The Low Road

by James Lear

  Now he was holding my head in place with both hands, fucking my mouth with rapid thrusts. I screwed my eyes tight shut, concentrated on loosening my throat and let him go, marvelling at the contrast between the hardness of the cock in my mouth and the silky softness that I was encountering at the back. Finally I felt his insides stir around my finger, he pushed himself all the way into my mouth and stayed there as my mouth filled with a hot, salty dose. I held on to him as long as I could, but finally had to pull back to breathe, and the volume of his come flooded my mouth, coating my tongue. I let the finger pop out of his arse, then let his cock flop out of my mouth. A string of sticky fluid connected the head to my lips as his shaft, still heavy, swung at half-mast before my face. At last I swallowed, unwilling to relinquish the taste of him.

  Alexander stood, panting. I knelt before him, my hands resting behind me in the straw, my cock, straining for relief, jutting straight up at the gloomy rafters. He stared down at me for a while, gently tugging on his balls; his cock, after its first subsidence, seemed unready to go down just yet. I spread my knees apart and was about to take myself in hand, but Alexander prevented me, kicking my hand aside with his bare foot, and then pushing me backwards until I had no choice but to sprawl on the floor. He launched himself on top of me, stretching the full length of his body against mine, and gripped me in a powerful hug, the swell of his rock-hard biceps grinding into my chest and shoulders. All I wanted to do was come, and could have quite easily done so just by pressing myself against him, but he saw what I was about and pulled himself away.

  ‘Not yet, Charlie. I’ve got a lot to teach you first.’

  I relaxed, and stretched out in front of him, eager to. He kissed me on the mouth, then worked down my chin, my neck, on to each nipple, gently sucking and biting them. Each time I thought I could stand no more, and made to grip my cock for the half-dozen strokes it would take to bring me off, he intercepted me. His lips travelled down my stomach, nibbling the short, sandy hairs that grew there, traced the lines of my hips, skirted my groin and worked down to my legs. Lapping with his tongue he slicked up my thighs, then, with a hand under each knee, bent my legs up and over my body, lifting my bum from the floor. A few bits of straw and earth had stuck to my buttocks; he brushed them away with one hand, holding my crooked legs up with the other.

  Then, with a wicked look in his eye, he spat on to his fingers and rubbed them against my hole. The familiar feeling of burning and melting started again as he pressed and probed, centring my whole being, all my sensations, around that tender little mound of flesh. Suddenly, to my dismay, he pulled away.

  ‘Wait a minute there, Charlie. Let’s make things a little easier for ourselves. Hold on.’

  Grabbing me by the hips, he slid me over to the saddle rack, and placed each of my feet on the lower rung which stretched about a yard above the floor. I lay back with my head on a pillow of straw and relaxed; my legs, thus supported, could easily lift and part to display my hole to Alexander. He scooted around to the other side of the saddle rack and appeared beneath the cross bar. ‘That’s better, boy. Now, let me at it.’

  I parted my legs as wide as I could and watched him at work. Spitting on his hand again he continued his teasing of my hole, which was now opening up and trying to kiss his fingertips, seemingly with a will of its own. He pushed a little harder against it, and one finger slid in - much further than I’d imagine it could, practically up to his third knuckle. I winced with pain and surprise at first, but then, after he’d kept it still inside me for a minute, relaxed around the sensation. Craning my neck, I could see to my delight that Alexander was once again as stiff as a pole.

  Gently, slowly, he worked the finger around inside me, as if he was stirring a pot of porridge. Each new contact seemed to heat me further, and soon I wanted more. Sensing from the brazen shoving of my hips that I was ready for it, Alexander spat on to my arsehole and introduced another finger. Again, the feeling of pain; again, the subsequent sensation of fullness and ecstasy. Now the gentle stirrings were replaced by a harder, cruder in-and-out thrusting as my arse became accustomed to his presence. A third finger joined the other two; I felt as if I must come soon or faint. My cock was spewing out its juice so much that I suspected, for a moment, that I had already come without knowing it; only the continued stiffness and eagerness persuaded me otherwise.

