by Eden Myles
“There. That should keep you from speaking or otherwise satisfying yourself.”
I moaned at the greedy need pulsing through my body and bit back the cry of frustration lodged in my throat. I clenched my fingers around the spindles of the headboard, pulling fruitlessly upon them as I reminded myself to put my gentleman’s needs ahead of my own. That was my job as a courtier.
Mr. Griffiths seized my cheeks. His eyes were soft for the moment. “Stefan…do you want me to stop?”
I shook my head.
“What color are you. You may speak.”
“Green.”
“Good boy.” He licked along my cheek and over my lips before returning to that place between my legs. He slid a pillow under my hips, elevating my lower half for his convenience, and used his elbows to spread my legs wide apart. He licked over the sensitive skin of my balls, spread my cheeks and darted his tongue over my perineum and asshole. He took his sweet time licking me up and down until I was soaking wet. I arched my back, panting and giving myself over to him completely. My cock and balls throbbed and my blood pounded in my ears as his tongue expertly probed every inch of my ass as if my body truly did belong to him, as if I really were his plaything.
“You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, pretty boy,” he said, his voice humming against my aching, tortured balls. “You’re everything I expected…everything I want. I’ll let you come, but only if you obey me. Only if you let me find my pleasure in that sweet body of yours first.” His mouth returned to my cock. He swallowed me down, held me deep inside the burning heat of his throat before letting me go. He gobbled my balls, nipped at them, rolled them around his learned mouth until my eyes started rolling up in my head and all I could utter were little helpless cries of pleasure. The cock ring kept me hard, ready but unfulfilled, unable to do anything but endure torture at the hands—and mouth—of his wicked man.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem so farfetched that Kyle might have trouble keeping up with his gentleman. Mr. Griffiths was well-night insatiable. Finally, as I whimpered deliriously and thrashed in my binds, he said, “What are you thinking, Stefan? Tell me.”
I forced the words out in a reedy voice. “That…that you’re not bad for an old man.”
He laughed at that and reached for a mysterious vial in the bedside drawer. “I have this oil specially made. It contains essence of Gingerol and peppermint. You do know about gingering the tail?”
I nodded. He lubed me up thoroughly, spreading the ginger oil over my cock and balls, all along my perineum, and over my opening. He hooked two fingers inside my hole, oiling me up and rubbing me inside, but not widening me too much. Within seconds, the oil began to burn coolly and I was once more writhing in my binds and mewling like a helpless kitten.
“I want that ass of yours tight, pretty boy,” he confessed. “I want you to feel every inch of me stretching you.” Finally, he slid a condom down around his own greatly engorged dick. He watched me with dark, seething eyes as he shoved his way inside my tight, slippery hole. I moaned and held his gaze, letting him see how much I was enjoying this. I didn’t want him to think he was hurting me. I didn’t want him to ever stop.
Soon he was growling low in the back of his throat as he rode me hard, bucking wildly and dragging my hips up off the pillow as he claimed yet another inch inside me. I watched the look of dark concentration on his face as he thrust in and out of me, and it was one of the most erotic things I’d ever seen. He groaned out the most perverse things like he was in some kind of erotic fugue. When my ass came up off the pillow, he slapped it smartly, a pain both sharp and thrilling. I hissed between my teeth with each impact. I sucked in a sharp breath with each new inch he claimed inside me. But I didn’t say a word. I wanted to please him. I wanted to show him I could be a good courtier.
When he was fully seated, our two bodies pressed together, he leaned down, nipped the side of my neck, bit me, held me while I shivered, his cock twitched, and he emptied himself inside me. Finished, he pulled out, pulled the cock ring off, and commanded me to come for him. I groaned with relief as I came hard, thrusting wildly against his body, pouring myself out for him in a shameless display of lust and affection. I fell back onto the pillows, panting wildly and staring up into his smiling face.
“Not so bad for a young whippersnapper,” he said, and we both laughed.
