The Shooting Season

by Isobel Starling

  “I’m rather jealous actually,” Euan admitted. “My cock has not made such a ruddy stand in some time.”

  I was stunned by Euan’s admission of a lack of virility for he was a man of great appetites, and of course, one’s stand is what makes a man a man. I wanted to enquire further but then he shuffled under the covers and snuck between my splayed thighs. He pushed my silken foreskin back to expose the sensitive head of my member and then ran his whiskered chin from root to tip. The sensation was overwhelming. I bit my lip and gripped the sheets and again my hips pushed forward. Euan snickered to himself in satisfaction and then placed my engorgement between his warm lips and as he eased my slick sheath up and down he sucked me into his throat.

  I murmured a Hail Mary under my breath as my treacherous fingers untangled from the bed sheet and instead tangled in Euan’s silver hair so I could hold his head in place. I remembered Euan’s pleasures and understood he would not be satisfied until my spend coated the back of his throat. He craved the taste of me as desperately as any opium addict craved oblivion in the smoke. And so I closed my eyes and gave him what he wanted. I pushed up between his warm, wet lips in slow steady strokes, letting him lick, suck, and enjoy the shape of the large intrusion in his mouth. Euan moaned with satisfaction. I lost the ability of cogent thought as I was overtaken by unholy lust, and desire pulsed through my veins. It had been so long, so damn long and my need was as vast as a thousand oceans. The bedsprings squeaked abominably but I was too far gone to care. Euan’s fingers massaged and tugged at my plums and I could hold back no longer. I was sure for a split second as I reached my pinnacle that I must be closer to God, such was the exquisite rush of pleasure coursing through me. My hot spend exploded from my rod and shot down Euan’s throat. His whimper of delight at my taste aroused me more and sent a second and third stream of seed shooting into his gullet. I had not permitted myself to spend in quite some time so after such an exquisite climax I was boneless and light as a feather and with Euan gasping between my thighs I was satiated in a way I had not known for years. It felt…indecent, yet completely delightful.

  After several minutes of Euan cleaning my mess with his tongue, I gathered my thoughts and, being a gentleman asked.

  “Is there… anything I can do for you?” It would have been rude to not return the favor—especially as my guard was well and truly down and we were in the dark!

  Euan moved back up the bed “Ohhh Ben”, Euan said in a lusty groan, “Your spill still tastes like the ambrosia of the Gods. I recall I could never get enough!” Euan praised, and then kissed me on the lips. I tasted the bitter saltiness of my seed and I groaned as he savagely plundered my mouth. He drew back and then asked.

  “Do you care for me, Ben?”

  I found this question odd, especially after what we had just done.

  “I am a man of my word. I told you back then how I cared…still care”, I admitted and then wished I had not been so forthcoming with my declaration.

  “Then will you do something for me?”

  “Of course. Tell me!”

  “But…it’s embarrassing.”

  “Tell me,” I insisted. Haltingly Euan continued.

  “I’ve been experiencing difficulty… maintaining… my stand. I wonder, would you help me fix it?”

  I was perplexed. “I don’t know what you want me to do. I could use my hand or mouth on you if that is your pleasure—”

  “No. I… have attempted that with several men to no avail. It’s all rather vexing if I’m honest. I’ve spoken to Dr. Sinclair and he said that it is a thing that occurs in some men as they age and I should abandon all of my lustful delusions and thank the Good Lord for my continued robust health.

  “Is he not right?”

  “No, he is not right!” Euan said adamantly.

  “I live for tasting life’s pleasure. Abstinence might be acceptable for some, but I am not meant to live like a monk!” He said coldly, and I felt the barb of derision at my choice to live in denial of my desires.

  “There is only one way to fix my problem…”

  “And what is that?”

  “I want you to use The Staff of Asklepios—“

  “What?” I was stunned.

  “Its powers apparently work better if the Staff is administered by one who knows the recipient's heart. You, dearest Ben, know me like no other man, you always have. If you… use the Staff on me… I believe that together we can cure me of my frightful infecundity!”

