Catfish Visits a Castle. By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have, any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com
Dr. Wyndom Smith asked me to visit his office at 8:00 Saturday morning. That was not normal visiting hours for a University President. When I entered the office, I saw Clive Moncrieff was there also. He was the President of the Virginia Academy of Art. I had met him before, but Smith was new to me.
"I apologize for the early meeting time," Smith said after introducing himself. "This matter requires great discretion."
I smiled. "Everyone who contacts me requires great discretion. That comes with the territory."
Smith looked me in the eye. "Of course, it was foolish of me to be concerned. I assume you have heard of Trixie DeMont."
"The Billionaire Bimbo?" I had heard of her. She had married Wally Dumont. Dumont had two skills. He made buckets full of money and married young women. I think he may have had six wives, but there could have been more. They were all in their twenties, and buxom in the extreme. He was 75 when he married Trixie. She had been a Playboy Centerfold.
"You may know that Trixie had been generous to the University and to the Academy," Moncrieff said. "Trixie is totally uneducated, but has a heart of gold. She had unusually good taste in art and amassed a fine art collection that is willed to the Academy."
"She has been generous to the University in many ways, you may have noted Wally's only son died three years ago, so Trixie has total control of the estate and endowed the Cancer Center," Smith said. "Over the last year she has been acting erratically. We have become quite concerned about her."
"About her or her inheritance?" I asked.
"Our lawyers are very careful about gifts. There is no way she can take back what had been promised. That is not a problem," Moncrieff said. "We are worried about Trixie's health. My wife is her good and close friend. She thinks something is wrong. My wife use to be a nurse and thinks Trixie's erratic behavior is drug induced. Trixie only has a small portion of the estate left, but that portion may well be a hundred-million or more. That constitutes a temptation in my book."
"Is your wife subject to flights of fancy?" I asked.
Both men burst out laughing. "When you meet her you will realize that is not a possibility," Moncrieff said. "Trixie is at the Castle, and we can't get in to see her. We have no legal standing to demand to see her so we are frozen out."
"Do you want me to get in and check things out?" I asked. They nodded.
"That is exactly want we want. One of my deans has a connection to the head gardener. He can get you in," Smith said. "The Castle is more like a fortified camp now than the mountain retreat it use to be."
We adjourned the meeting and I went to meet Mrs. Smith. Sandra Smith was a tall, commanding woman, more commanding than attractive. She was also direct.
"I met Trixie more than ten years ago. We were at a social function and sat next to each other. She was lost and out of her league. You know she was a media sensation and the butt of many late night comedians' jokes," Mrs. Smith told me. "She asked me what she could do. Well I told he to call me and I would tell her. She asked me if I was serious about that. I told her that as a University President's wife I had seen it all and been in enough odd situations to deal with any problems."
"Well she called me and we had a good talk. I recommended a good dress designer and we went shopping in New York. She has breasts that could be used as the focal point of a World's Fair. We found a designer who could get them under control. She went to a White House function in a new dress and the media raved about the dress and didn't mention the word buxom once. She was in heaven."
"Trixie has no education at all, but is an intelligent woman with good instincts. We are friends, but I have never asked her for a dollar. She is a naturally generous woman. This change in her personality is disturbing," Mrs. Smith concluded. "It came upon her quite quickly. I noticed it coincided with a change in her personal staff. Perhaps it is a physical thing, like a hormone imbalance, but I would put my money on drugs."
"Did she take drugs or self medicate?" I asked.
"Trixie was always strong as a horse and was never sick. She nursed Wally through his last illness and never even got a cold. Wally was a piece of work, difficult when he was in good health. When he was sick, he was a terror. Trixie was a strong woman. She was just a trophy wife to him, but she was a good wife. Wally told me she was the best thing that ever happened to him just before he died. Wally said nothing good about anyone, ever."
"He had disinherited his son, but Trixie took care of Wally junior. He had cancer, but the last years of his life were good due to Trixie," Mrs. Smith continued.
