At the sound of Rex's deep voice, Michael turned away from the strange stone building he had been studying and glanced at his companion, who was digging into the supplies at the back of their battered Jeep. "Aztec?" asked Michael.
"Mayan, even," said Rex. He looked up at Michael and shrugged his big shoulders. "Costume he was wearing looked real enough, what there was of it; and up here in the mountains, away from everything . . ." He opened a box, grinned, and pulled out a package of hot-dog rolls.
"Well, maybe. I didn't think the Mayans ever got this far north, but Mexico's full of surprises." The hood of their Jeep was warm against Michael's butt as he studied the enigmatic stone building, cut into the face of the stone cliff a dozen feet away. He took a deep breath; the scent of hot metal was fading into the sun-warmed mountain air. "That temple -- or whatever it is -- it doesn't look right, somehow: not quite Aztec, not quite Mayan -- older, maybe." He turned to his powerfully built companion. "That was queer, the way the -- the guy looked us over, and then told us how to get here without asking what we were looking for." He shook his head. "Real queer."
"Who ever heard of a queer Aztec?" chuckled Rex, as he picked up the mustard squeeze-bottle, squirted the insides of two hot-dog rolls, and dug out a package of frankfurters.
"Queer Mayan, then? Hey, you gonna eat those cold?"
"Sure." Rex put frankfurters into the two rolls, took a bite of one, and wrapped the other in a piece of foil. "Make a good snack, while I'm inside, exploring." He took another bite. "Anyway, that stud looked like a football coach sizing up the muscle on a couple of freshman tackles or . . ."
". . . or a farmer sizing up a couple of steers?"
Rex laughed. "Michael, you got too much imagination. Still, that muscle-boy was real glad to see us." He finished off one hot dog, slipped the other into his pocket. "That stud was really built, too, almost as good as me, and the way his costume showed off his muscles . . ."
"Yeah."
Rex ambled to the front of the Jeep and put his right arm around Michael's shoulders. "Come on, let's go take a look inside."
"I want to get out the camera and catch the afternoon sun on this thing while the light's hitting the carvings just right." Michael studied the stone temple for a moment more. "It's old, real old; pre-Aztec, for sure. But the condition . . ."
"Like somebody's keeping the place up? Maybe the Mayan muscle-stud keeps the place swept out and everything?"
"Takes more than a broom to keep this place in good condition," said Michael. "Some of that stone looks like it was worked on within the year. Catholic Indians wouldn't do that for an old temple, would they?"
"We're 'way off the main roads here. Maybe that stud does take care of the place."
"I wonder if Mexican archaeologists even know this thing is here? Probably not; we'd have heard about it from the professor." Michael picked up the camera. When he looked up again, his muscular companion was at the ancient stone entrance. "Hey -- I'll just be a sec."
"Catch up with me inside," said Rex.
Now, there goes a real muscle-stud, Michael told himself as he watched Rex disappear into the shadowed doorway. He finished one roll of film, decided to postpone reloading for interior flash shots, and walked to the entrance. Inside, he stopped to let his eyes adjust. Then, with a little shiver, he edged deeper into the brooding, eldritch structure.
Small rooms opened to the right and left of the passage. Michael stepped into one, found it lit by a narrow slot in an outer wall. The floor was clean, and a couple of twig-brooms stood in one corner. Masons' equipment -- hammers and chisels -- lay in an open tool box nearby. Michael shivered, went back to the main passage, and followed it deeper into darkness.
The air was cool and dry, not at all musty; the floor felt smooth underfoot. He took a deep breath and caught a hint of smoke. Ahead, he saw a flicker of ruddy light. With a sigh of relief, the young explorer hurried toward it and into a big, dimly-lit chamber.
"Hey, Rex; I found stone-carving tools in one of the rooms. Those Indians must have --" Michael stopped, staring. Rex stood naked in the middle of that big room, his back to the entrance. The room was lit by a flickering glow from just beyond the powerfully built man. "What's going on?" Michael asked, as he stepped into the room.
"Michael!" Rex glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't look!"
The young explorer saw something stir in the flicker of light and shadow, an impossible hybrid of snake and spider uncoiling at the far side of the room. Michael moved toward it, step by slow step, until he stood beside Rex, shoulder to shoulder with his naked buddy.
"Michael? Mike!"
With an effort, Michael turned away from the moving -- thing -- in the shadows. He glanced at Rex, then stared at the moving shape again.
One end rose, pointing itself at the two men, Michael blinked, his eyes sorting out the horror before him. In outline, it was squamous, serpentine. From a four-inch-wide tip, the body broadened to a foot or so for the rest of its dozen-yard length.
Michael saw a set of mandibles at the very tip, then a pair of green eyes, and beyond that -- a circle of spider-like legs. Another circle of legs radiated from the monster a few inches beyond the first, and another, and another, . . . and on into a rippling, almost feathery coat of twitching movement along the thing.
Michael swallowed hard, then looked more closely. More mandibles studded the thing's belly, a set interrupting each circle of legs. As he watched, the creature flattened its legs against its body; in an instant, it became a smooth coil -- a giant snake clad in iridescent feathers. Then the spidery legs rippled into motion again, and the creature was again an eerie chimera of spider, snake, and centipede.
"What -- what is that -- thing?" Michael said, staring at the green eyes. Memories, clear and sharp, came alive: the taste of hot dogs at the beach, the sight of the supplies in the Jeep, the feel of his own hard cock in his hand -- something prowled through his mind, setting off swirls of taste and sight and sound and feel . . .
"Quetzalcoatl," said Rex.
"Huh?" Michael looked at his naked buddy.
"The feathered serpent."
Michael turned to the thing again.
"Fucking legend's come to life again," Rex said. "Or it's still alive. See how ratty its tail is? Probably keeps growing at one end and wearing out at the other."
"Yeah; it -- it could be almost immortal."
"Near enough. Local Indians -- Aztecs, whatever they are -- must take care of it."
"The stonework?" Michael turned to Rex and slowly licked his lips.
The powerfully muscled man gestured; Michael saw, piled neatly against one wall, colorful Indian -- Aztec -- clothing, some modern workmen's clothing, and then Rex's shirt, trousers, and boots. Rex said, "Way I figure it, they must of gotten some outsiders to do the stone work you noticed. And when the work was done, the stonecutters got to feed the plumed serpent themselves."
"Feed?"
"Feed." Rex pointed again; Michael saw a pile of well- gnawed bones beside Quetzalcoatl.
"That stud we saw was probably supposed to be the thing's supper, so it's no wonder --"
"You mean -- he was going to let it -- eat him?"
Rex nodded. "Now, the fucker's gonna take us instead."
"But -- but --"
Rex looked down. Michael followed his gaze to the source of the ruddy light: flames dancing atop a hip-high pillar of stone. They lit his torso from below, accenting the ripple of lean abdominals, outlining the sweep of pectorals across his broad chest. As Michael stared, he heard a quiet sizzle, caught the scent of broiling meat. For an instant, he thought he saw a big, thick hot-dog in the fire, then realized he was looking at Rex's long, hard shaft and plump testicles.
"REX!" gasped Michael, "what are you doing?"
"What the fuck's it look like?" Rex growled. "Those flames -- probably natural gas, coming up though the pillar. And Quetzalcoatl -- it must be telepathic -- you know, mind-reading and all that. Anyway, after one good look at the fucker, I pulled off my clothes, and my prong came up real hard, and now I'm cooking an appetizer for the thing over there."
"An -- appetizer?"
"Yeah. Broiled prong and roasted nuts, before it takes the rest of me raw." Rex scowled; the muscles of his chest and arms tensed, then slowly relaxed. "I'm watching the flames lick my prong, and feeling them roast my balls -- but I can't do anything about it." He took a deep breath. "Must have gotten the idea of rolls and seasonings and stuff outa my head."
