“Tell the lad then to stay away from my table until he is well clear of the flux,” Jean d’Lac growled. He stood up from his table where he had gotten the explanation on why his personal server and taster had not appeared and walked over to the window in the high tower of the Heights of Petris mesa fortress, one of the few Crusader-held fortresses in Outremer, the once extensive Crusader kingdom along the shores of the Mediterranean sea, that remained in Crusader hands in 1154. The forces of the Saracen general Saif al-Bakr invested the fortress, threatening even the chances of Lac’s dwindling forces to evacuate by sea, just as the greater Saracen commander, Salah-ad-Din, somewhat more loosely invested the nearby Crusader stronghold at the Heights of Hattin.
Primitive as the knowledge of medicine was in that time and place, Lac did realize that he too could catch the flux from sharing space and cup with a sick table server. The commander of the Crusader garrison was a robust man, redheaded, hirsute, and fierce of countenance. He stood a head taller than any man under his command and was more broad-shouldered and muscular than any other. He ruled by natural as well as high-born right in the fortress.
His gaze first went toward the rolling hills nearby of desert and scrub and to the deployment of the tents of the Saracens. As usual, his mind, although he didn’t relish the thought of retreat, went to working out a strategy for getting to the sea. To that end, he could also see in the far-off distance and to the Crusader enclave on the shore there the hint of the sails of the vessels that were there to transport him and the remnants of his forces should he be able to reach the shore through the lines of the Saracens. As always, he concluded he could not make it militarily. He would have to try to make it by guile. He didn’t like the idea of needing to try to make it at all.
That’s when he allowed his gaze to descend into the maze of courtyards below at the base of fortress. He looked around in the various nooks and crannies available to his view, watching men moving listlessly about their daily routines--an alarming decrease in men, both in numbers and in stamina. At length, his observation went to a small side courtyard off the stables, where a golden-haired youth was standing at a water trough and bathing himself. He was naked, and his was beautifully proportioned. Lac gauged the boy to be in his early teen years, as he liked them--ripe and flexible to the needs of manipulation but already forming into men.
Lac, whose preferences went to boys of no more than fourteen, moved a hand to his crotch and, unlacing his codpiece, found his horse-hung prick. He looked more intensely down into the small courtyard, catching the first view of one of his knights, Fabron Gaston, as swarthy as a Saracen, for which he could be mistaken, dark-haired and nearly as hunky as Lac himself, emerge from the shadows. Gaston embraced the handsome youth, most notable for the fine head of golden curls that brushed his shoulders, from behind, pulling the boy into his chest.
The golden-hair youth did not resist. He leaned back into the chest of the knight, who he obviously knew and who had obviously previously known the boy biblically judging by their easy rapport and the yielding nature of the boy, and turned his face to the knight’s searching lips. They kissed deeply, as Lac watched the knight reach down and unlaced his codpiece, releasing a thick, long erection, and then moved the hand around to grasp the boy’s pert erection thrusting out of a hairless groin. The young man flinched and shuddered as he was raised and then set down on the knight’s erection. The boy grimaced as he sank on the cock, but he took it down to the root. As thick as the shaft had been, Lac reasoned, with a delicious shudder, the lad must be well experienced in being spiked. He fantasized about how taxing it would be for the boy to take his cock, and decided there and then to put it to the test.
Lac discerned the appearance of another tall, thin, but muscular, man at the corner of the columns holding the stable porch up. He was only wearing breeches, and he had the codpiece of these open and was stroking a long cock as he watched the knight fuck the blond-maned boy. Lac recognized Sir Edmund Malloy, one of his newer knights.
For a few minutes the knight by the water trough held one of the boy’s legs lifted, as the boy leaned over and grasped the edge of the water trough with his hands and balanced on one smooth-skin leg. From where he stood Lac could clearly see the massive root of the swarthy man’s cock, thrusting out of his dark bush, appear and disappear as he stroked it in the boy’s ass. The boy’s face showed a combination of grimace of pain and ecstasy of passionate possession as the beefy knight fucked him. After a few minutes of this, the knight leaned back into a wooden column supporting a porch off the side of the stables, and the golden-haired groom spread his legs and raised his feet to press into the top edge of the water trough, as the knight continued, without losing penetration, to pump his ass.
