Pain. Shame. Regrets. Korak had experienced every one of this vengeful tribe’s demands. But as much as they thought he deserved? He had not suffered enough. Would there ever be enough?
The pain he could not deny. That stinging goo stuck up inside him …… had he ever known anything so crippling? Even now .. no more pinned down over their rock .. Korak felt a weak as a kitten. He couldn’t believe how much that torture had sucked out of him.
Tarzan’s son .. he was born into a life where small-minded males needed to assert their will over him. He’d been in enough situations where ambitious chiefs had used him to exercise their power over his father’s authority. Korak had endured beatings. He’d been tortured to break his will.
But that cock coated with stinging plants .. stuck up inside him .. incinerating his innards .. conquering his every attempt to fight it back .. THAT had depleted him of strength .. like nothing else. On a totally different plane.
A blur to his side alerted Korak. He’d been lost in his thoughts, he realised with concern. That overwhelming tiredness .. from the rape .. from the burning up his backside that still had his legs in a stranglehold .. he’d lost focus. It was that warrior who appeared .. the one who’d managed his capture. Was he the pin-up star for the tribe? Certainly with every appearance, the crowd gave him encouraging cheers .. greeting him as he stepped forward to take charge of the perpetrator. Honoured, it seemed, to manage his punishment. He was shaking out a whip.
Korak saw him preen at the tribe’s welcome. Making a show of his strength. FOCUS! Korak warned himself. Korak had grown to hate the man almost as much as the shaman. Focus! How could he let that tiredness overwhelm him right now? After that pronouncement from the chief! They were going to plumb the depths of Korak’s suffering …… His minder had again stepped forward. To do the chief’s bidding. Besting Korak with more pain, shame .. squeezing regrets from him. And none was better equipped for the task.
It was a legal looking instrument. A length of thick leather mounted on a wooden handle .. the length of a man, the thickness of two fingers. With a shiver Korak took in the man. Well-built, mighty chest, thick shoulders on him. A back more than made to wield that fearsome strap. He gave the tribe another show of his strength. Greeting by a roar. He was THEIR man, the man of the moment. For capturing the second desecrator. For bringing in that foul perpetrator, an offence to the gods.
Korak bit on his lower lip, steeling himself. Managing not to jump when their tribe’s champion gave a loud crack of his strap. To a roar of approval from the crowd. Korak saw the muscular warrior take a pace back .. his eyes on the helplessly spread-eagled Korak .. as if getting his eye on for the distance of a strike. Korak steeled himself. He got a hold of that tiredness, he put steel in his legs. He gritted his teeth.
He yelled out. Tears flooded down his face. A guttural animal cry of shocked pain. A strike on his front. A burning hit across his belly. His body snapped into an arc, thrust his hips backwards, head snapped forwards. Inside the flames burst into a roar. The shaman’s evil goo. Roared like a forest fire fanned by the wind. Off just one strike.
He’d not heard the warning. His head blocked by the screams of fires in his guts. Ambushed. Another whoosh of evil leather .. this one chasing down his arse .. close on the tail of the first. His body still drowning in a flaming sea of pain. Swamping his nerves. Overwhelming his brain. Ambushing him from behind. Already saturated with sweat. Trying not to go mad with the fiery pains.
In his exhaustion he’d not thought. There were two of them on to him. His minder in front, another striking him behind. The chief had pronounced it. He’d sing his cries of regret. Korak was to take a punishment out of hell. They’d caught him unawares. Attacked from front and back.
He yelled out. Many times. In time he screamed. No holding it in. His innards were taking a monstrous pounding. His jangling nerves were centred on the assault on his arse. Inside that goo had him in its fiery grip. With every move they just kept reigniting the fires. Fires that reached into every fibre of his physique. A forest wildfire that raged and roared inside him. Boiling red, a volcano erupting inside his belly.
The pain was electric. Muscle writhed and screamed. He ran with sweat. A shredded physique broke and crumpled. Burning up with every agonising hit. Like they’d stuck a petrol-soaked torch up his arse and set it alight! Drowning in a private fiery hell. His innards ran with the bites of a thousand fire ants. Korak was on fire!