The Battle for Podunkia

This illustration is one I have removed from an older story by another author and posted on this story of my own. The copyright notice is for the date of the image's original publication at my site, not an indication of when I wrote this story.

Oberst (the German army term for “Colonel”) Schloss held up his hand to stop his car. The vehicle lurched in the middle of the road. “What’s down this way?” he asked his adjutant.

Leutnant Weitz consulted his map. “A place called Podunkia.” he said. “Appears to be a small province...no...." He looked again, closer, then looked up, puzzled. “It seems to be a small independent country. I never heard of it.”

“Podunkia.” Oberst Schloss rolled the word on his tongue, then a smile split his normally dour face. “Ah, yes. A small mistake in the drawing of the map after the last war. They got left out of the countries of Austria and Hungary and Yugoslavia, and declared themselves independent by default. Nobody could agree on who should have them and so they kept the sovereignty.”

“Really, sir?” Leutnant Weitz’s voice held the tone of a man who had been on the butt end of too many jokes at the hands of his superiors.

“A few thousand people only, no standing army, no formal ties with Germany.”

“Then what are we to do about it?”

“Correct the mistake of history, of course.” Oberst Schloss rapped out. “We are to integrate the lands of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia into our allies with the help of the Croatian peoples, so we can simply include them with the Slovenes or the Hungarians, if they wish the little bump of land to distort the smooth curve of their southern border.” Oberst Schloss smirked as he regarded the map in Leutnant Weitz’s hands. “It’ll look like the Hungarians have a hard-on for the Italians.”

Weitz peered at the map and chuckled his agreement. “It would make a bulge like a penis on Hungary, wouldn’t it sir?”

“A small one, yes.” Oberst Schloss considered the dilemma. “Still, we don’t wish to waste too many men on a garrison detail this early in the campaign, though a military presence in their capital, what is its name?” A look at the map didn’t clarify it. “It must be called Podunkia as well. So, have, hmm, have Hauptmann Baum peel off a squad from his group and send them in to declare Podunkia under German protection from now on.”

And with that, Oberst Schloss put Podunkia out of his mind. He thought he was done with it. He was wrong.

Feldwebel Ernst Jager led a force of twenty men into Podunkia less than an hour later. Puffed up with his own importance (not a capital offense in a man of twenty-four who has been given the job of announcing the New World Order to an entire country however tiny) and armed with a copy of the Fuhrer’s declaration to be read at every town, he marched his men into the town square and with a few dozen townspeople there to observe it (it didn’t appear to be an important market day in the town), he loftily informed them that this town and country were now a proud addition to the German sphere of influence and under their protection from now on. The people listened politely but without any real enthusiasm and applauded only in a desultory fashion at the end. Well, they also weren’t offering any insults or resistance, either, he could overlook it...for now.

Their lukewarm behavior couldn’t be said about the local’s reaction to his men when he had done. There was a general rush of the locals toward his men, whose consternation at this influx of eagerness rapidly turned to pleasure; they were being invited back to individual houses for dinner and wine and a general good time.

“Welcome to Podunkia, Feldwebel.” came a voice behind him, and Jager turned around. A strong middle-aged man stood there, with an honest, open, friendly face that he couldn’t help but respond to with a smile of his own.

“Thank you, Citizen.” Feldwebel Jager was determined to comport himself as much like an officer as he could.

“Call me Kemos.” the man extended a hand and Jager took it to shake it, found himself in the role of the pork in the grinder, his hand was in danger of being compressed into sausage! “I wish to extend the hospitality of my household to you, if you would be so kind.”

“I would be grateful, and I accept.” Jager returned, extracting his hand and not daring to wince or shake it back into shape. “We are to be stationed in this town, so we should make friends among you as much as we can.”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Kemos beamed. “Come, come, my wife will be waiting dinner and my sons will want to get to know you.”

Sons. Not daughters. Well, Jager sighed, he could start with this family, perhaps they would have female neighbors he could get to know later. His other choice was to pitch a tent in the park and heat rations over a lonely campfire, for all his men had been picked up by other Podunkian families and were being led away.

