The guerilla brings the professor to the ancient altar before meeting his own fate in the conclusion of the story.

Guerilla - Conclusion
by Larry Townsend
Art by Cavelo
Series: Guerilla
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The young captive lay silently on the ground, not giving his tormentor the satisfaction of a reply. His slim, naked body seemed almost in repose, except for the arms being drawn behind him and lashed securely with rope. His ass gleamed in the filtered light, contrasting against the tan of his legs and upper body, more so against the black soil.

Without a word, the Cuban led his helpless captive along the jungle path, not pausing until they reached the base of the pyramid. Here he shoved Aubry against a tree trunk and quickly tied his lead about it. Leaving him there, tethered once again by his balls, the Cuban went up the stairs to the vault where the three explorers had found the cache of arms. He returned a few minutes later carrying a canvas sack. "You didn't have a chance to see that we also left a few less lethal supplies," his captor said.

With a grunt, he sat down on the lower step and rummaged in his sack, pulling out a bottle of red wine and a smaller package wrapped in plastic. He pulled the cork loose with his teeth and took a long drink, reminding Aubry of his own thirst. He then unwrapped the packet and extracted a large black cigar. Leaning back against the stones, he puffed on the cheroot between deep pulls at the bottle. "We might as well let the sun go down a little," he said. "I'm perfectly comfortable. How about you?" He laughed again, and stretched his naked back across the lower steps. His legs were spread wide to brace himself, and again Aubry felt a tug of arousal as he watched. The man was undeniably well built, and his dark, purple-black genitals were a compelling sight despite the desperate circumstances.

It was close to two hours before the Cuban finally decided to end their break. He had gone back into the pyramid for a second bottle of wine, and had nearly finished it when he fumbled at the knot binding Aubry to the tree. Both men were unsteady on their feet - Aubry from the strain of standing for so many hours, the other from the effects of drink. Hauling roughly on the line, the Cuban ordered Aubry onto his knees. It came almost as a relief when the professor felt himself kneeling on the soft soil, his lower legs finally relaxing their tension.

But the Cuban did not give him much time to enjoy his momentary respite. Grinning drunkenly, he drew his automatic with his right hand, and held up the bulk of his cock with the left. "You must be thirsty, professor," he said in the familiar taunting tone. "I was sure you would be, so I've saved up some wine for you." He laughed uproariously at his own wit and waggled his cock in Aubry's face. The pinkish red eye winked out through the foreskin, and a second later the first spurt of piss splashed into the face of the kneeling man. Aubry recoiled from the stinking affluvium, blinking his eyes as the fluid stung the sensitive membranes.

"Come on, professor," the Cuban taunted him. "I saw you and the German over there" inclining his head toward the spot where Jan and Aubry had been seated, awaiting Peter's return with the hammer. "I saw how you putos fondled each other. I never heard of a queer who didn't drink ....... didn't enjoy having it sprayed all over him..." He shook his dick and shot another stream of bright yellow fluid into Aubry's face, this time catching him on the lips, before stopping the flow. He stood watching, then, as his urine ran in streaks down the other man's face, dribbling off his beard and falling onto the bound, captive cock.

"But whether you like it or not, man, you're going to drink it," he snarled, his drunken humor turning into a sudden anger. He rammed the barrel of his automatic against the side of Aubry's head. "Now!" he shouted, and unleashed another stream of piss. With the gun against his temple, the professor had no choice. He opened his mouth, and the stream of fluid bubbled into his mouth, gushing over his tongue and running down his chin in a great, cascading flood.

"Swallow!" shouted his captor, showing the gun barrel more tightly against the captive's head.

Aubry obeyed, forcing his guts to accept the evil tasting flow, and fighting back the urge to vomit. The Cuban had indeed stored an enormous amount of urine, and after the initial gulp Aubry found himself choking on the volume... also slaking his thirst, when he became accustomed to the taste and finding it less obnoxious. Even in his depleted state, he realized that he needed the intake, humiliating as it was to accept it in this manner.

Finally, when his captor's bladder began to run dry, he found himself still staring at the thick, gnarled shaft from which the Cuban now shook the final drops. He bounced the heavy, hooded cylinder against his palm, groaning at the pleasant sensations as his cock began to lengthen. The big balls swayed against his thighs. The automatic moved caressingly along the side of Aubry's face, reminding him of his powerless condition. Then the half hardened shaft struck his lips. Without giving his captor an excuse for further abuse, he sucked it in, doing his best to let it slide past his palate without choking.

