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Hopefully the hamlet is no longer burning, thought Dismas in one of the few moments of lucidity he had since the brigands attacked. He’d known they would be attracted to the wealth of the estate, horrors beyond it be damned, but he had never expected a full-on invasion. Maybe he shouldn't have bragged at the roadside taverns of all the filthy lucre he had recovered from the ruins.
After losing another mercenary to those gleefully merciless skeletons and cultists… he had to convince himself. Others. That it was worth it, to brag you were hot shit in front of a bunch of drunkards. Dismas couldn't convince himself that it was for a righteous cause like the tin man or the clergy, or that it was only for the money like some of his friends there. He had his reasons for coming, but to remain here for months…
He had decided to pay the price for indulging, at least. The fight had reached a standstill; the brigands falling left and right, and the defenders couldn't keep up with the assault. He'd gotten close to the old dog that led the brigands and offered himself as a sacrifice. Vvulf had laughed at him and gotten close to maiming right there, but Dismas had seen them. Been with them. Celebrating another raid. He knew how they liked to celebrate. And he was willing. IF they left right then and there.
He had even offered some extra goods (he knew where a certain thief kept his stash, and months of delving meant a hefty hoard) and that had been enough to get the wolf and the brigands to retreat… not before knocking Dismas out with a gut punch and a strong arm around his neck. Dismas had gone in and out of consciousness, often forcibly blacked out by the brigands and other times simply too bruised and tired to make his escape.
He was among the stolen goods, and he could smell something unusual in the air that he disagreed with. A lot of unusual concoctions were constantly prepared back in the hamlet, and Dismas couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it made him a bit heady and… not quite nauseous, but he couldn't stay focused. Shortly after stopping, he got a faceful of some powder, and he was out for a while.
Consciousness returned slowly, and a mix of strange sensations clouded his awareness. His legs felt cold, yet he was warming up by the second, and he couldn't move from the uncomfortable position he was in. He tried to speak, but his scarf was pressing tightly between his teeth, tied to the back of his head. His arms were tied behind his back by the wrists, his coat still on… but little else. His legs were bare, and his ass was out, although he still had his shoes. For whatever the fuck that was worth in a position like this. Dismas was tied to the small but sturdy table, ropes keeping his torso glued to the surface while his ankles were each tied to the legs, close to the floor. The brigands had made sure his thighs and ass were free of ropes. He could move his hips plenty, but little else.
The highwayman hoped that they hadn't noticed he was awake yet, despite his sudden movements, but the brigands were too busy celebrating the raid. Despite their early retreat, they had gotten enough for it to have been worth it. They were drinking, counting coins, and checking out what they had looted out of the hamlet. Some items were discarded in the corner… including Dismas' weapons. Maybe if he played it cool and waited for them to be too drunk or tired, he could try to get out of these restraints…
That goes straight out of the window when he hears the heavy steps of Vvulf entering the tavern. Dismas can make out the place now; it's the same tavern where he had been a preening fuck and bragged about all the loot he had gotten. What goes around comes around, huh. The brigand leader gets close to Dismas and grabs his hair to twist Dismas' head upwards. He managed to keep the deceit, trying not to respond, but then Vvulf walks behind him and pulls at the sensation he had been ignoring.
It's hard, solid, lodged between his cheeks, but there's weight behind it, and it sloshes… as Vvulf pulls out the wine bottle, spilling plenty down his thighs, Dismas' traitorous throat elicits a moan he doesn't recognize from himself. At least, not when sober… but he's probably at least tipsy by now. A smack on his left butt cheek drains him of what was left inside him as Vvulf pulls his head back again, this time forcefully twisting his head back.
"You said you were willing, rat. Were you already planning to escape? At least give us a chance to fuck you a little bit! Besides, I think you want to be put in your place." Vvulf takes a step back to slap his dick against the underside of the table, and despite the pain, or because of it, his cock fills up in earnest. Vvulf pulls him closer to whisper in his ear as the other brigands hoot and holler - it seems they had been waiting.
"I remember how you used to look at our party favors when you were part of the pack. I knew you wanted to do more than to watch. No wonder you didn't join in; you wanted to be the center of attention. Now take your chance… and mind the fucking teeth." Dismas can manage to say a muffled "fuck” when Vvulf grinds his erection against his bare ass, killing the upcoming "you" before it's uttered.
"You heard him boys! Fuck him as you please! You have allll night; no need to rush things." The brigand leader goes around the table and pulls down the scarf on the highwayman with a dagger, letting the edge graze Dismas' neck as Vvulf lowers his breeches and gets his cock out. A few brigands whistle and surround them, but the group playing cards heeds the words of their leader and focuses on the card game. They can fuck him later, when he's warm and loose.
Where did that thought come from? He's practically salivating at the sight of the wolf's cock, the blade almost unnecessary as a threat. Almost. It's not just the alcohol; there's that smell he noticed among the goods, too. Or maybe he's just trying to convince himself, as if he hadn't done some favors inebriated before. There was always an excuse: money was scarce, playing a mark… even now, this was supposedly for the hamlet. But Vvulf doesn't even need to pull Dismas to his cock. He leans what little he can forward, and sucks.
