Page 4 of The Demons of Wychwood

THE brUTE

Sudden thumping on the front door made my hackles rise.

It was followed by the sound of thudding boots coming up the stairs and along the hallway.

My favourite stormed into the bedchamber as if blown in by a hurricane, slamming the door behind him.

He looked fierce, his face in a rictus of displeasure, as if he’d been forced to attend tonight at gunpoint.

I was confused as I watched him shrug out of his greatcoat and let it fall to the floor, his top hat was tossed across the room to land in a corner, followed by a silver-topped cane, and then his red kid-leather gloves were hastily removed and slapped onto the sideboard.

Mr.27 moved to the credenza and poured himself a measure of brandy, tossed it back, then poured more brandy until it reached the lip of the tumbler.

Then he unbuttoned his burgundy frock coat, and slumped in a hearthside chair with the overfilled glass in hand.

He stared morosely into the lively flames of the fire.

Scowling, 27 gulped from the glass until it was empty, then he got up, refilled it, and sat heavily in the chair again.

I was sure he’d be sozzled by the time his partner arrived.

27 ran a hand through his unkempt black hair in an attempt to tame his unruly locks.

I loved the man’s wavy black curls and wondered how it would feel to run my fingers through them and wrap curl around my finger as he begged me to tend to his outrageous needs.

27 untied his cravat and unbuttoned his grey silk damask waistcoat.

He loosened the hooks on his britches pulled the white shirt out of the waistband and then pushed a hand beneath the band to rest on his flat belly.

His maudlin mood continued.

He scowled and stewed, drinking brandy and looking into flames in the hearth with a thousand-yard stare.

I wished I knew what ailed him so, and why the object of my fascination was agitated and melancholic.

Why was he determined to get drunk before his partner arrived? Surely in that state he wouldn’t even be fit to consent or get his pecker up! Mr.

27 snatched up his gold pocket watch; flicked open the cover, sneered, and roared.

“Where the bally-hell are you man?”

Then his shoulders slumped and in a softer, pained voice he said, “I just want to get this over and done with.”

I was quite knocked back by the outburst of emotion and there was a strange uncomfortable plunging and twisting in my belly as I recalled the hint of pain in the man’s tone.

Maybe there was something wrong with the sweets I’d eaten, or maybe it was something else.

I’d seen 27 and 45 indulge in sodomy many times before, and although consent seemed to be mutual, it was always a scrappy business.

But something was most definitely wrong tonight.

Mr.27 was now sobbing into his hands.

This was not, as I’d originally thought, a meeting of lovers who liked a bit of rough.

The ache in my chest was something I recognized from when little Bess was in pain with her teeth.

Something inside me awoke and I wished could walk through the wall and offer Mr.

27 some comfort, but that was impossible.

This man was from the aristocracy, and I was a bleedin’ postal clerk and a sneak.

I just wished I understood what had gotten Mr. 27 so twisted out of shape.

The sharp snick sound of the doorknob turning made 27 sit up like a pup responding to its masters' call. 45 entered and closed the door to the bedroom. 27 stood up and his handsome face twisted and turned thunderous. The drained glass he’d held was thrown and flew across the bedroom. It narrowly missed 45s head, shattering in sparking shards against the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

45s tone was flat, haughty, and dripping with derision, but his expression was outraged.

“Damn your eyes! Do you think your time is more important than mine? I had to leave a vote in the house to be at your beck and call.”

27 roared defiantly. “This is the last time, damn it. I don’t care about my immortal soul. To hell with you and your idle threats!”

Within three strides 45 was in front of 27. He violently gripped the younger man’s cleanly shaven chin and stared into his dark brown eyes. In a low, malevolent voice he purred,

“Idle threats, aye! Do you really want to test how idle my threats are, boy? The damage I could do to you is endless .”

45 grinned and, watching this argument play out I felt that queasy twisting in my belly again.

“Do you want me to hurt you boy? Because I will you know, for your own good, of course. And you should be worried about your immortal soul. You’re an abomination, and if I, out of kindness, don’t attend to you that restless demon it will take you and your family to hell.”

