+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
WHEN I CAME TO THIS LAND
THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.
CONTACT sharper@inorbit.com IF YOU LIKE.
SEARCH NIFTY FOR sharper@inorbit.com TO READ OTHER TALES BY ME.
REMEMBER TO DONATE TO WWW.NIFTY.ORG !! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
WHEN I CAME TO THIS LAND
When I came to this land (god, tired from the war) it was dry, desiccated and dead.
It took me some time to get started on the hard earth. I did nothing here for months, preferring to lie naked on my sun bed, thinking of nothing, driving away my nightmares with the penetrating force of pure sunlight. I would gaze up at the blue sky, following birds, letting my thoughts empty upwards. When I lay on my front the sunshine burnt between my thighs, heating my balls, and up the sharp fold of my asscrack, toasting my moist hole pleasantly. I masturbated into my towel.
I was naturally tanned, deep ruby brown, and, from my soldiering's training, strong. I started to do some moderate exercises in the morning and, as the mood took me, a little during the day. It was enough to gradually build my muscles back up following my long hospital stay. I started to dig and lift. I wanted to be fit. I wanted to feel good again, like a soldier. Alive. Soldiering is more about physical fitness than anything. Fitness and discipline. As I made progress, progress came easier - I was pleased with myself. I faced the mirror and posed. My handsome strong body looked cool. Lying in the sun I could make my muscles tighten and relax, each in turn, giving me the feeling that, after all, I hadn't lost it. I looked good. My chest and arms started to expand back to their previous size. My stomach flattened and became sharp. I started to run the hills around the house: Soon my legs were a detailed map of sinews and meat. I could feel the tense swelling of my buttocks. This was good, this training.
I missed the companionship of other men. During the war we had been a tight-knit band, always looking out for each other, always joking. The mess tent, where we would hang out to relax, was like a home to me. It was like my real home. Now I drifted about like Robinson Crusoe. I wanted the companionship of men, but I was all alone. I occupied myself with my training, working the land, laying in the sun, and wanking.
I kept my eye on the surrounding houses, but they were empty. The nearest house, nearly overlooking mine, was tall with a large balcony on the top floor. It symbolised for me my isolation and privacy, my safety and aloofness, all the comfort and loneliness of my ageless recuperation.
Across the lake I saw activity in the distant village, too distant to affect me. I had a boat. I might go there and enter their tavern. But, much as I craved the company of others, I feared not fitting in. My proud and active soldier's body would set me apart from most. Either intimidated or attracted, they would make me feel unpleasantly peculiar in a crowd of the ordinary. My mind was still full of violence and combat. They would want to talk about interests I had not experienced. The idea of these other men coming on to me repelled me. They would be soft, effeminate and lewd. My mates were tough, dependable and up for anything. Me and my mates in the war had fought harder and fucked harder still. Our cocks were as stiff as our rifles. We meant what we said, and we meant what we did too. I was sick of other people. I wanted my men back again. I wanted to be surrounded by their smell like in the old days when we killed together and got killed together and got fucked together and fucked together. That was what I wanted. I cried with my cock in my hand as I dreamed of them holding me and holding me up, supporting me manfully and manfully supported by me, arm in arm and side by side, killing and cutting, eating and loving, strong in the iron hug of discipline and fortitude.
Well, that was all over now. That was in the past. I was invalided out and no hours of physical exercise could get me back to the life I yearned towards. I had blown it. Where were my mates? Mostly dead. The rest were like me, forgotten. They had given everything they had in them. Now they were empty and masks of their former glory. Their inexpressible memoirs the last trace of the wake of our departed histories.
Suddenly I awoke. I had been dreaming. As I entered that same imagined distant drink house I immediately noticed and was welcomed by the grinning faces of my lost comrades. They advanced towards me and hugging me dragged me in, roaring with delight, cheering their dear lover, saluting our shared bravery, toasting our live heroics. We kissed and screwed and set our bayonets to slaughter. The smoke from our fires drifted out across the water signalling our mastery of everything we could touch with our voices. And that was the war we fought. And that was the fire I had lost. And then I woke and it melted away. And that was the memory I tried to grasp as it fled from my grip, the thread of my complete happiness that could never be replaced.
