The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental. If male-to-male sexual scenes offend you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years old, the laws in most areas state that you're just too young to read filth like this.
StrayF strayf.hanlen@gmail.com
Author's Note:
I started at one stage to write a series of stories set in the future in a time when all women had left Earth to go home to Venus. They continued to procreate by use of sperm shipped in from the men of Earth and they were decent enough to send any male progeny back to Earth once they had reached the age of ten. Earth, of course, became a rampant hotbed of homosexual activity where every street corner had men fucking men quite openly. No sexual act was considered shocking and everyone openly sought the next level of sexual education and exploration.
I soon found, however, that once all your characters are stripped of modesty, primness, innocence and sexual morality, the story has nowhere interesting to go ...
This story keeps a grasp on the 'no women' concept (although I haven't attempted to explain it) and is set with a background of a fictional sort-of-Victorian England - a time period that fascinates me! For all its prudery and tight-lipped, tight-corseted correctedness, it had a wonderfully depraved underbelly of wicked delights.
Welcome, then, to the city of Pellham - a sort-of London in a sort-of Victorian era.
(Oh, and if you must have the lack of women explained, just believe that God didn't mess around with Adam's rib when He saw that Adam was lonely ... He just scooped up some more clay ... And as for reproduction? I never lost my faith in the stork.)
DEPRAVITY
Just before Lucian turned thirteen his father discovered him in his bedroom with a school friend, William Slade. The two were engaged in what Lucian's father described as "an unspeakably depraved, unnatural and unhealthy activity". So incensed was his father that he turned the boy out onto the streets of Pellham and vowed that hell would freeze over before he ever clapped eyes on the boy again.
Personally, I found his reaction to be rather curious since I had first-hand knowledge of the depraved, unnatural and unhealthy acts in which he himself partook. But more of that, perhaps, later.
William Slade's father, on the other hand, found the entire episode to be thoroughly enchanting and immediately made plans for his son to be enrolled in the De Sade Military Academy; lucky chap ...
Lucian, however, was left entirely to his own devices. The streets of Pellham were not exactly friendly to a homeless young boy of twelve - especially one who was used to a life of genteel surroundings. He was too scared by the reaction of his father to attempt to enter the homes of any of his friends in case their parents had received word of his deeds and reacted in a similar fashion to his father. He decided that the best course of action was to visit his Uncle Cedric, a benevolent, gracious vicar in the small country parish of Durly just outside the great city.
Cedric had been the youngest of five and, as was expected of the youngest son, had entered into the church. The eldest son, Victor, had inherited the bulk of the family estate and the rest had careers in the army, navy or in business. Lucian's father, Kenelm, the middle son, had made his particular fortune in shipping.
Lucian had now to figure out how to get to Durly to seek the protection of his Uncle Cedric. He had no money and no firm idea of the direction in which he should travel but he did know that there was a carriage depot nearby ...
On the few times he had visited the depot before it had been bustling with people getting on carriages, people loading and unloading luggage, but when Lucian got there it was completely devoid of people in the main forecourt. He could hear activity coming from the stable at the back of the court and headed in that direction. As he poked his head round the open doorway he was surprised to see a tall, muscular black man, stripped to the waist mucking out one of the stalls. There were very few black men in Pellham and Lucian had certainly never spoken to one.
"Excuse me ..." he began, somewhat hesitantly.
The black man turned around quickly at the sound of Lucian's voice, droplets of sweat flying from his body.
"Well, what have we here?" asked the man, grinning and wiping the sweat from his brow with his sinewy forearm. "Is this my supper or has some little white boy wandered in to the wrong place?"
"I'm trying to get to Durly," explained Lucian.
"No more carriages today," grunted the man, returning to his work. "Come back tomorrow morning."
"Please," said Lucian, "I have nowhere to stay tonight. I ... I've been traveling," he said, grasping for an excuse - anything but the awful truth. "I missed my last carriage and I've no money ..."
The black man leaned on his fork and stared at the small boy. "No money?" he asked. "Then how in hell do you expect to get a carriage to Durly?"
"I ... I don't know," admitted Lucian. "Perhaps I could help you, work for my fare ..."
"You ever mucked out stables before, boy?"
"No, but I'm sure I could do it. I'm quite strong and I learn fast ..."
"And you'll do just as I say?" asked the black man.
"Oh, yes, sir," agreed Lucian enthusiastically.
"Well, all right then," said the man, nodding his head slowly. "For starters, you better get out o'them wet clothes.
Lucian looked confused.
"Wet ..? But, sir," he stammered, "my clothes aren't wet."
In a flash the tall black man spun around, grabbed hold of a bucket and flung the contents at Lucian, drenching him completely in an acrid smelling amber liquid. Lucian gasped in shock.
"Boy, you just said you'd do anything I told you," snarled the black man. "I told you you were wet, now you are. Now get out of them wet clothes before the stink of that horse piss sinks into your lily white flesh and stays there forever."
It occurred to Lucian that he should just turn tail and get the hell out of there but the thought of running through the streets with his clothes drenched in horse urine didn't appeal to him. Nervously he disrobed with the black man, leaning on his fork, watching his every move.
"You can lay them over the side of the stall there," said the man. "They'll be dry by morning. Take your drawers off too ... and your shoes and stockings. Might even find something else for you to wear ..."
Blushing, Lucian stood before the man completely naked and embarrassedly tried cover his genitals with his hands. The big black man laughed.
