tagMind ControlSuch Stuff Ch. 16

Such Stuff Ch. 16

byDrmaxc©

Part 16
The Raising of the Guard




"The Marchioness visits tomorrow, Lizzie, it falls upon me to arrange every­thing down to the smallest detail. It is certainly a worry I can tell you. Really Worrity expects too much. Look how I droop with worry. You must help me Lizzie, there's a good girl. Can you sort out the Guard? They send messages that they cannot unlock their weapons and will not—you see the consequence is obvious - cannot parade. You will do this for me Lizzie? S'il te plaît?"

The Chevalier looked almost unwell. It was clear to Lizzie that he needed her help. But that would be to help Conrad, as it was he who wished to put on an impressive show for the Marchioness, to welcome her in style. Mar­chioness? The wife of a Marquess.

She did not want to help Conrad at all but she liked the Chevalier and so, rather reluctantly, agreed to help. Why all this worry, surely it was Conrad who had invited, indeed invented the Marchioness in his book? Surely he could not be at all worried, it would just be everyone else who had to run around in a panic. Where was the Marquess? Was there a Marquess?

Lizzie left the Chevalier. Where was the Guard, what was the Guard? She had not seen any soldiers indeed there seemed no need for soldiers. People were rushing this way and that with bunting, mops and bottles. It was may­hem in the corridors and no one would stop to speak to Lizzie, to answer her question about where she might find the Guard. She came out into the garden and stood looking back at the house trying to think where to look next.

"Looking for someone or something to do?" asked a familiar voice.

"Why Robin, yes I am and you can be of some use... for once."

Puck looked pained, his nut-brown face wrinkled under his blue cap, but then he brightened, "you fancy a frolic, a tumble in the long grass, to get away from all this tiresome bustle. Yes, I agree, let us go..."

"No, Robin, you were right on your first idea, I am looking for someone or some people—the Guard."

"Oh, well, if that is all," he said testily and turned to go but then looked back, "see that door there at the corner of the house. It leads to the Guard­room. And much pleasure may it give you. Ho ho, they can give you none for their spears are all locked up!"

Puck stalked off, clearly cross. Lizzie doubted it would last for long. He was bound to find some mischief to make with all the preparations underway. Perhaps he would make himself a nuisance with the kitchen maids, he was sure to find amusement with them now they were so busy. She doubted whether he would simply curdle the milk. Lizzie crossed the lawn and stood at the corner of the house looking up at the stone built round tower. It was the only corner of the house to have a round tower or turret rising, through several windowed storeys, to a conical slated roof in the French style. She turned the handle of an iron studded oak door and pushed. It was heavy, but slowly opened revealing a flight of stone steps spiralling upwards. She ascended.

For the first two storeys there were no doors but right at the top another oak door awaited her. She pushed it open and stood, quite frozen to the spot with astonishment. The door opened on a circular chamber with rough stone walls pierced by the windows Lizzie had seen from below. The floor was flagged without carpet and the whole appearance of the room was Spartan and manly: very different from much of the rest of the house. It was not the room which froze Lizzie but the occupants. Lizzie had never seen such beauti­ful men—though striking or handsome was perhaps a word more appropriate to the Guard. Six magnificent black men occupied the room; or not so much oc­cupied as dominated the chamber drawing her eyes to them. They were tall, muscular, beautifully proportioned, handsome, noble, even, thought Lizzie, breathtaking. Moreover they were almost entirely naked. This sight that excit­ed Lizzie even after all the nakedness she had seen and the sex she had experi­enced both in dreams and Conrad's mad fantasy. They were naked but for a curious arrangement around their sex, their genitalia, their penises and balls. These were partly hidden, partly obscured by finely wrought lattice cages ap­parently made of silver and held in place by fine silver belts encircling their waists and thighs.

