Date: Fri, 6 Sep 2002 01:37:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: shane <shane7677@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Queensguard 1

THE QUEENSGUARD

by Shane (shane7677@yahoo.com)

   Please Note: I'm afraid the writing might be a bit too literary for all
you sexhounds out there, but this first chapter establishes what is to
follow, and, if I decide to continue the story, future posts will involve
more mansex as the story develops. If readers enjoy the story, future
chapters might even get pretty kinky, especially when we meet some rather
unsavory characters later on...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Disclaimer:

   This story is posted for the exclusive enjoyment of readers of the Nifty
Archive. While you are free to make a personal copy, no copy of this
manuscript may be published, copied, posted to another web site, or
otherwise disseminated without express permission from the author, who
retains copyright.
   The contents of this story are fictional. Any resemblance of characters
to persons living or deceased is strictly coincidental. Certain characters
engage in sexual acts which may or may not be legal in the state or country
in which a reader may reside. Any reader with objections to graphic
descriptions of sexual encounters between males who may or may not have
reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or
national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should not read
further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   I.  DIRE NEWS

   The inn door flew open, carried by the force of the driving wind and
rain. The large man by the door caught it before it slammed against the
wall, and two cloaked figures hustled in, the door closing quickly behind
them. No one in the common room of the bustling inn paid them any mind,
beyond a quick glance at the sudden cold briefly intruding on the cheery
warmth. The large man made a mental note of them, however: their swords
declared them Queen's Guardsmen, even if their dress declared them
off-duty. The large man, the inn's tough and peacekeeper, fingered the
cudgel hanging from his belt and glanced at his employer standing behind
the long bar, pulling draughts of her famed mulled cider. An imperceptible
nod told him she had noted their entrance as well.
   Through an effort drawn from her iron will, the innkeeper forced herself
not to look toward the lone figure, the hood of his cloak also pulled up
and obscuring his face, seated near the hearth, pulling gently on his pipe,
his attention seemingly on the young harpist playing and singly sweetly
nearby. Instead, she smoothed the front of her spotless, white apron,
embroidered with diamonds in blue and vines in gold. She picked up the mugs
of steaming cider and brought them smiling to her patrons, all the while as
her mind raced.
   The "Queensguard" could mean anything these days--the Queen lay on her
deathbed and a dozen factions vied for placement and power. Which faction
did those two belong to? They brazenly displayed the slightly curved saber
distinctive of the Guard, but they did not wear any of the Queen's
colors--blue and gold--on their common-day garb. And that mysterious one by
the hearth. She thought she knew him, and he was certainly not the
merchantguard he dressed as. No merchantguard she knew moved like a cat and
drank like a priest of the Red Sister, which was to say not at all. If she
could get a closer look under that hood, she was sure she could recognize
him. And she was fairly sure the two newcomers were here because of
him. She flicked her eyes quickly to Gim, her tough, warning him to be
ready. Gim's blocky jaw clenched slightly, then he resumed looking bored
and deadly.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Vander continued to gaze discreetly at the harp player's astonishingly
handsome face. Normally he didn't go in for ones as young as this, but the
lad's face surpassed the mere beauty of youth. Masculine and lean, his
red-gold curls and gray eyes would be captivating audiences for years to
come. The boy's appearance was actually reminiscent of... Vander gave a
mental shrug, irritated that he had inadvertently reminded himself of why
he was here. It was of no import that the boy carried more than a passing
resemblance to the murdered heir of the realm. Mikyl had been known for his
dalliances, even if he did arrange for the offspring to be provided for,
which was certainly more than most nobles did. Mikyl was dead now, and by
the black crafts, and Vander had to tell Koryma at all costs. It seemed
impossible that the capital could have become such a seething cauldron of
intrigue in just the four short months since Mikyl was slain. Vander was
sure Klieda was the cause--Black Sister take her!
   Vander had quietly noted the entrance of the two Guardsmen. Even with
hoods up, he recognized Kalder, but he couldn't discern the other. They
ordered drinks from the stout innkeeper who seemed torn between being
discreet and glaring at them fiercely. Vander could understand--wearing the
swords like that with no colors! Just how bad had things gotten in Vel Tama
that Guardsmen hesitated wearing Koryma's colors? Vander wondered if any of
them were already wearing Klieda's purple and gold.
