A Different Kind of Pilgrimage

The two, nineteen-year-old English youth, Mark, and his forty-five-year-old English industrialist employer and protector, Howard Stallings, had taken the wrong path near the northern Spanish village of Bolorado, as they were approaching Burgos. The two were taking the Camino Frances, or French, route on the Camino de Santiago, known as the Way of St. Francis. This pilgrimage led to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain. The long, five-hundred-mile hike had been Stallings's idea to bond the youth, Mark, closer to him--intimately. The thought was that sharing adventures and travails would have a payoff in bed. Mark's parents had both worked for Stallings in his factory in Birmingham--and now Mark did so as well, as Stalling's personal assistant. Stallings wanted the relationship to be very personal.

Mark's parents had died in a car crash, leaving the handsome, blond, blue-eyed Mark without any other family. Stallings had magnanimously stepped in to take the young man under his wing and into his employment and his mansion, where the English industrialist lived alone, although with servants trained to see only what they were being paid to see. The industrialist, whose tastes had run to youths younger than twenty, but, course of legal age, had had his eye on the perfectly formed Mark for some time before the lad's parents had died. His motives for taking Mark into his sponsorship were not nearly as magnanimous as the people of Birmingham thought. It wasn't only that the youth, at nineteen and uncommonly handsome, was everything that Stallings desired and worked for. Stallings did have a fetish for nineteen-year-old youths. But he had also known, desired, Mark for some time. This interest included, but went further than the sexual. He felt that, in Mark, he could have a companion for the rest of his life and be content.

Although not unaware of the base of Stallings's interest in him but reluctant to "go all the way," Mark had melded to his mentor's interests and was slowing melting to the man--just more slowly than Stallings's patience could endure. The young man wasn't opposed to the affection Stallings accorded him, which had developed to kissing and fondling and, even, occasionally a session of mutual masturbation. Mark had, thus far, however, balked at consummated anal sex. But Stallings wanted it all. It had been his idea to take in a summer hike on the popular pilgrimage trail in northern Spain, during which Stallings had hopes of achieving the "getting it all" intimacy with his young assistant.

And here they were, well into the hike, but, if only briefly, on the wrong trail. They weren't far off the trail, near the village of Bolorado, when they came to where they could see an old, stone farm cottage set in an opening in the woods among large moss-covered boulders. The house looked like it had risen out of the ground centuries ago along with the rocks surrounding it. It wasn't the house that had drawn the attention of Howard and Mark, though; it was the sound of sexual taking they could hear. They drew closer and took in the scene in the house's front yard from the cover of the foliage near the wrong path taken.

A magnificently muscular, young Spaniard could be seen hovering over a crudely built wooden table in the yard. The young man, no older than his late twenties, was dark, immensely handsome, sultry, slightly hirsute, with wavy black hair and a closely cropped beard. He had been wearing just loose shorts that now were bunched at his feet. His body was gorgeously muscular and tanned--and in motion. The contrast between the deep tan of his torso and legs with the whiteness of his buttocks accentuated the sexiness of his body. That was where the sound was coming from--from what was happening on the table in the farmyard.

Looking more closely, Howard and Mark could see that the man wasn't alone. Under him, lying belly to wood on the table, was a young man about the same age as Mark. The young man was naked, his shorts and T-shirt mingling on the ground by the table with the bunched shorts of the man who was bent over him, his hands gripping the youth's upper arms. The young man's legs were dangling off the end of the table and his arms off the sides of the table. His cheek was pressed to the table and his face, showing an expression of pain-passion, was turned toward where Howard and Mark were observing the tableau from the cover of the forest. The young man's mouth was yawning open, and it was he who was making most of the noise, in the form of cries at how well--and terribly and deeply and totally--the man's cock was using his channel. The grunts of exertion in the taking were coming from the man who was covering and fucking the youth.

Howard and Mark stood there, watching, transfixed. The surprise and shock of finding a magnificent young Spanish farmer fucking a young man Mark's age in his farmyard had arrested the English man and youth's attention. Howard had an arm around Mark's shoulders and could feel the lad trembling in his embrace.

