Timeless

I’ve tried sex with women on several occasions over the years. Not really my bag – I think that’s the term you use nowadays. I find there’s always something missing, and I’m not referring to a nice hard cock to play with. No, the physicality isn’t there, the hard press of muscled body to muscled body – women are far too soft and soggy for my liking. Even the smell is different. I love the musky smell of a man, especially when he’s hot and sweaty. So why on earth am I allowing this over perfumed, mutton dressed as lamb, fat laden whore to run her hands where ever she likes? A damn good question to which there is, unfortunately a very simple answer – I’m broke, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the centuries it’s that a pretty face allied with a well-toned body and witty intelligent conversation can always pimp itself out to earn a few shillings. Of course the fact that I’ve allowed myself a large, thick penis in this latest incarnation helps me enormously in my current choice of profession.

Oh God, here she goes again, grabbing my manhood – ouch, you fat bitch, that hurt. The things I have to tolerate in this job would make a lesser man cry. Everything was so promising in the beginning. I had the world at my feet and as many lifetimes as I wanted to enjoy it.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Pieter, I’m nine hundred and fifty two years old this year. I’m not looking forward to my thousandth birthday as from what my fellow Shifters tell me, whilst it’s absolutely necessary for me to endure the ultimate rebirth it’s very painful and somewhat demeaning. I stand at six feet two inches tall, weigh 180lbs with not an ounce of fat anywhere, long blonde hair that falls below my shoulders and shimmers in the light – it’s quite, quite beautiful actually, some consider it to be my best feature. My eyes are a piercing bright blue, my lips full and red, offering you the perfect kiss. My body is almost hairless, I prefer it this way, especially when I’m pressed against a big masculine hunk and I can feel his hairy chest rubbing on me – heaven! My large, responsive nipples topping my adorably rounded pecs like nothing better than the sensation of coarse hair stimulating them to erection.

My stomach is the envy of many. I have a perfect six pack – I did think of allowing myself an eight pack again this time but my natural modesty prevented me. I did allow a light treasure trail to run from my navel to the tidily trimmed bush at the base of my manhood. My balls are smooth - so much more sensitive this way.

I have strong legs that I know people enjoy looking at and touching, when I allow them to that is. My feet are perfect, not a bunion or piece of hard unattractive skin anywhere in sight. My favourite part of my anatomy, apart from my magnificent penis of course, are my hands. I adore my hands. They are strong yet slim with long, sensual fingers. My nails are perfect, never chipped or scuffed and you will never ever find dirt under them.

My penis, or cock as it is so tastelessly referred to in these days of instant gratification and communication, is, even if I say so myself, my absolute crowning glory. Nine and one half inches of thick tumescence. I did consider taking it to the full ten inches this time but decided I should display my usual modesty and self-control. I’m thinking I might have to go there next time – Time, as always, will tell.

Oh, did I mention my perfect bubble butt? Isn’t that a horrible way to describe what is the epitome of maleness? My posterior is , well I can’t actually think of a better way of describing it – it’s absolutely perfect. Round, muscular, firm, peachy, smooth and completely hairless it is eminently fuckable. Quite simply a joy to behold.  

All in all I am quite, quite gorgeous, stunning in fact. I went to a great deal of trouble this time around to ensure I would be irresistible, and frankly, I am. Heads spin when I walk down the street. Restaurants fall silent when I enter such is the impact my beauty has on others less fortunate. People in supermarket queues never complain when I squeeze in front of them once they receive a smile that highlights my perfect teeth and stunning eyes. They are only too pleased to give up their place in line to what they see in front of them. Man or woman, it makes no difference. My beauty silences and prevents all protest.

So you’d think I would be the happiest man alive wouldn’t you? I should be. I’m perfect after all. But I’m lonely, unloved, wanted only for the perfect body I created for my own pleasure but that has become a millstone round my neck, and from the years I spent working in that bloody flourmill four hundred years ago, let me tell you, millstones are weighty things, even the small ones. The big ones are fun to fuck on though, a little uncomfortable but fun non the less.

