Date: Thu, 11 Nov 1999 02:58:32 GMT
From: Jamie Scott <jamiescott18@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Laird's Son

Author's note: this is my first attempt at erotic fiction. It has turned
out to be the beginning of a teenage homosexual love story. I hope you
enjoy it.

Warning: this story contains scenes of graphic teenaged sex.

THE LAIRD'S SON

     Michael climbed the spiral staircase to the battlements, his footsteps
echoing against time worn stone. The battlements and guardroom were his
place, the ghosts of his ancient forebears, clan chieftains and warriors
all, his only company.
     Unlocking the heavy door and stepping into daylight, he paused for a
moment, shielding his eyes from the sudden glare. It was a scorching day,
more reminiscent of the Mediterranean than Scotland, and his T-shirt clung
to his tanned and sweat soaked body emphasising his broad shoulders and
chest and well-developed muscles. Rugby and punishing physical training had
matured his sixteen-year-old body early and his height added to the
illusion. But he was still a boy, the baby soft skin and golden peach fluff
standing in testament.
     He licked his lips, tasting salt and ran his fingers through his damp,
tawny hair. It had been stupid to ride so hard in this heat, stupid. And an
hour to cool the gelding down and make sure that he'd taken no harm -
stupid! And for what? For jealousy, for the glimpse of a Gypsy's bastard
that he'd promised himself he would avoid on his holiday home from boarding
school. What was it to him that Jamie had been with a girl, smiling at her
as he stroked back a tendril of errant hair from her forehead, and standing
so close against her that she must have been able to feel that magnificent
bulge in his jeans - what was it to him? It was remnants of a childhood
infatuation, that was all - the attraction of opposites, encouraged by the
fact that Jamie had never once shown Michael's parents the respect that was
their due and had only ever sneered at him. Doesn't every boy want to be a
rebel? Doesn't every boy want to keep company with someone who is?
     He smiled to himself. Everything was fine now, back in proportion. He
pulled his T- shirt free of his breeches and over his head and dropped it
at his feet. The riding boots were next to come off and he smiled again,
remembering the contortions and fumblings he'd had before he'd thought of
bringing up a bootjack. Socks next and yet another smile as he thought of
the article he'd read that commented on how ludicrous a man looks standing
naked in a pair of socks. Well, he wasn't going to make that mistake.
     Realising he was undressing as if for a lover excited him but also
made him blush and he hung his head as he undid his flies and skinned the
tight breeches down over his taut, muscular buttocks. Removing his white
briefs was a much more gauche affair. And standing awkwardly, head lowered
and hands inexpertly trying to cover his jutting 7-inch cock, he looked
exactly what he was - a shy young virgin.
     Still trying to cover himself, although he knew he couldn't possibly
be seen this far back on the battlements, he crossed to the rain barrel and
reached for the scoop. The water felt wonderful and time and again he
poured it over his head and glistening, golden body. He studiously avoided
touching his tingling erection and it ached all the more from the lack of
attention, the rose pink head peeking from its hood of foreskin in
anticipation.
     Towelling himself dry, he made his way to the guardroom. He'd first of
all decided to furnish the large room as he imagined it would have been in
days gone by. A rough oak table and four chairs stood against one
lime-washed wall, while a narrow monk's bed was pushed against another, a
soldier's chest, containing personal items and changes of clothes, at it's
foot. His own archery bow, together with a full quiver of arrows, stood in
a corner. The walls themselves were adorned with swords and spears and
shields that had been considered unworthy to grace the great hallway of the
castle. His later additions were less in keeping and included a massive
wooden armchair, in truth more throne than chair, said to have belonged to
one of his more infamous ancestors (and which his father hated), and his
excuse for spending so much time here - a telescope. The books on
ornithology and astronomy piled on the table lending proof to his story.
     In reality, this was where he played. A cowed only child, not allowed
to mix with the village children, and despising those of his peers that his
father thought suitable, he had discovered escape here. Here he would stalk
the battlements, boy squire to a Stuart king, his child's heart swelling
with love and national pride, or he would stagger in, close to death,
bearing the news that would save them all and was nursed back to health by
The King himself. As he grew, his fantasies changed and his king would draw
him close and teach his little cock the way of men.
     It was just a game, though - in real life he dated the girls his
father would approve of and if he never ever sought to touch them, it was
because he was a gentleman. And if Jamie haunted him, had always haunted
him, it was because he desperately wanted to be his friend. He had never
brought him into his fantasies, never once thought of him when he touched
himself. It was his only rule.