Rex picked up his foil-wrapped hot-dog roll from a corner of the pillar, unwrapped it, pulled out the hot dog itself, and bit into it. He chewed, swallowed, and licked his lips. "When I finish cooking, I'll stick my whole fucking works into this roll and feed 'em to the critter like that. Afterwards, I'll just -- just let it eat the rest of me alive. Now, with the two of us, it can get some variety.
"Variety?"
"Sure: mustard on mine, ketchup on yours. There's plenty back in the Jeep, and more rolls, too."
"No no no no!!" Michael spun, saw the entrance, and ran, skidding on the stone floor, lurching against the ancient walls; ran till, dizzy and gasping, outside at last, he collapsed beside the dusty Jeep.
For minutes, Michael lay there, panting. Slowly, he thought back: Did I really see Rex like that, standing there naked, with his big balls and thick cock wrapped in flames? I remember it too clearly for it to be a dream, but . . .
Michael stood up, shook his head, and began to loosen his clothing. After a couple of minutes, he began to dig into the supplies, his mind still back in the strange stone building -- remembering Rex's organs, roasting on the flame-topped pillar, neat piles of clothing, . . . and Quetzalcoatl. Michael straightened up again, looked down at himself. His lithe body was naked now, his clothing folded neatly on the seat. He shifted the ketchup and relish bottles to his left hand and scratched his head with his right.
That was a real narrow escape, he told himself. But I did get away from that snake-spider thing; I'm safe now. His own shaft jutted stiffly from his crotch, erect and hard, ready for . . . Yeah, I've got ketchup and a hot-dog roll, and relish for . . . variety, but for our balls, I need . . . Inspiration hit; Michael dug the last two hamburger buns out of the supplies: One for my balls, one for Rex's.
Michael shivered as the last of the sweat dried on his naked skin. Now, he told himself, it's time get warm inside the old temple, warm myself over the fire, standing beside Rex, watching the flames . . .
Is there some reason not to go? Did I forget anything? Ketchup, relish, one hot-dog roll, two hamburger buns, and a hard-on . . . Michael shook away a touch of unease and started toward the ancient building, toward the waiting flames.
Rex heard footsteps behind him. "You're back," he said, turning head and shoulders away from the flames that were broiling his virile organs.
"Yeah." Michael -- naked body glowing in the light of the fire -- carefully put a hot-dog roll, two hamburger buns, and two bottles on a corner of the stone pillar. "I brought stuff."
Rex glanced at Michael's erect shaft, then down at his own, jutting over the flames. He took a deep breath, smelled meat -- smelled and saw and felt his own meat cooking. "Everything?"
"Yeah -- a roll and ketchup for my prong, relish in case the thing wants more variety, hamburger buns, and . . ." The youth stroked his own stiff cock with his right hand, then squeezed his balls with his left.
"What's with the hamburger buns?"
"For our balls. Yours won't fit into a hot-dog roll. Hell, mine won't either."
"You -- you got a nice hunk of meat there, kid."
Michael grinned. "Yeah? You got a bigger one, guy." He leaned over the flames, sniffed cautiously. "Yours smells pretty good, too. How's it feel, anyway, cooking yourself like that?"
Rex looked down again. Flames swirled along his shaft and around his massive testicles, but the initial agony was fading as the heat of those flames worked on his organs, slowly cooking him alive. "Kind of fascinating, really: watching the flames lick my prong, feeling the heat go deeper and deeper . . . feeling my balls roast in the fire . . ." He exhaled in a long sigh, put his hand on his broad chest, and felt thick pectoral muscles tighten as he took a deep breath. "Kind of scary at first, but when you get used to it -- like I said, it's -- interesting."
"Yeah? Well, I'm -- I'm ready whenever that thing is."
"There's a couple of flat stones to my right, so you won't have to stand on tip-toe while you barbecue your balls."
"So I can be more comfortable while I'm roasting my nuts?" Michael circled the pillar, found a place to Rex's right, and thrust his hard shaft and plump balls into the flames. Rex put his right arm around Michael's shoulders. "Wow," Michael said. "That fucking fire is hot!" Rex felt the youth's muscles tense. "It does get better, doesn't it?" Michael asked, as he pulled back from the flames.
"It doesn't get any worse; and pretty soon, when there's less and less raw meat left to get cooked . . ."
Michael rubbed his bare chest with one hand. "It'll be interesting, yeah; cooking myself in a hot fire . . . not yet, but after it's eaten you, then . . ."
"Lots less boring than some fucking things I can think of."
"Uh -- how far along are your balls by -- by now?"
"Not cooked all the way through yet. Will be eventually."
"Good. Uh -- I mean --" Michael glanced up at Rex, suddenly anxious.
"It's okay." Rex slid his right hand across Michael's back and gripped the young man's right shoulder, feeling Michael's lithe nakedness against Rex's own bare side. "Know what you mean. Wishing you got away; but since you didn't, good to have you with me while I get my balls and prong ready to feed that thing."
"Yeah?" Michael nodded slowly. "Well -- yeah. And -- and when it does start -- eating -- you'll lemme know what it's like, so I'll be -- you know -- ready."
"Will do. Take a while though . . ."
"Yeah. As much muscle you got, and as -- as well hung as you are, it'll -- yeah -- it'll take a while."
Memories -- not Michael's memories, but clear and vivid nonetheless -- touched his mind as the flames slowly roasted Rex's shaft. He remembered a young man who wore brightly-colored clothing entering the room, and suddenly Michael was that young man: saw with his eyes and heard with his ears as the Indian stripped off his clothes and piled them neatly by the wall; then felt the hard, swelling muscles of his powerful physique as he ran his hand down his torso to his shaft -- already stiff, hard, and -- ready. Michael felt the young Indian stride to the pillar and offer his manhood to the flames that swirled and danced there, felt his sturdy shaft and massive balls begin to cook in the searing heat . . .
Remembering still, Michael saw motion in the doorway, saw a workman standing there -- one of the stone-cutters, with hammer and chisel in hands, that the pueblo had hired from the City to touch up the front of the temple -- a workman whose eyes widened at the scene before him.
The Indian called a warning, but too late: Quetzalcoatl had already touched the workman's mind.
As the muscular workman stripped, the Indian explained -- and suddenly, Michael was the workman, stepping out of his clothes, feeling his shaft harden, hearing and understanding the Indian's words:
When our pueblo hired you and your partner, when you two started work on the stone, we warned you: never step within. But you did, and now that you have seen Quetzalcoatl . . .
And then the naked workman strode from the room, out into the warm daylight, met his partner's astonished look with a shrug of his shoulders, then led his partner back into the strange stone temple, where his partner, after one glance at the serpent- thing, bared his own powerful body, stiffened his shaft.
Together, two naked, stiff-cocked stone-cutters watched the Indian finish roasting his organs, watched him approach Quetzalcoatl, kneel -- and now Michael was the feathered serpent, uncoiling, gliding to meet his prey. Michael opened Quetzalcoatl's mandibles wide, closed them on shaft-tip, tasted hot meat as he ate the Indian's glans, shaft, and balls. And when he finished the freshly roasted genitals, he coiled himself around the muscular Indian and slowly devoured him alive
When it was over, Michael was again the first workman, naked and stiff-pronged, as he and his partner went back to work on the stone front of the temple, leaving Quetzalcoatl to pick the Indian's bones. The next Indian who brought the workmen a meal from the pueblo saw their nakedness and stripped his own well- muscled body. From then on, deliveries were made in the nude.
A few days later, the stone-carvers finished their work, then cooked their genitals together in the flames. This time Michael stayed with the first stone-carver to the end: watching the flames, feeling their heat, inhaling the ever-stronger scent of organs as they roasted in those flames.
When his organs seemed -- somehow -- ready, the first workman . . . and Michael . . . knelt and watched Quetzalcoatl's mandibles crunch into his glans, devour his shaft from tip right on down to the hilt, then consume his balls . . . Michael felt the feathered serpent wrap itself around the newly castrated stone-carver, felt its mandibles eat him alive, bite by bite till there was nothing left but well-gnawed bones. . . .
