The light in the room was dim, dusk having set in over the previously abandoned cottage at the edge of the village. The furnishings were scant, mostly broken and worn-out, useless sticks of this and that, with thick layers of dust on all surfaces, the dust also being heavy in the weak beams of light coming through the grimy-paned window, kicked up by the activity of the vigorous fucking going on on the cot in the corner of the room.

The smaller of the two men, barely a man himself, was bent painfully over the brass-rodded footboard of the cot, his chest pushed into a thin, dirty mattress on the cot and his legs dangling, feet almost, but not quite, reaching the worn wood of the floor, his breeches still clinging around his ankles. Crouched on his hips, like some giant bullfrog on his lily pad, was a much larger, older man, fully naked. His feet were on the mattress on either side of the younger man's torso, his fists were gripping the shoulders of the younger man hard, and his pelvis was plastered to the younger man's buttocks, riding him like a jockey and dicking him deep with vigorous strokes that bounced the younger man's body like he was a punching bag.

The younger man was whimpering and groaning and pleading for patience and mercy that never came, while the older man grunted and groaned and strained, lost in his taking, trying to get every ounce of satisfaction he could out of the young man's ass.

When the older man was done, he climbed off the younger one and started pulling his clothes back on.

"It's colder than a witch's tit in here," he muttered. "You've let the fire go out. See to that. And find something for us to eat in this shithole of a dump before we go into the village. And I'll need my jerkin scrubbed for tomorrow's journey so it can dry overnight."

The younger man had curled up on the mattress and was holding his belly, which had been badly bruised by the buffeting it had received when he was bent over the footboard of the cot. He was still moaning and panting from the rough fucking he'd received.

The older man turned to him in exasperation. "Did ya hear what I said there, Hans? Step to now. We'll want to get to the tavern before all of the teams are formed up for the night. We have an income to earn. Must I do everything to keep us from starving?"

The man sank onto a chair with a broken arm and watched Hans move painfully around, shivering from the cold despite the fire he had brought back to life, in the keeping room in the derelict cottage, trying to do all that was commanded of him.

"No, don't bother to put that shirt and those breeches back on," Gregor growled. "I'll be wanting another piece of you before we go out. Your ass is my good luck."

Gregor liked watching Hans move around in the nude. Although Hans had reached his manhood, he looked much younger, and his body was small and slender although very well formed. They had put his youthful aspect to good use in their journey across Europe from one village tavern to another. Hans contributed to the main scheme and from time to time - well, quite often - they had run across a man aroused enough by Hans's youthful, angelic looks to pay well for a cocking. It was a good thing the lad was such a sweet fuck; Gregor didn't think he was good for much of anything else. Just another mouth to feed.

* * * *

"Ah, that is a nice looking lad of yours. Your son, is he?"

Gregor and the other man were sitting at a rough-surfaced wood table, Gregor trying to rope the man into a game of darts. The man looked like the best-heeled of the lot in the tavern this evening. His clothing was finer than the others and the other men in the tavern room were differential to him. He probably, Gregor thought, was down from the big manse he and Hans had passed on their way into the village.

"Mayhap he is," Gregor answered. "His mam and I weren't all that particular who we went with other than each other. Favors her anyway, thanks be the lord."

They were sitting across the table from each other. Hans was sitting at the end of the bench Gregor occupied and was looking out into the tavern room, watching the swirl of action almost like a child in a candy shop. It was this aspect of him, perhaps enhanced because he was a bit slow, that men seemed to gravitate to.

"His mother must have been quite lovely then," the man said. "He's angelic himself. And he has a sad expression that makes one want to comfort him."

"Ah, perhaps you'd like to comfort him then?" Gregor answered, taking on a conspiratorial look. He'd been jollying the man up to fleece him in a game of darts. But the evening was young. Perhaps the man could be twice taken.

The man looked startled and his eyes narrowed, but they only strayed away from Gregor's gaze long enough to take another look at Hans. "You certainly are direct, aren't you?" he said.

"Well, we're just here for the one night and there's much to be done. Do you fancy him for yourself or not? Want to fuck the lad, do you?"

There were several ways the man could have gone from here. Standing up from the table and walking off indignant wasn't a choice the well-dressed man made. Gregor knew he had him then and his mind clicked right into the next phase of how much the market would bear.

"Five copper coins and he's yours for one go," Gregor whispered across the table. "You would have to provide the place, though, and return him here as good as he left."