Lac’s seneschal entered the chamber, and not missing a beat in masturbating his cock, the fortress commander motioned the steward over to the window with his other hand. The seneschal didn’t react at all in finding his master beating his shaft. He was well aware of the man’s appetites and sexual prowess.
“Look down below, Geoffrey, at the young man Fabron Gaston is riding in that courtyard by the stables.”
Geoffrey LeClare looked as bade. “The young man? That is one of Gaston’s squires. Gaston always plows his squires. That one is named Alain. He’s fourteen. Gaston will have him in serious weapons training soon. He is beautiful, is he not? Gaston says he’s the most experienced and satisfying lay of his squires. You should give him a ride.” The steward had no illusions about where this was headed. He knew that now that his master had seen the lad, he would ride him.
Jean d’Lac’s cock had given a bit of a lurch when his steward said the boy was fourteen. That was Jean’s favorite age for a lay.
“My cup bearer is ill. I wish for that boy to be brought up to serve at my meals as long as the cup bearer is ill--perhaps longer, if he pleases me.”
“Yes, Sire, he will be at your next table.”
Methinks he will be on my table, Lac thought with a small smile, but he didn’t bother telling his steward that. LeClare would already know that.
The seneschal backed out of the chamber and Lac returned his attention to the tableau below. The boy was riding Gaston’s cock well, rising and falling in a quickening rhythm, a look of ecstasy on his handsome, young, beardless face. Gaston was standing steady now, clutching the youth’s hip with one hand and jacking his cock with the other. The golden-haired squire was using the leverage of his feet pressed into the rim of the water trough to rise and fall on the cock. One hand was gripping the hand the knight had on his hip and the other one was encasing the hand jacking his cock off. There was no reluctance in him for the plowing of his passage. The two had obviously done this often. The boy’s head was still turned, his lips open to the deep possession of the knight’s tongue.
As Lac watched, the golden-haired squire jerked and gave a little cry. Fabron Gaston tensed, momentarily took control, thrust hard and fast up into the youth’s passage, and released, with a cry of his own. The squire collapsed, his cock erupting cum. Lac shot his load as well.
Folding his somewhat satisfied cock back and relacing his codpiece, the fortress commander went to his desk and looked through some of the dispatches that had been brought to him by his steward. After some minutes, he grew bored and went back to the window.
Gaston was gone from the courtyard below, but it appeared that the boy and Sir Edmund were still there. Lac couldn’t be sure because he could only see parts of their bodies. They were near the ground on the far side of the water trough, which obstructed Lac’s view. There must be a marble step by the trough, Lac thought, and the boy must be belly done on that, because what Lac could see from here was the plump, bare buttocks of Sir Edmund rising and falling above the lip of the water trough. He could see the top of the knight’s head and then, extending from the end of the water trough, there were locks of golden hair, the boy’s arms extended outward, his fists scrunching up and release in the rhythm of the knight’s bobbing buttocks, and Sir Edmund’s hands grasping the boy’s forearms, holding him in place. Lac found this partial view of a coupling almost more arousing than being able to see it all.
He applauded the boy’s stamina in taking two forceful knights in succession. But he would have to have supurb stamina to serve Lac.
Hours later, his meal complete, the fortress commander was having his dessert. The young squire, now cup bearer, Alain, was belly down on the surface of the supper table in Lac’s chamber, his head suspended out over the far side of the table, his mouth open, tongue hanging, out, eyes bugged out, white-knuckled hands gripping the rim of the tabletop to hold himself in place, and a pained-ecstasy expression on his face. Standing behind him, between his thighs, his strong hands gripping the boy’s hips, Jean d’Lac was fucking Alain hard, deep, and fast with a cock appreciably thicker than Fabron Gaston and Edmund Malloy had ridden him with earlier in the day.
.... There is more of this story ...