The Baron's Stable - Part 9

Walking into the club was like walking into another world.

The warm darkness was filled with moving bodies: a mixture of shiny, dark coverings and naked flesh; muscle, tattoos, bare buttocks, rope, boots...

Mick led the way for the Baron, making a path for him and his boys. Steve brought up the rear. People gave them curious glances as Mick ushered them aside, despite their own unusual appearance.

They made their way across the vast floor of the converted factory, coloured laser beams scribbling rapid shapes at their feet. Music pounded through the air but few people were dancing, most were milling around in groups, chatting, drinking and watching the antics of a few more active participants.

Along one wall were erected various pieces of equipment to which people were tied, chained, bent over, strapped to, hung from or were otherwise restrained. A naked man was fixed to a large wooden X-shaped cross and being whipped by a woman dressed in bright red leather boots that went all the way up to her thighs. A girl intricately wrapped up in rope like an exotic parcel suspended from a small hoist was being tormented by a stout man with a vibrator in each hand.

They headed towards the far end of the room, where tables had been set up and diners were waited on by outlandishly-dressed French maids. A tall young drag queen in a sequinned gown, made even taller by highly-stacked platform boots, looked Mick up and down appreciatively. He smirked and winked at her. He and Steve were both in uniform, the khaki green sleeveless T-shirts and black leather trousers that the Baron favoured, their boots shined to perfection.

Baron Michael himself was in a military dress uniform, looking something like an Admiral. His navy blue jacket was pressed and the sleeves decorated with gold braid. Beneath this he wore a dark blue shirt and black trousers tucked into his usual riding boots.

Tonight he had three boys with him: Jamie, Paul and Taz. All young, handsome, fit and naked. Mick and Steve therefore had a total of four bodies to guard. Each boy wore a collar that showed they were owned and a pair of sandals, nothing else. It was Mick's job to keep an eye on them (as well as the Baron himself) and this was not exactly a difficult task: the boys were beautiful.

A young man stood waiting for them; tall and refined looking and wearing form-fitting white rubber. The form it was fitting was admirable. He saw Mick and smiled.To the Baron he said “This way, please. Lady Alicia is waiting for you.”

He led them to a table with two large, ornate wooden chairs. In one sat the Lady Alicia, an elegant woman in a striking scarlet dress. The other chair was empty. The Baron smiled at her and she rose as he approached.

“Michael!”

“My Lady!”

They hugged and kissed and then sat down. Mick pulled out the chair for the Baron, and pushed it back in when the Baron was seated. Then he and Steve took up position a few feet away. The three boys sat on the floor at the Baron's feet. The man in white rubber kneeled by the side of the Lady.

She sipped from a flute of champagne. “Michael, you are a bad boy! Not so much as an email for months. I should spank you right here, in front of all these good people.”

The Baron laughed. “I humbly beg your forgiveness. How can I make it up to you?”

The Lady frowned, deep in thought, and cast her gaze over the Baron's three boys and two guards. Her eyes came to rest appreciatively on Steve. “Hmm. I don't know, darling, maybe you could let me play with one of your boys? You seem to have more than enough to go round!”

“The boys, yes. My bodyguards are a different matter, however. They are actual employees, not slaves. Plus they are on duty!”

She pouted. “I promise not to break them!” She smiled at Steve, who sheepishly grinned. Mick knew Steve was bisexual, but the Lady was about twice his age. She looked good for it, but was Steve partial to being whipped?

Michael chuckled. “Well maybe they can provide a little titillation for you. Steve, Mick, shirts off.”

“Yes, Sir.” Both men peeled off their tops, feeling the Lady's eyes roaming over their torsos. Steve was a fit young bloke with a nice toned body, but Mick noticed that the Lady was also taking an interest in his own heavy-set frame and hairy chest.

“Nice specimens, Michael. I'd love to put them to the test against my scorpion.” One hand caressed the coiled bull whip attached to her belt. Mick felt his jaw fall open. Steve's eyes went very wide.

The Baron howled with laughter. “Alicia, you're incorrigible! Always wanting what you can't have!” He glared at her over his champagne glass and added pointedly “Until you get it, that is!”

“I don't know what you mean, Michael, darling!” She looked at Steve. “What's your name, bodyguard?”

“Steve, Ma'am.”

“Have you ever been whipped, Steve?”

“No, Ma'am.”

“Would you like to try it sometime?”

Mick had to suppress a smirk. Steve was blushing!

“I... I don't know, Ma'am.”

Poor guy. Everyone was looking at him. Lady Alicia's dark lovely eyes seemed to devour him. The Baron's eyes sparkled with amusement and a little curiosity. His three boys stared in fascination. The Lady's slave was smiling in a mysterious, knowing way.

She pouted at the Baron. “Oh, go on. Please! Pretty please!”

The Baron shrugged. “The man's a free agent. Being flogged at a kinkfest wasn't in his contract. I can't coerce him. Why don't you use one of my boys? Paul here has a high pain threshold.”

“Hmm, maybe as an hors d'œuvre .” She kept her eyes on Steve, flickering now and then to look at Mick also.

The Baron scratched his chin, gazing at the high ceiling. Mick could almost hear the cogs turning. “Steve, how would you like a bonus this month?”

“A bonus, Sir?”

“Jamie here.” The Baron indicated one of the boys at his feet. Jamie was cute: a slim redhead, twenty-one, captivating green eyes. “Everyone knows you've got a hard-on for him the size of Madagascar. Submit to the good Lady here tonight and you can have your wicked way with Jamie.”

More blushing. Steve looked confused, excited, terrified... But he quickly composed himself, standing straight with his hands behind his back and looked the Baron directly in the eye. “Yes, Sir.”

The Lady hooted with a triumphant laugh, clapping her hands. She then leaned over the table and planted a kiss on the Baron's lips. “Thank you, darling! I love you!”