Vvulf lets him savor it, the taste of gunpowder stuck on his skin, metallic and disgusting and intoxicating. Dismas can't get enough of it. He doesn't even realize when the brigand leader lowers his blade, but he notices when the cock he had been sucking gets thrust repeatedly, hard, between his lips.
The wolf keeps going at it for a while, fucking the highwayman's mouth like a savage animal. When he gets close, he grabs Dismas' head and holds him forward. The table creaks, and the ropes around his ankles burn him as he keeps getting pulled into his captor's crotch. Dismas can barely breathe, and the load shot straight into his throat doesn't help. His vision blacks out a bit before Vvulf finally releases his grip on him, globs of cum dripping down Dismas' chin.
He can't really focus his eyes afterward, the alcohol and whatever else getting to him. Vvulf lightly slaps him before putting the scarf back on his mouth. "Alright boys, that mouth is closed for business! His dumb ass is yours to take. You're angry we couldn't get more loot? Release your frustrations on him! If anything, it will only make him harder!" He punctuates that with a slap on Dismas' ass. He regains some sense, tries to struggle, but a slap on his balls shuts that up; arousal or pain, Dismas can't tell.
There's almost no movement for a minute, and Dismas wonders if they have something nastier prepared. But when the door closes behind Vvulf, a couple of brigands close in, each with a bottle of wine in their hands, and immediately rip the scarf to use his mouth. Their swollen members slap at his face and mouth, each demanding to get sucked. Dismas doesn't move, but when they get impatient and shove their dicks in, he sucks. Or tries to, but they can't decide and take a fucking turn. They each try to grab his head and pull him to their dicks, forced to take turns on each, the waiting brigand taking big gulps of their bottle in the meantime. They get too drunk, though, and grow impatient, and both grab Dismas' head at the same time. It gives him a killer headache, but thankfully, the brigands redirect their anger at each other and leave him alone, but not before one of the bottles hits him in the head.
The following minutes are a blur, but the revelry moves nearby, and some brigands start playing with his ass. Their fingers go in swiftly, but he's already hot and bothered and dizzy. They're amazed at his sloppy hole, how easily they can slip more than a few fingers, even from both their hands. They grip his ass as they keep stretching it; it burns, it edges on painful, and Dismas thrusts out of arousal and flinches away from them, grinding his cock against the underside of the table, and moans.
Another brigand comes and slaps him, telling him to shut up, while the pair on his ass decide it's time to take turns on his hole already. Dismas moans, disoriented, trying to keep it low so he doesn't get a headache from another slap. He gets one on his ass anyway, as the brigands have their fun. The guy who slapped him comes back, this time more annoyed, deciding to shut him up with his hands on the highwayman's throat. He blacks out for a while, sort of, vaguely aware of the constant penetration, both front and back, and more than a few of them playing with his cock and balls. He can’t really count like this, but by the time they slow down, all the brigands must have taken a turn on his hole.
It's a long time until Dismas feels fully conscious again, after the brigands get a bit bored with their new toy as they begin to argue over their ill-gotten gains. Dismas tests his bindings, and they're a bit loose. Maybe he can do a little-
All thoughts leave him when a hot mouth starts to suck off his cock. He tries to turn to see if anyone else is around, but the other brigands are barely heard from another room. He does spot his bag of loot, with only a handful of items… one that makes Dismas squirm. Among the unholy symbols of the cultists found in a recent expedition, there had been a relic that looked extracted right out of a pervert's mind - a small skull wrapped in what could approximately be described as tentacles. It looked absolutely grim and obscene, although Alhazred chided everyone who refused to handle it. He claimed that it was just a facsimile of a fragment of a darker being, like a woodcarving of antlers. But it looked valuable, and Missandei had refused to leave without it. It had been the talk of the other mercenaries for a few days, betting no one would be able to take that monstrosity.
Even with the alcohol buzz mostly gone, legs cramping from the uncomfortable position, a headache still splitting his head, his hole is eager for more. It has been stretched wide like never before, and he's feeling hungry for it; Dismas can't stop looking at the unholy appendage. When the brigands come out of the room and head straight for the table he's strapped to, the hungry and wicked smiles all over them worry him, and make his hole flutter. He curses the mouth around his cock for putting him in this mood.
"Hey, look, told you it could get wider. Let's see how much he can take…" One of the brigands grabs the idol and tries shoving it all at once. It barely enters, but it does, and the ruffians all snicker at how badly he's leaning into it.
"I bet he can take it all!"
"Not even a professional whore could take that much."
"Want to bet on it?"
"My money is on halfway through!"
