The Low Road (26 page)

Wilmott and a couple of his colleague moved a few of the candles from the front of the stage to allow me to sit on the edge; they stood around me, illuminating my body to the maximum, while I stretched out and started to pleasure myself. Hands were all over me, stroking, tweaking and pulling, delving underneath me to find my arse, running over my face and hair. I closed my eyes and settled back for a good wank, which was not of long duration. I came, copiously, to a round of applause from the officers.

The come was licked from my body by a couple of eager tongues, and I sat up and jumped down on to the floor. I had assumed that we could now proceed to dinner, that I could dress and take a more conventional role in the company. On the contrary: Wilmott took me by the hand and led me over to the table, where a large space had been cleared amidst the dishes and covers.

‘Now then, Ned, if you would oblige us.'

‘Aren't we going to have dinner?'

‘Oh yes, most certainly.'

‘And... what is for dinner?'

‘You are, Ned.'

For one hideous moment I wondered if I had fallen among cannibals, but the general's kind expression assured me otherwise. The other officers were taking their places round the table, two on each side, Miles at the foot and Wilmott at the head; I was soon lying at full length among them.

If I was not actually to be the food at this banquet, I was certainly the platter. One of the officers, a rugged-faced veteran who had stripped to the waist, scooped up a handful of butter from a
silver dish and started to spread it over my chest. The sensation was delightful, and became even more so when he started using his tongue to lick it off. All around my chest he worked, around my neck, the butter melting and running down my sides as fast as he could eat it.

Another - the floppy-haired Miles, who I so liked the look of - picked up a jug of whipped cream and, spreading my legs, started to apply it to my arse. It was cold and slippery and absolutely delicious. Of course, I was hard again. His fingers worked the cream all around my crack and into my hole, then his head disappeared and started to sup the melting white liquid. When he surfaced, he had shiny cream all over his face, and his hair was plastered down and dark with the stuff.

General Wilmott, at my head, took the cover off a dish of asparagus and dangled one above my lips; I extended my tongue to catch a drop of butter hanging from the end, then opened wide and took the whole spear as he dropped it slowly into my mouth. It was delicious; I ate another, and another. Meanwhile Miles was going to town with the cream at my rear end, plastering the entire contents of the jug over my arse and his face. His tongue was finding its way further and further up my chute with each assault.

As Wilmott fed me asparagus, the rest of the officers were shucking their uniforms and preparing to join the feast. God, they were a handsome crew! Not one of them was saggy; all of them had soldiers' bodies. That is all I can say. The details are lost to me. Suffice to say that soon I had a prick in each hand and hands all over me.

Wilmott broke off from feeding duties to pull out his cock, which he dangled above my mouth in place of the vegetable. Once again I licked a drip from the tip and then swallowed the entire spear; with my head bent back over the edge of the table, I had no difficulty taking his whole length down my throat. Soon I was plugged at the other end as well: Miles had replaced tongue with
cock, and was fucking me gently as the squishy, slippery cream squirted out of my arse and around his prick with each thrust. It didn't take him long to come, adding another dollop of cream to the pint or so that had already been piped into me.

My arse was not left empty for long; fingers were sliding in and out, and then something thick and hard. It was not a cock; I was so surprised by the sensation that I released Wilmott's dick from my mouth to look south. Two of the other officers - the Italian musician and another, older one - were making selections from a basket of raw vegetables which they were inserting up my anus. A carrot had been the first; now I was enjoying a cucumber. I was slightly alarmed to see a vegetable marrow in the basket.

The feeling, however, was not unpleasant, and I grasped my knees and spread my legs to give them better access. When I looked back up, Wilmott was spreading chocolate sauce all over his genitals and waving them lasciviously in my face.

‘Time for dessert, Ned,' he said, as I started licking his balls and shaft, savouring the combined sweetness and saltiness of this latest course. My arse was being severely stretched, I knew not by what; I was quite prepared to wrestle free if it became too much. I was relieved when the
crudités
were replaced by the more familiar feeling of a warm cock inside me, and I glanced down just long enough to register that the Italian had taken his turn.