Men so magnificent should have been adopting dramatic poses to show off their musculature, their fine features and interesting, but tantalisingly ob­scured, sexual attributes. The reality was quite different. The men sat in pos­tures of dejection and despair. Even their black skin, which Lizzie thought, should have shone with vitality and health seemed dull. Three of the men cra­dled their heads in their hands. Two stared blankly into space. Only one seemed able to turn and look at Lizzie as she stood in the door.

"I... are you the Guard?" asked Lizzie rather lamely.

The affirmative reply came slowly and, whilst accurate, it did not greatly help Lizzie in understanding anything of what she saw before her.

Lizzie did not know what function the Guard performed, what the great problem was that the Chevalier had alluded to, nor what was the reason for the terrible state Lizzie found the Guard in.

"Who is your captain?" she said brightly in an attempt to lighten the som­bre mood of the room.

"We have no captain. We are unled and useless. The key is lost." The only member of the Guard who had shown any interest in Lizzie turned away and hung his head. It was not a promising beginning for Lizzie.

"What key? I do not understand."

The man turned to her, "the key that releases our spears for the ceremoni­al. Without the key we cannot parade, cannot perform our duty." His hand waved downwards towards the silver cage around his penis. Lizzie bent to look closer. The silver work was indeed of the highest quality, beautifully made and forming an enclosure. Lizzie's eyes looked within at the man's penis. Her adventures both in her remarkably vivid dreams and in this strange place had exposed her to a succession of penises, she was almost a connois­seur, her interest and fascination aroused by what she had seen and done over the last weeks. The penis nestled within its cage, soft and at rest lying across its ball sack, dark and wrinkled with only a little lighter brown of the glans showing through at its end where the foreskin did not fully cover the smooth head. Lizzie wanted to touch it and stroke it to see what it would look like ready for use, fully erect.

"This cage surely must open," she thought to herself. She could see where the metal appeared to be jointed, appeared to be hinged. The man moved his thighs and sighed. The movement of his thighs as they opened a little revealed, hanging just below the silver cage, a small heart shaped padlock securing a contrivance of rings holding the whole silver assembly together.

"It's locked," said Lizzie out loud and really to herself. But the man an­swered.

"Alas, all locked and we do not have the key. It has been lost, been mislaid we know not how."

"You poor man," said Lizzie and began to stroke his thigh close by the sil­ver cage, "but why, why are your cocks locked up?"

"We are under orders, our spears only serve, they are not for our own use. They are locked away until needed but the key is lost."

Lizzie felt very sorry for the men. How cruel to lock their cocks away so they could not play with them or use them for the pleasure of others. Only to use them 'under orders.' Her hand cupped the silver metal, warm from his body, her hand so near and yet so far from his soft black penis. A penis she in­creasingly wanted to touch.

A cry startled her. Lizzie drew back her hand in alarm and saw the cock within its cage was stirring, rising within the metal. She stared in fascination. Surely there was not room for it to grow, certainly not if it was of any size and she suspected...

"I am presenting! To my aid comrades!"

Suddenly there was movement around Lizzie. The other members of the Guard were on their feet, in motion around her; purposeful motion as if it was something they were trained to do, knew exactly what to do. A wooden pitcher was seized and a torrent of ice cold water thrown over the loins of the first guard splashing Lizzie in the process making her dress wet.

"Who are you?" demanded one of the guards. "What did you think you were doing?" demanded another. The incident seemed to have aroused them from their stupor.

They did not look pleased. "Look what you have done—can you not see the risk of presentment within confinement?"

"I'm Lizzie, I meant no harm. I just thought it seemed so wrong for your cocks to be locked away."

"Wrong! Wrong? No, that is how they should be- but not when we have duties to perform. Did you not know the Marchioness is to visit, we must march, we must drill, we must prepare, we must present!"

Lizzie was pleased to see the animation in their faces, their bodies, their movement and their voices but it did not last, dejection returned."

"But we cannot. The key is lost."

The Guard slumped back into their former reverie and despair.

