Young fourteen-year-old squire, James, came to with a start. The pain and sense of tightness and fullness in his ass channel were excruciating at first consciousness, but under barked authoritative guidance to relax, he adjusted to it to where the pain was tolerable. As the cocking continued, the pleasure started to filter into his sensations as he realized that at last what he’d thought of doing and had been afraid of trying was now being done. No more worries of never experiencing what he’d had so much curiosity about.
And he’d had no choice, and therefore no guilt, about being plowed now.
His breeches, hose, and boots were off; he could see them tossed in a bundle in the ferns by the rocks cascading down to the stream where his horse--and that of Sir Treadwell--were nuzzling their noses into the gently rolling water. It didn’t seem to bother their mounts that the knight was mounted on the squire and riding him hard.
He felt pain elsewhere too--at his temple, where he’d landed and blacked out when his horse threw him; at the side of his face, where the Lord had backhanded him back into unconsciousness when he was coming to; in his shoulder, which he’d bruised in the fall; and in his arms, pinned uncomfortably under him on the rough-surfaced ground beneath the fern bed he’d landed in. All of his weight was on his arms, and his wrists were bound underneath him.
“Sire. Your grace!” he exclaimed in pain and shock, as he looked into the face of Sir Arthur Treadwell, his father’s liege lord. The imposingly figured man was crouched over James, his body wedged between the young man’s thighs, his hands holding James’s now-bare legs out and up from his body, and his cock digging ever deeper into the center of the young, fourteen-year-old squire. The Lord was in his third decade and had seen many a battle despite his relative young age. He was robust and muscular, twice the size of the diminutive, more beautiful than handsome golden-haired boy of barely fourteen.
He was the lord of the land, and a randy one too. He cocked whomever he pleased, as long as he took them where he found them--and apparently any comely young girl or boy who fell down before him and looked vulnerable and fuckable in repose.
He was used to having his way, and he was certainly having his way with the boy now. He’d had his lustful eye on the handsome young boy for days.
“Be silent and take it, boy. I will have my pleasure.” He slipped James’s tunic up above his belly; the boy was naked from there down. The lord still wore his tunic and his breeches, but his codpiece was unlaced and flapping down between his legs. His shaft was thick and long. The boy had been either unused or lightly used and he was small. It had taken considerable effort for the lord to penetrate the lad’s channel, most of which was accomplished while the boy was unconscious and completely vulnerable to him--but forcing himself into a tight passageway was much of the pleasure of fucking a young squire, which Sir Arthur did as often as he had the opportunity. He preferred boys to girls.
“Oh, please, mercy. You are hurting me unto death.” The boy’s actions were belying this resistance, though. He was moaning and he had instinctively spread his legs, lifted his pelvis to an advantageous angle for the Lord’s thrusts, and was moving his hips with the rhythm of the fuck.
“It’s your own fault,” Sir Arthur growled through gritted teeth as he concentrated on the effort to dig deeper within the soft center of the lad, for his juices to rise, and for him to complete having his way with the boy. “Those saucy looks and golden ringlets. I swear, of all of your father’s offspring and by-blows, you are the prettiest by far. And that includes your sisters. I’ve wanted to put you to my sword for two days now. It is done now, the gates are breached--and, believe me, that was no easy storming--so take it.”
“Sire! Ohhhhh. I’ve never!”
“What, you’ve never been put to the sword before?” This claim only made Sir Arthur laugh and push in deeper and begin to stroke slowly and deliberately in a steady rhythm that had James groaning and panting. “Not even by your father? I’ve heard of his ways. Must have been saving you. Don’t be so tense and it will go better with you. Relax and open to me. You are undone now; you might as well enjoy it. I’m told I do it very, very well.” And again that laugh.
James found that it did help when he relaxed his body. And, indeed, there was little he could do about this now. He had been curious about this and had seen other boys in the stables lying under the older men, including his father. This could not be his fault now; Sir Arthur was the liege lord of the region, the ruler over his own family’s land. By the right of the laws, Sir Arthur had access to the cunts of any of the women in his fiefdom, as long as he took them where he found them--and in this day and age lords and kings tended to call upon the right liberally. Surely that held for the ass channel of any man or boy in thrall to him as well, if it was the lord’s pleasure.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it? You have yielded your passage to me and it is going more easily.”