"Who do you think is the problem? A lawyer or servant?"
"I don't have anything more than suspicions," Mrs. Smith relied. "I shouldn't say anything."
"You are smart women, why don't you level with me and simplify things?" I asked.
"Her maid died two years ago and a woman named Sheila took her place. Sheila's husband, Trevor Aspen was a hairdresser, but had been a psychiatric nurse before he took up hairdressing. He joined the staff. Trevor's brother Casey also joined up at about the same time."
"What does he do?" I asked.
"He is the butler and head of security," Mrs. Smith replied. We talked a little longer. Mrs. Smith was smart and sensible. I realized she wasn't an alarmist. There was no evidence, and no one had anything that would be considered standing in a court. I decided to investigate the case.
The Castle was a well-known local landmark. It sat at the top of one of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was the granite summer home of a well-known Richmond industrialist, and imitated a Scottish castle. Officially, it was called Craigmont Castle, but everyone just called it the Castle. It sat on several thousand acres of mountainous landscape. The DeMont's bought it twenty years earlier from the original owners.
I had never visited it, but you could see it from the distance in the fall and winter. There were many local legends about the place. Most had to do with mentally retarded family members or one armed men with a hook in place of a hand? All of this is standard, secluded mansion stuff, and I assume most cities have some house that attracts crackpot theories. I knew some of the descendants of the builders who were perfectly ordinary, conventional people.
I got my office to do some looking into Trevor Aspen and his relatives and then set off to the Castle. There I met Otis Farmer, the head gardener for the Castle. "I'm not sure you can even get to Miss Trixie," he said. "I'm an old hand who came with the castle when DeMont bought it. Officially, I'm the gardener, but I also run the waterworks and the sewage system. Those systems were installed in the 1930s and are prone to be moody, if you know what I mean. The electrical system was last updated in the 1960s. Everything is old and needs to be replaced."
"All the house staff has been replaced since the old man died five year ago," Otis explained. "None of them are natives and most won't talk to a native. They are standoffish. I haven't seen Trixie to talk to in six months. Some popinjay named Trevor gives me orders. His brother Casey is the head butler, but is too lazy to do much of anything the real headman is Ferdinand Bullard. He is Miss Trixie's personal assistant, whatever that means. This use to be a happy place, but it's more like a prison camp now."
"Did something happen to cause the change?"
"The only thing I know is something changed," he continued. "We need someone to help with the garden, but most of all we need some on to be on call during the night. Heaven's Curse, that's our nickname for the water pump seems to dislike damp nights and cuts off. Now it sets off an alarm, and it's easy to fix. You just need to press a reset button."
"The house staff won't set foot into the pump and boiler rooms. They don't like to get their hands dirty. My son use to spend the night here, but he's getting married, so I need someone to take over his duties. There's a bedroom over the pump room," he explained the schedule and showed me the machinery.
Heaven's Curse was actually attractive. It was well maintained and painted in brilliant colors. The problem was inside the pump. Otis was afraid to take apart the machine. He thought it was a Pandora's Box of potential problems. Ferdinand Bullard was a cheapskate. My salary was $7.00 an hour. Replacing the water system would cost many thousands. Of course, money wasn't a problem for the millionaire, but cheapskates are cheapskates and they can't help it.
I moved in that night. I have an old Dodge Duster that inspires no envy, and a single suitcase for my worldly possessions. Ferdinand came by to meet me. He was distinctly unimpressed, but glad I was willing to work for seven bucks an hour. He also said there was no drinking allowed. He had me pegged as an alcoholic.
I was also to do a check on the windows and doors of the house to make sure they were locked every night. Otis took me around to introduce me to the staff. He was afraid I might scare some of them. I met Trevor Aspen, who was unwilling to look me in the eye, Sheila, who looked as if she might catch something if she got too close to me. There was a "footman" named Sean, who was in his twenties and looked a bit like Ferdinand. He didn't have the same last name and I assumed he was a relative of some sort. The butler, Casey, was nowhere to be seen.