***
I woke the next morning on silken sheets that smelled like sex and Mr. Griffiths. I wasn’t normally into cuddling or anything, but today I thought I might make an exception. Unfortunately, when I pawed blindly on his side of the bed, I soon realized I was alone. “Ah Christ,” I groaned, “he’s a morning person.”
I slid on the long silken dressing gown I found waiting for me at the foot of the bed and stumbled blindly downstairs, mumbling the whole way. Mr. Griffiths, fully dressed in a business suit, stood in his spotless, industrial-sized kitchen, putting a breakfast tray together. He had eggs, bacon and waffles.
He looked up at my approach. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed this morning. I’m sure you must be famished.”
I was, a little. And sore. And feeling fucking good, but I waved him away. “Just coffee. Please.”
He carried the tray to a corner breakfast nook and we sat down opposite one another. I drank down half a cup of hot, fresh-brewed, gourmet coffee and started feeling human again. “I was wondering about something,” I said. We were lovers. Or gentleman and courtier. I felt it was okay to ask.
“Yes?” he said over his cup of tea.
“You seem to be really into charities and stuff.”
“Mostly affordable housing,” he admitted. “I did the Dollhouse auction because the Michaels’ brothers are some of my closest friends and the Good Samaritan Foundation is important to them.”
“No regrets?”
He looked me over, his eyes lingering at the way my robe gaped. “After last night, I’m convinced you, my sweet boy, were worth every penny of donation.”
I blushed at that, hating myself. “And the Habitat for Humanity?”
He pursed his lips. “When I was in my late teens, I lived homeless for a while.”
“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t expected that from one of the biggest real estate moguls in New York.
“It was back in London. My father was abusive. I ran away and lived under a bridge in Tottenham for two years. It was a long time ago.” He stared at his perfectly manicured fingertips for a moment. “It was a dangerous area and everyone was hungry. Being homeless and hungry is no fun at all.”
I stared at him a long moment as something like a walnut stuck in my throat. I tried to imagine what he might have faced back then, being out on his own, alone, not knowing where to sleep or where his next meal would come from, and failed. For me, living rough was going a month without cable television because I couldn’t afford the bill. I realized I had no idea what some people were forced to endure.
“I think it’s pretty great what you do.”
He looked up. “I came here to the States because I thought I could make my fortune, and I was right. But every day I continue to be appalled by how many people in the richest country in the world live exactly the same way I did as a child.” He shrugged and blanked his face of all emotion. “America has treated me well. I just want to pay it forward.”
“Does Kyle ever help you? Build homes, I mean.”
“Frequently. But he has his own career, and I’ve been encouraging him to follow his dream. If I don’t, he’ll follow me around like a big puppy all the time. Thus, this latest trip to Lost Angeles.”
I smiled a little at his analogy. “I kind of want to follow you around like a puppy too,” I admitted, and he smirked at that. “Could I help you out sometime? With the building, I mean?”
He took my hand and kissed it, sending a shiver up my arm. “Absolutely, my sweet boy. I told you that you were beautiful. You need to learn to start believing me.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
He lo
oked down at my uneaten breakfast. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I am, but not for food.”
He gave me a narrowed-eyed, sultry look. “Perhaps we can find something else to fill that lovely mouth of yours.”
I started laughing at that, but before the sound was even out of my mouth, he was on his feet and standing beside me, dragging me up into his strong arms. He kissed me soundly, his lips tracing over the seam of my lips. I put my hands on the broad, strong plains of his chest and tilted my head up, taking his tongue.
“What a rare and beautiful rose you are,” he said against my mouth, and it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. Before I could utter a response, he swept me up into his arms and carried me effortlessly up the stairs and back to bed.
***
The following Saturday, Peter called to ask me if I was free to go clubbing with him, but I begged off an hour later when I got a text from Mr. Griffiths informing me that he and Kyle would be out on a build, and if I wanted to help out, as I had said I did, he would swing by to pick me up in a couple hours. He added that I was welcomed to stay the weekend, if I wanted to.
Clubbing with Peter the Pilate Instructor or a hot weekend warming a bed with two gorgeous, sexually insatiable guys? I mean, my choice was clear.
