BDSM Manor Ch. 13: Re Claimed

Rules of BDSM Manor - safety, respect, and consent.

Note to reader: You will get more from these characters if you read the stories in order, but it's not compulsory.

Tess-O'Meter -- Amber.

Note to rentturtle. Your (delayed) Easter Egg is hidden inside, enjoy ^_*

-X

A muffed "Arrghhh!" was forced out of Alex's mouth as John pushed inside him. His monster cock stretching Alex's hole painfully wide and already as deep as I could reach.

But John had a third again on my length, and more than twice the girth.

At the other end I pushed myself a little deeper. Alex's tongue had been delighting my cock, but now that John had gained entry he was losing concentration.

Alex's only comment was "Urghh," as I pushed into his throat.

Behind him, John eased out and then slid back in. Still only two thirds deep, giving Alex a chance to adjust. It had been quite some time since Alex had taken John's cock.

I watched a couple of thrusts and then pulled out, allowing Alex to choke and cough some air in, which he did gustily. Then he mumbled, "Please," and opened his mouth for me again.

We were in the apartment. Alex was not bound, he was simply draped over the couch, a blanket had been thrown over it to protect it from the copious amounts of lube that were needed to assist Alex in sheathing John's cock.

(Or mighty sword as he often likes to call it!)

Alex was hard, his cock leaking like a burst pipe. One hand gripping the back of the couch, the other my thigh for balance.

His legs were spread, feet firmly on the floor with John's knees spreading him wide.

There had been a flood in John's London flat and as he had meetings planned and could not return to the manor straight away, we had offered him our spare room.

Two days later and John was feeling feisty, missing Sadie.

"Do you want to fuck?" I asked John, once we had eaten and found nothing on three thousand channels worth watching.

"Not you, you pervert!" he replied, with a sniff, sticking his nose in the air.

"I wasn't offering me, dickhead."

John laughed, and then Alex, who had just returned to the room, stopped dead as we both turned and looked at him.

"What? What?" he frowned, looking between us. I let my eyes wander up and down his body. John shifted on the couch, making it quite obvious he was hardening. "Oh!" Alex said.

Still, he got hard so fast it made him wince and his clothes seemed to evaporate, so he wasn't coy about being up for it.

Now John pushed a little harder and Alex semi-screamed around my gagging cock. His eyes squeezed closed and a couple of tears slipped out.

John, eased back, and in and a little deeper again.

I pulled back again and checked with Alex.

"You okay?"

"Fuck, I always forget how fucking big he is," Alex gasped. "Please don't stop, Arrghhh!"

John moved again.

"Fuuuccckkkkk!"

A few thrusts as Alex sobbed and moaned and then John went balls deep before holding still inside.

Alex's mouth opened and he tried to pull in air, but struggled. He started to shake. Racking vibrations that tore through him. His eyes were wide and blind.

"Breathe, take a breath, you're doing great," I told him, pushing my fingers through his thick, damp hair.

He dragged in some air and let it out like a high pitched, "Eeeeeeee," whistle, before his head dropped.

When I lifted his chin, I was surprised to see that he was still conscious. Alex very rarely manages to stay conscious when being fucked by John. It's just too much.

"Good Boy," I told him and smeared pre-cum around his trembling lips.

"Oh good, he just relaxed a bit," John said, and started the low, slow fuck.

Alex winced, but when I caught his eye he actually managed a shaky smile, delighted that he hadn't passed out.

"It's so good," he told me.

"Hurting?"

"So bad. Please don't let him stop."

I smiled reassurance and as Alex was doing so well, took his mouth again.

It wasn't a hard fuck. Too high risk, and we had no handy medical backup as we do at the manor, but we thoroughly and carefully destroyed Alex between us. Leaving him a sweat soaked, limp, trembling rag.

Who had cum twice while John was inside him.

Once cleaned up, soothed and settled. Still trembling as his splayed open asshole slowly vibrated back into place, Alex sighed in my arms.

"Maybe John could stay like once a week?" he suggested.

I pushed my face into his neck and laughed, "Idiot. It would fucking kill you."

"Yea," he admitted, "Be fun though!"

-X

A couple of weeks after we got our privacy back, I arrived home to be greeted by one of my favourite smells. Fresh baked bread.

Surprised, as I had planned to cook tonight, I headed for the kitchen where Alex was stirring what looked like soup on the hob.

