Date: Mon, 06 Jan 2003 17:36:03 +0000
From: Ganymede
Subject: Ring Around the Rose Chapter 16

WARNING:


This story contains descriptions of sexual acts
involving a man and MINOR boys. Such descriptions are an
integral part of the story. While the story may appeal to
prurient interests, it is intended to have serious literary
value. If you are under the age of 18, if this material is
illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relation-
ships aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from
a life of sin!



As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to
fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or
dreams." With that in mind, know that this story is not true!
Further, it is not intended to promote illegal acts against
minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each
other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It
is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The sexual
acts described in the story are the result of my imagination.
I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage oth-
ers to perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy
love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place
of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such
material, do not read further!

By downloading this story:

"... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties
of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a
minor and are entitled to have access to material intended
for mature, responsible members of society capable of making
decisions about the content of documents they wish to
read...."

The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede.
A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoy-
ment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The
story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for
access, or printed and distributed in any form that requires
payment either directly or indirectly. Any similarity to
individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. My sin-
cere thanks to two friends whose comments have been very
helpful.



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Chapter 16. In the Dark of night



Not long had passed before we dared to leave the cave
beneath the furs. Like sleepy bears our heads emerged to seek
the freshness of cool air. The candles burned brightly, as
did the lamp. The wind had gone, leaving chilliness. It was
cold enough to freeze the kettle by the fire, or keep a manly
weapon dormant for a while. Even a boy like Michel, whose hot
blood could keep me aroused throughout the night, shivered
when the encroaching cold reached parts unseen. I held him
tenderly, brushing golden locks from his forehead. It seemed
that he grew more beautiful with every day. Although he
yawned, his eyes sparkled with renewed life.

"Doubtless it will snow tonight," I murmured. "I am
glad we reached the shelter of the inn."

"And the comfort of this feathered bed," Michel agreed
drowsily.

"Then, tis better than a bed of straw, my precious boy?"
I asked teasingly.

"And sleeping in a rickety cart on a bumpy road," came
from a muffled voice beside me.

"What of the little boy, Master Aidan?" Michel mur-
mured.

I had all but forgotten of the boy who I sent off with
the dwarf, Riall. He was hardly little, for he was but a
hand's thickness shorter than Michel. No younger either, for
despite his horrid life, he retained the same childish grace
of the three boys beside me in the bed. No doubt he was a
sturdy thing even with his tender years. A boy had to become
strong and resilient to survive the travails of slavery,
especially indentured to that charm trader. I rubbed my
chin.

"I left him with Riall," I answered. "He'll sleep in the
stables tonight. It would draw attention if others were to
know we have a servant sleeping in the room."

Michel winced, but held his tongue. It was Kadri who
answered in his stead.

"That's not right. He ought to be here asleep and safe
with us."

"We're supposed to be priests of the Greka Droga, not a
master of the Mount and his three lust-filled acolytes who
only recently bear the rose between their cheeks," I
reminded the boys. "Either way, we have no need of a servant,
and a boy at that."

"But, but, Master Aidan...." Michel muttered. "He's a
boy like us."

"With Riall, he might as well be dead," Sandor grum-
bled. "He'll plow a furrow and plant his seed before the
dawn."

"That's unlikely," I replied brusquely.

I tried to submerge my worries. Surely, my warning to
Riall about meddling with my boys had not fallen upon deaf
ears. Yet, there was something about the pale-skinned boy
whose name I did not know. That unmistakable look of recogni-
tion in a proud face, a face that had been shadowed since its
birth. And more, for in the moment of his departure to the
stable, I had the distinct impression that our fates were
somehow intertwined.

"His name is Caelan," Michel said in a faint whisper
intended for my ears.

"Who?" I asked before I stopped myself.

I gazed at Michel in a curious potion of shock and admi-
ration. How could he possibly know the boy's name?

"Caelan," Michel repeated. "The boy in the stables. I
don't know how I know, but Caelan is his name. I'm certain of
it," he ended with authority.

"Caelan of Gallgaidheal," I murmured to myself.

"Who's that?" Sandor and Kadri asked at once.

I sighed and shook my head. "There is sense to all of
this, if only I could find it. The name comes from a tale of
long ago."

"Tell us, Master Aidan," all three boys demanded at
once.

I had to smile. So quickly did they change from lusty
boys to sleepy angels, to inquisitive youngsters whose ques-
tioning minds were sure to bring them trouble.

"I know only a few pieces of what really happened, for
the tale has been much enhanced by bards and storytellers. It
was Caelan who killed the dragon of Gallgaidheal. It hap-
pened more than fifty years ago on the misty isle of Gael."

"Then,... it is a true story," Michel mumbled as he
snuggled closer to my side.

Our bodies melted into a warm embrace. His body was
tired yet his hand strayed cautiously below my waist. His
fingers caressed, stroking the sticky length of my shriv-
elled softened stake, then as all boys do when presented with
the chance, with delicate touches barely felt, scooped up my
silken pouch to play with the manly eggs within.

"Indeed, some of the Tale of Caelan and the Sword of
Fearghall is true, Miel," I expounded. "For good reason, it
is said the boy was clever, deep of mind and possessed the
talent to excel in endeavours that require inspiration,
hence the name given at his birth."

"I hold no store in the meaning of names," Sandor said
coldly.

"Indeed, Selim?" I shrugged, contenting myself with a
hidden smile. "Let me think a moment. Our Sandor, the Vultur-
nus lad who loves another boy little different to himself,
his name means what? Ah yes, Sandor is the sensitive boy
who's best left to independent action, a boy who is seldom
known for impetuous decisions for he thinks carefully before
he acts. He possesses an aloofness and lives within his pri-
vate thoughts. A boy who cannot share his feelings except
with the one he calls a lover, that is the boy called San-
dor."

"That's not me in any way," Sandor replied.

"It's not?" I taunted. "Perhaps it's the Sandor we've
yet to meet?" I raised my head and Sandor quickly turned
away.

"Do Miel, Master Aidan," Kadri insisted. Yet despite
his insistence, he sounded nervous, like a kitten on a high-
up ledge. Did he anticipate what would be said in justice to
the name, Michel?

"Michel?" I smiled. "Ah yes, my lover with honeyed
skin. Michel is a boy of strong independence, not unlike his
friends. A boy who is highly creative, possessing cunning
and ambition,... and a divine gift,... He has the ability to
accomplish things far beyond the ordinary."

Michel glared at me. I touched his cheek, just slightly
moist, but warmer than I expected. "Don't fear, Miel. At
least not what your friends hear in this bed. Trust both of
them as you trust me, my lover. It's time they learned more
about your special skills."

"What else, Master Aidan?" Sandor asked. His voice
quivered nervously as the boy within found life.

