Sweet Gum Tree
By John Yager
The following story is a work of gay erotic fiction dealing with sexual relationships between men and boys of high school age. If such stories are not to your liking or if you are not of legal age to read such stories in your jurisdiction, please exit now.
This is a work of fiction and in no ways draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.
This work is copyrighted ã by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
This is the eighth in a series of interrelated stories appearing under the collective title, Montgomery Hall. While it is expected that the individual stories will stand independently, they should be more enjoyable if read as a group. If you wish to receive e-mail notification of subsequent posting, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.
It was late on Wednesday afternoon, really moving into the evening, when Tim came out the door from the White Room and down the three brick steps into the little walled garden where Martin lay on the chase lounge, absorbing the last rays of the sun. Both Martin and Tim were naked. Ben, clothed in his "informal" daytime uniform, looked down at the two younger men who had become the collective focus of his love.
The day had gone well. Dave and Monty had worked with Martin and Tim from about eight until noon, when they were again picked up by their mother and taken off to their tennis and swimming lessons at the country club. Martin and Tim had their afternoon routine mastered and were able to finish the fourth rose bed by three o'clock. Working four rose beds each day had been their goal and they had been able to achieve that objective each day Ann Cutler, Martin's mother, had been away.
Ann was due back late tonight and Martin knew she would be pleased with their progress.
During the morning, as Tim and Dave had worked together trimming the roses and Martin and Monty had been the clean-up crew, Dave had continued to pester Tim with questions about Martin and what had been going on between him and Tim.
There had been something in Tim's demeanor, his subdued quietness and his reticence to talk, which had convinced Dave that his Uncle Martin and Tim, had in deed, entered into some sort of physical relationship. But it soon became clear to Dave that Tim was not going to talk about it, at least not yet. "Maybe," Dave thought, "after Uncle Martin goes back to New York on Sunday, I can get Tim to tell me what went on."
By three, when Martin and Tim had finished the fourth bed, they were both exhausted. Neither of them had slept much the night before and both expected that the approaching night would be as active. So it was not too surprising that when Martin suggested a nap, that Tim agreed.
"I do mean a nap, Tim. We both need to get a little sleep."
"I know," Tim had said, "I really understand.
But when they had gotten to the White Room, Tim had argued successfully for a shower with Martin. They were both very hot and very sweaty and Tim agreed they needed to clean up and cool off before trying to rest. So they had showered together and Tim had behaved himself, more or less. He had insisted on lathering the cool citrus shower gel over Martin's muscular body and Martin, in turn, had done the same for Tim. Of course in seconds they were both erect, but wisdom won out and they postponed any actual sex until they had given their bodies the rest they both so badly needed.
"Can we at least sleep naked, Marty?" Tim had begged as they went from bath to bedroom.
"If you'll behave. I really want to sleep a while."
"I promise," Tim had said. I just want to snuggle up against you and, besides, I'm as tired as you are."
So they had slept, really slept, for three hours, nestled together like two young pups.
When Ben had come quietly into the room it was a little before seven and the light was raking across the room, casting patterns of white and gold across the two magnificent forms twisted together in the big old bed.
"You awake, boy," Ben had whispered as he bent down to Martin's ear.
Martin opened his eyes and smiled. "Yeah. I just didn't want to move and wake Tim."
Well, it's almost seven. Do you boys want to eat?"
"I guess we should." He rolled over a little and Tim moaned his complaints.
"How you doing, lover?" Martin said, his voice low and caring.
"Dreaming. Great dreams. If you make me wake up you'll have to fuck me for real."
"Well, that might be arranged. Ben's here and wants to know if we want supper."
"Hi, Ben," the muscular teenager said as he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.
"Evening, sleeping beauty," Ben smiled as he looked down at the boy, his cock ridged and his body golden in the slanting light. "You mama called about five o'clock. I told her you was napping and she said to have you call home when you get's up."
"Oh, I meant to call her last night," Tim said, coming more awake.
"Yeah, I think something kind of made you forget to do that," Martin grinned.
"Yeah, kind of," Tim grinned back.
"Well, you gets you selfs up and I'll gets you supper." Ben said as he turned to leave. "And don't forget to call you mama, boy," he called back from the door.
"Call us when you're ready, Ben. I think we should come to the kitchen and eat with you tonight."
"Such as you please. I'll get you when I is ready."
Tim did call his mother and learned that all was well in Greenwood. She had been busy with preparations for her fall classes and Tim's dad had remained in Memphis for meetings and then for some research of his own at one of the libraries there. He was now planning on coming home late Friday afternoon and would pick Tim up at Montgomery Hall on his way.
Martin mustered the energy to move from the bed to the chaise lounge in the walled garden off the White Room. He stretched, loosening his knotted muscles and then lay down, still naked, in the raking light and promptly dozed off again.
Back in the White Room, Tim sat on the side of the big bed. He, too was still naked and the white telephone receiver head against his ear. "Oh no, Mom. I don't mind, it has been great staying here." There was a pause as he listened to her descriptions of her own busy days and Tim's father's plans to return on Friday evening. "That will be great. Just let me know when Dad expects to get here so I can be ready. Oh, and Mom, the Cutlers are having a picnic here Saturday afternoon and have asked us all to come." He fondled the stone peach which lay on the bedside table, his gift to Martin. "Her son is here from New York and is going back Sunday. It's a sort of for him I guess." As he listened to his mother's response Ben knocked softly and then came back into the room. "Okay, Mom. See you Friday. Love you, too." Then turning as Ben walked across the large room, Tim said, "Hi Ben. What's going on?"
"Need to ask you boys about supper and I got a message for Martin from his mama."
"Come on, he went out in the garden," Tim said. The boy picked up a bottle of lotion as he rose from the bed and walked ahead of Ben toward the door. Ben couldn't help notice the splendid form of the boy's body and the natural grace, an athlete's grace, with which he moved.
Ben took the opportunity to pull the sheets up on the rumpled bed and then followed the boy.
"Yes, Tim is a man, all right," Ben thought as he looked out into the little garden where Tim now sat on the side of the lounge, rubbing suntan lotion into the glowing skin of Martin's back. "And for sure he's more a man today than he was on Monday," Ben thought, but for him it was still difficult to think of Tim as anything other than The Boy, a golden marvel of a boy, an angel of a boy. In his own mind all those thoughts and more were wrapped around his growing love for Tim.
As the older black man walked out into the little private garden he thought again that having Tim with them was like having back the boy Martin had been. For Ben it was a kind of marvel, and one for which he was deeply grateful.
Both Martin and Tim were blond and had the kinds of hard, well-muscled bodies which only long hours on the playing field and the weight room can produce. There were differences, of course, but they almost looked like brothers, the oldest and youngest of siblings, perhaps. If fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Martin was the scion of an old and respected Mississippi family while Tim was the son of a college professor and a public school teacher. He had been born in Indiana and brought south by his parents a little more than a decade ago.
"Martin, you sleeping or just playing `possum?"
"Um, awake, Ben, but don't tell Tim.
He might stop doing with he's doing."
"Well, you listen to me. You mama called. She say she getting home late, real late tonight. She say you just go to bed, don't go waiting up for her and she see you for breakfast in the morning."
