Mutiny Release

He pulled out of me immediately, deftly released my restraints, as he said, "That was a good one. You gave me everything that time." We held, both of us bringing our panting under control.

"That was cruel," I whispered.

"And it made you hard as rock," he answered. "For what I have in mind for you, you will have to be able to manage fetishes like that. Better that I initiate you with restraint than some pirate tear you apart."

I was considering that when Dinwiddie stiffened and sat up in the bed, pulling my pelvis with him, maintaining his cock inside me. "Is that a carriage I heard in the forecourt?" he asked.

I heard the crunch of the gravel on the drive below as well and the snort of the horse. But I certainly hadn't been attuned to anything but where his cock was and what it was doing to that point. Pulling out of me, Dinwiddie bounded from the bed, naked, his massive cock at least temporarily satisfied and swinging between his legs, and went to the window.

"Ah, yes, the earl has arrived."

My thoughts were elsewhere. Before he had decided he was randy and wanted to be serviced before the weekend hunt guests arrived at Entworthy, his Yorkshire country estate, I had thought that being told what his proposition in buying my contract was was what had brought me to Entworthy. Now, after he had repeatedly fucked me, I thought, rather, that it was the smell of a young man in heat and ready and willing to take the lord's cock that had brought me to his country house.

I broached the subject again. "You were going to tell me about the proposition you had." I was ready for him to tell me that he wanted to set me up as his mistress, if that's what a young man servicing an old man could be called, as he had done for a time with my mother. And I was prepared to say yes. I couldn't fathom what the British Foreign Office would have to do with the arrangement, though.

"Stay right there. I will greet the guest. I have something to talk with him about. Then I will come back. Rest. You will need it."

Then he was gone. I lay back in the bed, thinking of what we had first done. I'd never had a man's fist inside me before. I can't say I cared for it. Dinwiddie was always looking for something exciting and new to do, though. Could I possibly deflect him to some other, less painful and challenging activity? I closed my eyes to think, and as I mulled possibilities, I took my cock in hand and was stroking myself.

I heard the clearing of a throat and looked up. He was gone, back out of the door to the corridor, almost as soon as I had looked up. But I'd seen who it was—Lieutenant Smythe, Lord Dinwiddie's adjutant, who would be going out in support of the Lord to India. I'd met him at dinner the previous evening. He was young, not more than a couple of years older than I was, and a gorgeous hunk, a beauty that was accentuated by the military uniform he wore. He wore it again this morning at breakfast, and his gaze at me had been direct, understanding. Understanding it all. And, I like to think, interested. His uniform was tight fitting. I could see that he dressed on the right and that he observed the fashion of using a dressing ring to hold his cock in place in his tight trousers. He was hung. He also met the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome criteria—and was muscular. He could probably break a man's back with the strength of his thighs in a wrestling scissor's maneuver.

I'd only gotten a fleeting look at him at the door to Dinwiddie's bedchamber, but I'd seen the all-white-teeth smile and the flash of his mysteriously gray eyes—gray eyes with gold flecks in them. I'd noticed them in the candlelight at dinner and had nearly fallen helplessly into them.

It wasn't his fault he'd come to the door. He had full access to Lord Dinwiddie in keeping with his duties. He couldn't have helped seeing me naked, on the bed, cock in hand.

He had withdrawn quickly enough. Or had he? How long had he been standing there before he cleared his throat? And why did he clear his throat to mark that he had been present at all?

* * * *

"This prince, the Maharaja Babua Jahan of the Satrap of Sagala, you want me to go to India and fuck—is he an old, ugly ogre? Do Indians look a lot different than we do?"

Before dinner Lord Dinwiddie had taken me aside in his study and told me at last about the proposition he had for me. I had to walk carefully here because Percy told me that they already were finalizing the contract on the Marble Crescent Club sale of me to the Foreign Office. I may not have much of a say in this. Dinwiddie was walking carefully too. The proposition was that Dinwiddie's mission to India was one of bringing the East India Company back into favor with some of the satraps—sovereign entities—in northwest India. They had overstepped themselves with the traditional power sources there. As well as political deals, the mission had to provide some private incentives for the maharajas of the satraps. Most could be won over with coin or with arms, which was why James Evans was going. One maharaja, the most important one, though, had a weakness for young men. Dinwiddie wanted me to exploit that weakness, and he wanted a long-term spy in the maharaja's court. I was being asked to be a British spy in the long term in India.