"He becomes rebellious if frustrated," I answered very
softly. I felt the tension increase in the boy beside me. The
truth when told by lovers, was seldom pretty.

"With caustic words and impulsive deeds, he is a boy who
tends to morbid thoughts at times when he does not get his
way," I ended. I did not add that his frustration became far
worse when love was kept away.

"Miel?" Kadri said hestitantly. "That cannot be. Like
Sandor, I hold no store in what you said. Michel is anything
but a spoiled brat like that."

Michel sniffed and buried his face against my shoulder.
I stroked his thin bare arm. He seemed so very young, too
tender to be burdened by the weight upon his shoulders.
Silently, I promised myself once again that I would do was
was necessary to ensure his happiness.

"The boy, Caelan, is said to have been nearly ten when
the dragon carried him away in the night," I continued when
the silence became more than I could stand.

"Was he Favonius or Vulturnus?" Kadri asked meekly,
surely expecting to hear my affirmation of the former.

"Neither," I answered simply. "He was not assigned to
either one, but kept apart from both for a reason never
said." Truth enough, but still a lie for what went unsaid.

"Is it true that he bore the shape of a rose upon his
flesh?" Michel asked nervously. He knew something of the
story, or so it seemed.

"It's true. But only upon the front, Miel. Caelan was
taken from the Mount before he lay upon the altar. It was to
have been done that very night, if I remember." I paused,
imagining what had transpired. "He was taken from the tower
even as they gathered in the Great Hall to escort him into
the Chapel. I've even heard it said that it is likely that
the boys' singing awoke the dragon," I said quietly.

I had ascended the same stairs with Michel, climbing to
the sacred chamber high in the tower like thousands of men
and boys had gone there before us. However, we had gone there
the morning after his virginity was taken. Then, still ooz-
ing seed, his opening was sore and swollen and each step was
an effort in itself.

"Why was he there if there wasn't a ring around his
rose? There wouldn't be a bruise to see, not if he hadn't
laid upon the altar," Sandor questioned.

"A good question, and one that we'll never know the
answer to, I fear. All I know is that the tattoo was never
made."

"He went,... because,.... his,... master,... called,"
Michel whispered hesitantly.

Again, I gazed at Michel. No longer, I saw in him the
intrepid boy who I had been when my rose was freshly made. He
was brave hearted and unafraid, but not like fearless San-
dor. He was a prince among boys, a valiant angel whose des-
tiny was to be loved by me, yet his very words filled me with
trepidation. There was far more to him than met the eye. I
licked my lips and gnawed upon my tongue, waiting for him to
say more. He fell silent and half-closed his eyes.

"Perhaps," I said awkwardly.

`Perhaps' was a simple platitude to end the silence. I
could think of no other reason why a boy would go to the
tower before his time, and certainly not when everyone had
gathered before the altar to witness the making of the ring
around his rose.

"It is said that Caelan knew what others could not
know," I added in the hope that Michel might say more.

I had no doubt that Michel knew far more than what he
told. Nothing. Not a word was spoken. After a while I went
on, but my thoughts were increasingly of the boy in the sta-
bles below. He was most certainly a part of the puzzle I
needed to unravel to find the dragon, as was Michel.

"According to the tale, he was stolen from the chamber
where a boy's tattoo is made," I explained.

It was safer to say it that way. It left unsaid that the
boy was still a virgin, a boy who had no reason to enter that
sacred place. Still, the boys stared at me as if I had
uttered words without meaning. I understood their perplexed
faces.

"Although how the dragon managed to get through the
window I have no idea. As you know, it's nothing more than a
knife slit through stone. However, the stench of the beast
was so strong that there was no doubt of what had been there.
Still, the question of how Caelan was taken from the chamber
has always remained to vex the Masters of the Mount."

"Perhaps he never left," Michel muttered. He bit his
tongue.

"Perhaps,..." I paused. Was Michel born to have both
the knowledge of ancient times and the future still unknown
already present in his mind? And what of the boy in the sta-
bles who he had called Caelan? My mind reeled and tested each
possibility only to end in the same tangled web.

"Please tell us the rest of the story," Kadri and Sandor
asked together.

"Most of what is known about Caelan is hidden within the
fable told to children. Nonetheless, it is true that he
slayed the dragon and returned to the Mount to show the scars
that came from being taken against his will. The true story
is best said in the song they sing when a man or boy returns
to the Mount upon completing a deed:"



`Spider bites and mushroom spores

Dust upon the untrod floors.

Towers in clouds, chambers of dread,

Taken before a virgin rose is ringed in red.

>From being the brightest angel born.

As well, as the most bedeviled with scorn.

For when a man and boy share fate's knot.

The demons beyond the Mount wish them to rot.



`When fate knotted the pure heart of Caelan and man.

Only one shadow could cross the land.

>From the high towers where the Mount is home.

Among the clouds where dragons roam.

Tempt not the gold eye of a dragon stud.

Who endlessly searches for a boychild's bud.



`Yet the boys of the Mount are free and rare.

The dragons race to them tender and bare.

They try to swoop down in the dark cold night.

A lesser boy would faint in fright.

But not the sweet and loyal Favonius

Or the brave and beautiful Vulturnus



`For they would challenge the dragon's lair

Where lesser men would never dare.

His rose in bud was surely the most pure of all

Caelan wielded the Sword of Fearghall.

In the dragon's rent, black seed and blood congeal,

Heros are born from the dragon slayed at Gallgaidheal.'



The words faded away into the night like my dreams of
Etienne, his body torn asunder by the might of the dragon's
sword. I could not speak. There nothing that I could add, and
yet the words of Caelan of Gallgaidheal haunted me for I
still thought of another boy who had not survived.

"What does it mean?" Kadri asked.

I smiled. He was anything but a foolish lad. The words
of the song conveyed all that needed to be said beyond the
Mount, yet hidden within them was a clue to my present puz-
zle.

"It was a long time ago," Michel said wistfully. He
sighed, absorbed by pain that would not go away. "But unlike
my brother, Etienne, according to the tale, Caelan lived
after the dragon plunged his scaly sword in to the hilt and
spewed his seed within the bloody vent."

"But he very nearly died, for that is the effect of
dragon spawn," I murmured, no longer finding tears but a
dreaded emptiness where Etienne had been in my heart. I could
not begin to imagine the horror that had taken Etienne's
life. "I have heard that only a spark of life remained in
Caelan, and that faint light would surely have been extin-
guished if he was impure."

The boys hushed at my tone, requiring no further expla-
nation. With roses hidden between their cheeks, purity and
innocence had gone for them, never to return. It was some-
times said that a virgin taken by a dragon was the spawn of
life itself, without the possibility of scion but never
fearing death. Was it possible that the pale skinned boy who
I had sent to the stables carried the embryo of life within
his bowels? I nodded pensively, then made the obvious con-
nection. Was it possible that Michel held the key to the
things that even I could not see?. Slowly, I began to stretch
my limbs, my decision made.