A short time later found me on a construction site in the Sheridan Hollow neighborhood of Albany, working on one of twenty houses the volunteer homebuilders were putting up. The whole block was an obstacle course of lumber, concrete and construction materials. I quickly learned I didn’t really have an iota of talent for home construction, so the foreman asked me to distribute refreshments to the many volunteers baking under the June heat. I worked the concession counter at the bowling alley; that, at least, was something I could do.
I pushed a cart down between seemingly endless rows of sweaty, hard-hatted, half-naked men pounding studs together, sawing lumber, and wielding whining pneumatic nail guns, and handed out coffees, bottled water, and small, plastic-wrapped snacks provided by the organization. Shit, I’d really been missing out on something wonderful. Well-built, bare-chested dudes sweating under the sun, or those with T-shirts glued to various abs and pecs with plenty of sweat. Some of the volunteers looked better than the strippers I’d seen dancing in clubs.
I stopped to break with Kyle and Mr. Griffiths, who were digging holes for a new foundation. They both wore snug jeans, tool belts, and T-shirts with the Habitat for Humanity logo on them. Somehow, Mr. Griffiths managed to make even that look elegant, and I noticed a lot of the female volunteers checking him out. With his silvery hair, regal bearing, and drop-dead gorgeous British accent, I really couldn’t blame them. I brought Kyle a coffee and Mr. Griffiths a small thermos of tea I’d made myself—Earl Grey with lemon and a touch of sugar, just the way he liked it.
“Thank you, Stefan,” he said and gave me a brief squeeze of a shoulder but made no other public displays of affection, which kind of pissed me off. I didn’t like how everyone was scoping out my gentleman.
“Enjoying yourself, Stefan?” Kyle asked as he slipped off his dripping wet T-shirt and splashed a canteen of water over himself. He managed to look as beautiful in his clothes as out of them. His bare, tanned chest glowed under the sun, and his myriad of interlocking tattoos was clearly and beautifully defined. His faded construction jeans with the knees ripped out clung to his lean hips and ass so it took me a moment to focus on what he was saying.
“Yeah, it’s great. I really am.”
“You coming back to the house to help me celebrate my new contract?”
“I’m staying the whole weekend.”
Kyle arched an eyebrow as he drank down a gulp of coffee. “Don’t you have finals to study for or something?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I study. I’m gonna flunk ‘em anyway.”
Kyle looked appalled. He looked over at Mr. Griffiths, but there was a problem with the cement truck and he was talking to the driver. Kyle put his arm around my shoulders and walked me around a half-built cement wall so we had some privacy to talk. “What do you mean you’re flunking?” he hissed.
“I’ve been flunking all semester.” I held up my hands. “Hey, it doesn’t matter, man. It’s my problem, not yours.”
“Yeah, Stefan, it matters. To Mr. Griffiths. To me. What subjects are you failing exactly?”
I sipped water from my bottle, my throat suddenly dry. “World History.”
“Have you tried tutors? Online help resources?”
“Doesn’t help.” I shrugged. “No one can help me. I guess I’m the stereotypical blond—all looks, no brains, you know?”
He crossed his arms across his chest, making his muscles pop. “Exactly how do you plan to graduate?”
“Dunno. I’ll figure something out.”
He sighed with exasperation. “Do you want me to tutor you? I’m something of a history buff, you know.”
I found that hard to believe. How could anyone who looked so hot be interested in anything so boring as history? “Is that code for something?”
“Yeah, Stefan,” Kyle said, poking me in the chest with a finger. “It’s code for I don’t want you failing World History, graduating last in class, not being able to get a job, and sleeping under a bridge for the rest of your life.” He rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Isabelle warned me you were a handful. I should have listened to her.”
“But a nice handful, you gotta admit?” I slapped my ass for him and grinned.
Kyle glared at me. “You can’t be this irresponsible. Do you ever get serious about anything?”
“Nope,” I admitted. “Serious is boring. Irresponsibility is more fun.”
“And potentially detrimental to your future.”