My life is full of memories. What’s wrong with memories I hear you ask. Nothing if you have someone to share them with, but when your memories are almost a thousand years long, filled with people and places you have loved and lost, the thought of creating more painful reminders of the real cost of immortality is depressing.

When I chose a lover, someone to share twenty or thirty years with, their ingestion of my sperm helps to lengthen their lives and enhances their natural attributes. It also prevents them from getting ill, but eventually they age and die. I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, longevity has it’s advantages and being able to chose how one looks from regeneration to regeneration was a real buzz – at first - but like everything else it’s novelty and excitement has waned over the centuries. Having said that, why would you chose not to be physically perfect if that’s the option available to you?

It’s the loneliness that gets to you. Friends come and go. Other Shifters tend to be self-obsessed and opinionated as opposed to my modest, self-deprecating demeanour. I haven’t met one yet that I liked. Not that there are that many of us to meet. The last count put us at a total of two hundred and thirty two world wide with a further three hundred in self imposed stasis. I never used to understand why someone would want to shut themselves down when they have the ability to be whatever and whoever they want to be, but after nine centuries of life I am beginning to comprehend why you would do so. A friendless, loveless life, unshared and lonely gets to the point where you question how many more empty years you can take.

It was tremendous fun at first. The realisation that you were indestructible, unable to die naturally or be killed by the most violent of incidents was exciting. Add to that the extra strength and natural fitness you have and then the ability to create yourself in a form of your own choosing and being able to make anyone, male or female lay down and open their legs for you,  why wouldn’t life be a ball. And it was for the first two to three hundred years. I had an absolutely brilliant time. All those wars and battles. The beauty and vitality of the various courts I have had the pleasure to live at. The people I met and loved. The sex, ah, the sex. Once someone has sex with me they are ruined for anyone else, unless they meet another Shifter of course. And like I said I have the ability to make anyone I like lust after me. I just have to plant the seed in their psyche, sit back and wait and within a few hours, or minutes if I’m feeling particularly horny, they are mine for the taking. As you can imagine, I’ve bedded some of the worlds most unlikely men, turning any number of them into my playthings. Napoleon Bonaparte for example was one of the best and most demanding bottom boys I have had the pleasure of servicing. Until he lost control of his diet and caught syphilis from that dreadful whore Josephine. What he ever saw in her I will never know. Don’t believe everything you read about he being a great beauty. By the time I met her she had rotten teeth, halitosis and tits that sagged to her wrinkled knees – we didn’t get on. We could have done if I’d done my magic on her,  but to be frank, well, I do have some standards! Yes dear old Nappy as I liked to call him took as much cock as I could give him when he was young and firm, but when he let himself go I had to move on.

I first became aware I was somewhat different during my twenties when the English seemed to be constantly at war with the Scottish and Welsh. I had been lucky, or so I thought at the time, to have been taken up by one of King William’s most favoured Knights. Talk about Sir Lance-a lot. The man was insatiable and there were days when we were on campaign when he rode me more than his horse. Of course I know now that he was in thrall to me because of what I am, not simply because he was a raving shirt-lifter. The first time I saw him I was twenty four years old and working for a blacksmith in London. It was a hard, dirty, dangerous job but I was learning a trade and was glad to be doing so. England after 1066 was not a happy place. The Normans took great delight in putting the old Anglo-Saxon families in their place and the general population kept it’s collective head down in the hope that they wouldn’t be noticed.

