticks of the forest was loud in his ears. The hands prodded him into marching forward.

Suddenly the hands stopped him, and Vincent was tossed roughly forward. He fell against a large rock, felt the cool, cragged surface dig into his stomach and scrape against his chest. The peak of the rock was right below his breastbone, so his head tilted down the other side. He squirmed against the uncomfortable surface, but the hands returned to his body to restrain his movements.

The number of hands on his body suddenly increased, and Vincent thought that all of the bandits might be restraining him now. He felt two hands on his buttocks, drawing them apart, felt the cool breeze on his suddenly exposed anus. Then a penis was roughly pushed inside of him. He felt the pressure and the stretching pain of it, felt a sharp impact and a heard a ringing slap as one of the bandits spanked his butt cheek. As the bandit began to thrust in and out of him, he heard the hideous soft squelching sound that came with it and the low rhythmic grunts of the bandit.

His sense of smell was suddenly assaulted by dirt and a thick, male musk as he felt something poke against his cheek. He tried to turn his face away from it, but the hands returned to his head, turning it to a certain angle. Hands on his jaw pried his mouth open. Fingers pressed into the open cavern, holding his jaw down, and he tasted the dirt on their fingertips as the digits brushed his tongue. The object that had poked him slipped in above the fingers, which withdrew; his tongue discerned the shape and sharp taste of another penis.

He cried out in protest as he was penetrated, roughly and repeatedly, from both ends. It did not stop at the strange liquid sensation when the first bandit shot his cum into Vincent’s body, nor at the bitter, salty taste of the cum that flooded his mouth. When a penis withdrew from his body, another would replace it within moments. He counted four times that a man’s seed was poured down his throat, and six times that it was released into his anus. Knowing that there had only been six bandits, he knew that some of them must have definitely come twice.

The hands left him then, with the bitter taste still in his mouth and a copious amount of seed leaking slowly out of his anus and down between his legs. He heard the sound of rustling cloth, and the jangling of his horse’s bridle. He tensed, wondering what they would do with him next. He heard the horse whinny, and the sound of its hooves on the brush of the forest floor, accompanying the crunch of the boots. Slowly, these sounds began to grow fainter, revealing as they receded the soft calls of birdsong and the chirping of crickets.

That was when Vincent realized that they had simply left him like this, naked, bound, blindfolded and alone, freshly raped and tossed across a cold rock.