Something about his condescending tone pissed me off. It was like when Iz ragged on me for acting like an idiot with some guy. I didn’t need Kyle, or Iz, pretending to be my mom. If I wanted to fuck up my life, that was my choice. I thought about kicking some rocks and stomping away, but I figured that would be childish. Instead, I narrowed my eyes dubiously. “You like World History?”
He shook his head with exasperation. “I use it all the time when I’m writing music. Brains and beauty. Believe it or not, Stefan, sometimes they do go together.”
I thought about his offer. “Don’t you have the band and stuff to worry about?”
“I practice most days, yeah, but I’m also Mr. Griffiths’ courtier in the evenings. He’ll let me swing by and tutor you at your dorm, if you want. I can start Monday.”
“I’m not getting you in trouble with him?”
Kyle offered me a lopsided grin. “You take some of my shifts with Mr. Griffiths, make him a happy gentleman, and we’ll call it even. How does that sound?”
It sounded like a deal to me. We commemorated with a homie handshake and fist bump. But as we broke apart, Kyle stepped in, cupped my cheek, and swiped a kiss across my lips. He leaned close and whispered in my ear, “And yeah, Stef, you’re right: you are a nice handful.” He gave my ass a smart slap before walking back around the wall to the construction site.
***
We got home at nightfall and immediately went upstairs to the huge, black glass-tiled bathroom off Mr. Griffiths’ bedroom suite. Unlike the rest of the house, with its quaint, Old World charm, the bathroom was sleek and modern, with a gignormous walk-in shower. I felt like I’d sweated out ten pounds, and my muscles had the kind of warm, pleasant soreness I usually associated with a fierce workout.
While Kyle and I undressed, Mr. Griffiths pulled down one of several detachable shower heads in the walk-in shower and adjusted the water temperature. I watched Kyle go from wonderfully sweaty and clothed to wonderfully sweaty and naked. His cock was fat and partially erect, and his PA piercing glinted wickedly under the bright lights. I was fascinated enough to ask him if I could touch it, but Kyle shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Sorry,” I said. Maybe I’d misinterpreted his signals while on the buildi
ng site?
As he kicked his jeans aside, he said, “Believe me, Stefan, it’s not that I don’t want you to, but we both belong to Mr. Griffiths, and he decides if and when we get to be intimate. You know.”
I shook my head in disbelief but followed him when Mr. Griffiths called us to the shower. He too was naked, and I got a chance to ogle some serious man-candy while he stood there, slim and muscular, the hot spray jetting over his hand. Like Kyle, he was already partially aroused, his glans bright pink and slicked with precum and we hadn’t even begun yet. “I want to enjoy both of you tonight,” he said, extending his other hand to us. “I’ve been dying to be inside you both. And then…we’ll see who gets to play with whom.”
I blushed from head to toe as I took one of his hands and Kyle took the other. He pulled us both under the freshet of hot water. And then I was in Mr. Griffiths’ arms, with Kyle wrapped around us both, the three of us embracing, kissing, nuzzling into hard, muscular flesh. The cradle of Mr. Griffiths’ arms, his strong shoulders, were comforting to me. I squirmed between my two lovers as hot needles of water pounded over the three of us, kicking up an even hotter head of steam that seemed to curl around our three bodies, to embrace us as one.
Mr. Griffiths kissed me hungrily, the stubble of his chin grazing me even as his hands slid down over my slippery-wet ass. I pushed tight against him, whimpering, and finally he curled two fingers, entering me briefly and rubbing at the tight walls of my rectum.
“Fuck, you’re impatient,” he chastised me. “How much do you want to be mine, beautiful boy?” He playfully swiped wet hair off my forehead with his other hand.
“More than anything, sir.”
He motioned to Kyle, who stepped forward and wrapped both arms around my waist, hugging me against his slick, muscular chest so Mr. Griffiths could take a step back. He took my eager prick in his hands and ran his wet fingers up and down the length of me, gently skimming back my foreskin in a back and forth rhythm that had me closing my eyes and moaning with the sublime torture of it all.