Young Robert came to with a start. The pain and sense of tightness and fullness in his ass channel were excruciating. His breeches, hose, and boots were off; he could see them tossed in a bundle in the ferns by the rocks cascading down to the stream where his horse—and that of the duke—were nuzzling their noses into the gently rolling water.
He felt pain elsewhere too—at his temple, where he'd landed and blacked out when his horse threw him; at the side of his face, where the duke had backhanded him back into unconsciousness when he was coming to; in his shoulder, which he'd bruised in the fall; and in his arms, pinned uncomfortably under him on the rough-surfaced ground beneath the fern bed he'd landed in. All of his weight was on his arms, and his wrists were bound underneath him.
"Sire. Your grace!" he exclaimed in pain and shock, as he looked into the face of the Duke of Farnstead, his father's liege lord. The imposingly figured man was crouched over Robert, his body wedged between the young man's thighs, his hands holding Robert's now-bare legs out and up from his body, and his cock digging ever deeper into the center of the young squire.
"Shut up and take it, boy. I will have my pleasure."
"Oh, please, mercy. You are hurting me unto death."
"It's your own fault. Those saucy looks and golden ringlets. I swear, of all of your father's offspring and by-blows, you are the prettiest by far. I've wanted to put you to my sword for two days now. It is done now, the gates are breached—and, believe me, that was no easy storming—so take it."
"Sire! Ohhhhh. I've never!"
"What, you've never been put to the sword before?" This claim only made the duke laugh and push in deeper and begin to stroke slowly and deliberately in a rhythm that had Robert groaning and panting. "Not even by your father? I've heard of his ways. Must have been saving you. Don't be so tense and it will go better with you. Relax and open to me. You are undone now; you might as well enjoy it. I'm told I do it very, very well." And again that laugh.
Robert found that it did help when he relaxed his body. And, indeed, there was little he could do about this now. The duke was liege over his own family's land. By the right of the laws, he had access to the cunts of any of the women in his dukedom—and in this day and age dukes and kings tended to call upon the right liberally. Surely that held for the ass channel of any man in thrall to him as well, if it was the duke's pleasure.
"There, that's better, isn't it?"
And indeed it was. Robert started to moan now and his hips began involuntarily to roll with the rhythm of the taking. It mortified him that he was becoming increasingly willing to accommodate the duke. The more his channel opened to the duke's cocking, the more his own pleasure and arousal stole in to mix with the shock and pain and sense of violation. He couldn't call it violation, of course. The duke had his rights. And the duke wasn't old and fat. He was young and virile and in prime condition. And his cock had a way of making Robert's channel walls grab and release and shudder—something Robert had no idea they could do.
The duke's bulb had found Robert's prostate and was sending waves of electricity through his body. He moaned and trembled and murmured his wonder, which heighted the duke's arousal. The duke laughed lustily again and, with one hand, tore open the front of Robert's doublet, exposing pert little nipples to his lips and teeth. Robert groaned in reply and began moving his hips more vigorously against the thrustings of the ducal rapier.
"Why, you little vixen," the duke muttered. "You can't get enough of it now, can you?"
"Oh, sire," Robert whimpered. "Oh, my liege."
"This staff I have between your legs is your liege," the duke crowed. "And you are its mistress."
"Oh, ohhh, ohhh," Robert cried as he tensed, arched his back, and let loose his seed.
"This is the only thing you can do before me," the duke said wickedly, "In all else except coming for me, you must walk behind." He laughed at his own joke and then continued, taking Robert's jaw roughly in his hand and bringing the young man's face close to his own. "Like this. I want to see your expression when I paint your insides with royal seed." Then at belabored, exhausting length. "Yes, yes . . . ugh . . . very pretty. Very pretty indeed."
"Here, cinch up that doublet better. Not all of the buttons are broken," the duke said after he was finished, had risen and adjusted his breeches, and had freed the lashes of the riding whip he'd used to tie the young man's wrists. "All can be explained by your unfortunate fall. But do walk around a bit and lose that bow-legged stumble—or the rest of the hunting party will gossip when they've come upon us. Which should be soon. I told my lieutenant to hold them back on one excuse or another for a good half hour—and you have such a sweet ass, I almost overlived my time. But you rejuvenate me. I should have made the command an hour. I could have well done with a second—and you could have used that for your education, as well."
"Oh, sire."
"And don't snivel. You were sure to lose your virginity sooner rather than later with those eye lashes and willowy figure of yours. You told me true? I am the first dip of the wick?"
"Yes, my lord," Robert said in a soft, subdued voice. He couldn't look at the duke now. At some point in the taking, it had overwhelmed him and had become near paradise to him. But before and after . . .
"Well, you are honored then. The sword of a duke was first. You'll get no better unless you manage to make your way to the king's bed."
"Yes, my lord," Robert whispered with a near whimper. They both turned their heads at the sound of hoofbeats.