Lizzie was quite moved. Where was she to find a key to release the poor penises of the Guard from their confinement in their silver prisons? She re­called that in the room of mirrors, when she had first fallen to Conrad's mad mansion, she had found a key in a table drawer that certainly had not fitted the door. The true key had been very different, a dildo—something that had, in retrospect, given a very clear indication, or warning, about the house. Lizzie set off, leaving the Guard to sink back into their despair.

"I shall find it and release you," she called but whether they heard or not, they made no acknowledgement.

Finding the room of mirrors was not easy but the door was open just as she had left it. The key was still in the drawer. She had not much regarded it on her arrival. It did not fit the lock, did not even touch the sides of the keyhole but now she looked at it closely she saw that it was silver metal and did seem just the size to release the Guard from its confinement. She took it and hurried back. Even though she had been gone some time she could not detect that there had been any movement from the Guard. She held out the key.

"Is this it, is this what you have lost?"

The change in the room could not have been more marked. All at once the Guard was on its feet, moving, talking—a veritable air of positive action seemed to pervade the place.

Carefully Lizzie knelt and inserted the key in the little silver padlock swinging beneath the intricate metal cage of the nearest member of the Guard. The key turned, the padlock came undone, releasing the rings, allowing the cage to open and fall to the sides so that the cage came apart, folding back on itself and revealing the man's penis. Freed from its confinement, and with Lizzie in close attendance, it began to move as if it was uncurling from a long sleep. It swung away from its nest of dark curls and began to rise, its head turn­ing as it did so to point at Lizzie, before it moved upwards in a series of jerky movements. Lizzie watched with rapt expression—it was a magnificent sight as the penis thickened and lengthened, the foreskin sliding backwards to re­veal the dark shiny head as it reached upwards to its full curving extent and stand a full foot from the man's body. Lizzie had never seen a penis so big, so outsize, so impressive—so magnificent.

She stared and was about to reach out and touch when she remembered the other men. Quickly she went from cage to cage, attending their genitalia, re­leasing their penises, allowing them the freedom to rise, and rise they did, so that Lizzie found herself in a room with six of the most perfect men she could imagine all erect and looking at her.

"We must drill. We must prepare. We must be oiled. You must help."

And so Lizzie found herself opening a stone jar of oil and liberally apply­ing it to the naked skin of the men, rubbing it over them to bring a sheen, a gloss to the dark skin. Lizzie had a wonderful time, dipping her hands into the oil and, with hands dripping, giving them free rein to roam freely over hard stomachs, fine chests, large biceps, tight bottoms and of course the magnifi­cent penises. She certainly made sure the men shone and her actions main­tained their impressive stiffness.

Rubbed with coarse towels to remove the excess oil the men lined in a row and began to march round the room, their skin shining, their tight muscula­ture on show and, she could not but use the word, their magnificent penises displayed curving and thrusting before them.

Lizzie was quite surprised at the effect they were having on her. She was wet; really wet and they had not touched her, not given a hint that they wanted to. They could easily, very easily as they were six strong big men, have over­powered her and taken her any way they chose - or again, as there were six of them, all ways they chose. The idea of being their plaything, being swapped from shiny penis to shiny penis was attractive to her but even when she had been oiling their penises there had been no interest in that. Were they gay? Surely not!

All at once the Guard stopped their march and swivelled into line.

"We need commands," said the first Lizzie had spoken to. "We need to be drilled, we need to be maintained—are you the new Captain?"

Lizzie was not sure how to reply. The Chevalier had asked her to sort out the Guard not to captain it. "I don't know, I don't think so."

"You must try, the Marchioness comes — we must be ready for the ceremo­nial."

Lizzie tried to remember the parade ground commands she had heard in films, on the television and even when they're Changing the Guard at Bucking­ham Palace (Christopher Robin went down with Alice).