"He's not young. And he is what we would refer to as statuesque," Dinwiddie answered

"So, he's old and fat."

"I wouldn't say he's fat or as old as is the norm with maharajas. He's robust. He is athletic. He hunts a lot and he is very strong. He is heavy, yes, and has a bit of a stomach on him. Maharajas are fed well. But he's a commanding figure. Tall for an Indian and large—all over. And, yes, Indians look much the same as we do, given their unique appearances. They tend to be darker skinned than we are. They wear looser clothes than we do, which will work to your advantage. He's quite handsome by Indian standards, I am told. Doesn't do much for me, of course."

"You said he's large all over."

"I think you'll be pleased. You'll be taxed, though. When I unexpectedly saw you with Sir Sydney and considered what he liked to do with young men, I must admit that I started thinking of you as perfect for this mission. You have few prospects here in Britain, you know. You aren't legitimate. We both know your mother isn't going to support you. When I thought of the assignment—a long-term one in India in pampered, if restricted, conditions, I thought again that it might be a perfect future for you."

"You are saying that he is sadistic with his sex. And what do you mean by restricted conditions?" I wasn't happy with what I was hearing about India, but he certainly was right about my prospects here. Male prostitutes don't stay at the luxury level I was at very far into their twenties. After a couple of years, I'd be going down the rungs of whore house conditions and falling out of the ranks of those with gentlemen clients—unless I could land a wealthy patron who wanted someone with him as he aged. I had thought that Dinwiddie's proposition might be to do this for me, but I was now learning that wasn't the case.

And, no, my mother certainly wasn't going to float me. I didn't think my father would either. I had not heard of support from him beyond my schooling, and I had already left that.

"How long do I have to think about it?" I asked.

"Not long," Dinwiddie said. "We already are in contract talks with the club."

He was cajoling me, I knew, trying to pull me along into agreement. It would be so much better if I entered into this willingly. But I knew that the contract was further along than he indicated. Percy had spoken about it as having been agreed.

"You will, of course, be given an allowance even when you have been left in the maharaja's harem. You will be a man of means in your own right."

"His harem?"

"Yes, that will be a good thing for you. You will not be in constant demand. I understand he has hundreds of wives in one wing of his palace and more than a dozen young men for his other indulgences in another wing. If he accepts you as a gift, you will be left to your own devices for large periods of time. And I understand that Indian maharajas are forgiving about dalliances of their young men while they are in wait of a night with him. If he's willing, we could even arrange for a position for you with the East India Company there in the satrap so that you could have probably a better life there than you'd ever enjoy here in Britain."

"You do make it sound like the best path for me," I said.

"There is one other thing—something you must do as we travel there and before we settle you with the maharaja."

"You of course could have whatever privilege with me you command," I said.

"Yes, that goes without saying, but beyond that. The colonel of the honor guard they are sending with us—which, given the unrest in that region may be something we have to depend on more than just as an honor guard—Colonel Franklin, is somewhat of a nervous nelly. Sex settles him down."

"So, the colonel will be screwing me until conditions are set up for some Indian prince to whip and screw me."

"Only to the extent that it keeps the colonel contented."

What a deal, I thought. But I never had supposed that my life would be an easy one.

* * * *

I didn't realize what earl had arrived earlier on Friday afternoon until dinner that night. There were a bunch of earls in Britain and I only knew one, and I only knew him from afar, so there was no particular reason I should have connected the earl Lord Dinwiddie spoke of arriving here and my natural-born father, Reginald Clarendon, the Earl of Heathdon. But I had, in fact, made the connection mentally and ignored it. The last time I'd been with Lord Dinwiddie and I'd learned that he was trying to buy my contract at the Marble Crescent Club and the contract had specified the British Foreign Office and "national interest," I had thought of Clarendon. "My" earl was the British foreign secretary.

