Life’s options

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The edge dug in.  Agonising sharpness dug into his crutch.  A tortured enduring ache that ground its way into his soul  ..  if Conan had one.  An ache that would not go away.  A crushing pain that ground its way into a man’s resolve.

He’d shown these fuckers up.  He’d made them look like pricks.  They’d got their own back  ..  beat him, hit him with a hard leather strap.  But they’d not wear him down, they were still scared shitless of him  ..  even like this.

Given a chance, he’d have their guts.  Break necks  ..  beat the fuck outta them.  Barbarian?  Brute?  Beast?  These assholes hadn’t seen anything yet.

But the sun was up, the heat intense.  Scorching his brain  ..  drying him out  ..  frying his fighting spirit to a crisp.
And this fucking thing between his legs  ..!  Wearing him down where these fuckers’ fists had failed.  This agony pressed hard against his balls  …  This pain that minced up his resolve.  Any move was agony  ..  ANY.  And yet his crutch could not take any more  ..  he had to wriggle  ..  he had to give his balls a break  …


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in praise of men we’d like to be





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