Kemos’ family was composed of Kemos, his wife, a sturdy but plain-looking woman, an elderly couple who were Kemos’ parents, his three sons, and a daughter barely five years old. They combined to see to it that Jager was well fed, and that his plate never ran out of any sort of food, if he managed to scoop a majority of the peas from his plate, a spoon would ladle more onto it. And his wineglass wasn’t allowed to dip more than inch below the rim before it was freshened up as well.

“Enough, enough, with thanks.” he laughed after a time. He could feel his face was flushed with the wine, and laughing far too heartily and for too little cause. “I must meet tomorrow with your country’s officials and set up our base here in your charming little country. And then there will be orders that must be posted....”

“You are tired.” Kemos said very kindly. “My sons will take you to their bed.”

“I should have my own bed if I am to remain with you.” Jager demurred, but when he stood up, the world reeled enough that he did not insist when the strong young hands came to guide him away.

The sons were Diros, Stanos and Varos. Their ages ranged from eighteen to twenty-three, and all were their father’s sons, in that they had broad, massively muscled bodies, light sand-colored hair, neither blond nor brown, but some glorious color halfway between, and smiles that were like the sunrise in springtime. He said something of this last bit to the three as they guided him upstairs, and Diros, the eldest and the one on his right-hand side bolstering him from that side with a strong arm around his shoulders, laughed and said, “We shall see if our sunrises can keep you awake a bit longer then.”

“Ach!” Jager dismissed that thought. “I shall sleep the instant my head touches the pillow. The celebration of the glorious entrance of the German Liberation Army into Podunkia has quite worn me out.”

“But the celebration still has some way to go.” Diros told him. “There is one more celebration left.”

“And another entrance for you to handle.” Stanos, the middle of the three, who was on his left.

“We shall make it as easy upon you as we can.” Varos held open the door for his older brothers and their honored guest. “And I shall guess that you will not sleep so much tonight as you thought you would.”

Jager found the bed waiting to be one very large one, more than thrice the width of a normal bed and easily able to sleep six men should the need arise. It would be roomy with the four of them.

“And what is the celebration we are to hold here?” he asked his young male hosts.

“First, we must make you ready.” Diros said. “You are not to help us as we undress you.”

Jager stood on his own, somewhat unsteadily, as the hands moved to unbutton his jacket and then his shirt. Varos was in front of him, and was barechested, Jager admired the sun-browned body which shone in the lamplight and reached out to trace the arc of one golden arc upon the shoulder. “Such a strong young man you are, all of you.” he mused. “I must advise Herr Oberst on the adviseability of recruiting from the populace once we have established German rule within this land.”

Varos smiled and helped Jager to sit upon the edge of the bed. “We need to remove your boots now, Feldwebel.” he mentioned. “Our celebration needs be most thorough.”

“Are my men also being feted in this way?” Jager asked.

“Every single one.” assured Stanos who was now busily tugging at the boot on Jager’s right foot, as Varos worked at the left. Diros was disrobing himself now to one side, removing his pantaloons and showing a rather majestic piece of manhood swinging between his legs.

“Are we all to be naked in this native ritual of yours?”

“It is vitally necessary.” Varos assured him as he got off the boot and went back for the thick sock that now was Jager’s only covering on his foot.

“We must prepare the way for the new order.” Diros added as he walked over. He held in his hand a bottle of oil that exuded a pleasant but virile perfume. “Only through purity can we reach perfection.”

“So we are taught in our land as well.” Jager sighed. Varos’ hands were now at his pants, his belt was a mere decoration as his slim waist fit his uniform ideally, the result of some careful tailoring of his after hours.

Diros decanted some oil on his hand and proceeded to lavish the oil about his own body. The clean skin which had merely shone in the lamplight before, now gleamed with the beauty of a thousand jewels. Jager found his breath taken away by the raw masculine perfection he was facing here. He longed to join that perfection and found to his chagrin that his body translated that longing into a rampant erection which Varos’ busy hands had just revealed with the debouchment of his undergarment. But Varos only smiled, his grin bisected by the tip of Jager’s tumescence and Jager felt that the alignment was fateful, oh, if only it was to become reality rather than prophecy!

He was completely nude, now, and Varos rose to disrobe himself. Stanos was nude as well, and he and his older brother rubbed the oil on each other, even coating each other’s manhood with an unabashed and innocent familiarity. Both sported powerful tools that angled upwards towards each other like a pair of crossed swords hung upon the wall.

