Death on the Rhine Ch. 15
Keywords: on, 15, Rhine, Ch., Death, the,
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With two swishes of the nasty-looking knife he had in his hand, he cut the bounds that had Folsom's ankles attached to the corner posts, and Folsom's leg's were free.
But only for a moment. The African potentate bounded up on the bed, danced around Folsom momentarily, and then was behind him, thrusting his huge cock inside Folsom's ass. The two crew members came in close beside the bed on each side and each grabbed one of Folsom's ankles and wishboned them to the side.
The African was crouched between Folsom's raised legs and was fucking strongly up into his ass. His was swishing the knife around in front of Folsom, and Folsom gave a surprised scream and then a gasp as, in two swishing strokes, the knife had sliced very shallow cuts across his chest and on one of his thighs.
The African savagely pulled Folsom's head back with his free fist in the American's hair and whispered in his ear, "Not quite the way I did your lover, Brad Roberts, but maybe I'll finish you the way I intended to finish him—and the way I would have if he hadn't lurched unfortunately and run into the knife."
Folsom was terrified, but he didn't respond to the African hulk's admission. However, Folsom now knew who had murdered Brad.
The blade of the knife gleamed in front of Folsom's eyes, catching the light of the overhead fixture.
"Ever fantasized about being fucked to death with the blade of a sharp hunting knife?" The African hissed into Folsom's ear. "We do that back in Tuliewanna. That's a very special execution we have for worthy opponents. Are you feeling worthy, Mr. Folsom?"
A swish across a bicep, and Folsom cried out in pain.
"The captain? Why the captain?" Folsom managed, trying to get the African concentrating on something else other than carving him up.
"You needn't ask that," The African whispered menacingly in his ear. "You figured that out. I heard what you said to the Dutch policeman in the captain's cabin. You asked him to check out what country this ship was registered in. Tuliewanna, of course. Landlocked Tuliewanna. Flag of convenience and all that."
Swish across a buttock and Folsom stifled another scream. The African pulled his cock completely out and then slammed it home again, and for that Folsom did groan loudly.
"Just one step from there and you'd have figured out that I own this operation, that all of the rest front for me, Frist, Meister, the captain, the whole lot of them. The captain came back for insurance, for the ship's registration papers, so he could hold that over my head. He had covered for me in his testimony that Frist killed your Brad Roberts. But he thought he could have something to hold over my head so that I didn't just kill him then. He was wrong, naturally."
The African had the blade under Folsom's chin now, and Folsom could feel the dribbling of blood more than any pain from the slight cut there.
And then he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Some movement over by the cabin's door. And then Ralf was bounding in the room and moving quickly toward the bed.
Folsom's immediate thought was that he was afraid that if Ralf attacked the African directly, the blade of the knife might slip—with very unfortunate consequences for Folsom. But his next thoughts were very confused. Ralf bounded onto the bed, but he wasn't attacking the African, he was grinning from ear to ear. And he and the African were kissing deeply over Folsom's shoulder. And then Ralf was holding Folsom's thighs in his strong hands and he was crouching in front of and below Folsom, sandwiching the American between him and the African.
And Folsom felt a second cock at his asshole. Pushing in beside that of the African. An impossible feat, but one that he somehow was accomplishing. Folsom was howling in pain and surprise, but he was being deeply skewered by two fat cocks despite his objections. And they started fucking him vigorously in unison, as he arched his back and turned his head to the ceiling, looking for relief from any quarter that would offer it. And he was moaning and groaning. And panting and pleading. But he was taking it, and it was sending him to the moon. Right up until he blacked out for the third time that day.
This time Folsom awoke in the arms of Fritz the bruiser, his favorite fuck friend from Cologne, well after the good guys had arrived and broken up the fun of the African and Ralf. Fritz had helicoptered in with Manfeld. Fritz had saved Folsom at the last minute so many times now that Folsom decided to go back to Cologne under his protection and in his embrace until the German and Dutch police could sort out just how many layers of control and intrigue were involved in this MS River God operation.
As far as Folsom cared, with a thought to how well the bruiser had topped him, they could take their jolly sweet time in sorting it out.
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Keywords: on, 15, Rhine, Ch., Death, the,