The man sat there, staring at Gregor for the longest moment. But then his hand went to a pocket, and he extracted coins and flipped ten copper ones out onto the rough wood table surface. They each made a loud clinking sound as they landed. Gregor looked at the coins the man still had in his hand and regretted he hadn't been more aggressive in his pricing.

"All right then, for this perhaps not in quite as good a shape as he left in."

"I have access to a room upstairs," the man said in a low voice.

Gregor was more sorry than before that he hadn't set the price higher.

"Hans," he said, still looking at the man, not at his young ward, "Go with this man."

Without even looking around, Hans sighed and stood up from the table. He had been listening to them all along.

The man, distinguished in his tweeds, perhaps in his early forties, refined and dignified looking, stood. "Tell the young man to go up the stairs. I will meet him at the top in a few moments. I have a few parishioners to greet before I go up."

Ah, a local clergyman of some persuasion - and one not wanting to be seen going up the stairs openly with a young man, Gregor thought. And for the third time he realized he could have asked for more.

Hans climbed the stairs quietly, apparently drawing no attention. The distinguished-looking man was on the move around the tavern floor now, and all attention and smiles and extended hands were concentrating on him.

Gregor looked around the tavern floor for another mark for his game of "friendly stakes" darts. The more serious work would be later, when Hans had come down the stairs again.

When the man reached the top of the stairs, he laid a hand gently on Hans's arm and guided him down the hall. He opened a door into a small bed chamber, plain and with the bare minimum furniture and a braided rug on the floor - but nonetheless miles better than where Hans and Gregor would be staying that night in the abandoned and half-tumbled-down cottage out on the edge of the village.

"Please disrobe," the man said politely in a calm voice. And as Hans did so, so did he.

He was already half erect.

"Come here."

Hans approached the man, who gave him a broad, lust-laden smile and then backhanded Hans across the mouth, snapping the young man's head back.

Shocked, Hans staggered to the side and then doubled up and sank to the floor as the man caught him in the belly with the upward thrust of his fist.

Hans gasped and cried out in pain.

"Shut up. Take it silently," the man commanded. "Here occupy this with your mouth," he went on to say as he brutally lifted Hans up with a grip on his hair and presented his cock to the young man's lips. "And do it well, or I will beat the life out of you."

After Hans had sucked the man to full erection, the man pulled out of him and backhanded his face again, sending Hans whimpering to the floor. The man leaned down and put an arm under Hans's belly and turned him, bringing the young man up on all fours on the braided carpet. Straddling Hans's hips with his thighs, the man thrust his cock strongly up into Hans's channel and rode him hard until Hans's knees and arms turned to jelly and he was ridden to the carpet, with the man's cock still churning inside him.

"Several minutes. I don't want to see you back in the tavern for several minutes after I have descended the stairs," the man said in a calm voice as he redressed. "If you and your companion are here still tomorrow evening, I will want you again. I'll speak to him about it."

With no other comment than that, the man left Hans in the room curled up on the braided rug, trying to regain his breath and clutching his stomach.

When Hans came down the stairs, Gregor was waiting for him impatiently.

"What were you dawdling up there for? We have work to do. I've started with the darts and am just about ready to do the dazzle. You know what to do. I'll meet you back at the cottage."

Then Gregor was off, back to where they were waiting from him at the darts board. He had already played a set, which had broken at its end for all to tank up on beer before Gregor took on the village darts champion. Nearly all of the men in the tavern had gathered around to watch, as Gregor's play had awed them.

Hans looked around and couldn't see the man who had manhandled him upstairs. Most of the men he did see, though were standing or sitting at tables in a semicircle around the darts lane, their attention focused on Gregor as he took up the darts again.

This was what Hans and Gregor were here for - for Gregor to dazzle all in a tavern with his darts ability to the point where they weren't paying attention to anyone else. As was his responsibility now, Hans started circling the room - just a youth antsy and unable to stay in one place, just someone else watching the darts master at work.

Hans was being a somewhat clumsy young man, as all slow youths tended to be. He was shorter than any of the other men in the room and yet he circled behind most of the crowd, not going to the front, but stumbling against this man and that in his apparent endeavor to see the action at the darts lane.

Hans worked his way from the group near the bar around to where he could see there was a back door out of the room, which, he presumed, would lead to a storage room and then to the dark lane, from where he could make his way back to the cottage laden down with whatever he'd been able to pick from the inattentive darts game audience's pockets without being detected.

