Dirk delivered another tankard of beer to the well-dressed gentleman seated at the best table, near the fireplace. It still ranked as the best, with the most substantial chair, even though the table was functionally only the best in the winter, when a fire was going, not now, in high summer. When he set the beer down, the man grabbed Dirk’s hand and didn’t let it go for the longest moment. Their eyes met, and Dirk shuddered.
Another man--a priest--who was sitting nearby cleared his throat and called out a request that Dirk refill his mug, and the first man let go of Dirk’s hand. Dirk turned an appreciative look in Father Bernard’s direction as he went off to refill his mug. It seemed that Father Bernard was always looking out for Dirk.
Dirk had gotten a chill from the look the first gentleman had given him. He knew it was but a matter of time that he would have to lie on his back for men like that. He’d known what this tavern specialized in when, at the age of fourteen, late in life for an indenture, he’d been indentured here. He’d known he was inclined in that direction anyway, and he’d both given and received oral servicing before with young men in the fields who were struck by the boy’s beauty and captive to their own need, but, for moving further into what men did with men, he’d been thinking more in terms of a single, lonely farmer than multiple patrons of a tavern in the town serving also as a male brothel.
Dirk’s family had been doing well enough, keeping ahead of the tax man as tenants on a farm. Life was harsh and fickle in fifteenth-century Further Austria region of Germany, though. A single, quick illness had taken away Dirk’s father and the owner of the land had taken the farm away. There were no options to the mother other than to try to find places for her children that would provide them food and shelter and some hope of surviving to adulthood. Dirk went to Egon Weiss’s tavern and brothel in the walled town of Rottenburg am Necker. Both Dirk and his mother knew what that would entail but both also knew how Dirk’s preferences were developing, and it was the best that the small, comely fourteen-year-old with pale blue eyes and platinum blond curls could hope for.
He had never lain under a man before, but he knew that it would not be long before he did in Weiss’s tavern. His mother had hopefully suggested that he might attract a wealthy merchant of the town who frequented the tavern to take him from the brothel and set him up discreetly in his own rooms. She didn’t discuss what her son and the merchant might do in those rooms. Dirk had only been working in the tavern for a couple of weeks. He’d received considerable attention in the way of ribald suggestions and lustful looks. But he was a virgin and Weiss had set the price very high, and thus far there had been no rich merchant of the town willing to meet the price, even if they feasted with their eyes. The only regular visitor to the tavern who looked upon Dirk and talked to him without prurient suggestions on his lips was the priest, Father Bernard. When he was there, it was as if he were watching over the boy.
There had been something demanding and controlling in the nearly obsidian eyes of the dark-complexioned, dark-eyed man with the swarthy goatee beard who had grasped Dirk’s hand. Beyond that there was an aspect of the fox or wolf about him. He was handsome and not above thirty, but he was a man of darkness and of the shadows--dressed all in black other than the white lace fringe at his wrist that denoted a man of importance and wealth.
After hearing the priest clear his throat and request service and the man released Dirk’s hand, the expression on the man’s face changed from a piercing assessing look to a sly smile, almost a sneer, and he slightly bowed his head to the server.
Dirk turned away, finding eye contact difficult to break, but needed elsewhere in the tavern room. The inn’s taproom was crowded that evening. His blond, openly sunny, boyish visage was a sharp contrast to the vulpine aspect of the man sitting in the shadows by the fireplace. The man’s eyes followed Dirk around the tavern. So did the priest’s.
The next time Dirk had a moment to locate the man in the room, the seat by the fireplace having been vacated, was when he saw him talking in low tones to the innkeeper, to whom Dirk was indentured, by the bar. The two men were looking at Dirk as they spoke. Dirk blushed, having a good idea what the discussion was about.
Rottenburg am Necker in the fifteenth century was a prosperous German market town, catering to many styles and preferences. A man looking for a tavern or inn accommodating his specific personal comfort and interests could find one without difficulty. The inn to which Dirk was indentured, having recently been brought into service, was one that catered to men interested in other men--and in boys. It was Dirk’s youth, androgynous beauty, and affable disposition that had led to his indenture being sold to Egon Weiss. Dirk had orally served young men before, but it was his virginity to anal penetration that had piqued Weiss’s interest in purchasing his indenture and husbanding the young man’s initiation.
Weiss wanted his investment back in double, and there were few men capable to paying that in Rottenburg. It would likely have to a rich nobleman or merchant passing through Rottenburg, in high need and of special interests, who would be the first to master Dirk.
Tonight was the night.
Dirk wasn’t surprised to see the two men talking earnestly and letting their eyes pick him out as he moved about the tavern, taking orders and serving steins of beer. From the look the man had given him when the man had held his hand moments longer than was necessary, Dirk had figured he would be in some nook or cranny, on his knees to the man. That could happen once or twice on any given night in the tavern--and he wasn’t the only serving man here serving more than beer.
The fox man left by the door out into the stable yard, and Egon called Dirk over. “The man who was just here is the Count Maxim von Fliesborg, an important and wealthy man who is passing through the town. He wants you to join him in the stable now.”
“He wishes me to go on my knees to him?” Dirk asked. Dirk had given tavern patrons suck before at the innkeeper’s direction. His services had gone this far, but, as yet, not farther.
“No. He wishes for you to present your buttocks to him, Dirk. He will mount you. He has paid a high price to be the first to penetrate those plump cheeks of yours.”
Dirk began to tremble and lower his face in fear and embarrassment.
“Don’t withdraw from it, lad,” Weiss hissed, placing a hand on Dirk’s arm. “You knew that was what you were indentured here for. You are fourteen and have gone unmounted longer than most. The count has paid a large sum to take your chastity from you. He has bought you for two nights. He has a room at the inn, but he wants to mount and ride you first in the stable. You will stay with him for two days and you will lie under him as he wishes. You will not bring questions on this inn of our reputation from what can be bought here. If you do not give him satisfaction, I will whip you within an inch of your life and give you to the beggars on the street for sport. You should be happy that your first time will be with a clean nobleman. After this, you will take whoever pays a much lower price, I assure you.”
The priest, Bernard, placed his hand on Dirk’s forearm as the lad passed him on the way to the stables. “You look worried, son, he said. What is troubling you?”
“I cannot tarry, Father, I’m sorry. I have been sent to attend a gentleman in the stables.”
“Ah, the priest said,” understanding. “If you do not wish to go, son, there is another way. You could give yourself to the church. I can make arrangements.”
“Thank you, Father, but I have indentured myself to Innkeeper Weiss, and I knew what that would entail.”
“Ah, well. The church will be watching over you, son,” the priest said, and Dirk passed on.
The count, seeking to take his pleasure of tearing a boy’s virginity from him in primitive fashion, fucked Dirk over a saddle stand in the stables. Dirk’s torso was draped over one side, his face staring at the loose hay on the rough-wooden planks of the flooring, his arms hanging down, knuckles dragging on the hay, wrists bound with leather strips, and his mouth gagged with the count’s belt fastened around his head to keep the noise down.