Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2016 08:05:00 +0000 (UTC)
From: Dane C <nydane86@yahoo.com>
Subject: Crusader Slut: Dad's Parting Chapter 1

The room was dark and my movements restricted. The smell was pungent and
foreign. Sweat permeated the air, yes, but it wasn't alone. I knew the
smell of sweat. Day in and day out I worked up a deep sweat thrashing
wheat. There was something else, something I had not encountered before. It
was sweet and enticing.

I pushed myself forward as best I could, trying to pull myself from my
lethargic inertia, to move toward what little light I saw. I wanted to see
what it was that was creating this cloying odor. It felt like my body was
moving through molasses. Every inch felt like a mile, but I pushed forward,
one laborious step at a time. Under my feet I felt the scratchy familiarity
of straw over wood planking. I barely noticed it. My attention was on the
door. It was made of solid, raw wood, and a strong, bright light outlined
it. I needed to know what was beyond it.

As I drew closer the scent grew stronger and I could hear a faint noise. It
was voices. Two of them. Male. I couldn't make out what they were saying,
but I needed to know. I needed to know what was happening behind those
doors more than I had ever needed anything before.

It was only as I reached the door, my palm pressed flat against its rough
surface, that I realized I was naked. The light that shone through the
cracks in the door illuminated my body. I looked down and saw my cock, rock
hard, its pink head poking out from its foreskin. There was a glistening
drop of liquid clinging the end of it. I knew what it was, but I didn't
know why it was there. It had to be the scent that invaded my nostrils. The
unknown fumes stirred a reaction within my core, causing a shiver to move
from the base of my spine and up my back. Instinctually my hips flexed and
I felt myself pushing my pelvis forward, my cock sliding against the rough
wood of the door.

More liquid escaped the tip of my penis.

There had been a small knot in the door that someone had removed. It was
conveniently at eye level and I found myself pressing my face against the
door, eager to see what lie beyond. My view was limited.

The room beyond was lit with dozens of candles. Light and shadow played
across the scene before me. The brightness of it blinded me for a moment
and as my eye adjusted I made out the shape of a man.

His skin was dark as night and he was completely nude. His back was to me
and I had a clear view of his large, round, smooth rear end. Part of me
knew I should look away, that I was spying on a stranger in a moment of
privacy, but I couldn't pull away from my perch at the peephole. And that's
when I realized he wasn't simply standing there. His hips were moving. The
large muscles of his backside were rhythmically flexing.

I knew it was a sin, but I wanted to touch the man's ass. I wanted to feel
his strong muscles flex and strain, to see just what he was doing. I knew
he was the source of the smell that had drawn me in, that had caused my own
pink cock to harden and leak. But I couldn't open the door. Something held
me back. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, were I to cross that threshold,
there'd be no going back. Whatever lay beyond that door was so foreign to
anything I'd known in life, that were I to choose to enter, I may never
again be what I've always been.

I reached down to my own cock and started to stroke it, pushing my foreskin
back and forth across my engorged head. I could see the man's movements
start to grow faster and faster and the noises I`d heard became louder. I
still couldn't make out any words, but the sound was enough to make me
stroke faster.

"Do you want it Peter?" the man's voice was deep and clear, the first words
I understood, and I stopped, stock still. He knew my name, but he wasn't
looking at me.

"Give it to me. Give me your seed," the voice was pleading and I recognized
it as my own, even though I hadn't spoken a word.  "Please Lord, fill me."

Only then did I see a second pair of legs. They were so white in comparison
to the other man, the one he'd called Lord, that I couldn't believe I
hadn't seen them before. They were planted on the floor in front of the
black man's legs and they seemed to shake with each flex of the Lord's
ass. Until one of the Peter's legs raised up high and I could see his
alabaster ass. It was large and smooth, much like my own. And for a brief
moment I saw the Lord's large black cock as it moved forcefully into
Peter's center. Into my center, for I could have sworn I felt my own ass
stretched wide. And then he came. I knew it because I saw white semen drip
out of the large alabaster ass bent over a table. And I felt my own cock
spasm in my hand and my body shake.

I kept my eye peeled to the hole in the door and watched as the Lord
withdrew his cock. It seemed to go on forever. I'd never seen a cock so
large. It easily surpassed a full foot and suddenly, unacknowledged by the
men in the room, outside the thick wooden door, I felt empty.