By now, of course, we were all absolutely filthy, covered from head to foot in a
mêlée
of foodstuffs and come. Miles took up a bottle of red wine and poured it all over me, licking as he went; he was hard again, and I was eager to taste his cock. I didn't have long to wait; the chocolate-coated general was soon wanking himself off in my face, while the Italian was coming up my arse. I took my chance, sat up and launched myself on Miles, who slipped over in a pat of butter and landed on the floor with me on top of him. I lost no time in sliding down to his groin, and swallowed his cock in one go. As I sucked and sucked on this delicious piece of meat,
I naturally assumed a kneeling position - and my arse was open once again to assault. Fingers, tongues, vegetables, a silver salt-cellar and a variety of serving implements were tried for size; eventually, of course, every cock in the room was up there pumping out another load of cream.

When the company was replete, having come at least twice each, I emptied another bottle of wine over my head, shoved a handful of butter up my arse and rounded off the evening by a particularly lascivious wank show. The final load of the evening received a rapturous round of applause, and dinner was over.

How long I might have stayed as chief whore to the boy-lovers of the Glasgow garrison I do not know; as it was, my holiday had an abrupt termination. Wilmott and his fellow revellers, exhausted by the epic of sodomy they had just enjoyed, dozed and drank in the banqueting hall; I felt in need of a bath, and so found my way back to my room. Fortunately, there was no one to observe me; covered in the debris of my recent excesses, I would have presented a pretty spectacle to any onlooker.

Passing through the general's quarters I noticed a file of papers that, I was sure, had not been on the desk before. Sleepy and satiated as I was, my curiosity was pricked. The word CONFIDENTIAL only made me more inquisitive. I left the door ajar - any approach would be easy to detect - and opened the file. Of course: it was the translations of the ciphers that I had delivered that morning.

A letter from General Wade formed the bulk of it; I was amused to discover that the writer had ‘enjoyed many nights with my cock down the young man's throat', and suggested that Wilmott do likewise. I scanned further down; rapturous descriptions of ‘his doe-like brown eyes' and ‘chestnut hair', ‘his olive skin' and ‘smooth chest'. Aha, the game was up. Worse was to come; the boy's name, Peter Rendall. My imposture could not have been
more completely uncovered. I had to move fast. I was about to run next door to change into my old clothes, when my eye was caught by a piece of paper pinned to the back of the letter. ‘Movement Order‘ it read, 'for Prisoners in Scotland, April 1751'. There followed a long list of names and destinations. My eye ran down the column and found what it was seeking.

‘Lebecque, Benoit, French spy, Leigh House, Carlisle to St Leonard's Castle, Edinburgh. Priority: immediate.'

I was about to pocket the paper, but thought better of it; I wanted to leave no clues as to my real business in Glasgow. I dashed next door, wiped myself quickly on one of the general's shirts (that would have to suffice as a souvenir), pocketed some money that was left on the washstand and ran downstairs as quietly as I could.

The front gate was barred and guarded; obviously I would not be leaving the way I came. Someone in the building - the cryptographer Lexington, perhaps - knew of my deception already. The alarm could be raised at any second, and my life over the next. There was no way out that I could see - unless - of course! Skirting the parade ground, I headed with all despatch for the women's quarters.

There it was quiet enough; most of the soldiers were in bed. I saw one staggering out, stuffing his cock back into his trousers; he saluted me with an exhausted bonhomie and wove his way across the courtyard. I was about to try my escape through one of the inner doors (it must surely lead to the rear of the building and thence to the outside) when a young woman popped up from behind the front desk where, it seemed, she had been concealed all along. I jumped.

‘Sorry to startle you, I was just putting the towels away.'

‘That's quite all right.'

‘We're closed for the night, really.'

‘Oh, I see.'

‘You're new here, aren't you?'