And indeed it was. James started to moan in earnest now and he gave over entirely to his hips’ instinct to involuntarily roll with the rhythm of the taking.
“There, I have you in the traces now,” Sir Arthur said, with a laugh. “You have given me both the depth and width of you. I knew you wanted my cocking.”
It mortified James that he was becoming increasingly willing to accommodate the lord. The more his channel opened to the lord’s cocking, the more his own pleasure and arousal stole in to mix with the shock and pain and sense of violation. He couldn’t call it violation, of course. The lord had his rights--at least where he found his sport in place. Custom did not permit him to take his prey home to play with later. And the lord wasn’t old and fat. He was young and virile and in prime condition. And his cock had a way of making James’s channel walls grab and release and shudder--something James had no idea they could do.
Sir Arthur’s bulb had found James’s prostate and was sending waves of electricity through the boy’s body. He moaned and trembled and murmured his wonder, which heightened the lord’s arousal. Sir Arthur laughed lustily again and, with one hand, tore open the front of James’s doublet, exposing pert little nipples to his lips and teeth. James groaned in reply and began moving his hips more vigorously against the thrustings of the royal rapier.
“Why, you little vixen,” Sir Arthur muttered. “You can’t get enough of it now, can you?”
“Oh, sire,” James whimpered. “Oh, my liege. You are so big. I don’t know if I can--”
Sir Arthur laughed. How he loved ravishing a virgin. “This staff I have between your legs is your liege,” the lord crowed. “And you are its mistress.”
“Oh, ohhh, ohhh,” James cried as he tensed, arched his back, and let loose his seed.
“This is the only thing you can do before me,” Sir Arthur said wickedly, “You may give up your seed before I do. You may give me your homage in that as oft as you must. In all else except coming for me, you must walk behind me.” He laughed at his own joke and then continued, taking James’s jaw roughly in his hand and bringing the boy’s face close to his own. “Like this. I want to see your expression when I paint your insides with royal seed.” Then at belabored, exhausting length. “Yes, yes ... ugh ... very pretty. Very pretty indeed.”
“Here, cinch up that doublet better. Not all of the buttons are broken,” the duke said after he was finished, had risen and adjusted his breeches, and had freed the lashes of the riding whip he had used to tie the young man’s wrists. “All can be explained by your unfortunate fall. But do walk around a bit and lose that bow-legged stumble--or the rest of the hunting party will gossip when they’ve come upon us. Which should be soon. I told my lieutenant to hold them back on one excuse or another for a good half hour--and you have such a sweet ass, I almost overlived my time in sport with you. But you rejuvenate me. I wish I could take you away with me so that I could make sport of you at my leisure. I should have made the command an hour. I could have well done with a second--and you could have used that for your education, as well.”
“And don’t snivel. You are undone now. You were sure to lose your virginity sooner rather than later with those eyelashes and that willowy figure of yours. You told me true? I am the first dip of the wick?”
“Yes, my lord,” James said in a soft, subdued voice. He couldn’t look at Sir Arthur now. At some point in the taking, it had overwhelmed him and had become near paradise to him. But before and after...
“Well, you are honored then. The sword of a king’s knight was first. You’ll get no better unless you manage to make your way to the king’s bed. And I’ll not boast of your charms to him, as he likely would take you for himself.”
“Yes, my lord,” James whispered with a near whimper. They both turned their heads at the sound of hoofbeats.
“Ah, the rest of the hunting party. Your father will be beside himself that we have become lost from the main hunt. Retrieve the horses and stand beyond them. You still have a wildness about your eyes. I can almost see my seed swimming in them. Do something about that while I tell them of your unfortunate tumble off your horse.”
That evening, the wealthy farmer, Master Thomas, James’s father, stood at the manor’s table, raised his goblet, and hushed those gathered. James was sitting almost in the shadows at the end of a side table. The manor’s table was taken up with Sir Arthur and the principals of his retinue, James’s parents and three sisters, and his elder brother--the heir to the family holdings and minor title.
“This is a momentous occasion,” Master Thomas spoke loudly, slurring his words a bit, not quite in control of his wine flagon. “The great Sir Arthur Treadwell not only honors this humble house with his presence, but he also has honored us for all time by asking for the hand of our precious daughter, Kathryn, to become his lady.”