A maid approached the table carrying a silver tray. The starters had arrived.

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The Baron's Stable - Part 8

The shower block was a large, old-fashioned communal affair with stark white tiles. Jonathan imagined a football or rugby team stripping off and hosing off the sweat and mud, their voices echoing in the huge space.

A large white towel had been left for him, but no clothes. He stood under the hot blast, lathering himself with gel from the wall dispenser. It had an invigorating fragrance. He washed away the spunk from his face and chest and enjoyed the sensation of being clean again.

When he had dried himself and stepped back out into the sports hall he was still feeling a little light-headed but more alert. The doctor was typing notes into a laptop and Gavin was talking into a mobile phone. Jonathan walked up to them and stood a few feet away, his hands behind his back, his head bowed.

Gavin finished his conversation. “Yes, Sir.” He looked at Jonathan. “Come with me.”

They headed back towards the main house. As they entered the building he saw a naked boy of about his age cleaning windows in a large dining room. It struck Jonathan that he was now one of those naked servants. He had nothing now. No clothes, no phone to contact the outside world, no money to get back home, no keys. It was a terrifying, exhilarating feeling.

Gavin took him upstairs and knocked on a wooden door. A voice from within called “Come!” They went through into a large study. Two large leather sofas dominated the room. Bookshelves lined the walls. A large fireplace was on their left, over which hung a large painting. Horse Attacked by a Lion by Stubbs. A reproduction, surely?

His attention was torn away from the painting by the man behind the desk.

Baron Michael. At last. He was even more handsome in real life than in his pictures. Tall, mid-thirties, fit, wearing a smart blue shirt. Once again Jonathan had the feeling he had travelled back through time to an earlier era. The Baron resembled the hero from something by Jane Austen. Soft wavy brown hair framed a strong but youthful face. Arresting dark blue eyes. A broad smile that made Jonathan feel funny inside.

“Jonathan! We meet at last, boy.” He smiled at Gavin and nodded. Gavin left them alone, closing the door behind him. The Baron had a computer before him and consulted the screen. “Right, Dr Buckley has forwarded the data from your examination. Very interesting. You must be feeling a little tired after all that exertion.”

“I am fine, Sir.”

The Baron chuckled, standing and walking up to him for a closer inspection. He seemed to approve, which made Jonathan feel happy. “Good boy.” He sat down on one of the sofas and said “I'll have some green tea. Have some yourself if you like, or some water.” He pointed to a sideboard with a kettle, teapot and cups.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Jonathan busied himself with making the tea. Sunlight streamed into the room from the bay window behind the desk. Classical music was playing quietly from hidden speakers. Something by Elgar.

The Baron relaxed on the sofa, stretching out his legs. He wore smart black trousers and tall, shiny black riding boots. Emily Bronte would be wetting her frilly white bloomers about now, Jonathan thought to himself.

“Do you have any questions, boy?”

Only about a million. But for some reason he couldn't decide what to ask. His mouth hung open and he knew he looked like an idiot. The Baron chuckled at his predicament. “I can see this is all a little overwhelming for you. Don't worry, I don't expect you to learn everything instantly. These things take time.”

The kettle boiled. Jonathan left it for a few seconds before pouring it into the teapot. He liked the Baron's voice, it was warm, rich and cultured but strong and masculine. A man of status who was accustomed to being obeyed.

“I'll give you a general outline of your life here. You will mainly be carrying out domestic duties. This is a big house, it takes a lot of maintenance. You will sleep in the dormitory with the other boys and you will rise at 7am. You will shower and go for breakfast in the large dining room at 7.30. You will be given your day's duties then. Lunch will be around midday, dinner at 6pm. You will be in bed by 10pm, lights out 11pm.”

Jonathan poured the tea and handed the Baron his cup and saucer. Fetching his own cup, he returned to the Baron who told him “Sit down.” Jonathan sat on the floor at the Baron's feet and sipped his tea.

“It's not all hard work, though.” the Baron continued, “there will also be regular exercise, sport and recreation. You will be expected to maintain yourself as well as the house.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Gavin has explained to you that you must follow orders given to you by the staff. That mainly includes the security staff such as Gavin, Steve and other men who are dressed like them. What you must remember at all times is that your body belongs to me. Just because you are naked it does not mean that you are a common tart.” His voice hardened. “Disobedience will be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good. Now show me that you know your place.” He extended one of his feet towards Jonathan.

He knew what was expected of him. Setting down his cup and saucer he leaned down and took the tall boot in his hands, cradling it gently. Then he bent his mouth towards the toe and kissed it. He breathed in the aroma of the leather. The boots were highly polished and were wonderfully warm and smooth. Jonathan made himself comfortable, lying flat on his stomach as he ran his tongue all over the leather. His eyes were closed but somehow he could feel the Baron's eyes on his body. He hoped that Sir was enjoying the view of his back and bum as he worked.

He felt excitement rising in him, yet at the same time a feeling of relaxed contentment. This was exactly where he belonged, at the feet of this great man, worshipping him.

The Baron reached down and stroked his hair, his neck and shoulders. Jonathan's tongue moved up the length of the tall boot, his saliva adding to the shine. He lost himself in adoration, moving in circles and trying to cover every inch of the leather.

He moved onto the other boot, repositioning his body. The Baron reached down and stroked his back, running his hand down and cupping the curve of his buttocks. Jonathan gasped, catching his breath as his heart began to beat faster. His prick became hard again, pressing into the carpet beneath him.

The Baron patted Jonathan on the bum and took hold of his head, directing it up towards his crotch. Jonathan was delighted to find a large hard bulge pressing against the front of the man's trousers. He kissed it, licked it, sniffed it, encouraging it to become bigger and harder. The Baron moaned appreciably and moved Jonathan's head aside while he unbuttoned the fly.