It left me whimpering.

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"Peter, come on, get up," I felt a foot kick me in my mid section, rolling
me over on my pallet.

I rolled over, my mind still groggy, images of my dream starting to rapidly
fade. As I rolled onto my stomach, I felt a familiar wetness pressed into
my crotch. It wasn't the first time I'd messed my breeches during the night
and I felt a flush of embarrassment, hoping no one else had noticed.

I reached for my wool chemise and pulled it quickly over my torso. It was
long enough to hang down to my thighs and covered my sodden shorts. Secure
in my modesty, I say up and rubbed my eyes. The morning light was already
streaming through the linen covered windows of our home and I looked up at
my brother, the one who had aroused me.

Bran was three years my senior, but in many ways we could pass for
twins. He was as blond as I, although he kept his hair shorter, and it was
straight where mine was curly. His skin was pale, and he had a muscular
frame, built from working in the fields from a young age.

I was smaller, although still carrying a lot of muscle on my shorter
frame. We both had striking blue eyes and large, full lips and quick smiles
that revealed white teeth.

"Papa's strapping in the donkey, brother, and you're supposed to be with
him, so I'd get moving if I were you."

In my half-wakened state I'd almost forgotten that today was the day my
father and I were leaving for Cotswold. It was our annual trip to the
lord's manor to pay our taxes and this was the first year I was deemed old
enough to accompany my father.

I stood up in a hurry and splashed some water on my face. My mother handed
me a loaf of stale bread and I rushed out of our humble cottage to greet my
father.

"Sorry, Pa. I guess I overslept," I apologized as I took a big bight of my
meager breakfast.

My father was a large man. It was from him that Bran and I had gained our
fair coloring, but where we were trim, our father was burly. He was nearing
his fortieth summer and he'd spent all but the first few years of his life
toiling the plot of land we were allotted as the lord's serfs. That had
given him a strong, muscular physique. His large, hairy chest strained
against the ties of his chemise, and large, powerful legs strained the hide
of his breeches. His own blond hair hung to his shoulders and he had a
full, fair beard that made him look even older than his years.

"Get on, boy," his deep voice was gruff and brooked no opposition.

I scampered onto the wooden cart that he had filled with sacks of grain and
settled in for a ride that would take several hours. Papa took his seat in
front of me, and, grabbing the reins, urged the donkeys forward. As I waved
good-bye at mother and Bran I saw a strange look in my brother's eyes. A
knowing look that left me unsettled.  He seemed to mouth the words, `Good
luck'. I didn't know why.

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The journey was uneventful. I rarely had time alone with my father and
enjoyed being able to talk with him without interruption. While he was more
than happy to talk about family, the harvest, and God, he seemed to grow
silent as I asked about our destination.

Cotswold was the large castle that housed Sir Guy de Dampierre, a close
friend and ally of our King, Richard the Lionheart. Most serfs felt lucky
to be tied to a man as important as Sir Guy. Even if his rule was strict
and his expectations high, we felt as if we were only one step removed from
the King himself. And what a king he was. Legend had it he'd never lost a
battle. Now he was off on Crusade and would surely free the Holy Land from
the infidel, binging glory to God.

As our cart turned a corner, Cotswold came into view. I'd never left our
village, and the sight of such a magnificent castle caught my breath.

"It's keep seems to touch the heavens," I gushed to my father. "And it's
walls, are there really two circles around the whole thing?"

"Yes, son. She's quite impressive," was all my father said in return as our
cart moved through the castle's gatehouse.

The castle's bailey was busy with merchants, farmers, and servants mulling
about, but my father seemed to know where to go. He pulled the cart up to a
structure that was built against the inner wall of the castle. From inside
the door exited a priest, his robes finer than anything I'd seen back in
our village. They were long a flowing and of a deep blue velvet. I knew I
was seeing a man of importance and wealth and here he was coming straight
for us.

"Good day curl," he greeted my father with a term reserved for serfs.

My father returned the greeting, far more formally than anything I'd
witnessed from him before and the two men began to discuss matters beyond
my comprehension. From my perch on the wagon cart I looked over the priest.

