The Low Road (24 page)

The garrison at Cowcaddens was an impressive set of buildings, clearly intended to last. As I rode up to the iron gates, set in thick, freshly plastered walls, the message was loud and clear: the English are here to stay, and any attempt at insubordination will be quickly crushed. I must admit that my heart failed as I dismounted; I was about to enter the very heart of the enemy's camp. Now was no time to turn back, though; I had wasted enough time already.
Lebecque, for all I knew, could be dead - thanks to my selfish dalliance along the way.

I hailed the guard and presented myself as a messenger for General Wilmott. Where from? Carlisle. Who's company? Blair's. At any moment I expected to be challenged and unmasked, but to my astonishment my extempore answers seemed to be the right ones. The guard looked me up and down, and I pulled the packet of letters out of my tunic. When he saw the royal seal, he unbarred the gate and admitted me - with a salute.

I was taken with all despatch across the cobbled courtyard, up an exterior staircase and straight into the general's presence in a well-furnished room that looked over an extensive parade ground and barracks beyond. The guard announced me, saluted to the general and left us alone.

General Wilmott was every inch the professional soldier: tall, weather-beaten, impeccably turned out from his freshly-barbered silver whiskers to the polished toe of his black boots. He was, perhaps, fifty or more, balding, with short grey hair, thick black eyebrows and an impressive set of sideburns that tapered down on either side of his lined, brown face. He had the air of a man who had seen and done everything, and yet his sharp grey eyes had a lively twinkle. His uniform fitted him like a glove; for all his years, he was as solidly-built as a man twenty years his junior.

Wilmott stood to greet me, grasped me firmly by the hand and indicated that I should sit.

‘You arrived alone, I understand?'

‘Yes sir.' I was desperately trying to think of a plausible reason.

‘Good. I dislike escorts. They draw attention. Well done.'

I tried not to show the relief on my face.

‘You have the documents?'

‘Yes, sir.' I pulled the package out of my tunic again and handed it over. Wilmott checked the seal, scanned the Latin tag on the back and smiled.

‘I see you're to be trusted, young man.'

‘I hope so, sir.'

‘Coming from General Wade, that is high commendation.' There seemed to be a hidden meaning behind his words; I could only guess at it.

‘Thank you, sir.' Wilmott cocked an eyebrow and looked at me for a moment, then returned to his reading. I cast the odd glance over the papers; all I could see were rows of meaningless letters. Clearly the contents were in cipher.

Wilmott scanned the pages, then locked them in a drawer.

‘There is no name.'

‘Sir?'

‘Wade hasn't told me your name.'

Was this a trap? ‘Nicholls, sir. Edward Nicholls.'

‘Edward. Good. And did you enjoy your stay in Carlisle, Nicholls?'

‘Yes, sir, very much.'

Again his eyebrow went up, the eyes twinkled. ‘Wade says that you're very skilled.'

‘Sir?'

‘Good with your hands, eh?' This time he winked, quite unmistakably.

‘Oh. Yes, sir.' I began to understand that I, or rather the boy that I had replaced, was part of the ‘delivery' alongside the documents that I had carried.

‘Perhaps you need to rest after your journey.'

‘Thank you, sir, I'm quite refreshed.' In truth I was fascinated by the turn that the conversation was taking, and was unwilling to delay its outcome. Wilmott seemed pleased by my answer.

‘Good. Then perhaps you would oblige me by stepping next door for a while.' He held open an interior door that led into a smaller, darker room.

‘Yes sir.' Inside was a day bed, a washstand, a chair and a small
table piled high with books and documents.

‘I shan't keep you long. Make yourself... comfortable.' He winked again, and closed the door on me. I heard him ring a bell on his desk, and the guard returned.

‘Take these to Lexington and have them deciphered immediately,' said Wilmott in an undertone which I was not meant to hear; I, however, had my ear pressed to the door.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Inform Edinburgh of the contents as soon as possible. I shall be
incommunicado
for the rest of the morning.'

‘Yes, sir.'