"Right turn, quick march!" And they did. A quick march with naked erect penises to the front—what a sight!

"Halt. Attent-ion." And they did. Rigidly to attention.

Lizzie walked along the line inspecting the men. Her hands fondled the penises.

"Nice well oiled weapons," she giggled, "plenty of shot in these sacks." She lifted a man's ball sack. The men did not seem to see what was amusing.

"Where, then, are your weapons, your rifles, muskets, pikes or swords?"

The men looked puzzled. Lizzie's hand tugged at the foreskin of one of the men maintaining its firmness.

"In your hand," said the man with a note of surprise in his voice.

"Oh," said Lizzie quite taken aback. Surely Conrad's mad erotic world could not be this mad? But it was.

"Present A-rms!"

Right hands flew to penises holding them against their stomachs pointing exactly vertically. Lizzie walked along the line admiring her troop.

She set them to march again marvelling at how they maintained their rigidity. Curious she asked, "How do you stay hard for so long."

"Maintenance is the task of the Captain. Long practice and strict thoughts."

Lizzie realised management of a team was not simply a matter of giving orders but encouragement was needed for team maintenance. She began to re­move her clothes. That should encourage the penises to stand firm and might result in a more personal attention. Certainly there was no wavering. The men drilled, weapons at the ready.

Despite her now naked state, there was no falling out of line to touch, fon­dle or even penetrate Lizzie. Eyes certainly looked but there was no break in discipline.

"Is it time for weapon practice?" asked Lizzie hopefully. "Halt. Attent-ion. Hands on Weapons."

The men halted and hands flew to hold their cocks—this time at 45 de­grees—marvellously in line. Lizzie actually sighted along the end of the line and couldn't fault their accuracy. She was pleased to see the hands were unob­trusively stimulating the penises. So they are interested in sex—it is not just for show after all. She made another inspection. A close inspection of the weapons. A very close inspection, crouching down before them. The shiny cock heads did look so very nibbleable. Should she? She did. A cockhead slid smoothly into her mouth. She glanced upwards. The soldier was clearly enjoy­ing the experience but apart from his hand stroking hic cock he did not move at all. It seemed a shame not to repeat the exercise - five times!

Standing Lizzie backed to a table and lay back on it provocatively slightly opening her thighs and looking invitingly at the men. She could have said, "Come and get it!" or "Well, boys here I am!" But in keeping with the martial nature of the Guard she said "Make ready," she opened her legs a little wider, a revealing sight for her men, "Aim," she raised one thigh a bit—Lizzie was ready to be fucked hard, she could feel her sex a pool of wetness, she knew how exposed she was to the men and could see how their eyes were glued to be­tween her legs, "Fire!"

Lizzie had expected a rush for her. But she could not have been more sur­prised. There was no rush by the Guard to impale themselves in her; no rush to fill her to overflowing with semen; no sudden feel of hands and penises all over her—none of these things. Instead in unison six gorgeous shiny big black cocks jetted strands of silver across the room. The distance was considerable, the number of the subsequent jets impressive, the co-coordinated orgasm as­tounding. The disappointment for Lizzie considerable.

"Oh no!" Cried Lizzie starring in disbelief at the line of now discharged cocks. A moment before there had been six of the finest penises Lizzie could ever see standing and potentially of great utility to her but now they were be­ginning to wilt, would not be able to penetrate her, would not provide the firm­ness between her legs that she so desperately desired.

Lizzie understood. She now understood what the ceremonial was—a cere­monial discharge of their weapons by the Guard—the whole point of the drill that she had witnessed but had misunderstood.

"Stand at Ease," said Lizzie slowly getting off the table. The Guard stood legs apart, penises hanging. "Perhaps we can have some more weapons prac­tice this evening. Perhaps we could try some target practice, some hand to hand combat, some..."

"The practice is done. We must prepare ourselves for tomorrow when the Marchioness visits."

Lizzie's disappointment was written all over her face.

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