The Low Road (29 page)

For a while I was content simply to gaze, but soon I wanted more. His cock was half erect; I hoped he was dreaming of me. Carefully, I moved down the bed and kissed it; it stirred and swelled a little. I kissed again, marvelling at the smoothness of the skin in contrast to the roughness of the hair all around. Then I opened my mouth and drew him inside; I love to feel a man grow to full hardness between my lips. Soon he had done just that, and I had woken him in the process; one lazy hand was running through my hair as I began to suck him in good earnest.

I was just picking up the pace to pleasure Captain Robert to the best of my mouth's ability, when again I heard a knocking from somewhere close at hand. The captain had heard it as well; he was up and alert in a trice, his wet hard cock swinging between his legs like a weapon. He motioned me to be silent, picked up his sword from the floor and leapt across the room. It all happened fast; he grabbed the door of the wardrobe, reached inside and within a
split second had pulled forth the cowering figure of the porter, who sprawled on the floor at his sword's point.

‘A spy! Die!'

‘No sir, I beg you!' gibbered the porter. I realised then that his trousers were open at the fly and his cock, a monstrous fat thing, was hanging out.

‘Say your prayers, scum,' hissed the captain, pressing the point of his sword into the porter's neck. The poor man closed his eyes in terror; I looked up and saw Captain Robert smile and wink at me.

‘Tell me who sent you, spy!' he demanded, standing over the terrified man (who, I couldn't help noticing, sneaked a few glances at his captor's great prick despite the fact that a deadlier weapon was at his throat).

‘Nobody... I... I came in to change your linen, sir... I didn't mean -'

‘What?' roared the captain in mock fury. ‘You lie!'

‘No, sir! I swear on my mother's life!' The poor man was trembling; his prick had shrunk to the size of an acorn.

‘Then what were you doing in the cupboard?'

‘I came in and I saw the young... er... the young gentleman in bed with you and I was... surprised, sir.' Well he might be; when we had checked in, I was a young lady. ‘And then when he awoke I was afraid, and I hid in the cupboard, and, and -'

‘And spied on us!'

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.'

‘And what did you see, dog?' Captain Robert was enjoying himself, I could tell.

‘I don't know, sir... I saw the young... er... gentleman... touching you down there, sir...'

‘You watched him sucking my prick, did you?'

‘Yes sir.'

‘And what did you think about that? Hmm? Tell me?'

‘I thought it was strange, sir.'

‘Never seen anything like it before, I suppose?'

‘No sir.'

‘But not so very disgusting, was it.'

‘Sir?'

‘Not so strange that it didn't make you want to wank, is that it?' The captain lifted the porter's shrivelled cock on the point of his sword.

‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.' The poor man was terrified that he was about to lose his manhood; his persecutor was deftly playing with it with the blade's end, pushing it from side to side, lifting up the scrotum, running the tip of the sword down towards the porter's arse.

‘We don't like spies, do we, Miss Charlotte?'

‘No, Captain.'

‘What do we do with them?'

‘We punish them, Captain.'

‘And how shall we punish this one, my dear? You must decide.' God, he was a cruel bastard; the poor man looked ready to shit his breeches. But I was enjoying the perversity of the game.

The porter was not a bad-looking creature-a little on the stocky side, as if he had spent too long sampling the delights of the kitchen, but handsome enough, with a slightly dim-witted expression. I remembered that his prick, although it was tiny now, had swollen to prodigious proportions when he had tumbled out of his hiding place.

‘Well, Captain,' I said, as if making a serious judicial decision, ‘I think the normal punishment under these conditions would be appropriate. Prisoner!'

The porter faced me, wide-eyed with fear.

‘Sir!'

‘On your knees!'

He lifted himself to a kneeling position. I clambered over the bed and stood before him.

‘Drop your breeches!'

He did as I commanded, revealing a big, meaty arse. Captain Robert leaned against the mantelpiece, watching the performance with amused satisfaction, and gave our prisoner a stinging swipe across the cheeks with the flat of his sword. The porter stifled a cry.