  Carefully, one by one, Alexander removed his fingers and left my hole kissing the air. Then, prostrating himself between my legs, he grabbed my hips, pulled me towards him and buried his tongue inside me again. It was good, but it was not enough. ‘I want your fingers back,’ I said, sounding to my own ears like a spoilt brat. ‘Please, Alex, stick them back in me.’

  ‘No, Charlie, I’ve got something else to go in there,’ he said, wiping his mouth after eating my arse. ‘You’re ready for it now. Just getting you nice and wet down there...’ He returned to his job, pushing his spit inside me with his tongue.

  ‘Now jump up here.’ He motioned me to a saddle mounted on the end of a bench, an old, worn, glossy brown leather thing that we’d used dozens of times on Starlight. ‘Let me see your bare white bum in that, my lad.’ I was quick to obey, jumping up from the floor and leaping into position with indecent speed. I lay back, comfortably supported, and pulled my knees back to my chest, exposing my arsehole; I didn’t need to be told what to do.

  ‘That’s a good boy,’ he said, laughing at my eagerness. ‘Now I’m going to ride you home.’

  Reaching over to his workbench, he dipped his fingers in a large tin of dubbin and pulled out a glob of the yellow, sticky goo about the size of a walnut. Without ceremony he wiped it on to my arsehole, rubbing it around and inside me until the scent of warm flesh and warm dubbin filled the stable. He scooped up some of the excess, rubbed it between his palms and smeared it over his rock-hard cock until it glistened in the gloom. I knew what was coming. I feared it slightly, but I wanted it far more than I feared it. I spread my cheeks wider to signal my readiness.

  He sat on the end of the bench, his cock directly in line with my hole, and pressed the head on its target. It was a familiar sensation; I’d grown accustomed to his tongue and his fingers inside me. Once I was open again he pushed harder, and the head was engulfed. I relaxed, breathed deeply, saw with joy the deep concentration on his face as he watched himself disappearing into me. Then, lifting himself slightly, keeping me glued to him, he pushed deeper. It hurt badly at first, as if I was being cut; this was not the gentle teasing of tongue and fingers. I bit my lip and tried not to cry out.

  ‘Shall I stop, Charlie? Is it too much?’

  I shook my head and held steady. The pain receded. ‘Go on. All of it.’ Gently, he eased in the last few inches.

  ‘That’s it. You’ve got all of me now.’

  We lay like that for a couple of minutes, Alexander caressing my chest and stomach. I noticed with surprise that my erection had entirely subsided on the first blast of pain; my pleasure, however, had not. When I felt ready, I wriggled my hips in encouragement. Alexander needed no further permission. Grasping one of my ankles in each hand, he pulled his cock gently out of my bum, lingered with his head just inside me, then pushed in again, quicker and harder this time. I gasped but there was no pain, just a relief when I felt the fullness return. Buried inside me to the hilt, he pushed against me in short, deep stabs. Something deep within my guts seemed to open up, to flower - and almost instantly, my cock sprang to life again. He thrust again, pulled out, thrust again, increasing the tempo. I felt that I could not sustain much more. Alexander leant forward and placed my calves over his shoulders, pinning my arms down behind my head with his strong hands, and kissed me full on the mouth. His cock was hammering into me now, and my arse was moving in the same rhythm. My cock, trapped between our sweating stomachs, was almost painful. We kissed so hard I felt I must have bruised his lips.

  Slowing his pace, he righted himself and grabbed hold of me with his right hand, gently wanking my cock which swelled up i
n gratitude and relief. He stayed rigid, immovable inside me as I writhed around, and just as I was about to come he thrust hard, fast and deep within my guts. My whole being seemed to be emptying out through the end of my penis, skewered and twisted as I was on the hard pole inside me. The sperm coated my stomach and splashed on the brown leather of the saddle.