"No point trying to hide that little thing, white boy," he chuckled. "It'd be hard enough to find with a magnifying glass and a button-hook! Here," he said, thrusting a dung-fork at Lucian. "Fork up all this horse shit and put it in the barrow then I'll show you where to heap it. You got this stall to finish and three more ... then I have a few more jobs for you to finish."
"And my passage to Durly, sir?" asked Lucian tremulously.
"Oh, don't worry, white boy," chuckled the black man ominously. "We'll got to your passage soon enough ..."
Unaccustomed as he was to such hard, physical labour, it took Lucian a full two hours to muck out the stalls and heap the manure in the farm cart. He soon got over his embarrassment of being completely naked - especially when having to wheel the barrow across the open forecourt - but he soon got used to it and eventually thought no more of it. By the time he finished, the sun had well-and-truly set and Lucian was filthy, covered in sweat, horse dung and starting to feel the chill of the night air. He entered the tack room where the black man was smoking a pipe and working a piece of wood with a small, sharp knife.
"Excuse me, sir," stammered Lucian. "I've finished the stables. Have I earned my passage yet?"
The black man chuckled.
"So far," he said, "only I've earned your passage ..." He chuckled again. "Anyway, I told you I have a few more jobs for you before I can allow you to get on the carriage for Durly ... And call me 'Mister Soir'."
"Mister 'Swar', sir?"
"'Soir'! Don't you know nothing, white boy? It's French for 'night'," he snarled. "And you're about to have a very long night ... Follow me."
Submissively, Lucian followed the muscular Mister Soir up the narrow flight of wooden stairs to a small room above the tack room. By the light of Mister Soir's lantern he could see that the room was only roughly furnished with an iron bed, a wooden chest and a set of wooden drawers. Mister Soir placed the lantern on the drawers next to a wash-basin and jug. He turned to face Lucian who had stopped in the doorway, unsure what to do.
"You shivering, white boy," he stated. "Why? Not cold up here ..."
Lucian had to admit that it certainly wasn't cold in the room. The fire from the tack room down below had heated this attic space extremely well.
"I ... I don't know, Mister Soir," admitted Lucian, hesitantly. "I ... I don't know what is expected of me, sir. I ... I'm .... a little nervous, Mister Soir."
If Lucian had had the vocabulary of experience, he would have realised that he was shivering not so much through nervousness, as by sheer excitement. The lamplight flickered over Mister Soir's broad, naked, muscular chest and Lucian was excited by it. This same man had taken control of him, had ordered him to do work that he would never have considered previously .... and Lucian was excited by it. And now he was alone with this strong, muscular black man. Excitement ...
Mister Soir smiled coolly at the boy and sat on the edge of his bed, his legs apart.
"You a guest here, white boy, and Mister Soir is you host. Gonna teach you how a real man thanks his host. You do want to be a real man some day, white boy?"
"Yes," replied Lucian nervously, still unsure of the situation.
"Come here then, white boy," he said indicating a spot on the floor before him. "And kneel down. Your first job is to take off my boots."
Slowly, Lucian approached the man and did as he was bid, kneeling down and grasping the heel of the tight rubber Wellington boot and pulling. Mister Soir braced himself against the frame of the bed and the boot slid free. Mister Soir immediately grabbed the boot and forced Lucian's face into the opening.
"Breathe in that smell, white boy," he growled. "That's the smell of a real man, not a sad little tich like you ... Suck in that stink, white boy! It'll help you grow into a big strong man like Mister Soir!"
Lucian had no choice but to obey. Mister Soir's strong hand gripped the back of head, burying his face in the pungent work-boot. His heart was pounding, he was scared, terrified ... and excited. Just as he thought he would pass out, Mister Soir released him and threw the boot unceremoniously into a corner.
"Next one," he snarled.
This time, as the boot slipped free, Mister Soir shoved his naked foot into Lucian's face and held his head in place.
"Breathe again, white boy. Come on. That's essence of man you breathing in ... Deep breaths, now. You want to grow into a big strong man, don't you? Want muscles like Mister Soir? Want a big man-cock like Mister Soir? Huh? Then you breathe in my man-essence, white boy, suck it up!"
Lucian's mind was in a whirl. He knew this was wrong, it was what his father would call 'perverted', 'unnatural', 'depraved'. This man was dangerous, so strong and powerful that he could snap him in two without even thinking about it. He knew that he should run from this room, flee down the stairs and escape into the street, screaming for a policeman ...
But something held him in place, something more powerful than fear. Was it the harsh, cruel words of Mister Soir? Was it the intoxicating stench of the man's feet? Whatever the reason, nature seemed to take control and before he even knew what he was doing, Lucian had opened his mouth and started sucking, slurping on the sole of Mister Soir's foot, not only breathing in the man's essence, but drinking it, swallowing it, reveling in it.
He heard Mister Soir groan.
"Now you got it, white boy," he said, his voice softer than before. "Now you starting to thank me like a real man thanks his host. You keep sucking on my big black nigger feet like that and you soon be a real man. Get you own to muck out the stalls. Suck on my toes, white boy, get you tongue to work ..."
Lucian scrambled to obey, eagerly sucking, slurping, lapping at the man's feet, alternating between the two as Mister Soir presented them to Lucian's drool-soaked face. Eventually Mister Soir shoved a foot against Lucian's chest and pushed him away. Lucian felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable, sitting on his naked arse in the middle of the room, his mouth gaping open and spit forming a pool in his over-excited crotch.