27 glared defiantly, but I could see how the fire in the hearth reflected off the unshed tears welling in his eyes. He couldn’t reply because of the grip on his chin, but he placed his hands on 45’s chest and pushed him away. 45 was a standing stone, immovable, impenetrable.

“You will come to me when I command. I will arrive when I please. I will have you as and when. I will feed that demon so you don’t embarrass the family by seeking satisfaction elsewhere…and you will be grateful. You know full-well what will happen if you defy me again, boy. One word…that’s all it will take. Do not test me .”

The men eyed one another with murderous dagger stares and behind the wall, a dart of terror rushed through me.

I could almost smell the fear.

Were these men about to kill one another? I trembled with panic and wondered if I should get Mr.

Joshua to knock at the door and intervene.

But there was no time for that, and I wasn’t even supposed to be here! Scenarios unfolded in my head like scenes from a Penny Dreadful.

What would I do if they just upped and killed one another? Did either of them have a concealed weapon or would they use their bare hands to beat and throttle the living daylights out of each another?

“ Help me then! ”

27 said in a pleading whisper “It’s devouring me from the inside.”

In the blink of an eye, the men crushed their mouths together in a duelling kiss. Not for the first time tonight, I was knocked off my feet with confusion. 45 let go of 27’s chin to envelop him in a crushing embrace. The men ate at one another, devouring, with neither stopping for a breath.

My heart stuttered at observing such animal passion.

I’d never lain naked with a man proper, and I longed to know what it felt like to be in the thrall of such a storm of desire, to be fully naked with a man and to reach out and run my fingers over his skin.

To feel his muscles, his stiff prick, his coarse hairy chest, to wrestle for dominance and let my lover’s strength push me into the mattress.

Cor, blimey! That was the stuff of dreams alright!

27 appeared to melt into 45s embrace and all the fight left him.

45 was the first to pull away and 27s mouth followed, seeking further kisses.

But 45 weren’t offering the tenderness that 27 appeared to need so desperately.

45 pulled both of 27s hands roughly behind his back and held his thin wrists with one large brutish hand.

He grinned at the man’s wince of pain.

Then he gingerly removed his cravat with the other hand and used the length of fine Lawn cotton to bind 27s wrists.

27 stood passively and said nothing as he was bound, manhandled over to the bed, and bent over the mattress, his face pressed into the coverlet, his backside in the air.

I couldn’t fathom why this liaison excited me so.

I didn’t understand why 27 were submitting to the brute so easily, why was he not fighting back? I gasped as I saw 45 drag 27s trousers down exposing his finely shaped pale buttocks.

I had to remind myself to keep schtum, as it would be the worst for me if I got found out perving because I couldn’t control my gasps and groans of arousal.

The older man left 27 laying there on the bed, exposed and humiliated, hands tied behind his back, while he strode to the washstand and washed his cock in the basin.

I was surprised by that act as he’d shown the younger man no care whatsoever.

When he turned away from the basin and faced the painting beside my peephole, I could see the size of the angry weapon the man was fisting to a full stand.

Gods, it was huge.

45 reached for the bottle of oil that was left beside each washstand.

He poured a generous amount into his palm and then spread it over his stiff veiny prick, pulling the foreskin back and forth; ensuring the oil completely covered the rod.

45 returned to the whimpering man he’d disposed of on the bed and without preamble; he ran a thick oiled finger between the pale arse cheeks.

27 bucked and whimpered at the contact and cried out as the digit pierced his entrance.

“Please… please,” 27 cried.

“Please what?” 45 spat.

“Please take away my sickness… please.”

45 let out a rumbling laugh. Fat oiled fingers explored the younger man’s pucker, easing in and out, stretching, and widening him. He spanked 27’s left cheek with a sharp slap.

“Stop, please, stop… You said last time it would be over; I would be well. I can’t… we can’t…”

27 begged and squirmed.

I remembered that. 45 told 27 the last time their arrangement would be over, that one final fuck would make him well. I was again concerned that what was happening between these men was wrong–and that 27s head was all muddled and he was not a willing participant in this debauchery.

