NO TRESPASSING!

     My name is John Coldiani, and I own and run a small 200 acre farm all by myself. There is a secluded corner of the farm that includes Point Lake, part of a chain of lakes. The other lakes in the chain are public, and for years were among the best lakes for duck hunting in the state. However, the hunters over-hunted them, and now most of the ducks fly into Point Lake. Like I said, it’s the only private lake, and I have no hunting and no trespassing signs at all of the entrances to my land. Still, some hunters just won’t take “no!” for an answer, so about once a month I get a trespasser near the lake. Unknown to the hunters, I’ve installed both cameras and traps to enforce the warnings on the signs.

     One evening, right around dusk, I was in my farmhouse when I heard an alarm sound. I went to my monitor and pulled up the live feed. Sure enough, there was a young man dressed all in down, carrying a rifle and obviously planning to take some of my ducks in Point Lake. I smiled wryly, knowing that he was within ten feet of one of my traps. There was a net hidden by some loose brush, with a rope rising up and over a limb of a sturdy oak tree. The rope was wrapped all in vines so that it looked just like a vine climbing up the tree. Just beyond this was one of my best duck decoys. It was sitting on a nest, and was motion activated so that whenever a man went within ten feet of it, it began to quack softly just like a duck on a nest of eggs. I watched as the hunter lifted his rifle, took aim, and then took one final, fatal step forward for a better shot. As his right foot came down, it hit the trip wire for my trap, causing the net to enclose him as it lifted him skyward, also causing him to drop the rifle harmlessly to the ground.

     It took me about ten minutes to get to where the hunter was snared in my trap.

Ignoring his cursing and screaming for the moment, I picked up his rifle, and also discovered that his ID had fallen out of his pocket. His name was Mike, and according to his ID, he was 37, had black hair and brown eyes, he had on a down jacket, down vest and down pants and was 6’2” tall and weighed about 190 lbs. Excellent, I love a man who stays in shape!

     Just then, my young trespasser, Mike, brought me out of my reverie. “Hey, mate! What’s the meaning of this! You better bloody well release me if you know what’s good for you!”

     “Now why would I do that, my lawbreaking friend from across the pond? You are British, correct? And you did see my signs, didn’t you?”

     “Yeah, I’m British and I saw your signs, but in Great Britain all lands are public when it comes to hunting, only the farming rights belong to the farmer! Plus, you’ve got the only lake in the chain with lots of ducks! What harm can taking one duck cause? Listen, mate, you caught me fair and square breaking onto your land. But you can’t keep me like this! Just let me go, and I won’t say a word to anyone. OK, mate?”

     “So you want me to let you down from there?”

     “Yeah! Now you’re talking!”

     “OK. This may hurt a bit!” With that, I took my knife and cut the rope causing to net to fall to the ground. He wasn’t prepared for that, and his head struck the ground, knocking him unconscious. I took advantage of this by tying his arms behind his back and tying his legs together before I tied off the sack’s opening. I then waited for Mike to awaken.

     He awoke with a moan, followed by cursing once he realized that he was still my prisoner. “All right, you fucking hayseed, you better let me go! Otherwise, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of what you call a life behind bars! Now, get me out of here, arsehole!”

     “Now is that any way to talk to your jailer and executioner? Although the word “arsehole” is a bit prophetic!” I laughed out loud at my joke, although Mike apparently didn’t get the joke.

     “Jailer and executioner? You mean you’re going to kill me, just for trespassing? Are you insane?”

     “I may or may not be insane, but before the sun rises in the morning, you’re going to be well on your way to being one dead Englishman! It may take you a few days to die, however. Now, enough talk, it’s time to take you to your place of execution!”

     With that, I picked up the net containing my British captive, threw it over my shoulder and began to march further into the woodlands. Mike was putting up quite a struggle, but I’d secured him, so that all he was able to do was squirm in the net. About thirty minutes later, we arrived at a clearing, which immediately got Mike’s full attention. He looked around and saw several poles, each about 12 feet tall, planted in the ground and reaching skyward. On the end of each pole was a human skeleton, each in various stages of decay.

     “Oh, bloody hell, what is this? What happened to these men?”

     “Why, the same thing that is going to happen to you tonight, Mike. They’ve all been executed by impalement.”

     “HELP! This bloke’s a madman! Someone, anyone, help me! He’s gonna fucking kill me!”

     “First things first, Mike. No one can hear you. This patch of woodland is in the center of my 200-acre farm. That means that there’s no one around for 100 acres on each side. But you are right, I am gonna fucking kill you! Now if I were you, I’d make my peace with whatever god you worship, if any. This is gonna hurt!”