Mister Soir stood up and, tugging at the buttons on his breeches, pointed at Lucian's throbbing cock.
"What the fuck is that, boy?" he laughed.
"It ... it's my cock, Mister Soir," murmured Lucian, embarrassed beyond recognition.
Mister Soir roared with laughter.
"Cock?!" he gasped. "You call that sad little wizzle a 'cock'? White boy, you lucky you got Mister Soir to teach you what a real cock is! This," he said ripping off his breeches, "this is a cock!"
Lucian felt his eyes glaze over as he stared at the amazing sight before him. He'd been suitably impressed with his friend, William Slade's cock which was a good half-inch longer than Lucian's own but the monster that met his eyes now was formidable. He felt instantly ashamed at calling his own tiny member a 'cock'. Mister Soir's huge, hard, throbbing, drooling slab of slick, black man-flesh would surely shame many horses! Lucian felt his fear return as it battled with awe and sheer hunger.
"Don't be shy little white boy," cooed Mister Soir, standing proudly with his feet apart, hands on hips, his huge cock bobbing and drooling in front of him. "You like the taste of Mister Soir's stinking feet ... this tastes even better."
He took three long, casual steps to stand in front of the gulping boy, the head of his massively engorged cock just a breath away from Lucian's flushing face. A long, thick stream of pre-cum drooled from the massive purple-black plum head and splattered on the floor between Lucian's legs.
"Lick, white boy. Lick my black horse-cock."
The thick shaft glistened with precum and Lucian winced as he tentatively touched the tip of his tongue to the hard, hot shaft.
"Don't be shy, white boy. You gonna need a lot of thick black man cock before you own little dick grows. Come on ... lick it, suck on it ... This is you toy for the night, white boy. You gonna have a lot of fun ..."
Lucian gulped, flattened his tongue and gave the giant member a long, slow swipe. He took a second to savour the taste. Sweet, salty ... this was wrong! So very wrong! It was perverse! Defiled! Disgusting! and he wanted more! He clamped his mouth around the edge of the shaft and started sucking, slurping, just the way he had with Mister Soir's glorious feet. Mister Soir was right ... this did taste better than his feet. He scrambled to his knees so as to get better access to his new wonderful toy, sucking on every inch of that massive shaft, slavering his tongue over the head, digging in to Mister Soir's piss hole and sucking out the glorious juice that was gushing out. He swept lower, playing hi mouth and tongue over Mister Soir's magnificent black bull balls, marveling the tufts of tight black hair that clung to them.
"Damn, white boy!" groaned Mister Soir. "You a fucking natural! Hard to find a whore on Bassett Street as good as you! Work my nasty black horse cock, white boy! Suck on it!"
After some five minutes of this work, Mister Soir grabbed Lucian by the hair on the back of his head and pulled him away from the wonderful toy leaving Lucian gasping, groaning for more. Mister Soir leaned down, his face mere inches away from Lucian's.
"You want more, white boy?" he spat.
"Please, Mister Soir," gasped young Lucian. "Oh, please, sir ..."
Mister Soir, still grasping Lucian roughly by his hair, raised the boy to his feet.
"Go lie on the bed, white boy. On you back. Head over the edge. Mister Soir gonna feed his boy ..."
Without even pausing to consider what 'feeding' meant, Lucian hurried to obey. He was now eager to obey this wonderfully powerful man, this man who had given him so much pleasure by controlling him, ordering him to do things that he never dreamed possible. He felt oddly safe, secure.
"Open you mouth, white boy ... wide as you can. Mister Soir gonna feed his black horse-cock down you throat ... No teeth, white boy. I feel you teeth on my cock and Mister Soir gonna knock them out of you head. Open wide."
Mister Soir aimed his rock-hard cock at the gaping mouth that was presented for him and eased about four inches into the boy's mouth. The boy locked his lips around the shaft, being careful to keep his teeth out of the way, and started wrapping his tongue around the massive cock head. He'd sucked William Slade's cock before but that was like comparing gooseberries with melons!
"Good boy," moaned Mister Soir. "Good little white boy! You making Mister Soir one happy man ... But you got more to go yet, white boy. Relax you tongue. Mister Soir gonna feed you some more ...."
Lucian did as instructed and felt Mister Soir ease even more of his wonderfully thick hot man cock into his mouth. It struck something at the entrance to Lucian's throat, causing the boy to panic. He felt himself gagging, choking and struggled to free the invasive monster.
Mister Soir withdrew a little and placed a firm restraining hand on Lucian's bony chest.
"Easy, white boy," he cooed. "Mister Soir gonna go down there if you like it or not. Now ... breathe in through you nose ... deep breath ... relax ... you gonna love this."
Once Lucian had recovered, Mister Soir again started sliding his cock down Lucian's throat. He got two inches further down before Lucian started convulsing, his throat spasming around the choking invader. Mister Soir loved it.
"Yeah! Choke on my man-cock, white boy! Just make you slick it up more!"
Again, Mister Soir withdrew, allowing Lucian to gulp for air, coughing up thick wads of phlegm.
"Don't loose all that throat snot, white boy!" growled Mister Soir. "That stuff makes it easier for you and much better for me! Breathe through your nose when I pull out ..."
Even Mister Soir was impressed at how quickly the boy learned to swallow his freakishly huge organ. Within minutes he was plunging down the boy's throat over and over again, ramming his horse-cock balls-deep down the boy's slick churning throat. Lucian was frantically gasping for air whenever possible but was impossibly excited about giving himself up to this man's pleasure.
