Mutiny Release

I opened the back-parlor door, stood there for a long moment of surprise, and then backed out and silently shut the door again.

“What’s wrong?” Percy asked.

“Are you sure he said he was waiting in the back parlor for me?” I asked.

“Yes.” Percy brushed past me, silently opened the door and then quickly pulled it shut again. “Just a moment. Let me check.” He went back to his office, which was the next room back, behind the private parlor. I knew what he was doing. He was checking through one of the peepholes he had there on who was doing what to Philip in the parlor.

When I had looked I could see Philip, one of the younger male whores here, and I could see that a man was fucking him, but I couldn’t see who the man was. The man was sitting in the center of a settee directly across the room from the door. All I could see of him were hairy legs, the hair curly and blondish red, the legs meaty, and his arms, still clothed in a suit coat. Philip’s body was hiding most of the rest of the man. Philip, naked except for his singlet and his black knee-high stockings held up by black garters, was in the man’s lap, facing away from the man and toward the door I almost had entered. He was sitting on the man’s cock—obviously a thick one from what I could see of the root of it when the men lifted Philip high before slamming him down on the cock again. The man held his legs together, but he had Philip’s legs grasped under the knee with strong hands and had the young man’s legs raised and spread.

A head of golden red hair was buried in Philip’s neck from the rear and Philip had his arms raised, flung back and his hands clasped behind the man’s neck. The man was raising Philip nearly all of the way off his thick and long cock and then slamming the young man down on the shaft. Up and down; up and down. Philip’s eyes were flashing like light reflecting off glass and his mouth was open in a long yawn. He was blowing bubbles, panting hard, and babbling in tongues. I knew when Philip was faking when he was being fucked by a man. We were involved in multiple couplings often enough for me to know his technique well.

Philip wasn’t faking a total taking by this man. He was being totally fucked.

Percy came back. “It’s him. The man who insists on waiting for you.”

“He doesn’t appear to be waiting for me,” I said. “Perhaps he’s getting enough pleasure from Philip. I’ll just go upstairs and—”

“No. He was insistent he would be served by you. Wait in the office. I’ll ask him what he wants to do after he has fucked Philip. He may still want to fuck you too.”

“He’s doing Philip so vigorously that he may not have energy left for me.”

“Oh, I think he will.”

“How do you know?”

“He hasn’t been here for a year. He’s been off in India, I understand. But when he was living here, he was a regular, and he could ruin three lads in a night.”

“Wonderful,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “You just sent me out to be ravished by Sir Sydney”—I was careful not to mention Jerry, the coachman, who actually had done much of the ravishing—“and now you want me entertain a strongman. Do you have any idea how long he—?”

“He has paid for the evening. I couldn’t promise the night. This is Bishop Ingram’s night with you. But, curiously, he said it would be up to you whether he stayed. I told him he’d have to pay for the time anyway, and he gave me no trouble with that.”

“Strange. Who is it?”

“It’s Lord Dinwiddie. Daniel Dinwiddie. He’s with the Foreign Office.”

“Yes, I know who he’s with,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll just check now,” Percy said, opening the door to the back parlor a crack. It was only a crack, but it was wide enough that I saw that Dinwiddie had Philip on the carpet now on all fours, and that it indeed was Lord Dinwiddie who was saddled on the small young man’s ass and was riding him hard.

I felt chills go up my spine and my cock going hard from the memory of both of those positions—and also of the memory of the last thing Dinwiddie had said to me earlier in the day. He’d spoken of riding me, probably in the same taxing way he was riding Philip.

“Just wait in the office,” Percy said to me, as he quietly shut the door.

* * * *

“Lord Dinwiddie will see you now,” Percy said when he came for me in the office. It had taken the man twenty more minutes to be finished with Philip.

“Philip?” I queried when I stood up and turned toward the door to the corridor.