The cook, Dugan Smythe-Hilderbrant, looked like a lounge lizard from a 1930s movie. There were two women who helped in the kitchen, but who weren't important enough to have names. I noticed that while Sean and Dugan were too important to look me in the face, they were willing to check out my basket. I wondered if that would develop into something.
I got a cell phone that connected me to the house staff, and connected to the pump alarm. I didn't need to stay in the room to hear the alarm. Otis told me I might get calls from the house to catch a bat flying around, or to clean up after one of Trixie's dogs. The house staff was not self-reliant.
Otis left and I was alone in my room. There was no television, or radio. It was me, my cell phone and a bookshelf of old murders mysteries from the first half of the last century. Nothing was more recent than 1956. There was a chair on the rooftop so I could sit out there and read a mystery until it got dark. The rooftop gave me a good view of the entire property and was cool.
The alarm went off once the first night at 10:00. I went to the pump room, pressed the red button and the pump came back to life. It was a restful night. The next day I did some pruning for Otis and got the lay of the land. There were actual two castles. The main house had a big square tower and wings. The former stables had a round tower and housed most of the male staff. The pump house and boiler room were treated as a stone barn. My room was in a round tower. Above me was the water tank.
On the second night, Sean dropped by with a lame excuse about needing to check the pump alarm. He happened to have a six-pack of beer with him. Otis' son seemed to have had a taste for beer, and the room was where staff members went to drink.
I mentioned Ferdinand's comments about drinking. Sean laughed. "That's a line he uses on everyone. He never checks and by nine each night he too far gone to know. He likes Vodka because no one can smell it on his breath," Sean explained. "Someday I'm going to tell him if you take a fucking bath in it, someone will notice!"
Sean was 24-25 years old and didn't give a shit about anything. He was pale and looked as if he rarely got out into the sunlight. He was a know-it-all, but had no reason to think he knew it all at all. He wasn't nasty, just limited and unaware.
He assumed the character of a man of the world, but as far as I could tell, he only had an interest in my cock. He stared at it almost continuously. I didn't think he knew he was doing it, but he stared. I was wearing well-worn jeans and my equipment was evident.
God gave me a big cock to make up for being small and ugly. I figured he gave it to me for my use, but as a good Christian, I was willing to share. Poor Sean was willing to share. I knew what he wanted, but I wasn't sure how to get the ball rolling.
I opted for the traditional scratch my balls to take care of an itch approach. Sean looked as if Santa had come early and had a big present for him. After scratching, I rearranged my balls and cock in a more artistic way. It doesn't take much for me to firm up some. Sean loved that. He scratched himself. I had firmed up; Sean got hard.
I moved on to the direct approach. "Well Sean," I said. "It bed time for me. It's about my shower time. You can stay or go. It's up to you."
Sean looked dumbfounded. He thought a little. "I need a shower too," he said.
"Join me, we can save some water," I replied. Through the years, I have come to realize there is no need for originality in come-ons. The old ones are just as successful as the old ones. When a man's testosterone is churning away, there is no need for originality at all. My room was indeed a single room. I stripped and Sean gasped when he saw my cock.
"It's fucking huge," he gasped.
"Wait until you see it hard," I said as I went into the bath. He joined me a few seconds later. Sean had good equipment. It was long, thin and had a good-sized knob. I soaped up, and then gave him the soap. As I rinsed off he lathered up. He dropped the soap. When he bent over, I washed his back and ass. It is hard to tell if an ass has been used, but Sean's seemed virginal. It was tight, but my soapy finger got in easily.
"Are you going to fuck me?" he gasped.
"Not now," I said. "You need to beg me for that."
"I don't know if I could take it," he said.
"When you want it bad enough, it will fit," I said. "If you feel like giving me a poke, I'm fine with that."