And when it was all over, Michael was Michael again, smelling Rex's organs roasting in the flames. He glanced up at Rex, said, "Those workmen . . . I was . . ."
"Me too. I could feel them getting eaten, and then I remembered being the fucker here, remembered eating those two studs . . ."
"Yeah. Tasting them and -- and -- everything." Michael shivered. "Afterwards, someone else will -- feel -- us roasting ourselves. Right now . . ." He glanced at Quetzalcoatl's glowing green eyes again, and more memories engulfed him.
Now Michael was Don Jos‚, the first to dismount in front of the eldritch temple. The three vaqueros with him dismounted too; broad-shouldered Campos tended the horses, while Francisco and Hernandez followed the lithe rancher into the temple. Inside, Don Jos‚ was the first to spot the strange, feathered serpent, the first to strip himself naked, and to stand, prong erect and hard, before the creature's eerie stare.
And as Hernandez and Francisco stripped, and Hernandez ran outside to summon Campos, Don Jos‚ approached the stone pillar in Quetzalcoatl's lair. Just as Hernandez returned with Campos, Don Jos‚ eased his virile genitals into the flames that danced atop that pillar.
"Don Jos‚ -- wait," said Francisco.
"But --" the naked ranch-owner looked at his muscular vaqueros, naked and stiff-pronged like himself, while the heat of the flames sank into his outthrust prong.
"Here," said Hernandez, "there are but four of us."
"However," said Campos, as he ripped off the last of his clothing, "at your new hacienda, there are many."
Don Jos‚ glanced down at the flames that swirled around his rigid shaft. "So, if one of you go back --"
"Could one of us command the pick of your men as well as you can?" asked Campos, stroking his stiffening prong.
Don Jos‚ sighed. He stepped back slowly, reluctantly. "I should be the first to go into the flames, and cook my manhood, and feed myself to this -- thing. But . . ."
He slowly met the eyes of his vaqueros, then touched his shaft, still tingling from the flames. A plan was forming in Don Jos‚'s mind; he knew that -- somehow -- his vaqueros were thinking the same scheme.
Francisco stepped to the pillar and thrust his genitals into the flames. Campos and Hernandez picked out Don Jos‚'s clothing from the heap on the floor and helped him dress. Then:
"I will go," said the ranch-owner. "I will be back soon." He patted the bulge in the front of his trousers.
"We will feed the feathered spider-serpent until you return," said Campos, stroking his own rigid shaft.
"Pick with care," Don Jos‚, said Francisco, looking up from the flames that were roasting his own organs.
"And let no one else follow you back," cautioned Hernandez.
Don Jos‚ left the temple at a trot.
# # #
Back at the new hacienda, Don Jos‚ made his selection quickly: his principal lieutenant, four more of his vaqueros, two carpenters, and three masons -- all well-muscled and virile. They rode out at dawn, after Don Jos‚ had given secret, contradictory orders to his other three lieutenants. The masons and carpenters did not ride well, so the group didn't reach the temple until evening.
They reined to a stop, every man staring at Campos, standing at the entrance, his body naked, his shaft proudly erect -- then at Quetzalcoatl, coiled around a heap of freshly-stripped bones.
Don Jos‚ dismounted and began to strip; in a moment, the rest were stripping too, baring muscular bodies and lusty, stiffening prongs.
Campos explained: "After Francisco finished cooking his cojones in the flames inside, the creature ate his organs, and then the rest of him. When the creature had hunger again, it chose to dine outside, so Hernandez and I prepared a cooking fire here." He pointed to a small blaze atop a crotch-high stone pillar just outside the entrance. "Then Hernandez roasted his manhood here and fed himself to the creature. Now . . ."
"Now?" asked one of the masons. "How do you -- how does one -- ?"
"One knows. Francisco suddenly knew he was to be first, and cooked his organs and let the creature eat him alive. Hernandez knew when it was his turn. I would be next, but . . ."
"Now, it is my time," said Don Jos‚, striding to the stone pillar. He slid his prong into the flames, let his testicles settle onto the coals, and felt his organs begin roasting in the heat. Finished, he offered them to Quetzalcoatl, watched himself being eaten -- first his shaft, then his balls, and then -- after the creature had wrapped itself around Don Jos‚'s naked torso -- the rest of him.
Michael took a deep breath. Suddenly he remembered being someone else: Pedro. And with both hands on the wheel, Michael -- and Pedro -- steered the bus as it panted up the lonely road, lurched around the last curve, and wheezed to a stop in front of the eldritch stone temple. Pedro was the first out the door, shedding shirt and ripping open the front of his trousers as his feet touched the ground.
"Hol ," called a naked, hard-cocked youth trotting to meet the tired bus and its dozen passengers. "How does it go this time?"
"Not well, Ramon" said Pedro, stepping out of his trousers. He waved at three more stiff-cocked, solidly built youths that followed Ramon, kicking a soccer ball as they approached. "The motor . . ."
"It sounds ill. A main bearing, perhaps?"
"Perhaps." Pedro stretched his muscles. "It is not easy to wear clothes over so hard a shaft," he said, stroking his rigid prong. "It is good to be naked again." He glanced back at the bus; his passengers were spilling out the door, each beginning to strip as he emerged and caught sight of the foot- thick coil of feathery iridescence near the ancient temple's entrance. Near that entrance, a naked youth stood facing a crotch-high block of stone capped with glowing coals. His stiff shaft jutted over the coals; his balls lay upon them.
Pedro studied the scene for a moment. "It takes its meal under the sky today?"
"For variety," said Ramon. "Miguel built a small fire on the stone; now that it has burned down to a bed of hot coals, he roasts himself with them." Raul touched his own lusty erection, then nodded at the little bus. "How many did you bring this time?"
"Only twelve. And now that they see the One, they make themselves ready." Pedro ambled to the front of the bus and raised the hood. "Already the motor uses the thickest oil. And the battery . . ."
"But coming here you had many strong muscles to push the bus," Ramon said, looking at Pedro's husky passengers.
"Three wrestlers from the University's team; and Rafael, the bodybuilder with two of his training partners; and two from the track team; and the rest are big and strong as well. But if I leave here empty . . ." He scowled at the steaming motor, then turned back to Raul. "Miguel is roasting his organs now. I wish to be next, but . . ." Pedro glanced at the men he had just brought in. By now, all had stripped, their sturdy prongs had stiffened, and the soccer players were explaining:
". . . when one looks at the creature, one's mind is captured, and one strips; and later, if Quetzalcoatl has hunger, . . ."
". . . and here, even after you have shot your load, your shaft remains hard; and soon, you can . . ."
". . . but those who have roasted their organs in the fire say that . . ."
". . . Quetzalcoatl selects the one who will next . . ."
". . . fourth trip, to collect still more live meat for . . ."
". . . and the next time Quetzalcoatl will . . ."
". . . eaten alive, but they say . . ."
". . . Quetzalcoatl . . ."
# # #
"It is true," said Ramon, "that your stallions are big and muscular. But so few . . ."
"With the riots at the University now finished, fewer want to disappear for a few months. This time, Carlos wanted to see Miguel; Rafael wanted to go with Carlos; others wanted to visit those who came earlier. But next time . . ." Perdo rubbed his oen hard shaft. "Perhaps if we put together all the money we have here?"
"That would buy a new battery," said Ramon, "but the motor is not so easily fixed. How often dare we take this pitcher to the well? And the One eats us more slowly: there are still four of us left uncooked from the last busload. But for now, let us go and watch Miguel roast his organs."
Pedro dropped the hood of the bus; together the two naked men followed the rest of the group to the stone block where Miguel stood. There, the newcomers formed a circle, staring in horrified fascination as Miguel's sexual equipment sizzled over the coals.
Carlos stepped forward; he and Miguel silently shook hands. Carlos put his left hand close to the glowing coals, and asked, "Does it not hurt?"