Apparently his name was Father Christopher and as I looked at him closely I
realized that he was quite pretty, almost as a woman would be. He was tall,
nearly as tall as my father, but where my father was fair, Father
Christopher was dark. He had short dark hair and was clean shaven, as all
priests were. His eyes were a bright hazel, which contrasted with his olive
complexion, and his lashes were long. I'd never seen a man with such long
lashes. While his vestments revealed little, I could tell that he had a
slim figure and was not given to the sin of gluttony.

"The Crusades have necessitated we all sacrifice for the glory of God," I
heard Father Christopher say.

"This is a sacrifice, Father, I assure you," my father seemed less sure
than I'd ever heard him before.

"Perhaps we should discuss this further," there was an undertone to the
priest's words I didn't fully understand, but I could see my father hang
his head a bit lower and it was only after several moments that he
begrudgingly seemed to agree.

"Peter, leave us for now. We have matters to attend. The kitchen is over
there and the stable just beyond. See what you can explore," he shot a
sidelong look at the Priest, "I'll find you when we've completed our
negotiations.

Happy to explore this magnificent castle, I gave no further thought to the
tension between my father and the priest and ran off toward the
kitchen. There, I grabbed a hot meat pie and made my way to the stable. I
loved horses, although I'd never had the chance to ride one. They were the
purview of the rich. But the stable seemed empty of people and I felt it
safe to enter.

After petting a few horses I settled in a corner and ate my meat pie. The
stable was warm and I quickly felt myself drifting off. Crazy dreams and a
long journey had apparently left me tired. When I woke, the sun was setting
and I had a moment of panic that I may have overslept again and my father
would be looking for me to head home.

I left the half eaten meat pie in the straw of the stable and hurried out
into the bailey. As the darkness settled, I felt myself disoriented. I ran
across the open space to the east wall where I remembered leaving my
father. Our wagon cart was still there and I immediately felt a sense of
relief. It was only after I realized that it had been far longer than my
father had said, that I started to feel a level of uncertainty creep back
into my mind.

Slowly I approached the door to the room the priest had come from hours
earlier and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Before I opened the door I
was hit with a smell. It was the same smell from my dream. Sweat mixed with
something sweet. It was strong, nearly overpowering, and I noticed my cock
start to stir in response. There was no peephole in this door so I slowly,
and quietly started to pry it open. I only had it partially ajar when I
heard and saw a scene that brought back waves of deja vu.

Directly in front of me was a large, well-muscled ass flexing regularly
with each thrust forward. Unlike my dream, the ass I saw here was white and
covered in fine blond hair that got darker and thicker as it neared the
crevice that separated it down the middle. The man's thrusts were hard and
quick and I could hear the high pitched begging groans of the man receiving
them. It didn't take me long to recognize the voice of the priest from
earlier.

I pushed my way into the room quietly and got a good look at the priest. He
was on a table, lying on his back, his legs pulled up to his chest. I could
see that his body was beautiful. Olive skin, as hairless as my own, with a
well defined abdomen and two small dark nipples on his chest. His hands
reached up and were tangled in long blond chest hair. My gaze followed
those hands as I reached into my breeches and fondled my growing cock.

"Here are your taxes, Priest. You dirty sodomite. You'll go to hell with my
seed buried in you."

And I recognized that voice. My eyes moved up from the hairy muscular torso
to his face and I saw it was my father. My father's cock was buried deep
inside the pretty priest and I gasped loud enough that both men looked my
way.

I locked my gaze with my father's and continued to stroke my cock while he
pounded the priest's ass without mercy. It was only as he came that he
broke eye contact, the power of his orgasm overtaking him. The priest had
one hand on my father's chest and one on his ass cheek as my father
unloaded his sperm inside him and a part of me knew that's exactly what I
would have done in the same position. It wasn't long before I shot my own
load all over the rooms straw and wood floor.

As my father pulled his cock out and slipped his breeches back on I
marveled at how big it was. Mine was large, but his was huge. The priest
seemed to be making the same comparison.

"The Crusades are expensive," he looked at my father, still naked and
covered in cum. "You've paid a part of your dues today, but you aren't paid
in full. Your son, he stays here. We'll put him in Sir Guy's service as
part of your debt."

My father looked aghast, his steel blue eyes going from the naked priest,
to me, my half hard cock still jerking and leaking as I stood against the
wall. But he had no choice. A serf couldn't contradict the castle priest.

It looked like I wouldn't be going home.