The cock that emerged was a long, thick curved beauty. Jonathan inhaled the fresh, clean aroma of the Baron's manhood and pressed his lips to the base, kissing gently and then licking the shaft. The Baron began to breath heavily, continuing to stroke Jonathan's hair as he worked.

He opened wide and took it all in, taking his time to give his throat chance to relax. He sucked gently, coaxing the stalk deep inside. With his hands he massaged the man's strong thighs. They were carved out of solid muscle. Taking a deep breath he raised himself up so that the head of the cock was between his lips. Then, in one fluid motion, he sank down so that it penetrated him fully. His nose pressed against the Baron's pubic curls as he buried the thick horn in his throat.

The Baron groaned with pleasure, much to Jonathan's delight. He worked slowly, massaging the head and shaft with his lips and tongue, bathing it in saliva. It tasted sweet and he savoured every inch of it, lost in worship, concentrating on doing the best job he could.

“That's a good boy.” the Baron said softly, caressing Jonathan's hair, ears, chin, arms, chest... his fingers stroked Jonathan's pert nipples, sending little electric shocks through his body. He gasped, difficult with a mouth full of hard meat, shivers travelling down his spine. His prick throbbed as it slid up against one of the spit-shined boots. He moaned and reached down to touch himself...

“STOP!”

The Baron pushed him away sharply. Jonathan fell backwards as the Baron stood up, falling back onto the carpet, stunned. The man glared down at him, his proud cock pointing upwards and now looking angry.

“I did NOT tell you to touch yourself!”

“I'm sorry, Sir!”

The man tucked his erection away and buttoned up his fly. “Stand up, boy. Bend over the desk.”

Jonathan did as he was told, his mind racing. He had been in the great man's presence such a short time and had ruined everything already. A terrible sick feeling filled his stomach.

The Baron walked around the back of the desk and reached underneath. He took out a pair of leather cuffs attached to chains and snapped them over Jonathan's wrists. He then went behind Jonathan and fixed something similar around each ankle. He pulled on some chains under the desk and all four points were stretched taught. Jonathan was pulled forward over the desk by his arms but with each ankle held near one of the legs of the desk, far apart.

Then the Baron went to the fireplace and picked up a cane that was propped up there. “I can see you need reminding of how things are going to work from now on.”

There was a whistling sound and the first blow struck him hard across the buttocks. It was a sharp sting that hurt more than he was expecting, driving all other feelings from his body. He could not help crying out.

The second landed exactly where the first had. This time he shrieked, piercing the tranquility of the study. The pain was like fire. He instinctively jerked, pulling on his bonds, but they held firm.

There was barely time to register each wave of pain before the next one eclipsed it. He howled, his cries pathetic to his own ears, humiliating him. He wriggled and struggled but there was no escaping the punishment. Each stroke made him cry out louder, until his strength failed him and all he could manage was a desperate moaning whimper.

A fourth strike, then a fifth, and a final sixth that was harder than all the rest and made him scream. His body went rigid with shock, trembling even after the Baron had finished and put away his cane. Tears soaked his cheeks.

He was released and slid to the floor in a heap. Sobs still racked him and he pressed his hands against the carpet, feeling the room tilt. He was aware of the Baron returning to his previous position on the sofa and drinking his tea, waiting for the boy to recover.

After a few minutes his breathing returned to normal, though his whole body was throbbing. Firmly, but without anger, the Baron said “Come here, boy.”

Jonathan crawled to him. Reaching the boots he put his arms around them and laid his tear-stained face on the shiny leather. Baron Michael reached down and gently stroked his hair. Softly he said “Remember this lesson, Jonathan. Remember what happens when you displease me.”

Jonathan croaked “Yes... Sir..”

“I know you will be a good, obedient boy in time. I know you will make me proud.”

Jonathan stayed in that position for a long time, breathing in the smell of the Baron's boots, holding onto his strong legs, feeling sad but calm, and a little comforted by the knowledge that he had paid for his mistake. He was in a strange new world now, very different to his old life. He didn't know exactly what to expect. But here, at his Master's feet, he felt safe.

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The Baron's Stable - Part 7

He knew he was shedding more than just his clothing.

Standing, he slipped his T-shirt off over his head and laid it on the chair. He felt the men's eyes on his body. He was proud of his physique, he worked hard to look the way he did. He wouldn't call himself muscular exactly, but what muscle he did have were toned and defined very nicely. His torso was smooth and sculpted in all the right places.

He took off his trainers and socks as the two men watched him. In the big hall the silence seemed oppressive. As he slipped off his jeans and slid them down his legs he saw the tent in his cotton shorts and felt a flush rise to his cheeks. How would they interpret his erection?

There was no question of hesitating under their serious gaze. He stepped out of his shorts and dropped them on top of the pile, standing straight as if to attention. As did his prick. It wasn't the biggest penis in the world, he knew, but he always felt that the rest of him made up for it.

Behind him, Steve was picking up Jonathan's clothes and packing them away in a cardboard box. Gavin nodded to him. “Thank you, Steve.” Once he had finished packing, Steve took the box and Jonathan's rucksack and left the hall. Jonathan frowned, turning to watch him go.

“Stand up straight.” Gavin said, a steely edge to his voice. Jonathan jumped, obeying, his hands at his sides. The big man inspected him, his brow furrowing. “Turn around.” Once again he obeyed, displaying his rear. He had been told it was his best feature. He knew it was far above average.

“Turn back.” The big man was looking straight into his eyes now. “You will obey all instructions given to you by myself, the doctor and any other staff employed by the Baron, unless those commands conflict with instructions given to you by the Baron himself. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Sir.”

Gavin consulted a clipboard. “Jonathan Hawthorne, twenty-three years old, from Knightsbridge, London. Actor. No health problems. You maintain a good level of fitness?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“OK, Jonathan, come here.” the doctor said, summoning him behind the desk. He weighed Jonathan on an old-fashioned set of scales and measured his height. “Five foot seven, one hundred and sixty-one pounds.”