     I put the sack on the ground, and pulled Mike out of it. I laid Mike on the ground face down. There were four manacles just out from where he lay, making an X pattern. I pulled Mike’s legs to the left, and hooked one manacle onto his right leg. Next I cut the rope tying his legs together, and then pulled his left leg out and manacled it to the second manacle. Then I repeated these steps with Mike’s arms, and Mike lay there with his arms and legs to the side making a human letter X with his body.

     Mike now realized that I wasn’t playing around, and the reality of his mortality hit him hard.

     “Please, mate! I’m only 37! Let me go! I swear that I’ll never tell a soul! Please!” He caught his breath, he was crying so hard that he had trouble breathing.

     “You should have thought about that before you trespassed! Now give me a second, I need to get this pole lined up with your ass, or as you Brits like to call it, your arse!”

     Mike had seen the pole. It was tapered, starting at the tip with a width of roughly four inches, but as it progressed down its length, it widened to almost six inches across. “Please, mate, it’ll never fit! It’s too big! It’ll tear me apart!”

     “You know, you may have a point, Mike! I tell you what, I’ll lube you so it’ll slide in easier! What do you say to that?”

     “What could you possibly put inside me to lube me enough to prepare my body to accept that fucking tree?”

     “THIS!” I said, as I stepped out of my pants, exposing my erect, 10-inch dick and balls the size of tennis balls.

     “Oh, bloody hell! You’re not sticking that thing in me! Forget it, mate!”

     “You’re in no position to tell me what to do, Mike! Now I suggest you lie back and enjoy the ride!”

     With that, I positioned myself between Mike’s thighs. Taking my knife, I cut a hole in his down pants and grabbing Mike’s arse by the cheeks, I pulled them apart to allow easier access to his hole. I used no lube, simply shoving all ten inches home in one thrust. Mike howled and screamed as my dick tore past his scrotum and into his guts. Still, he seemed to calm down rather quickly, and I realized that his arse was very loose, telling me that he was gay. Indeed, as I began to rhythmically rape Mike, he began to respond to it, and his own dick, trapped painfully beneath his body in it’s down sheath, began to lengthen and harden. It took me about ten minutes to climax and send my seed shooting up Mike’s doomed ass and into his guts. I pulled out, then jacked myself off again and sprayed my cum all over Mike from head to toe! Now it was time for the main event, Mike’s execution. I approached Mike with my knife, ready to cut away his clothes.

     “Hey, mate, what do you think you’re doing? I don’t want to die, but if I must, I want to die in my clothes. At least allow me that shred of decency!”

     “Very well, Mike, but there may come a time when you rue that decision, and then it will be too late for me to do anything.”

     “It’s my bloody life, mate! I’m telling you, don’t cut off my clothing!”

     I had the pole hanging from slings holding it steady and even with Mike’s arse. There was also a sling ready to be positioned under the pole wherever it emerged from Mike’s body. I pushed the pole forward so that the rounded tip was barely touching his arse through the torn down pants. Next, I reached under Mike and opened the front of his down pants, exposing his dick and balls.

     “Hey, mate! You leave those alone! You’re a bloody pervert!”

     I found both them and the inside of the pants slick with Mike’s cum. Apparently, he’d ejaculated during the rape.

     “Gee, Mike, you made a real mess of those down pants. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to take off your pants during sex?”

     I pulled the dick and balls out of his pants. I wanted them to be free so that his humiliation would be greater, and also so that the ravens that live on my farm could fly by and enjoy a nice meal as well as avenge the ducks that Mike had planned to shoot. I also opened Mike’s down vest and coat, exposing his hairy chest to the elements as well.

     Now I went to the other end of the 12-foot pole and picked up an iron mallet. I struck the end of the pole, and the tip began its entrance into Mike’s arse.

     “Bloody HELL! Take it out! PLEASE!! You’re ripping me apart! It won’t fit!”

     I ignored Mike’s protestations, and continued striking the pole with my mallet. Ever so slowly, centimeter-by-centimeter, the pole continued its journey through Mike’s body, first entering his arse, then into his guts, continuing through his torso up into his chest cavity. Mike had probably hoped for a quick death, but by using a blunted pole, I was able to traverse the interior of his body without damaging major organs or blood vessels, simply pushing them off to the side. After about an hour of this, I noticed a bulge near Mike’s right shoulder, and as Mike gave voice to the loudest scream yet, the tip of the pole emerged just under his right shoulder at the armpit. I kept striking the pole until about two inches protruded from the shoulder. Satisfied that Mike would never leave his pole, dead or alive, I ceased my labors and released Mike’s arms and legs from the manacles.