"Ah yes, experience will tell," sighed the Cuban. "You are a far better cocksucker than your student, professor."

Aubry felt the gun against the back of his head as the Cuban grabbed him with both hands, holding him in place while the great, dark shaft slammed time and again against the back of his throat. He was strangling on it, spitting up phlegm, choking and hardly able to draw breath between the hard, vicious strokes. Although he knew it was useless, he strained at his bonds, desperate to free his hands and gain some control over the other's abuse. In doing this, he pulled on the rope that joined his wrists to the base of his cock and balls. The pressure was painful; yet he also felt the old, familiar surge of lust His own cock was erect, bouncing with the motions of his body, tightening the bonds, hurting him ... arousing him.

As abruptly as he had started, the Cuban shoved Aubry away, almost causing him to fall. He stood back and laughed aloud, aiming a hard kick into the captive's groin... missing his mark, but landing a painful blow into the professor's gut. Aubry doubled over, started to fall, partially caught his balance, then tumbled onto his side. For several minutes he lay stunned and gasping while the gunman stood over him, deriding him for his sexual appetites, mocking him as a queer and a cocksucker. Finally, he grasped the rope and yanked hard enough to bring a cry of pain to the other's lips. "Up!" he shouted. "Get up, puto. We have a little further to go.

With the Cuban once again in the lead, Aubry was directed to the other side of the pyramid, then pulled up the slope. Several times he tripped on the brush, falling once, bruising and scratching himself. But the Cuban was oblivious to his discomfort, if anything taking pleasure from his captive's misery. He kept his prisoner moving until they reached the top, where the professor had stood with his students a few hours before.

At the gunman's direction, Aubry sat on the stone bier, feet hanging over the edge. The Cuban took the rope which had previously bound Jan's wrists, and quickly tied it around Aubry's ankles. He secured the other end to a flange, cut into the stone near the base. He moved behind his captive and once again drew his automatic. The submachine gun lay on the edge of cleared rock, several feet away. "Now, puto, "said the Cuban, "I am going to untie your hands. But if you make any move that displeases me.. ." He snapped the safety lever on the gun to complete his threat. A moment later, Aubry felt him tugging at the knots that held his wrists.

When the rope fell away, Aubry hesitated only a moment, then brought his hands in front of him and started rubbing his wrists. The Cuban made no move to stop him, until he started to loosen the bonds around his genitals. "No, no, puto,"he said. "That stays in place." With this, he grabbed Aubry by the neck and forced him down against the stone. Standing well back, at the head of the bier, he took the professor's hands, and once again bound them together, fastening the end of the rope to another flange at the base of stone. Aubry now lay full length atop the altar, bound by wrists and ankles. Although his position would eventually become strained and uncomfortable, it was a tremendous relief to be lying down. He felt the muscles of his back and legs begin to lose their tension, and for a moment he was actually comfortable.

But the Cuban still had plans for him. Although Aubry was a tall man, the altar was long enough that his hands and feet barely protruded over the ends, thus making it possible for the Cuban to turn him over without having to loosen his bonds. He did this, now, prodding Aubry with his weapon to assure the prisoner's cooperation. When the big man was prone on his stomach, his mentor reached between his legs and pulled his genitals down into the narrow opening between his thighs.

"I couldn't hear what you were telling your students, this morning," said the Cuban, swinging one leg over the prisoner's back, and mounting him as he would a horse. "But I suspect you were explaining the ancient rituals that used to be performed here." He rested astride the professor, his weight bearing down painfully upon the small of the bigger man's back. "I have thought many times about these things when I have traveled here... wondered what it would be like to cut the beating heart from a living man ... to feel it pulse its final desperation upon the palm of my hand..." His voice faded off, as he braced both hands against Aubry's rib cage and he slid back to straddle the upper thighs. His fingers toyed with the cleft between his captive's cheeks, one finger probing deeper to find the channel.

"Such things have always interested me," he continued, his accent more pronounced now that the wine had completely fogged his brain. "After I have finished taking my pleasure with you, I think I may try it." His finger found the opening and plunged inside, causing Aubry to gasp in pain.

"Why do you cry out, professor? You should enjoy the sensation. All queers should enjoy it." He shoved harder with his finger, then roughly withdrew it to probe again with all four fingers held tightly together.