"Where are you going, Master Aidan?" Michel demanded
abruptly.

"To void my bladder. I won't be gone very long."

His eyes narrowed in irritation. So much for intuition
and his unerring vision. Yet, even as I avoided answering his
question I realized that he had known of my intention. Indeed
he had anticipated my avoidance before the words had left my
mouth. He did not like that I had lied. It was a curious sit-
uation, a boy of quite remarkable skill who loved me like no
other boy I'd known. I smiled and lovingly stroked his fur-
rowed brow, brushing back some tangled locks to lie scat-
tered upon the brown bearskin rug beneath him. No boy could
be more beautiful than Michel.

"Where?" he repeated, no longer the acolyte whose very
existence was to serve the man he loved.

"Not far, Miel. I also need to check on the horse and
cart."

He glared at me, both expecting and deserving more.

"What's more, I do not trust Riall. I fear for the lad
we rescued."

Michel nodded understandingly. "Master Aidan,... it
would be wrong to let him lie in straw tonight," he said
obscurely.

"I happen to agree that the lad would be far warmer here
in bed with us this cold night. Better here than to sleep in
straw with a dwarf who'd plunder his bum as soon as fart.

Michel pushed back the furs that had kept him warm
throughout the night. It was a clear indication of his inten-
tion to accompany me. I shook my head even as I feasted on
his bare skin. In the faint light of from the lamp on the
mantle, his skin was darker that was usual, yet still honey-
hued. So smooth, an almond-sleek body, with not a trace of
fuzz below his head. I resisted the impulse to stroke his
peerless chest, to nibble upon his delicate nipples, and
more. For beneath the cover of bear skin, I felt the unmis-
takable swelling of tumescent flesh. Not substantial, but
turgid unyielding heat that poked demandingly against my hip

"No Michel. There is no point to both of us getting
cold. Stay here and share the warmth of these two boys," I
said, gesturing to Kadri's rear even as I hoped he would not
take advantage of his friend despite the obvious temptation.
Some things belonged to Sandor no matter what the price to
the rest of us.

With the furs lifted back, the scent of lust was
released. To any man of youthful inclination, it was over-
powering. No wonder the ancients fought wars for boys who
made love with the inspiration of Ganymede. The words of
ancient runes dwelled in my head, for with the scent came
threats of dread. Nonetheless, even the first whiff of that
precious sap of Michel, secreted from a gland that had no
name, instantly turned my stake to iron. I ached with need to
be within him once again. My sex was ready, covered with
slimy streaks of oil and seed. I breathed deeply, resisting
nature's urge to mate once more. Sheer force of will alone
could barely keep me back.

I found myself in that quandary of the mind where there
are no truths, only ancient ruses, still wondering if the
tale I'd heard as a boy upon the Mount was true. If so, and
there was no reason to suspect otherwise, then if I returned
with the boy, Caelan, the dragon would eventually be lured to
this very room. There was still time to spare, not much, but
perhaps long enough to save a boy from certain death. With
that in mind, I lifted the furs back over Michel and tucked
the ragged edge beneath him.

"Keep warm, my darling boys. There is something I must
attend to," I muttered as I left the room alone. I thought of
the words of Caelan, the words repeated in the poem that Eti-
enne had whispered the night before he died:

`He has a heart of purest love

and consumed his lover with fiery breath.

A boy rises from the flames, a dove

The dragon seed to cause his death.'

So much was at stake that I needed all of my wits about
me. I went stealthily down the stairs, listening for the
slightest sound. A priest of the Greka Droga did not creep
about at night.



Michel was heavy-eyed, lethargic with the bliss of love
when I returned. Yet, he smiled wantonly as soon as he became
aware that I had entered the chamber. His lips, so delicate
and sweet, formed a kiss to share with me. Temptation surged
inside me now that my mission was complete. I shed my cloak
and naked, stepped closer to the bed, amused by the shapes
huddled beside him, the apparent tangle of arms and legs. Two
boys were joined, mouth to groin no doubt.

I leaned down and our noses brushed, nuzzingly like
cats, inhaling the unforgettable smell of him. A question of
startling clarity formed within my mind, only to realize
that Michel had placed it there without moving his lips.

"He's waiting by the door," I said with my lips pressed
to Michel's ear.

Michel's cryptic words that followed were clear even
though, once again, he did not utter a single syllable. It
took me by surprise for I had a sudden and quite distinct
sensation that he had become quite different in the time that
I was gone. It was almost as if he was becoming stronger
every moment despite his sleepy state.

"I got to the poor boy just in time, Michel," I contin-
ued after a while. His breath was sweet as always, warm upon
my cheek. "I'm certain that miserable little man was about to
plunder the lad's behind."

Michel nodded, his uncanny vision confirmed once again.
Again, his thoughts possessed my mind. His eyes gazed into
mine, suffused with eerie light. My heart beat faster. His
expression was peculiar, awe-inspiring, mysterious, invading
every nook and cranny of my being. I submitted, not unwill-
ingly, drawn into his aura like a bee to honey. His skin
glowed. My heart pounded. I thought, then fought to breath,
sucking in air that left his lips. It seemed as if he was
drawing the life from me, yet fortifying my will at the same
time. Like a blacksmith who tempered metal, annealing, then
hammering, Michel was reinforcing the love we shared. My
mettle, like my desire, was emboldened and he had done noth-
ing but look into my eyes.

In my final year of training on the Mount, I had stud-
ied the ancient texts of mysterial metaphysics and had even
managed to develop something of an arcane power, yet the
pretty face that now confronted me was numinous, impenetra-
ble. He was preparing me for the sacred duty of a lover.

Without words expressed, I grazed his forehead, kissed
the junction of his hair and face, then playfully suckled on
his nearest ear. He giggled, pushing me away, complaining
words proclaimed loudly in my mind even as his hands reached
down to make me harder.

"Now yet, Michel. There's something else that I must do
before we mount the second step," I said.

"Like what?" he demanded haughtily. "You promised me
we'd climb the stairs, if not of Mount Olympus, then at least
a hill tonight, Master Aidan."

"And so we will, my darling boy. We'll reach the top
assuming that I can stay awake, Miel. But first, there's the
matter of Caelan. He needs a bath to rinse away the fifth of
Riall's ungainly endeavor. It was as if all of his fingers
were buried in a pot of axle grease., although from what I
saw amid the straw, a thumb alone would have been enough to
open that boy's arse. The dwarf is hardly prodigious by my
extent."

Michel smiled and nodded with the mute acceptance of
circumvention. With one hand I lifted back the furs to reveal
Kadri and Sandor joined mouth to dick, each sucking like a
baby on the breast. I prized them apart, extracting slick
hard pegs from ruddy lips, laughing at their scowls. Michel,
turning closer, leaned over them, went from licking on San-
dor's cheek to tickling Kadri until all three boys were rol-
licking with laughter.