     But he was thinking of him now.
     Lying on his monk's bed, his knees up and muscular thighs spread,
Michael peeled back his foreskin and smeared the oozing precum over his
swollen cockhead with a fingertip, shivering with lust.
      And Jamie was in the room with him.
      It was Jamie's slender hand that was milking his throbbing erection
with tortuous slowness, Jamie that was caressing his taut balls and
whispering how full he was, how big. It was Jamie's wetted finger that was
stroking his perineum. Then, as Michael shuddered, Jamie began to touch his
anus and, spitting on his finger again, began to penetrate his virgin
sphincter, gently at first, with the same slow rhythm as his cock hand.
And then rougher and faster with both hands, until Michael's breathing
became ragged and he jerked and arched, spurting his pleasure convulsively
time after time.
     Michael sat up shaking and raked back his hair. "Jamie," he
whispered. "Oh, Jamie. Why won't you look at me anymore? Even your sneers
were better than what you do to me now."


     It was two days before he returned to the battlements and even then it
was only to escape some of his father's fawning houseguests. One of them, a
Hooray Henry of the worst sort, would have followed him up to see the view
but Michael's father, afraid of heights himself, would not allow anyone to
enjoy something he couldn't and put a stop to that idea. Michael himself
had often wondered why he had been allowed to commandeer the place until he
realised that it had been sanctioned after he had learned that his
unimpeachable father tended to fuck the arse off any girl who took his
fancy:
     "For fuck's sake, Michael. Stop being a baby. I'm a feudal lord. It's
expected."
     "Yes, father."
     "Off you go, then. And Michael..."
     "Yes, father?"
     "Your mother doesn't need to know about it."
     "No, father."
     Standing on the battlements now, Michael remembered the incident and
was saddened. He didn't really know his mother. She had been plagued with
illness when he was a small child and he had been cared for by a succession
of nannies (fodder for his father's appetites), and then he'd been
dispatched to boarding school when he was seven.  He knew she'd fought hard
about that, calling it inhuman, which Michael heartily agreed with, but, as
always, his father got his way. When he came back for holidays, she had
been distant, or perhaps he had, and that's how things had stayed. It was
uncomfortable to admit that he didn't want to look at her too closely.
      For a while he did nothing but stand on the battlements looking
out. The view over open countryside really was stunning. The colours of
summer particularly beautiful in the mellow light of the hot evening, but
Michael was soon lost in thought and ceased to see it. Coming out of his
reverie, he caught a movement in one of the barley fields. The barley was
nearly ripe, with only the faintest pale glimmer amongst the rich gold. He
frowned and went quickly to the telescope in the guardroom. They'd lost 30
acres of barley to fire last summer and the culprits, probably village
boys, were never caught.
     The trespasser wasn't in the barley but in the long grass of the
hayfield next to it. If he hadn't been lying on a rise, he would have been
as hidden as a hare in its form. As it was, Michael could see him well and
he swallowed. Jamie had obviously been for a swim in the adjacent loch and
he was now dozing in the evening sun. He was lying half on his side, half
on his front, his head cradled in his arms. And he was naked.
     His lithe, slender body with its exquisitely tight little arse was the
most beautiful thing that Michael had ever seen and he ran his eyes over
Jamie's body longingly. Michael loved every part of him, the way his damp
black hair curled onto the soft nape of his neck, the swells and plains of
him, his narrow waist and hips, those superb long legs with their dusting
of black down... Jamie was so dark that Michael had expected more hair and
he delighted in the sheerness of his beauty.
     Jamie moved, drawing up a knee and Michael was offered a glimpse of
his taut young balls. Michael rubbed his surging hard-on through his chinos
and struggled blindly and one handed to free it from its confines, his
other hand steadying the telescope and his eye glued to Jamie's tight
buttocks.
     He knew he shouldn't be doing this but the thrill of the forbidden
made his prick throb even more. He handled himself carefully, playing his
excited cock between his thumb and forefinger in a slow easy rhythm. He
wanted this to last forever.
     Jamie squirmed sensuously, his hips thrusting gently against the
grass. He was beginning to turn over when his whole body suddenly
tensed. Michael scanned the area but could see no one. Jamie knelt up and
then relaxed as a young roe deer came into view. He shifted his position to
watch her dart away and Michael gasped. Jamie's cock was huge, 9 inches at
least, jutting arrogantly from its nest of black pubic hair and waiting to
be worshiped.
