turned to me. “Now drop your breeches and bend over.”
As I could guess what he intended, I complied. As expected, he inserted the same finger in me. Thankfully, he was gentle about it.
Still, I gasped, and had to battle a battalion of emotions, the most discomfiting of which was my manhood’s interest in the proceedings.
“You are scarred all about, on both rings of muscle,” Gaston pronounced when he withdrew. “There are ridges where I am smooth.
But the scarring does not circumnavigate your anus; they run into it. This means that you can accommodate me, but it will take time to get you to open properly, as the scars will not stretch, therefore the undamaged flesh around them must be coaxed to stretch twice as much. I suggest we embark on a regimen of exercising your opening and inuring it to entry.”
He refastened his breeches and strapped his weapon belt back on.
Bemused, and with my breeches still around my knees, I turned to face him. “I hesitate at the word regimen, but if you wish to stick your fingers up my arse on a daily basis, you are welcome to do so. However, you had best be kissing me first.”
He glared at me with annoyance until the humor of the situation won through. Then he grinned and was upon me before I had time to laugh. He set to tickling me, and I set to stopping him, and we wrestled about in the sand until his superior skills at pugilism won out and I found myself pinned on my face with my arm behind my back.
The familiar panic struck and I gasped, “Get off me!”
He did not, instead he released my arm only to throw himself fully atop me, and wrap his limbs about me as much as he could. I was not pinned, just weighed down.
“Will, I love you,” he whispered. “I will not hurt you.”
The panic began to abate, and I took deep breaths until it passed.
“Are you angry or afraid?” he asked.
I examined my feelings curiously. “Neither, now. What are you about?”
“Always before, when you have panicked thus, I have drawn away. I thought perhaps to try another tactic. If we are to… You need to become accustomed to my weight upon you, as you have become accustomed to my being behind you.”
I nodded as I was able. “Oui, I can see that. So you wish to add lying atop me to the daily regimen?”
He sighed, and moved to lie beside me and meet my gaze. “Will… I am unsure how to convey it. The Horse is capable, I am not. The Horse is not patient. When desire strikes, it will wish to chase it down and…”
“I had best be prepared,” I breathed.
He shook his head and pushed up to his knees. “I will not allow myself to hurt you.” He clutched at the sand and would not regard me.
I now saw the winding trail he had been following.
“So it would be best if I am pliant and prepared when the mood strikes you,” I said gently. “Your Horse is not one for prolonged seduction.”
“Do not… You are too kind.” He shook his head bitterly and stood.
He walked into the surf and hugged himself while glaring at the water swirling about his knees.
I rolled on my back and pondered the sky and far darker things.
The breeze whispered of something, but I could not apprehend it. I merely knew I did not like the smell or taste of it. There seemed to be an implication presented between this discussion and last night’s that his Horse did not care if I were willing or not. How was I to accept that? Did I wish to become inured in any manner to such a possibility?
I heard someone running up the beach. Gaston was still in the surf.
I tensed, and got to my knees. Our weapons were strewn all about, and my breeches were lying somewhere near, but were not upon my person.
Thankfully, the interloper was Striker. I expected to be teased for abandoning the careening to tryst, but instead he was quite agitated.
He ran to Gaston. “Please come. Pete is wounded and we’ve made a right mess of it.”
Then I saw the blood all over his hands.
“What…?” I began to ask, but
As I could guess what he intended, I complied. As expected, he inserted the same finger in me. Thankfully, he was gentle about it.
Still, I gasped, and had to battle a battalion of emotions, the most discomfiting of which was my manhood’s interest in the proceedings.
“You are scarred all about, on both rings of muscle,” Gaston pronounced when he withdrew. “There are ridges where I am smooth.
But the scarring does not circumnavigate your anus; they run into it. This means that you can accommodate me, but it will take time to get you to open properly, as the scars will not stretch, therefore the undamaged flesh around them must be coaxed to stretch twice as much. I suggest we embark on a regimen of exercising your opening and inuring it to entry.”
He refastened his breeches and strapped his weapon belt back on.
Bemused, and with my breeches still around my knees, I turned to face him. “I hesitate at the word regimen, but if you wish to stick your fingers up my arse on a daily basis, you are welcome to do so. However, you had best be kissing me first.”
He glared at me with annoyance until the humor of the situation won through. Then he grinned and was upon me before I had time to laugh. He set to tickling me, and I set to stopping him, and we wrestled about in the sand until his superior skills at pugilism won out and I found myself pinned on my face with my arm behind my back.
The familiar panic struck and I gasped, “Get off me!”
He did not, instead he released my arm only to throw himself fully atop me, and wrap his limbs about me as much as he could. I was not pinned, just weighed down.
“Will, I love you,” he whispered. “I will not hurt you.”
The panic began to abate, and I took deep breaths until it passed.
“Are you angry or afraid?” he asked.
I examined my feelings curiously. “Neither, now. What are you about?”
“Always before, when you have panicked thus, I have drawn away. I thought perhaps to try another tactic. If we are to… You need to become accustomed to my weight upon you, as you have become accustomed to my being behind you.”
I nodded as I was able. “Oui, I can see that. So you wish to add lying atop me to the daily regimen?”
He sighed, and moved to lie beside me and meet my gaze. “Will… I am unsure how to convey it. The Horse is capable, I am not. The Horse is not patient. When desire strikes, it will wish to chase it down and…”
“I had best be prepared,” I breathed.
He shook his head and pushed up to his knees. “I will not allow myself to hurt you.” He clutched at the sand and would not regard me.
I now saw the winding trail he had been following.
“So it would be best if I am pliant and prepared when the mood strikes you,” I said gently. “Your Horse is not one for prolonged seduction.”
“Do not… You are too kind.” He shook his head bitterly and stood.
He walked into the surf and hugged himself while glaring at the water swirling about his knees.
I rolled on my back and pondered the sky and far darker things.
The breeze whispered of something, but I could not apprehend it. I merely knew I did not like the smell or taste of it. There seemed to be an implication presented between this discussion and last night’s that his Horse did not care if I were willing or not. How was I to accept that? Did I wish to become inured in any manner to such a possibility?
I heard someone running up the beach. Gaston was still in the surf.
I tensed, and got to my knees. Our weapons were strewn all about, and my breeches were lying somewhere near, but were not upon my person.
Thankfully, the interloper was Striker. I expected to be teased for abandoning the careening to tryst, but instead he was quite agitated.
He ran to Gaston. “Please come. Pete is wounded and we’ve made a right mess of it.”
Then I saw the blood all over his hands.
“What…?” I began to ask, but
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