  Perplexed, I sat up in bed. Was this the real reason Euan invited me to Dunecht Hall? I had not seen him in years and the invitation was out of the blue. It seemed that the other art collectors received their missives weeks before me. I got my letter in the last post and was given just an hour to make the Caledonian Sleeper. Had Euan lured me here at the last opportunity with the intention to seduce and manipulate me into using the Staff on him to cure his flaccid prick?

  Did he ever intend to sell the Staff to me at all?

  The Night Light

  “My father tried to use it, you know, the Staff,” Euan said as he lay back in bed beside me, his hands behind his head.

  “He thought it would make him young again and cure the disease in his liver. However, he could not get the ritual right. You see, he was missing a vital element–the Staff cannot be used alone. It must be administered by one who knows the recipient's heart. I don’t think my father had a bloody heart, and so no one truly knew him. The doxies who he brought up here to use it with him left the estate bruised and degraded after he flew into a temper when it didn’t work.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “He spoke in delirium. I heard many things I wish I had not.”

  We could not continue a conversation of this importance in the dark. Searching my bedside table, I found a box of sulfur matches and lit my candle. I turned to Euan and saw, framed by a silver beard, his lips were full and swollen, and cheeks pinked from our exertions. Euan’s eyes looked at me and were as playful and lust-filled as ever I’d seen them.

  Against my better judgment, I had succumbed to his seduction and wished his fingers and lips did not make me shiver so with desire.

  “What exactly do you expect me to do? I said, exasperated. I did not like that Euan thought me so easy to manipulate. But, gathering my thoughts I reminded myself I was no longer a boy. This tryst was a slip-up, one hour of pleasure. Never again would I put my heart on display as I had done with Euan in my youth. He could never be my be-all-and-end-all. There was life after Euan Ardmillan, and I had made a good, albeit solitary life for myself. I did not need to beg for his attention or do anything I did not want to do. If I was lured here under false pretenses I would turn it to my advantage.

  “I found notebooks and scrolls among my father’s papers.” Euan enthused. “It says in the scrolls he had translated by a Greek scholar, The Staff of Asklepios wishes to be held by one who knows the subject's heart. There is a ritual… an incantation…to bring the magical powers into the object while it penetrates the subject.”

  I’d longed to own the Staff since Euan had first shown it to me when we snuck into his father’s study all those years ago. After years of research, I had not found out how to use it properly. Clearly, this was because Lord Ardmillan obtained the sacred scrolls of instruction with the Staff.

  “This all sounds rather heathen and ungodly, don’t you think?” I said, feigning displeasure. I could not let Euan know how much the thought of such a sex ritual intrigued and excited me.

  “Please Ben. Consider it. I can make it worth your while.” Euan pleaded. It was clear to me then that his inability to become aroused had made him desperate…and in business I had learned that desperate men are pliable.

  “How can you make it worth my while?” I queried. I was a man of trade after all and I had come to Dunecht Hall to do business.

  “If you do this for me—if you use the Staff to restore my virility, it’s yours… the Staff, I mean.” Euan smirked at the accidental
innuendo.

  “If this ancient ritual works and I can regain my stand I don’t give a damn about anything else.”

  “So, are you saying that you would not auction the Staff?”

  “I would not. It will be my gift to you… it is Christmas for Englishmen, after all!”

  My thoughts tunneled. Euan was one of the few men who knew I was secretly fixated with ancient depictions of the phallus—the symbol of male virility, strength, and power. No matter what new civilization adventurers discovered, archeologists always found depictions of the phallus in wall art, stone carvings, wood, and metalwork. I was intrigued that in some cultures the phallus was worshipped and representations of it were accompanied by stories of magical powers and the health benefits of consuming life-creating seed.

