Now Am I In Arden

A story by Ivor Sukwell and Kyle McKenzie. A story about a boy and a man with all that such entails. The setting is modern and based around the theatre, Not your thing? Sorry about that, we're sure you'll find something that is.  Whatever your choice, please remember Nifty needs your donations.

                                  Now Am I In Arden

                                                   Chapter seventeen

 

I dug out again that book I had bought in a London bookshop because it was, I thought, some sixty years old and had Shakespeare in the title. I'd bought it to help while away the countless seconds when Brat was in Hawaii, but not in another man's bed as I had so mistakenly believed.

It wasn't sixty years old, the copy I had was a later edition of the original, and that original, a work by someone named Colin Still, was almost a hundred years old, not a mere, miserable sixty.

It had intrigued me, given me an idea of how I would do the Tempest if I ever had a chance to do the Tempest, and now that chance was being dangled before me, I read Still's work again. And again.

The idea of that, frequently called `Mystery Play' being exactly that – a play about the ancient mysteries, made so much sense to me that I could see no other way of doing justice to the Sweet Bard of Avon than presenting it as what it was.

Did Sweet Will know exactly what he was writing five hundred years ago? Did it matter if he did or not? He'd written it, and that was all that mattered.

The Mysteries; the Greek ones primarily, the ones we know almost nothing about so closely were their secrets guarded. Their basic theme, echoed in religions and cultures down the ages since man first walked the earth, was simply that, by means of ritual varied, a man must come to know himself. That he did by trial, by being tested. The descent into the underworld, into hell, into the darkness of the soul and then the rise to light by surviving the dawning of self-knowledge.

But before that could happen he had to be lost and found, though he may never know he had been found until he had been in the darkness and risen from it again.

The parallel was unmistakeable, and it hit me like the blow of an empty malt bottle to the back of my head.

I had to do the Tempest; it was my destiny.

Brat had to play Ariel; that was his destiny.

Brat was downstairs in the basement play room. It wasn't quite the same play room it had been before; the `silver lining' that Mr Bertowski had screwed out of the Herald for me meant that financial worries were a thing of the past and I'd added a couple of new items. Not items for sexual entertainment, though I made no pretence of not enjoying watching Brat using them, but items for physical fitness purposes.
An actor, whatever anyone outside the business may think, has to be fit and to keep fit, so Brat now had a rowing machine and a fitness bike to work out on.

Mid sixteen, nudging towards seventeen, Brat had developed an additional interest in his body, given up longing for the fourteen year old elfin waif he had once been, who had seduced me from the old, loveless virgin I had once been, and concentrated now on providing himself with as perfect a body of a boy of sixteen and moving towards seventeen could get, knowing full well that he had the same, if different, physical and sexual allure for me that he had when first he came into my life.

"Know it's not fourteen anymore," he would wickedly grin when he presented his freshly exercised, sweaty body to my admiring gaze, "But it still makes your old cock go hard, doesn't it!"

And indeed it did!

He was still slender, just more of him. No bulging muscles, no bodybuilders' six pack, just perfect, healthy boy.

And he still fitted on my lap.

I wasn't watching him this time, not that he had any cares now that I was watching him; that spectre had been exorcised in our own, private, soul-shredding auto de fe by rattan cane and would never return. Nor would the cane. Symbolically we had broken that in two and each fed a half into the log fire in the lounge, and kissed long and passionately as it burned.

Something like Prospero's staff, I idly thought, though burned and not buried deep in the earth as his was.

The timer on the exercise bike beeped and I gratefully decreased my pace, slowing the speed from a sprint to something more steady and kept that up for the next few minutes to warm down my muscles.

My body was changing, and while part of me still wanted to be the boy Mr Williams had fallen in love with, I quite liked the transformation. I was adult sized now, still slim but no longer a `boy' but an older teen with a slim waist and flesh on the arms and legs which had once been stick thin.

"Hey," Mr Williams was in the kitchen making coffee and I gave him a slight kiss on the cheeks as I passed him on my way to fridge. I lived here full time now, slept in his bed every night and was for all intents and purposes in a relationship with him. We were still discrete about it, Rich did not want another scandal about his personal life which I understood, but in the privacy of his house there was no need to pretend.

Mum was mostly cool about it, only asking me if Rich and I were now boyfriends and not enquiring when it had started. I had told her it was complex but I loved him, and she had left it at that.