"That's the only way to stop them sucking," Michel man-
aged to say amid his mirth. "Once they laugh they soon lose
interest."

I smiled and swatted his bare behind before covering
him with the furs again. "Despite the chill that frosts the
windows, you two cock-sucking brats must bathe as well," I
said, "I'll not have the stench of unwashed boys in my bed
tonight."

They grinned at each other and scrambled from the bed.
Being naked, there was nothing to stop them from jumping in
the tub. They held hands and stepped over the edge. It was a
graceful movement, made even more delightful by the jutting
hardness between their legs. They ignored Caelan, who
slumped silently in the darkness, too tired and shamed to
move. I wondered if he watched in rapture, or felt disgust
that boys would willingly bath together. Their stiff boy
organs dueled as they embraced, or faced `cock to cock' in
preparation for the obligatory `cock-fight' as Sanctuary
boys were heard to call it. Sandor pressed against Kadri,
rubbing gently, then indecorously. They sighed and slowly
slid down into the water, still holding the other boy for
balance. It had taken but a single breath, but it was an
unforgettable few moments.

Michel glanced behind him at the boy who waited near the
door. He turned again, hearing sudden laughter from the tub.
The two boys had taken up positions at either end, their legs
entwined together. Sandor's foot, still grimy from walking
beside the cart, was lying over Kadri's lean thigh. His toes
squirmed and wriggled in the vicinity of the other boy's
groin, although what he was doing was hidden by the foamy
suds that had formed as Kadri soaped his chest and belly.
However, one did not need to see more than the robust smile
on Kadri's face.

I glanced swiftly to the door where Caelan remained. I
thought I saw a sheepish smile. Certainly, from where I was
it appeared that he was not averse to what he saw. However,
he was so far away that in the darkness, shadows were all he
saw. Should I invite the lad to join them in the bath? How-
ever, there was no room to accommodate another, not even a
slender little boy like Caelan.

Suddenly, Kadri giggled again and playfully pushed at
Sandor's foot. "Don't pinch my balls between your toes," he
reprimanded.

"Why not, little dick?" Sandor taunted. "You'll not
have them for much longer, Kadri. Anyway, a prick as small as
yours doesn't need two balls beneath."

I glanced again toward the door. The lamp light flick-
ered, burning brighter as if by magic. The smile if there had
been one, had faded of the boy who waited for a task to com-
plete. Yet, almost as soon as I had moved my head in his
direction, Caelan turned away to hide his face. His fleeting
expression was dour, eyes soulful where pain once reigned.
He seemed far older than his years. Perhaps the tale was
true. It was said that a boy who carried the dragon's seed
never aged. For a moment, I contemplated appropriate action,
yet I could not intervene in fate.

Kadri snorted, knowing that whatever he said to Sandor
was all in jest. "It's not so small I can't fuck you in the
arse even better than you did to me this night," he rebuked
gaily.

"You? The favored darling of Favonius, would try to
fuck a Vulturnus boy?" Sandor scoffed.

"Why not?" Kadri replied. "You've a rose to show where
other pricks have been."

"They were men, not little boys like you. You won't be
able to get your pitiful worm through my hole without a
fight," Sandor responded boldly.

"Don't bet!"

"Ha! Bend over in front of me. I'll soon teach you why
Favonius lies before Vulturnus in bed."

"No. You get in position and I'll show you what I can do
instead," Kadri laughed, adding the salt of rhyme to San-
dor's wound. He held up the soap. "Fight all you want. I plan
on using this to ease my way. Though I expect you'll itch
tomorrow from the lye."

Sandor grumped, outsmarted by his lovely friend, yet
the challenge had been his alone. I lay back and watched with
Michel, biding my time to breach the chasm with Caelan. Some
things were better left alone.

Doubtless, many boys often made that use of soap to ease
the way, for with a little effort even the smallest hole
became so slippery that it mattered not how taut. A little
soap and the largest mushroom head could swiftly penetrate
the most reluctant arse. Still, I feared that Kadri's pre-
diction would come about, for lye was anything but gentle on
the skin, and the flesh beyond the ring was delicate indeed.

Sandor grudgingly came to his knees, then swiveled
about so his back was facing to Kadri. He leaned down, brac-
ing his arms, his elbows against the bottom of the tub, his
dishonored face barely out of the water. For Vulturnus to
kneel before the other kind was seldom done, even for lovers.
Kadri glanced at me, awaiting approval from the Master of
Favonius boys. I nodded reluctantly, worried by what the
scene portended.

With a nervous hand he applied the soap to Sandor's
rump, rubbing along the crack before the rotating began.
With the soap centered over Sandor's rose, he began to work
up a white lather. As soon as Sandor showed signs of relax-
ing, he placed it against his rigid member and quickly moved
it up and down. A moment later he was in position, his blunt-
headed shaft like an arrow at the target, pointed straight at
Sandor's nether mouth. He leaned forward, gripping his
lover's hips, pressing his thumbs firmly into Sandor's
cheeks to part them wider. Sandor grimaced as he felt the
pressure, slow but steady, not forcing a way in but waiting
for the natural dilation.

Sandor clenched his inner muscle and held his advance
back. Michel giggled at his expression, wriggling closer
until the thinnest hair could not fit between us. I petted
his flank, flowing like an hourglass from chest to thigh.

"He's going to force it in," Michel muttered.

"That's more than likely I expect," I agreed as I
glanced again at Caelan.

"Not fair," Kadri protested. "I never try to keep your
prick out of me."

"You're Favonius," Sandor snapped irritably. "You're
supposed to be in front."

"Master?" Kadri pleaded, turning and looking to me for
help.

"There are rules of love for boys and men, Kadri, but I
must say that I've not heard of that one before. Like all
Vulturnus brats, no doubt our Sandor needs a little force if
he's to take another boy inside him," I quipped. "Try a good
hard push, even better when he's not expecting it."

"He's closed up tighter than a knot," Kadri complained.

"He's a strong one all right. I expect he has enough
strength to hold you back, Kadri. So do something that he
doesn't expect. When the resistance is unyielding, always
strike at the weakest point in the wall,- or boy," I added
with a smile.

"It's no different to the games we play to learn the art
of war," Michel observed slyly. His small hand casually
embraced my sex, now sticky with our juice. "There is cunning
even in making love.