  With a business-like dexterity Alexander lowered my legs, pulled his cock out of my arse with a plop, wiped it on a handful of straw, then straddled my chest and sat down. One, two, three strokes of his powerful brown hand and he was spewing another load straight into my face. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, desperate for one more taste. When he had spent himself, he leaned forward and kissed me hard. We lay, glued together by our drying spunk, until Alexander rose to dress. There was no running away this time, no turning of backs. As I prepared to go, we kissed again.

  For some weeks the excitement of my regular liaisons with Alexander pushed from my mind all curiosity about the history of my family, the fate of my father or the growing preoccupation of my mother. I was glad to get out of the house; not just because I knew that further joys awaited me in the gloom of the stable, but also to escape from an atmosphere of misery and suppressed panic. I was lucky; never in my life had I had such freedom, such an absence of observation. Neither my mother nor Ethel seemed to care whether I completed my lessons or not. They spent their days closeted in the study, deep in conversation. No new tutor had arrived to replace the last one. My studies went neglected; instead I learned from my morning classes with Alexander.

  Custom made us bold. Our regular sessions in the stable, extravagant as they were, were no longer enough; the simple, inexhaustible pleasures of the flesh had been joined by a desire for simple companionship. Our endearments did not disappear with our lust; we wanted to share everything. Where Alexander was the leader in the physical realm, I took the initiative in what I thought of as the spiritual dimension of our friendship, and insisted that we should continue on an equal and permanent footing. Alexander resisted - wisely, as I now see - but could not hold out for long. I invited him to the house for meals; a few stern words to my mother and there was no resistance. I arranged for him to move his belongings out of the family home and to lodge with us, despite the fact that his sickly parents relied on his help. So selfish was my interest that I chose to silence their protests with money.

  Alexander lodged, officially, in the servants’ quarters of Gordon Hall, where there had been an ample supply of empty rooms since our return. In practice, of course, he shared my bed on most nights - just as he had always longed to do. Sometimes we simply drifted into sleep together and woke in one another’s arms to wash and run through the fields to the horses. But on most nights we fucked until we were exhausted, slept for a few hours, then fucked again until dawn. During that time I learned to give as well as to take, I fucked and was fucked in every conceivable position. I discovered - or so I thought at the time - every variation on the act of love between men. Experience would teach me that there were many, many things that Alexander and I had never even dreamed of during that happy summer.

  As I grew accustomed to having Alexander in my bed, and the feverishness of our relationship was replaced by a warm affection, my old curiosity returned to me. I pestered him with questions, using every trick in the book to get him to talk about my father. I approached the subject obliquely, testing his knowledge of recent local history. I tried to surprise him with questions about the horses. ‘When did Starlight last see action in battle?’ He fell for none of them. He feigned ignorance where he could. When I challenged him, he simply smiled and said no more.

  One night, however, I caught him out. It was a beautiful night, towards the end of August, the day of my nineteenth birthday. We had spent the day on a long hack along the loch and then inland to Glencoe, where we’d stopped and, observed only by a passing eagle, fucked in the heather and bracken. The midges had driven us back, biting us into a frenzy as we tried to cover our naked bodies and rush back to our horses who stood stamping, swishing their tails and their manes in angry impatience to move on. We galloped across country, over the heath and into the forest that abutted the Gordon estate. Finally, crossing into familiar ground, we tethered our mounts at pasture and bathed in the glen that winds through our land. We ran in the sunshine to dry ourselves, and stabled the horses just before sunset. My mother welcomed us both to supper — she was glad, I think, that I had formed a friendship with one whom she trusted so completely - and enjoyed a pleasant evening. My mother went early to bed, complaining of a headache; indeed, she looked pale and tense that night. Alexander and I sat and talked until the fire had died down, then repaired to my room.

  I had Alexander exactly where I wanted him, spreadeagled on the bed as I lowered myself on to his perpendicular cock. I was enjoying the contrast of his olive skin against the clean white cotton sheets; I was also enjoying the relative comfort that the bed afforded us, accustomed as I was to the hard, dirty floors of the stable. I was just settling into a gentle bounce when I saw his face in the candlelight - such a strange, absorbed look, different from the usual expression of hunger that consumed him at such times.