“Foolish, foolish boy,”

45 laughed viciously, “Our arrangement will never be over. Your demon is a hungry little slut, it has burrowed inside you to the marrow, and you will never be well.”

At hearing that Mr. 27 looked back at the brute, and I saw he had tears in his eyes.

“No… d…don’t say that!”

27 stuttered. 45 laughed mockingly, removed his fingers, and in one violent thrust, filled the hole with his meaty prick.

“Yessss, ohhhh yesss,”

27 hissed, pain mixed with pleasure. He writhed against the intrusion and against the bonds that secured his hands behind his back. 45 let out a deep-throated laugh of satisfaction.

“That’s right, boy. See how I am the remedy to all that ails you. It takes my fat cock to remind your demon who the master is, eh!”

Hearing those filthy words brought me back to my own body and its needs.

My prick tented in my trousers, and my bollocks ached something awful.

Without taking my eye from the peephole I fumbled with my buttons, stuffed my shaking hand into my small clothes, and began tugging at my cock.

The sounds of desire tinged with pain that came from 27 were like a flame dancing down my spine to set my bollocks alight.

I didn’t understand what it was about that pleading, whimpering, submissive sound that aroused me so.

My view through the peephole was of the beefy brute’s pink hairy backside violently jabbing forward, impaling, and dominating the younger man’s body.

45 leaned in, burying the whole of his substantial length into 27 until his bollocks slapped roughly against 27s reddened thighs.

He fisted a hand into the dark curls and pulled 27’s head up.

I wished I could see 27’s face properly beneath that mop of hair.

“Tell me how much you love dancing on my prick, demon!”

“Please, please don’t make me,”

27 squirmed and writhed, looking like he was trying to escape from his bindings.

“Say it; make that filthy demon talk to me.”

45 thrust, forcing 27 to jettison up the bed. 45 clambered on top of 27 and pinned him down.

“Say it,”

he ground out the words with such menace that I shivered to my very bones with fear and lust.

“I… I…I love dancing on your prick… I love it…I love it.”

Satisfied, 45s fevered movements began again.

They were bestial and uncaring, the slap, slap, slap of his bollocks against 27s thighs echoed around the bedchamber mixing with 45s grunts and 27s pleading and whimpering.

I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying this—that 27 was not just a hole to fill to ease 45s desires.

But I was in a trance as I watched that heaving backside.

My grip tightened and the strokes on my prick matched every thrust 45 was giving.

I imagined that it was me, and not 45 taking pleasure in 27s arse.

I’d never taken a prick or buggered another and wondered if pushing my length inside a man would feel better than spit and my fist? Was it wet and tight like a mouth?

Did the channel pulse and squeeze at a prick? Did it hurt like the blazes? From the yelps I’d heard at seeing men get buggered I thought it must be so.

But they still pleaded, begged for it to continue, so they must be getting some pleasure from the act.

27 cried out as he reached his peak, and behind the wall, my own prick pulsed and spend erupted in hot musky streams over my fingers.

I rested my head against the wall and took a breath, but 45 weren’t done with 27 yet.

He rode on for what seemed like hours until 27s passage must have been raw.

45s stamina was bullish, but it seemed that 27 had passed his point of tolerance and fainted.

Again, a twisting unease in my belly made me feel uncomfortable and sick, but I couldn’t look away.

45 reached completion with a triumphant roar and let his spill fill 27s channel.

He rolled off the younger man’s unconscious clothed body and lay panting.

27 appeared as lifeless as a wrung-out dishrag.

His pummelled backside remained on display with a stream of pearly white flowing from between pinked cheeks.

45 didn’t waste any time in regaining his energy, or on niceties. He sat up and stowed his pendulous spent cock. Then he stood, pulled up his britches, untied 27s wrists, slapped him firmly on the rump leaving his crimson handprint, and said, “That should keep the bastard at bay for a while.”

Then he strode for the door.

I was stunned.

45 treated 27 as if he was his damn horse.

It was outrageous and cold.

My heart crawled up into my throat when the door slammed shut and I saw 27 flinch like he’d been struck for a second time.

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