And here the earl was. And he didn't look all that happy to be here in Lord Dinwiddie's country house on this Friday night. Conversely, he didn't acknowledge me any more than he did the others contracted to be there from the Marble Crescent Club, Philip and Charles, when we were cursorily introduced as we served at table.

Ostensibly, it seemed that those invited for the weekend hunt were invited in connection with Dinwiddie's impending return to India, which would explain the earl being there. As foreign secretary, Clarendon was ultimately in charge of Dinwiddie's mission. Dinwiddie was the head of the mission. Also at the table was Horace Walpole, the East India Company representative attached to the mission; Colonel Fritz Franklin, commander of the military attachment being sent; and James Evans, a munitions manufacturer, who would be along to dole out "candy" meant to bring the maharajas in northwest India back into East India Company order.

It was a small, carefully planned, gathering, the real purpose of which I had been able to figure out without much effort. Dinwiddie had contracted the services of three male prostitutes from a high-class whore house to be there. From the looks Walpole, Franklin, and Evans gave to Philip, Charles, and me, there was no question that they fit into the Dinwiddie's mission plans because he could control them by providing them with young male whores. I didn't know where my father fit into this, though. He didn't appear to be interested in much of anything going on during dinner. I supposed he'd be happy to go on the hunt the next day. I knew that he enjoyed them. But he remained aloof at dinner and hardly acknowledged that Philip, Charles, and I were there.

The conversation at dinner was stiff, concentrating on provisioning plans for the mission to India. All of the men seemed bored with the discussion, though, and it moved in fits and starts. What was of more interest to most of them at the table were the three of us from the Marble Crescent Club, who were put to service to bring the dishes to the meal and walk around the table. As we passed around the table with the platters, attention by the diners drifted to us. So did their hands as we drew close to them, serving their plates. The earl did not participate in this. He restarted the mission discussion when it lapsed and spent considerable time looking at the ceiling.

Standing against the wall behind Dinwiddie's chair and near the door into the butler's pantry was Dinwiddie's adjutant, Lieutenant Owen Smythe. He, like the earl, spent considerable time examining the ceiling of the dining room, which, luckily for him and the earl was ornately painted with a religious scene of some sort. I knew it was biblical, but, thanks to my mother's nontraining in biblical stories, I couldn't place what it depicted. I just hoped the characters up there were not in shock in the arousal that was building among the men at the table below them.

The earl, apparently by prearrangement, because Dinwiddie didn't seem the least upset, begged off the evening's activities in favor of paperwork and retired right after dinner.

The rest of us moved to the gentleman's parlor. After brandy and cigars were passed around, Dinwiddie pulled out the center of entertainment. He had acquired three Brewster Stereoscope viewers that had been introduced at the Great Exhibition five years earlier. These used nearly matched aspect photographs, also a developing technology, that, put in the viewers, provided a 3D effect. There were very few viewers and photo collections in private hands. These three were on loan from the Marble Crescent Club and thus, in the absence of the earl, the evening devolved into Dinwiddie's true goal for the weekend of suborning the support of key men in his mission by playing on their preferences. The photos passed around for the three guests to view were all of sexual situations of naked men. The order in which Dinwiddie handed out the photography sets ran from clothed young men to naked young men to fucking couples to threesomes and more.

Arousal and need in the room quickly built. It wasn't long before Charles was kneeling in front of the seated Evans and servicing the man's cock, while the colonel crouched behind Charles and fucked him while switching the young man's buttocks with his riding crop, which he always carried as part of his army uniform. The colonel was the only fit man of the three guests. The other two were carrying much more weight than they should, which they no doubt would regret when they arrived in the heat of India.

Much to my surprise, Dinwiddie zeroed in on Philip, with Philip sitting in his lap, on his cock. In contrast to the last time I saw Philip with the lord, this time Philip was facing Dinwiddie and leaning back, reaching for the floor with his arms, while Dinwiddie pulled him on and off the shaft.

