The Stone of Idris: Cuban events.

It was early morning. Enjoying the sun’s rays, I sat polishing my armour. Once I had everything shining to my satisfaction, I carefully donned it all: a heavy breastplate, arm and leg greaves, a metal skirt, and a gorget.

‘If a man is going to die, he should look his best,’ I thought.

Today was the day of my execution. The cowards wouldn’t charge me with what I had done, rape and murder. That would mean they would have to admit to the people of Cuba that they were right. We weren’t a liberating, bringing Christianity to the heathen force. We were murderous rapists conquering the island to pillage its women and riches. I was to be executed for ‘Conduct Unbecoming an Officer of His Majesty’s Forces’.

‘Who would have thought they would care if a few heathen savages got fucked?’ I thought.

As I dreamt, I thought, ‘There’s a difference. I was merely a ride-along passenger in my forefather’s minds. This time it’s as if I am this person. They have to be thinking and talking in Spanish, a language I don’t speak, yet it’s as if I’m thinking it in my mind. I can understand because they are my thoughts.’

Looking at the Cuban sun, I guessed it to be around 6.30. My execution was slated for 12.00 pm. The villagers had been invited to watch to see ‘justice being done’ and that the law applied to all.

‘What a fucking joke.’ I thought. ‘We take because we can, kill because it’s necessary, and rape because it’s fun.’

Thinking back to the night that had gotten me into trouble, I began to go hard.

‘They were delectable pieces of ass,’ I thought. ‘Not worth dying for, but delectable anyway. I wonder what happened to that damned stone. If I still had it, I could probably escape from here.’

Once more, I tried to reach out for the stone’s power with my mind. There was no response. So, taking a careful seat, I tipped my head back to doze and dream about the night that led me here.

Moaning in my bed back in California, I muttered, “I don’t need to see it. It’s enough that he’s being punished for whatever he has done.”

The stone didn’t listen.

After dinner, I slipped away from our company’s lines with two others. There was a farmhouse about a mile back. The mother was still relatively young and pretty. She had two marriageable-aged daughters living with her with no sign of any men around. The men were probably in the mountains fighting us.

I considered myself a good man as I only raped women of legal age.

“We going to do them in the farmhouse?” One of my cohorts asked.

“There’s a cave up in the hills behind the house,” I responded. “If we take them up there, we can rape them, kill them, and dump the bodies in the cave. Nobody will find them.”

“It’s a good plan, Jorge,” the third man said. “I’m looking forward to this. I’m currently a three-week virgin. My balls ache.”

We broke into the house and quickly bound and gagged the three women. I had taken the youngest as mine. Just 18 years of age, slender and nubile, my cock was already hard, anticipating her deflowering.

Carrying them the 400 or so yards up to the cave, we laid them down beside a fast-flowing stream. The stream ran through the middle of the cave.

Groaning, Carlos lay his chosen woman down.

“Fat cow must weigh a ton,” he groaned, rubbing his lower back.

“You like them tubby,” I told him. “‘More cushion for the pushin’, you always say.”

I took the stone out of my pocket, “You will not scream or fight,” I told the three women. “If you like cock in you, you will cum. If not, you will shut up.”