Konan rose at dawn from the bed he had made beneath the trees and stars at the side of the road. He stretched and ran his hands through his hair and over his body and adjusted his loincloth. He had already checked that his possessions were all there. His sword in its hard leather, iron-banded sheath, along with his knife and the small leather bag of valuables had all been wrapped in his robe, which he had rolled up and used as a pillow.
His goatskin water bottle and his bow and quiver of arrows had been tucked under the heavy cloak he lay upon and wrapped around himself in the coldest part of the night just before dawn.
All was there as he had left it and his only other possessions, his loincloth and his sandals, had not left his body, though he had slightly loosened the laces on his sandals for comfort. Best to be ready always in case some opportunistic thief sought to steal from a man in the dead of night while he slept. More than once on his long journey Konan had needed to run quickly to catch such a foolhardy villain. And running was always easier to do in sandals.
Having stretched and greeted the day pleasantly, he rose, bundled up his possessions, and carried them the few paces to the bank of the swiftly flowing stream he had been pleased to find winding close to the road when he looked for a place to rest at the end of the previous day.
Removing his loincloth and sandals, he laid them atop his weapons, his robe, and his cloak and stepped into the water. It was cool and clear, bubbling merrily over smooth rocks and sandy patches at its bottom. He stepped into the center of it and was surprised to find the water came halfway up his thighs. Bending over and cupping his hands, he drew up the cool water and splashed it over his body, feeling the freshness of it and the invigorating coldness. He wiped it over his golden skin with his hands to loosen the dust that had clung to him during the two days he had been on the road since he had last had the good fortune to be able to bathe himself all over.
His manhood was hard and stood up straight, almost flat against his muscular belly, and he gave it special attention, washing and stroking it between playing water over other parts of his body. He bent over and dipped his head fully into the stream and shook it to loosen his hair and let the water flow to his scalp. Lifting his head, he threw it back, bringing a shower of water with him and sending it flying about as he shook his head, a glittering cascade of rainbows and flashes. Then he twisted his head to left and right, the water flying off again and again in cascades of silver drops, given life when touched by the morning sun.
He stayed there with his head flung back, and his hands went to his manhood and stroked it. He then ran over his body, no longer to wash it but to pleasure it. Fingers teased and pinched hard nipples, stroked his tight belly, tugged at his sac, and he quickly spouted his seed, sending it in an arc into the stream. He let out a lazy roar as he spouted, not the great roar he would have bellowed if he had spouted his seed while taking his pleasure with another man. And he was not fully satisfied.
It had been a full night and day and now a second night since he had lain with a man, and he was feeling the pent-up heat of need coursing through his body. His manhood was already rising again as he left the water and shook himself dry before donning his loincloth and his weapons. His sword was slung over his back so he could draw it from its sheath up and over his left shoulder. The knife was slung low on his hip from a cord belt and held steady by a cord passing around his muscular thigh. He flung the waterskin over his left shoulder, and his cloak and blanket were tied into a bundle that was tied to the waterskin. His small leather bag of valuables he slipped inside his loincloth and tied off firmly there. Out of sight and nestled by his manhood.
Then he took his leave of the comfortable spot he had found the previous evening and turned his steps again toward the city, with his mind drifting often to interesting thoughts of men he had known and would much like to know again this very minute. His body aching for the complete release that only comes from a sharing of seed.
He had not walked far but was already glad to feel the heat of the day rising, when he sighted a few animals that were not goats, but some more heavily coated creatures, sheep he thought he had heard similar ones called, grazing in a clearing among the slender trees at the roadside. There were also some strange animal sounds coming from nearby. He was curious and wandered toward them, pulling up suddenly as he passed a larger tree. The grunting and cries were suddenly louder and a man’s legs were visible protruding beyond the thick trunk. Long muscular legs tanned and naked. One was slightly bent up and the other was moving in a way that suggested . . .
Konan stepped around the tree and looked down. A solid young man, dark haired and naked with his short linen robe tossed to one side, was lying there, his hard organ in one fist being worked in a slow steady way as the other hand roamed about this chest and belly and his slitted eyes gazed at the shaggy sheep in his care.
The young man realized he had a visitor and turned his eyes dreamily up, but it seemed to take him a moment to see the intruder looking down at him.
Within seconds Konan had dropped his waterskin, his sword, and all his other possessions to the ground and was undoing his loincloth to free his already-hard pole.
“Greetings, friend,” he said in a husky, smoky voice.
The shepherd’s hands had stilled and his eyes were riveted on the huge, throbbing weapon now straining to press itself against Konan’s hard belly.
The barbarian’s hands went to his own organ and he ran them along its full, engorged length till the thumbs stroked across the head and the dripping slit. “I think you are in need of company,” he rumbled, reaching down for the shepherd’s ankles and lifting and spreading the man’s legs as he dropped to his knees between them.
The shepherd shivered in anticipation and his hands began a feverish movement about his body and a rough grasping of the giant’s golden hair as Konan’s head dipped down and he took the young man’s cock into his mouth briefly, seeming to almost swallow it whole. The shepherd cried out and moaned loudly and trembled and pulled his own legs back lifting his hips, wanting the barbarian to move his attention to his now exposed entrance.
Konan laughed, letting the shepherd’s cock free with a plop, and then began to lick and finger his hole. The young man gave a cry of surprise as two thick fingers entered him. Two fingers stretched him but it was clear he was no virgin to men and the barbarian stopped holding himself back. Removing the fingers, he held the head of his manhood to the quivering hole and pushed it in. The shepherd arched and cried out and called to the gods. The barbarian dropped his head and nipped each of the shepherd’s nipples hard, and each time the man’s channel seemed to open and pull the giant’s weapon in deeper.
The shepherd quickly had his legs wrapped about the giant’s back and was pulling himself to him as Konan palmed his cheeks and spread them wider. Then Konan lifted the shepherd with him as he came upright, still on his knees, and the young man’s passage had nowhere to go but down and down on the barbarian’s buried pole. Down until the pubic hair of the giant rubbed that surrounding the shepherd’s rim. The shepherd pulled Konan to him in a kiss, his hands locked behind the barbarian’s neck. He rubbed his body against the barbarian’s wherever they met skin on skin, and he moved his hips, starting to rise and fall on the sword impaling him. Konan’s hips joined the movement and soon they were moving together in long, deep slides, lifting off and coming down, pumping up and pulling out, the shepherd crying out repeatedly in rhythm with the joining and Konan building to a mighty roar as he flooded the shepherd’s passage. The shepherd, feeling the flood deep within him, spouted between them, sending his seed onto both their bellies and chests to land in their glossy curls, golden and black, and sticking to their sweat-damp skin.
They joined again, this time with the shepherd on his knees, looking more like one of his sheep, as Konan rode him deep from behind and stroked his cock and fondled his sac.
When he had roared that great roar of satisfaction again, the barbarian put his weapons back on and his loincloth and left the shepherd lying there beneath the tree, legs spread and still, satiated and ready to nap.