Was I his `boyfriend'? I didn't really think of myself as that, the age difference between us making it sound weird as well as the idea of Richard Williams having a boyfriend still sounding unlikely. Instead I thought of myself as his `boy', not in a creepy bondage sense, but more in a look up to him and value his advice and guidance, as well as wanting to be in his bed way.

"What have you got planned for today?" Rich handed me a mug of coffee and I ran a hand through my sweaty hair. I needed to call Mum and check-in with her but would have to wait for a few hours due to the time difference.

I hadn't been totally surprised when she and Steve had started seeing each other, in Hawaii they had become quite good friends by bonding over parents' stuff, but I had been a bit shocked when she told me she was thinking of spending the next few months in California with him. Her work had an office there and were happy for her to transfer there for a bit, and with me not in the house it was hard for me to think of a reason to object.

Well there obviously was one reason, and I had confronted Steve directly about it when he was in London. In his usual brusque way he had told me boys my age could be fun for an afternoon or so, but he was only interested in a relationship with a woman his own age. I was a bit put out that he had only wanted to shag me as another notch on his bedpost, but as that was all I had seen him as, I couldn't sulk too much about it.

"Have you concluded attempting to further transform the body of the elfin satyr that seduced me from the ways of boring conventionality, into that of an Eros masked in the flesh of a youthful Adonis?" I knew he wouldn't be offended by the reference to his inevitable aging process. We'd both accepted that he was no longer fourteen, could never again be fourteen, and once that had been firmly fixed in my mind I was free to adore the later teen body he now inhabited.

Age is in the mind - an obvious triteness, but true nevertheless. Brat would be seventeen in the summer, but in bed, and frequently out of bed, he was still fourteen in the sense that he never lessened in the enjoyment he gained from his body.

He liked it that I thought of him as a boy still, ignored that he was maturing. He loved getting me to spank him because he had been 'naughty', and he'd got me round to enjoying him being 'naughty' from time to time.

He loved me revelling in the glory of his flesh, all of his flesh, no bits left secret and untouched, and, most important of all, he had forgiven me for leaving him a virgin for so long.

"Glad really," he admitted, true with the help of weed and something to drink, one naked evening on my lap, "You didn't do it earlier. I was desperate for it, but glad it waited till we both understood that it had to happen for us to be properly together. That you never fucked me just cos you wanted a boy to fuck."

I did want Brat to fuck now, though. 'Once in and never want to not go in again' was what I thought about his bum now, but not simply for a fuck. What we did was so much more than fuck.

"Got to decide soon, if you're going to do Ariel," I said. "I'm not going to miss out on doing the Tempest, but up to you if you want to do it with me or not."

"I know, I know," I took a sip of the coffee and added more milk.

"I spoke to the agency yesterday and they don't want to rush me into anything, so they think it's a good idea as well." A main role in such a prestigious setting would be great for my profile, and working with a bigger cast on a longer running production would be good experience. A few other big name actors had been mooted for the main roles, and being part of an `A list' cast would cement my own position in the industry.

"Will people start asking questions about us again though?" So far my living with Rich hadn't really been commented on. My Mum was out of the country and he, as a family friend, was looking after me. There were rumours, I had reluctantly been convinced that there would always be rumours, but I was worried those would increase and become more intrusive if I worked for him again.

"Don't give a spunkless fuck if there are," I started frying some bacon. It was amazing, I grinned to myself, how being with Brat had increased my range of imagery. "You're legal now, and, believe me, no-one's going to try to resurrect that sordid paper business. Mr Bertwoski still breathes, and whilst he does, going there would be far too expensive for anyone to wish to contemplate." I flipped over the bacon and added scrambled eggs.

"Director doesn't do the casting at that place, so if they want to offer you Ariel it will be because they think you can do it, and not because I have been previously engaged as director.

You don't get the really big names there anymore, but you do get some more than decent actors who know their trade. And ....." pause for emphasis, "More than one stellar name showed what brightness they had by playing there before they really started to shine."

We talked idly while we ate our naked breakfast, about the weather and if England would ever produce a football team capable of beating anyone stronger than the Isle of Wight,

"People will talk, Brat, that's the nature of our business. And, know what? I don't care if they really do have something to talk about. I would be actually very proud if the whole damned world knew you were my boy."