  My personal collection of phallic statues was housed in a secret room in my London townhouse. I could not very-well have them on display, not only because of their obscene nature and rarity but because I am sure my housekeeper Mrs. Twigg would have an attack of the vapors should she ever find the secreted door that led to my collection room. I owned exhibits from ancient Scandinavia, Egypt, Assyria, India, and the Orient. My collection would be incomplete without this Greek Staff and, with its rarity and supposed powers, there was nothing that could match it for the use I wanted to put it to. It seemed that when it came to using the Staff, Euan and I were on the same page.

  My mind was set and I had nary a thought about the unchristian nature of what I was about to do. I would do whatever I needed to do to possess the Staff and recant later. Gods, I’d live in the confessional box and say a thousand prayers if it would admonish me of the sin I was about to commit to own the Staff of Asklepios.

  “If you will formally sign ownership of the Staff over to me and let me study the scrolls of instruction, I will carry out the ritual for you,” I confirmed. Euan’s countenance brightened.

  “Excellent, excellent.” He said clapping with glee like a child. “Tomorrow night. Yes? The other guests depart at midday, after the auction. You will stay on as my guest for another day and I will arrange everything.”

  The Marauder

  After Euan left my chamber I lay in my bed, far too awake and alert at this late hour. My whole body was humming with satisfaction from attaining completion at the hands of my lover. And on waking from sleep I knew the wave of shame would come next. I needed to atone for my slip-up, attend confession, and repent for my sin.

  I listened to the fierce gale buffet the old stone house and violently rattle the shutters on my window. My thoughts focused on the ritual that Euan spoke of—using the Staff of Asklepios to attempt to heal him of his lost virility. I worried that we might conjure unholy forces that neither of us could deal with. What if we summoned a Greek God from tales of old? What if we doomed our immortal souls by partaking in such a ritual? Had my need for the Staff led to me making a dreadful decision?

  I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of a loud bang in the hall outside my room. The sound was followed by a pained whisper of “Damn it”. I remained silent and still in my bed but my hearing became distinctly attuned to the sounds in the hall, and whoever was wandering around the house after midnight. It could not be Euan returning to my bed—as the Lord of Dunecht Hall he had no need to creep around in the wee small hours.

  “OUCH!” another curse came from outside my door this time. If this was Euan coming back for some more entertainment he was sorely mistaken. I rose from my warm bed, groped for my nightgown, stepped into my slippers, and moved silently to the door. I waited for a beat before dragging my door open. I saw a silhouetted figure take off down the hall. I was correct after all, it was not Euan. Who the hell was it behaving so suspiciously? My hackles rose at the man’s behavior. What the devil was he doing skulking around Dunecht Hall? With such treasures present in the house, and each guest having the money to pay for them on their person, it was clear to me that this man was up to no good.

  We had a thief among us!

  Without thinking, I stepped soundly out of my room and on light slippered feet I followed the intruder. Earlier, the Late Lord Ardmillan’s private collection had been displayed in the attic rooms above us. Euan and the family solicitor Mr. Buchanan were the only key holders.

  The scoundrel held a small lantern and kept the light shuttered so only a thin beam shone to light his footfalls. The figure crept to the stone steps that led to the attic. I deduced that he must be residing at the house, for how else would he gain access to the remote hall in such frightful weather. To say this scenario was disquieting would be an understatement. Who would dare steal from the Late Lord Ardmillan’s private collection?

  I moved slowly and carefully up the stone steps and paused on the landing as the spidery sounds of metal against metal met my ears. The blaggard was picking the lock! There was an audible click and then I heard the squeak of hinges. The door was opened and closed as the thief stepped into the attic room. I stepped forward and listened at the oak door. What was this scoundrel here to steal? Could he too seek The Staff of Asklepios? I had not waited for so many years to have the Staff within my grasp to then lose it to a damnable cat burglar, oh no!