Varos held out both hands to Jager. “Arise, most honored guest of Podunkia, that we may lave you with our family’s oil and make you one of us.”

As if in a dream, Jager rose, it was less like he lifted himself from the bed with Varos help as though he were transported to a vertical position. His wooziness was indeed quite gone, in its place throbbed an insistent need not quite identified in his mind, he had the concept but it kept slipping away from his grasp, as if it was as covered in oil as the two older sons of Kemos now were.

These two sturdy, bronze-skinned worthies approached Jager and their younger brother and the oil was poured onto their palms, and as Stanos coated Varos with the oil, Diros did the same for Jager. The oil was warm, it must have resided within a cove beside the fireplace designed to transport heat from the lower floor to the upper from the cooking fire. It went onto Jager’s body as if it were a living amoeba, out to possess and swallow Jager’s body whole.

The warmth touched his erection and it pulsed hungrily in response. Diros’ hand followed it down and the powerful hand manipulated Jager’s hard-on, stroking him up and down in a smooth, slick, silky motion.

Without words or knowing whether it was right or now, Jager grasped Diros’ prong and returned this courtesy. Diros only smiled, and the smile slipped down as Diros groaned in pleasure at Jager’s touch. Jager groaned himself, a soft sound, and as it that were the signal, suddenly all three brothers were about him, touching him intimately on all sides.

And not just with their hands. Those strong chests rubbed Jager’s upper body and arms, their cocks stroked along Jager’s outer thighs. Jager’s own pulsing pud found itself trapped between Diros and Stanos’ bodies, a tight, clutching vise as their strong muscles pulsed around him, and Jager groaned again and began to hunch back and forth, his cock fucking itself between these two brother’s outer legs.

“And now we lie upon the bed.” Diros breathed to him. “You first, so that we may enclose you with our warmth and our vitality. Feel the virility of the Podunkian spirit as it throbs in our breasts and our manhoods, and let it vibrate within you until it becomes a part of you.”

“Yes, ach, yes!” Jager moaned. He lay back as ordered and it was Diros upon his left side Stanos upon his right, both their bodies holding him from each side. And the area between, his front still open to the air, this part was covered by Varos.

Varos lay upon him, and Varos young, strong, teenaged cock pressed itself upon Jager’s own and Varos rubbed back and forth and sent his cock sliding over Jager’s in a way that sent waves of desire washing through Jager’s body.

“As the youngest, it is my privilege to offer you my life energy for your joy.” Varos told him.

“Take it, feed upon it, let it become a part of you.”

“A part of me.” Jager breathed as Varos shifted up a bit higher on his body, straddled his legs and Jager felt the warmth of Varos’ buttocks cleave themselves upon the sword of Jager’s virility.

At their nexus was a circle much warmer than the rest, and this circle opened itself for Jager’s glans and took it within, and the heat enclosed his cockhead and began to work itself further down upon his shaft.

Jager moaned and his hands of themselves sought and found on either side the pair of pricks of the older brothers. His palms wrapped around them as if they belonged there, and as far as Jager was concerned, they did. He only wished that he could have repaid Varos with a third grip so that he could have held all three of the sons of Kemos at once.

And together, the three brothers moved as one, as if the cocks sliding back and forth inside his hands were the same as the circle of fire that now dipped up and down upon his prod. Varos was fucking himself upon Jager’s dong, and his body was a golden god atop Jager, and two more gods held him in their arms.

And the goatish fury of the lust that pounded through Jager won him over, and he moaned, “Ah, now, let me show you how a German makes love to one such as you.”

The brothers cooperated, and soon Varos was underneath Jager and Jager could thrust his joy-rod deep into the quivering bowels. His only fault with this position was that he felt colder, for the night was well begun now and the sun’s warmth had fled the fields until the dawn.

And then warmth returned, for Diros was behind Jager and he felt the big man lay himself upon top of Jager, not pressing down hard, but making himself fit his back and he felt the hard tool nudge at his buttocks and when it quested for a purchase, he could only sigh.