Miguel said, "Of course. I feel the heat roast my organs, feel myself being cooked alive." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I feel pain, yes, but . . ." He licked his lips. "I had fear too, especially when I put my cojones onto the coals. But when they started to roast, I became more and more fascinated, and I forgot to be afraid."
"Then," said Carlos, "what they say is true: Quetzalcoatl will eat --"
Pedro said, "The One will begin at the tip of Miguel's shaft, then will take rest of his shaft, bite by bite, and then his balls. Finally, it will coil around Miguel's body and eat the rest of him alive." He shivered, felt his own shaft twitch.
"And you brought us to feed ourselves to this monster?" growled one of the wrestlers.
"That is so," said Pedro, shrugging his shoulders, "but --"
"One cannot say `no' to Quetzalcoatl," said Ramon. "Enrico on the first trip, and Jorge on the second and third; none could --"
Miguel said: "If Quetzalcoatl makes me put my balls onto red-hot coals and roast them there, then how can Pedro say `no' when it sends him to collect more -- meat?"
"That is so," said Carlos, then sighed. "We are all naked; we are all erected. As soon as I saw the creature through the door of the bus, I began to strip and to stiffen my cock. And so did we all." He took a deep breath. "Then, you will go again?"
Pedro shrugged his shoulders again. "I want to be next, to cook my organs in the flames, to feed myself to the hungry One. But if the bus . . ."
Miguel laughed and patted his own powerfully muscled chest. "Before that, Quetzalcoatl will eat me. And I have much good meat on my bones; you must wait a while yet."
"You see how it is," said Ramon. "Jorge was even more eager to roast his manhood after his second trip. It was not that he felt guilty, he told us while his manhood was in the flames, but he thought he had earned the right to be eaten next, after the risk that he might be stopped, and thus lose his chance to feed the One."
Pedro nodded. "And the bus is not well, and collections grow more difficult. Perhaps . . ."
One of the wrestlers asked, "If we are the last collection, what will Quetzalcoatl eat after we have all roasted our sex and been devoured alive by the creature?"
"In the way that it ate before we fled the University," said Miguel. "There is a pueblo of Indios -- Aztecs, perhaps -- who tend the temple and carry away our bones. When there are no visitors for the One to devour, the Indios feed it with their own bodies."
Ramon said, "We should not send the bus for more -- meat. Instead, we should send it to the pueblo, where they can sell it for parts."
Pedro nodded. "The way to the pueblo is mostly down-hill, which is good. But I must take four or five of you along, in case it must be pushed."
"Naked?" asked one of the wrestlers. "But the pueblo . . ."
"At the pueblo," said Miguel, "they all know what is here and who we are and why we are here." He grinned and patted his broad chest again. "They are happy to see so much good meat here for Quetzalcoatl. Wear boots when you go: the road has sharp stones. But first, Carlos and the other newcomers want to watch me feed myself to Quetzalcoatl when I finish cooking my organs."
"And while we wait," said Ramon, licking his lips, "we stallions . . ."
". . . all up and hard," said Pedro, touching his own shaft.
"Very hard," sighed Carlos. "Is it that we stay hard, even after . . . ?"
Pedro said, "I will show you that your shaft stays hard, while Miguel is roasting his." He licked his lips and smiled.
Carlos said, "Yes, take me," and Pedro sank to his knees and gulped down Carlos's shaft. "And later, you must -- let me -- work on you." The young Hercules stood silently for a moment, watching Pedro suck, then touched Pedro's shoulder. "While we wait -- for Quetzalcoatl -- to eat us, we -- can all -- practice -- being eaten -- by each other -- like this!"
Bill -- and Michael, inside his mind -- braced himself as Chris swerved their pickup from the dusty road, slowed, then parked beside a stone temple carved into a cliff. Chris was the first out, Bill the last, with Jake and Tom in between: four big, broad-shouldered men in Stetsons, boots, and dusty clothes. Bill stretched, took a deep breath, sneezed as dust tickled his throat, and glanced around at the empty hills of Northern Mexico that surrounded the temple, then followed Jake and Tom to the deserted temple's entrance, where Bill stopped to look at the carvings in the stone.
"This the place you wanted to show us, Chris?" Bill asked.
"Yep. Looks too new t' be that old, if y' know what I mean," said Chris, who was pulling a canteen from the back of the truck. He drank deeply, then dug into the back of the truck again.
"Know what you mean," said Bill. "Nobody around for miles, but the place looks like it's kept up." He touched the stone doorway, warm in the afternoon sun, smooth under his fingers. "Carvings look like real old Aztec or Mayan stuff, only they're still sharp and clear, like somebody touches 'em up with a chisel every so often."
"Yep," said Chris. "Prob'ly do. Way back in the hills like this with no outsiders t' carry the tale, all kinds of things go on with nobody the wiser. Like . . . like what's inside."
"And what's that?" asked Jake.
"Kinda hard t' explain. Easier t' go look."
"Let's go, then," said Jake, turning to the entrance.
"Straight on in -- can't miss it. I'll catch up with ya."
# # #
Jake led the way into the stone structure, with Tom right behind. Bill followed them into the dark coolness. He slowed to let his eyes adjust, then walked faster as Jake's voice came from the darkness: "I can see some light up ahead -- just 'round this corner and into this -- Jesus!"
"What the fuck is this?" said Tom. "Oh, shit!"
Bill stepped into a room at the end of the corridor, lit by flames that danced atop a yard-high stone pillar. He glanced to his right; Jake, already stripped to the waist, was sliding his trousers down his thighs. Bill looked to his left, saw Tom kick off his own trousers, then wriggle his wide shoulders free of his shirt. Bill looked straight ahead, beyond the stone pillar, where something stirred in the darkness -- something that shimmered in the firelight as it slowly uncoiled. Green eyes glowed in the firelight there -- and suddenly Bill found himself ripping off his own shirt. He felt his cock stiffen, hesitated, saw Jake's shaft was already up, then tore his trousers open and let his own cock snap erect.
"I see ya found the critter okay," came Chris's voice from the doorway. Bill turned; Chris was already naked, muscles a- gleam in the firelight, his prong up and hard. He had a canteen in one hand, a cooking pot in the other.
"What -- what's going on here?" asked Bill as he finished stripping.
Chris entered into the firelit room, his prong quivering with each step. "Y' know the gas field Pete figured must be 'round here? Fire's probably fed from that."
Bill said, "I mean, what's that thing?" He pointed at the green-eyed chimera of snake and spider. "And why are we like -- like this?" He rubbed his bare, muscle-sheathed chest, then touched his rigid shaft."
"I dunno," said Chris. "Pete guessed it's been here a long time. As for why -- the thing's probably hungry again -- it's been a few days since it took Pete, so I s'pose it's ready for more meat."
"Took Pete?" Bill swallowed hard. "You mean . . . ?"
"Yep. After we stripped down and got hard, it made Pete stick his cock and his balls over that fire."
"You mean --" Tom took a deep breath. "-- you mean Pete went the fuck and roasted his fucking nuts in that fire?"
"Yep. The critter made him do it, just like it made you three strip and stiffen up just now. While Pete was cooking his 'quipment, we somehow got t' talking 'bout how well built and well hung you three guys are . . . so, 'stead of making me roast my balls after Pete roasted his, the critter sent me t' get you guys right after it ate him."
"Ate him?" asked Jake.
"Ate him. Ate him alive, starting in on the tip of his prong. While I was rounding up you guys, I made this." Chris held up a copper cooking pot with a rounded notch, about two inches in diameter, cut into the rim -- a notch that, Bill saw, was lined with a U-shaped rubber gasket.
"What the fuck is that?" asked Tom.
"A cock-and-ball steamer. With a little water in the bottom, and the top on tight . . ." Chris turned to the pillar and carefully worked the base of his genitals into the notch so that his balls and rigid shaft were inside the pot. ". . . I'm going to steam-cook my balls and my cock, 'stead of roasting 'em in the flames, like Pete did his. Oughta come out different, maybe tenderer." He splashed in some water from his canteen, put the top firmly onto the pot, then looked up. "See?"