I heard the guard leave, and then Wilmott moving around in his office, locking drawers, tidying papers. I took a quick look at the pile of documents on his desk, enough to see that there was nothing there of interest to me, and awaited his arrival. ‘Make yourself comfortable,' he had said. I removed my tunic and my boots and socks. Perhaps he expected me to be naked when he came into the room. I had little doubt that I had been passed on as a ‘gift' between generals, and that favourable reports on my skills (or, rather, the skills of the one I had replaced) had accompanied me. Fortunately, I had been granted a preview of the kind of skills that my predecessor practised, and prepared myself to evince all of the sluttish eagerness that characterised his performance.

Wilmott was in no hurry to join me, it seemed. I pressed my ear to the door again and heard the clank of metal on metal; by peering through the keyhole I could see him standing at the window, meditatively removing his sword and belt. Then he unbuttoned his scarlet tunic and cast it aside, pulling the shirt over his head to join it on the floor. My first impressions had been correct: the general was in excellent physical shape for a man of his years, a little thicker round the waist than he once might have been, but impressively powerful in the chest and shoulders. His torso was
covered in thick, silver hair, from which two large, dark nipples stood out in dramatic contrast.

I was no longer in any doubt of the kind of reception that he expected when he joined me in the little room, and so I quickly pulled off the rest of my clothes in readiness. Needless to say, I was already half hard; my prick had that agreeably heavy feeling that precedes full arousal. It swung around in front of me at forty-five degrees from my thighs. One of the general's tunics was hanging on a peg behind the door; I hastily donned it, and caught sight of myself in the mirror. The scarlet accentuated the redness of my hair and the paleness of my skin; the cut of the garment, stopping just around the waist, emphasised the roundness of my bum and the length of my cock. I was pleased with the effect; my impersonation of the enemy was complete.

The doorhandle rattled, and I quickly took up my position by the window, leaning against the embrasure with one foot resting on the wall behind me, my hands on my hips. The door opened, and there stood General Wilmott stark naked apart from a pair of long, white woollen socks which came up to his knees, his great shaggy thighs towering above them. He caught his breath when he saw me; obviously, the reports of my eagerness to please had not been exaggerated.

Wilmott locked the door behind him and regarded me for a while in silence. I thrust my hips forward, making my cock sway lewdly from side to side, then, thinking that perhaps his interests were more focused at the rear, turned round and offered him my arse.

‘Very good, Edward,' said Wilmott. ‘I shall have to thank General Wade for his generosity.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Now, let me see. What shall we do first?'

I was so far gone in my role of whore-to-the-enemy that I quite forgot the real reason I was there - to discover Lebecque's whereabouts
- and instead gave serious consideration to the general's question. I decided that what I wanted most urgently was to get fucked, quick and hard: a look at Wilmott's thick, hammerheaded cock stiffening as he gazed at my arse was enough to persuade me of that. So I bent over, braced myself against the wall and brazenly wriggled my arse in reply.

The general needed no further answer. He picked up a jar of pomade from his washstand, scooped out a big glob on two of his fingers and proceeded to grease up my hole with an expertise clearly born of practice. I was already writhing around in pleasure; I could feel the blood rushing to my head, the veins standing out on my neck and forehead.

‘Wade not taking care of your arsehole, boy?'

‘No, sir.'

‘He always was a little squeamish about that area, even at Sandhurst. I, however, can think of nothing I like more than a nice tight bum. How does that feel, Edward?' With two of his fingers working the grease into my hole, all I could do was grunt in reply. Wilmott gripped my cock with his other hand, realised that I was ripe for fucking and prepared to mount me.

With one strong, hairy arm round my waist, he lifted me until I was on my tiptoes then, bending his knees to bring his prick in line with my hole, he aimed and fired. There was nothing subtle about his technique: the moment he had breached me he stuffed the full length right up to the hilt and began a steady, rhythmic in-out movement. I shifted myself a little higher so that he went as far into me as possible, and settled down for the ride.

