A night in the Stocks

Merlin was in the stocks again, but this time they hadn't released him at sunset. King Uther had been very, very angry, and he was sentenced to a full day in the stocks – from dawn to dawn.

It was cold. Merlin had known it would get cold, but not this cold. At sunset the market had emptied with unexpected rapidity. The warm bustle of the day fled with the vendors and their carts. All the booths were shut up tight, and only the flare of torches from the castle looming overhead reminded Merlin that he was not alone in all Camelot.

He must have dropped into a doze, because the sound of sharp footsteps on the cobbles woke him with a start. His neck ached. His back ached. His hands and face were frozen. The footsteps stopped behind him and a chill ran down his spine.

“Who's there?” he asked, and he hoped his voice hadn't shaken. There was no answer, but a hand ran up his back to his shoulder.

“Arthur?” Merlin said, high and breathless. His only answer was a sharp intake of breath before a hand came around from behind to pinch his nose closed. He opened his mouth – to scream? to breathe? - and a cloth was thrust inside it. Panic rose in him: now he couldn't even incant.

“Don't struggle or I will knife you, boy,” whispered an anonymous male voice in his ear. “Do as I require and you will make it to dawn.”

The cloth in his mouth was of fine linen scented with sandalwood. He hated the smell of sandalwood, but it was very expensive; his attacker was from the castle, not the town.

His breeches were being unlaced. Deep in his throat, Merlin whined, but his attacker ignored him, slipping the breeches down to his ankles and running a firm hand from ankle to thigh. The hand had callouses. A knight? Not a scribe or a dilettante.

The hand moved in to cup his balls and Merlin bucked against it, only to receive a pinch to his thigh that made his eyes water. The hand returned to cup his balls and roll them lightly in their sack before lightly tracing his cock.

Merlin shivered as the warm hand tugged experimentally up and down several times before yielding to a tongue, wet and even warmer than the hand. Merlin's exposed arse felt the freezing wind eddy around it as his cock was engulfed by wet heat. Despite his best efforts he whimpered, and his previously uninterested cock began to respond to the attention. Around his cock the mouth stretched in a smile as it became even more enthusiastic about its task.

Enthusiastic, but not experienced. The scrape of teeth and slight choking sounds indicated that his rapist had either not done this before – or, perhaps, had only done it with those not in a position to give any feedback. He stopped quickly. Perhaps the bastard's jaw was beginning to ache. Merlin hoped.

And then came a sound that Merlin was really unhappy to hear: the slight popping of a cork accompanied by the smell of bergamot oil. Oily fingers circled his arsehole warily. Merlin tried to kick but a sharp pain in his left side made him seize in shock.

“You forgot my knife, boy,” said the whisper. A finger traced the line of pain along his rib and brought it to his upper lip. He smelled blood.

“I won't warn you again,” the whisper said, and plunged an oiled finger into his arse. Merlin set his jaw to endure.

* * *

The boy was beautiful in the moonlight. He wanted those lush lips around his cock, but he hadn't found a way to do that just yet – the boy would scream or bite. For now he would keep out of sight and enjoy the rest of that pale tempting body.

His finger dipped into the boy's shadowy arse, exploring, and came swiftly out again to be joined by another. The cloaked man savoured the groan that the boy gave as the second finger entered his body. He was as hard as he had ever been – not much longer before he could take what he wanted. The tight clinging arse was surely loose enough for a final finger by now.

A little more oil, and the man pressed in. Twisting his fingers he found the spot he was looking for – the place that would bring the boy pleasure from the invasion of his arse. The boy's entire body rocked with the shock of it, so he did it again.

He had to be inside.

He rubbed his oily fingers up and down his cock, then added another generous splash of oil before spreading the boy's buttocks and positioning himself at the reddened rosebud entrance. He pushed.

For a short moment he thought that he wasn't going to be able to achieve entry, and then the stretched ring yielded until the head of his cock slipped inside. The boy was shuddering and making small choked noises. The man in his arse pressed forward with relentless pleasure until he was buried to the root inside those pale, defenseless buttocks. He flexed and wriggled with a pleasure which was only enhanced by every broken sound the boy uttered around his gag.

Time stood still as he groaned and thrust, taking his pleasure in the body he had watched and coveted for so long. He couldn't stave off his orgasm for ever though, and when it rushed through him he collapsed his weight on the boy's back.

The boy staggered and nearly fell, and the man grunted his displeasure as he fell out of the warm haven of fresh-fucked arsehole. He bent closer, eyes riveted to the pink, stretched hole. A shining streak of oil or scum ran from it down one leg and he stopped it with one thumb on the drip, smearing it back up Merlin's thigh to the crease. He wanted to do that sweet arse again, but that wasn't going to be possible just yet.

He loved looking at the boy's long, lean body as it ran across the castle courtyard and leaped the steps two at a time; as it leaned insolently against a pillar of the great hall or bent over Prince Arthur's wine cup. Now he could at last look his fill.

Moving his storm-lantern to light the boy's underside he knelt between Merlin's spread legs and pushed aside the intrusive tunic and under-shirt, rucking them up as high on the boy's body as possible. Two pale nipples, set wide on a thin chest, and rather more dark curling chest-hair than he had expected awaited his greedy gaze. He ran his fingers over the feast before him, pinching those tender nipples and ruffling through the forest of hair, tracing the red line crusted with blood which ran along one rib. His hands kneaded the bare belly sensuously, fingers walking their way down to Merlin's half-hard cock.

The boy's cock was red, sticking out at an awkward angle and he took it in both hands, putting his knife down. The boy wasn't going to try anything this late in the game, not that there was much he could do anyway. This time when he took the boy's member into his mouth it responded quickly, thickening and lengthening against his tongue. He tugged with his hands and licked and sucked the head until at last the boy whimpered and spent in his mouth.

He spat the boy's cum out into his hands and considered what to do with it, then scrambled one-handed out from under the boy's body and wiped it on the part of the rag which was protruding from his mouth.

“Not so bad, eh?” he whispered. The boy's head hung low and exhausted, like a horse which had run a long race.

His cock was standing to attention again, and although the man was doubtful of achieving a second climax he wanted another go at that arse while the night lasted. It had contracted a little while he was exploring the boy's other attributes, but a little patience and a good push had him inside again, leisurely taking his pleasure with long, slow strokes against the boy's pleasure spot until he was surprised by another orgasm.

Dawn couldn't be far away, and the boy was limp under him. He withdrew, collecting his dagger and lantern and pushing down the boy's tunic to cover his back and belly again. Before he pulled up the breeches which were lying crumpled at the boy's feet he caressed the arse which had given him such pleasure tonight. His thumbs circled that pretty, distended arsehole one last time, pressing lightly inside for the pleasure of the shiver which ran through the boy as he did so and for the delightful sight of his cum leaking out in the wake of his thumbs as they withdrew.

But it was time to go. With the boy's breeches re-fastened the man in the cloak collected his dagger and lantern, reached around to yank the cloth from his victim's mouth and walked quickly away, the sharp click of heels on the cobblestones disappearing around the corner.