   To Vander's eyes, the two Guardsmen made a show of not looking at
him. They stood about, seeming to warm themselves and listen to the
harpist. After a while, they were able to claim one of the high-backed
booth tables running along the far wall, opposite the hearth. There they
sat, hoods up, engaged in quiet conversation. Vander finished his pipe,
tamped it, and with one wistful gaze at the handsome harpist, got up and
made his way to the back booth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Berta, the innkeeper, allowed herself to relax marginally. The off-duty
guardsmen seemed content to drink and keep to themselves. She had been
fearing trouble like what happened in poor Mastin's place just the other
street over, what with Guards drinking like mercenaries and openly
declaring for that sow Klieda. They probably were mercenaries, what with
attacking good, honest Queensmen! Berta was a good Queenswoman herself, and
did not approve of this usurper business, especially if it meant causing
damage to honest places of business. She turned some of her widespread
attention back to her grandson, playing the harp like the Good Mother
taught him herself and singing like the Green Sister's Boy. Everything
about that boy was surely divinely inspired! She'd had to raise him herself
ever since her fool daughter died of the burr fever ten years back. Olwyn
stood on the platform near the hearth, playing and singing his heart
out. Berta was sure his inspired balladry was one of the reasons her place
kept calm and quiet, more often as not. The Good Mother knew, she had to
keep her eye on him, though!
   He had successfully passed his voice breaking and emerged with a clear,
sweet, honeyed tenor that made women sigh and men relax. And some men do
much more than relax. Even now, some among the raised heads were clearly
appreciating more than the youth's voice. Berta sighed. She had figured
Olwyn out years ago. She had been hoping young Havym would show up asking
to help clean up for a package of food for his ill father. Havym's presence
always meant Olwyn would "help carry the package" and the two would
disappear off to do the Blue Sister knew what (although Berta could
guess). Havym had not appeared yet this night, and if he hadn't shown up
this late, he probably wasn't coming. His father was, indeed, very ill and
Havym was all he had.
   This meant that sure as a Red Priest stared down his nose at you, one of
those raised heads would ask for a "private performance" from Olwyn. The
lad was seventeen years old now, and an adult in his own right. Berta just
wished he would show some taste. He always seemed to choose the
roughest-looking guards. She still kept up half a hope that Havym would
show.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Vander approached the booth. "This seat free, friends?" he asked
   Kalder nodded his head. The other, Vander knew it was Mikyl now, stared
impassively.
   Vander placed his mug of untouched cider on the table and sat down next
to Mikyl. The last time Vander saw Mikyl, he was still training in the
practice yards, being teased about having the same name as the Heir. The
five years had been good for Mikyl: constant practice with the sword had
given him broad shoulders and he had seemed at last to have grown into his
ears, which now appeared only slightly too large for his face. Vander had
always liked Mikyl, for all his awkwardness, but he hoped that Kalder had
chosen well in bringing him.
   Kalder spoke first, quickly and quietly, "Kercham is dead. Du Balry is
Commander now."
   Vander felt his mouth go dry. Unconsciously, he half-lifted the cooling
cider while his mind spun. Kercham dead? This was grave news indeed. That
stalwart had nursed Koryma through her entire reign in his capacity as
Commander of the Queensguard. And to have du Balry as the new Commander? Du
Balry had long been rumored to be in the pay of Klieda. Vander's worst
fears were coming true. Klieda was consolidating her position to be the
next Queen. Koryma apparently would not last much longer and now one of her
most important defenders had been eliminated and replaced with Klieda's
toady.
   Was it only four months ago that the heir Mikyl had been slain at the
battlefield? The Queen had collapsed and apparently not gotten up since
then. Her grandson Korym was the official heir now and holed up somewhere
secure while his factors at the capital worked to secure his
ascension. Korym's aunt was the main problem--Klieda, the Duchess of Vel
Eddya, Baroness of Tamyr March, and so on--the Queen's youngest sister was
determined to have the throne for herself and her claim was nearly equal to
Korym's.
   But Vander knew that Klieda's machinations for the throne would spell
disaster for the nation of Velledore. The Torghasti horde was invading,
bringing their dark arts with them. Velledore would only survive if they
united immediately.
