The Low Road (21 page)

‘Oh, I want you to fuck me so badly, Sergeant. I don't care what you do to me. I just want that big hard cock inside me...' I started moaning and writhing around his fat finger, which was now as far inside me as he could get it. I clamped the muscles of my ring around it, giving him a taste of things to come, and continued wanking him. He may have thought he was in control, that I was an innocent just waiting to be debauched, but he little suspected that I was an expert in such matters, as practised as the
most professional whore. Within another minute he was spewing his load all over my hand; it splattered on the floor around us. Poor Blair opened his eyes in surprise as his cock started to go limp. He pulled his finger out of my arse.

‘Sorry... I got a bit over-excited...'

I kissed him on the mouth in promise of future bliss, then told him that I had an urgent need to go to the privy which, considering the intrusion into my ‘virgin' arse, was a plausible excuse. I slipped out from his grasp and left him wiping the end of his cock, still with a look of confusion on his handsome mug.

But instead of slipping out to the privy, I bounded up the stairs in pursuit of my quarry. He had only been gone a few minutes; his would be the only occupied room, and easy enough to find. Sure enough, a thread of light shone from underneath one of the doors where all else was darkness. He must have lit a candle.

I listened for a few moments; nothing. I applied my eye to the keyhole and saw, to my momentary bewilderment, the two perfect globes of a naked male backside, slightly downy around the crevice. Then the buttocks parted and I caught sight of one of the pinkest, prettiest arseholes I have ever seen. The boy was bending over - perhaps removing a last item of clothing? - and in my still-aroused state I had an overwhelming desire to shove my tongue, and then my hard cock, into that inviting little twat.

After the best part of a minute the boy stood up and his hole was lost to my view. He walked away from the keyhole and, I assumed, towards the bed. I saw a flurry of white linen and all was still.

I should have known immediately that I was up against a more practised dissembler than myself; the show, of course, had been entirely for my benefit. As usual, though, I was so excited by the erotic possibilities of the situation that I failed to listen to the voice of reason. The results were almost disastrous.

Standing up and attempting to conceal my erection, I slowly turned the door handle, expecting to take my young quarry by
surprise. But there was no sound, only the creaking of the hinges. Surely he had not fallen asleep already? I opened the door further; still no response. He must have been aware of my presence. A few more inches, and I stepped into the room, bracing myself for a surprise attack. But no: he was not hiding behind the door with a cosh; instead, as the candlelight all too clearly displayed, he was lying face down on the bed, his head resting on his forearms, his legs spread wide apart. Somewhere in the soft, downy shadows between his buttocks, I knew that delightful pink hole was waiting for me. My cock was jutting straight out in front of me once again, despite my efforts to control it.

I must have stood like an idiot, staring at this appetising prospect. Suddenly I realised that the boy had turned his head and was watching me watching him, with a smile on his face. Instead of reprimanding me, or calling for help, he ground his hips on the mattress and raised his arse a little. Oh, I was so pleased at my devious handling of Sergeant Blair just a few moments before, and here I was falling into the hands of yet more cunning player. I had come up here determined to extract information from him, by violence if necessary; now all I could think of was how hot his arse would feel around my prick. I stood like a fool unable to speak. I suppose the bulge in my trousers was eloquence enough.

Catching sight of the leather purse slung over the back of the chair, I came to my senses for a moment. Information was what I had come for, and information I must have. If he sought to trap me with sexual pleasure - well, two could play at that game. I advanced towards the bed and stood at the foot. He reached one hand round and pulled his left buttock aside, probing himself with a finger.

‘Go ahead, schoolteacher,' he said in a sneering, arrogant voice. ‘Help yourself.' Well, he had fallen for my disguise so far. I had the upper hand.

‘What do you mean?' My voice was shaking; it was not entirely assumed.