Aubry shouted and twisted in his bonds. "You sonofabitch!" he cried. "You keep calling us queers, and you're the most perverted asshole I've ever met! ...sick, ...fucking..." His voice broke into a shattering scream as the Cuban shoved with all his force, pushing his fingers in almost their full length. Then the man was off his back, hacking at the tangle of vines with his knife. It took the American a moment to understand what had happened, and to realize that he had struck the wrong note, had enraged his drunken captor, who now managed to cut away a length of springy wood.

"Now, we will see how much of a man you really are, puto!" He stood over his bound, naked prisoner with the four foot length of vine in his hand, using his knife to clean away the few remaining leaves. "We will make a game of it' no? A game to test your manhood." He produced another of his cigars from a pouch in his web belt and lit it. "I will beat you, now, with this switch, and each time you cry out I will make a little mark on your buttocks with my Cuban brand." He drew deeply on the cigar, causing the smoke to swirl about his head. The tip glowed brightly in the fading light, and Aubry tried to steel himself for the pending contest

The lash struck suddenly, with unexpected force across his ass, bringing an involuntary groan to his lips. The Cuban blew a stream of smoke across the captive's body, holding the cigar above Aubry's back and flicking the ash to make it fall against the naked flesh. "Let's call that the test pattern," he sneered. "From now on, we'll count each cry of pain."

He brought the limb down hard, again striking the professor's ass, and quickly delivering a second blow to the center of his back. Aubry groaned and twisted, biting his lips to keep from crying out. But the Cuban was not to be denied his satisfaction. The lash continued to fall, all across the captive's back and ass, time and again with a steady, painful force. Then, without warning, it landed with enormous impact against the center of Aubry's ass, forcing a deep, guttural gasp from his lips. Grinning with pleasure, the Cuban positioned the glowing tip of cigar against the side of his captive's hip, and held it lightly against the flesh.

Aubry reared up, lifting the center of his body off the stone, trying to twist away from the source of pain, more intense than he had ever experienced. His agonized scream echoed through the jungle, and only when he glanced up to see the Cuban puffing contentedly on his cigar did he force himself to stop. The throbbing misery had already started on his hip, but he refused to give his tormentor any more satisfaction than necessary. it was an uneven contest, but he could not bring himself to total surrender... this resolve strengthened as he watched the hated Cuban stand over him, legs wide spread, stinking cigar clenched tightly between his teeth, grinning down at him. And at the apex of those powerful thighs he saw the bastard's fully risen cock, its excitement clearly defined by its rigid contour and the stream of viscous fluid that festooned from the loosely hooded crown.

As if reading his thoughts, the gunman hefted the switch in his right hand and brought it down smartly across the prisoner's ass, missing the burned area by only a few millimeters. Aubry clenched his teeth and fought back the urge to shriek in pain and outrage. His body continued to twist and writhe against the stone surface as the Cuban whipped him, cutting him with the sharp edges of the switch. But the big man forced himself to hold the pain within himself, emitting no more than a sigh or muted groan as the whipping continued, and his backside became one single source of unalleviated misery.

Then, without warning, the Cuban tossed his whip aside and grabbed his prisoner with both hands. In a single thrust, he turned him half over, then pulled him back into the center of the stone platform, forcing him down on his back so that the rough surface pressed into the sore and desperately painful areas. But the Cuban hardly gave him time to think about it, before he began to lay the switch across the front of his helpless subject's body. He concentrated on the chest and belly, the upper thighs, and occasionally struck across the groin. At first Aubry tried not to move, because the open wounds on his back and ass were even more painful than the fresh ones being inflicted by each stinging blow. In the end, he couldn't help himself, and nothing made any difference. His cries of pain rang out, and his body thrashed about uncontrollably. But the Cuban was enjoying the spectacle of his bound and suffering captive, twisting in helpless, naked misery. He even forgot to punish the outcries with the burning tip of his cigar, merely intensifying the strength of his blows, and landing these with greater frequency against the groin.

Finally, Aubry broke. While his conscious, well disciplined mind would have rebelled at the thought, he was beyond any intellectual control. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he begged his captor to stop. He had lost all sense of pride, or even of self. His body had become a source of such pain that he lacked any sense of reason. "Please," he gasped, then screamed again as the switch stuck him low on the belly. His own sweat mingled with the trickles of blood from his wounds, and the Cuban was drenched as well, great drops falling from his arms and chest as he leaned across his captive to deliver his strokes. But he was now gasping for breath, as was his subject, and this more than Aubry's pleas - finally brought the beating to an end.