He glanced at me, then smiled as I pulled him down for a kiss, "Hey. Good timing."

"Hey you. I thought I was cooking?"

He shrugged, "I was in the mood."

"Cool. What-we-got?"

"Minestrone and rosemary bread."

"You okay?" I asked.

"Of course, why?"

"You usually bake when you're worried about something."

Alex smiled slightly, "More curious then worried. I do need to talk to you."

"Nothing bad," he reassured me when I looked up, concerned, "It's more like weird really. Dump your stuff and I'll dish out."

A few minutes later I was happily inhaling the scent of delicious food I hadn't had to cook. Bliss.

"Okay then, what's up?" I asked when Alex sat.

Alex thought for a moment as he chewed bread, then decided to dive straight in.

"I think I'm being followed," he said.

"Followed?"

He nodded, "Yea. The last few weeks I keep picking up this hoodie in the park. When I go for coffee, and when I've been running. He doesn't get too close and slips away if I try to head his way."

"A hoodie," I sniggered, "You think it's a guy?"

"Oh yea. Either a young man or a drug addict. Sort of skinny and slouchy."

I considered. I wouldn't dismiss Alex's instincts. If he thought he was being followed, then he was being followed.

"Well I doubt it's a wannabe robber. No skinny guy is gonna pick a strapping more than six-footer if they're planning a robbery. Someone plucking up the courage to ask you out?"

"Nah, I tend to get hit on by women more than men," he reconsidered, "Apart from in gay bars. Obviously guy's hit on me there!"

"Obviously!" I smirked and we both laughed.

"I don't get that vibe," Alex clarified, wiggling his fingers at me, "but at the same time it doesn't feel especially friendly."

"Hmmmm" I considered.

"I met Chris for coffee last week and the mystery chap turned up. Chris went over in his direction and he legged it."

"There's literally nothing threatening about Chris."

Alex grinned, "Nothing at all."

"Have you seen this guy around here?" I asked.

"Nope," Alex admitted, "Only around the park. You know what," he shrugged as if irritated, "It's bugging me more than anything. I'll just go somewhere else for a few weeks. Whoever it is will lose interest."

"No," I pondered, "don't do that. I have another idea."

-X

The following Tuesday I made my way to the park and the café, about forty-five minutes before Alex was due.

Strolling through the park in the sunshine, my hands shoved in my pockets, felt deliciously like playing hooky. The grin on my face made me think I should do stuff like this more often.

I grabbed a coffee and sat outside, messing with my phone and people watching.

I spotted Alex coming just before 10.30am. His laptop bag slung over his shoulder. Apparently distracted, texting while he walked.

Sure enough, about fifty yards behind him was a scrawny looking figure, although my money was on youth, not druggie.

Alex headed into the café without looking my way, and the hoodie youth perched in the middle of a bench still a good thirty yards away watching the door.

Once Alex came out and sat with his coffee, opening his laptop but ignoring it for now in favour of his notebook, the youth seemed to relax slightly, and sat back. Instead of watching, it was now frequent glances, to make sure Alex was still in sight.

I waited five minutes and then stood lazily and started off. Angling towards the path and the bench. Stopping within talking distance of the bench to give directions to a hassled mother.

The youth paid me no attention. He had lowered his head when the mother passed him and did the same to me.

He had already dismissed me and was glancing back to check on Alex when I sat on the end of the bench. Seeing him stiffen with the slight bump as I sat.

"I'm just curious," I said quietly, "as to why you are following my husband?"

The lad braced as if to run and I merely raised my hand across his middle. Not touching him but blocking a quick exit.

"No one's angry," I reassured him, "We just want to know what's going on."

He huffed and slumped back against the bench. It was a purely teenage huff and made me smile.

"I'm not doing anything," he grunted, head still low.

"Okay," I said pleasantly, "So why are you 'not doing anything' in such regular close proximity to my husband?"

Another sigh and the hood was shoved roughly back. The young man's hair briefly swept back before falling half over his face. One of those styles that most guy's aged between fourteen and twenty-one currently had.

I call this dirty blonde. Mostly because it winds Alex up. He tells me either dark blonde or light brown, but not dirty blonde. He hates that term.

The lad shoved his fingers through his hair. Hair the exact same shade as Alex's and twisted on the seat to look at me.

Just like Alex, his smoky lashes were thick and long. Although in this case he looked almost like he was wearing eyeliner and mascara. I had no doubt the girls sighed in envy and longing, and the guys took the piss.