There was no thought of intervening. There was no doubt that the young man was receiving the attention from the sensuous Spaniard that he wanted.

Howard recovered faster than Mark did in seeing how this tableau being played out in the farmyard matched his own wishes and intentions with Mark, and his embrace of Mark became more intimate. This intimacy snapped Mark into awareness of the here and now, and he turned and started back to retrace their steps to the main trail. The hikers had realized they must be on the wrong path just as they came upon the scene of the Spaniards coupling.

The older Englishman followed. He caught up with Mark after just a few minutes, pulled the young man to the side of the trail, and took him into an embrace, fully intending to mimic what they had just seen. This, after all, was where he had hoped to take his young assistant to by going on this pilgrimage and encouraging intimacy outside of their world in Birmingham. Both of them were panting--as much from the arousal of the coupling they had seen as from the exertion of walking quickly back to the main trail.

Once he'd covered and fucked the lad, Howard was sure he would have established a lasting relationship between them. He wasn't a bad-looking man, and he was in reasonable shape for a man his age--he certainly had the money to keep Mark in comfort. And if it was sexual satisfaction the youth wanted, Howard's body wasn't the best, perhaps, but in cock size and what he could do with it in a nineteen-year-old had always been more than enough to satisfy the other young men he had fucked.

Howard just needed to get Mark beyond the surface looks level. He knew that if he could get his cock inside the young man and take the lad for a vigorous ride, Mark would be his.

Mark was letting the man embrace and kiss and fondle him on the trail--watching the young Spanish god at work on the young man back at that stone farmhouse had had its effect on Mark--but when Howard was bent over Mark's body and had run a hand under the young man's waistband at the back, into his crack, and had found and penetrated Mark's anus with his fingers, Mark became overwhelmed and apprehensive.

He broke away from the man and walked, at a fast pace, back toward the main trail. He murmured something, but Stallings didn't hear what it was. It was angry, though, so it didn't distress the man.

Despondent, but with some flicker of hope that what they had seen had moved the dial a bit on their relationship, Howard spent a few minutes completing what he'd tried to start with Mark just now. He'd gotten his cock out, which he always liked to do with Mark to remind the young man how big he was. Mark seemed to appreciate the size of him when they'd gotten to the fondling stage before. And, taking himself in hand, he stroked himself off, spilling his seed on ferns at the base of a tree, taking care of himself at least for now. Then he adjusted his clothes and followed his young assistant.

Meanwhile, back in the farmyard, the young, hunky Spanish farmer, Estevo, had turned the nineteen-year-old Rodrigo onto his back on the crude table in the farmyard. Estevo had gripped the youth's ankles, spread and raised Rodrigo's legs, and was nestled between the youth's thighs, fucking him in long, slow strokes. The young man, panting and whimpering, had flung his arms out wide from his body in a "take me" sacrificial pose, his back and head arched, his eyes wildly racing from one view of the tree cover above to another.

There was no reason whatsoever to suppose the young man wasn't getting the attention he wanted to have from Estevo.

"Mierda, eres grande. Ya voy. ¡Ya voy!--Shit, you're big. I'm coming. I'm coming!" the youth cried out to the treetops. And then he did.

Estevo fucked on for several minutes, then he too, tensed and came, jerked and came again. He was young, fit, and virile. The youth jerked and moaned, clutching at the muscular man's biceps of steel, as Estevo topped him up with cum. Helping the youth off the table, he patted the lad on the rump, said, "Muy bien. Conseguiste lo que querías. Ahora vete a casa--Very good. You got what you wanted. Now go home," helped the young man dress, and sent him on his way.

* * * *

An hour later Howard and Mark were back, Mark hobbling, hopping on one leg, and being supported by Howard. Estevo was back in his shorts, although they were so loose that they rode him low on his hips and it was only by a miracle that they stayed up. The exposed seams Ving into his groin under his flat, armor-like belly and over his thigh lines accentuated the sexy hard-bodied, armor-like cut of his torso. The well-fucked youth, Rodrigo, was long gone and, wearing combat boots with loose lacings, Estevo was chopping wood on a tree stump in his farmyard, his bulging muscles flexing very arousingly.