“Philip is fine,” Percy said. “In fact, you could tell he’s bordering on ecstatic. He told me to tell you to enjoy yourself, to just relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Funny,” I said. “I actually saw Dinwiddie earlier today, and he told me he was looking forward to taking me riding.”

“He paid, with a generous tip,” Percy said. “He is in very good standing here. Remember that. Give him what he wants. Always give our good patrons what they want.”

“I always have,” I said, as I entered the back parlor. He was standing near the window. He had pulled his trousers back on and looked impeccable in an evening suit. He was heavy, but not fat. He was as handsome and imposing as he had been earlier today astride his horse, and I shuddered at the thought of him astride me. Now that we were alone, I could acknowledge that he wasn’t a stranger to me, although he had aged in looks since I previously had known him. The golden red mane on his head should have been a giveaway earlier on who was fucking Percy. But then I hadn’t seen him for a year before earlier in the day, and I hadn’t expected to see him now, so I think I can be forgiven not identifying him earlier.

“Lord Dinwiddie,” I said.

“Ross Petigrew,” he responded.

“I was surprised to see you earlier this afternoon,” I said. “I thought you were in India.”

“I was. I was brought back by the Foreign Office for consultations and for instructions. We have a problem in India. Rather, the East India Company has a problem. But one never knows where the British Foreign Office and the British East India Company differ in any way these days. I thought you were in Edinburgh—in school.”

“I didn’t go back to Edinburgh.”

“You went somewhere else after I left?”

“I came straight here.”

“And they took you right in and gave you a position?”

“Yes. I was only eighteen, but I had more than enough experience. You saw to that.”

And he had seen to that. My mother, the music hall singer of some repute and a courtesan, had been his mistress at the time. I had come home—or, more specifically, to her London flat; I never felt I had a home—on holiday from school. He had continued to visit and bed her there. Half way in irritation that my mother was entertaining men so openly—he was her main sponsor but not her only lover at the time—and half way because I was aware that men were more arousing to me than women, I had flirted with him. Unexpectedly, he had flirted back, and that was all the more arousing for me.

One day he came visiting not long before my mother had to leave for Drury Lane for a play rehearsal. He stayed and found me taking a bath. I stood up in the bath, facing him, and lowered my head in a signal of submission. He got his trousers off before climbing in the bath, but otherwise was fully clothed. That wasn’t an impediment for him. He bent me over the side of the bath and fucked me. Then he pulled me out of the bath and fucked me on the wet carpet just as I had seen him fuck Philip earlier. Then sitting on the bed, taking me in his lap with my legs raised and spread just as I had first seen him taking Philip. Then on the bed. He had amazing stamina and claimed that he had been fantasizing for some time about ravishing me.

By the time my mother came home from her rehearsal, he had shown me eight ways an experienced man could fuck a virgin. I had been raised in a libertine household; I took the experience as liberating and another step in growing up. For several months Dinwiddie had two mistresses in the family flat. Surely my mother knew it; she didn’t seem to care. If anything, she seemed to be relieved that I was growing up, making choices, and quite possibly finding the talent that later would provide my room and board.

I was eighteen. She probably was worried that I wouldn’t go off on my own. My father was paying for my schooling; she wasn’t. I was just one of his by-blows. If he was prepared to put me on any allowance after my schooling was complete, my mother hadn’t mentioned it. In perhaps the only indication that she wasn’t pleased that Lord Dinwiddie was fucking both of us, she had begun to hint that it was time for me to either go back to Edinburgh—my holiday had become somewhat longer than the school’s idea of how long it should last—or to find a skill and make my own way in the world.

Dinwiddie had stolen a march on both of us. He had been sent off to India by the Foreign Office.

My mother had a new patron within days. It didn’t take me much longer to find a new vocation here at the Marble Crescent club.

“Does your mother know you are working here?” he asked.

“Yes. She thought it was a good idea. She said that, with my looks, being in the theatre or a whore house were the two best bets for an earl’s bastard. She thought there was more stability here.”