"Aah, shit, white boy!" yelled Mister Soir. "Take my fucking horse cock!! Take me deep, white boy! Aah! Fuck! Fuck! Here it is, you little shit! Take my man juice! Fucking take it!!"
Lucian was again struck with fear as Mister Soir lodged his dick deep down his boy throat and held it there. He felt the impossibly huge cock swell even larger as Mister Soir bellowed his triumph.
"Fucking cumming, boy!!" he yelled. "Filling you with my fucking man juice! Take it! Take it! Fuck!"
Suddenly Mister Soir ripped his still spasming cock from Lucian's throat and, still blasting cum, fired rope upon rope of his precious juice all over Lucian's gaping, gasping, drooling face.
It took a full minute before Mister Soir recovered from his massive blast. He collapsed to his knees, held Lucian's slime coated face between his hands and slowly lapped up every trace of slime, snot, sweat, phlegm and cum from the boy's upturned face. His eyes locked on to the boy's for a few seconds before he locked his lips on to Lucian's and feed the lot back into Lucian's mouth.
"Swallow," he said simply. "Swallow it all. It's good for you. Make you a man."
Lucian happily obeyed, savouring the mingled flavours.
Exhausted, Mister Soir threw himself on to the bed and dragged Lucian around in front of him, cradling the boy in his strong arms and nuzzling his neck, his half-hard cock nudging at the crack of the boys sweet little arse crack.
"One more job, white boy," me murmured into the boy's ear. "and then you've earned you ticket to Durly ..."
Lucian instinctively realised what the 'one-more-job' was as he felt Mister Soir grind his meat into his arse crack. Something throbbed deep inside him - something dark, primitive and yearning but his fears flooded his brain once again.
"Oh, please, Mister Soir," he sobbed. "I don't want to be ... I don't think I can ..."
"Hush, little white boy," murmured Mister Soir, pulling the boy close to his chest with one arm while reaching behind him to dip his fingers in the bowl of goose-fat beside the bed. "You come some close to being a real man ... You loved Mister Soir's feet didn't you?"
"Yes, Mister Soir," groaned Lucian as he felt his master tickling his tight little boy hole with greasy fingers.
"And you loved Mister Soir's big black bull balls, didn't you, white boy?"
"Oh, God, yes, Mister Soir ...." he moaned as the black buck teased the tip of a finger through his virgin ring.
"And didn't you want more of Mister Soir's big black horse-cock slamming down your little slut white-boy throat?"
"Yes ... No ... Oh, please Mister Soir ... I don't know ... I want .... Ooooh!" the boy blathered as his black god wormed a greased finger deep inside him. The throbbing he'd felt before intensified, pounding in his ears, feelings of pain and unknown pleasure washing over him, confusing him, scaring him
"Oh, fuck!" screamed Lucian. "What are you ...? Ooooh ....."
Mister Soir rolled Lucian onto his back and lay on top of the boy, one finger still up the boy's sweet little hole, playfully teasing the virgin pucker.
"Breathe deep, white boy," said Mister Soir, clamping a sweaty armpit over the boy's mouth and nose. "Lick, suck ..."
Lucian struggled to concentrate on his task, breathing, swallowing the musky essence of the man's lusciously dank wet armpit, all the while aware of the finger ... fingers ... worming their way into his most private of places, stretching him, probing him, touching places that he never knew existed. He didn't know how to react to the conflicting feelings: should he scream in pain? Moan with pleasure? Struggle and fight his way from this terrible invasion.
As the boy beneath him sucked on his armpit, Mister Soir watched him closely, enjoying the play of confused mixed emotions on the boy's face as he wormed two, three skilled fingers into the boy's rectum, gently stretching the sphincter and toying with the boy's immature prostrate. Mister Soir was loving it. He'd had boys before ... but this one was so fragile, yet willing ... innocent and yet ... such a slut! The boy writhed and groaned into Mister Soir's armpit as he eased a fourth finger in to the spasming hole.
"Good boy," crooned Mister Soir into Lucian's ear. "Good little white boy ... that's just Mister Soir's fingers playing a game ... You starting to like this game, huh?"
Lucian winced, groaned. It was true - the good feelings were starting to take over. The throbbing was becoming more persistent, demanding ... He felt an odd, unknown itch somewhere deep inside him; and he instinctively knew how to scratch that itch!
"Yes, Mister Soir," he gasped. "Please! I love this game! Pleease ..."
In one sudden action, Mister Soir ripped his fingers from Lucian's play hole, grabbed the boys hands and pinned them down on the bed above his head, scooped up a handful of goose-fat, slathered up his rampant slab of meat and pressed the head against Lucian's tender, twitching hole.
Lucian gasped at the suddenness of the action and stared up at Mister Soir's intently grinning face, sweat dripping down onto Lucian's own face and torso.
"You nearly a man, white boy," panted Mister Soir, looming over the small boy. "Ain't nothing gonna be the same again. Mister Soir told you he'd make you a man and this the time. Just breathe ... like I told you before, slow and deep ... and now you gotta relax. Relax you hole ... push out like you having a shit ... like you having the biggest shit you ever had. Cos that's what you gonna be doing ... only it ain't going out ... it going in!"
Before he was aware of anything else, Lucian saw Mister Soir's eyes open wide, his broad nostrils flare and a huge grin crack his face wide open as Mister Soir pressed forward and eased his impossibly huge cock-head into the boy's tight virginal rosebud.