‘Open your mouth.'

He obeyed. I stepped towards him, my prick now completely hard. He looked at it with a mixture of terror and curiosity. His tongue trembled out of his mouth. I rested the head of my cock against it; it felt like a cushion.

‘Now suck it.'

He gazed up at me in consternation.

‘Come now, you saw what I was doing to the captain, didn't you, my peeping spy? That's all the instruction you need. Suck it.'

He tried his best, choking and gagging at first until tears ran out of the corners of his eyes. It was not particularly pleasant, but the novelty of the situation (and the sight of the captain playing with himself) kept me hard.

‘Mind your teeth, prisoner!'

‘Sorry, sir.' The porter made a concerted effort to improve the quality of his performance; perhaps he was genuinely afraid that his life would be forfeit if he didn't. Soon his lips were sliding up and down my prick to much greater effect.

‘Well, Captain,' I said, ‘he's taking to cocksucking quite satisfactorily. I think it's time for the next stage, don't you?'

‘Whatever you say, Miss Charlotte.'

I pulled the porter off my cock (I was glad to see a look of disappointment on his face) and stepped back. ‘On the bed!' I barked. He waddled towards the bed, hampered by the trousers round his ankles, and sat down. ‘Now, prisoner, make yourself hard.'

‘Sir?'

‘Your cock. Make it hard.'

He frowned in concentration and set to work on himself,
pulling on his cock, coaxing it back into life. At first nothing happened, then he sighed, grunted and it began to swell. A little at first - then suddenly it ballooned. The captain and I stood slack-jawed in astonishment; neither of us, I think, had ever seen such a metamorphosis. Soon the porter was shyly holding a great bloated thing, looking sheepishly up at me for further instructions. I wanted nothing more than to shove the monster in my mouth, but I had to maintain the pretence of authority.

‘Good. Now keep it that way.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Prisoner, have you ever been fucked?'

‘Sir?' He clearly didn't understand what I was saying.

‘Fucked, man. Do you know the meaning of the word?'

He made a crude gesture with his finger and closed fist, but looked confused. ‘A man and a woman, sir?'

The captain laughed. ‘Show him, Miss Charlotte!'

‘Lie back and spread your legs in the air, prisoner.' He did as he was told. He had a nice, clean, pink arsehole. I spat on my fingers and rubbed them around his crack; his great prick twitched to an even greater size, and he looked surprised. I worked a finger in; he was shocked, but dared not complain. Another finger, and he grimaced with pain.

‘Relax, prisoner. Here, let me help you.' I grasped the great organ that I had been longing to touch, and slowly wanked him. He sighed and closed his eyes, the muscles inside his hole loosening.

‘That colt is broke for riding now, Miss Charlotte. I suggest you mount him.'

‘Yes, Captain.' I had no particular desire to hurt the porter, but when I removed my fingers and replaced them with my cock he looked surprised by the pain. Again, I teased his prick until he was ready to take me, and pushed all the way in. The captain, eager to join the game, jumped on the bed and sat on the porter's face, commanding him to ‘Lick my arse!'. The porter
obliged, only to find his mouth plugged with the captain's cock. And so we rode him, watching each other breaching him at each end; I was glad to see that he remained erect throughout. Captain Robert pulled out and came all over the porter's face, while I shot a load up his arse.

We climbed off him.

‘Shall we let the prisoner go now, Miss Charlotte?'

‘Not quite yet, Captain. There's just one more thing.' I felt sorry for the poor man, who was writhing around on the bed like a cat on heat. I dived down and practically dislocated my jaw trying to get his prick into my mouth; finally I had to be content with just the first couple of inches, making a tunnel with my two hands down the shaft while the captain shoved three fingers up the man's arse. Thus employed, it took us no time to bring him relief.

Finally we allowed him to get up and dress; he kept glancing down at the captain's cock, half fearful, half eager that he would get hard again and commence another fucking.

