The Low Road (3 page)

The moment the sky lightened over the woods at the east end of the estate, I was out of bed. I poured a little cold water from the jug and washed myself quickly, splashing face and neck to wake myself up. Not that I needed much rousing: my heart was beating so hard that I could barely keep still. I crept down the stairs to avoid waking the household, out of the double doors at the end of the great hall and into the grey morning. Where Saturday had been glorious and blue, Monday dawned dark and damp, the ‘dreck' hanging thick over the loch, the kind of fog that wouldn't clear all day. I felt a chill in my bones, and ran across the fields to warm myself. Now that the moment was drawing near, I had misgivings. Would Alexander be there? Was this all wrong, dangerous even? I stopped short for a moment, thought of turning back. But where my mind misgave me, my loins forced me onwards. I felt again the heat, the squirming of his tongue inside me, and I picked up my pace.

When I reached the stables, Alexander was there as usual, measuring out the feed. He grunted a short greeting, turned his back and carried on working. The wind went out of my sails; I'd assumed that within seconds of meeting we'd be tearing each other's clothes off.

‘How are you today, Alexander? I asked, trying to catch his eye and smile.

‘Ah, well,' he muttered, picking up a shovel and getting to work on the weekend's dirty straw.

‘Did you have a pleasant Sunday?' This was ridiculous: I was trying to make small talk with a man who, only two days ago, had come in my hand.

‘I'm busy, master,' he replied, turning to frown at me. I could think of nothing to say in reply. He carried on with his shovelling. I leaned against the saddle rack and watched his broad shoulders, the muscles of his neck and sides working inside his coarse linen shirt. Each time he bent over to take up a spadeful, I examined the curve of his arse. Each time he stood up to fling the dirt into the barrow, I caught the shape of his cock and balls outlined against the wool of his trousers. If he refused to catch my eye, he could surely feel my gaze burning into him. Within five minutes, I was stiff inside my breeches, a fact which the fine suede of the garment did little to conceal. A small dark patch appeared where the tip of my cock, impatient for release, was dribbling.

Still Alexander worked, ignoring my presence, scowling at the floor. Another five minutes passed; impatience made me bold.

‘Look at me, Alexander,' I said, thrusting my hips forward.

He leaned for a moment on his shovel, wiped away the sweat from his brow and looked me up and down. I saw his eyes widen just for a second when he saw the obscene outline in my breeches, before his face stiffened once more into a mask.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Don't you want...'

‘Sir?'

‘Don't call me sir.'

‘No, sir. Is that all, sir?' Frowning again, he returned to his work. His buttocks rippled as he bent, his cock strained as he stood, and yet he would not relent. What prevented him? What had happened between Saturday and Monday to change him from lust-crazed hound to sullen, scowling servant? Ah, of course - Sunday. The low chapel at which many of the local estate workers worshipped was notorious for the extreme hell-fire severity of
its sermons. Where we were gently admonished to support the king and give more money to the church, Alexander and his like were shown the pit of hell, and returned to their cottages with the whiff of sulphur in their nostrils, determined to renounce sin henceforth. It was one of my mother's standing jokes that, if you wanted a job done properly, you should get it started on Monday. By Wednesday, she said, the men were backsliding into drink and sloth; by Friday they were largely absent. Alexander was always the shining exception to this rule, a man of ‘singular energy', as she said.

I should have respected his wishes now that I had divined them. I should have knuckled down, helped him with his work and removed from his reach the occasion of sin. I knew that perfectly well. But instead I thought only of my own pleasure. The state of Alexander's immortal soul interested me a good deal less than the very mortal flesh beneath his garments. In pursuit of my appetites, I behaved like one of the sluts that my mother was always warning me about.

I moved round to the other side of the stable, to stand in Alexander's line of vision, and pressed the heel of my palm against the base of my cock, making the head push even more blatantly against the fabric of my breeches. He saw it, I know; he looked up, his eyes widened, he turned his back on me. Undeterred, I moved around to face him again, then, when I knew he could see me, turned and wiggled my arse in his face. The breeches fit me like a second skin, and I wore no underwear; I looked naked. He coughed, turned and worked on.