Brat spat out a mouthful of his second cup of coffee, and sat there, mouth wide open.

"But..." my voice trailed off.

How could I explain it to him without hurting his feelings? I would love for us to be able to walk around hand in hand without attracting stares, for us to have been able to do that since I first met him, but that wasn't how the world worked.

"It's just, you know, I've been around you since I was fourteen. I'm legal now but people, you know, they will put two and two together." I was worried about him, thinking his bullish, don't give a fuck, attitude would get him into trouble. If people did start to point fingers he would be the one in the firing line.

"You would have to treat me like any other cast member," I told him, "so it's clear I'm just there as an actor and not cos I'm your boy."

"I know, my Brat," I sighed, "That is just me being selfish, I do know that. I'm thinking of me and how a boy brought me to life. Not thinking of the boy and the years he has ahead of him. You'll move on from me one day, Brat," I held up a hand to stop him from interrupting, "We both know that's as inevitable as morning following night. I just want to bask in the sun while it's still shining, that's all."

True. In part. I didn't want the sun to stop shining at all.

"And remember the first thing you did for me? Get any special treatment there, did you?"

I laughed, "Only especially mean treatment from a horrible old ogre." He knew I was joking and laughed along with me.

"I'll call the agency this afternoon and tell them I'm doing it." That was how things worked now, they would work out all the details and let me get on with the acting.

"So I assume you will be wanting me to start running through the lines straight away even though I'm not getting paid yet" I gave him a smirk to show I was joking.

"No you won't," I corrected him. "First you will get a call through to Mr Monk, and tell him that you'd like to do it. Any other way and it will mean going through audition casting. Let Mr Monk decide if he wants you, wants you for Ariel only, or if he has ideas about using you in any of the other plays in the rep. That place engages actors for the season as a rule, not for a single play in that season.

Then, if he wants you, and, by the way I've already told him I wish to take him up on his offer for me, we will look at the play and at how I want to do it. When that's all sorted in my head, it'll be up there and talk it over with the boss. See if he goes along with my ideas.

Meanwhile, if you've got nothing planned for the next hour or so, it looks to me as though you have a cock in need of sucking, and if that is the case, may I be of any assistance?"

"I'll call him this afternoon." I helped Rich tidy away the breakfast stuff and then gave him a sly look.

"It's not just my cock that needs attention though, and I thought you had plans to fuck me bent over that table."

He may be bigger, chronologically older, but his dirty mind hung on as hard as it could to his fourteen year old desires. I loved him for that!

"Wanting such a disgraceful thing to happen," I said slowly, "Could be construed as being naughty. Very naughty."

"Well I am a very naughty boy," I smirked at him, leaning back on the table so everything was on display. "Maybe you should bend me over the table and teach me to behave."

"Maybe I should." Brat was flaunting his cock. Cock flaunting was not an unusual thing for Brat to do, even more so because he knew very well how much I enjoyed him flaunting it.

Not fully upright, but still a hand and mouth demanding item, that could not be resisted. Resisted it was not. Semi, it nestled warmly in my hand, stirring a little as we then tasted each others' breakfast.

Not the right time now, to go down and get the paddle, that would break the spell, and my searching eyes spotted a perfect alternative, a long handled, flat headed wooden spoon intended for use on non-stick pans, but promising another, very satisfactory alternative use.

Brat's eyes gave a wicked gleam when he watched me selecting it from the rack where it lived.

"Oh please, Mr Williams, I'll be a good boy." The giggling tone of my voice made it clear I would be no such thing, and my cock twitched at the idea of him using a kitchen implement to spank me while I was bent over the kitchen table.

"I know I've been a naughty boy, but please don't spank me."

"I can think of no other way of making your bum blush at your naughtiness." I held the implement close to his face, allowing him to fully appreciate the sting that it would deliver to him, a sting I knew would be exactly what he wanted, and would probably make him spunk before my cock got anywhere near his hole.

I licked my lips looking at it, the sight of a simple wooden kitchen spoon somehow incredibly erotic.

"Kindly adopt the position," delivered in a parody of a nineteenth century public school master, and waited till he bent himself over the table, his hands gripping the further edge.

Slowly I wiped the cold head of the spoon over his bum, just to get him in the right mood.

"Please sir, not too hard." I pretended to sniff like a scared schoolboy though my cock was hard. The table wasn't a particularly comfortable piece of furniture to be bent over, but that somehow made what we were doing all the more exciting.