"Okay, Ben. Do we need to put Tim's stuff in the bedroom up stairs? I guess we should at least make it look like he's been sleeping there."
"I did that already. His bag in on the bureau and some of his things is in the drawers. What he be needing is still in the White Room, same as before."
"Thank you, Ben, you are always way ahead of me.
"Not a problem, Martin. I just need to know about supper. It struck me as you boys been eaten kind of light, what with all the exercise you been getting."
"You talking about the rose gardens, Ben, or our sex life?" Martin teased.
"Well, maybe both. But I gots three good looking steaks ready for the grill if you think you can playing with each other long enough for a proper mean."
"Oh, that sounds great, Ben," Tim volunteered before Martin could respond.
"Well, the growing boy has spoken, Ben. Steaks it is."
"Good, you give me `bout an hour. I just put some potatoes in to bake. We can eat down by the pool and I'll even let you get away with just wearing bathing suits if we is going to be informal."
"We'll see you there, Ben." And with that the older man retraced his steps through the White Room and back into the main block of the beautiful old house.
When he had gone Tim quickly moved over Martin, teasing him with his lotion slick hands. He ran them down over Martin's firm buttocks and let his fingers stray into the cleft of the older man's ass. He paused is his fingers touched Martin's rosebud and pushed in a little, teasingly."
"You thinking what I think you're thinking, boy?" Martin groaned.
"Probably not, just seeing if you were really awake."
"You don't want to fuck me?"
"I will if you want, but I'd really rather have you in me."
"Well, that sounds very tempting, too." Martin rolled over onto his back, revealing a very erect penis. "How about one now and one later, appetizers and desert with Ben's steaks in between ?"
"Ummm," Tim moaned as his lips were already encircling the generous head of Martin's pulsing cock.
He was getting very good, Martin thought as the boy's lips sank lower and lower down the shaft. Tim moved around a little, repositioning himself for a better angle of approach, all without ever abandoning Martin's cock, without ever removing it complete from his mouth. Once aligned, he sank down again, for the first time taking the entire length of it deep into his throat as his nose and lips pressed into the golden pubic hair which surrounded it.
"You keep that up, young man, and I won't last long enough to fuck you."
Tim rose up off Martin's cock and grinned at him. "I just wanted to try that again. I think I've got it now."
"I'd say so. From virgin to deep throat in three days. You trying for some Boy Scout merit badge or something?"
"No, but it was kind of a challenge," Tim said with a sly grin. Martin started to get up but Tim stopped him. "No, stay there."
Tim squeezed a generous puddle of the lotion into the palm of his hand and ran it smoothly over Martin's cock. He quickly applied more to his finger tips and probed his own ass, leaving it slick and ready. Then as he moved up to straddle Martin's body, the older man said, "Hey, mister, slow down there."
"I want you like this, Marty, nothing between us."
"You fucking me without a condom probably isn't too dangerous but I'm not all that comfortable the other way around."
Tim had one strong hand planted firmly in the center of Martin's chest, pressing him down onto the lounge, as his other hand positioned Martin's cock, aiming it directly at his own ass. "You said you were tested."
"So, like you told me, this isn't your call. Just think of it as me raping you."
"Oh, god, Tim," Martin moaned as he felt Tim's lithe body press down over the head of his fiery cock.
"I want to feel it, Marty," the boy said, his voice subdued as he concentrated all his attention on the effort he was making. "I want to know what if feels like when you come in me."
Martin moaned again as Tim continued to impale himself on his lover's cock, sliding down with slow but steady progress until he was setting firmly on Martin's belly and his cock was embedded deep in the boy's bowel.
Both men moaned. The light crept down a little lower so that as Martin looked up, wide-eyed into Tim's handsome face, only his upper chest and shoulders and head were now illuminated by the sun, giving him a golden glow. The boys leaned back, arching his back. He moaned, his voice leaving his gaping mouth as an almost animal growl. "Oh, yeah, Marty, oh fuck."
Tim lifted his body up, allowing Martin's cock to almost leave him, then slammed back down again, ramming it home like a piston in the cylinder of a powerful engine.
"Oh, yeah," he moaned again as he repeated the action again and again, sending shock waves through his own body and Martins.
Tim's ass was on fire. Martin's cock pounded across the boy's prostate, raked back and pounded in again and again, sending wave after wave of pure pleasure charging to every nerve in his body. His adrenaline levels soured and he began to shake with a trimmer from an overload of the natural drug.
Martin was moaning now, too, his own body reaching critical mass, moving into final stage arousal.
Tim arched forward, causing the angle of penetration to change, bringing his mouth to Martin's, devouring it. Both men moaned as their bodies merged. Then it happened. Tim's sphincter clenched, sending neurons to his brain. Semen ripped from him, catapulting onto Martin's chest The clenching of the boy's ring around Martin's own pulsing cock sent him over the edge. He shot volley after volley of his own seed into the deep, secret places of Tim's gut.
The boy's eyes jerked open and he stared wide-eyed into Martin's eyes.
"Oh, god," Tim moaned, still not believing it.
He collapsed onto Martin's chest, totally spent.
It was only a few minutes later that Martin roused the spent boy lying on his chest. "I hate to bother you, kiddo, but we did tell Ben we'd show up for dinner in an hour."
"Is it time already?"
"Not quite, but don't you think we should hit the shower first."
"Probably," Tim agreed, rising up a little. Martin's spent cock slid from him with a bit of a pop, followed by a trickle of the older man's seed. Tim looked startled and then grabbed for the towel Martin had brought out with him.
"Don't be embarrassed, it's normal."
"Yeah? I thought it would stay in me, you know, be absorbed into my body, you becoming a part of me."
"Nice thought. I guess some does, but most of it always seem to run out when you least expect it."
"Let's hit the shower."
They bathed quickly, lathering their bodies and then rinsing in the cool shower. Afterward they pulled on bathing suits.
"No shirts, no shoes?" Tim asked.
"Nope, Ben said so. Let's take towels though."
"Figuring on getting in the pool after dinner? Didn't your folks tall you all those tales about getting cramps if you went swimming after eating?"
"Yeah, they did, and I more or less proved those tales true last Sunday evening," Martin said as they strolled out toward the patio by the swimming pool.
"No kidding? I wish I'd been there to save you."
"Well, actually, Ben did sort of pull me out of the pool."
"I bet that was fun."
"To be honest, that's how our little secession got started." Martin paused and looked at Tim. "You're not jealous are you."
"I sort of feel like I should be, like I really want to be jealous, but I'm really not. That doesn't mean I don't love you, Marty." Again they both grinned.
"Well, we covered that in Lesson One. If we can love more than one person at one time we shouldn't get too upset when someone we love and who loves us back, also loves someone else."
"I know," Tim said. "And I guess I really feel that way about Ben. But I have a feeling that if it was some one other than Ben I might have a hard time with it."
"For now, Young Tim," Martin said as he pulled the younger man into a warm embrace, "Ben is the only other love in my life." He grinned at Tim, who grinned back. Then they kissed.
