The Farm Ch. 04bySumacandIvy©
Chapter 04: The Cottage
In the earliest hours of the following day, the coach thundered past the cottage where Nanny Grey and her husband lived in retirement. Nanny Grey all but raised Lord Downcliff in a manse not many miles away. She loved him better than anyone. She pampered Gordy as did everyone and scolded him as no one dared. She took pride in his accomplishments and feared for him in his proclivities. She kept his darkest secrets. She and her husband had readied the cottage.
The cessation of forward movement caused Prize's eyes to open. He lay on his back, uncovered. Moonlight danced on the polished surfaces of the interior of the coach. The face above him was familiar. He wasn't chained. He moved his arm.
"We're here, Prize." The soft blanket settled on his shoulders. "Let me help you inside."
Prize's legs were unsteady, but the strong arm circling his waist was firm. He leaned against the taller man and walked to the cottage door. Shell drive. Thatched roof. Glow of a peat fire within. Heavy oak door. Inside, Prize sank to the floor by the fire. He looked up into the face of his rescuer. Fine bones, thin lips, arched brow, light-brown eyes. He tried to rise to his feet and present himself as he learned so well at March and Halden's school. His legs failed him. He ended in a bowed genuflect on the hearth rug, one hand curled against his clavicle the other on the floor to steady himself. His eyes burned. His head hammered. He struggled to look again into the face of the well dressed man. He opened his hand across his chest and said, "Prize." He lowered his head.
The hand fell on his head. "Sleep here."
A chain snaked across wood and stone. A shackle clicked around his ankle. A lamp glowed.
"Thank you." His arms were free.
"Drink this." Cool water touched his lips and Prize drank. "Lie on the rug. Sleep." Prize felt arms firmly push him to the soft rug. He lay on his back where Gordy placed him and let the heat wash over him. "I'll leave the water here where you can reach it."
Gordy settled himself in an overstuffed chair and stretched his legs. He poured himself a snifter of brandy and let it warm in his hand. Soon he would warm it on a turned shoulder, a muscled chest, the soft skin where leg met groin. Tonight the rounded glass rested against his skin. The foot below the shackle was well formed. The toes straight. Nails trimmed and clean. The iron fit nicely. The leg nicely shaped. Horizontal bruises decorated the inner thigh, veins in marble. The warm glow from the fire illuminated the penis with its beautifully displayed head. The cut was good, low and tight. Ready, exposed, clean, his. More marbling and a tight abdomen with the muscled V next to the jutting hip bones. Gordy sipped his brandy and watched the chest expand slowly with each inhalation. The nipples were pink and alive in the lamp glow. Pierce them? Little weights. Hoops of gold. A bar with rubies on each side. A chain from nipple to nipple to tug and twist. Not yet. He resisted the urge to pour his brandy into the hollow of Prize's throat. To sip the burning liquid. To taste his skin and fear. The line of the jaw was well defined and the cheekbones high.
Prize stirred on the rug. His lips parted. His pink tongue darted out to moisten dry lips. His eyes moved beneath closed lids, a dream invaded the sleep. An arm came up to cover the face. A soft moan and Prize turned on his side to protect his belly and genitals. The chain rattled softly. He settled, a cheek resting on his forearm. He breathed more softly. The dream fled. His buttocks, his ass, Gordy's ass now, displayed the stripes of his last beating. It was as firm an ass as Gordy remembered and it would fit nicely in his hand. It would rise to meet his caresses and his smacks. The best lay hidden deep within the double globe.
Instructions, specific instructions coupled with dire threats, lay with Mrs. Featherwink not to stretch the anus and not to tear the rectum. Mold his mind. Make his body conform, but don't fuck his ass. He had pinched those powdered and rouged cheeks and bounced her head against the red flocked wall to drive home his point. He told her how he planned to destroy her future if she failed him. Her long lower lip had trembled as violently as her chins when she nodded her understanding. Gordy finished his brandy and rose from his chair to ready himself for bed.
The chain clinked again. The returning dream caused Prize to move again on the floor. Gordy turned to watch. Pain flicked across Prize's face. He half rose from the rug. His eyes went wide in terror. Gordy moved toward him to ease him back to sleep, but stopped when he saw that the eyes did not see the room. He returned to the chair to watch the pantomime played out by his somnambulist. The strain of tendons, the roll of muscles. Prize arched his back, he turned and flinched at dream straps. He cried and pleaded silently. His arms strained behind his back, his wrists pressed together. He fell panting to the rug covered in sweat. Tears wet his cheeks. Gordy pulled a blanket over his own legs and slept on the couch ready to wake if another dream came.
