The snow had started to fall fast and furiously when Katherine Hardy and her son, Gabriel Beaventon, descended from the first-class train compartment. Their journey on the rail trunk line from Salzburg had ended at the one room station of the village at the foot of the mountain on the Austrian side of the Italian Alps. A sleigh with the baron’s coat of arms on the side was waiting for them, its two massive horses standing impatiently, pawing the snow and emitting clouds of steam from their nostrils.
They were both Black Forest stallions, with sleek burnish-brown coats and golden manes. Both were in heat, showing huge, pink erections between their hind legs, frustrated there was no mare in reach, and Katherine blushed, turned her head away from them. She looked up the mountain toward where another stallion, Baron Wilhelm von Sternburg, who Katherine well knew could manage an erection to rival his Black Forest stallions, awaited their arrival near the top of the snow-clad mountain towering over the village.
Katherine had almost not come. The last time she’d seen the baron was the previous month, April 1935, at a resort beach hotel in Morocco. He had taken much for granted and far too many liberties with her, breeding her fiercely and massively--but that he had was what had made her come to him for a ski week at his mountain chalet in the mountains.
He’d been so masterful, and she burned for him. Still, the major reason she’d come was for the sake of her fourteen-year-old son, Gabriel. His powerful English lord of a father, from whom she now was divorced, was trying to take the boy away from her. He wanted to send Gabriel to Rugby, an English boarding school with a reputation for strict, cruel disciple. Gabriel was too sensitive for that. And he needed a strong male protector to help her stave off Lord Beaventon, her former husband. In Morocco, Gabriel and the baron had hit it off well. It meant so much to her that Wilhelm had been sure to include Gabriel in this ski week invitation. Katherine was a handsome and rich woman. She knew she could have her pick of men. A major reason for picking the baron, beyond his prowess in bed, was his good relationship with her son.
She turned her eyes back to the pawing stallions, now letting their need and intention burn through her body.
The baron had invited her here, to his mountain chalet, on the pretense of giving her son, Gabriel, ski lessons, but she knew he’d invited them because he wanted to pursue a relationship with her. She’d be a great catch for him. She was wealthy and had position in her native United States, offering him options on where he could go with war looming in Europe. And, in turn, he’d be a great catch for her. She was somewhat at loose ends since her divorce from Lord Beaventon. She was an American and no longer in his set. But whose set was she in in England? She hardly could be ignored. Could she? she wondered, worried now that she might be. She didn’t want to go back to Boston in defeat. And the Beaventons would never let her take Gabriel back across an ocean. She couldn’t be separated from Gabriel. He was her whole world.
Of course, the Baron Wilhelm von Sternburg could become her whole world without any objection from her. She stared at the pink erections of the Black Forest stallions, as the sleigh driver stowed away their luggage. Ah, the baron, she thought. A stallion in his own right; capable of an erection to rival those horses. And he certainly knew what to do with it. Her women friends in England would be scandalized in public if they knew what she and the baron could do in bed--but in private they would envy her and, to a woman, wish it could be them.
Gabriel had been silent and brooding for nearly the whole trip. Did he suspect that the baron had assaulted her, compromising her completely, and that she had succumbed to him and wanted more? Did Gabriel know what had happened between the baron and Katherine in Morocco--or how hedonist Tangiers was? Did he know that it was the “anything goes here” reputation of Tangiers that had taken them there in the company of the baron? There was something in Gabriel’s behavior that was troubling--a slight rebellion and assertion on his part that indicated that he was maturing quickly beyond the innocence of being fourteen. She wouldn’t think of that now. They were here, at the foot of the mountain, a snowy ride away from a week at the baron’s mountain chalet.
Did Katherine not know then that the baron had fucked her little boy and robbed him of his virginity--and that Gabriel had gone back to him again and again in Tangiers for more of the same?
The moment of lust between the horses had been settled down now by the whip of the sleigh driver--if indeed Katherine hadn’t imagined the sensuality of the scenario with the horses. She had to admit that she was in lust for the baron, anxious to be there, at his chalet, and in his arms once Gabriel was innocently asleep some distance from where the baron was covering and coupling with her.
Wilhelm met them at the door of the chalet, all smiles and charm. No one would have known that he had seduced and nailed Katherine to the mattress repeatedly with his hard, demanding cock at the beach resort in Morocco and pounded her into submission, and yet that she had come to him here in the Austrian alps when he called. And had brought her handsome son--her fourteen-year-old son, who the baron had also pounded into submission in Morocco and pinned the lad to the mattress repeatedly with his massive cock.
In the background as they moved into the chalet’s foyer, Katherine and Gabriel could see another figure, tall and gaunt and a bit ferret faced, in the nature of the Grim Reaper, and swathed in a black cassock.
“May I introduce you to Marco, the bishop of Genoa?” the baron said. “We have just completed a bit of business.” If Katherine wondered what business an Austrian munitions industrialist like Von Sternburg had with an Italian cleric, she didn’t ask. Indeed, she had no head for business and had no reason to question what sort of dealing the two would have.
“It’s a pleasure. How are you, Your Grace?” Katherine said, extending her hand, which the cleric took in a dry and cold claw, brushed his lips against, and dropped.
“Quite fine, thank you.” The bishop was answering Katherine’s question, but his eyes were on her handsome son, with his perfect body, blond curls, and lowered eyes of the long lashes. The bishop’s nostrils flared, recognizing the lowering of the boy’s head as a signal of sexual submission. Of course the baron had already described the charms of the blond angel to him--and how yielding he was in bed. “Just perfect,” he said, as the baron was saying that they were just in time for supper to be served and that they could take drinks in the lounge in front of the fireplace later.
“The bishop will be leaving tomorrow,” the baron said, as if to assure Katherine that he would not be around to disturb their sexual tryst very far into the week.
Falling behind the other two as they proceeded into the dining room, Baron von Sternburg put his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and drew the boy close into his side. With an eye to ensure the bishop and Katherine had their eyes trained forward, the baron kissed Gabriel on the ear--which the boy accepted as his due--and whispered some instructions in the boy’s ear. Gabriel nodded his understanding--and acquiescence.
The baron had made clear to Gabriel in Morocco that his own sexual attention to Gabriel depended on Gabriel favoring those the baron favored.
The bishop, sitting beside Gabriel in front of the fire in the lounge, had been whispering to the young man in French as Gabriel’s mother and the baron had been carrying on a more vocal conversation--in affected British English, despite neither being British--in chairs facing the fire at an angle.
“It’s late and the trip today was tiring,” Katherine said, as she rose from her chair. “I think it’s time that I turned in.” No one argued the point with her. She gave Wilhelm a meaningful look, smoothed down the silken flanks of her dress, and rustled out of the room, up the stairs and down the corridor toward the bedrooms.
“I think I shall retire too,” the baron said, as he rose and followed the woman.
The two, the bishop and the fourteen-year-old boy, sat, watching the fire in awkward mutual awareness, as they could hear the sounds from the bedroom passage, where Katherine hadn’t progressed very far before the baron overtook her, turned her belly to the wall, pulled up her skirt and petticoats from behind, jerked down her undergarment, and entered her with a strong upthrust. He cupped her chin and pulled her lips to his, while his other hand ripped at her bodice and freed her breasts to his squeezing hands. Far from fighting him, Katherine jutted her buttocks out to receive his vigorous thrusts more deeply and returned his kisses passionately, the images exploding in her brain being of massive Black Forest stallions in heat and the baron’s stallion’s cock moving inside her.
She had no thought of concern whatsoever about having left her fourteen-year-old son in the lounge, before a fire, with an older Catholic bishop. Why would she?
.... There is more of this story ...