"You know, we're going to have to watch that after tonight," Tim said as they broke apart. "With your mother around, I mean."
"No, I think I'd sort of like to keep I up, just to see how she'd react."
"You are kidding, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess," Martin smiled, "but it is tempting."
"Well, I have a more interesting situation to ask you about."
"Oh, Tim, what's that?"
"Well, you know your mother is having that picnic Saturday. I guess it's a sort of farewell party for you, right."
"Yep, that's what I've been told."
"Well, you know she invited me and my folks."
"I figured she might."
"Dave told me today that she'd called his mom to see how Betsy was doing mentioned it to her."
"Are you all coming?"
"I guess so. Mom's going to ask Dad when he calls her tonight."
"Great, I'd like to get to know your folks."
"Yeah, I was hoping you would. But here's the interesting part."
"Dave said the de Preys are all coming, too."
"Oh, now I see. You are okay with Ben but you aren't too anxious to see me hanging out with Jimmy."
"I was sort of wondering if I should bring my Dad's gun."
"No, don't do that. I don't want to be coming to some state prison asking for permission for conjugal rights for the rest of my life."
"Does that mean you expect to keep on seeing me for the rest of your life?"
"The only one who could stop me would be you, Tim."
"Wow, that's kind of heavy, Marty, but I love it. I love you."
"I know, you keep telling me." He squeezed the boy's butt and added, "and just so there aren't any misunderstandings, I love you, too."
"And Ben and Jimmy and ..." he trailed off with a grin as Martin threatened to administer a rather hard slap to his back side.
"Take me as you found me, sir, or don't take me at all."
"Well, for the time being, I guess I don't have any choice." He grinned again, with an especially mischievous look in his eyes. "Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd take me."
"I thought I had, buster."
"Well," he was silent for a moment and the grin was gone. "I mean forcibly."
"You boys brought towels, I see." Ben said, looking up from the grill. "I didn't think you'd be thinking that far ahead so I left a couple on the verandah for you, too."
Ben was putting the finishing touches on another one of his masterpiece meals. Their conversation changed, droppings the issue of multiple loves and forcible sex, moving on to issues which Ben would be more comfortable discussing. When the meal ended none of them rose, preferring instead to enjoy their peaceful fellowship. The evening progressed from twilight into a deep indigo night. Martin leaned back in his chair, silent as Tim and Ben talked quietly about plans for Saturday night.
"You awfully quite, Martin," Ben said when he noticed Martin's silence.
"Just thinking, Ben."
"Oh, yeah? What about?"
"Well, the night ahead, for starters, and" he added looking up, "about the night sky. You can never see the stars like this in New York."
"No, suppose not." Ben looked around at the dark which had closed in around them. "You boys going for a swim?"
"Want to, Tim?" Martin said, reaching out to squeeze the boy's muscular arm. It was a surprisingly cool night but a swim could still be nice.
"Sounds great. It's been long enough since we finished eating." Tim looked over at the older man and said, "Will you come in with us, Ben?"
"No, not much for swimming. I'm gona take these dishes in if I can trust you two not to drown without me watching."
"We'll be okay, Ben, but you leave that stuff and we'll bring it later."
"You boys get. I want to do up these dishes and then I'm a going to bed. Remember you mama is coming home tonight."
"I remember, Ben. Thanks." They all rose and put the dishes onto a try and Ben left them carrying all the remains of their meal. Martin walked over to one of the chaise lounges and stretched out.
"I though we were getting in the pool," Tim said, following Martin.
"We will, but stretch out with me for a minute."
"That lounge is too narrow for both of us."
"Not if you lay on top of me. Come here." Martin spread his legs and patted to the space between them. "Come on, sit here. Good, now lean back against my chest."
Tim did so, lying back so his head rested on the cleft between Martin's pectoral muscles and Martin's arms enfolded him. "There, isn't that nice?"
"Yeah, it is."
"Now, look up at those stars I was commenting on."
"Yeah, they're beautiful. There really are thousands of them."
"I like to sleep in our back yard in the summer, you know, looking up at the sky."
"Yeah, I used to do the same thing. It makes you feel very insignificant, doesn't it?"
"I guess so, unless you believe it was all made for us, then it makes you feel very important."
"Is that what you believe, Tim?"
"Tonight I do, all of it made just for you and me."
"What are you telling me, Tim?"
"Nothing you don't already know."
"You love me."
"You know I love you."
"Yep, that too."
"So what do you propose we do about it?"
"Well, for starters, we make love out here tonight, under all our stars."
"That sounds good."
"Yeah. And then when you go home to New York we try to find a way to be together again as soon as possible."
"Yeah. And then as soon as we can, we find a way to be together all the time."
"Is that what you want?"
"Yeah, all the time, Martin, for the rest of my life."
"Yep, Wow!" Tim said as he wiggled around in Martin's arms, bring his face up so that their lips met in a slow and tender and very long kiss. When them broke slowly apart, Tim rose and stood at the foot of the lounge. He looked out at the dark water of the pool, the reflected stars dancing in its slowly undulating surface. Then he turned and faced Martin. A rather depraved thought was brewing deep in the back of his head. "You look like a god lying there."
"And you look like a god standing there."
"I want you in me, Martin."
"I'd like that, too, but even though you were on top, don't you think what we did an hour or so ago amounted to me being in you?"
"What does that have to do with me wanting you in me now?"
"Well, for one thing, how much can your cute ass take, and for another, we don't have condoms with us. I know we didn't last time either, but every time is a risk, Tim, and I don't feel good putting you at any risk at all."
"It's my call, too, Martin, and I'm willing to take it. The risk I mean," he grinned and then went on. "I'm willing to take your cock as well."
"Such a funny guy."
"Well, it's true, you know."
"Tim, I keep reading about HIV rates rising among younger gay men. They don't take the precautions guys my age have come to accept as normal. Do you think you're immortal or something?"
"Tim grinned again and said, "I said you were a god."
"You said I look like a god. There is a difference. Look, Tim, if you knew how many friends I've lost you wouldn't be so nonchalant about safe sex."
"I'm not nonchalant about it, Martin. I wouldn't take risks with guys I don't know."
"And you think knowing me makes it safe?"
"You said yourself that you'd been tested regularly."
"Okay, buster, examination time."
"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"Don't be cute, not that kind of exam."
"Seriously, question number one; how long does it take for a person who has been exposed to HIV to show up positive on a blood test?"
"I don't know exactly. We talked about it in health class. I think it was something like three months."
"It can be longer, Tim, a lot longer. Question number two; can you get exposed while using a condom?"
"I know that. Yes, you can but you cut the risk way down by using them."
"But you don't eliminate it. Question number three; which of the following are safe without a condom, a. anal, b. oral, c. manual."
"I guess you're gona say none of the above, right?
"Yeah, more or less."
"But manual isn't much of a risk unless you have an open sore or cut and oral is more or less the same, you have to have an open sore in your mouth to get exposed."
"So are you saying that leaves anal?"
"Well, I know it's the most risky, Marty, but what about your first question? How long has it been since you were tested?'
"Just two weeks ago."
"And how long before that?"
"About six months."
"How much unsafe sex have you had in, oh, let's say the last year?"
