Three archaeologists find themselves at the mercy of a mystery man while exploring Central American ruins in this story by Larry Townsend with illustrations by Cavelo.

Guerilla - Part 1
by Larry Townsend
Art by Cavelo
Series: Guerilla
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Cavelo Art at Gay Bondage Fiction"Up until a little less than 500 years ago," explained the professor, "this stone served as an altar for human sacrifice."

The three men stood atop a low pyramid, surrounded by tangled vegetation which, even from the air, concealed all but the small stone platform with its narrow bier. "Actually," continued the older man, "I find it somewhat puzzling, since no one has ever found Aztec ruins this far south before."

"Couldn't it be Mayan?" asked one of the students.

"Not unless there was a cultural merging, of which we are completely unaware,' replied the professor. "The carvings on the side here are decidedly Aztec, and the Mayas didn't sacrifice this way. See the little trough, there? It was used to carry off the blood after a priest cut the heart from his living victim. In fact, if we cleared away all this underbrush, I suspect we'd find a miniature of the great pyramids around Mexico City."

"Then we've made a real find'." exclaimed the other student, excitedly. This was Peter Bursen, youngest member of the three man party, a first year candidate in the University's graduate program. He had persuaded Dr. Aubry to bring him along, ostensibly because the professor did not want to be bothered with a woman on a long trek into the jungles of Guatemala. Peter had been chosen from a group of several males the only alternatives. As yet, the academicians in the Graduate School of Archaeology had not made up their minds about Peter. At 21, he looked more like a freshman undergraduate than a serious candidate for his PhD. He was fairly short, giving the impression that he still had an inch or two of growth to achieve. His open, innocent features were almost feminine-pretty, and had yet to be marked by lines of character or maturity. Adding to this overall impression, his straight straw colored hair seemed always in disarray, with a forelock that tumbled downward to screen his bright, emerald eyes. He was lithe and slender, with a perpetual tan from his avid pursuit of the "big wave."

Jan Winklemann, the other student, was five years older and gave the impression of a far greater maturity. Working on an exchange program from Heidelberg, he had already established himself as somewhat of an authority in his specialized area of comparative cultures. He stood a bit over six feet, and had the typical blond, blue eyed features of his Nordic forebears. He was also a world class skier, with a large collection of cups and medals to prove it. During the three weeks they had been on the "dig" he had started a beard, which was just beginning to assume its proper fullness and contours.

The leader of the expedition, Dr. Aubry, was in his upper thirties - a man of international reputation, who had worked with the Leakey Foundation in West Africa, and whose prestige had been the deciding factor in obtaining governmental permission for the trip. He was a large boned, rangy man of enormous strength, who looked more like a longshoreman than a university professor. He had dark, curly hair and a full beard - probably the inspiration for his younger colleague. His steel gray eyes had the power to intimidate an auditorium full of unruly students, to engender the respect and silence to which his academic status entitled him. After a few moments of silent consideration, he fixed this legendary gaze on his youngest minion and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "I suspect we have made quite a find. Do you feel up to chopping away the vegetation?"

"Sure, Professor," replied the other. "Want me to start right now?"

"Well, maybe in a few minutes," Aubry told him. "We won't be able to clear all of it by ourselves, and we want to make sure to get the most from our efforts."

"If this really is a miniature of the big temples up north," suggested Jan, "shouldn't there be an interior chamber?" Like most Germans who learned their English in school, Jan's accent had been almost pure Oxford, with just a trace of Teutonic harshness. After two years in Southern California, he now sounded almost American.

"Yes, there probably is," returned the professor. "That's what I want to investigate before we start cutting brush. On the large structures, the opening would be just under this platform, at the top of the stairs. A building this size, I suppose, might have an entrance nearer the base."

The three men made their way carefully to the foot of the pyramid, grasping protruding trunks of vine and stepping gingerly to find footing beneath the verdant covering. Although small by comparison to the other, more famous structures, this building was still close to thirty-five feet high, as best Jim Aubry could guess, and this left ample space for the traditional interior room. "Let's get some tools in case we find something," he suggested. "It'll save our having

"I'll get'em Professor," Peter volunteered. "What do we need?"

"All we've got is a hammer and chisel," Jim told him, "except for Jan's machete." He gestured toward the long sheath, hanging from the German's waist. If we need something heavier, we'll have to call for a helicopter drop. Look in my canvas backpack."

The younger man started to plunge back through the brush, and the professor shouted after him to take it easy. "The pyramid's been here over a thousand years," he called at the retreating back. "It's not going any place."