I nodded, glad that at least one of the four boys in the
room had caught my veiled intent. I resisted the impulse to
turn my head. Caelan had made a sound, a strangled cry per-
haps. Under other circumstances I would attend his needs, or
make an overture to welcome him into our strange group, yet
from his face I had seen that he was proud even with his
indentured state. Instead, I lay quietly, resting my hand on
Michel's bare shoulder, barely touching, but keep us
together. He was very warm, much hotter than seemed normal
for a boy. Casually, I eased my hand towards his groin. There
the heat increased, but he was far hotter than he had ever
been before. I grazed his sex. It glowed, unyielding, not
like unlike a white hot blade that was tempered on the anvil.
It was as hard as it had ever been.

How strange, I mused. That another boy, a stranger who
cringed against the wall and would not look upon my face,
could have this effect on my Michel. There was no other
explanation. Still, I pondered other possibilities. It was
far more than merely being close to me and waiting and watch-
ing to see what Kadri would do. It was interesting to be
sure. Brute force by a Favonius boy like Kadri or Michel
would seldom be sufficient to breach the knotted anus of a
Vulturnus boy. Kadri thought for a while, still gliding his
rigid little penis up and down Sandor's opened crack. That
alone should have been enough to melt the most determined
defiance. Suddenly, he grinned. He leaned down, laying his
chest and belly over Sandor's back.

"You'll let me in your private portal, won't you
Sandy," Kadri purred just loud enough for us to hear. "I know
you love me and it's just a little dick, not nearly as big as
yours. I'll promise not to hurt you. I won't take long.
Besides, I can't even put the milk inside you like Master
Aidan does to Miel."

Sandor shook his head, but smiled from underneath. He
was in a position where Kadri could not see his face.
Clearly, he was enjoying the games that lovers play. His Vul-
turnus `amour propre' was not in question. He was merely
teasing the boy he loved.

"You know, Sandy, my dearest, if you let me fuck you
just this one time, I'll never ask again, but if I have to
force it in, I'll take your arse as I please."

"No way, Kadri. Besides you don't even know what to do.
You've always been in front."

Kadri grinned back at me. It seemed that Sandor had pro-
vided him the opening that he needed. Again, his head drew
closer to the other boy. His words were softly spoken.

"I've not told anyone before, Sandy, but I do know what
to do. See, I fucked a girl before I came to the Mount,"
Kadri whispered. "She was a pretty little tart too, a farm
girl with tits like yours. She lived not far from me. I fig-
ure your bum is just like her cunt. All it took to get inside
her was a,-"

"Ouch! Oh! No!"

"...A good hard push," Kadri shouted in delight as he
thrust deeper to keep Sandor from pushing him out.

"I'm Vulturnus,-" Sandor grouched hatefully, although
his face said otherwise. "Okay so you've managed to get it
inside my bum, but I'm not going to enjoy the ride you give
me."

He could feel Kadri's penis already more than halfway
in. For a moment he tried his best to push it out, but with
the soapy film all his struggle served to do was make Kadri's
shaft even harder. That short straining member had become a
sword wielded by an eager Favonius boy. He drove it in
relentlessly, his throbbing stake of flesh that could not be
stopped, not until his hips were pressed firmly against San-
dor's uplifted buttocks.

"It feels so nice," Kadri murmured to himself. "So
tight and hot. It's even better when he squeezes down on me."

"Do it Kadri," Michel encouraged gleefully. "Show him
that Favonius boys can do it just as good as any Vulturnus
brat."

"Oh, the Gods have seen to my needs. I feel the fire
inside his bowels," Kadri chanted as he began to thrust. "It
feels so good I'll never be able to stop."

With such a short penis, his motion was fast and furi-
ous, while barely moving any distance worth noting. It was
almost as if he was vibrating with the invisible motion of a
hovering hummingbird. A minute passed then two. Sandor had
relented only a few moments after Kadri had started. Just as
I expected, his buttocks pushed back. His arms extended,
bracing himself against the bath tub. He was readying him-
self for the onslaught. He used all of his strength to hold
himself in place so that every thrust was against an immobile
arse. Then, without warning Kadri's hands grasped Sandor's
shoulders. His thrusts became erratic, powerful lunges that
forced him deeper into the other boy. Sandor groaned, not a
plaintive cry but from deep within him where the lust of men
made young boys cower with pleasure. Surely, Kadri had man-
aged to arouse that hidden spot despite the diminutive size
of his penis.

"Oh yes," Sandor groaned again. "That's it. Yes there,"
he instructed. "Oh the Gods are taking over. Do it harder, my
little Favonius lover."

"Like this?" Kadri gasped.

Clearly, he was tired. It was only to be expected for
already he had borne the brunt of Sandor's tool. His energy
was flagging for it had been a long day and we had traveled a
great distance.

"Oh, the Gods are near," Sandor whimpered. "Yes! Yes!
Much harder! Don't stop!"

"You like my cock inside your rear?" Kadri demanded
with cruel delight at his ability to torment another boy with
pleasure. That sandor was Vulturnus made his joy substan-
tial.

"Yes! Oh yes! YES! Just do it harder, Kadri."

Kadri jerked back and immediately slammed against San-
dor. I feared the boy in front might drown it if lasted much
longer for Sandor's face was very close to the water. They
sensed the imminence of climax, like dogs in heat they
pounded back and forth. There was no doubt that the challenge
of the peak began to build inside them. Both boys strained,
one pushing in, the other squeezing down, for that was what
it took for two young boys to find nirvana. Pumping vigor-
ously, one against the other, both thrusting simultaneously.

"I'm close," Sandor croaked, breathless.

"Me too."

"Fuck me Kadri. Fuck me like a man."

"I'm trying, Sandy, but I don't have what Master Aidan
has between my legs."

I smiled and glanced sideways at Michel. He had wit-
nessed the love of boys before, but not like this, not with
the urgent lust that Sandor and Kadri possessed. They had
become animals whose sole purpose was to rut. Against the
wall, poor Caelan was rigid with mute amazement at the scene
before him. He could see very little from where he sat, most
of what was happening was hidden by the bath. Yet even as he
stared, dumbfounded, his skinny arm had managed to find a way
beneath his filthy rags. A sudden cry dragged my eyes away.

"I'm there,- Ohhhhhhhh! OH! OH!" The shameless sounds
of pleasure peaking, culminating in ecstasy.

Suddenly both boys ceased moving, their bodies so tense
that every childish muscle was revealed, straining to share
the feeling that existed between them. All that effort for a
few moments of ultimate happiness. But, it was worth it. They
trembled as one being, still joined by Kadri's throbbing
penis. No words could describe that bliss, of lovers who had
sealed their love again.

I nodded appreciatively and rolled away, taking
Michel's sweaty hand in mine. He seemed hotter than only
moments earlier. A downward glimpse confirmed what I
expected. His boyhood was reddened to the color of the rose.
It was elongated, burnished at the tip where the skin had
dared to edge back. My shoulder kept his eyes away from the
boys, now resting in their blissful aftermath. They had been
but all but delirious with passion. I expected it would take
half the night before they managed to clamber from the bath
tub.