"Well, none. At least not until I came across a horny blond kid in Mississippi."
"And we know I'm negative, right?"
"Well, yeah. In theory at least."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I want you to fuck me. If you're going to get huffy about it, we can go back to your room and use a condom. I kind of like the idea of you taking me out here under all these stars. If you won't do it here without a condom, I'll run back and get one."
"'Take' you? Just exactly what do you mean by that, Tim."
"I want your cock in my ass now. I want it hard and I want it rough. What if I got naked and started running back toward the lake, across the lawns, toward the trees."
"Well, what if you chased me and took me down with one of those All American Old Miss tackles of yours?"
"And then you rolled me over in the grass and spread my legs and shoved my knees up against my shoulders and fucked me crazy."
"Quite a little fantasy you've got going there, boy."
"Doesn't need to be a fantasy. I want you to take me, Martin, take me hard. I want you to rape my ass and hold me down and keep it in me `till I try to scream for help but I can't `cause you have your shorts shoved in my mouth. I want to know what it's like to have a man like you make me your boy, your slut."
"Tim," Martin said, realizing he was a little shocked, "what happened to all that gentle, caring conversation we were having about love?"
"I do love you, Martin. I think you may really love me. And maybe tomorrow, or maybe a year from now, I'll feel like turning the tables on you and being the master and you being the slave. But right now I just feel so good being filled with you, having you in me, your body merging into mine, taking over, possessing me. I want to play that out, know all about it."
"You aren't afraid of tapping into the Dark Side here, Tim?"
"No, Martin, don't you see? If it was anyone else it really would be rape. I'd be scared to death and I'd use every ounce of strength I had to fight them off. But it's not anyone else. It's you, Martin, and I trust you and love you and know that I can let myself go with you and you will never really hurt me. But you will let me see what that's all about, what it's like to be sixteen and taken and controlled and mastered by a living, breathing god."
"Shall I start running?"
Martin looked at the sleek, muscular boy standing in front of him. Looking up at Tim from his recumbent position on the lounge, he thought that his muscular body looked like a painting by a Mannerist master, El Greco, perhaps, or Guercino.
"There's a lot more to rough sex than just the physical stuff."
"It's head games, Tim, control, power, psychological mastery. All that.
"Go get the condoms."
"Oh, gees, Martin, can't you just ..."
"Did you hear me?"
"We'll play, boy, but it won't be acting according to your silly script. If you want to know what it's like to be mastered, you don't get to call the shots. And remember, it's not rape if you agree to it. Now, go get the condoms."
Tim looked blank for a full thirty seconds. Then he took off like a shot. Within three minutes he was back, holding out the foil packets to the older man. Martin nodded toward the foot of the lounge on which he still lay and Tim dropped them between Martin's outstretched legs.
"Now, get that bathing suit off."
Tim slowly slid his bathing suite down his legs and tossed it onto an adjacent chair. "Oh, god," Martin thought, "he is fucking beautiful!"
"Turn around and look at the pool." Tim did as he had been told, looking down into the dark water.
"What do you see?"
"The dark water and the stars reflecting in it."
"Yes, Tim, dive into the stars."
"Are you coming?"
"That's not for you ask. Dive it."
Tim poised his sleek body on the edge of the pool, curled his toes over the stone edging and dove. He felt as if he was hurling himself into the unknown, into the rest of his life, into eternity. The water was shockingly cold. He had expected it to be warm after the heat of the day and the sun's rays it had absorbed.
He came up sputtering about a third of the pool's length away.
"It's freezing, Martin!" he called as he headed for the ladder at the near end.
"Did I tell you to get out?"
"No," Tim sputtered, stopping mid-stroke.
"Swim the length and back."
Tim did as he was told. As he approached, he looked up at Martin, questioningly.
Tim executed a graceful turn and sped back down the length of the pool. Martin couldn't help but be impressed by the boy's form. He sleek body glistened in the meager light and on each turn his hips sparing up out of the water like the dorsal of an arching fish When he returned, Tim looked up and Martin nodded, gesturing with his half-raised hand toward the far end of the pool. Again, Tim executed a perfect turn and swam off into the dark water.
Back again, six lengths, Martin counted, Tim approached and this time Martin beckoned him out. The boy climbed up the ladder and came over. He stood shivering at the foot of the lounge. Little trimmers ran through his body, making his muscles ripple in the meager light. His penis had drawn up into his body, seeking warmth, and looked like the undeveloped sex of a baby or five year old boy. His testicles were hardly visible, so contracted had they become. Tim saw Martin looking at his groin and moved his hands to cover himself.
"No," Martin said, not loudly but with some force, "don't touch. Take your hands away. Come on," he said, almost in a whisper, and go up off the lounge.
"Martin," Tim said, not knowing if he was allowed to speak or not.
"What do you want?" His voice had an edge, irritated, almost angry.
"You left the condoms."
"Shall I put on my bathing suit?"
"No, leave it."
Martin walked off toward the house at a deliberate pace, forcing the boy to hurry to catch up. The boy was still dripping wet and shivering in the night air.
"Remember, Tim," Martin said without even looking back at the boy, "don't touch yourself."
By the time they reached the verandah, Tim had caught up, but had not had the nerve to walk beside Martin, holding back instead, a pace or two behind. Martin picked up one of the towels Ben had apparently there on a chair and tossed it to the boy. Dry yourself but don't touch your cock. The boy did as he was told, leaving his penis damp and cold and shriveled in the night air.
"Now wipe your feat." Martin said. When the boy had done so, he said, "are they dry?"
"Completely? I don't want you leaving tracks."
"There're dry, Martin," the boy said, his voice almost a whisper.
"Do you have the condoms?"
"They're here on the chair."
"Bring them, Tim, and don't loose them."
"I have them."
"Good. Leave the towel and follow me. Stay close behind."
They entered the back door of the dark house and proceeded through the kitchen and toward the front of the large old house. Martin noticed that there was light under Ben's door . Martin knew Ben would get up to turn the front lights on before he really settled down to sleep. Ben would not want Ann to come home to a dark house, but for now at least, the front rooms and the front porch were still dark.
They walked on further toward the front rooms and Tim realized he had never been in this part of Montgomery Hall before.
They entered the central hall and still Martin continued to move forward, not turning on any lights. Then he took a turn to the left. They went through an archway and into a large formal room. It was dark but a little light came in the windows from the lamps along the front drive. Tim could make out fine old furniture and dark portraits on the walls. Martin stood looking up at the portrait over the mantle. He was still wearing only his bathing suit and the boy was completely nude. Tim was feeling very ill at ease in the formal space. He felt as if all those painted faces, those piercing, painted eyes, were starring down at him, at his nakedness, at his shriveled, shivering sex.
"This is the Great Lounge, Tim," Martin said. "Seven presidents have been entertained here." The boy stood shivering in the center of the room. "The portrait over the mantle is of my great-grandfather. The one across there is my grandfather. He was a senator," Martin said flatly. "He was my mother's father and Ben's father as well. Do you understand that, Tim?"
"So what does that make Ben to me?"