‘You've been looking at me all evening, even when that sergeant had his tongue down your throat. Come on, fuck me. I know that's what you want.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Get that big hard cock out of your trousers and stick it up my arse.' Well, he was being direct enough now, and to avoid any possibility of confusion he knelt up, held his cheeks apart and gave me an uninterrupted view of his moist, velvety hole. ‘It's the best pussy in Scotland. Very popular with the English generals. You really can't say no, can you?' He extended a foot and rubbed my cock. My mouth was watering.

But for once I looked before I leapt. If he was so popular with the generals, and such a successful whore, why was he offering himself to me? Had he discerned my intents, and was simply trying to put me off? Or was he trying to double-cross the soldiers downstairs, using me as some kind of escape route? I thought quickly. What could his plan be? Lure me into his bed, knock me out, take my clothes and leave in disguise - well, that's what I would have done under the circumstances.

I needed to know more. Perhaps he would talk if I played along. I sank to my knees and buried my face in his arse, licking and slurping and finally sticking my tongue into his hole. I heard him gasp in surprise; he hadn't expected the naive schoolteacher to be such an adept. Well, it was no great hardship; eating his arse was like enjoying the finest of sweetmeats. When I broke away, I was gratified to see that his cock, limp at first, was now fully erect. He was only play-acting before; now, however, he was genuinely excited. This, I felt, shortened the odds between us.

The temptation to plough straight into his arse was overwhelming, and my cock was begging for relief. He wanted it as much as I did, I could tell: he was arching his back and sticking his tail in the air like a cat on heat. I had to take advantage of the situation. If I gave him what he wanted, satisfied him and allowed
him to recover his
sang-froid,
then the opportunity would be missed. I knew that I'd be able to think clearer if only I could empty my balls inside him, but that would have to wait. I had to keep him on the boil.

‘Come on then,' he said - and now he was not sneering. ‘Can't you see I'm ready for you?'

‘God, you're a dirty wee bastard, aren't you?'

‘Oh yes, I am.' My aim had hit home; I guessed that he was the sort who liked to be treated a bit rough, while keeping the upper hand. I knew the game well; I had played it myself often enough on board the Florida. Let them think they're in control, pander to their masculine pride, but all the time get them to do exactly what you want them to do...

‘I should tan that arse of yours before I fuck it.'

He buried his face in the bedclothes and gave an ‘Mmm' in reply, wiggling his bum provocatively in my face. He thought he was being so clever. But we were both playing a role.

I smacked his right buttock gently, then his left. He squirmed. ‘Harder!'

This time I gave each cheek a good whack; the sound was loud in the small chamber. He groaned in delight. ‘More.'

Moving round beside him I gave his pert arse a good thrashing, and watched it grow pink and then red under my hands. The pain was goading him on; he was now pushing his cock back between his legs to show me how hard it was, to inflame me even further. Oh no, my boy, I thought, you won't trick me that easily.

Still belabouring his bum with one hand, I reached over the chair with the other and picked up the leather purse; the boy was so far gone that he didn't even notice. The shoulder strap was made of good strong leather, about two inches wide: just right for a good whipping. I doubled it over and brought it down with a crack across his cheeks. He moaned, pushed his cock further back and wriggled his arse. I whacked him again, then let the leather
strap dangle between his spread buttocks, playing over the hole.

Suddenly he realised what I was doing. His head whipped round and he made a grab for the purse, which I held just out of his reach. As quick as lightning he was up on his knees facing me, grabbing for the purse. I held it above my head. He was red in the face from his recent beating, and his stiff cock bounced around with every movement.

‘Give me that!'

‘Come and get it!'

He stood up on the bed and reached; I took a step back, and he nearly crashed to the floor. As he regained his balance I caught him round the waist, threw him down on his back and held on to his knees; he twisted and turned his torso, but there was little he could do. I was a good deal stronger than him. The purse I slung round my neck.

‘What's so special about this old leather bag, then?'

‘Nothing... Just give it to me.'

‘Oh yes, I'll give it to you.' I pressed my groin against his arse, which was spread open at just the right level. He shut his eyes and groaned, but he wouldn't give in that easily.