"He did it to Sandor," Michel muttered. He was nervous,
yet his said it proudly. "Kadri did it to him," he repeated
as if he disbelieved his own eyes.

"Yes, he did, and it was as good a fucking as I've ever
seen from boys their age."

"It was a special treat for him," Michel admitted. "He
told me earlier today how much he wanted to love Sandor in
return."

Did I detect a note of envy? Surely my Michel, who was
as submissive as any Favonius boy had ever been, did not har-
bor desires to be above me? I glanced at Michel. Something
was bothering him. I nodded and waited.

"Master?" he asked as he ruefully touched that part of
him where my hard cock had recently gone. He winced, not much
but it was enough to show that he was hurt.

"Yes, sweet boy of mine."

"While you were gone to fetch our friend, we played the
games of boys in bed."

I nodded understandingly. I had been gone longer than I
had wanted. It would not be the last time that the boys
resorted to find their pleasure with each other. Indeed,
even on the Mount, it was always better for a boy to love
another than to find pleasure in his hand alone.

"I expected as much, Michel," I said reassuringly.

"Sandor said my hole would need care if I wasn't to get
sore from doing it so often with you," he said meekly.
Clearly, an examination had been made.

"Very likely, Michel. Were we on the Mount, I would have
the salves and potions to take away the ache. Some of them
will even help to keep you tight, while others will tenderize
that spot and keep it loose. However, I fear that little can
be done tonight."

I inclined my head thoughtfully, considering what might
be used to achieve the same result. I had heard of various
remedies being used, some from the battlefield where there
was little available beyond the scant rations of a soldier.
Once, after a particularly long love-making with Etienne, I
used a slice of salted pork to take away the hurt. Its suc-
cess was admirable for he had recovered nicely by the morning
of the following day. However, by then Etienne had been bro-
ken to my manly weapon and needed only to lose the irritation
that came from persistent penetration.

Kadri and Sandor had recovered from their blissful calm
and had taken to washing each other's hair. Such a delightful
sight to see two boys so happily engaged in the cleansing of
each other.

"Aren't you two finished washing yet?" I reprimanded
with mock severity. "There will be ice on the water before
the rest of us get bathed."

They grinned and splashed each other, washing off the
soap in rivulets of snowy foam. I tossed tattered but ade-
quately dry towels to each of them as they stepped from the
tub, water draining down their slender legs to leave puddles
on the floor.

I gave a passing consideration to visiting the kitchen,
but it was a different predicament for Michel. It was true
that his rose had also bloomed, but it was still so fresh
that his tattoo was brightly colored, not dull and faded like
the other boys. Unless I exerted the fullest measure of care
and caution, he would be sore for weeks to come.

"Oil of camphor would be best," I mused aloud. "It
soothes as well as helps to close the hole upon my exodus.
Failing that, I've heard of other unguents. It's also possi-
ble to make a serviceable salve of balsam."

It was then that I chanced to see the flickering lamp
light from the mantle. I left the comfort of a warm boy in my
bed. A few paces brought me to it, a traditional bronze lamp
of antique origin. The base of the lamp was rounded and of a
size sufficient to hold a cup of oil or more. It had a down-
wardly curved spout, thin and carefully polished. It was
without sharp edges as was only to be expected given its spe-
cial function. The wick was yellowed, a good sign that the
innkeeper had not used the more expensive whale oil, but
instead had spent her meager funds on the oil of plants.
There had been times when exigency required that I employ the
oil taken from the monsters of the sea to ease the way inside
Etienne, however it was not to my liking to use it with a boy
for the simple reason that it often gave him an unpleasant
case of farts. The same was true of many of the oils of
plants. The oil made from olives came to mind in that regard,
although it was seldom found so far north.

Carefully, I lifted off the clumsily made glass cone
that did little to shield the flame from drafts. I smelled
within what some priests would call `Palma Christi' but
whose origins extended to the ancient East. Fresh castor
juice, nature's emollient and skin softener, but used for
the treatment of gastrointestinal problems, lacerations, and
other skin ailments. Properly applied to an injured anal
region, it was even more effective than the lanolin of sheep.

"Look about Michel, and see if you can find a candle," I
said. "Try the cupboard over there," I added, gesturing to a
door with peeling paint.

Then, I turned the other way, looking to where Caelan
was huddled into a sullen tangle of arms and legs. I had a
thousand questions for the boy, but nothing that could not
wait till dawn. At the least he needed a blanket to keep him
warm. There was none to offer, except the cloaks that I had
made for the boys to effect the change from Sanctuary boys. A
better solution offered itself, but it would have to wait a
while.

Michel hopped from the bed. Despite the gloom that
filled the room with the lamp removed from the mantle, he
soon returned with two candles, pale yellow in color with a
hexagon pattern on the surface. They were large inelegant
blunt-ended candles, serviceable for lighting, but lacking
the elegance of thin tapers. They were also cheap, which was
only to be expected of our parsimonious innkeeper.

"Hm, but made of beeswax, I see," I observed aloud. "An
interesting turn, and one that can be put to good use to
solve our present problem."

I used the lamp to light one of the candles, then waited
until a quantity of wax had melted before inverting the can-
dle to let the wax drip onto a ledge. It formed an effective
if crude candle holder. Once the candle was fixed in place, I
snuffed out the lamp and removed the bronze cap that held the
cotton wick.

"It has an interesting decoration on the base, don't
you think Michel?" I said, holding out the lamp base.

Michel immediately recognized the phallic origin, for
there were no less than a dozen low-relief figures along the
base. They were all men, all sprouting erections of satyr
proportions, each one pointed at the buttocks of the man in
front. He smirked in mute appreciation of what it meant,
although doubtless he would be torn apart if he was the one
in front.

"The ancients often used such vessels to hold oil for
another purpose besides lamps," I continued. "I expect the
original meaning of this lamp has been lost with time,
although the other purpose still persists, of course."

"What meaning, Master?" Michel asked dutifully curious.
"What other purpose could it have but to be a lamp. Did it
hold oil to ease the way?"

"Indeed it did, but I'm thinking of another purpose of
greater interest to you than that. Notice the long spout it
has," I explained. "And it is of a thickness that is more
useful than a wine bottle to get inside an arse. It has
another desirable quality in that the oil within it is warmed
whenever the lamp is burned."

Michel examined it, turning it around to view it from
the other side. "You speak in riddles, Master Aidan, but I am
too tired to find the meaning." He sounded moody and he
frowned, still not finding an answer to his question. It was
the barest hint of the frustrated boy within.

Again, I glanced to see the other boys. Kadri and Sandor
had finished drying themselves. They wrapped their cloaks
around themselves to keep the cold away until they got back
into bed. Within a moment they were underneath the furs once
more, whispering together, stealing quick peeks at us. I sat
up and beckoned to the boy who cringed against the wall.