Three streets away on Baker's Row, Police Constable Hensley heard the scream and grinned to himself.
"Soir's bagged another one," he chuckled to himself, shaking his head gently. His arse hole twitched.
"Relax how I told you, white boy," murmured Mister Soir, delighting in the spasming, twitching chute of boy flesh that was grasping his huge pole. "The worst is over. You really learning how to be a man now. Just gonna get better and better ..."
Lucian groaned as he felt the white-hot rock on which he was impaled slowly, slowly pull out of his painfully throbbing hole until just the head remained inside him.
"Please," sobbed Lucian. "No more ... I can't ... I ...."
"Relax, little man," crooned Mister Soir. "Push out. Mister Soir can wait. Mister Soir wants his little man to love this..."
Through tear filled eyes, Lucian looked up into the face the loomed above him - a face filled with caring and joy, patience and calmness. He was aware of the huge log that was still stretching his hole open to impossible, gigantic, painful proportions ... but he swallowed, took a deep breath and pushed down, his eyes still locked on those of Mister Soir.
"Good little man ..."
And he slowly eased his rampant horse-cock back into the boy all the way. He held for a few seconds, marveling at the boy's wide-eyed look of amazement, then slowly started to withdraw. He repeated the action, reminding the boy to relax, to bear down, gradually pumping faster and faster until he felt the boy thrusting back into him, meeting him pound for pound, thrust for thrust. He unleashed his fuck-demons and slammed into the all-too-willing boy, fucking him, screwing him, blasting his little hole wide upon in a fuck that he knew the boy could never forget.
"Argh! Shit! Fuck me! Please, Mister Soir!" babbled the boy, throwing his body back against the man's powerful thrusts. "Screw my hole! Please! Fill me! Argh!"
It took a full hour before Mister Soir was ready to blast the boy's guts full of his scalding jism. Within that time he had the boy in more positions than were reasonably expected of the Kama Sutra and Lucian had blasted forth no less than three loads of boy cum himself.
Finally, Mister Soir wrapped his arms around the exhausted Lucian, his dick still lodged deep in the boy's guts.
"See, little man," murmured Mister Soir. "That's how a real man thanks his host..."
And the two fell into a deep, satisfied sleep...
The coach for Durly left at 7.30am precisely and Mister Soir arose with the first light.
"Come on, little man," he said, roughly shaking the still sleeping Lucian awake. "There's work to do."
He rummaged around in the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out a coarse shirt, jacket, breeches, stockings and a stout pair of boots that he threw at Lucian.
"Here," he grunted. "Put these on. Don't want to scare the gentleman travelers with your naked body."
Lucian, still half asleep and more than aware of throbbing ache coming from his boy hole regarded the rough clothing speciously.
"But ... but what about my own clothes?" he asked. "Surely they're dry by now?"
"You want to travel to Durly in clothes what stink of horse piss?" asked Mister Soir. "You mad, little man ... Hurry up. Get dressed."
The next hour-and-a-half was a rushed flurry of harnessing horses, eating bread-and-cheese, loading luggage and all the sundry other tasks that were required to ready the coach for departure. A solemn group of six elderly lawyers took up the seats inside the carriage while a young tutor, destined for a private teaching job in some grand house, sat beside the driver. Lucian was to share space on the rear exterior seat between a jovial fat man and a rather nervous young cleric.
"Up you get, white boy," said Mister Soir, pushing Lucian towards the step.
"I don't want to go ..." said Lucian. "Please, Mister Soir ... I want to stay with you."
"Oh, white boy ..." sighed Mister Soir.
"Please, Mister Soir," begged Lucian, tears brimming his eyes. "I'll muck out the stalls - I'll get better at it, I know I will. I'll clean the harnesses and bridles and ... I'll polish the brasses ... and ... and ... I know I'll get better at ... at what we did last night .... Please, Mister Soir ... please ..."
"What's the hold up, boy?" bellowed a fat old man. "It's 7:31! This coach should be on its way!"
"Yes, sir!" said Mister Soir. "Sorry, sir. Just loading one last passenger, sir."
Mister Soir grabbed Lucian by the hips and hoisted him up into the seat.
"Good luck in Durly," he said. "And if you ever get back to Pellham, you be sure and look for me ... little man. Thank you, Mister Sage!"
"Thank you, boy," called Mister Sage, the coach driver. He urged the horses on and the coach lurched in to action.
From his rear seat Lucian returned Mister Soir's farewell wave but the tears in his eyes meant that he could not see the fat old man approaching Mister Soir with a bullwhip in his hand ...
"I always find an external coach seat so much more bracing than being stuffed inside," said the jovial fat man as the coach drew clear of the Pellham city walls.
"Indeed," replied the nervous young cleric. "being stuffed inside can be so ... well ... uncomfortable."
"Quite right! Quite right!" expostulated the jovial fat man. "Fresh air is so good for the body! Fresh air, I always say, fresh air!"
"Yes," said the nervous young cleric. "As Saint Dorkas often said - 'Fresh air and butter doth ...' Oh. No. Not 'butter' ... and I'm not sure it was Saint Dorkas ... perchance it was Saint Thorold ... something about bees ... or brandy ... or ..."
"Martin Chadwick," said the jovial fat man, extending his podgy paw across Lucian towards the nervous young cleric.
"Oh," said the nervous young cleric, grasping Mister Chadwick's proffered hand. "Ingham. Josiah Ingham. From the Dakington Inghams. My paternal great-great Grandfather was second cousin to the Duke of Hales."