A series of thorough medical examinations followed, after which Gavin put him through some strenuous exercises to test his fitness levels. It was nothing beyond his abilities, though he was glossy with sweat and breathing hard by the time he had finished.

“One final test, Jonathan,” the doctor said “get onto the bench here.”

He hopped up onto the leather bench and watched as the doctor attached a pair of metal arms to the end. Each arm reached upwards and ended in a stirrup cup. The doctor positioned Jonathan's feet in the stirrups and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. He then inserted his finger for a rectal examination.

Jonathan had long since lost his erection thanks to the exercises Gavin had made him do, but as the doctor's lubricated fingertip found his prostate, it started to return. Noticing this, the doctor nodded with approval, but without smiling.

He took a large clear object from the trolley which Jonathan did not recognise at first. It looked liked like a shoe-horn made out of glass. It was a speculum. The doctor lubricated the contraption and inserted it into Jonathan's still moist hole. It was uncomfortable, Jonathan was not used to something that size and shape inside him. He gasped and bit his lip a little as it was pushed in.

The doctor widened the device, opening Jonathan's hole up for inspection. The pressure on his ring of muscle was considerable and Jonathan felt fresh sweat break out on his forehead. His breathing became heavy again as he tried to force his body to relax.

Pulling up a chair, the doctor sat down between Jonathan's legs and shone a pen light into the opened orifice. It didn't last very long, but he was glad when it was over and the thing was removed. He was ready to be removed from the stirrups, but it seemed the doctor had not finished. He took something else from the trolley.

It was a long, thin device that seemed to be made from plastic and metal, with bands running around it from one end to the other. One end was blunt, the other had wires extended from it. The doctor rubbed some lubricant over the whole length of it and inserted the blunt end into Jonathan.

“What is that thing?” he asked. He tried to hide the fear in his voice but failed.

“A very expensive and very specialised piece of equipment.” the doctor replied. Slowly but surely, he pushed until the contraption was fully inserted. It was about eight inches long, though not too thick, and Jonathan took it without too much difficulty, though his breathing quickened.

Gavin stood behind the doctor, his large arms folded across his chest, watching the proceedings with a serious look on his face. The doctor picked up a small box that was attached to the wires trailing from the exposed end of the device, and pressed a few buttons.

Jonathan gasped. The thing inside him started to grow thicker, somehow expanding. “OK, Jonathan, I want you to squeeze hard with your anal muscles. As hard as you can, for five seconds. Now.”

He did as he was told, while the doctor watched a tiny screen on the box. Gavin gazed down at the test subject, his face impassive, studying Jonathan's face and body as the doctor examined him internally.

Jonathan followed the doctor's instructions, gripping the device hard with his ass several times. His prick was fully hard now, the bulbous head bobbing against his flat groin. His chest glistened with fresh sweat as he worked. The doctor nodded. “It's a good reading, but it could be better. I will give you some exercises to do as part of your regime to tone your pelvic muscles.”

Again Jonathan relaxed, but still the examination was not over. The doctor made some adjustments to the box. Jonathan felt a warm tingling inside him. He gasped as the sensation intensified, becoming a pulse that throbbed inside him. He felt it deep inside him, and it seemed to spread slowly outwards through his lower body like hot liquid in his bloodstream.

His erection began to ache. It was almost painful and he desperately wanted to grab it and give himself relief, but Gavin was glaring down at him intently. The big man's eyes were forbidding. Jonathan moaned, unsure if he was feeling pain or pleasure. His heart was beating faster as if he were doing more press-ups. He couldn't help but breath faster, and felt himself become a little light-headed as he hyperventilated.

Waves of sensation began to wash over him, centred deep in his ass and throbbing in the root of his dick. He felt his legs tremble and his toes tingle. His hands gripped the edge of the bench, his muscles shaking. He felt his nipples harden. His vision became blurred.

His orgasm took him by surprise and his cry was like a mixture of pain and fear. The explosion of sensation filled his whole body and he shook as if he were having an epileptic seizure. He felt hot seed hitting his chest, neck and face and heard laughter.

Opening his eyes, he saw Gavin laughing down at him. He felt confused as the waves abated, like a shipwrecked sailor left high and dry by the receding tide. His head was spinning.

The thing inside him was returning to its original size. The doctor removed it carefully and turned away from the bench to tend to his equipment. Jonathan lay shaking, exhausted, feeling lost. Gavin chuckled, reaching down and ruffling his sweaty hair with a large strong hand. His voice had a little softness in it as he said “The showers are through there. Go get yourself cleaned up, lad. The Baron will see you in about ten minutes. Don't keep him waiting.”

Jonathan nodded and slowly disentangled his feet from the stirrups, carefully climbing down off the bench. On trembling legs he made his way towards the showers.

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The Baron's Stable - Part 6

His bunk was like heaven. A single bed with a simple mattress, pillow and duvet – very meagre compared to his king-size bed in his Knightsbridge flat - but to Jonathan it was luxurious after his ordeal.

The dormitory was huge and contained nearly thirty beds. It was smart in a spartan way, like an army barracks. The main difference was that there were no lockers. Within the Baron's estate, the boys owned nothing.

Jonathan felt sleep tugging at him and was happy to give in to its embrace. It seemed so long ago now since he had surrendered his clothes and every item in his possession to the guards in the gatehouse, but it had only been three weeks.

His memories were crystal clear, however...

It was a beautiful May morning. The sky above the remote Cambridgeshire train station was a pale, fresh blue. Jonathan stood on the grass verge with his rucksack on his back, sipping from his bottle of mineral water. The village was still asleep, the early sun casting long shadows and painting the red brick chimneys of the houses with a buttery glow. It was peaceful, idyllic.