"You may join us here or stay there and freeze, child,"
I called out, finally putting aside my worry that the lad
would reveal who we were. "However, I'll not have a smelly
boy in the bed."

Indeed, having him undress to wash himself was an good
a way as any to discover if he was Caelan of Gallgaidheal.
The boy considered my offer as I swilled oil inside the lamp
to warm it. It was important that it be hot enough to melt a
boy's resolve without burning the tender flesh.

"I don't smell," the boy countered in a wavering plain-
tive voice.

I laughed. "You smell of dwarf and straw, and an arse
that's been greased with rancid lard. Get in the bath, boy,
and wash yourself clean."

My tone invited no complaint. Nervously, the boy clam-
bered to his feet. He had been trained by punishment to obey
his master's order. I regretted what I had said, but he was
in need of a thorough cleansing. His head hung low as he
crossed the room. He turned his back hesitantly, shedding
his ragged chemise and what seemed to be the remnants of a
kilt. In the tradition of the Gaelic warriors, he wore noth-
ing underneath. He was the color of cow's milk, creamy white.
Slender, at first glance much like the way that Michel was
built, but with signs of toil on the surface and physical
strength beneath. Sturdy legs, broad shoulders for a boy,
and narrow hips and waist. I smiled approvingly.

And that ugly band around his neck. A thick leather
color without a buckle, studded with shiny metal spikes,
like nails that threatened to tear his neck if he so much as
moved. It would take more than my knife to remove it from
him. He waited, standing like a frightened virgin presenting
his flagellated bottom to me. Instead of being courted by a
host of admirers who desired only to give him pleasure, the
poor boy had been subjected to the cruelest torment. He would
be scarred for life. That man deserved death rather than the
odious ridicule that had been heaped upon him.

"You poor boy," I whispered.

Michel sighed and slowly shook his head. "There are
worse things than being whipped, Master Aidan," he mur-
murred.

It was only then that Caelan turned, not fully, but to
the side. His hand dropped, swiftly shielding that part of
him that I wanted to see. Yet, I glimpsed a reddened tip,
like Michel's and the other boys who had been initiated on
the Mount. It was scarlet, unmistakable against the milky
skin of his dangling penis. A rose upon the end!

I heard Michel's voice in my head. `It is true.'

"Indeed, it is," I answered quietly.

I gestured to the boy to approach. He did so fearfully,
step by step, coming closer with the trepidation of a deer
before a bear. Another gesture, this time less intimidating,
but still requiring obedience. His hand moved away reluc-
tantly to reveal his private place. In the struggling light
of the lamp I could see the tiny petals that had been formed
on the helmeted end. Unlike my boys, it was exposed, the skin
cut back to show it all.

"A rose in bud," I observed.

I paused. The boy shivered. His eyes were upon Michel,
exchanging thoughts

"His rose in bud was surely the most pure of all,"
Michel said quietly.

That line from the Song of Caelan hung in the cold air
until the boy backed away. His eyes shifted from Michel to
me, then quickly to Kadri and Sandor.

"I think it's time that we showed Caelan where we are
from," I said.

With that, I lifted back the furs to expose the bare
skin of three boys and myself. Not surprisingly, both Kadri
and Sandor were aroused again. Without seed, stiffness soon
returned to a boy to meet his need. Both of their foreskins
were sufficiently far back that their roses were displayed.
Caelan stared. Then, still shocked his eyes moved to Michel
and me.

"Show him your red rose, Miel. let him see the symbol of
your lust," I said to Michel.

Michel complied with a grin. His skin peeled back with
ease for his stiffness was gone. The little bulb was blister-
ing hot, the skin glazed like molten metal. Yet, the rose was
clearly seen, each petal shown. It was a perfect twin of
nature's rose.

"But?...." Caelan gasped.

"And me too," I said with growing mirth.

"You're all from there?"

"Yes. I am Aidan Aquarius, a Vulturnus if you could not
guess. Presently, Master of Favonius boys," I explained. I
touched Michel's flank. "This is honey-colored lad is called
Michel, born under the sign of the scorpion, no less."

"Favonius?"

Michel nodded. His eyes half-closed, saying what he
wanted with his mind. Caelan smiled.

"And this is Sandor, born of Libra, a Vulturnus boy if
ever there was one, he thinks. And, Kadri who was mounted one
day earlier."

"And he's Favonius for that," Sandor giggled.

Caelan looked from Sandor to Kadri and smiled know-
ingly. He thought for only a moment before he spoke.

"`Young peach and plum blossoms,

Dazzling with glorious brightness.

Joyful as nine springtimes;

Pliant as if bowed by autumn frost.



Roving glances gave rise to beautiful seductions;

Speech and laughter expelled fragrance.

Hand in hand they shared love's rapture,

Sharing coverlets and bedclothes.



Couples of birds in flight,

Paired wings soaring.

Cinnabar and green pigments record a vow:

"I'll love you for all eternity.'"



The words came from the ancient East, and when spoken by
the pale-skinned boy, they were enough to bring a tear to
even a battle-ravaged face like mine. Sandor and Kadri
glanced at each other uncomfortably. Their love had been
discovered by a boy who was unknown to them.

"It's true," Kadri mumbled. "Although I don't under-
stand. How could he possibly know what I feel for Sandor?"

"A Vulturnus boy bends only for the one he loves. You
are all from the Mount?" Caelan asked again, if a trifle too
confident for one who was a stranger to us all. He hesitated.
"With roses,... a bud in front and a bloom in back?"

As one, we smiled and nodded in acknowledgment for it
would not be right to say the truth aloud.

Caelan swallowed and sighed.

"I told him who you were," Michel explained gently.

Caelan pulled back instinctively, then not moving. Yet,
his eyes were wide, darting back and forth like an animal in
the forest who smells danger close at hand.

"Don't be afraid. You are safe with us. Unless I am much
mistaken, you are Caelan, born of Aries." He did not move a
muscle. "You are the boy who was taken from the Mount but a
day before his rose was made. You slayed the dragon of Gall-
gaidheal," I said before Caelan could deny it.

He nodded. A finger rubbed a tear from his eye. "I have
waited for so long for you to come. Perhaps too long. It's
said by some,...

`The puckered rosebud opens, darkens, withers.

Where it was sweet, now it prickles.'"

I smiled. "Perhaps all that rosebud needs is the right
touch to bring it back to life. Like Ganymede `setting Zeus's
majesty aflame with his thighs', all you need is a man's
love," I joked.

Caelan shrugged with distant feeling. "I don't know
what it's like for a man to love a boy."

"Ah!" I stroked Michel's chest reverently. "You'll
learn in time, and from men who cherish boys like you:

			`From Zeus we make our start, the poet said;

no Muse do I call on.

	For I love boys and know boys, and what is that

to a goddess on Mount Helikon?'