‘Tell nobody of this, or your life is worthless!' hissed the captain with full melodrama.

‘No sir. I promise. Thank you, sir.'

‘Now bring me a chamber pot. I need to piss.'

‘Yes sir!' The porter dashed out into the corridor and returned a second later with the requisite article, which he placed on the table.

‘Not there. Hold it.'

As the porter held the chamber pot at waist level, Captain Robert strode over and, never taking his eyes from the porter's, hoisted his prick into the pot and half filled it with piss, then stood nonchalantly shaking the drips off.

‘Now for Miss Charlotte.'

The porter obediently shuffled over to me and held out the pot. I filled it to the brim and let my prick dip into the warm yellow fluid.

‘Now go.'

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.' The porter, cradling the pot of piss, backed out of the room. We heard him slowly descending the stairs.

The captain threw back his head and laughed heartily.

‘Well, Charlie, you're as debauched as I am, and that's a fact. Now we must make haste. Dress yourself from my trunk and we'll take fresh horses from the stables. And on the road, I'll tell you who I am and where I'm bound.'

My dearest Charles

 

 

This is the last letter you will receive from me - if, indeed, you have received any of the letters that narrated my sorry decline since that disastrous day when I was taken from your side.

I have found great strength and solace in my trouble from the certainty that you are safe and well, and from an inner peace that has come from certain fundamental truths that I have finally acknowledged about myself. My only regret is that I should have come to this too late. I pray that you will find happiness in your life, Charlie, and that you will remember one who loved you. Perhaps, if God wills it, I will have knowledge of you when I am on the other side.

I write this in what I believe to be the last hour of my life. I have no reason to think that it will ever find its way to you, although the guard has promised to smuggle it out of the castle. Ah well, I must believe that he is telling the truth, as it comforts me to make these communications. Surely, Charles, there is nothing in this world as important as love. It is easy to see that now that I face death; less easy in the pride and turmoil of a man's life.
Politics, allegiance, war, intelligence, rank - all of these are nothing compared to love.

My holiday at Leigh House continued for a month or so, and I sank into a satisfied stupor, thanks to Master Jonathan's expert attentions. Every once in a while he invited a soldier to join us in the study, commanding us both to fuck him, making the soldier suck me off while he watched, and so on. Occasionally he insisted on leaving the door to the chamber open so that we might be ‘discovered'; he loved the sense of danger and transgression that accompanied our liaisons. I went along with him, fooling myself that there was nothing I could do about my position, but in truth intoxicated by the affair, lured into the boy's dangerous web of deceit.

Well, I have nobody to blame but myself. One day, Jonathan arrived in my room, accompanied on this occasion by not one but three soldiers. This was extravagant even for him, but they were handsome fellows and I was curious to see what he would force us to do. I was feeling the first tingling in my groin, when Jonathan stepped aside to make way for his father.

‘There's the fellow, sir,' he said, pointing at me.

‘So I see,' lisped the father, dressed on this occasion in a peculiar Turkish outfit. ‘Get up, Lebecque.' His face was cold.

‘Sir?'

‘Do you confess to debauching my son?'

‘Sir?'

‘Don't play games with me, Lebecque. Is it true? That you have sodomised my child under my own roof, as a guest in my house?' Oh, I saw it all now. The injustice of his accusations made my blood boil: I was no more a ‘guest' in that prison than I had ‘debauched' his son. The soldiers, seeing my anger, put their hands on their swords.

I was silent.

‘You, a priest, a man of God! Are you not ashamed to be caught in so
disgusting a vice?' He was working himself into a mock fury-I suppose he needed to muster a show of anger in order to render his next move more convincing.

‘I have no option but to hand you over to the Sheriff, Monsieur. I suppose you know what the punishment for such a disgusting crime is? Well, I need not spell it out...' Just as well, I thought: if all in Leigh House were punished according to the law, there would be a quick end to the family line. Still I held my tongue. This infuriated Leigh even more.