“Is your mother in London? I would have thought I would have heard about who she was screwing now as soon as I returned, but I haven’t heard a whisper of her.”

“Would you screw her if you ran into her in the city?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you are going to screw me this evening?”

“If you don’t object. I will not force you. We have been too close for me to treat you as a whore, even though I’m happy to pay the club for your use. But, yes, I would very much like to fuck you this evening. I’ve been thinking of fucking you since I saw you in Sir Sydney’s carriage this afternoon. You were always one of the best lays.”

“A better lay than my mother?”

“I won’t answer that. It was never a competition between you, Ross. I appreciated you both, in different ways. There was—and is—no reason for you to be jealous. So, is she in London?”

“No. Haven’t you heard about Covent Garden?” I asked. And then when he gave me a quizzical look, I explained. “The Garden burned to the ground in March. I guess you were in India then and the news didn’t travel that far. A magician, John Henry Anderson, had a production called the Bal Masque booked for the theatre before my mother was to start rehearsals there in a revival of Bohemian Girl. She plays Arline. The man’s act included fire. It burned the theatre down and there were no other theatres available for mother’s production. It has had to go on the road. Ironically, she is in Edinburgh now, and I’m not.”

“That’s a pity,” he said. I had come closer to the window where he was standing, and I knew he was within touching distance of me. He reached out and touched my forearm. Even though the touch was on material rather than my bare arm, it sent chills up my spine. Suddenly I felt overdressed and, as if he heard what I was thinking, he said, “Let me look at you—bare-chested. You are still a beautiful young man. Have you filled out more in the last year?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me what you think,” I said. I unknotted my tie, pulled it off, and dropped it on the floor. Next to go was my waistcoat; then my white silk shirt and my singlet. I stood there before him, naked to the waist. He leaned in for a kiss on the lips and I opened my lips to him. He ran the back of one of his hands over my pectorals and down my flat belly. I felt my nipples go taut for him at the feel of the curly golden-red hair on the back of his hand.

“Yes, you are developing very nice,” he murmured when he released me from the kiss. “I knew you would grow into a perfectly formed young man.”

“As perfectly formed as Philip?” I asked.

“Philip? Who is Philip?”

“The young man you just fucked.”

“Ah. Yes, of course, you are far more desirable. If for no other reason than I know you—biblically—in all ways. I know how you will respond when a man is able to reach into the quick of you—and, as you know, I can do that. But I told you earlier. There is no reason for you to be jealous of anyone else concerning me.”

“How did you find me?” I asked. “You only saw me this afternoon and I don’t think you expected to see me in London.”

“You were in Sir Sydney’s carriage. It was clear from his manner and his innuendo that he was taking you someplace to fuck you. I know he’s a member of this club. I enquired and found that you were here. Sir Sydney did take you somewhere and fuck you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Repeatedly.”

“He has a certain reputation with the whip. Did he—?”

“Yes. He bound me and he strapped me and he fucked me hard.”

“And you enjoyed it?” He was fiddling with my belt buckle, which he deftly managed, and I felt him unbuttoning my fly.

“It aroused me. In this business something different, something exotic, something pushing the limits becomes necessary to heighten arousal to new levels. Did you learn anything new, exotic, pushing the limits in India over the last year?”

My trousers puddled on the floor. He drew in his breath when he discovered I wasn’t wearing smalls. I groaned as he possessed my cock with one of his big hands. I was erect. He pulled my pelvis into his. I could tell he was erect too. His other arm went around my waist and his hand descended, his fingers entered and spreading the crease between my buttocks. A finger found my hole and, as I gasped, entered me.

“Yes, I am always learning new positions and techniques,” Dinwiddie whispered. “When Sir Sydney fucked you this afternoon, did he take you in any position I have not used with you.”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“It was exotic, but the man really needs to have a bigger—a longer—cock than Sir Sydney has to make it fully enjoyable for me. I need a man deep inside me. I need to melt to him at the core.”