The two men hunkered down on a shelf of exposed rock, and Jan shook a cigarette from his battered hard-pack, offering it to Jim Aubry, who shook his head. It would take Peter at least half an hour to reach the river bank, where they had made camp, and to return. Jim shrugged his massive shoulders free of his campaign jacket, and pulled out a black bandanna to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. "It's going to be hot and muggy again today," he remarked.

"I'm afraid so," Jan replied. "I'm glad we have such an eager assistant. The heat never seems to slow him down."

"Youthful enthusiasm," remarked the other dryly. "I just wish he'd give us a hint of his other... er, orientations."

"You mean you'd like to tie him up and fuck him," Jan laughed, doing his best to imitate an American macho accent. He placed one wide, blunt fingered hand on the professor's thigh and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "But I'd like to know, too. I was looking forward to a few hot scenes in the hot jungle, and I thought you'd taken care of the details once you eliminated the pussy from your roster."

"So did I," mused the larger man. "I was sure I detected the tell-tale glimmer of interest a couple of times, but so far he hasn't responded to any hint."

"Nothing too overt," Jan remarked, "but I noticed him watching me when I went swimming in the river last night"

"With that big uncut cock of yours, how could he help but watch?" The professor cast a furtive look in the direction where their companion had disappeared into the brush before burying his face in the other's crotch, giving the well rounded jock an enthusiastic, open-mouthed kiss. As he straightened up again he added: "I was looking forward to a little jungle romp, myself - like last year in Arizona. But I don't want to have the kid spreading it all over campus that old Professor Aubry runs a 'homosexual ring' on his field trips."

"That didn't seem to bother you when you strung me up in that cave last summer, and whipped my arse with the other students camped just a few yards down the hill," said Jan, his face taking on an almost euphoric expression at the recall.

"No, and when I was considerably younger, I had a few interesting sessions in the third floor lab, experimenting with Indian bondage techniques. But I've got more to lose now, and I can't just walk up behind him and clamp him on the butt."

Jan Winklemann snubbed out his cigarette on the rock and shrugged. "We'll have to figure something out," he said, sliding off the ledge and stretching his muscular body. Both he and the kid were wearing Levi's and lace-up boots, while Aubry had on khaki pants and heavy black engineer's boots. Jan, anticipating the day's warmth, had worn only a white T-shirt to cover his upper body. Now, as the tepid air seemed to rise about them from the lush undergrowth, he had started to sweat and the fabric clung to him like a second skin. His hard pecs and abdomen impressed their outlines against the cloth, nipples forming hard, dark impressions beneath the white covering. There were already wet patches under his arms and down the center of his body, both front and back.

Aubry had started to reach out again to grasp the heavy mound, formed by the German's inevitable jockstrap, but at this moment they heard a thrashing in the brush which warned them of Peter's return.

"The kid must have run both ways," grumbled the professor.

At this point, the youngster burst into view, breathing hard and waving the hammer in his right hand. "Got 'em, Professor," he called out.

"So I see," replied Aubry dryly. "And by the way, Peter, while we're on the dig, why don't you call me 'Jim'? 'Professor' makes me feel liked your aged grandpa."

"Okay, Jim," he replied with a happy smile. "It's only that I always think of you as the boss."

Aubry gave a grunt of amusement at this, exchanging a quick, knowing glance with his other student.

"The boss is whoever happens to be on top at the moment," muttered the German, just softly enough that Peter couldn't hear him.

For the next half hour, the three archaeologists forced their way through a tangle of vine that covered the lower parts of the pyramid, pulling back the vegetation, cutting some of it with Jan's machete, searching the rock surface for some sign of an entrance. Aubry was about to call for a rest break when they suddenly broke through into a clearing. The area was all but free of brush, although the trees surrounding it were heavily bent from the weight of vines, and their upper branches formed a canopy that would certainly conceal the clearing from any passing aircraft. About ten feet up the sloping stone wall was the entrance they had been seeking. Except that it was not some cleverly concealed break in the stone facade. It was a wooden gate, set into the surface of rock and secured with decidedly modern appearing iron hinges.

"Well, Herr Professor," sighed Jan, "it appears we were not the first to discover this anachronistic edifice."