I stood from my bed and stretched, filling my chest with night air, touching the roof beams with my finger tips. I stepped through the dark shapes to my window. There on the opposite bank lights flickered orange and white. They would be carousing and fondling in a place apart, my mates, now. They would be screwing in a place I had not the key. They had gone ahead apart and left me. That tavern on the opposite bank was filled with idiots.
I turned to return to my bed. The fields around were illuminated by moonlight but the window above the bed was in shadow. That was the great house behind. The one with the balcony. I stood looking at it large and black against the clear moonlit sky...
... was that movement?
On the balcony a form barely outlined in the white reflected glow of the midnight terrain stood either facing or with its back to me. Man or woman or ghost I could not tell. It swayed gently to left and to right like a guardsman balancing. As my stare continued I could make out white hair and a beard, a paunch like Jupiter and stout arms holding the balcony rail. It was indeed a man. I watched him for some time assured in the darkness that he could not see me. He seemed to be regarding the landscape like a surveyor his kingdom, or a naval watchman holding out for the return of his fleet. He could not see me, but did he not know I was there? Could I be sure that he was not at this moment looking directly at me, directly into my eyes, directly into my soul? And how long had he been there, holed up in that house unseen, watching my nude calisthenics and sweaty agriculture? Had he spied on me as I lay in the sunshine wanking myself off? Had he seen my tears, my despair at the life that had gone and the trials of the life I now encountered? Had he pitied my suffering? Was he embarrassed for me, or envying my beauty, or display? I hugged my balls in my fist. My cock was full and pleasant. I wanted to jerk off. Could he see me?
When I looked up again, panting, a thick puddle of cum in my palm, the figure was gone. I lay me down and fell into a deep and refreshing sleep. I woke full of energy, exercised and went to the field determined to address a longstanding problem of irrigation. There was a channel to be dug and others to clear. I sweated all morning in naked labour, the sun branding my skin. I lifted rocks. I cut trees. I scythed tall grasses and gathered dead vegetation and built a fire mound which I lit. The smoke rose in a wide white cloud high into the pristine air. It would be seen for miles!
Now the waters flowed easily and for the first time I could imagine my work rewarding me with prosperity. Bleeding with sweat and layered with earth and fire-smuts, I raised my arms in triumph, rotating on my heels, the majesty of my labours around me, the smoke tower attesting to my achievement. I swooned at its height and looked towards its peak where hawks competed with it for space and then glanced at the house nearby with its balcony so much higher than my house and there he was, again, the white haired man, leaning forward and saluting me!
I faced him in my nakedness and waved both hands above my head.
"Young man," he called, his broad bearded smile clearly visible to me, and the mature chest and stomach through the balustrade upon which he leaned with strong hairy arms. I waved again.
"You may come up here!" He called.
I showed him that I would.
"But I must wash first," I shouted.
I doused my body from the stream I had built. My skin was steaming. I was joyous at having human contact at long last. For as long as it took me to cleanse myself the man, I noted, watched from his perch. It turned me on to be admired and I posed my body to its best advantage, grinning at my self and grinning at him and grinning at the moment and at the joy of the water flushing my burned hot skin.
When I was done I ran still wet and still naked, and still erect, or semi, over my field to the gateway to his land. It opened onto a verdant flourishing garden. How had I never seen it? How had I never seen its gardener? A path led to his entrance and I pushed the door. It opened and I was in a cool hall with a curling carved stair of white polished marble, leading to the roof. I bounced up the cool steps in double time and arrived shortly at the door to the attic room from where the man had spied me.
There he was, a masculine figure of age and strength. About my height. He stood nude in the doorway, outlined in sunlight, and spread his arms out.
"Look at you," he said. "Aren't you beautiful!"
I laughed.
"You know it!" I said.