Sir Gerard Nouvelle, second Baronet of somewhere in Normandy and the South East of England – I never really took much notice of titles, they were dished out like sweet-meats in those days.  Didn’t like sweet-meats either let me tell you. Who in their right mind wants to eat fried bollocks? Or were they sweetbreads? But back to Sir Gerard, he with the golden lance. My first sight of him was not auspicious. I was shoeing a horse at the time and said animal wasn’t playing along, having just given me an almighty great boot up the backside as I tried to fit the damn shoe on it. I sailed across the forge for several feet before colliding with a rock-face that turned out to be my Knight in shining armour come to order a new sword from my master who was renowned for his skill at creating exceptional blades. I’m not sure what hurt most at that particular moment, my arse, my head or my pride. The beautifully turned out Knight graciously helped me to my feet and when our eyes locked I was smitten. I’d always preferred boys to girls, despite the best efforts of a girl who lived nearby, Bessie the Bountiful we called her,  who was constantly offering herself to me like some sort of irresistible titbit. Well believe me, I resisted! Young Marcus however, the baker’s boy was a different matter entirely. He and I had long ago lost our virginities to each other in every way you can suggest. He was a dirty little bugger that baker’s boy!

I can only assume that the lustful thoughts that immediately sprang into my head upon seeing the gorgeous Gerard were propelled into his without my knowing what I was doing, because within twenty four hours I found myself naked in his bed waiting for him to come home from some joust or other the King was holding. After he had ordered his sword and spoken at length to my master I discovered I had been bought. My Blacksmithing days were over, I was now apparently a page to the iron clad god my cock had fallen in love with. I was whisked off to the castle, bathed, shaved, cleaned out – yes, he had a servant to see to that for his lovers. Apparently he had had a very unfortunate incident one evening with a young farm boy he was rogering who earlier had been eating rotten meat, this being all he had to eat. The after effects of this consumption became legendary and almost put my Knight off man sex for ever until a colleague suggested he employ an official Arse Cleaner-outer to ensure such a thing never happened again. The history books never mention this particular household role do they? Surprising really given how many Royal Knights liked to bugger their Pages and how many employed a boy to ensure the bum about to be buggered was well and truly safe to enter.

Once clean I was presented to my Knight who proceeded to bend me over, slap pig-fat on my ass hole and push his not inconsiderable portable jousting staff into my welcoming scabbard. I’ll admit that he did make my eyes widen somewhat thanks to his impressive girth – I never did manage to get my finger and thumb to meet when holding it. I obviously pleased him that night, despite our tryst being done and dusted in less than two minutes, as I was informed my services would be required on a regular basis. Looking back I can understand why he would want me in his bed, I was young, fit, reasonably muscular, very good looking and had an exceptional ass. I had never lacked for cock from an early age and had come to enjoy a good shafting by someone who knew what he was doing. My Knight however, really had no idea how to fuck for pleasure. For him it was just a means to an end. I determined to alter this preconception and to make myself invaluable to him. After all, life in the Castle as a Lord’s fuck-bum was much more comfortable and preferable to that of a blacksmith’s apprentice who wasn’t always certain he would be fed a proper meal each day.

That second night with my Knight proved to be the first night of the rest of my life – if you get my meaning. By the time morning came I was firmly ensconced in his affections and therefore his household, and thanks to the way my physiology works I had become aware of what and who I really was. Sir Gerald stalked into the bedroom all proud and pompous-like, expecting me to coo and fawn all over him. I soon put him straight – well un-straight really, ‘gay’ being a term for happiness and frivolity in those days, not one used to describe a particular sexual preference.

He demanded that I get off the bed and on my knees so that he could fuck me. Just like that, no preamble. No ‘please’ or ‘thankyou’. I was having none of it, explaining that he could fuck me all he wanted to but that we were going to have a bit of fun first and that he would enjoy it so much more. He resisted at first until a sudden blinding pain lanced through my head and I found myself looking down on the proceedings in the room which seemed to be frozen in time. From somewhere, and please don’t ask me where because I won’t actually know the answer to that question until I’m one thousand years old, a voice spoke loudly and clearly to me explaining that I was immortal, could control the minds and actions of others, that I could not get ill or be killed and that it was my lot in life, or rather lives, to bring sexual pleasure to whomever I saw fit. I also won’t know until my thousandth birthday why this epiphany came to me at that particular moment, but I’m jolly glad it did.