‘Yes. I'm a guest of the general's.'

‘Oh!' She smiled. ‘Well I don't imagine you'll find much to entertain you here, then.'

‘No...' Looking back through the still-open door, I saw a couple of soldiers walking purposefully towards the banqueting hall. ‘Could I come in, just for a few moments? It's important.'

‘Of course. What's the matter?'

God bless her, she didn't wait for an answer, but instead led me into the inner room and locked the door behind her. I held my finger to my lips and listened. There was nothing. I breathed again.

‘Are you in trouble?'

I looked at her; she had a beautiful, kind face. My experience of women was pitifully limited: the few bloodless spinsters that my mother had employed, Ethel my old nurse, the occasional landlady. My new companion seemed more congenial than any of them: a girl of about my age, height and colouring. She could have passed for my sister.

I had no choice but to trust her. ‘Yes, I'm in a great deal of trouble and I have to get away immediately.'

‘What have you done?'

‘You don't want to know.'

‘Highlander?' She must have recognised my accent.

‘Yes, Loch Linnhe. You?'

‘Arisaig. I'm an orphan,' she added, by way of excusing her unpatriotic employment.

‘Will you help me?'

‘What can I do?'

‘Get me out of here.'

She pondered for a while. ‘The back of the building is heavily guarded. We can't come and go as we like, you know.'

‘Then what am I to do?'

‘There might be a way...'

‘How?'

‘It's difficult, and dangerous, but it will get you out. And it will serve me a turn as well.'

The plan was simple enough. Later that night, around two hours past midnight, a coach was to arrive from Kilmarnock bearing one Captain Robert, en route for Stirling, Perth and Dundee, ‘a most fearsome soldier' according to Anne, my new friend. His visit to Glasgow had a twofold purpose: to change his horses, and to change his woman. Anne had been designated as his ‘companion of the road' for the next stage of the journey; the captain, it seemed, was a man of prodigious appetites and a short attention span. If I would take Anne's place in the captain's coach, I would be ensured a safe passage out of the garrison - and would enable Anne to stay near the soldier that she loved and was planning to marry. What happened to me beyond the garrison gates was, of course, my own affair; it would not be the first time I had jumped out of a moving vehicle, albeit my first attempt in women's clothing.

At first I demurred; the plan was simply too bizarre. But gradually it dawned that it was my only chance, and that Anne was putting herself at considerable risk by agreeing to help a countryman. Perhaps it was her way of atoning for her own betrayals; whatever the reason, I could not resist her for long.

She led me upstairs, through a locked door (‘We need a safe haven here, believe me') and into the dormitory, where a dozen narrow beds were laid out in rows down either side of a cheerless attic. And all around - in bed, at tables, gossiping together on chairs - were the women of the house, combing their hair, washing their faces, dressing for the night. At my entrance, there was a collective gasp and giggle, but Anne signalled silence and went about closing all the shutters and extinguishing any unnecessary candles.

‘Ooh, Annie,' said one of the girls, a big-boned brunette who was a good six inches taller than me, ‘you really shouldn't bring your work home with you!'

‘Let's have a look at him,' said her friend, a petite blonde who approached me with a candle. ‘Why, Annie, he's as cute as a button! Where did you find him?'

Soon they had all gathered round me and were examining me like a new pet, stroking my hair, pinching my cheeks and my backside.

‘That's enough!' whispered Anne. ‘There's work to be done! Quick, Charlie, strip!'

I have never been bashful about nakedness; why, only a couple of hours earlier I had performed for the lusty officers of the garrison. Now, however, in the company of women, I was shy and awkward, blushing like a little boy.

‘For heaven's sake, Charlie, hurry up!' said Anne. ‘The garrison's waking. Something's afoot.'

Indeed, I could hear voices below. I undressed hastily and stood amidst the circle of women, who discussed me as if I wasn't there.

‘It's bigger than your David's.'

‘Aye, but it's not so bonnie.'

‘Will you look at the skin on him? White as milk!'