     Michael's straining rod twitched violently in his hand, electric
shocks of pleasure thrilling up and down the engorged shaft. His hand
paused and he watched transfixed as, head lowered to look down at himself,
his taut balls in one hand and his beautiful long, slim tool in the other,
Jamie began to wank.
     For a few seconds Michael masturbated furiously, lost to everything
but the incredible sensations coursing through his body. Then he groaned
and clamped his blazing prick in the vice of his hand. At first he thought
he was too late. Wave after wave of searing pleasure broke over his
trembling body and he put his hand out to support himself against the
wall. But no ejaculation came and he was soon reaching for the telescope
again.
     Jamie was lying down, knees up and open, his eyes closed and his moist
lips parted as he pleasured himself. Michael watched him teasing his cock
and felt an answering build up of tension in his own. He still couldn't
believe the size of him, he was only sixteen after all.
     Jamie fondled his balls, his right hand still moving slowly,
retracting his foreskin fully to expose the engorged, glistening glans and
then sliding it back up over his oozing cockhead. Michael's pulsing prick
was back at full stretch and he began to sweat.
     Jamie's left hand moved from his balls and squeezed his hard nipples
and then he raised his hand to his mouth and spat, the saliva gleaming on
his fingers. He was wanking seriously now, his right hand pumping his
weapon and his slender hips thrusting.
     Michael began to pant. His tight swollen balls were aching for relief
and his prick felt massive. It was so sensitive that he didn't know if it
was pleasure he was feeling or pain.
     "Jamie!" he cried out.
     Jamie's lubricated fingers were tormenting his young arsehole and as
his lithe body began to arch and shudder, he drove his middle finger
home...
     Michael let out a deep feral moan and his hand pounded his blazing
cock furiously as pistol shots of boiling spunk splattered him from throat
to belly.



     When Michael had recovered enough to look again, Jamie was sprawling
languidly on his back, his soft wet cock nestling against his thigh and his
beautiful lean face in repose.  Michael's eyes were drawn to the shadow of
deep bruising on his left cheek. He knew beyond doubt how he had come by
the injury and he also knew that one day Jamie would retaliate. And then he
would leave Strath.
     For a long moment Michael gazed at him, at the mussed black hair with
its unruly forelock, at the amazing dark brown eyes, which told you all
about his passionate nature and shone with a light of rebellion that warned
he could never be tamed, never be quelled. His gaze travelled down Jamie's
body. The muscles of his shoulders were full and round, his chest muscles,
flat and broad, the shadows beneath them as crisp as ink.  Michael closed
his eyes and drew away; it was too painful. Jamie wasn't just beautiful; he
had absolute attraction. He was royalty and he knew it. He didn't need a
title.
     Michael cleaned up and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. He sponged
off the chinos but the shirt was going to have to be dumped. It was stiff
with sperm and the maids already had enough to talk about. He was restless
and dinner with the kow-towing guests was out. His father wouldn't be
pleased but that was tough.
     He had nothing planned but his feet took him in the direction of
Druid's Wood and, much to his astonishment, to Jamie. He blushed deeply and
drew back but Jamie hadn't seen him; he was too busy emptying and resetting
his rabbit snares. Michael watched Jamie's deft movements in fascination;
the way he kept himself downwind and completely avoided touching the runs
to leave no trace of his human smell was obviously the work of a
master. Even the gloves he wore to handle the snares would have been
steeped in some potion that served the same purpose. Michael was impressed;
he couldn't have set a snare to save his life.
     He shifted position slightly and a twig cracked under his foot. Jamie
froze for a second and then turned sharply. Michael was glued to the spot
and just looked at him. Jamie looked horrified and for a moment Michael
thought he was going to make a run for it and couldn't understand why.
     "They're vermin," Jamie said, standing his ground but looking far from
comfortable.  "I'm doing you a favour."
     Michael had forgotten how low-pitched and soft his voice was; it sent
tingles up and down his spine. Then Jamie moistened his lips with his
tongue and Michael's cock twitched. He couldn't speak.
    Jamie's chin came up but there was no trace of the usual sneer; he
looked worried.  "What are you going to do?"
     Michael was at a complete loss and then it hit him - Jamie was
poaching and this was their land. Michael's father hated poachers like
poison and always had them charged, and with his standing being what it was
there was always a heavy fine, or worse. But even worse than that, Jamie's
family lived in a tied cottage and Michael's father would not hesitate in
sacking Jamie's stepfather and throwing the whole family onto the street.