  I placed my hand on the brass doorknob and slowly twisted. I eased the attic door open a crack and my eyes searched the frigid gloom for the creeper with the lantern light. I saw that the lantern had been set on the trestle table that was used earlier to display the Lord's treasures. I could not see hide-nor-hair of the man I’d followed and it appeared that the collection had been moved elsewhere. What the devil was he doing? I knew that thirty years ago servants slept here, so there were other smaller rooms connected to the main attic. The servants now slept on the lower floors where it was warmer, and so the attic was virtually derelict.

  I stepped into the room to have my arm violently tugged to the left. I was slammed into the wall, the swiftness of the action stealing the breath from me. The man who had accosted me was cloaked in darkness. He spoke with a cultured British accent.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing skulking around after me in the dark?” He said in a rough whisper. I did not recall this voice belonging to any of the other guests.

  “I could ask you the same thing…thief!” I accused. Although my heart thudded like a bass drum I was not afraid, and believe that it was the Port wine I’d consumed after dinner that gave me such reckless courage. Euan was my friend and I would not see him fall prey to this marauder, whoever he was.

  The attic was frigidly cold and drafty, but I felt the distinct warmth of the man’s hot breath on my skin as he held me in place with the weight of his body. He smelled of spiced wine, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger. He let out a laugh at my passionate outburst.

  “Thief, ay! I have been called worse in my time. But I prefer that title with the proper adjective… Gentleman thief.”

  “You are no gentleman. How dare you, how dare you prowl around this house of mourning and seek to fill your pockets.” I said in an outraged whisper.

  “Oh, come now Benedict”,

  I took in a sharp breath, astounded that this man knew my name. My gaze dropped and I saw the lantern light illuminate a pair of rather splendid boots. Two-tone black and russet leather ankle boots to be precise. I had seen boots like this before, but they belonged to another man, a kind, intelligent American named John Edwards of Massachusetts who had kept me company on my overnight journey. His boots were laced and each lace capped with a silver charm in the shape of….I gasped as silver charms twinkled at the tips of the laces of these boots.

  “John Edwards?” The words were whispered in a breath. The man chuckled.

  “Why sir, you made the most excellent company on the journey to up to Bonny Scotland!” The intruder said with a distinctive American accent.

  “What the devil is going on?” I barged past the silhouetted man and rushed to the table and grabbed the handle of the lantern. I pulled the shutter open and a bright light shone upon the face of… Mr. Artur Engels of G
ermany. I took a step back.

  “Who the hell are you?” I wondered for a moment if Laudanum had been added to my wine earlier, or if my tryst with Euan had brought on a frightful dream. If this was a dream I wanted to wake up now!

  “Oh Benedict, you are so very naive. It’s one of the things that immediately attracted me to you.” The stranger said drolly.

  I’d seen enough. I needed to rouse the alarm and the men of the house could deal with Mr. Edwards, or Engels or whatever his blasted name was. There was no way I would allow him to leave this house with even a pilfered penny! I eyed my captor and then the door behind him.

  “There’s no point looking at the door, dear heart!” The well-spoken man said. “I’ve locked it. I lured you here for a reason Benedict. Now, let’s take a seat and have a little chat, shall we?”

  I was horrified that the man admitted that he had lured me. That would mean he purposely made a racket outside my bedroom door to alert my suspicions and encourage me to follow him. I was a damnable fool. The stranger pulled two chairs beside the trestle table and then he set out a bottle of Port wine and two glasses.

  “Stealing from the kitchens too are we?” I sneered. I did not like that I had been captured so easily and whatever reason this man had for luring me to the attic, I would not be easy prey again.

  “Sit,” The man commanded. I grimaced and sat in the proffered chair, pulling the lapels of my nightgown closed to ward off the biting chill.

  “What is this? Are you going to imprison me here until I freeze to death and then you can be off with the Staff?”

  The man snickered to himself. “I saw your reaction to that Staff. You were like a child opening a birthday gift. You want that so badly don’t you, you naughty boy!”

  I was outraged by his playful, almost flirtatious attitude. “Thirty years I have waited to own the Staff and I’ll be damned if I let you steal it from under my nose.” I blustered. The stranger held his hand up,