"What about -- us?" asked Jake.
Chris shrugged his broad shoulders. "Depends on when the critter gets hungry again, and how it wants ya to cook yourselves. I got the idea for this contraption while I was watching Pete roast his balls, and the critter kind of tuned in on what I was thinking, so -- here it is."
"What the fuck," Tom growled. "If you and Pete could stand it, then . . ."
"Yeah," said Jake. "If we gotta cook ourselves, we might's well . . ." He put his left arm around Bill's shoulders.
Bill nodded slowly. ". . . relax and enjoy it?"
"Least, we can try to," said Tom.
Chris said, "|'Cording to what Pete said, getting roasted is kind of painful. Steaming shouldn't be so -- so intense, but it'll take longer."
"We'll -- we'll all check that out pretty soon," said Bill, glancing down at his own hard shaft, then brushing Jake's prong with the back of his right hand.
Tom grumbled, "Too fucking soon." After a moment, he chuckled, then said, "Either way, it sure looks like an interesting way to go."
"Interesting?" Bill stared at the flames dancing and flickering around the pot -- the cock-and-ball steamer -- that held Chris's virile organs.
"Well, this isn't exactly gonna be fun," said Tom, "but watching ourselves being castrated oughta be -- kinda interesting." He paused, touched his shaft. "Anyway, once it's finished Chris, while we're waiting for the fucker to get hungry again, with us all naked and ready . . ."
"Yeah," Bill sighed.
# # #
The sun was close to the horizon when Bill, Tom, and Jake emerged from the stone temple. Their muscular bodies were naked, but for boots and Stetsons, their virile shafts up and hard. Bill looked back over his shoulder at the stone-framed entrance. "That was kind of -- interesting, but --"
"Yeah?" said Jake. "Watching the fucker working on Chris's spike, getting closer and closer to his balls -- Hey! We got company!"
Bill heard the tread of rough-shod feet on the road that twisted up from the valley. A moment later, he saw a half-dozen strapping, sun-bronzed men march round the last bend of that road. Most wore sombreros, a few, just bright cloth bands around their brows. Two carried waterbags; one, a rolled blanket. Each carried a shovel or a pick. All were nude, their cocks jiggling stiffly as they strode towards the temple.
"Dios!" said one of the newcomers, catching sight of the pickup truck.
"¨Inspectors from the Ministry of Roads?" laughed another, pawing his sturdy shaft. "I have something for them to inspect."
"Norteamericanos," said a third. "Observe their truck."
"Prospecting for oil -- I have oil for them," said the first. He patted his heavy balls.
"Hol ! Here they are," said the bronzed blanket-carrier. He trotted to the front of the group. "Buenos tardes, se¤ores. I am Manuel, and these," he said, gesturing to his naked companions, "are workers on the roads." He frowned for a moment at Bill, Jake, and Tom, then touched his own hard prong. "You have met the plumed serpent within."
"Yeah," growled Jake. "The fucker just finished eating Chris, and --"
"What the fuck is it, anyway?" asked Tom.
"Quetzalcoatl," said Manuel. "So the people of the pueblo in the valley call it. When it picks you, you go to the fire and place your cojones in the flames. And then, when you are cooked and ready to eat, you -- feed the plumed serpent."
"Y-yeah," said Bill. "That's what -- happened. Chris -- he brought us here -- said it already ate another guy -- Pete. And when we'd stripped, and stiffened up, Chris steamed his balls and cock, and then it -- it ate him, ate him alive." He took a deep breath, saw Manuel's outstretched hand, and shook it. "And -- and you guys?"
"Pedro -- the chief of our gang -- he was the first to see it. He then brought us to it. Inside, when we had all stripped and stiffened, he went to the flames, roasted his organs, and let it eat him. Then, we were ten. Now --" He gestured at his muscular companions.
"Just six," said Jake. "Plus us four -- no, three, now that the fucker's eaten Chris." He shook hands with one of the road workers, then a second. "We're all in this together now."
Still another worker put down his waterbag, said "I am Carlos," and shook hands with Bill. "The serpent holds us by some enchantment. We see it, shed our clothes, stay hard. In the morning, we go to work on the road -- there are many meters of ditches that must be cleared before the rains. In the evening, we return here. The pueblo in the valley, they send us food. And when Quetzalcoatl has hunger, one of us feeds it."
"The pueblo -- they know about -- ?" Bill touched his hard shaft.
Carlos nodded. "They -- and it -- are here before the Conquiscadores. They worship it and keep it fed."
"Fed?" asked Tom.
"Among them, it is a great honor to feed it," said Carlos, with a grin. "But now that we are here --"
"They let us have the honor?" said Bill. "Well, as well- built as you guys are . . ." He grinned, patted Carlos's shoulders, gently squeezed the worker's biceps.
"With fresh, hard meat on all of us," said Carlos, as he put both hands on Bill's chest.
Bill felt work-roughened fingers explore his own muscle- sheathed torso. He watched Carlos's hands slide on down, then he curled his hips forward, offering his stiff cock for inspection. "Any other -- excitement?" Bill asked. "Besides feeding Quetzalcoatl, that is."
"Since we are always ready," said Carlos, gently stroking Bill's prong, "we -- how is it said -- service each other."
"And often," said Manuel. "In the morning, and again during siesta. Then in the evening --"
"Before, during, and after supper," laughed another of the workers, who, Bill saw, was measuring his outthrust shaft against Tom's. "And sometimes also in the middle of the night. Carlos never gets enough."
"We got camping stuff, including air mattresses, in the truck," Bill said.
"Air mattresses?" Manuel grinned, and he squeezed Bill's cock. "Always I have wanted to fuck on an air mattress."
"Ever get fucked on an air mattress?" asked Bill, then laughed aloud. "Come on; we gotta break you guys in both ways!"
"Both?"
"Both," said Bill firmly.
"And also, there is cocksucking, with the mouth and -- how you say -- sixty-nine. We must try that on the air mattress too!" Manuel shifted his grip, squeezed his and Bill's prongs together, released his grip.
"Come on, all you hot-balled studs," Bill said, "let's get unpacked." He strode toward the pick-up; the others trotted close behind.
# # #
Bill stood for a moment, watching the naked men spread ground cloths and inflate air mattresses. Tom and two of the road workers assembled themselves into a triangle, each with his prong in the next man's mouth. A third road worker lay down on an air mattress; Jake knelt astride him, cautiously impaling himself on the man's upthrust shaft. A road worker ambled to Jake, presented his shaft; Jake knelt, began sucking that shaft, cautiously at first, then with growing enthusiasm.
Bill felt a touch on his own rigid shaft and looked down. Manuel was greasing Bill's shaft with one hand, greasing his own with the other. Carlos stretched himself out on an air mattress, face up, and spread his muscular thighs wide. Bill nodded, licked his lips, and knelt between Carlos's knees. Bill leaned forward; a thrust, a squirm, and a little wiggle set his glans in place. Carlos raised his legs, locked them around Bill's waist.
And as Bill entered Carlos, he felt his own ass being probed. Bill eased his shaft deeper into Carlos while Manuel slid himself into Bill. Two more thrusts and a squirm, and Bill was sandwiched between two lusty bronze bodies. They paused for a moment, then began to fuck.
# # #
For a moment, Michael was himself again, standing beside Rex, watching Rex cooking his manhood in the dancing flames. "You still -- okay?"
"Yeah." Rex paused. "Which turned you on the most just then; fucking or getting fucked?"
Michael touched his own shaft, felt a slippery drop at the tip. "I -- I don't know. Both, really. How -- how about you?"
"The same. If there were two of you . . ."
"Yeah -- that would be a -- a real wild ride," said Michael. He licked his lips, grinned, and slipped back into Bill's memories until Carlos, Bill, and Manuel had all shuddered to a near-simultaneous climax.