That left me with the oldest and ugliest of the guests, Horace Walpole. We sat in an embrace in a settee for some time, kissing and fondling each other, before I accepted that the man wanted to have more active sex. Then, with a sigh, I slipped to the floor and took his stubby cock in my mouth. He'd had the member out for some time and I'd been working on it with my hand. It had only slowly filled out. I did manage to get it hard, and of somewhat normal length, and with great effort, I did tease some semblance of an ejaculation out of him. He seemed to want sex but to be blocked by shyness or discomfort under these circumstances—open sexual activity going on around us in a lit parlor. The important point was that he declared himself satisfied with what I had provided. I had exhausted him and I was halfway expecting him to stroke out while I was sucking him off. But he made it to the climax and I helped him up from the settee and to the corridor to the main, guest bedchamber wing.

I hadn't planned to come back but to go on and turn into the corridor to the staff bedchamber wing, but I only made it halfway down the hallway. I was accosted by Colonel Franklin, virtually hunting me down. He had his cock out and was fisting it. He was in high erection, so Charles must not have fully satisfied him. That was to be left to me.

With a sigh, I turned my face to the wall, unbuttoned myself, let my trousers fall to my ankles, pressed my chest into the wall, and jutted my buttocks out. He reddened my butt cheeks with his riding crop before dropping on his knees and sticking his face in my crack. He did a nice job of that, and I was ready for him when he stood, grasped my hips, held me in place, slid inside me, and immediately set up a vigorous stroke. His stroke was good. It was steady, rhythmic, and he obviously wanted to prolong the fuck, slowing down when he had to recover control and going vigorous again to take his pleasure up to the next plateau. His cock was of average size, though, and didn't reach me deep, so I didn't engage as I could have with a bigger-cocked man. The primary challenge for me other than the stroking by his riding crop was that he had arched me back painfully and his riding crop was at my throat, pulling my head back. When he was about to blow, he pulled out of me, grabbed my hair, and forced me to my knees to take his ejaculation on my face. He made me clean his cock with my mouth and then banged my head against the wall and turned and marched off.

At least his finale grabbed my attention.

I went to the kitchen and cleaned my face. I went back to the gentleman's parlor to find that Lord Dinwiddie and Philip had left the room. Charles was on his back on a low table, his legs spread and raised. Evans was crouched between his thighs, fucking him. The colonel had gotten back into the mix. Charles's head was arched back over one end of the table, and the colonel was face fucking him, working for another erection and release.

Through it all Lieutenant Smythe had stood by a door at near attention. His eyes went to me when I walked into the room.

"Do you know where Lord Dinwiddie has gone?" I asked him. Every move I made was subject to Dinwiddie's beckon.

"He has retired. With the other young man," the lieutenant said. "He told me to tell you you could sleep as you wished tonight. That he would not be calling for you."

Was it a hint of amusement I saw on the Lieutenant's face, I wondered. My next thought was how strange it was that Dinwiddie had brought me here for the weekend and had turned to Philip for a nighttime companion. He'd fucked Philip before. Had he decided he preferred Philip to me? I knew I should be detached from that, but I wasn't. I couldn't help having a flash of jealousy.

* * * *

I woke that night with the awareness that a man was in my bedchamber, in a robe that was open to expose his nakedness, and standing close to the bed. I had left the drapes open on the two windows and it was a moonlit night, so I could clearly see him. He was muscular and in fighting trim. The handsome lieutenant, Owen Smythe.

He was just standing there, perhaps knowing I would wake with the sense that I wasn't alone. It would have been natural if it had been Lord Dinwiddie, but the lieutenant had made clear that Dinwiddie was with Philip tonight. So Smythe knew I would be alone. And he knew what I did with men. And I had made little attempt to hide that he attracted me.

He held his cock in his hand, and he was gloriously erect. I had been quite correct in gauging that his cock would be huge, not so much in thickness, but he was impossibly long.

Seeing that I was awake, he moved closer in to the side of the bed and murmured, "I want to cover you. Will you receive me?"

"Of course," I quickly responded.

He reached down, took my right hand, and moved it to his cock.

"You will take this inside you?"

"Quickly, please," I responded. I encircled the shaft with my hand and he took his away, moving it to my cock, now also moving to full erection. I stroked him and he stroked me.