"My half-uncle, I think. My grandmother was Annabelle Carter, one of the Virginia Carters. Ben's mother was a cook. I need to look it up but it is very possible that her parents or grandparents were slaves, born right here at Montgomery Hall." He paused looking around the dark room and then fixed his eyes on the naked boy standing before him. "Come on, Tim, we have a few other interesting historical sites to explore."
Again, Martin started off through the dark house. With Tim following and not once turning on a light, he went back into the central hall and out the front door to the drive. He purposely walked along the front of the house staying to the drive, rather than the grass. His own feet were tough enough for the gravel to be only a little uncomfortable, but for Tim it was really painful.
"Come on, Tim, don't dawdle. You realize any minute the Wrights might drive in, bringing mother home." Martin knew from what Ben had said that Ann wasn't likely to be home for another two hours, but the boy didn't know that. "We wouldn't want their headlights to discover your pretty naked body out here." Tim hurried along behind Martin, anxious to get where ever it was that Martin was taking him.
They walked across the lawn at right angles to the house, then back toward the roses. Tim was relieved to get off the gravel drive and back onto the soft grass. He walked faster now, still having to make an effort to keep pace with Martin, still staying a pace or two behind him.
They came up to the greenhouses and the garden workshops and then on across another expanse of lawn Tim had not seen before. They were now angling a little away from the lake. If Tim had his directions straight, they were going south toward the fields they passed coming from Dave and Monty's house.
Tim began to make out a row of low buildings another hundred yards ahead of them. When the came up to them, Tim saw that they were low cottages with identical doors and windows. A slightly larger building stood separately at the end of the row. It was toward it that Martin seemed to be leading him.
As they drew closer Tim realized that the end building was bigger than he had first thought. They approached a central door, which Tim pushed open. There was no lock. They entered a large square space which might have been used for storage or as a workshop. There were pools of light by the windows and Martin lead him across the room to the back of the building, were a dark stairway descended into a basement or cellar.
"Come on, Tim, down here."
"I can't see, Martin."
"Put your hands on my shoulders. I know the way."
Tim reached out and grasped Martin's shoulders, one hand on each side. When Martin felt both of Tim's hands on him, he said sharply, "where are the condoms?"
"I have a corner of the packet between my teeth," the boy said, his voice a little muffled by his attempt to speak with his teeth clenched.
Martin's body felt hot to the boy, his muscles massive under the warm skin. How could he be so warm, Tim thought, suppressing a shiver. The air was increasingly cool as they descended the old stairs. With his right hand, Martin grasped a railing and went slowly down, guiding Tim, giving him time on each step to get his balance. Tim knew when they reached the bottom because the wood stairs gave way to a cool stone floor.
They seemed to be in a large room, as big as the space above. It smelled musty and a little damp. There was another smell which Tim couldn't identify but he knew he didn't like it. He had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach and wondered if he had pushed Martin too far, opening some dangerous, forgotten place in his mind, best left shut away. But it was too late now, Tim realized. He had begged Martin for this, for some demonstration of the older man's potency, of his control.
Martin reached up and moved Tim's hands from his shoulders, leaving him alone and disoriented at the foot of the stairs. Tim moved his hands around about could feel nothing he could take hold of. Martin walked to the center of the room, slowly feeling his way, until he found a table. He ran his hand over it and picked up a book of matches. When he struck one and it burst into flame, Tim saw they were in a large space with stone floors and walls and with heavy timber beams overhead. Martin applied the match to the wick of a candle and a meager but steady glow filled the space. The table was large, about three feet by maybe seven feet long, and made of very heavy old wood planks, aged and gray.
"Do you know where we are, Tim?" He walked back to the boy.
"No. I mean, it's a basement, I guess."
"But you don't know what it was for?"
"Give me your hand."
He took the boy's right hand in his and led him toward the far wall, the front wall of the building, away from the stairs.
When the reached the wall, Martin guided Tim's hand out and up until it touched something cold, something on the wall or attached to it.
"Now do you understand?"
"No." His voice caught. "No, Martin, I don't understand."
"Move a little closer to the wall. Good, turn around and stay there." The boy did as he was told and Martin walked away from him to the left, off into the gloom of the far corner of the room. When he returned he had four lengths of soft but obviously strong rope about half an inch in diameter. Each piece about three feet long. "Give my your right hand."
Tim hesitated for a moment. Did he really want to do this? He had come this far, he would play it out. He held out his hand and Martin quickly looped the rope around it and then pulled it up to the cold object he had let Tim touch. "It's a restraint, Tim, a forged iron ring sat in the wall." He quickly but securely tied the rope to the ring, elevating Tim's arm so that it his hand was secured about a foot above his head and a foot to the right of it. "Give my your left hand." Tim again did as he was told, feeling as he did so that he was turning over his very being to Martin's control. Martin quickly tied Tim's left wrist and secured it to a matching ring. Now the boy stood with his arms raised and bound against the cold wall. Hard, damp stones pushed into his back and buttocks.
Martin did not ask for Tim's permission to bind his legs. With his hands already secured, there was no pint, he was completely at the other man's mercy. Martin grasped Tim's right ankle and forced it further to the right, tying it to a ring just above ground level. He then did the same with his left ankle, spreading the boy's legs so that his feet were more than three feet apart. When he had finished, Martin stepped back and looked at his handiwork. The boy was splayed out, uncomfortably so, his beautiful naked body securely tied to the rings at four points.
"If you struggle there's another ring above your head. It was common to string a rope around the neck and tie it to that ring. It could be very painful. I'm told a lot of men tired to hang them selves by the neck rope, just to end their pain."
He stepped forward and ran his hand over Tim's smooth chest. "They couldn't of course. Hang themselves, I mean. Their arms were too tightly secured and when they tried to let their bodies fall to hang themselves by their neck, they just succeeded in stretching their arms and shoulders more painfully. If they tried too hard they could dislocate their shoulders but they couldn't hang themselves." He paused again, stepping back to look at the boy's penis, which was still shrunken, now not so much from the cold swim and the cool night air, as from the a nascent fear.
"You understand what this place is now, don't you, Tim?"
"A slave dungeon or jail. I don't know exactly what they were called."
"Either one is good." He stepped up to the boy again and placed his hand on his extended right arm, just where the arm and shoulder met. A little shudder ran through the muscles and the skin felt damp and cold. "This is were they brought rebellious or disorderly slaves. They whipped them here if they were unruly." He paused. "Male slaves who were guilty or raping female slaves or who were considered poor breeding stock," he paused again, both for emphasis and to concentrate on the feel of the boy's body as he ran his hand over his trembling chest. "Any who were not physically perfect" he went on, his voice deep but very soft, almost a whisper, "Any in some way deformed or just not very strong, were brought here to be castrated. It was the simplest way of assuring that the next generation of slaves would be strong workers. That's what that table was used for, by the way. Can you see that there are rings bolted into its edge, just like the ones in the wall. They were for tying them down. I doubt if they even used any anesthetic. It was called a gilding table, by the way. Just like gilding a horse, no more respect for a slave than for any other livestock.