As Michael slipped into Luke's memories, Luke snapped awake. He tossed aside his blanket and sat up in the cool darkness. It was time for -- for what? He shook his head, stretched his thick arms in a muscle-creaking yawn. He looked up: the moon was full and bright. Near midnight? An hour or two past, perhaps. The big motorcyclist scrambled to his feet, his body naked to the fitful breeze. He touched his chest with his right hand, slid it down the hard muscles that sheathed his torso. He touched his sexual shaft, felt surging hardness, and looked down: he was almost erect, and his sturdy prong was stiffening under his fingers.
A piss-hard? No, it's more than that; I have to deliver something -- have to go back for another, closer look at -- at whatever it was that I half-saw just yesterday, up in the hills of northern Mexico, when me and the gang roared past that old, old stone temple. Old, yeah; but well kept, as if the Aztecs still -- sacrificed there. Sacrificed? Luke's fingers touched his shaft again. Anyway, I'm all the way up now, and hot and hard and ready for . . . He shook his head and looked up.
Around him, sleeping bags and blankets of thirty-odd other motorcyclists lay in an untidy array. Among them, eleven other figures, pale in the moonlight, were sitting up, stretching, and quietly collecting their gear. The rest of the cycle gang slept on; Luke knew -- somehow -- that nothing would wake them till morning.
Luke slipped into socks and boots, settled his cap on his head, pulled on his black-leather gloves, rolled the rest of his clothes into his blanket, and strapped the bundle to his gleaming black motorcycle. He yawned and stretched again, feeling the night breeze eddy around his nakedness, then studied the gang again. Eleven men moved quietly toward their motorcycles; all the others were sound asleep. Luke waited until those eleven had mounted their 'cycles, then kicked his own machine into life.
Vibration tickled Luke's balls as they lay on the smooth leather seat; vibration spread into roots his virility and out along the curve of his iron-hard cock. Luke resisted the impulse to gun the motor as he accelerated along the rocky road. Behind him, another cycle growled into life -- another -- then two together. Luke glanced back: Big Bill followed close behind; Jan and Clif, riding double, a few yards farther back. Luke flashed his teeth in a grin, then turned his attention to the narrow, winding road. Even with a full moon, the route required close attention, especially since they all kept their headlights dark.
Luke stopped where their road crossed a paved highway; the other eleven muscular cyclists closed up behind him. They all waited until the highway was clear. As the last tail-lights on the highway faded into the distance, Luke gunned his machine across the asphalt and onto the dirt road on the other side. The other men followed closely, then spread out as they climbed into the hills beyond.
Luke stopped again, a couple of hours later, for a piss break. He dropped his kick stand and dismounted. Since his cock was still rock-hard, he just faced the side of the road, put his gloved hands on his hips, and let go. Seconds later, Big Bill added his stream. One by one, the rest of the pack contributed to the golden shower. Spent, Luke ambled down the line of motorcycles, working the stiffness out of his legs. Jan and Clif were fiddling with Jan's carburetor. Here and there, a match flared in the darkness. The few not already wearing black-leather gloves were putting them on.
Conversation rumbled along the line; naked cyclists eyed each other's sexual equipment warily. Eric pulled out a steel ruler and reached for Tiger's prong. Tiger fended him off; they scuffled for a moment, until broad-shouldered Tiger grabbed Eric's stiff cock.
"Okay, okay," laughed Eric, spreading his arms and curling his hips forward invitingly. He leaned back, putting tension on the base of his prong. "You got me; now whatcha wanta do with me?"
"What I oughta do is . . ." Tiger shifted his grip. "Lemme have that fucking ruler." He carefully measured Eric's shaft, then his own.
"Careful," said Luke, as Eric reached for Luke's own prong. "I'm close t' creaming already."
"I already did, riding double with Keith," said Wes, gesturing at his wetly glistening prong.
"You creamed in mid-air?" asked Blackie.
"Not in mid-air," growled Keith, "in mid-me."
"How 'bout you?" asked Wes.
"I would of," said Keith, "but I been busy worryin' about runnin' out of juice. 'Cycle juice, that is." The big blond ran his fingers through his hair. "This big H-D's got a thirst."
"Anybody else running low?" asked Luke. "If we don't find someplace open, we'll have t' share out what we got."
"We need a place that's closed for the night, with us all like this," Jerry said, gesturing at his own thick shaft. "We could break in, and then --"
"Come on," said Ed. "What's with you fuckers? 'Member the time me and Buck and two kids on a BMW knocked over the truck stop on US 6? If we can't take out a couple-three spics . . ."
Luke walked back to his machine and kicked it into life, drowning out the argument. Behind him, he heard another cycle growl, then another as the cyclists mounted up. Luke started along the road. As he accelerated, the night wind whipped through his hair and around his bare chest. His balls bounced on the saddle; wind curled around his cock. Vibration from the motor between his thighs shook his hard shaft. Much more of this, Luke told himself, and I'll be unloading my own fucking rocks in mid-fucking-air. This ride's turning me on!
# # #
An hour later, Luke spotted another crossroad, this one with a weather-beaten gas station. No light showed in the building. Luke throttled down his machine and rolled closer. Maybe, he told himself, we should stop, stuff our hard-ons into our pants, rather than risk being seen like this. But . . .
He saw movement in the shadows beside the building. Luke flicked on his headlight. The beam caught a man with a brightly colored blanket -- a serape? -- over one shoulder. The man beckoned; Luke saw the stranger was black-haired, splendidly muscled -- and as naked as Luke himself. Puzzled yet -- somehow -- relieved, Luke rode to the man, braked to a stop, killed his motor, dismounted, then waved for the other naked men to join him.
"Se¤ores," said the stranger, "I will ride with you and show you the way. Do your motorcycles have thirst?"
Luke realized his own mouth was open. He closed it, licked his lips, and said "Uh, yeah. We could use some gas, sure." As the rest of the motorcyclists pulled up alongside, Luke saw the stranger's thick cock was stiffening fast.
"Bueno," said the native. "The pump works por mano, and there is a pump for oil as well. On this side, in the shadows, you will not be seen by an automobile on the road."
"Yeah, that'd be a surprise all right," said Luke, "with all of us bare-assed and up hard like this." He glanced at his companions as they rolled their machines to the gas pump, then turned back to the naked stranger. "Uh, just who are you, anyway; and how come you're -- uh -- up and hard and ready like us?" Luke touched the tip of his own hard prong, slid his hand down to his balls.
"I am -- call me Chac."
"Luke."
They shook hands.
"So. Yesterday, we in the pueblo heard your motorcycles on the road above. There is another One on that road who heard your passing."
"Another -- in the doorway of that -- that temple? Aztec, or is it -- older?"
"Much older." Together, he and Luke walked Luke's machine to the pump and waited while Wes filled Keith's big H-D. Chac said, "When that One calls, you come, secretly, and at the ready." Chac touched Luke's rigid prong; Luke was surprised to find himself thrusting his sexual equipment into Chac's hand.
"Yeah? I've been feeling -- you know -- weird, ever since we went past that old temple; kind of looking for somebody -- or something to say `go ahead.' And when it does . . ."
"Yes, that is how it is," said Chac. "You return to the temple secretly, so I meet you here, naked and . . ." Chac touched his own erect prong.
"Hard?" Luke touched Chac's glans. "Yeah, man; you're a real stud. It was kind of an all-clear signal, seeing you like this. Otherwise -- I dunno what we'd of done."
Luke unscrewed his tank's cap; Chac slid in the hose nozzle; Wes kept pumping the gas pump's handle.
Chac counted the pack, turned to Luke, and said, "There are twelve of you."
Wes said, "There's twenty more, back where we camped."
"That would be too many," Chac said. "You are well-hung studs with much muscle; you will serve the One for weeks."
"Yeah?" Luke ran his palm across Chac's broad chest, feeling the warm, hard muscle there. "You're kind of well-built yourself."