"Extraordinary! Extraordinary!" declared Mister Chadwick. "But let us not overlook our young companion, here," he continued, turning his focus to Lucian with nothing short of lust in his eyes ... and his groin. "And what is your name, my good young sir?"
"If you please, sir," said Lucian. "My name is Lucian. Lucian Howell Phineas Pengelly."
Mister Chadwick took a moment to digest this and then roared with laughter.
"Ha! It seems our young companion has a charming sense of humour," he roared, dabbing the tears of mirth from his expansive, florid face. "A coach line slutboy claiming to be a Pengelly? Ha! Too funny, sir! Too, too funny! I suggest you drop your comic routine, boy, and give Mister Ingham a nice suck-job, eh? What say you, Mister Ingham? A nice suck-job from Little Lord Pengelly to ease the frustrations of our journey?"
Mister Ingham pursed his lips disapprovingly.
"Fellatio, Mister Chadwick," he explained primly, "is an evil abomination. Besides, I prefer the more tactile connection of anal-penile stimulation."
"What's that you say, Mister Ingham?" asked Mister Chadwick looking very perplexed.
"I'm going to fuck him, Mister Chadwick," explained Mister Ingham. "He can suck you first, if such is your preference, but then he will mount my prick and be fucked up the arse like a good coach line slutboy should be."
Mister Chadwick threw his head back and roared with laughter.
"Capital!" he declared. "Absolutely first rate! Well, little Lord Pengelly, to your work, sir! Unbutton my breeches and suck my cock with all haste. We are quite clear of the town and I am sure that the occasional rural worker we might happen to pass will not be offended by the sight. Carry on, boy! Carry on!"
Lucian was, frankly, a little disappointed when he released Mister Chadwick's cock into the open air. It was surely not even a third the size of Mister Soir's magnificent member and he was able to swallow it easily without any risk of choking. It tasted more of soap than sweat but Lucian rather enjoyed being able to swallow the entire thing and still have room to use his tongue to further please the man. It took no more than five minutes work before Mister Chadwick grasped Lucian by the back of his head, started trembling and, with a curious cry of "Oh! my sweet Chessick!", filled the boys mouth with his seed.
"Your turn, I believe, Mister Ingham," panted Mister Chadwick.
Lucian turned to face Mister Ingham with a shy smile on his face.
"Get your britches off, boy," said Mister Ingham, pouring oil from a small flask all over his erect, exposed penis, "and come and sit in my lap ..."
The constant jostling of the carriage made Lucian's task rather difficult but he eventually managed to wriggle out of his breeches, working them over his boots, and to slide his still tender hole over Mister Ingham's cock whilst desperately holding on to the luggage rail for fear of falling. It soon became obvious that Mister Ingham expected Lucian to do all the work and so, squatting over the man's lap, he started thrusting his chute up and down on the mans cock. Although much longer than Mister Chadwick's member and with a surprisingly large head, it was still nothing in comparison to the monster that had given Lucian so much pain and pleasure the night before.
It took Mister Ingham a good fifteen minutes before he released his seed into the depths of Lucian pumping arsehole - and even then Lucian was not sure that man had orgasmed until he dismissed the boy perfunctually.
"Enough," he snapped. "Get off me and sit down again. And don't drip everywhere!"
It was another hour-and-a half before the coach stopped at a tavern to change horses and Lucian spent much of that time with his breeches still off and his head in Mister Chadwick's lap while Mister Ingham idly played with the boy's gaping hole..
When they finally did arrive at the Drover's Arms Mister Sage, the coach driver, seconded Lucian to help the stable boy to change the horses. The other passengers went into the tavern for food and drink but Lucian had no time for such small luxuries as he released the horses from their harness, lead them to the stables, brushed them down and helped harness the fresh horses. By the time they were finished Mister Sage was ready to leave again and the passengers were resuming their places in the coach.
Just inside the stable door, the stable boy, an agile, muscular young lad of sixteen years, grabbed hold of Lucian and pushed him against the wall.
"It's a pity you can't stay longer," said the boy, forcing Lucian's hand onto his amply-packed crotch. "I'd like to've seen what you could do with this..."
Lucian gasped as his fingers grasped hold of the stable boy's rock-hard cock through the fabric of his well-worn breeches.
The stable boy grinned and winked. He leaned forward, bringing his lips up to Lucian's and thrust his tongue into the boy's mouth.
"Maybe next time, eh?" he said with a leer. "You better scarper or old man Sage'll be after you."
Lucian ran back into the forecourt of the tavern and was preparing to again take his position on the exposed rear seat between Mister Chadwick and Mister Ingham when Mister Sage yelled out to him.
"Not there, boy. Inside!" he barked.
Lucian went back around the side of the coach, opened the door, and stepped inside. The faces of all six elDurly lawyers turned as one to face him with stony silence.
"Ah," said one of them. "The in-coach entertainment has arrived."
"Well get on with it, boy," snapped another. "Britches off and get on all fours on the floor between us. You have work to do and we have business to discuss."
The coach gave a lurch as Mister Sage whipped up the horses and they carried on down the road towards Durly. As Lucian went about his work, which seemed to consist of sucking on the cock of each man in turn and occasionally receiving a cock up his hole, the six lawyers discussed briefs and writs with concern for or acknowledge of Lucian in the slightest. While sucking one cock, Lucian felt the man explode in his mouth while the man continued to discuss the finer points of some point of law quite calmly.