"Really?"
"Sure. Are you going to shoot off as soon as you get in, and can you hold back?" I asked.
"I can try to hold back," Sean replied. "I don't know if I can."
"Do your best.'
Sean did his best. I wouldn't swear this was Sean's first trip of a man's backside, but it seemed likely. He moaned as he slid in. Once he was in, I tightened my ass and grabbed his organ. He moaned again. His cock head felt bigger than I guessed and his shaft was thinner. I could feel his mushroom probing and rubbing.
"Can you relax your ass a little? It's so tight I'm going to pop," he said. I relaxed and Sean took his time. We soon got out of the shower, dried off and when to the bed where Sean could try some different positions. Unexpectedly, Sean was obedient when it came to sex. He would do what I asked or suggested. He liked it all, but when I sat on his cock and did a fancy dance, he was in heaven.
I asked him how he got the job at the Castle.
"My Mom is an old friend of Ferdinand. What in hell she saw in him, I don't know. I was in a little trouble back home, and a job out of state solved the problem," he explained.
"What's it like to work here," I asked. "It seems kind of quiet."
"Ferdie thinks people are trying to take all of Trixie's money. There have been kidnapping attempts, so they are keeping her safe. It's real high security here. No strangers allowed," he explained. I got up and then sat on his cock again. As long as Sean was sexually excited, he talked. It was easy to keep him excited.
I couldn't tell if Sean was gullible or stupid. There was no real security at the castle. There were guards at the gatehouse, but no one had checked my credentials, and I was essentially the night watchman. No one in his right minds would hire a man who looked like me for security. I had shaved my beard into a droopy Fu Manchu and looked like something the cat dragged in. Otis said I was okay, but a real security operation always checks.
I was getting tired so I started bouncing on Sean's cock. His cock exploded in my ass. My cock put on a good show and coated Sean's pale torso with man cream.
"I've never come without a manual assist," he moaned. "I've never cum in an ass either."
I tightened my sphincter and he moaned in pleasure. I felt him twitch again. He had a second orgasm. It was beautiful. We had a period of true confessions after the orgasms. Sean had never been in an ass before. He didn't know life could be that good. He had been fucked several times. That wasn't so good, but Sean was willing enough.
I told him he would eventually find one that was a good fit and all would be well. Sean had returned to staring at my cock and you didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking.
"This place looked like a sexual dessert when I came here. Am I wrong about that?" I asked.
"Yes and no," he replied. "If you like the ladies, it's poor. They run the castle like a convent. I think they are a harem for Trevor's use. There are some playful men. Some are gay, but others are willing to have some no strings fun. They say they are just blowing off steam, but some have come back for seconds."
"Is that good for you?"
"It sure is," Sean replied.
"Have you run into the lady of the house, Trixie?" I asked.
"A few times, she is always with Sheila and Trevor," Sean replied, "She smiles and says hello, but that is it. She looks frightened. I think the kidnapping attempts have gotten to her." Sean left for his room in the servants' quarters. The quarters had only male residents. The women were in the Castle.
I was getting an odd feeling. There definitely was a scam going on. I would check up on possible kidnapping attempts, but I was sure they were pure fantasy, intended to keep Trixie under control. The harem comment was worrisome. Sean wasn't the brightest bulb in the hardware store and he noticed. Trixie wasn't just a woman; she was almost a caricature of the ultimate woman, all curves and breasts. If Trevor had a sexual obsession and needed multiple women worshiping him, who was better suited to be the high priestess that Trixie? I smelled the subtle decay I associated with a cult.
I had my super-duper phone that does everything but make monogrammed ice cubs with me. I sent a slew of e-mails to my office asking for more research on Trevor.
At six the next morning someone knocked on my door. When I opened it, there was a big lug of a man standing there. He just stood. "Can I help you?" I asked.
"Sean said you might like some company," he replied.