"Oh, I do. Come here," he said, his thick penis bobbing in front of him. Mine too. He held out his large arms and I stepped into his embrace, our cocktips joining like kissing birds.
"You are happy to find yourself once more in the arms of a man," he said, kissing me. I was so happy, indeed, that I gave him my whole tongue, searching out the sweet tastes of his mouth. His hands stroked my skin appreciatively.
"All those hours of painful work have made a man of you," he said when we released our mouths. "You were pale and thin when you first arrived! Now look at you. A man strong and beautiful. Ripe and clear honey skin. Firm and broad. Lithe, able, unjaundiced. Don't blush, don't look down. Look at me."
My eyes were filled with tears.
"Torment has aged me," I said.
"That's as may be. But turmoil is the wellspring of youth.And what is this?" He flicked my stiff penis. "Full of life, aren't you?"
I laughed with embarrassment, staring at his.
"What do you think of me? I'm an old man aren't I?"
"Not so much older."
"You guess?"
"What is your name?"
"My name is Peter. And yours is... Janusz."
"Janusz is not my name," I protested.
"A new name for a new thing," he said, seriously. He took my hand and led me through a room with a big bed, out to the balcony. We surveyed my land and the lake and the village beyond. As we stood there he fondled my backside. He stood behind me and pressed his stomach against me and his erection between my legs gently against my asshole.
"This makes me very happy," he said. "Men are made for pleasure, not to live their lives in pain and unhappiness."
His beard tickled my neck. I listened to his voice, and the birds chirping. Far below, the water in the channels I had dug and cleared twinkled through the vegetation. He held me against the balustrade, one arm to either side and rubbed himself against me. His breathing was slightly laboured.
After a while he released me and went back into the room. He sat on the bed, his cock standing up.
"There's lemonade," he said, indicating a jug on a table. "Pour some, please."
I did so and handed the glass to him.
"Take a sip. You must be thirsty."
"I am," I said and took a sip.
"Seat yourself," he said, "here, on the floor in front of me so I can look at you. No, keep the drink."
I did as I was told, sipping at the lemonade. I knelt on the ground. This was my natural place: the ground, the battleground, the earth.
He spread his legs apart and I was amazed by the size and strength of his purple cock.
"Would you like to come closer to it? Would you like to kiss it?" He said.
I went on all fours and advanced closer to him. I kissed the tip and looked up at him, my lips poised above it. He nodded. I opened my mouth and lowered it onto him. He pushed it up slightly into me and I was soon serving him energetically, plunging forward to drive him onto the back of my neck, pulling back with my lips and tongue caressing the shaft and the head as it just departed before pushing back down again. He raised one hand and held it just over my hair so that he touched it each time I came back, gradually gradually letting me come back less and less and drive down further until I was simply rubbing his glans quickly inside my throat. I was breathing as best I could through my nose.
"Do not touch yourself, please," he instructed. "Best to keep your hands behind your back, or, yes, hold onto the shaft, and my ball-sack. That's right. That's good. Well done."
His grey pubes in my eyes, I tried not to let my excitement mount too much. I could feel his scrotum tighten in my hand and his cock as it grew bigger and harder. I was pounding my face on him when I felt the hot spurt of release and his cum pumped into me, long hot spurts that I swallowed had him cry for joy. As he leaked his final jism over my chin he patted me on my head and lay back on the bed.
"Lie next to me," he said with a sigh.
I crawled up into the crook of his armpit, my head on his chest and my solid quivering knob pressed up against him.
"You are hard boy. That's good. Stay hard."
We lay like this for some time though my desire to ejaculate was so powerful and I wasn't used, of late, to delaying.
"So, tell me how you come to be here... Where are you from?"
His hand tickled my ear.
"I came from here," I said. I mean, before the war... my family... I went away to fight. When I returned... everyone has gone."
"I am here."
"I don't remember you from before."
"I was always here."
"In this house?"
"Always here."
"I don't remember you."
"You went to fight? You were a Partisan?"
"I was."
"They committed many an atrocity."
"There was a war on."
"Is that an excuse?"
"Isn't it?"