What Wilmott may have lacked in subtlety, he more than made up for in stamina. While most men shoot their load after only a few minutes up me, Wilmott seemed in no hurry to finish the job. After he'd fucked me in a standing position for five minutes, he pulled out and sat me down on the edge of his desk, scooped up my knees and ploughed into me again. I hung on
round his neck while he pistoned in and out of me, enjoying the brush of his whiskers against my cheek as we pressed our faces together. His breath smelled of cigars.

I knew that if I so much as touched myself I would come instantly, and I was unwilling to do so: such was the hammering that Wilmott was giving my arse it would be a lot more painful without the anodyne of sexual arousal. The temptation, however, was enormous; I had learned by that point that I love nothing better than the sensation of an orgasm while a well-hung man is fucking me good and hard. I busied my hands with his ears and his tits, which pleased him - and inspired him to fuck me even harder.

The desk was becoming extremely uncomfortable, so Wilmott carried me (with his rock-hard prick still buried inside me) over to the day bed, where I could lie in comfort and get my legs higher and wider for him. Thus relaxed, I concentrated entirely on the sensations that were emanating through my body from my guts. Wilmott, sweating gently, pushed my balls back so that he could see his cock disappearing into my arse. The sight must have triggered something in him: soon he was fucking me like a lunatic, and came inside me with a great, grunting shudder.

He lay down panting on top of me for a while, kissed me deep on the mouth and then righted himself, took my cock in his broad, hairy hand and started stroking. To my delight, he had remained as stiff as an iron bar inside me, and so it did not take long for me to start spewing my come all over his fingers. He finished me off, brought his fingers to his mouth and licked off every drop.

I had assumed that this would be the end of the game, but the general had other ideas. Instead of pulling out, he set up a small rocking motion which soon took on the character of a renewed fucking: my new lover, it seemed, was one of those lucky men who can remain hard after an orgasm and be ready to go again in a few minutes. It takes me longer to recover, so for a while I lay inert and
limp while he gently fucked me, bending down occasionally to kiss me on the lips. The taste of cigars on his tongue was now joined with the savour of my come, and the combined effect had a powerful aphrodisiac effect on me. Soon my prick was filling up again.

The general was pleased. ‘Good, Edward. I like a boy who can keep up with me.' Now that I was primed and ready, he pulled out of my arse and let my feet down on to the floor. I stretched luxuriously, enjoying my role tremendously. The general stood back for a moment and looked at me, then knelt between my legs and started licking my cock and balls. I grasped his head, let my fingers cling on to his sideburns and pulled him down on to me.

He sucked me for a while, putting his fingers back into my arsehole which, to be honest, was hungry for something to fill it. Soon I was bucking and thrashing away as if I had not come once already. I did not want to shoot a second load too soon, and so gently eased the general's head off me and joined him on the floor. He held me in his arms with such tenderness that I completely forgot for the moment that he was my enemy, the man who held Lebecque's life in his hands; all I was conscious of was the warmth and strength of his body, and the rigid heat from his cock which was pressing insistently into my thigh.

Wilmott lay back on the floor and put his arms behind his head - a clear indication that his wonderful, strong, mature body was mine to do with as I pleased. And so I approached it with relish, exploring every inch of him with my hands and tongue, licking the sweat from his chest, chewing on his hard tits, running my hands up his massive thighs until I could bury my fingers under the huge pouch of his scrotum. I straddled him, rubbing my arse and balls against the thick, matted hair on his stomach. I kissed him with a passion and ferocity that took both of us by surprise. I found the danger and dishonesty of the situation profoundly exciting and yet, above that, I found Wilmott himself overwhelmingly attractive. I badly wanted him to fuck me again, and I told him so.

He pulled me forward so that my cock and balls bounced over his chest, neck and chin, resting finally over his face. His tongue found the sensitive band that runs from balls to arse, then hit my hole and started working. God knows what muscles he had in his mouth, but his tongue fucked me almost as effectively as his fingers and his cock. His hands kneaded my buttocks like two pieces of dough, and the sensation of his whiskers on my inner thigh was almost too much.