   Vander said as much to the two men, describing in detail his horrific
experiences fighting the Torghasti madmen and their sinister magic
users. The Queensguard and the army had barely turned back that wild autumn
assault high in the mountain passes. It had seemed that they had soundly
defeated the poorly equipped Torghasti. But then the magic began, the magic
that had destroyed half their force and taken Mikyl's life. It was
everything the Velledorian forces could do to hold the Torghasti back. Then
the snows had started and, apparently, not even the Torghasti devil magic
could overcome the fierce winter of the high Eddya Mountains. A contingent
from the mountain forces led by Vander had been dispatched to warn the
Queen and muster her forces. But the contingent had been waylaid halfway to
the capital, seemingly by bandits, but Vander knew they were far too handy
with their swords to be mere bandits. Vander and two other army
commanders--Marion and Eddar--had barely escaped the ambush. They had made
it to Vel Tama to discover the capital a seething cauldron of deception and
intrigue, thus this secret meeting. Vander explained that Marion and Eddar
were seeking out contacts in the Royal Army and the diplomatic corps to
scope out any plotting from Klieda's camp.
   It was young Mikyl who then pointed out the obvious: "If Velledore is
rent by strife over the Succession, then the cold foreigners and their evil
magic could take advantage of this and overcome us."
   Vander could see Kalder allowing himself the smallest turn of the
lips--about the closest the man would ever come to an actual smile. Vander
knew Kalder had grasped this concept within two seconds of being told about
the Torghasti threat. Still, Mikyl had come to this conclusion on his
own. Vander clasped Mikyl on the arm and said, "Well stated, my
friend--Kalder will make a commander out of you yet."
   Mikyl had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but was assured by the
two more experienced guardsmen. Vander kept his grasp on Mikyl's biceps for
a moment longer, impressed by the strength he felt there. Just as he was
about to let go, Mikyl flexed his arm muscle in a most impressive
way. Vander gave one last, longing squeeze, then let go. Mikyl, while still
maintaining a slightly embarrassed expression, cast Vander a quick, coy
look that reached straight down into the older man's loins. Straining to
maintain his composure, Vander asked Kalder what he thought the best course
of action was.
   Kalder showed absolutely no expression (although Vander knew that Kalder
missed nothing) as he explained the necessity of discovering who had
waylaid Vander's party from the front--who would want to stop this vital
information from reaching the capital? Apparently, the Torghasti had inside
operatives in Velledore and this treachery must first be uncovered before
they could move openly to put aside the question of the succession and be
united against the Torghasti threat. Vander looked on Kalder in admiration
as he laid out his plans. Once again, Vander wished that Kalder would show
some slight disposition for men, for here was a man he could love both for
his body and his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, Vander saw Mikyl
gazing worshipfully toward Kalder and found himself somewhat amused that he
was not the only one who could fall for Kalder's considerable charms.
   Kalder left the inn first--they all had agreed that they must leave
separately to lessen the suspicion their meeting had already engendered. As
much as he wanted to hire a room and have his way with Mikyl, such a move
would be unwise at this point, so he stayed apart from the muscular young
guardsman and focused his attention again on the beautiful harpist, all the
while telling himself he must find release soon after having denied himself
so many months while at the front. After an appropriate period of time
passed, Vander, too, took his leave.
   Mikyl watched Vander go with a sense of longing. He had always been
taken with the powerful commander, and he found himself thrilled that the
commander had apparently (and finally) taken notice of him! Of the three,
Mikyl had the least to do--only to report back to Lieutenant Captain
Farthos, the Queensguard's second-in-command (and still loyal to the
Queen). As he would not report back to his post until the morning, Mikyl
had the option of staying at the inn as long as he liked. With this thought
in mind, he looked enterprisingly around the bustling common room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Olwyn had watched the two strapping Guardsmen leave with disappointment,
but found himself pleased when the younger guardsman with the slightly
oversized ears stayed behind. Olwyn usually found himself attracted to a
certain type of man--one who was a bit older, maybe a bit rougher--and the
guardsman's sweet face certainly didn't fit the bill. Yet, the man had an
endearing awkwardness, as if he hadn't yet grown into his full maturity,
which Olwyn found appealing. The guard's big muscles were certainly an
added attraction, too. Although in the back of his mind he was somewhat
worried that Havym had not showed up yet--this nearly always meant Havym
was taking care of his father, and Havym had made it clear that he
preferred to be alone to do this--Olwyn knew Havym would come to the inn
when he was able to. Olwyn looked around for Lidya and Meryna, the flutist
and singer, to come replace him--he had been playing the harp long enough
and he had decided to pursue the awkward yet delicious young guardsman
while he had a chance.