Lucian was kept in this humbling position for the next two hours or so until finally, mercifully the coach stopped at Durly. The boy was again expected to help unload the luggage and help tend to the horses before he was finally freed from his labours and allowed to seek out the vicarage.
Although Durly is by no means a large town - indeed, it is hardly more than a village - it still took the exhausted Lucian a full forty-five minutes before he reached the haven of his uncle's house.
Filthy from his experiences and trembling with exhaustion, Lucian rang the front door bell and waited patiently. With a few seconds the door opened and there stood Mister Parks, Uncle Cedric's faithful housekeeper of many years.
"Go away, boy," scowled Mister Parks, failing to recognize Lucian. "The vicar doesn't allow beggars here. You must apply to the poor-house if you expect alms."
And with that he slammed the door in the boy's face.
"But Mister Parks," yelled Lucian in desperation, pounding his fists on the door. "It's me! Lucian Pengelly! I must see my uncle! Please, Mister Parks!"
The door opened a crack and Mister Park's shocked face peered down at the boy.
"Master Lucian??" he whispered.
Lucian's world suddenly turned to black as the poor boy fainted in a heap on the steps of the vicarage.
Two hours later Lucian was sitting up in bed between clean linen sheets and with a worry of pillows behind his back and head.
"I'm pleased to see you're feeling a little better, my boy," said Lucian's Uncle Cedric as Mister Park removed a tray with the remains of beef broth and a generous slice of ham-and-veal pie. "But I do wish that your father had written to advise me of your arrival. Most unlike him. He's usually so organized."
"I'm afraid, Uncle Cedric," replied Lucian, "that my father was unaware of this journey."
"Whatever are you telling me, Lucian?" asked uncle Cedric, looking slightly shocked. "You've run away from home?"
"Not exactly, uncle," said Lucian. " I'm rather afraid that he's turned me out of the house and declared that he never wanted to lay eyes on me again."
"Good gracious me!" declared Uncle Cedric, reaching for a handkerchief to mop his perplexed brow.
"You see, he caught me kneeling in front of my friend, William Slade and assumed that I was ..."
"Quite," coughed Uncle Cedric, feeling quite uncomfortable. "Yes, I can quite understand. Kenelm always was one for jumping to conclusions. I'm sure that there's a very credible explanation for your having been discovered in so compromising a position..."
"Oh, but there is, Uncle," explained Lucian seriously. "I was sucking his cock."
"You were ...?!" spluttered Uncle Cedric.
"I suppose that really, he should have been sucking my cock; I was his host after all ... but I didn't understand about then. That's probably why Father was so upset. Is it right that I should thank you now, Uncle?"
"Thank me, Lucian?" asked Uncle Cedric, more than a little confused.
"Yes, Uncle," replied Lucian. "For taking me in and feeding me. I'm feeling much better now and I should very much like to thank you ... as a real man should."
"Really, Lucian," said Uncle Cedric in a daze. "There's no need to ..."
"Do you have any goose fat, Uncle? A little oil would do ... but I suspect that you're a little larger than Mister Ingham ...."
I was in my study working from copious notes on the final copy of a chapter for my next book. It dealt with the sexual stimulation of the nipple through the use of fingers, lips, teeth, tongue, the application of clamps and the use of various suction devices. I had given my staff strict instructions that I was not to be disturbed, which is why I was all the more perturbed when, after hearing the front door bell ring, the door to my study eased open and Morgan, my young footman, entered.
"Begging your pardon, Mister Drummond," said Morgan tentatively, "but the Vicar's here with a young boy, sir. I've shown them into the library."
"Dammit, Morgan," I fumed. "I told you I was not to be disturbed! You're bloody lucky that my next chapter is about castration or I'd use you as a guinea pig!"
"The way you did for the chapter on prostrate stimulation, sir? I enjoyed that chapter, sir ..."
"Don't be cheeky, Morgan," I replied. "This had better be bloody important."
I dismissed the boy from under my desk who had been suckling my balls, rearranged my clothing appropriately and entered the library to find a very agitated Vicar pacing up and down and a rather confused looking young boy of about twelve years who was sitting nervously on a small chair.
"My dear Vicar," I began, crossing the room to shakes hands with him. "How delightful of you to call. And with such charming company."
"Such stories, Mister Drummond!" cried the Vicar in anguish, completely ignoring my greeting. "Such vile events! Unspeakable horrors, Mister Drummond! Unspeakable!"
"I'm afraid, Mister Pengelly," I replied levelly, "that you must speak of at least some of these horrors or I won't have the faintest idea what you're talking about or, indeed, of how I might assist you."
"Do forgive me, Mister Drummond," said the Vicar, a little more calmly. "You see, it's the boy, my nephew, Lucian. He's been ... violated, sir."
"Violated?" I queried, fairly bursting with curiosity.
"Carnally, sir," said the Vicar quietly. "He has been introduced to carnal knowledge in the most obscene manner and even, I am loathe to say it, sir, even offered to share his new-found knowledge with me ... physically!"
"I see," I replied. "And what would have me do about it, Mister Pengelly?"
"Mister Drummond," he replied. "I am a simple man of the cloth. I have no knowledge of matters such as those that my nephew has tried to tell me. You understand these things, Mister Drummond and I trust you implicitly. Your excellent work with young boys is well known, sir. You create gentlemen, sir. Proper little gentlemen."
