The Shaman’s Revenge – Prologue

 The
Shaman’s Revenge – Prologue
It
was a Friday morning in mid July 1980, and shaping up to be another
baking hot day, as Goran Dragic shuffled painfully down the street,
carrying a heavy paper bag. 
The old man was finding it increasingly
more difficult to get to the local store, and it was even more
difficult on his way home, as now, carrying his purchases. Since his
recent illness, his aching body had begun to feel every one of his 82
years. He felt tired, and in need of some peace and quiet.
Unfortunately for old Goran, peace and quiet were hard to come by in
the fast paced American city where he now lived, an environment so
different from the Southern Carpathian mountains of his old homeland.
As
he trudged on, his mind wondered back to the land of his youth, a
land, which, at that time, was still behind what was then known as
the ‘Iron Curtain’, where the legends and beliefs from an older time
were only whispered about in secret. Goran, himself, had been the
subject of many whispers at one time, for he was said to have
inherited powers, known as the “Magija”, from the warlocks
and Shamen in his family history.
In
the past, in the high and remote mountain villages, far beyond the
reach of civil justice, his ancestor’s had used those powers to
punish wrong doers, and and to impose natural justice.
Those
beliefs and practices had been suppressed under the Soviet system,
until they had now largely melted into the mists of history. However,
the fact that many had forgotten the old ways did not make the Magija
any less potent. It was a new world now, but unlike his ageing body,
Goran’s powers, and his mind for that matter, were still as strong
and sharp as they had ever been. The powers had not been used in many
years, but he still had them, and could call them up again any time
should he need to.
Thoughts
of his homeland were suddenly knocked from his mind by a violent
jarring impact to his right side, which sent him tumbling heavily to
the ground. 
Knocked from his grasp, the paper bag of groceries
smashed onto the sidewalk.
Dazed
and in pain Goran looked up to see a handsome young man, wearing only
a pair of blue “Speedo” swimming trunks and rubber flipflops,
looking down angrily at him.
Jordan
Draper, being late for swimming practice, had been running through
the streets. Listening to his Walkman, a must have new invention at
the time, and distracted by his favourite Punk-rock band, Jordan had
not seen the old man, and had barged into him, Knocking Goran over
and causing Jordan to drop both his dark glasses and the personal
Stereo, the second of which had landed in a puddle of spilt milk from
Goran’s bag.
Look
what you did you stupid old fuck!
” yelled Jordan picking up the
Walkman, shaking it and attempting to dry it with his towel “It’s
fucking broken!
” Jordan was very proud of his Walkman, Sony had
only release the first version the year before, and, as with most
things, Jordan had the newest and most expensive model, now it was
ruined. His anger was increased by the fact that his shades had also
been damaged.
you
ran into me!” groaned Goran looking around at his new purchased
groceries strewn around amongst broken eggs, spilt milk and a the
shattered bottle of wine he had bought as his one indulgence of the
week.
You
shouldn’t have been in my way you old Moron!”snarled Jordan
Help
me up please!” gasped Goran reaching out towards the boy. But
instead of assisting the elderly man, Jordan just swore, and aimed a
kick at him, his foot impacting painfully with Goran’s rib cage and
knocking the wind out of his aged body. It was lucky that Jordan was
only wearing rubber flipflops, had he been wearing shoes, such a kick
would most likely have broken a fragile bone. Even so the kick left
Goran moaning and clutching his side in pain. 
 
That’s
for breaking my shades, you careless old fuck!
” shouted Jordan “Old
morons like you should be dead and not getting in folk’s way!
Goran
looked up at the youth, and his long trained eyes saw through the
handsome face and the firm, tanned and athletic body to the arrogant,
spoilt and cruel hart beneath them, and he felt a rage welling in his
body of a force he had not felt in many years. “You will pay for
this!” he hissed “you will pay!”
What?”
sneered Jordan “Fuck off you demented old fool!” he aimed a
second kick at the old man, this time bruising Goran’s stomach and
making him gasp for breath.
I
will make you pay for this!” gasped Goran
Jordan
laughed cruelly and was about to kick his victim again when he saw
two men walking down the street towards them “Fuck off, you stupid
old fool!
” he scoffed “You couldn’t even kiss my ass!” he
turned his speedo clad behind towards Goran and slapped his butt
cheek contemptuously.
You
will be sorry!” snarled Goran, his bony hands clutching into fists.
“Just wait!”
Jordan
snorted derisively “You are deaf too? you old fuck for brains?”
his lips curled into an ugly grin “I SAID KISS MY ASS!!”
Then,
clutching his broken walkman and dark glasses, and scowling angrily Jordan ran off in
the direction of the local college. He would have liked to give the
stupid old fossil a proper kicking, but was anxious not to be
identified, and perhaps beaten up, by the approaching men.
Old
Goran watched his assailant depart, his shaman’s eyes focused
directly on the seat of Jordan’s skimpy swimming trunks, which the
boy had insultingly invited him to kiss, and at the firm, juggling
young buttocks, which those speedos hugged tightly and almost lovingly.
In
his bisexual youth Goran has not been immune to the attraction of a
beautiful male bottom, but now he felt only burning fury, and an
insatiable need for vengeance. He might not kiss Jordan’s rump, but
his had other plans for it! Through the roaring of his rage he felt
the ancient power rising within him. “You will pay!” he
growled “and you will pay with that little American bottom of
yours!! You will pay and you will keep on paying, until I get my
revenge!!
He
then spoke in words which no American would recognise, and which few
in those far away and mysterious mountains would remember, but they
were words which were instantly heard and recognised by other things
in a different, darker, place. Things which had slept for a long,
long time but which now began to stir.
Moments
later the two passers by reached Goran and helped the old man to his
feet, as he continued to mutter incantations in an ancient and almost
forgotten tongue.
Meanwhile,
as Jordan ran off down the street towards the college, he could have
no idea of the mystical forces which his cruel and arrogant behaviour
had unleashed and that those long dormant forces were now aimed
directly at his tender and well rounded, Speedo covered, bottom.
The
old man had told Jordan that he would pay for what he did, and the
old man never told a lie.
TO
BE CONTINUED

6 Replies to “The Shaman’s Revenge – Prologue”

  1. I already love that series. Looks like the shaman has some very nice things in store for that jock's muscular ass. I like that you show his arrogant behavior before his punishment. Maybe he has to wear his speedos filled with thistles, nettles and maybe some biting insects?

  2. Oh Man! my mind is really reeling now, there are just so many things I would like to see happen to that arrogant jock's cute and deserving bottom.

  3. I like the idea very much. I hope that his sweet white butt will suffer a lot.
    Some humiliation would be good too, e.g. burn his pants or send him naked outside or something

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