"I'm Will. Who are you?"
The man seems to think that might be a trick question. The answer struck him suddenly. "I'm Dallas, one of the gardeners. I don't have much time."
I was wearing only boxers. I slipped them to the floor.
"Damn!" Dallas moaned and came in the room, shutting the door behind him. His clothes had seen better days, but he had just showered. He dropped to his knees and swallowed my cock whole. He was both enthusiastic and skilled as a cocksucker. His head had a huge scar running from side to side. It had been all but split in half. I assumed that explained his mental state.
"Can I get to suck yours too?" I asked.
He looked up at me. "You'd do that?" he asked in disbelief.
"Sure, I like cock too," I replied.
He got up, stripped naked and got on the bed, "Get on the bed," I told him. He obeyed and I fed him my cock as I took his. He moaned again as I licked his mushroom. He drooled precum and was tasty. Dallas had a short fuse and soon my tongue was swimming in a sea of sperm. I typically have a long fuse, but Dallas's impressive orgasm seemed to inspire me. Dallas had breakfast in bed.
He seemed to like it and sucked up everything that drooled or dripped from my cock. I did the same for him. He had some good, delayed ejaculations.
"You like my cock stuff?" he asked.
"I do. It's nice and thick."
"The guys tell me not to do it in their mouths," he said.
"I like it; it's okay for me. Do you like mine?"
"Oh yes. You just shoot it. The other guys ram it in my mouth," he said. Once he completely drained my balls, he left.
I asked Otis about him that morning. "Dallas isn't a gardener, he a laborer who works clearing trees," he explained. "He's with Jimmy, Johnny and Jerry. They are all a bit limited, if you get my drift. Trevor has some sort of arrangement with the county to give them work."
"Are you in charge of them?"
"Hell no! They work for Trevor. He treats them as his personal property. We had a bad storm last year and Trevor wouldn't let them help with the clean up," Otis said. "He doesn't like the Castle staff mixing or even talking with the locals."
Trevor liked to control, but he was also a hands off administrator. He didn't much like leaving the Castle, and he didn't like hot weather. He stayed inside. When Otis was there, he fiddled with the machinery, and I was free to wander the property. Officially, I was pruning and trimming, but there wasn't a tree, a bush or a shrub that didn't need work.
I ran into Dallas and his crew cutting down a tree. "What are you doing here?" a man yelled at me. I explained I was a new guy working for Otis. That satisfied him. "I'm Rex the forester. Are you going to be around for a while? I'd love to get lunch. Could you watch my morons for an hour or so? I'm not supposed to leave them alone."
I said sure. The crew had sandwiches in a cooler and some drinks. Rex raced off and we were alone. Mentally the men in the crew were children; physically they were adult. I guessed the youngest was 23 or 25, the oldest 50. Dallas was their leader. We talked and I found out that while they were technically paid, Trevor held their salaries in a "Special Account." Jerry, the oldest of the group had a paystub. I looked at it and saw they were paid $5.00 an hour, but there were deductions for room and board, so they were left with $1.50 an hour. There was no deduction for Social Security or Medicare.
I assumed Trevor kept the special account was in his pants' pocket. For all practical purposes, they were slaves. Their limited mental capacity made this easy for Trevor to manage. They weren't clueless; they didn't know clues were to be had.
Dallas had told them about our meeting that morning and they were interested. "We have secret fun when no one is around," Jerry said. "Would you like to play? Dal said you are nice."
"I love to play, but not now," I said.
"Can I see it?" Johnny asked. "We never tell. Secret fun only for us." I unzipped and gave them a view. I had a sense of being a sideshow attraction in a second rate carnival, but the boys certainly liked the show. I let them play with it. That established me as a good sport.
I later found out their "secret fun" was close to being their only entertainment. They lived in a bare attic space in the attic of the former stables. They got food, and that was it. They did shower regularly, but that was because of Trevor's obsession with germs.