He looked up as the hobbling pair came out of the tree line and into the clearing in front of the stone cottage.

"Entonces, ¿has vuelto para echar otro vistazo?" he said, putting the ax down and turning fully to face them.

"Sorry, I don't speak Spanish well," Howard said, trying his own English, as more likely to be understood than trying his broken Spanish. "We're English, my young friend here and I. We're doing the Camino de Santiago. On our way to Santiago de Compostela. We got off the trail, and, once back on it, my hiking companion fell and sprained his ankle. Can you tell me if there's some place I can take him nearby for medical attention? Do you speak any English?"

"Yes, I speak English," Estevo said. "I'll lived in London." His English was excellent, as a result. "Come, bring him inside. Such injuries aren't uncommon on the trail here and I live close enough to the pilgrimage trail that I keep medical supplies and have some experience in sprains."

What Estevo didn't say as he ushered Howard and Mark into his stone cottage was to repeat what he'd first said in Spanish when they'd appeared, which was to ask if they'd come back to watch him fucking Rodrigo. He'd been aware that they had been there before, observing through the foliage. He had seen Howard with his shaft out, stroking it.

"Here, put him in this chair and take his boot and sock off. I'll fetch my medical bag."

Estevo didn't leave the room, because there was only one room in the cottage--and that included there being no separate bedroom, kitchen, or bath. The room was quite large, though, and well-furnished in a basic, rustic peasant sort of way. To the right of where they entered, in the front quadrant, was the living area, facing a large rough-stone fireplace. In the back corner there was a double-bed brass frame bedstead with a high mattress and a patchwork quilt on it. At the left back kitchen cupboards and appliances curved around the corner. In the front to the left was a rough-wood dining table with six straight chairs around it. There too was a large rough-stone fireplace. The stacks of wood by both fireplaces indicated that was the heating system here.

On the back wall between the bed and a door off the back was a toilet, a sink, and a shower, with a square tin pan and drain. The bathroom facilities were not enclosed. There probably were external toilet facilities as well, but this was what would be used in the winter. The door at the back of the room was open and clearly led into a barn area, as a stall with a horse in it could be seen. There was a hound dog as well, curled up on an oval braided rug at the foot of the bed, but he did no more than raise his muzzle to gauge the danger of two strangers entering his realm and, deciding they weren't a threat, lowered his head and closed his eyes again.

Estevo gestured toward the living area while he went back to the kitchen cabinets, and Howard lowered Mark into a carved wooden armchair with a rush seat. All of the furniture in the cottage might have been handmade and carved from pine. If so, the carpenter was an artist. Everything in the cottage was clean and neat. Everything was functional, though. There were no frills.

"There, that doesn't look too bad," the nearly naked, young muscular god said, as he knelt before Mark, sitting in the chair, and wrapped the young man's ankle after spreading an unidentified salve on the sprain. Mark was trembling being this close to a hunk he'd last seen fucking a young man no older than Mark was. Howard hovered around, closely watching everything the young Spaniard was doing.

"I don't think this young man should be putting weight on this for a couple of days," Estevo said, looking up at Howard. He continued holding Mark's calf between his hands, seemingly not being aware that the youth was trembling. "If he stays immobile and doesn't try to walk on it for two days, I think it will be OK for him to go ahead on the pilgrimage. His boots seem to offer good support for the ankles. You've come most of the way already. It isn't a bad sprain. It just doesn't need to be made worse."

"Is there an inn or hostel nearby we can get to while he recovers?" Howard asked.

"Yes, in the village of Bolorado nearly half a kilometer further up the trail, but I wouldn't suggest your son trying to walk that far."

"He's not my son. He's my assistant at my company in Birmingham, but he does live with me. His parents are gone and I took him in. This hike is meant to be a bonding experience for us."

Estevo turned his face away so that Howard couldn't see his "I just bet it is" expression. He had been taking peeks at Howard and Mark while they were watching him fuck Rodrigo. He could see from the way the man had been embracing the youth that he wanted to be doing the same thing to his "assistant"--and they stood there, watching, for too long not to have been interested. It wasn't a secret--certainly from these two--that Estevo fucked nineteen-year-olds. This English youth was a real honey. Estevo would certainly like to fuck him too.