" Of course, a good many of my male ancestors used black women as sexual toys, so they saw them as more than livestock in that sense. Many of my male ancestors intentionally breed with their female slaves. Can you imagine that, Tim? Can you imagine a man getting a woman pregnant against her will and then letting his own child be born into slavery?"
"Neither can I."
"I think quite a few of my male ancestors also took male slaves as lovers. Remember Dalton, the one who built the tower?"
"Well, like most of my ancestors, he had a body servant as a child. In his case it was a boy a little older than himself who'd been born here as a slave and then stayed on as a paid servant after emancipation. They were lovers, quite openly, I gather. There are some old photographs of them together, taken around 1900, when they would have been in their 50s or 60s. But Dalton wasn't the only one. A lot of the men had male slaves or freed blacks as lovers as well as white wives.
"You had no idea what a decadent line I come from, did you, Tim?"
"I've read about that kind of thing. Your ancestors weren't that different than a lot of others."
"Well, maybe not."
Martin returned to the table in the center of the room and pulled out a stool from under it. He positioned the stool on the side of the table opposite Tim with the candle in front of him. From that position he could look across the space and watch Tim. Tim could also see Martin, his face dramatically illuminated by the candle light and its light casting deep shadows in the clefts of his muscled torso. Martin sat impassively with his powerful arms crossed over his chest. He sat erect, his eyes flickering in the candle light.
They stared across the dark space, Tim's eyes locked on Martin, as the older man's eyes ran over the smooth, muscular body of the younger man.
Martin did not speak and Tim was unsure if he should. He stood in silence, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. The hard, damp stones pressed into his bare back. His legs and arms were spread at an unnatural angle. His arms had begun to ache.
Martin rose slowly from the stool and came around the table. He picked up the candle and held it in his right hand as he leaned back against the heavy timbers, sort of half setting on the table edge. He held that position for a minute of longer and then turned a little and put the candle back on the table, not in the center as before, but toward one end. He put his left hand on the table to support himself as he bent forward a little and slid his bathing suite down. He stepped out of it and laid it on the table by the candle, noticing the packet of condoms also lying there. When he turned Tim saw that his cock was hard, erect, jutting straight out from his body. His hard muscles glistened in the candle light as he walked over to Tim and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, at the juncture of his right arm and shoulder. Tim's arms had gone through gradual phases of pain, finally becoming numb.
"You know about Pandora's Box, boy?"
"It was a myth, a Greek myth."
"Pandora received it as a gift from the gods, but was told not to open it."
"She became too curious and opened it anyway. It was filled with plagues and evils."
"So what does it mean, Pandora's Box?"
"Well, getting into more than we bargain for or opening something we should have left closed."
"Think you might have done that here?"
"I don't know."
"Did you think, maybe, that giving my history, my family's history, that I might fear my own capacity for evil, for taking control too far?"
"I don't know."
"Well, what if I told you that I had always feared that just under my skin some of those old ancestors lurked, the ones who would castrate a sickly boy or hang a rebellious slave, who's only real sin had been his frustration at his captivity?"
"I don't know."
"Well, you think about it, Tim. Come to think about it, I don't know if I'm really all that different from anybody else. Maybe we all have a Dark Side just under the skin, or some old primitive urges hidden away in some dark corner of our brain." He paused again. "Do you really want to be dominated by any other person, any other man? Do you want to turn control over to someone else and be mastered by them?
"I do," the boy said, his voice hardly a whisper, "if that person is you."
Martin looked at him sternly. He squeezed the muscle of Tim's shoulder and then slowly, very slowly, ran just the edges of his finger nails down over his chest. When he reached his left nipple he stopped, brushing the backs of his fingers over it, feeling it harden under his touch. He took the hard nib between his second finger and thumb, pinching it slightly, using the nails.
"Do you want me to hurt you, Tim? Do you need to experience pain?"
"I don't know. I just want to give myself completely over to you, to feel what it is like to let you be completely in charge. I want you to master me."
Tim leaned forward and took Tim's left nipple between his teeth. He bit down a little, just to let the boy feel the slightest edge of pain. Tim moaned and rolled his head from side to side. Martin stood up and walked away toward the table. He picked up his bathing suit, rolling it into a tight cylinder as he returned. Positioning the slightly sodden crotch of the suit over Tim's mouth he leaned in and whispered, "Open your mouth. Open it wide."
Tim's jaw dropped and his lips spread. Martin pushed the rolled fabric into his mouth, filling it more than even Martin's own hard cock would have done. He pushed the blunt roll into the boys mouth until he gagged, and even then he did not relent.
"Control it, boy. You took my dick, you can take this." Tim's eyes were tearing but he was able to get the gag reflex under control. Martin again pushed in the rolled fabric. The blunt end pushed against the back of Tim's mouth, threatening to gag him again. He sputtered a little but regained control. "Can you taste me, Tim? Can you taste my cock on in the fabric of my bathing suite? Taste the pre-cum I leaked just looking at you. Looking at you naked and trussed up and completely vulnerable to me, helpless to stop me doing anything I want to do to you."
Tears were now running freely down Tim's tanned cheeks. His nose was dripping but the fabric of the suit absorbed it all.
"Now, boy, leave it there. Don't push it out. If you start to loose it, bite down, keep it, love it, treat it like you would my cock."
Tim nodded and felt the increasing pain in his arms and shoulders now moving down into the muscles of his chest and back.
"I'm going to loosen your feet now." As Martin did so, removing the ropes from his ankles. As he moved Tim's feet together he realizing that the boy could not stand. His legs spasmed with the change of position and refused to take his weight. "Okay, now your arms." When he had loosened Tim's right wrist from the ring he left the rope looped around him, ready for reuse. He moved Tim's forearm to his own shoulder. "Lean on me. Can you stand like that?"
Tim nodded, his mouth blocked by the mass of fabric which filled it.
Martin loosened Tim's left hand, again leaving the rope looped around his wrist, and took the boy's weight against himself. He swung him up into his arms and carried him to the center of the room, gently laying him on the table.
"Lie still. I'm going to re-tie you." The boy was completely compliant as Martin brought Tim's arms up above his head and tied them together to the ring sat into the edge at the table's end. Picking up the ropes which had held his ankles, he returned and looped them together and then over the boy's chest, binding him down just below his pectoral muscles. The candle was placed at the end of the table between Tim's outstretched arms, casting dark, flickering shadows along his yielding body.
Martin swung up onto the long table and knelt between Tim's legs, spreading them so the draped off the table's edges, dangling limply on either side. He had placed the packet of condoms between Tim's legs but didn't yet pick them up.
Reaching down between the boy's spread and yielded legs, he took hold of his scrotum and began to work it between his fingers, gradually causing it to loosen a little. As it did so, Martin worked his fingers around it and gently tugged as he continued to massage the tight skin. Slowly it relaxed so that Martin could pull it down to its full length, the boy's balls now moving freely within it.
"I told you they castrated boys here."
"Think about it, Tim, young guys, probably your age, maybe even younger. The brought them here and tied them down just like you're tied down. They would work their balls loose like yours are, pull the scrotum down as far as it would go. Then they'd tie a strong cord around the base of the sack, right here. Feel how my fingers feel when I make a ring around your sack and squeeze?