He had made it almost all of the way around the room, back to the rear of the tavern where he felt safer in the shadows. The pockets of his coat were almost overflowing with loot, and he had to move very carefully now so that the objects didn't click together and make sounds that would attract attention.

Just one more, he decided, and he would be out of the building. Out at the edge of the crowd, there was a tall, dark stranger in a cloak, but he had a hand on one of his hips with the cloak folded to his back. He looked swarthy and mean-looking and had a nasty scar on his cheek, picked up, no doubt, in some tavern fight. But he looked like a safe enough mark. All of his attention was on the darts game.

Hans ever so carefully reached for the pocket of the man's cloak behind his bent arm. The fold of the cloak was just hanging there, not even touching the man's body. This would be the easiest extraction of all. Hans had his hand in the pocket when he felt the grip like a vice on his wrist. He looked up into the jet-black eyes of the dark man in the cloak who now was looking into his face with a sneery sort of smile-scowl.

The man pulled Hans away from the gathered crowd and into the shadows of the area underneath the stairway to the upper level. He had Hans enveloped in his cloak and turned from the other men and a hand over his mouth before Hans could utter a cry. And he was slowly propelling Hans through the very door by which Hans had planned to make his escape.

The man pushed Hans into the darkness of the storage room and to a large, waist-high wooden box in the back corner of the room, where he bent Hans over on the top of the box, belly on the box, and crouched over him, the man's barrel chest pressing down on Hans's back. They were both covered by the cloak, making them invisible in a dim-as-night room.

"Promise not to scream and I'll take my hand away from your mouth," the man whispered into Hans's ear. "But I have a knife here and you will not make a second scream if you try the first."

He took Hans's muffled whimper as an assent. He tentatively removed his hand, and when he'd done so Hans remained panting from fear but silent and trembling.

"What shall we do with you?" The man whispered.

"Please, sir. I will leave it all here. Just let me go."

"That would hardly be fitting punishment for your crime, now would it? Was that the parson I saw you go up the stairs with earlier? I know what the parson goes up those stairs with young men to do."

"Sir, if you let me go, I will go upstairs with you too."

"Here would be fine." The man held Hans close to him with one arm wrapped around the young man's waist, while he removed both of their breeches with the other. He then relieved Hans of his shirt and began kissing down his back and across his buttocks as he knelt behind Hans. Hans began to moan and writhe as the man's tongue entered his ass channel, and the young man groaned as the man's hand snaked in between his thighs and took possession of his cock.

The man was moving slowly, sensually. Hans had never been made love to like this before. Not by Gregor and most certainly not by any of the men Gregor made him go with. It was almost like the man recognized that Hans was there and had needs too. And as the man prepared him gently and sensually, Hans began feeling sensations and heights of passion and pleasure he never had felt before so that by the time the man stood and bent over his back once more, Hans wanted the entry. When it came, Hans received it with a sigh and a moan of welcome. When the shaft had completely possessed him and started to stroke powerfully within him, Hans moved his hips in consort with the rhythm of the fuck.

After a while the man turned Hans on his back so they were facing, and he lowered his lips to Hans's nipples while he continued stroking his staff inside the young man. He was slow pumping Hans's cock and Hans came with long sigh. The man lifted his lips to Hans's face and engaged the youth in a kiss that took Hans's breath away.

After the man came, he lay there on top of Hans for several moments, while Hans felt the power of him receded inside his channel and ran his hands through the man's black, silky hair.

"Thank you, that was quite special," the man whispered. "You are a sweet angel. I'll let you go on about your business now. You took nothing of mine, so you may just reclothe yourself and leave. There's a back entrance to the alley from this storage room."

"Must I leave?" Hans asked in low, faltering voice. "Have you no use for a young man like me?"

"You would go with me?" the man asked, a hint of awe in his voice.

An hour later, when Gregor had won what was really a modest sum for the performance he had put forward at the dart board that evening and had commiserated with one and all for their loss to some unknown pickpocket in the crowd, he returned to a stone-cold cottage. The fire hadn't been laid, the flagon of beer he always liked to celebrate with was not on the table, and his jerkin was still in the soapy water in the basin.

He bellowed for Hans, but Hans failed to appear. Gregor cursed the young man as a dolt and an anvil weight around his neck. It was only two hours after that when Hans still had not appeared and a fire still was not laid and the jerkin was still sopping wet that Gregor began to wonder how he was going to rob the men of the next village while he was busy playing darts and started to form any sort of appreciation for Hans at all. But, of course, then it was much too late.

 

Habu

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