"Fear not, young man," I schoolmastered, "There are none within hearing to acquaint themselves with your discomfort. Should you wish to vocally express your appreciation of the punishment you so richly deserve, I assure you, it will cause me no displeasure."

"Yes sir," I mumbled like a naughty schoolboy resigned to my fate, then an idea struck me.

"Sir, if you don't spank me too hard maybe I can do you a favour. The upper sixth boys say you like having your cock sucked, I'll suck it if you go easy on me!" I tried to keep a straight face but couldn't quite manage it, letting out a small giggle as I hoped my words would have the opposite effect on what was about to happen.

"Wickedness added to naughtiness," stroking his bum with the spoon head. "What was to be six must now be twelve." Breaking the game he'd initiated, I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "A suck would be lovely a little later."

"You'd get that anyway," I confided, wriggling my bum a bit to get as comfortable as possible.

"For that," I grinned, though he couldn't see that grin in the position he was in, "I will do you a small favour. I will do you the kindness of allowing you to request when punishment should cease. It may be that you will feel twelve to be insufficient to bring about the correct level of understanding of your behaviour."

"I have been a very naughty boy sir," I put my head down as if I was thoroughly ashamed of my behaviour, which of course could not have been further from the truth.

"You have," I agreed, "And I am delighted by your behaviour."

The first swipe of the spoon made him tense, and his bum cheek quiver delightfully. It produced as gasp, but no more than a gasp, and it wasn't until number five that he did more than gasp, and squealed a little instead. At eight the squeals became yells, and eleven and twelve produced very loud yells indeed.

Twelve delivered, but, surprisingly no signs of an orgasm. His bum, though, was a wonderful shade of red.

The wooden spoon certainly smarted, but unlike the cane it didn't burn me in agony. Instead it left my bum feeling sore and uncomfortable, but in a horny way which was actually quite exciting.

"I think I need four more sir, sixteen for being a sixteen year old who still needs to be spanked for being naughty."

I gave him a look over my shoulder and saw that his cock was hard. "I know it's naughty but I want you to fuck me, I won't tell the headmaster I promise."

"No worries there," and there weren't - Brat was going to be fucked; fucked bent over the kitchen table, my hands gripping his still slender hips and his bum bright, stinging red, just like in my fantasy.

"Yell, for me," yell because I knew being spanked hard was his fantasy, and hearing him enjoy his fantasy was what I wanted, so I could enjoy mine.

I cried out loudly as he struck me four more times, alternating between my already sore bum cheeks. I didn't need to act as his application of the wooden spoon really hurt, though unlike the cane it did not reduce me to a sobbing mess.

Brat winced and whimpered when I buttered him up, literally because I didn't keep lube in the kitchen, and winced again when I went into him.

It still wasn't an easy, porn video entry just slipping straight inside, but neither was it the fighting struggle it had been the first time. There had been a number of times since that first, and though there was resistance it was only a little and then I was wonderfully inside him.

I had no idea if having a red, stinging bum enhanced things for him or not, doubtless he'd tell me later. But fucking him bent over the kitchen table, my hands on his hips pulling and pushing him onto me was all my fantasy had dreamed of.

"Fuck me, fuck me!" Rich used his hands to guide my body back and forward as he thrust and withdrew his cock, and being pushed and pulled onto and off his dick was incredibly erotic.

"Harder! Harder!" He seemed more than happy to do that to me and removed one hand from my hip to place firmly in the centre of my back and pin me flat to the table.

"Fuck me like a slut!" I heard myself shout that one, but was too far gone to be embarrassed by it.

"Love you my Brat," I cuddled him in close, fuck ended, "And love it when you let yourself go and be the dirty, filthy, slutty boy we both know you are." He snigger snuffled into my shoulder. He'd brought me an awful long way from the sexually frightened man I had been; in a way he had brought out the fourteen year old buried once deep inside.

There was a little cleaning up to do, spunk on the table where I had fucked it out of him, and buttery spunk leaking from him because, as we had agreed from that very first time, no latex should come between us.

"Love you too Rich." I didn't usually use his first name, somehow he was always Mr Williams, but right now it felt natural.

I could feel buttery cum between my bum cheeks and knew his spunk was leaking out of me, and reluctantly headed upstairs for a shower.

 

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