"I wouldn't recommend the young man trying to hike to Bolorado on this ankle yet. You could go there, leaving him here, and come back for him in three days. He could stay here and recover."

Howard considered that. He also saw that the Spanish hunk was still stroking Mark's calf--massaging it, supposedly, but more than Howard thought necessary. And he could see the arousal effect this was having on Mark. An idea formed.

"I would be happy to pay you something for his care and accommodation," Howard said. "Let's go outside and discuss what would be possible."

"I think he should lay down with his leg up," Estevo said. "Let me put him on the bed, with some pillows under the leg to elevate the ankle, and then I will come out and talk to you." Estevo took Mark, much smaller and lighter than he was, up in his arms and carried him over to the bed. He removed the young man's other boot and spent considerable effort and time getting the youth settled on the bed, an activity that included a lot of touching. Mark was panting softly before Estevo was finished, neither of them being fooled that it was from the pain of the ankle.

The Spaniard didn't bother to hide his sexual interest from either Mark or Howard. This was his turf; they'd come to him--and they'd spied on him. He saw no reason to hide anything. If they didn't like it, they could just leave.

Estevo went out into the farmyard where Howard had gone and was redistributing clothes and other goods in his and Mark's backpacks so that Mark would have all he needed for his stay here. The two men talked in earnest for a good twenty minutes before Howard fished a large number of euro notes out of his backpack, handed them over, and, after reentering the cottage for a brief farewell to Mark, left to find lodging for himself for two nights in Bolorado, with the understanding he would return for Mark on the third day.

* * * *

Bidding Mark to get lots of sleep during the day if he could, without specifying why the young man would need it for a sprained ankle, Estevo worked much of the day out in the yard. Mark didn't notice that the door to the house was left open and Estevo had moved the location of where he was chopping wood, just in loose, low-hanging shorts and combat boots. Now he could clearly be watched from the bed. And, of course, Mark watched the man and increasingly became aroused by him. That meant he didn't get much sleep during the day. His ankle was throbbing anyway, although less so as the day went on.

When Estevo came in to fix a dinner for them both, he first took a shower, stripping down to the altogether and standing under the stream of water on the open drain pan on the back wall almost within reach of the bed. The man's body was magnificent and he soaped himself up in a sensuous way, spending extra time handling and, soaping up, and rinsing his formidable cock, which went to half hard under his attention. Mark had to pull a sheet over his body to try to hide that watching the man shower without trying to reveal that he was watching, that it made him hard, and that the young man couldn't manage not to touch and stroke his own cock while Estevo showered and masturbated.

Of course Estevo knew the young man was watching him, though, and that caused him to smile. He could have showered outside--and he did whenever the weather permitted. He had a shower head installed on the wall on one end of the house. And the weather was just fine. The Spanish hung pushed the envelope. Going beyond cleanliness, Estevo beat himself off under the cascading water of the shower, slowly, sensually. He did not look at Mark, although he certainly was aware that Mark was watching him. He played it as if it was a private few moments with no one else there to watch, lovingly grasping and stroking his thick, long shaft with a beefy, calloused hand and jacking off against the tiled wall under the shower head.

Estevo didn't dress afterward. He tied his towel around his waist and went to the kitchen area to cook dinner. The towel dipped enough in front of him to show the start of his curly pubic hair. For dinner, he carried Mark, only in his briefs, to the dining area, telling the young man not to put weight on his foot, and sat him at the table. Both of them were hard; each of them knew the other one was hard. Mark was a captive audience.

Seeing the expression of want on the young man's face and knowing that he had prepared him well, Estevo both decreased and increased the tension in the air as they were eating fruit as the meal was completing. "The way you look at me. I think you want me. Yes, I am sure you want me," Estevo said.

Mark didn't answer verbally, but the Spaniard could see the surrender in his eyes.

"Yes, I think we will fuck tonight," Estevo said. "We will take care of that little problem you are having with your man." Mark didn't answer that either.