There were cheers all around, while the lord and Kathryn stood and the lord leaned over Kathryn’s hand and gave it a noble peck. His lieutenant, a tall, well-muscled strapping young man, was standing behind him, looking intently into Kathryn’s face. Sensing the attention, Kathryn lifted her gaze to his. And she blushed and gave a shy little smile.
“And extending the honor he does our estate,” Master Thomas continued, “The lord has given permission for our entire family to join his at the Castle Runnydale for the wedding.”
There were oohs and ahhs all around, especially from those fretful parents who would be all the more comfortable to know that the randy and demanding Master Thomas was off in Runnydale and their sons and daughters weren’t.
Not long afterward, the lord leaned over to Master Thomas and told him that he was tired from the hunt and perhaps they could bring the festivities to a close so he could withdraw.
“And I have found that I have come some away from Runnydale with an insufficient number of squires to attend my chamber. Would it be possible for your young James to attend me?--and I may have need for him in the service in Runnydale as well after the wedding and when your family joins me there.”
“But certainly, I would be honored,” Master Thomas murmured. And although he had, indeed, had his own eyes of lust on his youngest son as the fourteen-year-old boy had begun to mature, it was the greatest of honors for a son of his to be on bedchamber attendance to Sir Arthur. And it would solve the age-old problem of what an English nobleman could do with a second son as long as the first one was robust. This would be like money in the strongbox--his second son at someone else’s table until and unless he was needed at home by some misfortune to the estate’s heir--and no need for messy scheming when Master Thomas went on to his ultimate rest.
He looked up to catch the eye of his son, James, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he could not be found anywhere on the estate that night or before the lord’s party left for Runnydale, which irritated Sir Treadwell to no end as he had planned to bed the boy repeatedly in the guest chamber while he was visiting.
When the hunt had returned to the manor house earlier in the day, the stable master had seen that James was moving gingerly. James and the stable master had been working up to a lay in the hay for some months and had reached the fondling stage but gone no further. The stable master now saw evidence that James had gone over the hurdle while on the hunt and he had quizzed the boy closely about what had happened in the woods--he didn’t think it had just been a fall from a horse. And, of course, it hadn’t been.
James had spilled the secret of his deflowering, and the stable master had been very understanding and sympathetic. His sympathy had extended to holding James in his arms, rocking him back and forth, and cooing assurances to him. As they were both ready for it, the sympathy extended to the stable master bending James over a bale of hay and giving him his second fuck of the day. The mighty knight and the lowly stable master had one trait in common; they both had thick and long cocks, capable of giving James all of the pain-pleasure he could endure.
James wasn’t in evidence in the manor house on the subsequent nights before leaving for Sir Arthur’s castle because he and the stable master were making the most of the time they had left--and the stable master was teaching James various nice ways to take the cock. When he last left the embrace of the stable master, James was no longer shy of the cock. He could ride a shaft as easily as the most experience whore boy of the town could.
“Come to me, squire.”
James moved a bit farther into Sir Treadwell’s bed chamber. He had been escorted straight here from the wedding banquet hall. And during the entire church ceremony and the wedding banquet, he had been flanked by two of the lord’s sturdy house guardsmen.
Sir Treadwell and his lieutenant, stripped of their formal doublets, were sitting in front of a draped window on either side of a small table. They were playing chess. They were both bare-chested and their physiques told of many hours of exercise for combat readiness. The younger lieutenant was somewhat broader of chest and narrower of waist than the lord was, but Sir Treadwell was in his prime as well.
James’s sister, Kathryn, had departed the wedding banquet more than two hours previously to prepare for her nuptial night, which apparently was going to take place in the lady’s chamber adjacent through a sturdy wooden double door directly from the lord’s bedchamber.
“That was unkind of you to avoid me those last nights at your father’s house,” the Lord said to the squire. “I had the wish to sport with you more times than just the day of the hung.” James knew the man was addressing him, although both Sir Treadwell and his lieutenant were bent attentively over the chessboard, and the lord was holding a pawn in his hand.
James felt very much like a pawn in the lord’s hand at that moment. “I’m sorry, Sire. I--”
Much to James’s relief--at least momentarily--because James really had no idea what he could say beyond what he had said, Sir Treadwell overrode his murmured apology.
“No matter in the end. The absence has served to whet my appetite, and fortuitously I have you here now. That was a pain yesterday, but at this moment it is quite beneficial to my mood. And here you are. Ready to begin your service to me in the bedchamber.”
“Yes, my lord.”