The sound of the chain rolling on the floor woke Gordy. He knew Prize couldn't reach him even at the length of the twenty-five iron links he was given. There was power still in his acquisition's body not more than he could subdue if needed, but why put things to chance. He was there; sitting back on his heals holding the chain before him on his open palms. Prize held the chain out to him.
"You're awake, good." He saw the question in Prize's eyes. "Do you remember what I told you last night?" No answer. "The chain is to protect you. To stop you from being taken, not to keep you from going." He stepped closer and lifted the dark links from the outstretched hands and set them on the Persian rug.
Prize moved to his knees and looked up; reached for Gordy's hand. He pressed his forehead to the back of the hand and turned it over. He pressed his lips to the palm. "Forgive me, Sir." His voice was well modulated, soft.
"Your thoughts are confused." The hair on Gordy's arms stood up. "I have breakfast." Nanny Grey's basket waited outside the heavy door as arranged. Gordy placed it on a low table and pulled back the linen cloth. Fresh bread, sliced ham, cheese, butter, jam, a bottle of wine, and a small brown bottle of laudanum just if needed. Plates and silverware, a knife for the bread and cheese, a small jug of milk. Prize returned to his squat on the floor. His eyes followed each food idem as it left the basket. Gordy sliced off the heel off the bread and set it aside. He was hungry after the trip. He fixed himself a ham sandwich and cursed when he couldn't find the mustard. "Put some more peat on the fire." Prize carefully stacked three bricks on the embers and returned to wait. Without mustard the sandwich was still good. Gordy chewed slowly and slid a few glances toward Prize. Much thinner than the last time he saw him. Hair longer. So much more beautiful. Gordy wiped his fingers on a napkin and picked up the heel of bread and tossed it to Prize. It landed near his feet. Prize tensed but didn't move. "You can eat." A hand moved toward the bread. "Pick it up and eat."
As Prize jerked to comply his chain caught on the half-filled bowl of water Gordy had left on the rug spilling it. The bread stopped on the way to Prize's mouth. He reached out and tried to scoop up the water; he rubbed his wet hand on his arm and tried to get more of the water from the rug. He took his bread and used it to sop the water. Gordy watched in fascination as the sodden bread began to fall apart. Prize picked the fragments from the rug and began shoving them in his mouth. Hunger superseded by the need to please.
"Stop." Prize halted his hand, bread touching his lips. He looked up at Gordy. He lowered his hand to his side and waited. "No, eat."
Prize hid his confusion then moved to his knees, placed his hands behind his back, and bent to lift the mess from the rug with his lips. Gordy tossed him a slice of ham. Prize stretched forward and took the food from the floor with his lips. The slice was too large to be taken in one bite and hung from his mouth as he chewed. The sight disgusted Gordy. "Drop it." He tossed a smaller piece of ham. Prize picked it up tentatively with his lips and pulled it into his mouth and chewed. "Move away from that mess." Prize complied.
March used to play this game with Prize. Food out of reach. Food in his mouth and forced to spit it on the straw. Water spilled past his lips. Eat from March's dirty hand. Watch March eat. Eat the food on which March spilled his cum. Prize knew how to wait. He knew how to avoid pinches and slaps. He looked at Gordy and waited. He kept his hands folded in the small of his back. His stomach ached with hunger.
Gordy could resist no longer to further test Prize's training; he moved a dinning chair to the Persian carpet. "Come by me." He tapped his knee and Prize moved slowly from the carpet on the palms of his hands and balls of his feet ready to spring in any direction to avoid a blow. He moved to the length the chain allowed and slid to his knees. Gordy fed him with his own hand and lifted the last of the milk to his lips. He didn't slap and he didn't torment. He wiped the full lips. He had a raging hard on. He fought to control himself. He looked around the room to put his eyes anywhere but on the battered man at his knee.
The room was comfortable. Good furniture, thick rugs. A sideboard with pewter chargers. Glass in the widows and heavy drapes. A strong dining table with six chairs. Peat by the door. Stairs to the bed chambers. Better not think of that. A locked armoire stocked by Gordy. No hint of Nanny Grey there. Better not think of that either. It was a beautiful play place. Candles of bees wax. A shining kettle for the fire. His erection softened enough to let him get to his feet. Gordy left Prize by the chair and stepped out to make water. He looked out over the fields of his little farm. His pleasure farm.
