The Name of The Game

Bringing the regiment into disrepute was a serious offence, punishable by sixty days of hard labour in the military jail. Captain Buller felt ready to impose the punishment as soon as he heard about the incident in the tavern but decided to give the offenders a chance to explain their actions. Sitting behind the big wooden desk in his austere office he gazed at the four young men and wondered if they felt ashamed by what they had done.

"Last night was a disgrace," he said sternly. "The innkeeper accuses you of turning his tavern into a whorehouse. What do you say to that?"

None of the four answered, keeping their eyes on the floor as they stood with their heads bowed and their wrists tied behind their backs. Their belts and boots had been removed, leaving them barefoot and dishevelled, their blue tunics hanging loosely, their white trousers almost falling down. All four were in their early twenties, their suntanned skin and tousled hair betraying their peasant origins. Like many of their breed they were tall and strong, having spent their adolescent years toiling on their fathers' farms or hunting deer in the mountains. Such men usually became fine soldiers, a point that Captain Buller pondered as he frowned at the bedraggled quartet.

"Have you nothing to say?" he inquired. "What about you, Corporal Farrer? Will you not speak?"

The tallest of the four lifted his face, a faint smile curling across his mouth. Tangled locks of brown hair hung over his left cheek, but he tossed them away with a flick of his head. Mirth and mischief, rather than guilt or penitence, glinted in his keen blue eyes.

"It was merely a game, sir," he replied. "Everyone in the tavern encouraged us to play it, soldiers and villagers alike. They wanted to see which of us could be the marksman."

"Marksman?" the captain queried.

"Marksman is the name of the game, sir," Farrer continued. "Apparently it is an ancient pastime from the early years of the army. The sergeants reckon the game has been played for centuries."

"How many people witnessed last night's disgusting spectacle?" the officer asked.

"Thirty or forty, I guess," said Farrer, shrugging his shoulders. "Ten soldiers, two dozen villagers, a few travellers from afar. And of course the four of us, plus the elf girl."

"Ah! The elf girl!" said Buller, leaning back in his chair. "She was the star attraction, I hear. Was she willing to participate in the marksman contest, or did you force her to do it?"

Farrer's smile broadened to a grin, much to the officer's consternation. The corporal's companions raised their heads, two of them struggling to stifle their amusement. The third, a swarthy young man with dark eyes and a mop of black hair, failed to contain a muffled snigger.

"Forgive me, sir," he blurted. "I meant no disrespect to you."

"Is that so, Malkin?" said Buller. "Then you shall answer my question."

"The elf girl was extremely willing," Malkin explained. "In fact, the whole thing was her idea. Her name is Tar-Shenta and she claims to be the finest archer in the forest lands. During a bout of ale-drinking she wagered that none of our race has any skill with an arrow. 'Your aim is not true,' she said. 'You clumsy clods cannot match the skill of the Elves.' And so, being men of honour, we four accepted her boastful challenge."

"What happened next?" the captain inquired, though he had already heard a summary of the event from the angry innkeeper.

"We looked in vain for a bow and some arrows," said Farrer. "Then two sergeants of our regiment suggested that we use the marksman game to test Tar-Shenta's boast. The whole tavern erupted in howls of glee, the soldiers hammering on the tables while the villagers ordered more ale for everyone. A small circular space was cleared amidst the jostling crowd, while the local miller measured three long paces across the floor. My friends and I were pushed to the front, the noisy throng cheering loudly as we lowered our trousers. Tar-Shenta stood three paces away, her hands on her hips, laughing at our dangling cocks. Then she stripped off her clothes."

Captain Buller gave a heavy sigh and shook his head. "Wood Elf females are renowned for their seductive charms," he mused. "Is this lady a creature of great beauty?"

"She is definitely the prettiest woman I have ever seen," Farrer replied. "Pale skin, long blonde hair, green eyes, pointy ears. An awestruck silence descended upon the tavern as she slowly revealed her nakedness, every man in the room completely transfixed by her incredible loveliness. Despite her slender form she displays a pair of magnificent breasts, their shapely perfection a true joy to behold, while her feminine parts are like delicate rose petals, their glory crowned by a trimmed bush of soft golden bristles."

"You four became instantly aroused, I guess?" the captain ventured.

Farrer's three friends shared a furtive chuckle, swiftly regaining their composure when the officer fixed them with a glare of disdain. Dark-eyed Malkin coughed to clear his throat before answering the question.