Chac licked his lips and smiled. "Our pueblo -- all of our tribe -- we have much muscle on our bones. When there are no visitors, we serve ourselves to the One. But now, with you here . . ."
"Uh -- yeah," said Luke, unsure whether he understood what the muscular Indian was saying, or if he already knew and didn't want to admit it. As he and Chac rolled his cycle away from the pump, he asked, "Won't the -- uh -- the guys that run the place notice the gas is down? If they --"
"Do not worry," laughed Chac. "The place belongs to our pueblo. Zumo, who opens here in the morning, already knows of this."
"I hope the fuck he's wearin' pants," said Nick, as he rolled his own motorcycle to the pump. "We sure the fuck don't want anybody gettin' nosy."
"Do not worry, said Chac. "We have been here a long time."
# # #
When the last cycle had been topped off, Chac turned to Luke and asked, "Ready?"
"Ready?" Luke touched the hardness of his own cock. "Yeah, I'm -- oh, you mean --" He glanced at the pack of naked motorcyclists, raised his voice: "Let's roll!" He kicked his machine into life; Chac mounted behind Luke and clamped his warm, muscular body against Luke's bare back.
Luke started with a lurch and a roar. Chac held on tighter. Together, they leaned into one curve, then another. Luke felt the naked body behind him slowly relax. The native's cock probed Luke's butt. Luke wriggled in his seat, and Chac's cock slid farther into Luke.
Luke tightened his own muscles as the shaft worked deeper. The motorcycle hit a rock and bounced hard. He felt the shaft impale his ass; he was spitted on Chac's prong. Luke yelled as burning pain stabbed his butt, slowly becoming a throbbing warmth as Chac's shaft went in all the way.
Every bounce and jiggle of Luke's motorcycle cycle rammed the invading shaft in deep, while strong hands explored Luke's torso, stroking his pectoral muscles, roaming on down to grip his own quivering shaft. Luke felt the muscular body behind him thrust harder, harder still, go rigid, then slowly relax.
"Make it?" the big motorcyclist growled over his shoulder.
"Make? -- Sˇ -- yes. That was good, very good," Chac sighed happily. "I have not done this before, fucking astride a motorcycle."
"Yeah? First fucking time I've been fucked, on a cycle or off it."
"But you have --?"
"I'm no fucking virgin. Fucked guys too, but . . ."
"I have some experience too," said Chac. "In the -- ah, we arrive!"
"Huh? But --" Luke braked to a stop as he saw an open fire by the road, under a sheltering cliff. Luke tensed as he saw figures around that fire, then relaxed as he realized they had all stripped, displaying well-muscled bodies, red-brown skins, and welcoming smiles. Luke balanced his machine on its stand and stood up, pulling himself off Chac's shaft.
"What th' fuck's this?" asked Tiger, as he rolled to a stop. He sniffed the air. "Smells good, whatever the fuck it is."
Luke sniffed, grinned, then said, "Breakfast is what this is, Tiger." A half-dozen young men from Chac's village were setting out coffee, soup, eggs, tamales, and more. Luke gulped down one bowl of soup, and started on a couple of tamales. Around the fire, the other motorcyclists wolfed down the hot food.
Luke found Chac and said, around a mouthful of tamale, "Thanks. We needed that, 'specially after our ride. But -- how come? I mean . . ."
Chac grinned. "This is what we do. Now that you are here, we take care of you, while you will take care of the One. But now . . ."
"Yeah." Luke slowly ran one hand down his muscle-sheathed torso to his iron-hard cock. "I -- I think I understand."
"You are ready?"
"Yeah." Luke licked his lips. "I mean, not just hot- rocks, up-hard ready, but -- but ready for any-fucking-thing you wanta do: go ahead, help yourself and -- and take whatever you want." He tucked the rest of his tamale into his mouth, curled his hips forward, and waited.
Chac knelt smoothly at Luke's booted feet, opened his mouth wide, and engulfed Luke's glans. The big motorcyclist tensed, waiting for Chac to bite, but he felt just the soft touch of lips and tongue on sensitive skin as Chac's mouth closed on Luke's manhood. Chac applied suction -- hungry suction -- and within a dozen strokes, Luke climaxed, pumping jet after jet of his cream into Chac until he was spent.
Luke watched Chac release Luke's still-rigid prong and look up. "Wow, man," Luke sighed, "I needed that. Only --" He gestured at his gleaming, outthrust shaft. "-- if ya wanta use your teeth and -- you know -- really eat me, go the fuck ahead and take me."
Nick, standing just to Luke's left, said, "I didn't know you went for that stuff."
"I don't," Luke growled, "but now, after everything else that's happening --"
"Yeah," said blond Eric, standing at Luke's right. "I'm feeling like that too -- like -- weird."
"Me too," Nick gasped, as Chac reached for Nick's hard prong. "Take me, stud, take me all the way!"
Luke watched Nick's shaft being engulfed, then reached for Eric's shaft.
"Hey!" Eric said, a puzzled frown on his face. "I -- fuck, man; it's all yours. Eat -- eat all the fuck you want," the muscular blond sighed as Luke knelt, nibbled the lusty cock for a moment, then began sucking.
Luke brought Eric to the brink, eased off, brought him there again, let him down, brought him to the edge a third time -- and Eric grabbed Luke's head with both hands and pulled him back onto the throbbing shaft.
"Take me, take me all the way," the blond sighed, and spurted his cream into Luke's mouth.
Luke swallowed, swallowed the next spurt, then carefully sucked Eric dry. He scrambled to his feet, exchanged a grin with the big blond stud; and then the two hard-cocked men turned to the naked cyclists and Indians around the fire. Luke saw that some were sucking hot, hard prongs: some watched themselves being taken, others had paired off and were doing each other. A few were fucking, on blankets or hunched over motorcycles. Eric found an unoccupied cock and went down on it; Luke paused just long enough to let Tiger lubricate Luke's hard shaft, then climbed onto a muscular Indian youth who was fucking Big Bill, and eased his cock into the Indian's butt.
When the Indian jetted his load into Big Bill, all three uncoupled. The Indian rolled on his back and spread his thighs. Big Bill climbed aboard and started to fuck. Luke watched for a moment, then slid his prong into Big Bill and fucked Bill to a long, slow climax.
# # #
Afterward a few more couplings, Luke stretched out on his back by the fire to catch his breath. A moment later, Chac knelt beside the big motorcyclist, put down a plate of steaming tamales, and asked, "Still hungry?"
"A little." Luke sat up, picked up a tamale, took a big bite. "Ummm. Good and hot, too." He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed.
"So are you," said Chac. He touched Luke's prong -- still iron-hard -- and grinned.
"I should be as limp as a fucking dishrag, but --" Luke lay back, looked up: Chac half rose, straddled Luke's hips, and knelt, impaling himself on Luke's shaft. "-- hey!"
"But just as hard as when you started," said the muscular native, as Luke's glans entered the tight, warm passage. "There, how is that?"
"Fucking good," said Luke, "but I dunno if I can come, this time."
"We can have fun, trying," laughed Chac. "Just relax and let me ride you." He started an slow, easy stroke with a little squirm at the bottom of each impaling descent, then -- without missing a beat -- helped himself to a tamale. The two naked men grinned at each other, and Luke took another tamale himself.
# # #
By the time the plate was empty, Luke felt pressure building up in the roots of his sexual equipment. "I think I'm gonna make it again, stud," he sighed, as he started to meet each descending stroke of Chac's supple body, and a few dozen strokes later, he did. The eastern sky was lightening to lavender and pink when they finally uncoupled and Luke scrambled to his booted feet.
"Okay, you assfuckers and cocksuckers," he yelled, "let's get our balls in gear and hit the road!" He stretched himself in the warmth of the glowing coals, felt his shaft jiggle, and looked down. I'm still hard, he marveled to himself, even after . . . Naked bodies stirred; faces yawned; hard cocks quivered and gleamed in the early morning light.