By now the thrill of the chase was inflaming my blood, and I was more than ever determined to capture the game. Circling Alexander, I got him with his back to the corner of the stable and started to move in. He could not turn without sticking his head straight into the wooden wall; he had to face me. The distance between us closed. Still he stared at the ground, but now he was
at bay, the shovel hanging useless in his hand, his breathing hard. I could see quite clearly that his lower self wanted me as badly as I wanted him.

‘Alexander...' I whispered, and he looked up. As soon as I had his attention, I caught up the tails of my shirt and whipped it over my head. I licked my lips and pinched both my nipples. Alexander coughed and blinked, but he did not look away. I turned my back on him and lowered my breeches slowly over my arse, pulling the white cheeks apart to expose the soft, pink hole that he'd been inside so recently. I could hear him breathing hard, almost groaning.

I turned to face him again, and rolled the breeches down over my hard, thick cock. Lingering for a moment with the head still caught inside the fabric, I traced a finger down the thick, blueish vein that ran its length. Then I inched my breeches down and my cock, free at last, sprang up against my curved belly. Alexander, who seemed to hold his breath throughout the foregoing, let out a great sigh. Then there was silence. My cock stood rigid between us, pulsing a little with each beat of my heart, the skin pulled back just halfway over the head, the ridge of the helmet clearly visible through its smooth covering. Alexander was sweating.

I stepped forward. I could smell him. I could feel the heat belting off his body. I reached down and took his hand; it hung, heavy and limp, in my grasp. I moved it on to my cock, tightened his fingers round my stiffness, and let it go. It stayed there, at first motionless, then responding to my throbbing with a tentative squeeze, then another, firmer. We looked at each other for two seconds, five, ten. Then Alexander's countenance lifted, the furrows disappeared from his brow and he smiled.

‘Oh Charlie...' he breathed, and passing a hand round the back of my head, drew me to him in a long kiss. His tongue, that dart of fire, parted my lips and slipped into my mouth as he gently rubbed my shaft and smeared the sticky fluid across the head.

I learned a good deal from Alexander that morning. After we'd kissed, he jumped across the stable and barred the door from the inside, bounded up the ladder in two leaps and locked the hayloft doors, and let down a rude sacking curtain across the window high in the wall. In the gloomy light, and the rising heat from the penned animals and our own bodies, we turned to face each other again. ‘I want no interruptions,' he said.

Standing two yards away from me, Alexander stripped quickly, stepped out of his trousers and stretched his arms above his head. He smiled; his white, strong teeth flashed in the stable's gloom. ‘It can't be wrong, can it?' he said, running one hand down his hard olive chest and scratching his pubic hair. ‘It can't be wrong if we both want to do it.'

‘Of course it's not wrong,' I said. ‘Why did you think it was?'

‘Because I thought I'd taken advantage of you. Because I'm older than you. Because I'm just the groom and you -' his cock jumped as he said this ‘—are the master.'

In answer to all of these points, to show my equal willingness and to remove any worries about our respective rank, I dropped to my knees and took his erection in my hand, holding it a few inches away from my face. At last, I had what I wanted. I played with it for a while, feeling its thickness, its heat, making the skin slide back and forth across his dark knob, watching his balls heaving inside him. Alexander stroked the back of my head, pulling me forward.

‘Come on, Charlie, get your mouth on it.'

I gingerly kissed the tip, tasted the saltiness. He pulled my head in, down. ‘Get your lips round it.' I opened my mouth into a little ‘o' and encircled the head, running my tongue along the damp slit. Alexander grunted and pulled harder on my head, at the same time thrusting forwards with his hips. Another inch of him slipped into my mouth, and another. I looked up at him; my eyes were watering. His head was thrown back, his hands on his hips, his
groin thrust forward. I took another inch; I wanted all of him inside me. But the contact of his cockhead with the back of my throat had an unexpected effect; I gagged and choked, my mouth filled with saliva. Immediately he pulled out.

‘Charlie, are you all right?' I nodded, caught my breath, spat into the straw. ‘Just take it easy. There's no need to rush. We're not going to be interrupted. Will you try again?'