The guy sucking Dismas off taps his thigh and gets half a finger in, out, and in again, and the rest get the betting pool open as whoever is gripping the idol tries to twist it in. It's only thanks to the incessant fucking that's been going through the night, the copious amount of cum all over his rim that it can budge somewhat in - that, and as it get deeper in, memories of the cult vile rituals come flooding back, but focused wrong, focused on the ecstatic grins of the women and men of the cult, lustful for violence. They wanted them to join them, even as they stabbed and slashed through the flesh of his friends, or maybe that was the way to bring everyone into-
Another big bump of the idol gets in, and even with the brigand still sucking him off, it breaks him from that reverie, the stretch painful, but welcomed. Better to be here than wherever the idol was pulling him in. Dismas leaned back, gritting his teeth hard enough that the scarf was starting to unravel. The brigands got really excited, their words shorter as they push the profane idol further in.
Once it's past the halfway mark the brigands say nothing more than grunts and laughs of delight as Dismas is split open, and the highwayman can feel the headache increasing like needles, perfectly aligned in a circle, sliding deeper in as-
The sound of gunshots and the smell of gunpowder stop almost everyone on the spot, except for the brigand on his cock. The mood is broken, and one by one, they go outside to check on what's happening. Dismas tenses, getting ready to untangle himself and get the hell out of there, but the last brigand underneath the table doesn't leave even as wails of pain and clashing steel ring all around them.
The headache persists, but at least it hasn't gotten worse. There's something about the brigand that stays, the voice, the laughter, that makes Dismas turn… he doesn't see anything but his smile, but he'd recognize the gleeful, homicidal grins of the cultists anywhere. The man wipes his mouth and continues to push the profane idol inside with one hand as the other grabs his cock and jerks him, both hands moving at the same maddening pace.
The sound of battle continues outside while the cultist incognito does whatever it can to loosen Dismas further, circling the stretched rim with a finger coated in the fluids still oozing out of his innards. Dismas cannot offer any resistance anymore, and despite the ever-increasing pressure in his head, his body demands exultation, release at last. All other sounds that aren't the squelch of the idol going inside him and the maddened chants of the cultist disappear. As the base gets closer to his entrance, another voice joins in, hoarse and familiar.
A different squelch ends the cultist, though, as a splatter of blood hits the back of Dismas' head and coat. The cultist falls over, dead, and the idol slowly gets pushed out until the highwayman's ass is free. He can feel the cold air around his entrance, making him quiver. Before he has a chance to turn around and figure out what the fuck just happened, his ankles are released from their bindings, and he's flipped on his back. His arms remain tied, awkwardly resting between the table and his back. He comes face-to-face with the familiar helmet of the crusader. Dismas is familiar enough with the holy man to know that he's pissed, and specifically at him. He rips the scarf around his mouth with a sharp tug that burns Dismas' face a bit.
"You stupid ruffian. Your attempt at a noble sacrifice almost cost us as much as you tried to save. Assuming you weren't in on it! Were you celebrating how much of a fool you made out of us all?!" There was an undercurrent in his voice that Dismas hadn't put together; he does when he tugs at the swollen cock, shiny with slobber and precum. The crusader spreads the highwayman's legs and stares at the gaping hole. Reynauld is breathing so hard he huffs with each exhale, his hands gripping the back of Dismas' thighs as they're pushed further.
The headache was fading, but Dismas was no less wanton, and he could goad Reynauld into fucking him with the right words. The blood splattered across his tabard meant that he had killed more than the cultist, and the crusader could be easily riled up when bloodthirsty. "Maybe I didn't want to be rescued, and you came here for nothing! Are you gonna stab me with your sword now, like you did all the others? Or do you want to use your prick instead?" His words get a slap across the dick in response.
"No, that's for warriors that place their lives on the line. Turns out you're nothing but the brigand's whore whether you helped them or not. You deserve to be punished like one." He punches the brigand in the stomach, taking out all his air, before slapping his spread thighs and ass. What begins as angry retaliation turns bit by bit into foreplay, and once the highwayman's ass is as red as his pucker, the crusader is slipping multiple fingers in, as violently as he had been slapping him earlier.
After the monstrosity he had endured earlier, Reynauld's fingers were pure bliss, and Dismas was moaning like the whore Reynauld called him. Reynauld covers Dismas' mouth with his free hand, trying to muffle the mad wailing. There were still sounds of battle outside, and the crusader hadn't come alone. "Our friends came here for you, we shouldn't sully their sacrifice with…"
Dismas uses his still-bound hands to inch closer, and plunge Reynauld's fingers deeper inside himself. "Then fuck me fast and hard so they don't get a chance to see us." Besides, depending on who had come along, it could include someone with bets on the two. The crusader stabs the table with his sword, pinning the highwayman's coat to it before grabbing the tethered remains of the scarf and pushing it into Dismas' mouth. The crusader quickly undoes what he can and lets out a heavy cock that makes Dismas wince at first, thick and powerful inside him.
Even if the highwayman's moans were effectively muffled by the ratty scarf, which they aren't, the hard, constant clap of Reynauld drilling his ass was loud enough. The profane idol lies forgotten in a corner, lost in shadows.