"Hey," said Clif. "Got 'n idea." He dug into his bed- roll, pulled out a broad, black-leather belt, and cinched it around his waist. He pulled his shiny-billed cap forward so the bill almost hid his eyes. "Well?"
"Fuck, man," said blond Eric, "you look nakeder than you did before. How 'bout it, Luke?"
"Yeah, he does at that." Looks sexy as Hell, too. Aloud, Luke added, "Every-fucking-body got belts? Okay, put 'em on."
"I don't have one," Jan said.
"I gotta spare," said Wes. "Here."
And in moments, a dozen cycle-studs sat astride their machines, all wearing billed caps and black-leather boots, belts, and gloves that somehow accented their splendid, hard-cocked virility. Luke studied his lusty pack, then kicked his big motor into life, waved at the Indians, and took off.
As Luke took the first climbing turn, he glanced back; behind him, the rest of the pack followed close, black leather and bare skin astride gleaming motorcycles. Ahead, the grade steepened; another turn, and Luke coasted to the entrance to an ancient temple carved into the rock and halted. One by one, the other cyclists rolled to stop beside Luke. Luke killed his motor, pushed down the kick-stand, and watched the rest do the same. For a moment, everyone was silent, waiting. Luke shivered, grateful for the touch of morning sun on his bare skin; glanced at the temple entrance. Behind it, something lurked, waiting . . .
Luke dismounted and strode toward the entrance, comfortably aware of the jiggle of his outthrust shaft. He glanced back; the rest of the virile pack followed in single file: shafts proudly erect, leather glistening, naked bodies aglow in the dawn sunlight. Ahead, darkness closed in as Luke entered the portal, strode along a hall, around a corner, and into a room lit by a dancing flame atop a crotch-high stone pillar.
Luke took four steps into the flame-lit room and stopped. Movement in a corner caught his attention: a chimera of feathery legs, arrayed along a squamous coil. One end rose and studied Luke with glowing, green eyes. Luke shivered under that scrutiny, suddenly aware of his nakedness. Then he took a deep breath, raised his chest, and sucked in his stomach. With his right hand, he rubbed the taut slab of pectoral muscle that sheathed his chest; with his left, he touched the concave ripple of his abdominal muscles, stroked his rigid cock, then slid his fingers under his balls and lifted them so the creature could see them better.
The other cycle-studs entered the room and spread themselves out in a line on either side of Luke. The thing's green eyes studied them all and the naked motorcyclists waited -- until suddenly, somehow, Luke felt the tension ease. He glanced around; the other men had relaxed, and were talking quietly to each other.
Nick pulled off his gloves, released his belt buckle, handed gloves and belt to Jan, then knelt to take off his boots. Luke saw Eric drop to his knees to help; in a moment, Nick stood up, strode to the stone pillar, and carefully slid his rigid shaft into the flame that danced atop it. He lifted his balls, eased them into the flames too, and pressed his crotch tightly against the pillar.
The rest of the cycle-studs formed a circle around the pillar to watch, fascinated, as the blaze swirled around Nick's virile organs. Luke, standing just to the left of Nick, put his right hand on Nick's shoulder and felt Nick's muscles tense under Luke's fingers. Nick's pubic hair caught with a "whoosh" and a sudden acrid smell, then swirled away as ashes. "Is that . . ." Luke licked his lips, tried again. "Is that fire as fucking hot as it looks?"
"Sure the fuck is," said Nick. "But what I don't understand is what the fuck keeps the fire goin'. 'Less them Aztec studs rigged up a tank of bottled gas, and . . ."
"I don't think so," said Tiger. He bent over the flames, sniffed cautiously. "Touch o' sulfur -- I'd guess it's natural gas, comin' up through the stone thing t' make a cock- cooker."
"It's doin' a job on my balls too," said Nick.
"Yeah?" said Eric, standing at Luke's side. "What gets me is why the critter started on you; Luke here's better hung, and I've got more muscle on me." He struck a body-builder pose, both arms up and bent to show off his massive arms.
"It had t' start somewhere," said Nick.
"Yeah, Eric," said Luke, putting his right arm around Nick's broad shoulders. "The fucker'll get to us soon enough. Right now, though . . ." He tightened his grip on Nick's shoulders. ". . . what's it like, so far."
"Roastin' my fuck-meat like this?" Nick looked up from his flame-wrapped virility. "It's kinda rough, feelin' the heat sink in, feelin' my balls startin' to roast. My prong's cookin' too; but that doesn't hurt the fuck as much as my balls do." He took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. "Only, I'm just standin' here, kinda relaxed, watchin' the fire and feelin' it roast me and lettin' it keep on roastin', 'stead of screamin' my head off, like I oughta." He watched his organs cook for a moment, then looked up and said, "The rest of you fuckers'll find what it's like soon enough, but --" He sniffed, sniffed again. "Hey, smell that?"
Luke inhaled; the scent of fresh-cooked meat touched the air. "Yeah. Is that -- yeah, it must be." He sniffed again; the aroma was stronger. "You're cooking up real good, stud. Good thing those Indian-studs fed us breakfast. Otherwise . . ."
Big Bill said, "Yeah, we'll find out soon enough. You gonna let it eat you, when you're done cooking?"
"I think so -- yeah, that's the whole point of this here exercise: I gotta let it -- eat me."
Luke nodded slowly. "That's why I'm here -- that's why we're all here, naked and up hard: body and balls, I'm gonna to feed the feathered serpent. The whole pack of us -- Big Bill, you and your muscles; me and my sex-meat -- yeah, all of us: we'll keep this thing fed for a while."
Nick said, "It'll be a while before it has to go back to eatin' its pet Aztecs again." He patted his chest, glanced at Big Bill, who grinned and rubbed his own powerfully muscled torso. "Who's next? I think I'm pretty fuckin' near done."
Luke dropped his arm from Nick's shoulders, ran his gaze across the circle of naked men, then looked at Nick again.
Eric said, "I -- I don't think it wants anybody else to -- to cook his nuts right now. You -- Nick, you ought to keep it fed for a -- for quite a spell."
"I s'pose so." Nick stepped back from the flame-topped pillar and carefully touched his well-browned, still-rigid shaft. "Gotta cool down before -- you know."
"Yeah." Luke put his right arm around Nick's shoulders again, looked down, and studied Nick's gently steaming organs.
Now and again, Nick touched his roasted prong; after a few minutes, he reported, "Feels okay now. So -- here goes." Luke squeezed Nick's shoulders, lifted his arm, stepped back; Nick strode to the waiting serpent-thing and slowly went down on his knees, spread his thighs wide and offered himsself with an inviting thrust of his hips.
The feathered serpent uncoiled; One end reared up into a graceful curve, its end a-shimmer with plumes. Luke saw mandibles -- sturdy, side-acting jaws -- spaced an inch or so apart, all down the length of the creature's belly. The upper end dipped toward Nick's prong; mandibles opened in a ripple of movement. The pair at the very tip bit into Nick's glans and began to feed.
Bite by bite, the serpentine carnivore took its prey's shaft. When half his shaft had been eaten, Nick looked up at the fascinated motorcyclists watching him being gelded and managed a wry grin.
"Does it -- ?" Clif asked. "Can you feel -- ?"
"Feel it eatin' me?" Nick shook his head. "Just a little tugging, down at the base. The rest is cooked all the fucking way through." He looked down again, watching the creature eat his prong.
As Luke watched, his left hand on Eric's right shoulder, his right around his own rigid shaft, the feathered serpent devoured Nick's prong right down to the hilt. Nick spread his thighs wider; the tip moved still lower. Luke shivered as he saw the carnivore eat Nick's balls.
"My nuts!" Nick panted. "I can -- I can almost feel them goin' -- aaah!" He relaxed, took a deep breath. "So much for the appetizer. Now . . ." He squirmed for a moment as the feathered serpent coiled itself around his torso, then slowly relaxed as the creature ate him alive, bite by bite.