Konan to the Rescue

"Hey, look at that," Ronda nudged Jerry. "I told you we could set the clock by him."

The bank's loan officer and new accounts clerk, whose desks were set side by side in the bank branch's lobby, were leaning into each other and marking the rapid progress of the senior teller to the exit door. Kevin Radcliff had stepped out from behind the bank counter precisely on the stroke of five o'clock. As he breezed past the customer service desks, Jerry made an exaggerated gesture of resetting the time on his wristwatch.

"Hot date, I suppose," Ronda murmured, just beyond—she hoped—Kevin's hearing.

"I wouldn't count on it," Jerry responded sotto voce.

But Kevin Radcliff wasn't listening to either of them. Kevin Radcliff was intent on getting home. It was Thursday. And on Thursdays there often was a new Konan story posted. Thursday was the day that Kevin lived for.

He raced to his car and drove straight to the Taco Bell that was located on the straightaway between the bank branch and his apartment. He was hungry—he did have to eat. If there was a new story there, he'd be lost until late in the night and wouldn't even think about eating. So, he did need to eat. A stop at Taco Bell, though, would be the shortest sacrifice of time between the office and Kevin's computer.

Having ordered, received, and wolfed down a couple of tacos and a Coke within ten minutes of pulling into the Taco Bell lot, Kevin was quickly on the move again. He raced up the stairs at his apartment house, having no patience to wait for the elevator to arrive. And he was stripped and sitting in front of his computer and firing it up within a half hour of having stepped out from behind that bank branch counter.

"Come on, come on," he muttered as he waited for the erotica story Web site to load.

And there it was. A new Konan the Barbarian story. Kevin sighed and clicked on it and immediately was lost in ancient time.

Within two paragraphs, the timing and atmospherics of the story had been set. The hulking brute of a barbarian—but one of honesty and fairness, not to mention bulging muscles, a monster dick of cartoon proportions, and an unquenchable sex drive—who went by the name Konan had met up with a caravan traveling the Silk Road and had helped the treasure-laden caravan, led by the young and comely son of a merchant prince, stave off an attack by brigands.

In paragraph three, which—making Kevin gasp and lick his lips—was illustrated, the young merchant was showing his gratitude for the hunky barbarian's help by spreading his legs and giving Konan an unmistakable "take me" look. Without hesitation, the barbarian had unhooked and dropped his loin cloth and torn away the young merchant's tunic. He was already magnificently and hugely hard, as shown in no uncertain terms in the story illustration.

Kevin whimpered and reached for his own cock, which was filling out and beginning to throb. He wrapped his hand around it and began to slowly work it. It had been two weeks since he'd been transported like this. There hadn't been a new Konan story last week; he'd had to do with rereading an old one. He had other sites on the Internet to follow to help give him release, but nothing did for him like a new Konan story. Nothing transported him out of this dull life of his and into a hugely arousing world like a new Konan story.

The young merchant had been sitting on the driver's board of a covered wagon containing a fortune in trade goods. Once they both were naked, Konan had pushed the young man down on his side across the board and lifted his thigh. Konan then stood up on the spokes of the wheel at the side of the driver board and started working the young man's hole with the head of his cock. The young merchant screamed out to the night as Konan impaled his tight hole with an impossibly thick cock. Miraculously, and after taking his time, Konan had managed to bury his cock, though, and the young man's screams had been reduced to weak groans and moans.

Kevin shuddered and released his seed into a washcloth he kept conveniently nearby. Since there had been no story the previous Thursday, he had been ready to ejaculate at the mere assurance that a new story had posted earlier in the day. He lay back in his chair for a few minutes, gathering himself and luxuriating in having gotten himself off with story to spare for another—and perhaps even a third—release this evening.

He waited for his breath to regularize again, but that didn't come easily. He was sitting and looking at the illustration. It told him what came next, and Kevin melted down into a puddle at the mere thought of Konan doing that to him as well. Calm now, Kevin's eyes went back to the computer screen.

Having managed to bottom in the young merchant's channel and having reduced the writhing and jerking of the young man's body as a result of the seemingly impossible journey of a monster club in a virginal channel into a semicomatose state and a sloppy grin of master possession, Konan just lifted his prey off the wagon bench with strong hands that nearly met as they circled the young man's thin waist. Gracefully for a rough and massive hunter such as the barbarian was, Konan swung the young man off the wagon—still bottomed in his channel—while he stepped down from the spokes of the wooden wheel. Standing on the ground, Konan crouched down, knees bent and the young merchant's legs straddling his hips, and held the young man's hips to his pelvis. Using the hands encircling the young man's waist, Konan began moving the merchant's channel up and down on his cock, fucking him deep with long strokes. The young man's torso just arched back, and his head lolled to the side. The expression of total satisfaction and surrender on his face showed that he was getting the fuck of his life.

Kevin didn't have to imagine this. The illustrator had captured it all.

Kevin moaned, totally lost in what was happening in the story and illustration. And it wasn't just a silent or half-hearted moan. It was a moan that started deep down inside him and rumbled forever up to the surface.

Startled, Konan the Barbarian suspended his pumping action of the young merchant's hips, He lifted his head and sniffed the air and started looking around in the dimness of the dying fire set in the middle of the circled wagons and kneeling, snoozing camels.

Suddenly fearful, Kevin shrank into the camel saddle that he had been crouched behind.

But Konan, with the eyes of a desert cat, saw Kevin in the dimness of the light. His mouth turned up in a smile, and he slowly let the body of the young, totally fucked merchant slide off his cock and down his massively muscled legs to lay in a panting and groaning heap at his feet.