“Perhaps I have a bigger cock than Sir Sydney has,” he whispered. He reached down and unbuttoned his fly and took my hand and moved it there. His erection had popped out of his trousers and he placed my hand, groaning as I slid my hand the full length of it, being barely able to encompass it all in my sheathing fingers. I felt him shudder has I slid my hand back up to the bulbous glans and then down to the root.

“No contest. You have the biggest cock I’ve ever sheathed.”

“And that’s why you can’t resist me?”

“That’s why I have never said no to you. Shall I take you upstairs now.”

“Will you take me willingly? I told you you would have a choice.”

“I never had a choice with you,” I answered. “I always wanted you whenever you wanted me. I lived to have you deep inside.”

We did go upstairs, where I showed him how to do the bound reverse fuck that Sir Sydney had used with me that afternoon, and he did managed to do that while reaching deep inside the soft core of me and making me come again and again and again. But we did not go upstairs immediately.

He turned me to the wall, me naked and he only exposing that thick, long erection. With my back against the wall next to the window, my arms flung around his neck, and our mouths brutally pressed together, me opening my mouth to let his tongue enter for me to suck on while he fucked me, he reached down with his arms between my thighs and lifted and spread them. I hooked my knees on his hips. I pulled away from the kiss to turn my face toward the ceiling and gasped and cried out as he thrust his cock up, deep, inside me, forcing it up into the quick of my core in one long, forced slide. My channel walls yielded to him, grudgingly, but surely. He took my mouth again with his and he waited me out, throbbing but holding steady, sheathed to the core of me.

Knowing he was in me to the core, he whispered in my ear, “Do what you do with men who can penetrate you this far. Give me what I’ve been dreaming of.”

He held steady inside me and my channel wall muscles latched onto his cock and undulated over the throbbing shaft. We held there, nearly motionless on the inside, making intimate love to each other on the inside, as we both panted heavily and his cock enlarged even more under the rippling attention of my wall muscles. “Nice,” he whispered and then, “Fuck yourself on it.”

Panting hard and whimpering, the muscles of my channel walls spasmodically undulating over his buried shaft, I began to move on the cock. I used my leg muscles, my arm muscles, and my knees, hooked on his hips, to start to rise and fall on the cock, fucking myself on his shaft. Pushing up, my back sliding up the wall, and then lowering myself. I kept the head of his cock in the zone of my core but I steadily fucked myself on him . . . until, pulling his face away from mine, unwilling to continue letting me control the fuck, he looked deep in my eyes, laughed, and then set his cock in motion, fucking me fast and furiously, taking long slides, ramming me deep in my core and then pulling his cock almost entirely out of me. Then ramming up again, fucking me hard and deep, ever more rapidly, until I was bouncing around on the cock, up and down, like a rag doll, crying out for the fuck in passion and full possession. I shot my load between our bellies and then he creamed me deep in my core . . . and let me slide to the floor in a puddle at his feet.

I had been fucked. My head spinning, I remembered the glassy stare I’d seen in Philip’s eyes when he stumbled out of the parlor. I knew I was no less glazed by the power of the fuck from my first-time lover.

He had me for the second time right there on the carpet of the private parlor. He put me on all fours and mounted and rode me like he’d done with Philip earlier, but he did it with an embellishment. He tied my wrists with my tie and he tied my thighs together with his tie. My channel thus was restricted, and he spent considerable time and force burying his huge cock in me, and when he rode me and rode me, I knew I was being fucked.

Before he left in the evening, luckily with enough time to spare for me to bathe and at least partially recover before the bishop arrived, he said, “I didn’t track you down just to have you again. I have a dilemma with my new posting out to India. I wasn’t sure how to handle it. And then I saw you with Sir Sydney this afternoon, and I had a revelation moment. I would like you to come up to Entworthy next weekend. I need three young men to fill in the guest list up there, and I’ve contracted with Percy to provide them from the club. I have a proposition for you. If you are willing, you can be one of the three young men Percy sends and we can discuss the proposition then.”