Would I? I felt that I would never be content without Alexander's cock inside me. I spat into my hand, slicked up every side of his long, hard shaft before opening my mouth wider than before. This time his wet shaft slipped easier between my lips, and when I felt the familiar response as it hit my throat I stopped, breathed deeply through my nose and pulled back a little.

‘That's it, Charlie.'

I went down again, back again. Alexander's cock seemed, if possible, to be growing in my mouth. After a dozen such intrusions my jaw was aching, my lips were stretched - and I could not bear to release him. I saw him looking down at me as the brown shaft disappeared between my pink lips; he caressed my neck, played with my ears, talking to me in the same soft, soothing undertone that he used with the horses.

‘That's the way, my boy, a little bit faster now, hold on...' His hips were thrusting forward to meet my face with every downward stroke; his balls slapped against my chin. For balance I held on to his rock-hard buttocks, feeling them smooth and warm in my hands. My fingers crept into the crack, delving through soft black hair to find the tight nub of his hole. A louder grunt than usual told me that this was not unwelcome. As Alexander pulled back from my mouth, he seemed to be pushing against my fingers. Very slightly I increased the pressure on each thrust, remembering how good his tongue had felt inside me. As the pace quickened, his hole softened and opened to my finger and I was inside him to the first knuckle.

Now he was holding my head in place with both hands, fucking my mouth with rapid thrusts. I screwed my eyes tight shut, concentrated on loosening my throat and let him go, marvelling at the contrast between the hardness of the cock in my mouth and the silky softness that I was encountering at the back. Finally I felt his insides stir around my finger, he pushed himself all the way into my mouth and stayed there as my mouth filled with a hot, salty dose. I held on to him as long as I could, but finally had to pull back to breathe, and the volume of his come flooded my mouth, coating my tongue. I let the finger pop out of his arse, then let his cock flop out of my mouth. A string of sticky fluid connected the head to my lips as his shaft, still heavy, swung at half-mast before my face. At last I swallowed, unwilling to relinquish the taste of him.

Alexander stood, panting. I knelt before him, my hands resting behind me in the straw, my cock, straining for relief, jutting straight up at the gloomy rafters. He stared down at me for a while, gently tugging on his balls; his cock, after its first subsidence, seemed unready to go down just yet. I spread my knees apart and was about to take myself in hand, but Alexander prevented me, kicking my hand aside with his bare foot, and then pushing me backwards until I had no choice but to sprawl on the floor. He launched himself on top of me, stretching the full length of his body against mine, and gripped me in a powerful hug, the swell of his rock-hard biceps grinding into my chest and shoulders. All I wanted to do was come, and could have quite easily done so just by pressing myself against him, but he saw what I was about and pulled himself away.

‘Not yet, Charlie. I've got a lot to teach you first.'

I relaxed, and stretched out in front of him, eager to. He kissed me on the mouth, then worked down my chin, my neck, on to each nipple, gently sucking and biting them. Each time I thought I could stand no more, and made to grip my cock for the half-dozen strokes
it would take to bring me off, he intercepted me. His lips travelled down my stomach, nibbling the short, sandy hairs that grew there, traced the lines of my hips, skirted my groin and worked down to my legs. Lapping with his tongue he slicked up my thighs, then, with a hand under each knee, bent my legs up and over my body, lifting my bum from the floor. A few bits of straw and earth had stuck to my buttocks; he brushed them away with one hand, holding my crooked legs up with the other.

Then, with a wicked look in his eye, he spat on to his fingers and rubbed them against my hole. The familiar feeling of burning and melting started again as he pressed and probed, centring my whole being, all my sensations, around that tender little mound of flesh. Suddenly, to my dismay, he pulled away.

‘Wait a minute there, Charlie. Let's make things a little easier for ourselves. Hold on.'

Grabbing me by the hips, he slid me over to the saddle rack, and placed each of my feet on the lower rung which stretched about a yard above the floor. I lay back with my head on a pillow of straw and relaxed; my legs, thus supported, could easily lift and part to display my hole to Alexander. He scooted around to the other side of the saddle rack and appeared beneath the cross bar. ‘That's better, boy. Now, let me at it.'