'Gentlemen?' I thought to myself. 'They're nothing but charming, well-mannered little sluts ...'
"Will you take the boy, Mister Drummond?" continued the Vicar. "I am not a wealthy man but my brother will surely see sense and offer some form of remuneration."
"Money is not an issue, my dear Vicar," I said. "Of course I shall take the boy. He looks strong and bright and I'm sure I can find some suitable position for him within my household ..."
"Oh, thank you, Mister Drummond!" cried the Vicar enthusiastically wringing my hand. "A thousand times, thank you, sir!"
After I'd shown the Vicar to the door I got Morgan to organize an early tea and then returned to the library. Young Lucian still sat quietly on his chair. I gently drew another chair in front of him and sat facing him.
"I understand you've been having some adventures, young Master Lucian," I said quietly.
"I rather suppose I have, sir," he replied. "Is my uncle very angry with me?"
"Not angry, I don't think," I told him. "But you did manage to shock him somehow."
"I just wanted to thank him, sir. For helping me. I wanted to thank him like a man, sir. The way Mister Soir taught me ..."
"Soir?!" I said "A large black fellow?"
"Yes, sir," said the boy. Then he giggled. "Very large ... He told me I was to thank him for helping me."
"And just how did he get you to thank him?"
"I licked his feet, sir - to start with. Then I sucked on his cock and he pushed it all the way down my throat, sir. I thought I might die, sir, but Mister Soir said it was how I should become a man. Then he fucked me, sir. Is that the right word, sir? Fuck? It hurt at first but after a while I started to like it..."
"Soir?" I asked incredulously. "Charlie Soir was the first to take your cherry? Good God, boy! I'm amazed that you manage to sit on that chair without your poor battered hole swallowing it!"
Lucian giggled.
"He was rather big, sir."
"That, young Lucian," I chuckled, "is putting it mildly."
At that point Morgan entered with our tea, placed the tray on a small table next to my chair so that I could pour and, as was his custom, sat on the floor beside me. I idly ran my fingers through his blond curls as I continued my tale for Lucian.
"Charlie Soir arrived in this country when just fifteen years old," I explained. "But even at that tender age he gained employment in a traveling freak show, billed as 'Ferocio! The Ethiopian Colossus!'. Despite the fact that he was from Jamaica, there was no denying that he was colossal ... I've often wondered what became of him...
"Morgan. Draw a hot bath for young Master Lucian here, will you. Plenty of salts. And have some of that arnica balm handy. This poor boy's abused hole needs some tender ministrations for a change."
"You can trust me, sir," said Morgan as he rose from the floor and quietly slipped out the door.
"Now, young Lucian," I said, turning slightly to pour tea. "While your bath is drawing, let us enjoy this splendid tea that Mister Rourke has created and you can tell me of all your adventures. Leave nothing out. I'm not as easily shocked as your dear uncle ... Crumpet?"
Young Master Lucian Pengelly fitted in very well at Drummond House. His poor hole had indeed been overly abused and although he begged me every day to fuck him, I absolutely forbad it for ten days until he had sufficiently healed ... although I suspect that Morgan broke that particular rule once or twice ...
He soon ingratiated his way into the hearts of the entire household and of my 'guests' and as the months went by he proved to be excellent student. In fact the Bishop of Rentbridge wrote many a florid letter begging me to release the boy into his care and the Duke of Starminster went so far as to write me a cheque for two thousand pounds for the boy.
It was a full six months after I took receipt of Lucian that I received a letter from a gentleman requesting a stay of some four nights, '...with all the trimmings as to which, you are aware, sir, I am accustomed.'.
I wrote back immediately confirming his reservation, thanking him for his very generous support, and ensuring him of some 'unspeakably depraved delights'.
When the gentleman in question arrived three weeks later, Lucian was detained in his room studying some matter of great importance ... worming his fist up a man's arse if I remember correctly. But later that evening I called Lucian to my study.
"There's a small party in the Rose Room tonight, Lucian, and I'd like you to be in attendance," I told him."
"Should I douche myself, sir?" he asked.
"That won't be necessary," I replied. "In this case you'll just be watching."
"Oh, an exhibitionist, sir?" he asked.
"Not exactly," I said. "Have we discussed hypocrisy at all?"
"I don't believe so, sir," he replied, looking rather puzzled. "Is it anything to do with piss?"
The party in the Rose Room was in full flight as I eased the door open and quietly ushered in Lucian. The gentleman was lying on his back, his wrists tied to the bed posts and being fucked quite ruthlessly young Master Pigott who possessed a not insubstantial cock. Two other boys were chewing on the man's nipples while yet another stood above him pissing all over his face.
"Argh!" gargled the man, fighting to swallow the steady stream of piss. "Fuck me you little bastard! Screw my piggy hole! Come on! Nnnnngg! Yes! Chew on my titties, you little pricks! Ah! Make me fucking feel it!"
This went on for a full five minutes before the man even recognised the presence of Lucian in the room. Even then he had to blink heavily once or twice before his sex-addled brain took it in.
"Oh, my God ..." he murmured.
At my signal the other boys stopped immediately leaving the sweating, panting man, piss-and-cum drenched and still tied to the bed, alone in his depraved state, his mouth gaping open in shocked horror.
"Hello, father," said Lucian calmly.
Copyright 2009 - Robert 'StrayF' Hanlen Strayf.hanlen@gmail.com All rights reserved Permission is NOT granted to publish this story in any medium without the author's prior consent.