   Mikyl stopped looking around the room and sighed. Two girls had already
sidled up to him asking about his pleasure for the evening. He had politely
fended them off and then remembered his untouched cider. Even cool, it was
delicious, and so he decided to have another tankard (or two) before he
decided what to do. He had half an eye on the harpist, but the boy was a
bit too young and pretty for his tastes. Or, at least Mikyl was telling
himself so, but he found himself constantly drawn back to the golden boy
singing like an acolyte of the Green Sister. Whenever Mikyl looked directly
at the harpist, the other man seemed to be looking directly at him. Could
it be true? Could that angel be interested in him? Mikyl decided to take a
seat closer to the dais near the hearth where the harpist was playing. As
he moved closer through the crowd, however, he realized the harp music had
stopped. The dais was now occupied by two buxom women, one playing the
flute and other singing in a throaty alto that threatened to overcome the
flute's delicate notes.
   Mikyl stopped abruptly--what happened to the angelic harpist? Then he
heard a voice behind him.
   "Did the young master enjoy the harp performance?"
   Mikyl turned around in amazement, "Uh, yes. Quite..."
   Olwyn smiled inwardly at the mixture of confusion, anticipation and
longing in the guardsman's face. The poor fellow continued to stare,
apparently unable to decide what to say. Olwyn decided to help him along,
"If it would please the young master, for a modest fee, the house harpist
is available for private performances."
   Mikyl stated he would, indeed, be pleased by a private performance.
   Olwyn led Mikyl to the stout innkeeper, who smoothly lightened him of
three bronze marks and directed them to a private sitting room on the first
floor. Yet, while she remained courteous and absolutely expressionless
during the transaction, Mikyl couldn't help but have the feeling he was
being weighed, measured and categorized. In an odd way, she seemed a portly
female version of his own Lieutenant Kalder, who similarly appeared quite
bland, yet later deduced revelations from a split-second glance.
   Berta watched her grandson lead away the young, colorless guardsman. She
disliked the fact that he wore no colors, yet he was young and open,
practically an innocent. Olwyn usually chose (or was chosen by) much more
disreputable types (in her infallible opinion!), and so she found herself
perversely pleased that he was "performing" for somebody almost his own
age. She sometimes felt strange about procuring profit from Olwyn's
dalliances, yet she knew he would sneak off with whomever regardless of
whether she approved or not. This way, she could ensure no harm came to him
and make a little coin from a room rental. She considered it quite the
pragmatic solution, satisfying both her grandmotherly love and her
innkeeperly avarice, all at one happy stroke.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   After the harpist shut the door--but left it unbarred, Mikyl couldn't
help but notice--Mikyl looked around the small, tidy room. Windowless, it
contained a small, round table surrounded by four padded armchairs. In a
corner was a lounging chair, a sort of long, backless chair found in better
homes--although to Mikyl they always looked like fancy, padded benches. A
few colorful wall hangings were lit by an oil-burning lantern and several
candles. Obviously, it was a private room intended for small conferences or
intimate dining. There was no bed, and Mikyl began to become slightly
apprehensive that this would be nothing more than an actual harp
performance.
   Indeed, the harpist held his instrument and played a few playful
chords. "What would the good master enjoy this evening?" he asked.
   Mikyl knew what he would enjoy and it involved an instrument different
from that currently held in the harpist's hands. "What does the good
harpist enjoy playing?"
   The younger man smiled coyly, "Perhaps the young master would care to
make himself comfortable? Pray let me assist you in removing your cloak."
   Olwyn put the harp down and stepped in front of the taller man. Looking
up into Mikyl's eyes--he couldn't decide if they were light brown or hazel
in the flickering light--he reached up under Mikyl's throat and undid the
clasp there. The sweet-faced guardsman stared wide-eyed back, and his hands
made a convulsive gesture of reaching up then moving back down to his
sides. Olwyn saw something strange in the guardsman's eyes, and suddenly
felt wary. Looking away and stepping back, he swept the cloak from around
the guardsman and hung it on a hook by the door.
   Mikyl continued to stare at Olwyn with a queer expression. Then he shook
his head and laughed, "It is usually unwise to reach for a guardsman's
throat, good sir."
   Olwyn felt his eyes widen to their fullest, "Ah! Please pardon my
action. I did not make you feel...threatened?"
   Mikyl smiled, a charmingly crooked smile that revealed a deep dimple on
one cheek. "Only a reflex. I gave you a fright, didn't I?"
   Still standing away and not meeting the guardsman's eyes, Olwyn said,
"Yes, I must admit. A little. Your sword is somewhat unsettling."
   "Then I shall remove it." Mikyl set to the task and started undoing the
buckle of his swordbelt. Then a sly thought occurred to him. He fiddled
with the buckle, making a show of it being difficult to open. "It appears
stuck! Pray assist me."
