punish you for that, as well, my pet.”
“Punish me, fuck me, I don’t care, but hurry up.”
Malcolm laughed and Devon rested his ear against the wall of Malcolm’s chest to listen to the soft, comforting sound. He hadn’t heard much laughter in his short life.
Finally, after much anticipation and whispering among the Society, Malcolm withdrew a small vial of oil from his tuxedo pocket and worked it open. It smelled minty, and when Malcolm applied a little to Devon’s well-gnawed nipples they immediately began to burn coolly and Devon groaned at the promising little pain. “What is that?”
“A little tincture I pick up in Chinatown.”
“Will it hurt…I mean, really hurt?”
Malcolm kissed the shell of Devon’s ear and said, “Nothing I do will ever hurt you, pet. I promise you that.”
“I know, Malcolm, I know,” Devon answered and lifted his bottom a little as Malcolm began slicking his lower belly, perineum and then his opening with the minty oil. Within seconds it began to burn, but not unpleasantly. Malcolm slipped a finger inside him, then two. Devon arched his back against the burning and the stretching, and Malcolm immediately slid two more up his ass so Devon began making those mewling noises again and thrusting his pelvis against Malcolm’s body, inviting him to take him, and soon.
Malcolm licked his courtier’s lips and chin as he worked him wider. Devon’s swollen cock bumped him and he knew he was near to bursting. Lifting Devon easily, he worked his cock inside him, letting gravity and Devon’s weight pull him down upon his thick shaft. Devon grunted and his fingers clawed the front of his gentleman’s jacket as he took more of Malcolm than he ever had before. Malcolm seated himself slowly inside Devon’s slick, eager hole until Devon was fully sitting in his lap once more with his gentleman buried balls deep inside him.
Devon’s face had flushed. Malcolm began by saying, “Devon…” but his courtier cut him off mid-sentence.
“Just do me,” he said, gasping through the pleasure and the pain. “I can’t stand that you’re just sitting there, gov. Fuck me hard. Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone in your life.”
Malcolm began to move inside him, slowly at first but with an increasing, grinding rhythm that soon had Devon groaning, crying out, and rocking against Malcolm’s body as Malcolm touched him deeper and deeper inside. He bucked sharply near the end, lost in a reverie of lust and emotion, and Devon screamed his release into Malcolm’s shirt as they came at the same moment, as one.
***
On that very special Christmas Day ten years later, Malcolm took Devon to the Royal, a favorite spot among the Society. It had good wine, better food, and it was owned by a pair of brothers who were also members of the Society, so they were able to get a private room off the main dining area.
Malcolm spared no expense. He ordered champagne, caviar, oysters, lobster for them both, and black pudding for Devon. In the nearly ten years of their relationship, he had been unsuccessful in breaking Devon of some of his more disturbing British culinary habits. For dessert they had bread pudding, crème brulee, and a chocolate rum cake, heavy on the rum.
Afterward, Malcolm slid his Christmas gift over to Devon, wrapped in a love letter he had hand-written on parchment with a quill. It was a two-week vacation in a Cuban resort that they would have all to themselves. Devon looked over their travel plans with great enthusiasm. He had wanted to see Cuba for some time. He read the letter that Malcolm had written, all the things Malcolm felt, and nearly wept. Then he slid his own modest, foil-wrapped box over to Malcolm.
Malcolm opened it carefully to reveal a new, fine leather wallet from Brooks Brothers. “To replace the one I stole,” Devon admitted sheepishly. That night, over ten years ago, Malcolm had recovered his most important things and his money, but Devon the teenaged
“Punish me, fuck me, I don’t care, but hurry up.”
Malcolm laughed and Devon rested his ear against the wall of Malcolm’s chest to listen to the soft, comforting sound. He hadn’t heard much laughter in his short life.
Finally, after much anticipation and whispering among the Society, Malcolm withdrew a small vial of oil from his tuxedo pocket and worked it open. It smelled minty, and when Malcolm applied a little to Devon’s well-gnawed nipples they immediately began to burn coolly and Devon groaned at the promising little pain. “What is that?”
“A little tincture I pick up in Chinatown.”
“Will it hurt…I mean, really hurt?”
Malcolm kissed the shell of Devon’s ear and said, “Nothing I do will ever hurt you, pet. I promise you that.”
“I know, Malcolm, I know,” Devon answered and lifted his bottom a little as Malcolm began slicking his lower belly, perineum and then his opening with the minty oil. Within seconds it began to burn, but not unpleasantly. Malcolm slipped a finger inside him, then two. Devon arched his back against the burning and the stretching, and Malcolm immediately slid two more up his ass so Devon began making those mewling noises again and thrusting his pelvis against Malcolm’s body, inviting him to take him, and soon.
Malcolm licked his courtier’s lips and chin as he worked him wider. Devon’s swollen cock bumped him and he knew he was near to bursting. Lifting Devon easily, he worked his cock inside him, letting gravity and Devon’s weight pull him down upon his thick shaft. Devon grunted and his fingers clawed the front of his gentleman’s jacket as he took more of Malcolm than he ever had before. Malcolm seated himself slowly inside Devon’s slick, eager hole until Devon was fully sitting in his lap once more with his gentleman buried balls deep inside him.
Devon’s face had flushed. Malcolm began by saying, “Devon…” but his courtier cut him off mid-sentence.
“Just do me,” he said, gasping through the pleasure and the pain. “I can’t stand that you’re just sitting there, gov. Fuck me hard. Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone in your life.”
Malcolm began to move inside him, slowly at first but with an increasing, grinding rhythm that soon had Devon groaning, crying out, and rocking against Malcolm’s body as Malcolm touched him deeper and deeper inside. He bucked sharply near the end, lost in a reverie of lust and emotion, and Devon screamed his release into Malcolm’s shirt as they came at the same moment, as one.
***
On that very special Christmas Day ten years later, Malcolm took Devon to the Royal, a favorite spot among the Society. It had good wine, better food, and it was owned by a pair of brothers who were also members of the Society, so they were able to get a private room off the main dining area.
Malcolm spared no expense. He ordered champagne, caviar, oysters, lobster for them both, and black pudding for Devon. In the nearly ten years of their relationship, he had been unsuccessful in breaking Devon of some of his more disturbing British culinary habits. For dessert they had bread pudding, crème brulee, and a chocolate rum cake, heavy on the rum.
Afterward, Malcolm slid his Christmas gift over to Devon, wrapped in a love letter he had hand-written on parchment with a quill. It was a two-week vacation in a Cuban resort that they would have all to themselves. Devon looked over their travel plans with great enthusiasm. He had wanted to see Cuba for some time. He read the letter that Malcolm had written, all the things Malcolm felt, and nearly wept. Then he slid his own modest, foil-wrapped box over to Malcolm.
Malcolm opened it carefully to reveal a new, fine leather wallet from Brooks Brothers. “To replace the one I stole,” Devon admitted sheepishly. That night, over ten years ago, Malcolm had recovered his most important things and his money, but Devon the teenaged
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