Peter sighed and kissed my forehead. He did not say another word for some time. When he did it was to ask if I would like to see the house. I wanted sex more than anything else but Peter ignored me.
"I'd like you to see the house, " he said. "I have a suggestion to make."
We walked first to another room on the same floor, with another balcony exactly similar but facing the opposite way, away from my house and up towards the mountain. Below us there was another garden, fabulously lush. Peter had his hand around my waist.
"How do you manage all this?" I enquired.
"I don't. I had a gardener but he left me a short while ago. This will all go to ruin, unless..."
"Unless?"
"You are a gardener, are you not?"
===
And that is how I became a gardener.
Managing Peter's garden and my own land was not difficult, but he also needed me to cook and clean. He had no staff. They had all fled following the end of the war, fearing reprisals.
Peter had once sat on the balcony looking towards the mountain. That's why I had never seen him, apparently. Now he often sat watching me at work in the field or the garden. It's like I was his servant, serf or slave. I never dressed, and, though I had little time for my exercises I grew stronger and more strong working the land, running up and down stairs, lifting supplies, doing the many physical things Peter demanded of me. As I darted past the many mirrors in Peter's house I noted with satisfaction that I was becoming a better and better example of manhood every day. My muscles filled, my skin grew dark, I felt alert, vital, optimistic and good humoured. Previous to Peter taking control of me, that had all but completely gone. I had entered a new life driven by Peter's whims and needs, simultaneously fulfilling my needs as his servant.
I slept easily and deeply by Peter's side, his arm around my neck and my hand on his junk, squeezing it gently as it filled and relaxed during the night. In the morning I would suck off his morning hardon and he would empty his bladder into me. In the evening he would lay me on my chest, lick my balls, play with my anus and fuck me against the bed like a dog. At lunchtime I would come up to his room with food, watch him eat, and then rest with him in his bed, wanking our twin cocks together, eating the products for my meal. And in addition during the day, even if there was much to do, Peter would insist I make the time to service him if he wanted it. His demanding appetites ordered my day like the seasons call up each their various activities throughout the given year. Thus ordered, my life took on the tranquility of a ticking clock in the slow afternoon.
When I kissed him it was with the obedient gratitude of a domestic pet. Peter has taken control of my life effortlessly, like it had always been so and would always be. And sometimes I wanted him to fuck me so much that when he called I would drop my work instantaneously and race up the white polished marble stairs to his room and jump astride him and beg him to let me sit on it and drive it deeply in. I had to leave my work and run to him and get it inside. I wanted it so much. All the time. I wanted so much to have his cock pumping me with his cum. And when I left at his orders to return to work, his juices were running out of my anus and down my legs and leaving splashes on the white polished marble.
===
I'm this way some months passed. It was the longest, hottest, most contented summer of my life, but the winter in these parts starts early. When the cold air floods over the mountaintop it drowns the valley in damp distemper til spring breaks like dawn in a rush of brilliant warmth from the ocean; like a corpse suddenly reviving, an intake of breath, a choking moment and then the eyes alert and the sitting up and the demands to be fed, the year commences and the hard work once more begins.
We lasted the cold months on stockpiled supplies. We crept round the ground floor kitchen wrapped in rugs, trudging in boots. There was nothing to do. We sat together in front of a well fuelled fire, me crouching at Peter's feet. I told him boastful tales of my manly exploits and partisan heroics during the war. Peter listened intently. When he got bored he would say, "Lick my balls, Janusz", and I would lick his balls with the war forgotten.
But with the relief of spring came trouble.
I was kneeling in front of Peter, his large legs encircling me, my throat fully occupied with his prong and my ears stroking his thighs. Peter was gently pushing the back of my head so that as I pulled back I would be halted just before I could catch my breath, and as I went down I was forced just that little bit past my gagging point, so that as he pushed me he could feel himself pushing against the soft wall at the back of my throat.