  I stopped my shameless riding, and returned his stare. He smiled, then frowned.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Something’s wrong.’

  ‘No. Come on.’ He squeezed my cock and tried to use it as a handle to move me up and down. I grasped his wrist and stopped him.

  ‘You’re troubled.’

  He looked away. I could feel his cock softening inside me. This was most unlike Alexander. I was frightened - frightened that he was going to tell me something that would end our idyll.

  ‘Charlie, your mother...’

  I did not expect to hear her mentioned at such a time. His cock slid out of me and I lay beside him.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your mother is, you know, a very brave woman.’

  ‘Why do you say that just now?’

  ‘Did you not see her at supper? How she suffers?’

  ‘She knows nothing about us. It’s none of her business -’

  ‘It’s not about us, Charlie. There’s more to heaven and earth than cock and arse.’ I wished that were not true. I let my hand take hold of him, to tease him out of his pensive mood and back into stiffness.

  ‘You know, don’t you, what your mother has had to endure in the last few years?’

  ‘No. She never talks to me.’ I carried on squeezing him, noting with pleasure that he was responding to my care.

  ‘Surely you can see... what is happening to this family? The changes, the secrets, the past that you’ve tried so hard to bury.’

  ‘I’ve tried to bury! I’ve always tried to find out about the past and nobody will tell me. It’s so unfair!’

  Again I was the spoilt schoolboy; there was something about the subject that brought out the very worst in my character. I dropped Alexander’s now-hard cock as if it had bitten me, sat up and folded my arms across my chest.

  ‘I’ve got a right to know what’s happened.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie, it’s best that you never know.’ He was kneading my shoulders. I turned my back.

  ‘No. It’s no good. You can’t just tease me with the truth and then tell me I mustn’t know. I’m not a child, Alex. You should know that. I’m a man.’

  ‘Yes, Charlie, you’re a man in every respect, a good man, a worthy son to your father, but—’

  ‘But you keep me in ignorance because it suits you.’

  This time it was Alexander who tried to win me round with caresses.

  ‘I only want to protect you and serve you, Charlie.’ His finger had found my arsehole again. I wanted to carry on sulking, but I did nothing to stop him from sliding it inside me.

  ‘Just tell me what happened to my father. Please.’ I swivelled round on his finger and faced him. My cock was jumping back to attention. ‘Please, Alex. That’s all I want to kno
w. I must know.’

  He kissed me hard on the mouth with a kind of desperation. I knew that he was struggling against promises that bound him to silence. Devious as I was, I squeezed the muscles of my arse around his finger, rolled over on to my back and spread my legs in the air; that, I knew, was how he liked me best. I pushed my swollen cock towards him. ‘Tell me, Alex. Just that. It can’t hurt anyone.’

  He looked down at me in defeat. ‘All right, Charlie. You have to know one day. Your father was a general in the Prince’s army. He led the defeat of the English at Arisaig. He was a great man, a great tactician and a fearless soldier. He died -’

  ‘At Culloden?’

  ‘No, Charlie, not at the battle.’

  ‘Then when?’

  ‘A few days before. He was betrayed by spies within his own camp and murdered. The Jacobite forces never recovered. The defeat came some hours later. Without your father at its head, the army was lost.’

  ‘Who did it?’

  ‘That I do not know. I swear, Charlie, that’s the truth. That’s all I can tell you. Nobody, not even your own mother, knows more.’

  I lay there silent for a minute. But for the warm presence of Alexander beside me, I felt strangely alone. Stupid thoughts chased across my mind: revenge, suicide.

  ‘It was a noble death, Charlie. There was no shame in it.’

  ‘Then why such secrecy?’

  ‘Your mother fears for you. As his son, you are suspect. We none of us want to return to the troubles.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, I -’

  ‘You, Charlie, are too young to know what it was like. Believe me. It was a bad time. Please, let’s not talk about it any more.’