      Michael had no intention of telling his father about it. Even if it
hadn't been Jamie, he would have kept his mouth shut. He was about to say
as much when he realised that although Jamie might be grateful, he might
also think him weak and Michael couldn't stand the thought of that. It also
occurred to him that, in some ways, the Scottish Highlands had changed very
little since the dark ages.
     "Bit stupid to poach here, wasn't it?" he said
non-committally. "Biting the hand that feeds you and all that." He suddenly
felt ashamed of his upper-class accent and wished he could change it.
     Jamie didn't like being ridiculed and his eyes sparked but he was
hardly in a position to argue. "Bloody stupid," he conceded after a
moment. "But the land I've got permission on over by Keir is cleaned
out. I'm too good," he added flashing his boyish grin to test the water.
     Michael was lost, he would have given him anything but Jamie didn't
seem to notice.
     "Come on, Michael, give me a break. I don't expect you to just forget
about it but I can work off the debt, anything you like - that big bastard
of a gelding you ride maybe? I know you like just belting about on it but
it needs schooled; its jump is bloody awful. I could teach you a few tricks
too if you like?"
     Michael didn't know what was hitting him hardest, hearing Jamie speak
his name, learning that Jamie had watched him ride, or being offered a
summer of his company.  The "anything you like" didn't bear thinking
about. It had already given him a hard-on that was going to make walking
awkward. Jamie was looking at him quizzically, waiting for him to speak.
     "Please, Michael," he said quietly. "It's not for me - Mum and the wee
ones don't deserve what the Laird will do to us."
     Michael didn't trust himself to speak. He avoided the earnest eyes and
noticed the bruised and swollen cheek again. "Your father did that to you,
didn't he?" he asked, gesturing.
    Jamie raised his hand to touch it but he still had the gloves on. He
took them off and started packing up his things, offering only a tense back
view.
     Michael knew he had been shown a side of Jamie that no one was ever
shown. He also sensed that it had nothing to do with being caught poaching,
but he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it.
     "Sorry, that was insensitive."
     Jamie shrugged. "It doesn't matter. But don't call him my father. He's
not my father and you know it as well as I do. The whole of Strath knows
it. Just don't give me shit, Michael. Okay?"
     He hadn't turned round again, was still fussing with his bags, and
Michael ached to take him in his arms and comfort him. It wasn't lust he
felt; it was love. He didn't just want Jamie, he wanted him to be happy,
and if that meant that he could never, ever touch him as a lover, then that
was how it had to be.
     "Don't poach on the estate, Jamie, okay? It might not be me who
catches you next time."
    Jamie turned but Michael couldn't look at him and was already striding
away. Jamie didn't try to stop him.


     Michael was up on the battlements next morning trying to sort out his
feelings when someone knocked at the door. He opened it with some
anxiety. No one ever bothered him up here and he feared some emergency,
doubly so when he found his mother standing there.
    "What's wrong?" he asked urgently.
     "Nothing, no problems." She patted his hand. "You have a visitor,
that's all."
     He immediately thought it must be one of the boys from school and
shook his head vehemently. "You didn't say I was in did you?"
     "He knows you are darling. He saw you stalking the battlements - his
words." Her eyes shone in amusement.  "Aren't you going to ask who it is?"
     She looked completely different from usual, alive and even
mischievous, and he felt totally confused. "One of the boys from school?"
     "My poor baby, of course not. I wouldn't disturb you for them." She
reached up and placed her hand against his cheek for a second and he felt
even more confused.
     "It's Jamie," she said and smiled.
     "Jamie!"
     "Stop panicking, darling," she said, completely misunderstanding his
concern. "Your father is out and if Jamie uses the chapel door when he
leaves no one will know he's been. No one else knows he's here," she added.
     Michael raked his hair back with his fingers. "I don't understand," he
said woodenly.
     She smiled again. "He waited for me in the green house."
     She said it as if it were an every day occurrence and he suddenly
thought the worst, but she'd already disappeared and he couldn't question
her. The thought of Jamie sleeping with his mother put every other thought
out of his head and it was even worse because he could visualise it. When
Jamie appeared in the doorway, a minute or so later, he wanted to kill him
and he hauled him inside and slammed him against a wall.
     "What the fuck?"
     "You're screwing my mother, you bastard!"
     Jamie smiled. "She told you, then?" he asked and side stepped
Michael's punch. "Easy now. It's your future daddy you're dealing with and
I might have to spank you."