The same defined cheekbones. The same slightly pouty lower lip. The same serious eyebrows.

He stared at me out of familiar dark denim-colored eyes and my breath faltered in shock. The eyes were familiar, but the expression in them was not. It was both suspicious and more than a little nervous.

"How old is he?" the kid demanded, "How old is your husband?"

I frowned but kept my tone gentle. I hadn't missed the slight tremor in his voice. "He's thirty-four," I told him, "He can't be your father, kid."

The young man's eyes clouded in puzzlement, "No. No, that's not what I thought. I wondered if my dad," he coughed to clear his voice a little. "He's too old, I thought he was younger, I was scared that my dad."

He shoved his hair again. My heart sped up a little. Alex had the same habit.

"But that can't be right," the kid mumbled.

"What can't be right?" Alex asked brightly, as he sat at the other end of the bench. His eyes opening wide and his mouth falling open as the kid turned and looked at him.

They stared at each other for a full fifteen seconds before I spoke, "For Christ's sake, Alex. Say hello."

"What the fuck," Alex managed, and I winced, but the kid didn't care. His face lit up.

"Alex? Your name is Alex?"

"Yes, but."

"That's it!" The young man jumped up and spun to face us both, his grin flashing Alex's dimples at me. This was just bizarre.

"You were named after your dad?" he demanded.

My heart was pounding now, this was dangerous territory. I shifted across the bench, closer to Alex.

"Possibly," Alex said cautiously, "I never knew my father."

"No of course not," the kid said excitedly, "Because he died before you were born. Before he knew about you." He suddenly pulled himself together and toned it down a bit.

"Um, I'm really sorry," he said, "about what happened to your dad. About the accident."

"What accident?" Alex asked, his voice a rasp.

"Your Mum didn't tell you?" his eyes widened.

At this point Alex's voice failed him, he shook his head, his eyes pleading with me.

I stepped in to give him a moment, "Alex was raised in care. His mother died when she gave birth to him. He's never had any family history."

The young man's face fell. He was clearly not a complete prat, as he blinked a few times and then taking a deep breath crouched down in front of Alex.

"My name is Barry Biggs," he said, with remarkable gentleness, "My dad is called David. He had an older brother, who would have been my uncle Alex, but he died in a motorcycle accident when he was seventeen."

He let Alex reach out and grasp his hand, "My uncle Alex's girlfriend came and told my Nan that she was pregnant, but my Nan sent her away," he frowned and looked at the ground, "she's not really very nice. She and my dad don't talk much."

He looked back up, "I think you might be his son. You MUST be his son."

"How old is your dad, Barry?" I asked quietly.

"He's forty-nine. He was fifteen when Alex died."

"I can't think," Alex said, rubbing his head.

I rubbed his back, "It fits."

I kissed his cheek, "It fits, Alex."

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Barry, "What was her name, my mother, Alex's girlfriend. What was her name?"

"Don't you know?"

I stepped in again, "We only have a letter, written by the nurse that assisted in Alex's delivery. She wrote out what had happened and the orphanage where he was raised let him read it when he turned fifteen."

I pulled Alex against me, and he leaned hard, but took a breath.

"It's okay, I can tell him."

Barry was knelt on the ground now, one hand still in Alex's, emotion shining out of his eyes.

"The nurse wrote that my mum stumbled into the emergency department. She was in labor and bleeding, very ill. She wouldn't speak. Wouldn't tell them anything. No name, nothing. All she would do is curse in what they thought was Welsh. Somehow she found the strength to have me. The nurse wrote that, she found the last of her strength and pushed the baby out. They held me up and told her she had a son. She said, 'He's Alex, for his father', and then she was gone. She never even held me. That's all she said. The nurse said her accent was definitely Welsh."

We were all crying now and getting strange looks from people walking by. I just glared and they moved quickly on.

I knew that the hospital had named their Jane Doe, as Rose Alexander. After the roses on the dress she was wearing and the name she had given for Alex. The name on her grave was Rose Alexander (with a disclaimer that actual name not known, a rather heartless addition by the local authority) and her birth date was another noted fabrication. Nine months and eighteen years prior to the date of Alex's birth.

Barry looked really upset, "I can't remember," he said, "Oh, God. I should know this, I'm so sorry, I can't remember."

"Hey, Hey, it's okay," I soothed them both, "It's okay. This is a shock and right now only a possibility. Let's just take a moment."