When he returned, he lifted a key from his pocket. "Remember, there are those who are hunting for you."
"Am I safe here?"
"I'll see you don't go back to the cell and as long as you follow the rules, no one will find you."
"Am I safe here?"
"I will keep you from them, but you must obey to me." Gordy bent to unlock the shackle. "No one will come here today. Will you follow my instructions? Will you keep yourself out of harm?" Prize nodded. "Step into the light by the window. Let me examine your hurts."
The shackle fell to the floor and Prize rose to his feet and stood in the light. He planted his feet on the bare boards. He stood tall, extended his arms out from his sides and fixed his eyes on a distant point. He stood like a battered copy of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. Gordy took in the bruising on his chest and stomach. He ran his finger across his ribs and the thin, white scar. He saw the evidence of fine stitching. He walked behind him to appreciate the crisscross of welts on his ass and thighs. He cupped his ass with one hand as he knew he could. The back and broad shoulders indicated the strength of the man, but physical strength without the will to use it was no danger. Gordy slid his arm around the trim waist and listened to the sharp intake of breath. He ran his hand up to the chest and felt the heart beat fast. Fear?
"Will you rape me now?" came a whisper.
"Were you raped in the cell?"
"No." Prize thought of how close it had come to that.
"I won't rape you."
"I'm Prize. My mother sold me to provide pleasure. Teach me what will pleasure you."
Hot tears fell on Gordy's hand. The heart fluttered under his palm. He could wait no longer. "Go wash yourself at the well. Relieve yourself and return here. We'll explore your duties. And Prize, watch for strangers." Gordy handed him a cloth and soap.
Prize walked boldly to the well. He did not ask for clothes or blanket. Gordy stood in the doorway and watched as he drew the water and rinsed his body. He glistened in the light. He washed himself first with his hands. He soaped the cloth and ran it over his body. He soaped his penis and balls. He spread his cheeks and washed the deep crack. He rinsed and returned to the door. Water dripped from his hair. He inclined his head and waited for Gordy to take his arm and lead him back to the warm fire. He stood before him.
"You will hurt me, Sir."
"You will find pleasure in my pleasure. You will be free to enjoy your body." Gordy shut the door and moved to the overstuffed chair. "Come here." And Prize moved warily to him, his eyes cast down. "Kneel here, Prize, between my legs." He did and clasped his hands at the small of his back. Gordy urged him to turn until his hip and shoulder presented themselves to Gordy. He placed a hand on Prize's smooth chest and urged him back against the warm thigh. Prize let his lips part as Miss Liz taught him. Gordy kissed him. He darted his tongue past the full lips and explored the mouth that opened soft and warm. The lips closed on his tongue and Prize began to suck. His tongue remained soft, accepting of probing. Gordy raised his hand to the line of the jaw. He grew hard. He let Prize draw at his mouth. He lifted him to his feet and pulled him onto his lap and laid him so his head rested in the crook of his arm. Their lips remained sealed. He pulled away and looked into the blue eyes. He saw the fear sparkle on the blue irises. Gordy adjusted Prize's legs, slightly spread over the arm of the chair. He bent and kissed the flat nipples. He blew cool air on them and they grew hard. Prize lifted his head to Gordy's ear and gently closed his teeth and gave a gentle tug.
Gordy pulled free. He spilled Prize to the floor. "Never do that."
Prize looked up at him in fear. "Never." He closed his eyes to the expected slap. He quivered. He waited his chest displayed. The hands still clasped. His head bent back his neck exposed. When the slap didn't come, when no belt descended on his chest, when he feared something worse, Prize whispered, "Don't return me to them."
"Lie on the sofa." He moved with grace and settled on his back. "Bend your knees." He did. "Open your legs." He did slowly.