"So it would seem," muttered Aubry, his tone expressing the deep disappointment he had to be feeling. He stood a moment, gazing up at the door, obviously uncertain as to his next move. Although they had been ferried in by helicopter, to a point only three days' hike from their present location, the area was so remote and covered by such dense tropical forest it had never been properly explored. The absence of any reference to the pyramid in the standard textbooks bore witness to this fact, especially since its existence would have to alter all of the commonly accepted theories on the extent of Aztec vis-a-vis Maya territories.

"Well, why don't we go see what's behind that door?" suggested Peter. "It's not like we were in a national park, where the maintenance crews might have locked away their brooms up there."

Aubry sighed. "I suppose we might as well," he replied despondently. He started up the denuded surface, while Jan held back for several minutes, examining the forest around the clearing.

"There's a fairly well defined trail leading into the jungle," said the German, as he joined Aubry at the wooden panel.

Although the barrier was not made of milled lumber, it had obviously been created by the hands of modern man. In addition to the black iron hinges, which showed only minimal traces of rust, the pieces of rough-hued timber were nailed together, not pegged or tied as would have been the case if the door had been made by untutored Indians. Jim Aubry grasped the wooden projection which appeared to be the handle, and pulled. With a groan and small shower of dust, the gate swung open to reveal a darkened passageway. There were pictographs on the walls, and the sight of these seemed to buoy the professor's sagging spirits. He led the others inside, pulling a small flashlight from his waist pack.

He cast the beam of light back and forth across the walls as he slowly led the way. The passage had sloped slightly upward at first, then started down, eventually reaching ground level. Jan and the professor had to stoop to avoid hitting the ceiling until they reached the interior vault. Here, the ceiling rose to a good twelve feet, and the walls were covered with base relief carvings. But as much as this would normally have attracted the interest of all three explorers, their immediate attention was drawn to a stack of crates piled against the rear of the vault. These were heavy wooden shipping boxes, unmistakably a weapons cache.

"Shit, we must have found some guerrilla arsenal," said Peter.

"That is quite correct, gentlemen," sounded a deep, accented voice from behind them.

All three spun about at once, to face a tall, leering man in camouflage fatigues. As they stared in shocked surprise, the stranger flicked on the beam of a powerful flashlight Although the sudden light tended to blind them at first, there was no mistaking the shape and potential of the submachine gun that rested casually in the crook of his arm.

"Don't be too surprised, gentlemen," continued their captor. "We saw your helicopter drop you off three weeks ago, and I've been keeping an eye on you ever since. No one cares if you flounder around in the jungle near your base camp, but when you started moving in this direction I got worried ... decided to come in person, instead of relying on the Indians for reports." He grinned again, and shifted the weight of his weapon.

"So, what happens to us, now that we've stumbled onto... this?" asked Aubry, waving his arm toward the pile of weapons.

"I should think that would be fairly obvious, professor," replied the gunman, .... at least the final eventuality."

"What is that supposed to mean," Jan demanded,". 'final eventuality?"' The tall, blond German fixed him with a defiant glare, his light blue eyes appearing to glow in the harsh beam from the flashlight.

"It means, simply, that I don't intend to kill you right here or right now," replied the other easily.

"That's a Kalisnikov you're holding, isn't it?" pressed the bearded student, his British-sounding accent even more pronounced, now, under stress.

"Very observant," returned the gunman. "And no, I'm not Guatamalan. I'm Cuban. And my weapon is Russian. Maybe that will answer your more pressing questions. Now I have to ask that you turn around and stand against the wall."

Wordlessly, helplessly, the three captives obeyed, assuming positions several feet away from each other at the gunman's further command. "Now," he said, once they were spaced to suit him, "you will strip to the waist, then drop your trousers and secure your belts as small as they will go around your ankles. And while you're down there, you may also remove your socks and boots."

"This is outrageous." Aubry protested.

"Nonetheless, you will obey!" snapped the gunman, slipping the safety catch on his weapon, so that the 'click' reverberated through the stone chamber. As the three captives began to remove their shirts, they were aware of a sudden change in illumination. The Cuban had placed his light on the floor where it reflected off the ceiling. He was already rummaging through the cloth bag which had been on the ground by his feet.

"First we'll have the little one over here," he said. "just come along ... slowly ... that's right. Don't trip over your pants. Now, turn around so your back is toward me. Bracing his sub- machine gun against his legs, the Cuban quickly and expertly - bound the young man's hands behind his back. He took an extra moment to test the material of the prisoner's jockey shorts, laughed and made some unintelligible remark about their feminine softness before giving the boy a shove and telling him to return to his former position.