Tim's eyes came wide with the pain.
"Does that hurt, Tim?"
The boy nodded.
"But it can't hurt like a cord would have done, bound tightly, almost cutting into the flesh. I know, I've read descriptions of how they did it, how they cut a boy, took his manhood, made him a eunuch, a sexless creature, never fully developing into a man, but not a woman either. The cord had to be tight enough to stop the flow of blood, like a tourniquet, cutting off the blood flow completely.
"Can you imagine what that would have been like, now much it would have hurt?
Tim shook his head, his eyes still wide, starring at Martin's hard face.
"They waited then, the boy bound, helpless, probably gagged just like you're gagged. And up there in those cottages, this parents knew what was going on, knew what the white masters were doing to their son, but unable to stop it, unable to even protest.
"The boy would have know as well, he would have heard stories, seen older men, heard the stories, known what was coming.
"But you know, it was sort of merciful to wait. See how your legs and arms are numb, now you couldn't even stand when I freed you?"
Tim nodded again.
"Well, it would have worked the same way. As much as that cord hurt, cutting into the flesh of the boy's scrotum, it would have caused him to go numb, to loose feeling there in his sack and below in his balls. After a few minutes the cutter, certainly not trained doctor, probably just one of the white hired hands, maybe the same one who castrated colts and calves, after a few minutes, he would squeeze one of the boy's balls. You know how that can hurt?"
Again, Tim nodded.
"Well, after a few minutes of having a cord tied tightly around the base of his sack, the boy wouldn't react at all. The cutter would know the numbness had sat in. Then he'd take his knife and cut just below the cord, cutting clear through the skin and the interior wall of the sack and through the tubes that connect the balls to the urinary system. If it was done well it would take seconds. The boy would be castrated. He'd be sterile. He'd never again produce seed but he'd also never again produce the hormones which would prompt his further development into a full grown man. He wouldn't grow a beard or body hair, he's voice would probably not change, he might not even reach his normal adult height.
"White masters were not anxious to castrate male slaves, of course. It might solve one problem but it meant the slave would never be much good for heavy labor. Most of them ended up as household servants.
"But I'm telling you how it was supposed to work. There were, of course, some even more unlucky ones. Maybe the cutter was not properly experienced, maybe he didn't get the cord tied tightly enough or it was tied too close to the boys body so that when the balls were severed the cord slipped off. When that happened he usually bled to death. Over in the corner is a fireplace. They always had a fire going and an iron poker heated red hot in the coals. When they cord slipped the only thing to do was to try to cauterize the wound, apply the hot iron to it and sear the flesh and blood vessels so the bleeding would stop. Sometimes it worked, most often it didn't.
"Behind you over in the end wall there is a big double door. You couldn't see in the dark. This is a basement, Tim, but the building is against a slope so they could build it with a door at one end. I guess a lot of slaves must have died where you are lying right now. Boys who'd been mutilated beyond help, older slaves, both men and women who had some other problem, maybe injured in a field accident, or a woman in trouble with a birth. They were all brought here and whatever passed for medical help was administered here; bones sat, cuts stitched, any number of problems dealt with. And a lot of them died, trussed, bound to this table, just like you are now."
"How does that make you feel, Tim, knowing you're lying bound where people have been mutilated and many have died? They weren't playing games, Tim, not messing around with authority and mastery and the voluntary yielding of control for the sake of some sexual thrill. They really were victims, boy, they really were the helpless victims of my ancestors' mastery and authority and control."
Martin reached down and abruptly pulled the rolled bathing suit from the boy's mouth.
"Tell me, Timothy Arnold, freeborn white boy, how does that make you feel?
Tim had gone very pale. His lips had been so stretched that it was now difficult for him to form words, but after a few seconds he did manage to form one. "Sick."
"What did you say, boy? I couldn't hear you."
"It makes me feel sick."
"You want some pain, then, you want to know what it's like to be at my mercy, in my control? With no further warning he reached across the length of Tim's sculpted torso and retrieved the candle. As he drew it to him, he tipped it so the milted wax dropped onto Tim's exposed skin. The boy jerked in response but, bound as he was, could not escape the burning wax as it struck his skin.
In reality, Martin knew exactly what he was doing. He had held the candle high enough that Tim saw it and realized, a split second before the wax struck his chest, what awaited him. But by holding the candle as high as he did, Martin had correctly judged that the wax would have just enough time to cool somewhat before striking the boy's skin. It startled him and caused momentary pain, but it did not burn the skin and would leave no lasting mark.
Martin again moved the candle over Tim's chest, this time holding it in place long enough for a sizable puddle of hot wax accumulated over the boy's left nipple, hardening and binding to the skin. Tim groaned as Martin moved the candle. The right nipple was next, not escaping the punishment its companion had already suffered. The boy moaned again and his chest heaved up against the ropes which bound him.
Martin put the candle back in the space between the boy's bound arms and knelt to lick and tease his wax covered nipples. His saliva caused the wax to harden all the more. He then reached down and pried the edge of the wax loose, slipped the tip of one finger under it, grasped it between finger and thumb and yanked. A startled cry escaped Tim's mouth as the wax was suddenly pulled loose, taking with it the fine golden hairs which were barely visible on the boy's smooth chest. There was less surprise but just as much pain as Martin repeated the process on the other nipple.
"Is that enough to make my point?"
"Good," Martin said as he moved from between the boy's legs, got down off the table and untied Tim's hands. "I love you, Tim. Please never ask me to play those kinds of games with you again."
"I understand," the boy whispered as Martin helped him down from the table.
Martin carried his bathing suite and the condoms. They blew out the candle and Martin led the way back up the rough stairs. On the ground floor there was a little light and Martin took Tim's arm and drew him into a warm embrace, which quickly turned into a deep and loving kiss.
"Aren't you going to put your bathing suite back on?" Tim asked.
"You kidding," Martin grinned, "not after it's been in your mouth."
In the dim light Tim missed the grin and thinking maybe Martin was serious, said, "oh."
"I'm just kidding, lover," Martin said, "I figured after humiliating you by making you walk all that way naked, I'd just share your exposed state on the way back."
"Do you want me carry the condoms?" the boy asked.
"No, I already put them in the pocket of my bathing suite. I just made you carry them on the way here to remind you who's boss."
"I'd walk naked and carry a packet of condoms anyplace you asked me to, Martin. You do know that, don't you?"
"Well, as much as I enjoy seeing your buff body, don't expect me to share it with the general public, young man."
"Ah, I kind of like being naked."
"Me too, as I've told you. Maybe when you visit me in New York we can go sunbathing up on the roof of my building."
"Does that mean you're going to invite me for a visit?"
"Consider yourself invited, any time you can come."
The walked out of the larger building into the still muted light of a crescent moon, along the front of the little cottages and turned toward the big house.
"By the way, Tim," Martin said, "this place was called Sweet Gum after that tree in front of the cottages. It was an black village, completely independent and self-governing from just after Emancipation, up to about the First World War.
"Is it on land belonging to Montgomery Hall?"