Which was not how he felt. His heart was tripping over itself. In the cool sunshine he was sweating. Excitement and fear were mixed within him, perfectly balanced. He was alert, alive and acutely aware of everything around him.

The Land Rover appeared from around the corner of a slumbering pub and pulled up alongside him. The sound of the motor shattered the tranquility of his surroundings. Highly polished chrome gleamed. The driver was a fit man in his thirties dressed in a khaki green sleeveless T-shirt, black leather trousers and boots, with mirror-shade sunglasses.

“Jonathan Hawthorne?”

“Yes.” he replied, his voice too loud in his ears.

“Good morning, I'm Steve. Let's go and meet the Baron, shall we?”

A warm, strong voice, friendly but with an assertive tone to it. Jonathan climbed into the passenger seat, his rucksack on his lap. Steve smiled and turned the vehicle around, heading away from the village.

“Good journey?” the driver asked.

“Yes, thanks. How far is it to the Manor?”

“We'll be there in about half an hour.”

Jonathan nodded, his head full of questions but all of them whirling around like papers caught in a strong wind. He could not catch them and put them into any kind of order. This man probably thought he was stupid ... a posh dumb blond kid who doesn't know what he's getting into. He licked his dry lips and said “Are there many other boys there?”

“All your questions will be answered when we arrive.” Steve said, in that same warm but firm tone. No more discussions. The rest of the journey passed by in silence but for the sound of the engine. They sped down country lanes, past fields of wheat and corn, lazy-looking sheep and bored-looking cows. Deeper and deeper into the countryside they travelled, the sun slowly climbing, greenery blazing around them, swallowing them up.

Eventually the Manor appeared in the distance, a grand Georgian building behind a high wall. There were a few smaller buildings nearby, some of which looked newer, but no other dwellings were in sight. The Baron clearly had no immediate neighbours.

They pulled up to a large wrought-iron gate. Steve waved at a mounted CCTV camera on the wall and the gates opened. They drove up a long drive, past well-manicured lawns and well-tended flowerbeds. Jonathan admired the beautiful surroundings. It was like something out of a Victorian romantic novel. It was almost like stepping back in time.

Then he saw the first naked boys.

There were two of them jogging across the lawn. One was in his twenties, tall and fit, dark-haired and very handsome. The second was shorter, younger-looking, with a mischievous cute smile as he waved at Steve. The driver laughed and returned the wave.

Jonathan was struck by how comfortable they looked, totally naked in the brightening sunshine, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, he felt, it certainly should be.

Steve parked the Land Rover round the side of the Manor by some big wooden barns. He led Jonathan back to the front of the building and into the main entrance. A richly patterned parquet floor lay beneath Jonathan's feet as he followed Steve through a large, airy foyer decorated with plants, paintings and vases. It was obviously the home of a rich man, and a rich man who liked to live in comfort and style, but it was not over the top.

They went down a long corridor and emerged in a courtyard containing trees in blossom around an ornamental fountain. Stone cherubs cavorted in silvery splashing streams, their smooth nakedness gleaming.

They came to a building behind the main house and entered a large sports hall. Long wooden benches lined the walls and climbing frames led up to high windows. Sunlight came through them in slanted shafts. Their footsteps echoed in the big empty space. At the far end a large table had been set up, behind which sat a young red-haired man dressed casually. On a chair nearby sat a man dressed the same as Steve, but this man was older, about fifty or so, with close-cropped grey hair, very muscular with lots of tattoos decorating both arms. Behind the desk was a doctor's bench and a small trolley.

Steve closed the door behind them. “Jonathan Hawthorne!” he announced. Jonathan felt a little embarrassed, as if he was some kind of honoured guest who did not deserve the honour.

The tattooed man stood, beaming warmly. “Good morning, Jonathan! Welcome to Baron Michael's house. I am Gavin, I am in charge of security on the estate. This is Doctor Buckley, who is responsible for everyone's health and well-being. I trust you had a good trip?”

Gavin had a rich Welsh accent and a strong bearing, making Jonathan sense that he was in the presence of a military man. Probably ex-forces, he decided. Gavin reached out to shake hands, and his grip was characteristically firm.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Take a seat.” Jonathan sat down opposite the big man. “The doctor and I will be asking you some questions and conducting an examination. Now, you have received the Terms and Conditions of Service, and you fully understand and accept them?”

Jonathan nodded.

Gavin took a slim folder from the desk and brought out a copy of the document Jonathan had read in great detail many times over the past few days, wrestling with his indecision to undertake this adventure or not. “Once you sign, you are bound by the agreement for the minimum four week period. If you have any reservations, now is the time to voice them.”

Jonathan's mouth felt dry again. The two men regarded him calmly. This was all suddenly very real. It was not a game. Dr Buckley pushed a pen towards him, and Jonathan's hand was shaking as he picked it up.

This is it. No turning back. Part of him was terrified. Giving up control in this way was to step into an unknown world. He could say no thank you and leave, turn his back on this whole experience. Go back to his safe, cosy life.

Too safe. Too cosy. If you turn away now you will never know what could have happened. And how many times will you think back to this moment and feel regret?

Biting his bottom lip, he signed his name on the dotted line.

Gavin and the doctor exchanged smiles. Gavin took the document and filed it away. The doctor nodded and said “OK, Jonathan, take off your clothes.”

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The Baron's Stable - Part 5

Mick found a couch and laid the boy down gently. He looked pretty out of it. Mick turned to the Baron. “Sir, I think he needs a rest. This whole thing has taken a lot out of him.”

Baron Michael nodded, stroking his chin and frowning. “Jonathan did very well in his fitness test, but yes, I expect this ordeal has been a bit of a strain. Stay with him, I'll get Stefan to check on him. And you and Terry, too. You're bleeding.”