Jan Winklemann was next, and while the German harbored some romantic thoughts about trying to jump his captor, he had the good sense not to try. . . standing in helpless fury as the gunman bound his wrists - his anger heightened further when he felt a surge of unwanted sexual excitement Although he had his back turned to the Cuban, the man seemed to sense his captive's condition. With a nasty, sneering laugh, he reached between his captive's legs and gave the swollen jockstrap pouch a twisting squeeze. This brought a cry of dismay to the German's lips, since the action had crushed his balls, and sent a burst of pain up the left side of his body.

Jim Aubry had half turned at the sound, which caused the Cuban to seize his weapon. He shoved the barrel into Jan's back, commanding him to return to his place. "All right, big man," he said, "you are next".

As the professor turned to approach, the gunman laughed at him, taunting him for his nakedness, for Aubry had not been wearing shorts. His awkward, shuffling progress across the uneven floor caused his uncut cock and heavy, low hanging balls to sway. This, in turn, brought a flush of embarrassment to his face. Obviously impressed by Jim's large, powerful body, the Cuban ordered him to halt and to turn around at twice the distance he had required to the others, and kept his weapon at the ready as he did so. He then placed the Kalishnikov on the floor and slipped a small Czech automatic from his pocket. Before moving toward the bigger man, he made a noose in the end of his rope. Holding this in one hand, and the automatic in the other, he gingerly approached his captive. He made sure that Jim understood exactly what the cold object was, that now pressed against his anus, while the gunman slipped the loop of rope around one wrist, and quickly wrapped it around the other before he tucked the Ceska into his web belt, and hastily completed the task of securing his final prisoner.

When Aubry felt his hands firmly bound, he assumed the man had finished with him. He started to hobble back, as he had heard the others ordered to do.

"No, just one moment," snapped the Cuban. "Come back here, and turn around to face me." When his captive obeyed, the Cuban emitted another nasty laugh. He reached between his prisoner's legs to grasp the end of rope that dangled from the other's hands. Yanking this forward, he pulled hard enough to force Jim's hands firmly against his buttocks, then looped the free end around the base of cock and balls. He secured it with a couple of slip knots, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. "That should keep even a toro like you in your place," he sneered. "Almost as good as a ring through the nose... or maybe better." He grasped the other's large, deeply distended testicles in a hard grip that gradually increased until the big American groaned in spite of himself, and bent forward to ease the pain.

"I believe your American expression is 'to have a man by the balls,"' he said tauntingly. "And that seems to be exactly the situation. In fact, it gives me a wonderful idea. You.. Englishman, come here."

"I'm German," said Jan, turning and making his laborious way across the vault.

The Cuban merely looked at him with the now familiar sneer on his lips, motioning for Jan to stop a few paces behind Aubry. The gunman took a long length of light cord from his pack, and tied the end tightly around the professor's already painfully distended scrotum. He passed the line backward, between the big man's legs, then pulled a long, evil looking knife from the sheath at his waist. He slipped the blade under the front of Jan's jock strap, causing the German to flinch in anticipation of being stabbed. Instead the knife sliced through the fabric, allowing the gunman to seize the severed elastic and rip it completely off. Much to the prisoner's consternation, his cock flopped free and hung outward, semi-erect With a grunting laugh, the Cuban seized Jan's balls, and made a couple of tight loops with the rope, securing it firmly in place so that the line connected the two captives with about a six foot separation.

"Now you, pretty girl. Let us see what you have in those dainty little panties."

Glaring hatefully at his captor, Peter made his laborious trip across the vault floor to stand in silent, seething rage as the gunman sliced away his jockeys. "Hum, not much compared to your companions," remarked the man, "and I see the American doctors got to you ... unlike the professor and his . . friend." With this, he grabbed roughly at the younger man's testicles, forcing them down to a painful depth which permitted his wrapping the rope around the scrotum, thus securing Peter at about the same distance from Jan as the German was from Aubry.

"Now, I think I might be able to move you safely into the open," he said. "I doubt anyone is going to try running away." He retrieved his flashlight and the Kalisnikov, slipped the automatic back into its holster, and motioned for Jim to start moving up the ramp.



  1. conversation17 - May 28, 2021, 8:15 am

    Whoa! Larry Townsend! Now there is a significant name out of the past. Coupled with Cavelo, one of the great artists out of the past. GBF, this is a real find.

  2. GayBondageFiction - June 3, 2021, 8:00 pm

    @conversation17 I’m glad you are enjoying it! I have just posted Part 2

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