"Yes, and it was then, too. But my pragmatic ancestors let their former slaves continue to live here and gave them free rent in exchange for labor. The former slaves really were share croppers, Tim. The land belonged to the estate then and it still does. The tenants provided labor and the estate provided seed and farm implements and the profits were split evenly."
"Well, that doesn't seem unfair."
"In theory it was fine, but that building we just came from was turned into a store after the Civil War and the tenants were allowed, even encouraged to by there on credit. Most of what they owned was taken to pay of their debts at the end of each harvest so in many ways they were no better off than they and been as slaves.
"Why are the cottages and the big building still here if no one lives here any longer?"
"Oh, this is just a small portion of the cottages. There were eight or ten times this many a hundred years ago. These few and the `big building,' as you call it are being preserved. Mother has the idea of creating a sort of living history museum here."
"So they aren't being used at all now."
"Oh, three of four times a year Montgomery Hall is open to the public for garden tours and then these buildings are used for demonstrations of farming life in the nineteenth century."
"Is the main house ever opened?"
"Sure. Mother lets the church and the state historical society use it for historic home tours, mainly fund-raisers, but both tours attract several thousand visitors over a long holiday weekend. The church has a regular fete here every May, over the three day Memorial Day weekend and the historical society does their tour over the three day Labor Day weekend in September."
"Wow! I'm going to try to get my folks to come over for the next one."
"Well, you and yours are most welcome, my man. I keep my distance."
"You won't be here then?"
"Nope. It's an article of faith, my own personal faith, that I never plan a visit over those weekends.
As they rounded the last stand of trees before coming to Montgomery Hall, they saw that the lights were now on. "Mother must be home. Ben will be hearing about her adventures," Martin said.
"Will we be okay naked like this?"
"Sure. We're more likely to see them through the windows than be seen out here in the dark." They rounded the last little grove and headed for the pool, where they picked up Tim's bathing suite. Tim continued to look very ill at ease. "Oh, all right, then, let's put them on," Martin said as he pulled on his bathing trunks and Tim quickly did the same.
"Martin, did you know the pool would be so cold when you told me to dive in? Is that why you didn't come in with me for a swim? Tim asked as they headed toward the house.
"Sure I knew. You kept saying I should take control. I figured if you wanted a little hurt, you could start with a shocking little swim." He grinned at Tim who looked a little hurt and a little quizzical. "Ben cleans the pool on Wednesday, dope. And the new water is straight from the well. The coldest water in Montgomery County."
That earned Martin a rather powerful punch, aimed right at his left shoulder. But he was too quick for the boy, did a neat turn and duck and Tim's fist went wild, spinning him around with its momentum, making him completely vulnerable to Martin's equally neat recovery. The older man spun the younger man around, grabbed him in a powerful bear hug which pinned Tim's arms against his torso. Martin then picked Tim up with what seemed like no effort at all and swung him into his arms like a baby. Tim was kicking and protesting and laughing all at once, but it did him no good. Martin just marched off carrying Tim through the little garden and in to the White Room, where he tossed him with little ceremony into the center of the huge bed.
"Now, young man," Martin said, "what were saying about getting fucked?"
Bathing suite came off in a flash. Two muscular bodies twisted and turned in a gleeful tangle of arms and legs. If there had been any doubt about roles in this little drama, it was quickly settled. Martin pinned Tim squarely to the bed with his more powerful body, holding the boy and forcing his submission, not that Tim minded at all. He had, after all, been begging for this all evening.
Deep, lingering kisses followed during which several important things were said. Tim repeated that he loved Martin and Martin repeated that he loved Tim. It was not exactly news to either of them but Martin did go one step further than he had been comfortable going before.
"Tim," he said as he drew back from one especially long kiss, "I think I need to talk with your folks Saturday night."
"Really," Tim replied, a note of some concern in his voice.
"Yeah, I do. How much do you think the suspect about you, about your sexuality?"
"Nothing. At least I don't think they suspect at all."
"That doesn't make it any easier."
"Well, how about me asking them if you could
spend your fall break with me in New York?"
"How would you ever explain that?"
"Didn't you say you were interested in checking out colleges on the east coast?" Martin grinned as he went in for another kiss.
When the kiss ended Tim was grinning from ear to ear. "I don't remember saying that, but it's a great idea."
"Good. I thought so, too."
Martin then lifted the boy's legs to his own shoulders, exposing as he did so, the pulsing rosebud of his ass. It was deep in the shadows cast by Tim's body but Martin knew it was there, waiting, yielded, ready. He bent his head, brought his mouth to the boy's ass and circled it with his wet tongue, noting the tasted of sweat and chlorine. Both men moaned as Martin succumbed to pleasure he experienced as he rimmed and nibbled the boy's tight pucker, feeling it pulse and open to his labors. Tim's pleasures were of a different but related sort. For him, Martin's mouth on his ass was a preview of what he wanted most, the piercing, thrusting, possessing presence of the older man's hard cock.
"Oh, Martin," the boy moaned as his ass opened in readiness, "I love you so."
"Ummmm," Martin managed to articulate, but Tim took it for agreement and ran his fingers through Martin's short blond hair.
Martin withdrew a little, stuck his right index finger into his mouth for a quick but through wetting and then worked it gently but firmly into Tim's pulsing ass. The boy moaned again, his voice coming out more like a hiss than intelegable words.
One finger became two, then three, and Tim's pelvis was dancing to the rhythm of each thrust.
Yesssssss, Martin, yes."
Martin knelt and reached for his bathing suite, which had been tossed helter-skelter on the foot of the bed. From it's little interior pocket he extracted the well traveled packet of condoms and separated one from the strip, ripped it open and quickly rolled it down his own pulsing cock. Then leaning in to position himself against Tim's waiting ass, he leaned in and smoothly slid in to the hilt.
"Oh, god," Tim breathed, his body tensing and then letting go. He felt himself floating, giving in, accepting. "Oh, yes, Marty, yes."
"Well, don't think you always get to be the bottom, fellow. I like it both ways, too."
"I'll top you any time you want, but right now just shut up and fuck."
"Oh, the boy is getting sassy," Martin said and then thrust into him with enough force to be painful, expecting to silence the kid. Instead, he got only encouragement.
"Fucking yes," Tim hissed, "yeah, man give it to me hard. Ram that cock in me, Marty, ram it hard."
"What have I created here?" Martin responded as he gave Tim what he wanted. "Three days and you are going to wear me out."
"Oh, yeah, man! If you're too old to give me what I need I'll just have to look for some younger stud like your nephew Dave."
"Oh, that hurt!" Martin replied as he slammed his blazing cock into Tim's ass again and again. "You like it hard, huh? You like it rough?"
"You want it hard? You want it rough? How much can you take, boy, how much can you really take?
"I like it any way you give it to me, Marty."
"Oh, now the truth is out. It's me you want, not just any hard fucking kid."
Tim smiled up at Martin, his face glowing it the soft light, covered with a sheen of sweat. Martin looked down at the boy and tried to grasp what it was he saw. There was wanton lust and also the soft, gentle beauty of an angel. "Yeah, man, you," Tim whispered. He was breathing hard, his body jolted with each stroke of Martin's powerful assault. "It's you I want, just you."