     Michael cursed and lunged at him but blind anger allowed Jamie to
dodge and he a belted for the guardroom to put a door between them. Michael
was faster than that, though, and Jamie fell to a rugby tackle just inside
the doorway. He was laughing his head off as Michael hauled him over and
pinned him down.
     "You bastard!"
     But Jamie was still laughing. "Don't be fucking stupid, you daft big
sod." He tried to struggle out from under him but Michael slapped him and
then pressed him down harder.
     Jamie sobered up fast and looked up at him. "I was joking,
Michael. I'm not involved with your mum," he said quietly. "She helps my
mum, maybe they help each other, I don't know. Your old man wouldn't
approve; the shit my mum married wouldn't either come to that, so I carry
messages between them sometimes. Your mum isn't even allowed to answer the
phone by herself, the poor bitch. It's always that sodding butler."
     Michael pressed him down harder as every emotion he had smashed
against each other.
     "Christ, Michael. I wouldn't fuck your mum. I couldn't fuck anyone's
mum."
    Something in Jamie's voice made him realise why. "My father..." He
couldn't finish.
     Jamie gave as much of a shrug as Michael's weight allowed. "Why not?
He fucks everyone who isn't in a position to do anything about it, and Mum
was beautiful once."  He was trying to appear unconcerned but his eyes
betrayed him.
     Michael eased his weight and, without thinking about it, stroked
Jamie's beautiful face. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. You must
really hate us."
     He shook his head. "Not your mum, she's fabulous." He paused and his
eyes became unfocused. "Not you either."
     Michael's breathing quickened, his mind now bombarded with sensation,
the heat of Jamie's body, the warm musky smell of him, more potent than any
after shave, the thudding of his heart against his chest, his swollen cock
pulsing against his.
     "Jamie," Michael said hoarsely.
     But Jamie didn't answer; his dark, unfocused eyes were glazed with
pleasure and Michael couldn't rouse him. Jamie moved beneath him rubbing
their erections against each other.
     "But you like girls," Michael moaned.
     "Girls," Jamie said distractedly, and increased the
friction. "Christ..."
     "Jamie, I'm gay, and I'm in love with you. Stop doing this."
     "Aw, Christ," he groaned, not listening.
     "Jamie!"
     "Aw, fuck. Aw, Christ. Michael!"
     Michael groaned and kissed him, groaning again as Jamie's tongue
penetrated his mouth. Jamie started to buck, his hands moving to clasp
Michael's buttocks. Michael pulled away roughly and knelt up. "Not like
this!"
     Jamie tried to focus. "Michael!"
     Michael bent forward and started to unbutton the flies of Jamie's
jeans, and Jamie relaxed back and closed is eyes.
     Jamie wasn't wearing any underwear and Michael nearly came when his
hot, slick tool sprang against his hand.
     Jamie groaned.
     Michael gazed at Jamie's beautiful, slender weapon. He took it in his
hand and gently drew back the foreskin to reveal the engorged, shiny
glans. A tear of precum oozed out and Michael bent his head and licked it
off. Jamie moaned and Michael licked for a moment more and then engulfed
the head in his mouth, sucking gently while continuing to use his
tongue. He loved taste and feel of it and the strong musk of Jamie's groin
was driving him wild. He couldn't believe that Jamie was actually letting
this happen.
     "Suck me," Jamie moaned. "Suck me properly!"
     Michael wanted to but he wanted to feel Jamie inside him even more and
he knew he might never have another chance.
     He stopped and Jamie groaned.
     "Not like this," Michael told him and tugged at Jamie's sweatshirt,
wanting it off, wanting to be able to look down at his naked body, but he
was too excited to make much progress.
     Jamie opened his eyes and pushed him away. Then he sat up and pulled
the sweatshirt over his head and started to pull his jeans down. Michael
needed no urging. He had never stripped so fast in his life.
     "Hurry up!" Jamie hissed.
     "You're too big," Michael told him as he searched in the chest
frantically, pulling clothes out onto the floor. "I need some jelly."
     "Suck it."
     "No."
     He found what he was looking for and knelt over Jamie. Jamie grasped
him behind the neck and pulled him down for another kiss.
     "Suck it."
     "No. I want you inside me."
     Jamie's eyes widened and his pupils flared. "You're going to let me
fuck you?"
     "What did you think the gel was for?"
     "Aw, Christ!" He grabbed the jelly and started lubricating his
tool. "Lean over the bed."
     "I want to straddle you."
     "Behave yourself! Lean over the fucking bed."
     Michael hesitated. "I'm a virgin," he said and blushed.