     Now came the delicate part of planting my latest human tree in the forest. First, I attached the sling at the top of the pole where it exited Mike’s shoulder. Then I cut away the sling near the end where I’d been working, causing that end of the pole to tilt downwards into a prepared hole. Next, I activated a pulley holding the sling near his shoulder causing that end of the pole to rise up, and causing the lowest two feet of the pole to drop neatly into the hole. Once the pole was vertical, it was simple to fill it in so that it was held firm. As I looked up, there was Mike about seven or eight feet off the ground, screaming and wailing as he swung his arms and kicked his feet in a futile attempt to remove himself from the pole. In actuality, all his struggles did was to cause him to slide down further on the pole, his travels being greased by the blood, semen and other bodily fluids oozing from his arse. Due to the tapering of the pole, he only fell a couple of feet before he stopped. I set up cameras all around Mike’s “tree” so that I could watch his execution from the comfort of the farmhouse. Mike tried one final time to try and have me show mercy.

     “Hey, mate! Please don’t leave me like this. I know I’m gonna die, but this is inhumane! Please, take my rifle and shoot me! Let me die quickly! PLEASE! I’m begging you!”

     I didn’t reply, I just cleaned up the area, picked up my tools and began the walk back to the farmhouse. Mike continued to yell after me.

     “Hey, come back here! Please!! Don’t leave me like this! You can’t leave me like this!”

     Unknown to Mike, I also had installed microphones at the base of his pole. All of a sudden, my voice came through.

     “Mike, I’m right here! Don’t you see me, mate?” He didn’t realize I was half way to the farmhouse, and had been speaking through my smartphone.

     “Where are you? I can hear you, but can’t see you?”

     “Mike, I’m right here! Oh, I know what’s happening. You’re getting delirious. Probably it’s from all the trauma and shock your body’s going through. It’s causing you to have issues with your vision. Sucks to be you, mate!”

     “You may be right. Please, mate, stay with me! I don’t want to die alone! PLEASE! Promise me!”

     “I promise I’ll watch you every second until you die, Mike!” The idiot didn’t realize I was speaking from the warmth and coziness of my farmhouse, as I watched him on my cameras. It was quite a sight. Mike’s thin tall frame trapped on that unforgiving pole. The pole’s pressure on his prostate caused his dick to be rock hard, and even when he shot a load of cum, he hardened up almost immediately.  There were cum stains all over his clothing. I also noticed insects and other wildlife were becoming interested in Mike. The bodily fluids oozing out of him and down the pole attracted cockroaches, flies, ants and other vermin who began to march up the pole to my helpless victim. About six hours in, I heard Mike’s screams become louder as ants and cockroaches began to invade his various orifices, and the flies began coming and going, laying their eggs that would soon hatch into maggots. Knowing that the insects would keep Mike up all night, I decided to retire and sleep in my comfortable bed. I knew Mike would still be alive and kicking on his pole in the morning, his attention to his fitness assured that, although right now I think that he’d much rather be fat and out of shape instead of having such a muscular physique.

     I awoke the next morning, and discovered that Mike had not had a restful night. Apparently at some point, out of need or possibly fear, he had pissed himself, as there was a rather large yellow stain on his down pants. I enjoyed my breakfast as I watched Mike’s continuing mental and physical decline.

     “Hey, everyone, look at me! I can fly!” This was followed by Mike lifting his arms up and down in a pathetic imitation of flight. This had an undesired effect, as three very large ravens landed near Mike. Two of them were on his shoulders, while one perched itself on his thigh. The two on his shoulders immediately began to peck at his eyes. Mike tried to swat them away with his arms. For a while he had some success, as they flew away, but very soon they returned and continued their assault on Mike’s vision. Mike’s strength finally waned, and the two crows succeeded in blinding him.

     The raven on Mike’s thigh was eyeing a bigger prize, Mike’s erect dick and those delectable looking balls! Mike was already kicking and struggling from the loss of his eyes. He was moaning, he was too weak to scream. Suddenly, the raven began pecking at Mike’s right nut. Mike tries to shake it off, but the bird has a single-minded determination. After about ten minutes, it succeeds in tearing the sack open, and the nut drops out hanging by its cord. Mike has a huge orgasm as this happens, sending ropes of cum 10 feet away. The raven bit down and swallowed the nut. It then repeated this with Mike’s left nut, with Mike moaning in obvious pain. Finally, a second raven joined the first, and together they made short work of Mike’s now shriveled cock. Their appetites satiated, they then flew off with the other birds. I kept watching, and Mike bled out within ten minutes. Like the previous men who had violated my lands, I left Mike’s body on the pole to rot. About a month later, I was in my farmhouse again, when my alarms went off and I found another man had been foolish enough to ignore my warning signs. As I marched him into the woods to face the same punishment that Mike had received, I looked up at Mike’s pole, and found only a skeleton remained, still clad in remnants of its down clothing..