“Oh, this is nothing, Sir. Don't worry about me.”

“Mick, I know you're as tough as your steel toe-caps, but at least let Stefan put some ice on you. I want you with me when I go to the club later, preferably without too much of a shiner. ”

Mick chuckled. “Yes, OK, Sir!”

The Baron walked into the hall. “Stefan!”

Terry followed Mick into the lounge, carrying his belt, shirt and also Mick's. As Mick knelt down at Jonathan's side, Terry passed him his stuff.

“Thanks mate. Get me some water for the kid?”

Terry had a water bottle attached to his belt. He passed it to Mick, who unscrewed the top and put it to Jonathan's lips, gently pouring. The boy responded at once, taking the bottle from him and sucking hungrily.

“Not too fast, babe. Take it easy.”

Stefan came rushing in, the short, skinny nurse. Despite being naked like all the other boys, he always maintained an air of dignity about him. He bustled over to Jonathan and brushed Mick aside tartly. “Give him some air!”

Mick looked at Terry and chuckled. “Yes, Sir!”

“And sit down, both of you. I want to see what damage you've managed to inflict on each other.”

The two guards obeyed the fussy little medic, who was taking Jonathan's pulse and gazing into his pupils. “He'll live. A little dehydration, a few bumps and scratches. He's got rope burns, is that your doing?”

“He was struggling!” Mick protested.

“Hmph!” Stefan turned to him and took hold of his chin, turning his head one way, then another. Mick smiled at him. Stefan was one of the Baron's slightly older boys, about 29, 30, something like that, but with the usual youthful freshness about him. Dark hair, intense green eyes, he was French or something, with a wiry physique. Beautiful smooth skin, a little spray of chest hair. “I'll put an ice pack on that. Anything else hurt?”

Mick stroked Stefan's slim, silky hip. “No, I feel good all over.”

The nurse pulled away sharply. “You've had your fun, soldier!” He turned to Terry. “What about you?”

Terry smirked, stroking his crotch. A large, stiff bulge was pressing up against the leather. “Well, I do have an ache down here, from watching those two. Anything you can give me for that?”

Stefan gave him a withering look. “You know the rules. I can't service anyone without the Baron's permission, and he doesn't whore me out to the guards. Why don't you two suck each other off?”

Cheeky little bastard! Mick couldn't help laughing, though. He also couldn't help noticing Stefan's prick twitching just a little. “Come on, Stef, think of it as therapy!”

The boy ignored him, taking an ice pack from his bag and pressing it to the side of Mick's face. He then turned his back on them to go back to Jonathan. Mick admired the view of Stefan's pert little bottom as he helped Jonathan stand to take him to the dormitory.

When the boys had gone, Mick turned to Terry and said “Give me some of that water!” He held the ice to his temple with one hand, taking the bottle from Terry with the other. “Damn the rules, I reckon he wanted us both.”

Terry smirked, shaking his head. “He'd get a serious whipping and you and me would be out on our ears, mate. There's gonna be plenty of hot willing ass at the club tonight, you know that. They can't resist bodyguards. Something about that air of mystery... Now, come on, you're off duty the rest of the day, aren't you? Me too, let's go get a drink.”

“Terry, all I want to do now is sleep for about a week!”

“The yoga class is on...” Terry added slyly.

Mick suddenly perked up. “What the fuck are we waiting for? Let's go!”

The courtyard between them and the guard's rec room was currently occupied by about twenty boys on little mats, going through their yoga stretches in the sunshine. The sight of all those fit naked bodies contorting themselves in various different interesting positions always held Mick's attention. They got a beer each from the rec room and sat on the low wall, watching the boys bend, stretch and twist. He was always amazed at what they could do.

Leon, the yoga instructor, led the boys through their movements from his place beneath the big cherry tree. He was about 27 and had the most amazing physique, as if he was carved out of lean muscle. As he was also naked, everything was on show, and it was perfection. Mick and Terry watched with interest as the boys contorted their beautiful forms in response to his lead.

Terry sniggered. “You know, this isn't doing my hard-on any good!”

The boy nearest them heard this and raised his eyebrows. He was a cute guy, early twenties, Vietnamese or something, beautiful skin. Like all the Baron's boys he was in great shape, lean and toned. Sir liked to make sure they stayed that way, so they had regular fitness classes, including gym, sports, runs, pilates and yoga to keep them nice and supple. Mick heartily approved.

Leon stood tall, reaching both hands up towards the sky, legs together. The sun played over his sculpted torso nicely. He then bent at the waist, placing both palms on the grass between his feet, his legs straight, and then tucked his head between his calves, hugging his legs.

The boys flowed suit, and the Vietnamese boy's silky bubble-butt pointed directly at Mick, a tantalising pink rosebud seeming to peer at him with interest.

Mick felt his cock stir once more.

“Hold for a slow count of ten, boys.” Leon said.

Mick couldn't help himself. He stood up and poured a little trickle of cold beer from his can into the
smooth cleft. The boy gasped as it splashed his sensitive hole.

Mick sank his middle finger into the tight, silky orifice, hearing the boy grunt but not protest. He pushed in deeper, feeling the boy's muscles grip his finger. Finding the soft prostate he stroked it a few times. The boy made soft, quiet sounds that could have been whimpers. Mick felt the boy's pulse, warm and strong.

“And up.” Leon said, straightening. Mick pulled his finger out quickly. A bit too quickly. The boy yelped and everyone else looked round at him.

Terry took Mick by the arm and dragged him away. “You're going to get us both killed, you stupid wanker!”

Mick laughed but let himself by led off towards the mansion.

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The Baron's Stable - Part 4

Jonathan's world was spinning around him. Was it the heat? Was it his exhaustion, his thirst?