Barry brightened "We could do a DNA test."

It was enough to make Alex laugh.

"Let's not jump the gun," I cautioned, "Barry, the first thing you need to do is talk to your dad. You're not from around here, what are you doing in London?"

"Oh, no I'm from a little place called Ardgarten in the highlands. It's beautiful if you like the country. I'm nineteen and I'm studying economics at Buckingstone University."

"You're only half Welsh," I teased Alex.

"Yea, who knew," he smiled back. Then looked at Barry, "So were you plucking up the courage to talk to me?"

Barry stood and scuffed his feet a little. His face turned slightly pink, "Yea, but I thought you were younger. I was worried my dad had cheated on my mum or something."

The blush turned to pale, "Oh, shit. He's gonna kill me."

"I would suggest discretion and not telling him that bit," I suggested. "It's a big change being away from home for the first time. Studying hard with less support. Sometimes the brain gets away from you a little."

Barry shot me a look and I winked at him.

"Yea, okay," he decided.

We ended up going back to the café for another drink and chat.

Alex veered away from asking too much about Barry's home life, but I could see that he just soaked up the little details that came through.

It turned out that Barry was about to head home for a few days, so I suggested that Alex and I put our numbers into his phone, and I took a photo of him and Alex, also on his phone.

I refused to take his number.

"You're a good looking nineteen-year-old lad and a long way from home," I cautioned him. "Your dad won't be happy if he finds out you've been giving your personal information to a couple of strangers."

"He won't be worried that you're gay," Barry informed me, reading between the lines. "My uncle Rob, dad's younger brother is gay."

I nodded, that was interesting, but held my ground, "Even so," I smiled one last time at the picture of him and Alex together, so much alike it was uncanny. Then handed him back his phone.

"Prepare him before you show him the picture," I suggested, "and remember. This could just be a wild coincidence."

"It's not likely though is it," Alex queried.

I laughed, "Probably not."

We left Barry with promises that we would be waiting for a call and headed for our show.

We had planned with our 'skive-off' day, to follow our investigations with a matinee and then a bar.

"We could just go home, Alex. If you're not in the mood."

"No," Alex squeezed my hand and smiled, "I think I want to carry on and let this rest in the back of my mind. It's huge."

-X

The show was the perfect distraction, and we came out directly into SoHo on a busy Tuesday night.

Now I'm past forty I find I prefer to be able to hold a conversation while enjoying a drink, so despite the numerous bars and clubs on offer, we headed for an old favourite.

Not particularly surprised to bump into a couple that we knew from the manor.

Lee and Carlos are both subs at the manor but have been together for about a decade and I knew that Lee who was a little older, late forties to Carlos' late thirties, tended to take the lead when it was just the two of them.

All three of us watched Alex being propositioned as he made his way back from the bar, trying not to drop four bottles.

A cute guy in his mid-twenties stopped Alex and spoke into his ear, Alex bending slightly. I couldn't miss the hand that was firmly pressed to Alex's abs, copping a good feel.

Well, I couldn't blame him.

Alex smiled and nodded his head in our direction. We all waved and the young man with good grace, just smiled and shrugged before moving off.

"Nice tummy rub?" I asked Alex, my tongue in my cheek, as he unloaded the drinks.

"The tummy rub wasn't the problem," Alex admitted, before taking a swig. "You didn't see where his other hand was!"

We all cracked up and Lee toasted, "To gay bars and all who drink in them."

"To gay bars," we chorused and drank.

A little later, the music volume had increased slightly, and people were becoming raunchier. Though obviously pretty tame compared to what we are used to. It was kind of sweet.

Lee moved over to make himself heard.

"Getting late, I think we should send our boys onto the dance floor together. See if they can turn us on before we go," he suggested.

"Good idea," I agreed, and we sent Alex and Carlos off to do some dirty dancing.

Mid-week but the dance floor was still heaving. Around 85% guys. Bizarrely a hen party, but they had been accepted with good grace once they had been persuaded to keep their hands to themselves.

It was pretty dark, but Alex and Carlos set themselves up where we had a good view of the two of them surrounded and pressed close by a mass of shifting, writhing, damp, turned on bodies.

Lips and legs intertwined. Pelvis to pelvis. Hands grabbing whatever ass was closest. It was starting to look like a (mostly) fully clothed vertical orgy.

In the middle of it all: the striking couple of Alex and Carlos.