The sun had set by now, and the jungle below them was blanketed in darkness. On the top of the pyramid there was just a taint, final gleam of light that made both their bodies seem to shimmer in the pale, rosy afterglow of sunset. But Aubry was oblivious to all of this. There was no way he could position his body to ease the stinging, burning sensations. He would have welcomed an escape into oblivion ... unconsciousness, even death. And this seemed to be the grace he was about to be offered.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, the Cuban pulled a long, gleaming knife from its sheath. The cold, wicked looking steel glinted in the final rays of light... a long, sharp blade that looked more like a bayonet... held aloft in both hands as the jungle darkness rose about them, and even in those few moments the Cuban seemed to merge into the black. His powerful body became indistinguishable against the inky sky. Even his dripping, bloated penis disappeared into the darkness.

Aubry held his breath. Suddenly the pain of his naked, battered body seemed to vanish as he realized that he was actually on the threshold of death. As much as he might have begged for such relief a few moments before, he now froze in terror at the actuality. Then the Cuban tensed, responding to a rush of sound behind him. He tried to turn, but froze in place at the unmistakable clank of metal. Aubry tried to see past him, but the man's bulk blocked his view, and the darkness was now a velvet shroud across the entire landscape. For several seconds the warm, moist air hung about them in silence, broken only by the night sounds coming from the forest below.

Then the Kalisnikov burst into life, long red streams of light tearing into the dark, hovering bulk of the Cuban. His head and chest seemed to explode, to fly away in chunks amidst the chattering explosion of sound, and the endless streaks of yellow red. An acrid odor assailed his senses, and the last thing Aubry remembered before dropping into unconsciousness was the impact of the Cuban's body across his own ... a wet, sticky mass of weight that knocked the breath from his lungs and caused him a final wave of excruciating pain as it pressed him hard against the unyielding stone.

When he came to his senses, he was still lying on the stone altar, but his hands and feet were free, and he felt fingers working gingerly to untie the ropes from his genitals. With an effort, Aubry lifted his head enough to see the outline of his younger student, holding a flashlight in his mouth, trying to remove the last of his bonds.

"What happened?" asked Aubry, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "Oh," he groaned as he sank back against the stone, and pain returned to claim his senses. The cord fell from his groin, and Peter took the flashlight from his mouth.

"Jan managed to crawl back to the camp," he replied. "He's hurt, but that asshole only got him in the shoulder and one thigh .. . grazed his head, too, but I don't think any of the bullets are still in him. Anyway, he got back and turned me loose, and I crawled up here and got his machine gun. I almost couldn't get it to work, but he must have been too drunk to jump me before I figured out....

"Easy, boy," said the professor, stopping the near hysterical flow of words. With a groan, he forced his body to respond. He swung his legs over the side, sitting on the stone, holding his head as the darkness swung before him, and he almost fainted again. "So, Jan made it. Thank God for that. And you, are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah, I think so, Prof... Jim. I guess he didn't really tear me up too much ... nothing compared to what he did to you and Jan. And Jim, I just want you to know that I'll never say anything about this. I mean, the things he did to you and Jan - - stripping you naked and tying you up like that, then whipping you. I mean, a distinguished man like you being treated like that. I'll never tell anyone... ever."

"You think that's really important?" asked Aubry.

"Sure it is. My God, you wouldn't want the other students to know anything like this ever happened to you." He moved closer to the bigger man in the darkness, and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. In spite of himself, Aubry felt a surge of desire flood his loins as the warmth of the young man's body grazed his own. "I mean, you wouldn't want people to know some queer got his hands on you, any more than I'd want anyone to know what he did to me."

Aubry sighed. 'Okay, I guess you're right, kid. Let's go see what we can do for Jan." He forced himself to stand, and leaning on Peter - one arm draped across the young man's shoulder - he started the painful descent.



  1. Session3 - July 27, 2021, 5:49 am

    WOW. No wonder Townsend’s name continues to command respect down through the years. He lays out a whole world: the men, their distinct personalities and interrelations, the details of their work on an interesting project, the unlucky dangerous encounter, the personality of their captor, and how all those things play out. All completely, minutely credible.
    Most credible of all: the way power, sex, humiliation and torture can rise up, mounting and melding and driving men to manifest their strengths—inflicting or enduring or combatting—with the manliness bursting out of them in force as naked as a fierce cock.
    And that last illustration, drilling down on what muscle-wracked writhing’s all about? WOW. Triple thanks for this one, GBF.

  2. Session3 - July 27, 2021, 5:58 am

    …So now tell us how Aubrey can’t resist arranging a follow-up with the guerilla’s brother a few weeks later. (“Hit me again, I can take it.”)

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