“A proposition?” I asked. “What are you proposing?” Entworthy was Lord Dinwiddie’s country estate northwest of London in Yorkshire. I had been there before, with my mother. Both of us had thought his bed there was very comfortable.

“It will take some time to explain,” he said. “I can say that it would be a real adventure for you. And you could learn some exotic positions just as I have.”

“If Percy wishes me to be there, I will be there,” I answered. We both knew that Percy would be delighted with the assignment—with the money, and possibly new clients, depending on the guest list, it would generate.

* * * *

I woke the next morning with the bishop taking my hand and moving it down to his cock. I was lying on my back on the bed and he, tall and gangling, almost skeletal, was pressed up to my side on his side. His right arm was around my neck, the long, elegant fingers of his right hand were playing with my right nipple. He rubbed the gemstone of a huge ecclesiastical ring on the nipple, teasing me to arch my back and give him a low moan. His left hand took my right hand down to his crotch, where he left it, sheathing his cock, and then moved to my shaft.

“Feel that? I’m blessed again.”

Bishop Ingram meant he was hard—or nearly so. He was at that stage of life when every erection was a miracle. He had said when he arrived that he’d been sent an elixir from the Vatican to help with his erections—God knows why the Vatican was peddling such things to their bishops, archbishops, and cardinals, but mine wasn’t to question; the whole Catholic thing was screwy as far as I was concerned; I was high church Anglican. I had to admit that he might be on to something. He’d had two erections in the night and had successfully fucked me. And now there was the possibility of another one this morning—if I helped him along. His cock was like him, long and thin and bent over, although it straightened out inside me. When I spoke of him, I referred to it as his bone and when we’d successfully fucked when I was with him—which he didn’t manage all of the time—I said we’d had a boner.

I raised my face enough for him to know he could kiss me and he took my lips with his. I loosened my hold on his cock while maintaining a sheath with my fingers and, taking the hint, he started stroking into my cupped hand while stroking my cock in the same rhythm. I got harder faster than he did and harder altogether. I picked out Jerry, Sir Sydney’s coachman, as my fantasy lover as I prepared to receive the priest’s bone and while he carried through.

He did get hard—hard enough. And when he was, he rolled over on top of me. He was light as a feather. The nice thing about the bishop was how freakishly elongated he was—in every feature. This extended to his cock. When he was hard enough to penetrate me, as he was this morning, he was long enough to reach my soft core—further actually, far enough up into me to make me gasp and to send my hips into overdrive in riding the shaft.

When a man was in me that deep, the muscles of my walls also went into overdrive, clutching, rippling over, and milking the man’s cock. Strangely enough, with the bishop, his cock was so thin that my muscles frantically searched for him, which caused me to cry out in passion and gyrate my hips more than I usually did in the search for and effort to seize and squeeze the bone. He certainly enjoyed that, and he refrained from the profane words I sometimes used.

He knelt between my spread thighs. I brought my feet up under my knees and lifted my pelvis to given him a straight shot to heaven. He glided in, in, in, deep, and I gasped, grasped his boney shoulders with my fists, and he just held there, whispering how beautiful I was and how blessed he was to be deep inside me. I frantically pistoned my pelvis on him, riding the cock hard, thinking of Jerry and how he too went this deep and caressed and made love in my soft core. The bishop’s body was shuddering and he was muttering, “Oh, sweet Mary. Oh, sweet Jesus.” I knew he was in another world—that never before had he been inside a man when the man’s channel muscles were grasping and making love to his cock as mine now were.

The bishop and I came almost simultaneously and he shouted his loud hosannas and thanked God for the gift of elixir while I fought to control my panting and clutched him close to me.

He made to withdraw, but I begged him to stay inside me, for us to do it again if he could manage it. It was what I planned to do with him when and if he was able, and it was planned as performance art to keep him happy and in the club. But he had gone harder than usual, although he’d been harder than usual in the night too. And he was still hard. And I genuinely wanted to take every advantage of the length and bone hardness of him.

