"The GAME": Bearing in mind that the brain is the biggest sex organ, here's a totaly illustrated little tale about some weird connections between fantasy and reality. A Mercenary Soldier of Fortune expects to be left stripped & twitchin' in a ditch when he is surrounded byan enemy patrol. Instead, our blond warrior gets a head to toe field physical exam and found qualified to compete in a special military game at the invite of some of his enemy's top ranking officers. (The game involves something we all do every day....or should.) MEMBERS CLICK IMAGES IN STORY FOR FULL SCREEN VERSIONS.

Combat is my profession. I accept dirt, sweat, and danger as part of that profession. If I'm hired to fight along side you, I'm a soldier of fortune. If I'm hired to fight against you, I'm a mercenary. When I got taken prisoner by troops of the Junta Government I'd signed on to help overthrow, I figured I was about to be put outta business- permanently. I'd seen the bodies of other rebel fighters, usually stripped naked except for an occasional ripped t-shirt or boot sock, lying right where they'd been captured and shot. I expected the same treatment, and noticed some of the government grunts were staring greedily at my new issue gun belt and combat boots.

But their squad leader seemed muchmore interested in my more personal equipment. He was holding a walkie-talkie to his ear with one hand, apparently replying in some Spanish dialect to questions about me he was getting from some higher-up. With his free hand, he was getting way too personal with various parts of my anatomy - poking and prodding my shoulders, biceps, then my thighs and my butt. He seemed to be reporting on each pinch and prod to whoever was on the other end. Made me feel like I was a hunk of produce at a one of their stinkin' village markets. But as long as they weren't shooting, I was not about to complain. At least not until my captor suddenly jammed his hand down inside the front of my fatigue pants. I yelled out an involuntary , "HEY!" and somebody instantly put a shotgun to my head and racked it. So, I shut up and just grinned at the goon with the walkie-talkie and the heavy touch as I felt his fingers taking the measure first of my cock then my balls. We maintained pretty close eye contact while he took his sweet time checking out my manhood. When he was all done, he just smiled back and made like he was drying his fingers off by running them several times through my blond locks.

Apparently, the party listening on walkie-talkie's receiving end liked what my Evaluator told him. So my captors make the decision not to leave me behind twitchin' in a ditch. Instead they tied my hands and feet, threw me onto a pick up truck bed, and in about a half hour, hauled me out into the improbable setting of a luxury pool deck. I found myself surrounded by a bunch of high booted Generalisimo-types, most of whom didn't look so good. Their uniforms were unbuttoned and rumpled. They were lounging and dozing pool side at what I assumed had to be a sort of Officers' Club. Each had been nursing his own personal whisky bottle, but they all seemed to wake up fast when I was dragged in and dumped at their feet. I decided to be the one to break the ice.

"Do any of you drunk motha-fucks speak English?"

At that, the same grinning goon who'd had his fingers wrapped around my family jewels earlier bent down and slapped a thick piece of tape over my mouth.

Then one of the Generalisimos spoke up in passable English. "We'd like to welcome you to our little club, young man. You've been brought here in hopes that you'll agree to provide us with a little afternoon entertainment by becoming a "contestant" in a amusing military game we like to play. Let me be frank. As a mercenary soldier fighting against our Valiant Republic, you have no rights and you deserve to be shot. However, you are also BLOND! We don't see many of your sort here, at least not taken alive. We like blonds to be contestants in our game very much as long as they are not too skinny.Your….ah… body parts have passed a field inspection. However, now they must pass our personal inspection. If they do, we're prepared to make a little deal with you so we won't have to…..ah…waste you."
With that, he nodded, and the same goon who did my field physical evaluation returned to rip off my fatigue pants and my underwear. The Generalisimos all leaned forward to get a better idea what I had to offer them. If they hadn't gagged me, I'd have had choice words for the whole pack of degenerate looky-lew motha fucks. Instead, I just I closed my eyes …..real tight ….expecting any second to feel one these old drunks conducting his own hands on inspection of my balls.

The Head Generalisimo then actually had the fuckin' nerve to ask his buddys to take a vote on the overall quality of said manhood. "Take a good look, gentlemen," he said, with a sweeping gesture over my balls and flaccid cock. How many of you agree our blond warrior here will make a good 'contestant' for our game?" I didn't care to watch the vote. There was a brief pause- I assumed they were counting raised hands- then the Generalisimo continued.

"Congratulations, young man. We find you fully acceptable. In fact, we're very impressed with the personal assets you could bring to our game. "

He went on without waiting for my reaction. "Now I'm sure you're curious to know what the game we play is all about. It's called, 'YOU SHOOT OR WE SHOOT!' Really, the name says it all. Any questions?" They ripped my gag off.

"You mean you guys just want to watch me jerk off? Shoot my load across your pretty pool deck? If it's a choice between blowin' a load in front of a bunch of drunks and having me end up twitchin' in a ditch, stand back! I'm your man!"

"There's a little more to it than that. I'm sure under normal circumstance, you can always be counted on to perform like a champion." He motioned to a guard who lowered the barrel of his assult rifle until it rested with uncomfortable firmness against my ( now not so) private parts. "You see, our little game has a military flavor. There'll be a gun pointed at you while you work. Not quite as close as this gun, but close enough, and, did I mention the time limit? You'll have 2 minutes. If we don't see you shoot by then, we will shoot, and that means you never will shoot, ever again! We think of this as a game for military men. It takes a real man to perform in spite of these distractions. A good measure of discipline and manly concentration will be required on your part. But as a young professional mercenary warrior, you should be able to…Beat The Clock, eh?"

"So if I won't agree to beat off and blow my load for the entertainment of you jerk-offs, you'rew just gonna just blow me away right now?" I asked.

"Not at all! If you don't have enough self-confidence to play, you will still be our honored guest for the rest of the afternoon. In fact we'll insist that you go for a little dip in our pool. You'll forgive us if we don't untie you or remove those heavy boots you're wearing before we throw you in." I flashed on this weird picture of myself naked except for boots and socks spending the rest of the day laid out peacefully on the bottom of that pool, staring blankly up at the underside of their diving board through 8 feet of sparkling blue water.

"Do I at least get a little porn to get me in the mood?" I asked, "And how about a little lube?"

"Sorry," he replied. Our government bans all perverse literature to protect our wholesome national values from corruption, and all lubricants have to be carefully rationed.

"So, which shall it be, my young blond mercenary warrior friend? A Deal? Or A Dip?"

CLICK FOR "THE GAME-Part 2 -BEAT THE CLOCK" (Fully Illustrated -2 video clips)

BOOTLUST PLAYS REQUESTS: we're indebted to a very patient member who months ago sent us the "string vest" Von Rath wears in this collection. (He wrote us it was actually part of the Brit Army's tropical uniform issue.) He told us the sort of trooper he wanted to see wear it, and be ripped out of it. Below are some of our favorite shots of this sexy vest -before it was sacrificed.