‘Let me go, schoolteacher.' The sneer was back in his voice, but his cock was still as stiff as a post, drooling at the tip. He was a lithe, slim-hipped young man, smooth-bodied - and his cock looked huge on that slight frame. I longed to see it shooting over his slender belly. But that would have to wait.

‘Tell me what's in the package and I'll let you go.'

‘Letters. That's all. Now shut up and fuck me.'

‘Letters to whom?'

‘General Wilmott of course. Didn't your friend downstairs tell you? I'm one of his spies. That's why they won't lay a finger on me. Dirty rabble. I know what they want to do. What you all want to do. So come on. I'm ready for it.'

‘What are they about? The letters?'

‘You're suddenly full of questions, schoolteacher. I thought you were only interested in the ancients...'

He was catching on too quickly. I had to distract his attention, and so with one hand I undid my trousers and let my cock spring out into the open. He should have used the opportunity to struggle free and raise the alarm, but the moment he caught sight of my weapon all the fight went out of him.

‘My God.'

‘You want this, don't you?'

‘I... yes.'

‘You want it inside you.'

‘Yes. Please.'

‘What's in the letters?' I could see the struggle going on inside him. I made my cock twitch, and pressed it against his bum.

‘Information.'

‘About what?'

‘Prisoners. They're moving prisoners all over Scotland. It's all in code, you won't be able to read it. That's all I know. Now will you just stick that fucking thing up my arse and get on with it.'

‘Oh yes, I'll get on with it.'

I launched myself on top of him and stuck my tongue down his throat, letting my cock batter against his hole, which was practically sucking me in. Then, with a dexterity that still surprises me, I whipped the purse over my head, looped the strap around his wrists and tied them quickly together. There was little he could do; the bucking and writhing beneath me was half complaint, half encouragement. When his hands were firmly tied, I sat up and admired my handiwork. His arms stretched above his head; he was sweating. Our cocks were playing together down below.

‘What... what are you doing?' For the first time, he sounded uncertain.

‘I'm double-crossing you, you dirty little spy.'

He was about to cry out, but I shunted quickly up his torso and
stopped his mouth with my cock. With a pitiful look in his eyes, he swallowed the whole thing. He was not content just to gag on it; within a minute he was sucking on it with enthusiasm. He was very good at it, too, and I could feel a good head of steam building up inside me. But if I came, he would lose interest in me.

While he was guzzling on my prick, I opened the purse and had a cursory look at its content. A large outer envelope was clearly addressed to General Wilmott, Glasgow; it bore the royal seal, and a Latin inscription on the reverse which I immediately translated as ‘The Bearer is to be Trusted'. Oh yes, he was to be trusted all right; but he was not to be the bearer they were expecting. I would take his place. I slipped the package back into the purse and concentrated on fucking his face. Looking over my shoulder, I saw his cock pulsing on his stomach, where a pool of sticky juice had collected. This was turning out better than I had expected. I reached round and gave it a squeeze; I heard him moan in gratitude.

I pulled out of his mouth when I felt I could bear it no longer, and waited for the boiling in my balls to subside. The messenger boy had lost all interest in shouting out for help; he could think about one thing only now. He licked his lips, unwilling to relinquish the taste of my prick, and I must admit that I would have been more than happy to give him a mouthful that he could savour at his leisure.

First, however, I had to secure my plans. I hooked his bound wrists over the headboard, looped the purse through it and thus secured him at one end. Then I picked up his shirt from the floor, ripped it into two pieces and deftly bound his ankles to the knobs at the foot of the bed. He put up a token resistance, but a few slaps around the face with my hard, wet cock were enough to shut him up.

There: I had him where I wanted him. If he cried out I could kill him, and he knew it. Instead he just lay there, looking to me for the next move.

I was in two minds. Uppermost was the fact that here lay this beautiful young man, slim-hipped and well-hung with the juiciest
arsehole it had ever been my pleasure to lick. He sucked like an angel; I could only imagine what it would feel like to bury my prick in his guts. On the other hand, a plan had formed in my mind. I wanted satisfaction on both counts.