I cajoled him over onto his back without losing penetration, and I rode the cock with him on his back and me saddled on his pelvis, rolling around and forward and back and side to side and bouncing on the cock possessing me impossibly deep, causing my channel muscles in the soft-core zone to reach out for him and undulate over his thin, but deep-penetrating shaft.

I fired off once and then I continued to ride him, again and again. He wasn’t ejaculating, but he was having a good time—right up until we’d been at it for a half hour and he wasn’t going flaccid. Eventually, worry overtook both of us and I climbed off him. He was still hard and tenting the front panel of his underdrawers when he pulled the thankfully sack-like ecclesiastical robe down his body.

I didn’t really need to advise him that he needed to seek out a doctor and to suspend the elixir, but he left in mixed spirits.

“I have never had such a good ride with a young man before,” he told me as he left the room. “Bless you, my child. You’ve given me a miracle. I’ll be back.”

I lay there on the bed purring. He wasn’t the only one who had received a miracle. I was incorrigible, but I was honest with myself. The bishop had been grateful that he had been able to use me this late in life and in his condition. He was so cadaverous that there must be something eating at him. And sometimes when he came to me, the worries of his world were such a burden that he couldn’t get erect. In such times I held him and cuddled him, and I think that meant more to him than if we’d shared a climax.

There were few pleasures left to him in life. Fucking a handsome young man—being able to get it up three times within the span of a night and early morning and having a young man riding his cock, gasping, and firing off again and again was an end-of-life thrill for a man even if it involved him having a hard on that would not go away—even if the experience sent him to the hospital with yet another ailment.

But I had used him more than he had used me. I had known, even in the night, what the elixir had done to him. But he had something that I craved—at least for that night and this morning. I knew he could reach the quick of me and activate my channel muscles. I wasn’t a male whore because it was the only survival mechanism open to me. I was a male whore for the variety of men who fucked me and the frequency with which they did it. If there were many of them, there were bound to be men like the bishop and Jerry and Lord Dinwiddie, who had cocks that could reach into my gut, my soft core, and pull climax after climax out of me. This morning the bishop had had such a cock. So, even knowing that his hard on was more of a curse than a blessing for him, I knew it was an opportunity for me to dance on the clouds. And so, this was why I was a male whore and this was why I used the bishop . . . and Jerry . . . and Lord Dinwiddie more than they used me. The die had been cast when Dinwiddie was my first man. After that I couldn’t get enough huge or long cock.

When I came down for breakfast, Percy was still at the table. He had a startled look on his face.

“I’m sure the bishop will be all right,” I said as I sat down at the table.

“The bishop?” he said, with a glassy expression. “What about the bishop?”

“Just a little elixir trouble, I think,” I answered. “If you aren’t concerned about the bishop, what’s the matter?”

“It’s Dinwiddie, where you are going this next weekend. If he is satisfied with the weekend, he wants to buy your contract.”

“Buy my contract? He said nothing of that to me. Does he have any idea how much he would have to pay?”

“He wouldn’t have to pay anything,” Percy said. “That’s what has me confused—and worried. He isn’t the one who would be buying the contract. It would be bought by the British Foreign Office.”

“What the hell?” I exclaimed.

“Precisely,” Percy answered. “And I couldn’t say no to them. It mentions that the contract would be a matter of national interest—and secrecy, of course.”

I don’t know why, but my thoughts went beyond Lord Dinwiddie—to my natural-born father, the Earl of Heathdon—one of my mother’s early patrons, before she learned the ins and outs of birth control. She had already mastered the ins and outs of a man’s cock. The earl had proved to be more virile than most—or, at least, she said, he fucked her to exhaustion and she couldn’t remember when she’d had time to take steps and when not. In the end, there obviously was one too many times of “not.”

The Earl of Heathdon was the current foreign secretary, very much involved in the national interest.

[To be continued]