Now obviously all this explanation took time and I wasn’t as calm about it all at first as perhaps I should have been, but once I got used to the idea I could see it’s benefits so decided to give it a try. I returned to my body and projected my thoughts into the mind of the warrior-stud standing before me. I suggested that he would like to make love with me, not just fuck and go. I planted all sorts of inquiring thoughts into his head that if accepted would ensure we would have sex the like of which he had not experienced before. I am delighted to tell you they were well and truly accepted and I could hardly walk the following morning.

I alighted from the bed and stood before him. I leaned into him and brushed my lips against his. It was as though I had thrown the ‘on’ switch. He enfolded me in his arms and proceeded to kiss me with a passion and expertise I had not expected. It seems I had released him from the straight-jacket society had placed on him and he was determined to show me how much fun two men could have if they gave themselves over totally to the art of man sex. What I now understand is that all the ideas and thoughts I had placed in his head were now a part of him. Over the next few months they would define who he was when with me. His lust and attraction for his wife would continue unabated but running along side those feelings were new ones that ensured he was mine for as long as I desired.

I asked him to disrobe so that I could see his battle and tourney toned body. I was not disappointed. His shoulders were like boulders atop the massive slabs of muscles that were his chest. Two large, erect nipples hung from the massive mounds of his pecs. His stomach was flat and solid, his legs thick muscular trunks. He looked solid, as if carved by the greatest sculptor from the finest stone. A statue of Adonis come to life. His arms, legs and chest were covered by fine dark hairs with a wild and full bush surrounding his fully erect and impressive battering ram. He was bigger in every way than me and I felt my heart quicken and breathing become ragged as lust took hold of me. I fell to my knees in worship to the god like soldier who stood so proud and commanding over me. I begged him to allow me to touch him, to make love to him. In answer he lowered himself to kneel before me, tenderly took my hands in his and brought his forehead to mine. His dark brown eyes looked into mine and when he spoke it was with deep feeling.

‘I am your lord and master Pieter but I will also be your lover if that is your desire. I would not force one such as you, as beautiful and honest a soul as you are, to undertake any act you do not wish to. I will honour and protect you Pieter to my last breath on God’s earth.’ Everyone spoke ever so formally in those days, and of course it was all in French. Good job I understood it really, thanks to my Norman father.

What I wanted to tell the daft bugger was that I didn’t want to be cherished and honoured just then. What I was gagging for was his cock in my mouth and then my arse. But you can’t talk to up-their-own backsides nobility like that, not till they’ve well and truly buggered you anyway!

I decided to take the bull by the horns – or horn actually, and quickly enveloped his throbbing lance deep in my mouth managing to get a sizable length of it down my throat. I was made for this and even if I say so myself I give a man the best blow job he will ever experience. Of course I was still a relative novice at this time, I’d only been sucking cock since I was sixteen and not all of them had been as large as my Knights glorious jousting pole. I soon had him moaning and could taste his salty/sweet juice escaping from the eye of his fuck tool. He was holding on to my head by this time, fucking his hard cock down my gullet, saying things like, ‘Take that nave’ and ‘have at you varlet’ – yes, unfortunately some of them did use language like that in those days. I closed my ears and concentrated on sucking him to completion.

His face fucking got more violent the closer he came to emptying his big tight balls and I was gagging, drooling and in some discomfort by the time he cried out to all who could hear what a great Page I was and filled my mouth with his hot spunk. Jet after jet pumped into my eagerly swallowing throat. I milked him dry, not one drop of his precious nectar was wasted.

If I hoped for a rest while he recovered from the violence of his orgasm I was sorely, and I do mean sorely disappointed. He stood and pulled me to my feet. ‘On the bed Page, face down.’