Gordy bent to the parted lips and kissed him. He reached down and grasped the cut penis and pulled. He cupped the balls. Prize sucked at his tongue. His legs opened farther. Softly Gordy ran his finger tips along the silky skin where the upper leg met the groin. He ran his fingers along the soft flesh and stroked the tender skin between the balls and anus. The sucking intensified. The penis rose. Gordy pulled himself free to enjoy the picture. He thought he would have to bind him with ropes, but Prize held his arms at the small of his own back, and that was more beautiful than ropes. His heels touched as he drew up his knees. He lay like a sacrifice on the sofa. He his breathing became quick and shallow. His pelvis thrust slightly. His stomach muscles rolled. He was need and fear. The bruises darkened as the blood flowed hot. Gordy ran his fingers across the chest, pausing to flick the left nipple until Prize moaned. He bent and kissed the muscles across Prize's stomach and licked the strap marks there. He thrust his tongue into the navel and returned to the mouth. He slowly ran his hand up inside of the thigh and back to the satin skin between leg and groin. He stroked the hardening penis. He sucked on the pink nipples.
And Prize lay like a warm, living statue for his use, his blue eyes fixed on the beamed ceiling. Gordy pushed the legs up toward Prize's chest and out. He reached down and stroked the buttocks and pinched at the welts. He felt the muscles tighten beneath his fingers as he pulled them apart to examine the anus. At the first touch there was a coiling in the man before him, a readiness for flight or fight. Gordy looked in to Prize's face, "I will not rape you, but you must submit." He drew his finger around the opening and waited for Prize to accept his touch there. He wanted to drive dry into the anus. He wanted to make Prize buck and scream, but not yet. He reached again for the penis and stroked. Enough for now. He removed his hands and stepped back.
Gordy loosened his trousers and pushed them down. He unbuttoned his small clothes and freed his erection. He pulled Prize to the floor, to kneel with his back to the sofa. He pushed his erection against the full lips. They parted. The relaxed tongue rubbed on the sensitive glands. The lips closed and the suction began. Firm warm lips surrounded his shaft. Prize's head moved back and forth. The head of his penis grazed the rippled roof of Prize's mouth. Gordy pushed in farther, and he was taken to the pubic bone. The sweet suction continued. Gordy pulled back and Prize kissed the swollen head. He ran his lips down the side and planted soft kisses. His tongue flicked against the shaft like butterfly wings. He licked Gordy's balls and slowly pulled them into his mouth. He licked the underside of the penis from base to head. Gordy thrust back into Prize's mouth. The throat contracted around the head. He pulled back until the tip remained in Prize's mouth. The quick tongue explored the slit. The lips maintained delicious pressure. Again Gordy thrust himself to the back of Prize's mouth. Gordy came. He grabbed the black hair and emptied himself of waiting, of the long coach ride, of the waking dream before the fire, of the rattle of the chain. He let himself grow soft in Prize's mouth on the cupped tongue and still Prize sucked. Gordy pulled himself free and collapsed on the sofa. Prize turned to kiss his inner thigh. Gordy pushed him away and watched Prize gasp for air and push his pelvis at nothing. His nipples stood out like seed pearls. He flushed pink from his groin to hairline. His lips were fuller from the friction of Gordy's shaft. He was yearning. He was shame. He was fear.
"Get water, cool water, and a soft cloth." Prize rose and carried a bowl to the well. He returned still hard. "Wash me." He was gentle. He stayed hard. He bathed his thighs and shaft. He rinsed the cloth and laid it on the hot skin below Gordy's navel. "Pull my trousers up. Help me dress." Prize did. Dust motes danced in the sunshine. Gordy circled the base of the penis and pressed his thumb against Prize's balls. He grew hard again. And when Gordy removed his hand, Prize knelt and moved his hands to the small of his back. The kettle whistled on the fire. "Make me tea." Prize moved to fulfill his request. He offered Gordy a cup and watched him sip. He stayed hard. Gordy stroked the velvet skin encasing the rod of iron. A clear bead formed on the head. Prize moaned. Gordy slapped the penis. "Step out and relieve your tension." Prize did.
He felt sweaty and clammy and tired. "You'll find a wooden tub by the door. "Heat water for my bath."
The Prize filled the tub and helped Gordy strip. His shirt stuck to the sweat on his back. He lowered himself into the steaming water. Prize soaped the soft cloth and bathed him gently. Gordy's muscles relaxed. He was rinsed and dried. Prize helped him dress. He carried the water to the door step and emptied it bucket by bucket until he could pull the tub out. He returned to the fire and sat on the rug, waiting for his next instruction. He reached for the shackle and snapped it closed on his right ankle. As Gordy's eyelids slid shut, his last view was of Prize sitting cross legged before the fire.