The Baron pulled up on the rope and Jonathan was yanked uncomfortably upright, his wrists twisting up his back, his back arching, his pelvis pointing outwards. Pointing towards the man who was walking towards him.

The fighter.

Big, strong, hairy, sweaty, bloody, bruised, brutal... and intent.

Jonathan felt torn, uncertain of anything – his own mind, his own desires. Mick was a big ugly brute, rough and unpleasant. If Jonathan saw him in a club he would not even bother to look down his nose at the guy. He was way below the radar.

So why was his heart beating so fast? Why was his cock betraying him, twitching into life once again?

Mick was unbuttoning his leather trousers as he approached, his dark eyes slightly glazed as he stared down at Jonathan's upturned face. For the first time, Jonathan really looked at the man, really saw him. Around six foot, very broad upper body, rugged features, his bearing proudful, arrogant, but somehow balanced by qualities that Jonathan had not noticed before and could still not see clearly. There was more to him, hidden depths. How had he tracked him down in the park? How had he beaten the younger, fitter opponent when he should have been weakened by his labours?

Who was this man?

Mick reached him and brushed his hair, caressed his cheek. One dirty, rough finger stroked Jonathan's lower lip.

“I won you fair and square, kiddo. Twice!”

He took out his cock.

It was thick and sweaty and starting to stiffen in his hand. He pulled back the foreskin to reveal a fat purple head like some swollen fruit. A ripe fruit, it had a strong smell to it. Not pleasant. Not nice. But not repulsive either.

Jonathan gazed up into Mick's eyes and opened his mouth.

Mick brushed the fat purple cock head against Jonathan's dry lips. The moisture was like nectar. He was so thirsty his body didn't care what kind of moisture it was. The sweat and precum of an older man's cock brought his tongue to life, started his saliva flowing.

He kissed it, tasting its salty, bitter tang. He put out his tongue and licked the underside of the head, his lips caressing the bulge of it. He was still savouring the taste when Mick took hold of his head in both hands and pushed forward with his hips, driving the cock inside.

Jonathan gagged as his mouth was invaded and the fat cock head struck the back of his throat. His body convulsed but he could not move; the Baron was still holding him by the ropes and Mick had a vice-like grip on his skull as he slowly slid his fat meat in and out of Jonathan's mouth. His lips, moist now, rolled smoothly over the swelling knob of Mick's cock as it slipped between them.

Forcing himself to relax, Jonathan breathed in through his nose and began to work the meat with his mouth, timing the contractions of his mouth with the man's rhythm. He felt it gradually get bigger and harder between his lips and teeth, forcing his jaw open wider.

Mick was breathing heavily, as if he were still fighting. His meat became a hard spike, pushing deeper, demanding entry. Jonathan concentrated on relaxing and opened his throat to accommodate the intruder.

Fully engorged now, the man thrust in up to the hilt, impaling Jonathan's head on his rigid pole. Jonathan moaned at the sudden penetration, an involuntary reflex, and felt his throat vibrate against the invading hard flesh. He was totally trapped, totally filled and fixed in position, at the mercy of the man's stabbing organ.

He struggled to control his breathing, sucking in air through his nostrils as Mick plunged in and out, his head filling with the scent of the man's damp, sweaty crotch. Mick had hold of Jonathan's hair now, gripping handfuls as he pistoned his hips backwards and forwards, faster now. The man was not content to let Jonathan do the work, to show off his skills, to savour the feel of the silky soft lips and expert throat... No, he was impatient, hungry, bestial. He just wanted to fuck.

This big rough bastard probably hates me as much as he lusts after me, Jonathan thought. He probably thinks that just because I speak English correctly that I'm some poor little rich kid, born into the lap of privilege and high society. Well I don't care what you think of me, you thick piece of council estate scum, you don't know anything about me. To you I'm just a piece of meat to be used. See if I care, you ignorant big lunk. See if I give a fuck.

As these thoughts went through Jonathan's mind he was fully aware of the growing discomfort in his body and all the different sources it came from. The ropes biting into his skin. His arms pulled far up his back. The fat, hard cock pounding his throat like a battering ram.

And his own erection, ignored by everyone, so hard it was aching. He was sure if anything brushed against his swollen prick he would cum instantly. It would be like a trigger.

Mick cried out suddenly, his thrusts coming to an abrupt end as he rammed as deep as possible into Jonathan's throat and held position. Jonathan's nose was crushed against the man's crotch and public hair and he couldn't breathe. As Mick's hot, salty load flooded him, Jonathan began to suffocate and struggled. Mick was oblivious, lost in his ecstasy. Jonathan's throat spasmed around the twitching monster that was buried inside it, involuntarily coaxing more and more of the bitter juice from the man's body.

Just as he felt he was about to black out, Mick released him, letting go of his hair and stepping back, his still rigid, curved pole slipping out of Jonathan's mouth.

The Baron let go of the rope. Unsupported now, Jonathan fell to the side, coughing up the last remains of Mick's spunk, gasping for breath. He lay on his side on the grass, spluttering, his chest heaving as he gulped in air.

He was dimly aware of people moving around him, of the Baron crouching down and brushing sweaty hair out of his face, tenderly. Patting him on the ass and saying “Good boy. You did well.”

He couldn't speak. He wanted to ask for water; the man's hot salty jism had aggravated his thirst and his mouth felt like it was on fire. He couldn't focus his eyes, the sun was so bright it was as if someone had turned up its power a hundredfold. It roasted his skin. He was so weak.

The rope was untied. His limbs flopped on the grass. He was picked up, big arms cradling him, his head resting against a damp, hairy chest as he was carried into the blessed cool shade of the house.

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The Baron's Stable - Part 3

Mick and Terry moved out into the middle of the lawn. It wouldn't do to trample the Baron's well-tended flowers.