Konan was moving across the shadowed clearing—toward the source of the moan—Kevin's moan. Kevin at first shrank down behind the camel saddle, trying to meld into the smooth leather and heavy wool blanketing. But quite unsuccessfully. Realizing this, Kevin gave a little cry of fear and managed to get to his feet and turned to flee into the desert. He cried out as his foot came down on a rough stone, and he momentarily wondered why his feet were bare—in fact, why he was completely naked. Then he remembered that he had stripped down as usual as he had sat down to the computer, all set to pleasure himself as he read the latest Konan story.

Something was still wrong with this scenario, Kevin thought, somewhat idiotically, but he couldn't put his finger on it. In the meantime, there was a hulk of a barbarian, naked and with a huge erection, bearing down on him. Kevin stumbled back up on his feet and turned to run.

But the barbarian was faster than Kevin, and Kevin was hampered by the surrealism of what was happening.

Grabbing Kevin with two strong hands encircling his waist, Konan the Barbarian simply lifted the retreating Kevin off the ground and turned him and pushed him down on his belly on top of the camel saddle.

Kevin cried out in pain, as Konan straddled his hips and began working his huge cock inside Kevin's hole. He cried to the heavens and flung his body about, trying—quite unsuccessfully—to escape the slow but relentless skewering of his virginal channel by the impossibly thick cock. He was begging for mercy and crying of being split asunder. But Konan just continued to impale him, not paying a bit of attention to Kevin's pleadings.

And of course he wasn't answering, Kevin reasoned between the flood of pain, which was arousing other sensations as well—welcome sensations, sexy sensations. Konan was a barbarian, after all. What language did an ancient barbarian speak anyway, Kevin wondered. He briefly wondered if he should plead for mercy in the broken French he knew—but then he decided he was being stupid and probably was just suffering from shock.

The barbarian was beginning to fuck him in long, strong strokes that bottomed deep in Kevin's interior, and Kevin was moaning and groaning to the barbarian's unabashed grunts of pleasure. The barbarian was breathing heavily and Kevin was panting, taking long breaths in each time the barbarian bottomed, usually just a fraction of an inch deeper inside Kevin. Kevin had never been ass fucked before, but he found he had fallen into the rhythm of the fuck now, and was moving his hips to meet the barbarian's thrusts.

The barbarian was covering him close from behind, and Kevin felt teeth lightly close on the hollow of his neck and the barbarian was sucking him there while fucking him. Waves and waves of pleasure flowed over Kevin, and he was feeling as one with the barbarian—a combined fucking machine. Konan was enjoying the taking, and Kevin was flooded with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction not only that he was pleasing the literary character who he had fallen in love with several months earlier but also that he was able to accomplish a cock of cartoon proportions.

And then Kevin's insides were being flooded by a sea of come. It was seeping deep inside him and was simultaneously burbling up between softening cock and beleaguered channel walls and dribbling down Kevin's legs.

They lay together, their breathing in unison—slowly calming together, the sweat of Konan's massive chest slicking down Kevin's trembling back, Kevin feeling a slight chill as the breeze cooled their bodies. Kevin looked over across the embers of the fire and saw that the young merchant was still lying in a heap. But he was on his back now, watching Konan fuck Kevin and working his own cock. He had a satisfied grin on his face. Kevin found himself wondering if his own eyes were swimming in Konan's come as the young merchant's eyes seemed to be doing.

But then all of Kevin's attention was concentrated on the cock still buried deep inside him. Konan was saying something to him—but in a language he couldn't understand. From his reading of previous stories—and of the fairness and honesty of the bulky barbarian—Kevin somehow understood that Konan was asked for permission to fuck him again.

"Yes, oh yes," Kevin murmured. "Again and again."

Pleased, Konan rose, pulling Kevin up with him, not giving up the purchase his cock had established in Kevin's channel. Kevin was turned, his back on the warm sand of the Silk Road verge and the small of his back running up the saddle. Konan spread-eagled his legs and crouched over the saddle and fucked down into Kevin. Kevin put his hips into motion, meeting Konan's downward thrusts with upward thrusts of his own, and soon ancient barbarian and senior bank teller were lost in the rhythm of the ultimate fuck once more. The fucking was even more pleasurable now, Kevin's channel having already taken the measure of Konan's cock and now being lubricated with Konan's earlier ejaculation.

Konan had the palm of one of his hands pumping Kevin's cock and the other one was cradled under Kevin's chin, forcing his head back, where he was now watching—in upside-down view—the young merchant being fucked roughly by one of the caravan's camel drivers—and by all appearances enjoying it immensely.

In a third taking—and to the total delight of Kevin—Konan duplicated the fuck of the story illustration, standing on his feet, heels dug in the sand, holding Kevin's hips to his pelvis, and slowly marching around the clearing while fucking Kevin up and down on his hard tool. Kevin just arched his back and let his head loll to one side and let exhaustion and total surrender slowly overtake him.

Kevin was stretched out on the rug beside the computer chair when he awoke. The computer screen was in save mode, but ready to flicker back on at his command. He was still fisting his cock, but it was tumescent now. Sticky come was spread through his pubic hair and on his thighs and fingers. He had the most wonderful feeling of total satisfaction and fulfillment that he connected with both sexual release and a good workout at the gym. The combined feeling was incredible. This was why he hurried home on Thursday nights—what got him through all of the intervening dull days at the bank, putting up with the twittering of Ronda and Jerry behind their fingers over there at the customer service desk.

He couldn't wait for next Thursday evening.