With my head thus down and his pubic hair filling my face there was a sound outside in the road, the roar of a vehicle as it screeched to brake. Peter kept his hand on my head, pressing and holding me down while we listened. Boots hit the earth and marched to the door. The front door wasn't locked. It opened and hit against the wall. Boots marched in and ran about. They ran to the next floor and explored. Peter slowly let my head come up and withdrew himself from my lips. I fell back on the floor, my erect prick aching in my thighs, my lips running with his juices.
"Take a look, see who it is," he ordered. I stood up and ran to the balcony. There was a military vehicle below with several men around, shirtless, smoking, spitting and scratching themselves.
I ran to the stairs. Here was the figure of a young man running up towards us. He was looking up and saw me.
"Hey!" He shouted.
I ran back to Peter.
"Partisans!" I said. "Many men."
"You must hide," said Peter, pulling a gown over himself.
"They have already seen me!"
"Hide in any case!"
"Where?"
But at that point the young man appeared and stopped in the doorway, his bare bronze chest glistening with sweat and heaving slightly from the stairs.
He shouted out, "Hey!!" and, "Duncan! Two up here!"
A voice from below called out, "Hold them!"
Peter stepped forward and the young man held up a hand.
"Wait!!" he ordered.
Peter looked at me and the young man followed his gaze. I was naked. The young man swallowed. And then he grinned.
"Duncan, come quick!"
"I'll get a towel," I said.
"No need," the young man said. "You'll do."
"Come here," said Peter pointing to the ground beside him at his feet.
I threw myself down and knelt next to him. Just then the sound of boots running up the staircase, echoing the hall, many men. The young one stepped aside and they rushed in. Four men in Partisan gear, holding guns, all looking much the same, all looking much the same as me, rushed in and halted before us. One spoke up, the leader.
"So here you are, Marek. We've found you."
It was Duncan.
"Duncan," I said.
"Marek. We have have come to get you. Who's this?"
Peter took a step forward holding his gown together with one hand placed over his groin, and he said, "My name is Peter, and this is my property." With that he placed his other hand on my head, now bowed.
"Duncan," I said. "I belong to Peter now. "
Quite rightly, Duncan ignored what I had just said. He stepped forward, holding out a hand to the man standing behind him. The man handed Duncan a collar and lead. Duncan put the collar around my throat, pushing Peter's hand away, and then tugged me forward so that I lost my balance and my head fell forward colliding with his lap. My face hit his fly, the firm ridge of cock beneath, and I nuzzled against him. I could smell the ripe stink of piss and sweat in his trousers.
Duncan put a hand on the back of my neck and pushed my face hard into his crotch, gently but firmly enveloping me in him.
"That's the end of the argument," he said. "Joseph," he said, and he handed my lead to the young man who had first entered the room, "take him down and wait for us there.
Joseph took the lead and Duncan released my head. Joseph gave the lead a quick tug. I hesitated.
"Let's go," said Joseph quietly.
I stood, and without looking round I left the room. Joseph followed me, holding my lead. I descended the stairs, with Joseph following me. When I got to the bottom, I left the building, with Joseph, and climbed into the back of the vehicle. Joseph did not enter, leant on the side still holding my lead loosely, watching the building. I felt numb. My knob was rock hard.
After some minutes there was a strange noise, like a thump, coming from outside the building, above our heads. Joseph looked up and did not smile.
A few minutes later Duncan came down and jumped in the back with me. Two of his men got in the front and the rest of them piled into the back with us. As the motor started up, Joseph, still holding the lead, jumped in and sat next to me. As we drove away Duncan grabbed the lead and pulled me into the floor to make more room for the others. I knelt between their legs awkwardly, buffeted around by the movement of the vehicle. I rested my face on the bulge of Duncan's penis once more.
"I said we would come to get you once things had calmed down and you were recovered," he said, gently stroking my ear. "You understand now. Or had you forgotten?"
I had forgotten.
He gave me his fingers to lick.
When we were quite far from the building, I glanced back and saw Peter's body hanging dead from the top of the house. I did not ask Duncan why he had done it. I did not have to. This was war.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
WHEN I CAME TO THIS LAND -- THE END