I looked down at his still rampant weapon and gulped as I remembered the feel of it inside me when he had so roughly used me the night before. He must have seen the slight trepidation in my eyes, and if I’m being honest it was only slight as I was desperate to have him make love to me, as he tenderly stroked my face and smiled before gently turning me round and propelling me to the bed. I fell forwards onto it, quickly grabbing a pillow that I pushed under my midriff. My cute, round bum was all his, pushed up towards him by the pillow with my pink rosebud pulsing at him thanks to the wide spread of my legs. I felt his hands on my buttocks and then God help me his mouth descended onto my fuck ring, his tongue pushing inside me as far as he was able. I decided that eating the bed throw was preferable to screaming like a girl as he expertly ate my cunny. His two day growth of beard scratched and stimulated me to new heights and his hand reached under me to pull my achingly hard cock back between my legs. I felt his lips wrapping themselves round my helmet as he sucked me as deep into his mouth as he could given the position I was in. As I enjoyed the feeling of his warm lips and tongue lapping at my leaking dick I became aware of greased fingers dipping in and out of my widening arse hole. He was good this Knight, he was very good. All fears of another near rape to match that I had endured the night before disappeared as he took our sexual fulfilment to levels I had not previously experienced. By the time he pressed the end of his thick war hammer to the entrance of my silken sheath I was desperate to feel him inside me. I didn’t have to wait long as with one steady push he skewered me like a suckling pig at Mid-winter. I felt every inch of him as he pushed deep into me, I was stretched as never before, his cock being even thicker than the previous night thanks to my oral ministrations and the height of passion we were both enjoying.

Gently, slowly he began to rock to and fro moving the monster inside me just enough to stretch and push all of me that was in contact with his ramrod stiff pike, getting me used to the length and more importantly the massive girth of him. My clenched fists thumped the mattress and I moaned and screamed into the bed spread that was balled in my mouth. Even then I was told later I could be heard several rooms away trough the thick walls and doors of the Castle Keep. All who listened knew what my lord was doing to me and that I was loving every thick, iron-hard, forge-hot inch of him.

After making sure I was comfortable accommodating his over sized boys toy Sir Gerard began to gradually increase the speed and length of his thrusts. It wasn’t long before I was being fucked harder than hard by my powerful knight and I was pushing back to meet his every forward plunge. Our bodies slapped together, sweat pouring off the both of us. Harder, quicker, deeper – he took ownership of me that night and transported me beyond pleasure. I was in bum-fuck heaven. My cock was as hard as it had ever been and cum was leaking from it in great amounts. It might almost be said that I was experiencing one long anal orgasm that manifested itself in the juice dripping from my bouncing prick. I was aware only of the battering ram fucking my wrecked and gaping fuck hole. I couldn’t get enough of the magnificent man ploughing my furrow.

All good things must come to an end and in too short a time for my liking Sir Gerard was telling me I should prepare to take his seed. I swear he got even thicker as the first hot blast of his knightly juice was smashed into my eagerly grasping cum dump of a mancunt. The increased ferocity of his attack as he filled and filled and filled me again pushed my own orgasm to completion and I covered my stomach and the bed with a lake of my own thick cream. We bucked, squirmed and twisted into and against each other as we unloaded our full balls. I could feel his warm spunk dribbling from my still stretched hole as his penis began to return to it’s normal, limp state.

There was a decided ‘plop’ as he slipped out of me and lay next to me on the bed. I removed the pillow from underneath me and lay still and flat face down looking at my beautiful Knight’s face. Without thinking I moved over and nestled up to him, my shoulder fitting perfectly into his arm pit. His arm came up and round me and he pulled me closer for a deep, loving kiss.

‘You may stay with me tonight Pieter as a reward for your hard work tonight.’ I saw a tantalisingly cheeky look in his eyes and he fought to keep his mouth from smiling too broadly at me.

‘Thank you my lord. I’d like that.’

We moved onto the bed properly and entwined like the lovers we had become fell into a deep and satisfied sleep.

To be continued..