"Of course we became aroused, sir," he said. "Our cocks responded naturally to the elf girl's naked curves, though we were so drunk that our rods required some assistance from her tongue. The crowd urged Tar-Shenta to wrap her sweet lips around our semi-hard shafts and she duly obliged, sucking each of us in turn until our erections were fully hard. Then she returned to her position, three paces away, where she knelt on the floor, her mouth opening wide as she waited for the game to commence."

Captain Buller raised his right hand, compelling the men to keep silent for a while. "Hear now the innkeeper's complaint," he said. From the desk he lifted a sheet of paper and peered closely at it before reading aloud in a clear voice:

"The four young soldiers took turns to masturbate, rubbing their cocks to orgasm and squirting their semen at the kneeling elf, trying to aim their shafts so that the fluid entered her mouth. The first man pumped a jet of white globules high in the air, to the delight of the lecherous spectators, but the semen merely spattered the elf girl's thighs and belly. The second contestant fared better, his frenetic masturbation sending five powerful spurts of cock-juice directly at the woman's face. Some droplets struck her chin, the remainder falling onto her breasts, though the shooter insisted that one small drop had landed inside her mouth. The belligerent crowd yelled in derision, bundling the despondent soldier aside to allow the third contestant to prove his marksmanship. This man seemed unwilling to ejaculate, though his right hand feverishly rubbed his penis while he leered at the beautiful maiden. Eventually, the crowd guessed that he simply enjoyed masturbating, so they threatened him with instant disqualification if he continued to restrain his orgasm. With a grunt he surrendered to the boisterous audience, firing a mighty squirt of semen that seemed destined to win the game. But his effort went astray, the power of his ejaculation hurling the fluid at the elvish beauty's left cheek. She laughed at his poor aim, mocking him as a true representative of our inferior race, her comments greatly amusing the spectators. One of the village drunkards tried to kiss her, his sweaty hands groping her breasts as he belched his depraved desires, but she pushed the idiot aside and the crowd shoved him into a corner. Wiping a stray blob of semen from her pointy ear she invited the fourth and final contestant to show his skill ... "

"That was me, sir," Farrer interrupted. "The game was lost if I failed to hit the target."

The captain nodded, shaking his head as he placed the paper beneath a pile of documents on the desk. "You succeeded, according to the innkeeper's report," he said. "Your semen reached the girl's mouth and struck the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow. Her arrogant boast about the archery skills of our race was therefore proved false, your marksmanship clearly demonstrating that we are as good as the Wood Elves. Our aim is true when we have a clear target to shoot at."

Farrer grinned at the compliment, bowing respectfully at the officer. "I thank you for your praise, sir," he ventured. "But I did it for the honour of the regiment."

"You did it because you were drunk," Buller retorted, his frown darkening, though a faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. "What happened to the elf maid?" he added. "Did she leave the tavern in shame and defeat?"

No, sir," Malkin answered. "The four of us took Tar-Shenta down to the basement and made wonderful love with her for many hours. We parted before dawn, the innkeeper hurling us out on the highway after finding us asleep among the barrels. He did not seem very happy."

"I consider your behaviour contemptible," said Buller, looking gravely at the sniggering foursome. "Never before have any soldiers of this regiment performed a sex-show in the local tavern. To you buffoons it was nothing more than a game, but the innkeeper thinks otherwise and demands that you be severely punished. He truly believes that his house is now damned as an abode of whores and perverts."

"Are you sending us to the military jail?" Malkin inquired.

"No."

A brief silence followed, in which Captain Buller stroked his chin while pondering on the fate of the men. At last, with a deep sigh, he rang a small silver bell to summon a trio of burly guards.

"Get these drunken fools out of my sight," he ordered. "Put them in the dungeon below the North Gate and feed them with bread and water for seven days. After that, they are to return to normal duties."

"Thank you, sir," said Farrer, as the guards led him away. His three friends echoed the words as they followed him out of the room.

"Next time, my fine marksmen, I will not be so merciful," the officer called after them.

Buller waited until their footsteps faded along the corridor, before lighting a candle and retrieving the innkeeper's letter. Smiling as he held it above the dancing flame he watched as the paper shrivelled and burned, the complaint swiftly turning to ash that he brushed into a trash basket.