The gardeners had stopped their work to watch. Had he noticed, no doubt the Baron would have reprimanded them, but he was just as intent as they were on the spectacle. Mick was as amused by the situation as Terry was, but he remembered to stay focussed. The best man would win, and he intended to be the best man!

Mick had not had a good scrap in a long time, but he was sure his instincts would not desert him now. He knew Terry was a regular at the inner city wrestling club, and did a bit of kick boxing on the side, but had never seen him in action. This would be interesting.

The two men moved cautiously towards each other, arms slightly raised, both smiling. Mick found himself slightly distracted by the other guy's body. Well-developed, Terry looked like he was bursting with health and power. Mick suddenly felt the weight of the sun on his bare shoulders and the strain of the recent hunt. He had run for over an hour, then carried the boy back here, a good four miles at least. In contrast, Terry looked fresh as a fucking daisy.

He pushed all doubts from his mind. He had been through worse. Much worse, and had not given up. He chanced a quick glance to his right. Jonathan was on his knees, still bound, watching them and frowning, his lips pushed out ever so slightly. Those lips looked absolutely heavenly.

Terry darted in, taking advantage of Mick's moment of distraction, and aimed a low punch to the stomach. Mick saw the sudden movement out the corner of his eye and started to twist away from it, but only partly dodged the attack, and Terry's fist connected hard with his side.

It was a strong blow, but Mick hardly felt the pain, reacting instantly, lashing out with his left arm in a side strike to Terry's nose. Terry blocked it and brought up his knee towards Mick's solar plexus.

Mick cut down with his right arm, blocking it, and then swept his left leg round, tripping Terry. His opponent fell but rolled away on the grass, springing to his feet just out of reach like an acrobat, beaming.

Oh, very fucking pleased with yourself, aren't you, dojo boy? Mick jumped towards him, aiming another kick, low towards Terry's shins. Terry dodged it easily, disturbing Mick's balance, and delivered a very successful snap-punch to Mick's right temple.

Bastard! Mick spat inside his ringing head, but he was already ignoring the pain, seeing the follow-up about to be launched, and ready for it. He deflected Terry's second punch, grabbing his wrist and spinning, pulling Terry forward, adding to his own momentum, unbalancing him, and then twisting the other way, sending Terry in a short, sharp arc to the ground.

Mick fell onto Terry, who was already struggling to escape the hold, but with limited success. He wriggled out of the lock Mick had been planning but Mick had him, his weight smothering the younger guy. Terry flailed his arms as Mick tried to grab them, his elbow striking Mick in the mouth. Mick pushed his forearm forward, towards Terry's throat, and leaned into it to add his weight to the attack.

Terry's legs wriggled free and sprang up, clamping around Mick's waist and squeezing. Mick groaned at the gradually mounting pain, breathing getting more difficult with each passing second. Leaning back, he placed both hands against Terry's thighs and tried to prize them apart. But Terry held on grimly, his muscular legs as firm and tight as a vice. They were welded together, pelvis to pelvis.

Mick lifted up onto his knees, leaning back further, out of the reach of Terry's fists, and continued to push down and outwards against Terry's thighs. It was strength against strength now. And Mick felt his fading away like mist under the blazing hot sun.

Still his determination, his stubborn, bullish defiance burned within him. It was a deep part of his character, and it had shaped his life and saved his life many times over the years. Shutting everything else out of his mind, he maintained pressure on Terry's thighs, feeling his arms tremble with the effort, feeling fresh sweat break out all over his baking body.

It could only have been a few seconds, though it felt a lot longer, but eventually he felt the iron grip of Terry's legs begin to falter. Strength was a winner, but no-one could maintain that kind of power indefinitely. One of them would reach his breaking point soon. Very soon...

Terry groaned as Mick succeeded in pushing his legs a few inches wider, and then Mick was free, sliding out of the death grip sideways, grabbing for Terry's arms again. But Terry was already twisting, away from him. Mick fell onto him, fighting for control. Terry twisted the other way, but Mick's weight held him down. Mick's arm snaked forward and down, under Terry's neck and up again the other side. Mick grabbed his own wrist and squeezed.

Terry's head was trapped, Mick's huge meaty arm pressing into his throat. Terry tried to wriggle free but Mick piled on the pressure until he saw Terry's ears go bright pink.

After a few seconds Terry stopped struggling and tapped Mick's arm weakly.

“YES!” Mick released him, jumping to his feet, laughing joyously. The blazing sun was no longer a cruel tormentor, it lit up the world around him in glorious colour and sang like fire in his blood.

Baron Michael was clapping. “Bravo, Mick! Bravo.”

Still laughing, Mick reached down to help Terry up off the grass. The loser was too weak to stand, and sat with his arms hanging limp between his legs. Gasping and chuckling, he panted “You... have got... some fucking... stamina, mate!”

“That's me. Never give up.” He was breathless himself, but light-headed with the exhilaration of the fight. He could taste his own blood in his mouth and felt the dull ache of the blows he'd taken. His muscles ached and his chest hair was sticky with sweat. But he felt alive.

His bullish spirit had triumphed again. All his life it had been the same. He was a tough guy but no Superman. There were many things in the world that could hurt him. But nothing – nothing – was worse than giving up.

“Mick!”

He turned to the Baron, who was now standing behind the kneeling form of Jonathan, beaming. The boy was gaping at Mick with an expression that was hard to read but seemed to contain shock, horror, disbelief, confusion and... excitement?

The Baron had hold of the rope binding Jonathan's chest and arms and pulled it upwards, bringing Jonathan higher up onto his knees. The boy looked uncomfortable in his bonds, his body still marked with dirt and grass from his chase and capture, but that only made him look all the more desirable. His mouth – those full, beautiful lips – trembled. He gazed up at Mick as if looking at something that had never walked the earth before.

Mick turned towards them and took a deep breath. The Baron nodded and said “Congratulations. And now, as they say, to the victor – the spoils!”

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