It found Jager’s nether entrance and knocked gently for permission, and Jager’s sphincter worked itself and drew the visitor inside. Jager felt the stiff, thick Podunkian pud drive into him and his only reaction was joy. “Deeper, ah, yes, deeper now.” He urged his violator.

And Stanos was now at Jager’s face, he was offering Jager his cock, and Jager opened his mouth and drew it within him. Now he felt enclosed completely once again, now he was truly enveloped in Podunkian virility!

He couldn’t move well but didn’t need to, Diros’ thrusts into him was more than sufficient to drive him into Varos’ ass, and rock him enough to let him move back and forth upon Stanos as well. Stanos matched his movements with those of his own, and that rigid pud was driven in and out of his face. And Varos’ cock was slapping Jager’s stomach with each rocking of Jager’s body by Diros’ ramming hip action, and the oils helped that slide Varos’ cockskin up and down in a way to wring gasping delight from his young bedpartner.

Varos was the first to reach his ecstasy, he clung to Jager tightly and groaned, “I’m coming, Feldwebel, I’m coming, ah, AH, AH, GAH, AH, AH, GAH-HAHHHHH!” And the hot seed spilled from Varos’ youthful body in a flood that washed all of Jager’s stomach thickly and Jager looked down into the pleasure-wracked face and felt his own passion rising within him.

Diros must have felt the clenching of Jager’s bowels upon him as Jager reached towards climax, for he gave a sudden groaning sound and blasted his load into Jager’s anus as Jager himself poured his own ejaculate into Varos’ warm interior.

He had to release Stanos in order to breathe in the midst of all this ecstasy and Stanos grabbed his cock and pumped it hard, and as Jager finished his orgasm and looked up at Stanos in post-coital awe, Stanos moaned and blew his load right into Jager’s face. Jager opened his mouth and more of it squirted into Jager’s mouth, and he closed his mouth again and it sprayed his eyes and his nostrils, blinding him, stuffing up his nose, forcing him to open his mouth again to accept even more of the hot jism.

Jizz was on Jager’s stomach, in his ass, on his face, in his mouth, it covered and burned him all over. And he felt the heat of that man-milk wash away something that he hadn’t realized had been within him, something pounded into him from too many too-pat speeches, too many carefully crafted words, something that had formed inside of him like a gremlin that told him what to think and how to act, and that gremlin boiled and died within the heat of the honest male passion that these three brothers had given him.

Jager fell onto the bed, exhausted, but only for a short time, for he was young and he was male and he was surrounded by male passion. When Varos’ cock rose and quested for a home in his mouth, he was ready for it and Diros’ mouth upon his own cock was also more than welcome, as was Stanos’ dong entering his now-ravished anus. He was young and he was ready for more, and more and more.

Before the night was done, he had fucked all three of these handsome, vigorous brothers, and all three had impaled him at both orifices. He saw dawn rising and dreaded the sound his company bugler would make when he blew the assembly trumpet, it would come any moment now.

Any moment. But the moment never arrived.

“Something has happened to my men.” he said to Diros, who was lying on his right-hand side and easiest to speak with. Varos was licking his balls right now, and Stanos was sleeping a well-deserved sleep to his left. “What could it have been?”

“The same as it happened to you.” Diros said. “You have all been taken into our homes and shown our hospitality. And now you must all make a choice.”

Feldwebel Ernst Jager listened to his choice, and he chose.

When no reports of the Podunkian garrison reached Oberst Schloss, he sent another squad in to Podunkia to check things out. The squad was led by Feldwebel Schmidt who marched in and announced with an innocent pride of any young soldier the incorporation of Podunkia into the German sphere of influence. The crowd was polite but not enthusiastic, but he saw that after, his men were quickly making friends among the population.

“Feldwebel, welcome to Podunkia.” came a native voice at his side. “I am Kemos and I wish to extend the hospitality of my household to you, if you would be so kind.”

Schmidt went with him and met Kemos’ wife and daughter and parents. “And these are my sons.” he introduced last of all. “Diros, Stanos, Varos and Ernos.”

Schmidt smiled at all of them, but most of all at Ernos, who was the eldest and handsomest of them all. “It is good to meet you all.”

And Ernos, who had until recently been Ernst Jager, smiled at him. “I look forward to celebrating with you.”

And so the Battle for Podunkia went on.

THE END

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