   Olwyn eagerly stepped forward and undid the buckle, letting the belt
slide out of the sword holster. While doing so, Olwyn gave a furtive caress
of the guardsman's crotch. To his surprise, he felt a bulging hardness
underneath the trousers. To his disappointment, he realized the hardness
was from the man's codpiece.
   Most men wore some sort of protection under (and sometimes over!) their
hose or trousers, but that bulge felt more like armament than mere
protection. Olwyn couldn't resist asking, "Do all the Guard wear such as
these?"
   Mikyl looked down at his bulge and smiled, "All the men do. Most of the
guardswomen do not--although even a few of them do, too. In a fight or in a
battle, a dishonorable enemy might go for the vulnerables. I must admit
that they can be confining, though."
   Olwyn's eyes widened as he looked at the huge codpiece, "What could be
confined in that!?"
   Mikyl flashed his charming, crooked smile once again, "Would you like to
find out?"
   Olwyn stated that he would, indeed, be pleased to find out.
   Mikyl laid the sword against the wall, then stood straight. He looked
into Olwyn's gray eyes and smiled his crooked smile. Olwyn met his gaze
directly. Mikyl reached forward and clasped the harpist's shoulders and
squeezed them. Then he ran his hands down Olwyn's arms and sides, pleased
by what he felt. The harpist looked thin, but closer inspection revealed a
light musculature and pleasing firmness. Mikyl ran his hands over the
harpist's chest and back, and finally returned to his shoulders, whereupon
he pushed gently down, causing the gray-eyed boy to rest to his knees in
front of Mikyl's bulging codpiece. Mikyl felt himself growing within the
cupped, hardened leather, and wished to be free of its confines.
   Olwyn set quickly to the task. And expertly, Mikyl noted. Mikyl had only
planned to display the front of himself, but the youth had other things in
mind. Quick as a flash, Mikyl found his belt and codpiece thrown on the
floor and his trousers pulled down to his ankles. Although this was
precisely what Mikyl had hoped would happen, he was surprised with the
harpist's alacrity. Olwyn rested there on his knees, and looked hungrily at
the half-hard, and rising, tool of the guardsman. Like the guardsman's
crooked smile, his manhood bent slightly to the left. And like the
guardsman's dimple on his cheek, the slit at the top of the penis's
swelling head winked mischiefously from underneath its foreskin. Olwyn
grasped it in his hands and moved his fingers up and down its length,
feeling it grow larger by the second. He gently stroked the foreskin over
and down the large, purple-reddish head, and heard the guardsman's
appreciative sigh in response.
   "Take your shirt and jacket off. I want to see all of you," Olwyn
commanded. The guardsman paused for a second, seemingly at the tone of
command he had heard in the harpist's voice, a tone he was more accustomed
to hearing from his superior officers. Then he shrugged and looked
pointedly at the unbarred door.
   Olwyn stood hurriedly and barred it, and the guardsman obligingly
removed the rest of his clothing, motioning for Olwyn to do the same. Then
they both stood at looked at each other. Olwyn marveled at the guardsman's
impressive physique. The man seemed to have dimples everywhere, from the
beguiling dimples of the cheeks of his face, to the muscular impressions on
the cheeks of his hard, round buttocks. To the one-eyed dimple winking at
the top of the guardsman's now fully erect member. Olwyn took a deep breath
as he looked at that impressive organ. He returned to his knees and once
again took it into his hands. He felt up and down the shaft, pulling the
foreskin up and down, and was rewarded for his efforts when a single drop
of clear fluid appeared in the dimpled slit. Olwyn moved his head forward,
slowly, and gently used the tip of his tongue to lap up that clear, shining
drop. The drop was quickly replaced with another, and Olwyn licked that up,
too, all the while hearing the guardsman's breathing become ragged whiled
he toyed with the man.
   Mikyl looked down at the impossibly beautiful boy--more beautiful than a
girl, even. Mikyl had messed around with a few girls here and there (what
guardsman did not?) but he had always enjoyed messing around with boys
more. This boy, though! Slender and delicate, yet undeniably masculine. His
curly, reddish golden hair made a halo around his head. He was otherwise
hairless, except for a tufts under his arms and above his hard, six-inch
long member. He had a face other harpists wrote ballads about! Mikyl
started running his hands through the harpist's silky, curly hair, as he
watched the boy lick up and down his shaft, all the while casting glances
upward with those sparkling gray eyes.