     Jamie was struggling out of his boots and jeans but stopped to look at
him. "I'll be gentle with you," he said and gave an evil grin. Then he was
on his feet and pulling Michael up too.
     Jamie was the shorter, 5' 9" to Michael's 6' 1", and he had to angle
Michael's head down to kiss him. Michael shivered in pleasure as the hot,
supple tongue once again invaded his mouth. He hadn't expected this, when
Jamie had been rubbing himself to orgasm, yes, but not now. He knew that
straight boys would, in the right circumstances, allow themselves to be
sucked and would fuck without compunction, but intimacy was out. He knew
too that there was often anger after the act was over and that thought made
him tense up.
     "Easy, Michael," Jamie said gently and began to run his hands over
Michael's body.  "Come on, lie on the bed."
     Jamie made him lie on his back and knelt between his drawn up knees,
looking down at him. Michael's cock jerked and Jamie gave another evil
grin.
     "Where do you want me to touch you, Michael?" He teased, and traced
Michael's lips with a finger. "Here?" He stooped and kissed him and Michael
tried to pull him down.
     "Uh, uh." Jamie broke the kiss and wagged a finger. He ran his hands
over Michael's muscular chest and began to play with his hard
nipples. "Here?" Jamie shifted position and began to suck each in
turn. Michael groaned and Jamie stopped and began to snake his tongue down
Michael's belly. He stopped at his navel and circled it with his finger.
     "Here?" He probed it with his hot tongue for a moment and then began
to work his way down Michael's lower belly and on to his trembling thighs.
     "Here?" he asked and began to lick the soft inner thighs, leaving
trails of fire.
     "Please," Michael whimpered. "Oh, God. Please!"
     Jamie moved onto his swollen balls, fondling them for a moment before
attending to them with his tongue. He drew one into his mouth and sucked on
it gently while his hand reached for Michael's aching erection and began a
slow wank.
     "Please!"
     And at last Jamie's hot, young mouth was on his cock. Michael couldn't
believe the sensations as Jamie's tongued up and down his pulsing shaft and
he was moaning freely, his hands gripping the sheets. Jamie stopped and
Michael groaned.
     "Don't stop!"
     Jamie was unmoved. "Turn over."
     "Jamie!"
     "You need a good seeing to, and I'm going to give you one. Up on your
Knees!"
     Jamie positioned himself and pushed Michael's shoulders down
roughly. Michael heard the squelch as Jamie squeezed some more jelly from
the tube. Jamie pulled his buttocks apart and Michael's cock twitched again
as he felt the cool air on his virgin hole.
     "I'm looking at you, Michael. I'm looking right at your tight little
arsehole. And I'm going to watch my cock working it."
     Michael gasped and gasped again as Jamie's gelled finger touched his
puckered sphincter and lubricating it sensually began to penetrate
him. Jamie slid his finger in and out of Michael's arse and soon he was
using two fingers.
     "Do you like this, Michael?" Jamie whispered. "Do you like me
buggering you like this? Do you do it to yourself and think about me?"
     Michael groaned and tried to reach for his prick to masturbate but
Jamie withdrew his fingers and Michael felt his hot tool sliding up and
down his crack.
     "Oh, God!" he moaned and grabbed the spars of the headboard as Jamie's
slick weapon began to push against his arsehole.
     Michael felt searing pain as, inch by slow inch, Jamie worked his
weapon in and he gritted his teeth in the effort not to cry out. He didn't
think he was going to be able to take it. Then he felt Jamie's crotch and
balls hard against him. Jamie stopped moving and reached under Michael's
flat belly to play with his prick.  Michael began to feel the thrills
building up again and the feeling of Jamie's hard, hot cock filling his
arse intensified his pleasure. He moaned and squirmed against him, the pain
a thing of the past. Jamie played with him for a little longer before he
straightened up and then, with his hands on Michael's hips, he began to
slowly thrust in and out of his tight, young hole.
     The pleasure coursing through Michael's body was incredible and he
began to groan and pant. Jamie's thrusts became harder, and then he was
really fucking him, driving his weapon home to the hilt, pulling back, and
ramming again. Jamie moaned and bucked wildly, his fingers digging in to
Michael's haunches, and then Michael felt the weapon inside him throb and
jerk as it pumped hot sperm into his bowels.
     "Oh, God!" Michael cried out as his own orgasm hit him. "Aah, aah,
aah.  Aaaahhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
     After a few moments, Jamie eased himself out and as they both
collapsed onto the come soaked sheets, Jamie grinned at him and Michael was
able to take him in his arms at last.