   Olwyn knew the guardsman was completely his for the taking, now. The man
stared down at him adoringly with parted lips and soft sighs. Olwyn opened
his lips and began to take the length of the guardsman's shaft into his
mouth. This freed his hands which he used to good effect feeling up and
down and across all the areas they could reach. The guardsman was
surprisingly hairless, except for a thick bush around his genitals and
under his arms. His stomach was flat and hard, and Olwyn marveled at the
flexing ridges of the abdominal muscles. Olwyn reached up high and stroked
the nipples on the powerful chest, which elicited a deeper moan from the
deeply breathing guard. Olwyn continued to play with them, all the while
steadily engulfing more of the eight inches into his mouth. He was steadily
bobbing up and down on about four inches of that nice girth of
guardmeat. Olwyn had certainly swallowed larger and thicker members, but
this strapping youngling was possibly the best-proportioned man he had yet
encountered (except for the ears!).
   Mikyl was moaning softly and continuously now, rubbing his hands through
Olwyn's hair. Seeing the amazing sight of his meat sliding in and out of
the boy's pretty lips, all while those gray eyes winked up at him. Each
time those full-fleshed lips went down, a little bit more of his cock
disappeared into the boy's hot mouth. The harpist was doing amazing things
with his tongue as it swirled around and up and down the shaft, heightening
the guardsman's pleasure. The boy was already taking more of his shaft than
any other person had done before. Mikyl found himself panting desperately
now, and his caressing of the boy's head was becoming more assertive as he
tried to force more and more of his fully engorged manmeat all the way into
the pretty boy's throat.
   Olwyn's hands had moved to the guardsman's incredibly muscular ass. He
squeezed and kneaded those hard, round cheeks as he began to suck harder on
his dick. He noticed the guard start pushing on the back of his head more
forcefully. So the soldier wanted it all, did he? Olwyn decided to give it
to him. Grabbing each ass cheek in each hand forcefully, Olwyn took all
nine inches of fully erect flesh all the way down until the guard's pubic
hairs were tickling Olwyn's nose. The soldier gasped and shuddered, and
tried to start fucking Olwyn's throat, but the boy held his ass cheeks
firm, making him stay still while Olwyn fought down the gag reflex and
fully relaxed his throat. Olwyn looked up to see the guard rolling his head
around with a completely delirious expression on his sweet, honest face.
   Mikyl watched in amazement as his entire shaft disappeared into the
harpist's head. The boy made a gulping sound and just stayed there,
gripping his ass fiercely. Mikyl flexed his ass cheek muscles, and the boy
looked up at him with an ecstatic expression. The boy just stayed still a
moment, then he slowly started moving up and down on Mikyl's shaft. Mikyl
followed the motion, gently sliding it all the way out and then all the way
in, watching that incredible sight.
   The passion was growing too great for Mikyl and he took over, pushing
his dick into the boy's throat. Mikyl started fucking the boy's face with
abandon, pushing his dick in and out, all the way. A couple of times he
pulled out too far, and his fat, thick dick slapped against the boy's cheek
or forehead. The boy seemed to like it, but Mikyl was too excited to play
like that and simply rammed his dick in again and fucked Olwyn's face with
abandon.
   Finally, Mikyl felt his approaching orgasm and managed to slam his dick
in and out a few more times before gushing waves of cum exploded in Olwyn's
mouth. Olwyn sucked greedily but some of the semen slopped out from the
corners of his mouth and dripped down his chin.
   After that beautiful release, Mikyl could no longer stand merely looking
at the harpist's pretty face. Mikyl made Olwyn stand up and began kissing
the harpist's lush, cum-dripping lips. The boy enthusiastically returned
the kiss. They found their mouths opening and their tongues explored each
other's mouth. Mikyl tasted his own cum mixed with the boy's sweet-tasting
saliva. It tasted like heaven.
   Suddenly, a hesitant knock came from the door.
   They broke apart, stunned, and heard the innkeeper's voice from beyond
the door, "I'm so awfully sorry to interrupt, dear boys, but I'm afraid
Olwyn's needed out here. It's a bit of an emergency. I am terribly
sorry..."
   Olwyn looked at the guardsman, "I think it's about my friend--I'm sorry,
too."
   Mikyl looked on with disappointment, "Promise me we can do this another
time?"
   "Oh, I promise!"


   (possibly to be continued...)


does it seem rushed? need more exposition? need more sex? a combination of
both? this is my first attempt at this sort of thing. should I just give
up?