... or for that matter to a beast like that man you once
called master," I ended.

He was quick to respond. "`For the pure honour of the
thighs thou hadst no reverence, O thankless one for those
frequent kisses!'"

I laughed. "A former slave who quotes so liberally of
Aeschylus and Sophocles is a surprise quite unexpected, even
to Miel, I think."

Michel merely smiled at me. Again, he seemed to know far
more than he let on. Strangely, his entire body seemed to
glow with heat. It was as if he was being consumed by fire
from within. And the reason for his heated state could be
none other than Caelan's presence for he was not sick.

"We are here only because fate has brought us
together," I continued. "You hold the answer to a problem
that has vexed me for some time. But first you bathe and then
you sleep. There will be ample time in the morning to talk of
dragons."

Obediently, Caelan took a few uncertain paces to reach
the bath. He stepped over the side and, with some grace sub-
merged himself into what had to be luke-warm water by then.

I motioned to the side where Michel lay. "Lie face down
upon the bed, Michel for we would not want the seed I
squirted down your tunnel to drain and smear upon the bed. Be
patient and all will soon become clear," I instructed as I
placed one of the pillows where Michel would lie. "It will
take a while to insert the oil."

Michel assumed the position, making the logical conclu-
sion that the pillow was not intended to cushion his head,
but his hips instead. He gazed back over his shoulder as I
sat down beside him. Casually, I moved his legs apart and
inspected the place that caused him pain. It was swollen and
as red as a beetroot. We had caught the problem just in time.

Whenever I touched his smooth skin, I was awed. Not even
the finest damask, or Chinese silk could compare. More like a
diaphanous gossamer that could barely alert the sense of
touch.

Carefully, I turned the lamp so that a small bead of
castor oil dripped from the spout onto my arm. It was warm,
not too hot, just right to melt that ring of muscle inside
Michel. With my other hand, I pressed upon his buttocks, sep-
arating the cheeks even further. It was the first time that I
had observed his rose in the flesh, so to speak, for until
then it had always been stained with excess dye from when the
tattoo was made. It was large, but not unsightly for it was
barely revealed when his cheeks were pressed together. It
was no larger than was needed to encompass the bruise that I
had given him, a symbol of his accomplishment. He had reason
to be proud of his rose. I was certainly no `asparagus dick'.

"Relax, Michel," I crooned, my lips close to his ear.
"It will feel a little strange at first, dear boy, but trust
me that a little oil it is nothing to be frightened of. Had
you not been given water earlier, I would hesitate to do
this. Tepid castor oil is a powerful emolument that will
cause your bowels to empty quickly."

"You're going to put the oil inside my bum," Michel gig-
gled nervously.

"Yes, dear boy. Now that you are flushed and freshly
fucked, the oil will make an admirable salve. It will, within
the hours of darkness, soothe the flesh where I have been. I
must also say that for a boy, a thorough oiling will also
provide a measure of lubrication nearly equal to the juice of
Ganymede, and doubtless it will be needed for I will go into
you again several times before the light of dawn."

Michel giggled again, less nervous for he knew what was
afoot. The tension in his buttocks lessened immediately, for
he was both desiring and awaiting my attention. I placed the
end of the warmed spout at the dimple of Michel's anus, in
the very center of his rose where the petals were the small-
est. Just the slightest pressure of the spout caused his anus
to open slightly. He was badly swollen, a bulging reddened
band. His rose had bloomed, or was it just the remnant of my
recent plunge? No matter for the difference was but one of
degree. Michel took a deep breath and nodded. Gently, I
pressed the curved spout forward and down so that it slipped
into Michel's opening. A little of the oil escaped, further
lubricating around the loosened hole. However, because of
the curved and tapered spout, the length of a finger could be
inserted almost completely before the oil flowed in earnest.
Michel wriggled, then relaxed, weakened by the sudden heat
inside him. A little further and the bowl of the lamp was
uplifted enough for the oil to trickle forth. It flowed into
Michel, the end of the spout as far inside him as any finger
could go.

"Oh! OH! Master Aidan. It's,- I can feel it going inside
me. It's so hot," he sighed.

"But not enough to singe your flesh."

"It's like your milk, but there's much more of it."

I chuckled at his observation. Etienne had said much
the same thing whenever I oiled his bowels. Michel shifted
upon the pillow, boldly lifting his buttocks upward. I
tilted the lamp so that it was nearly emptied. A few spoon-
fuls remained when I gradually withdrew the spout. His anus
remained open, opening into that crimson pleasure tube of
flesh. Beyond a tell-tale sheen I could not see the oil, but
it was there nonetheless, working its magic in his bowels.

"How do you feel, Miel?" I asked gently.

"Like there's a fever inside my belly, Master Aidan,"
Michel muttered. "I can't stop trembling. I feel,- I don't
know,- loose inside. It's like I'm melting."

"That's as it should be, Michel. We have one more thing
to do."

I picked up the beeswax candle and assessed it for my
purpose. It was of a length and thickness that would defi-
nitely stretch him, but not so large that he would be uncom-
fortable. Its width was within a hair's thickness of my
penis, and he could take that without complaint.

I poured some of the remaining oil along the candle,
then smeared it into the hexagons with my finger. Michel
watched attentively, visibly fascinated by the strange sen-
sation that the oil produced inside him. He took a deep
breath as I placed the end of the candle at his anus. It was
several times wider than the spout of the lamp but it pene-
trated just as easier.

"The advantage of beeswax candles over a candle made
from boiled down fat, is that it has a much lower melting
point. It will soften inside you and assume the shape of your
bowels before long," I explained as I carefully pressed the
candle deeper.

Watching the thick candle enter Michel's body, seeing
it distort the tattooed rose until it became a thin tight
line of red, aroused me in a way that made my hands tremble.
Finally, only a finger's breadth remained outside his anal
ring.

"It feels,... so different. If it ever hurt before,
then surely the pain has left me now. I feel so strange
inside, like it's bigger than before. It must be magic,"
Michel murmured.

"Magic indeed," I mused. "Perhaps it is, but we both
know that it was only oil that was warmed in the lamp. The
magic, like a wizard's work, me thinks, comes in knowing what
to do with it."

"Yet, I heard no spell, Master," Michel teased.

"Ah, but an incantation isn't needed except when one
professes to have power in the dark arts of magic. And now,
Michel, I want you to lie still for a while," I said, reas-
suringly patting his rounded bottom. "We'll leave the candle
here until you're ready for my prick to enter once again."

Michel nodded. He seemed contended, just as a Sanctuary
boy should be when his innards are appropriately skewered. I
stood up and returned to the bath tub.

Caelan looked up at me, grinning gleefully. Beneath the
soapy water, his hand had found a happy home wrapped around
his little penis.

I scowled and shook my head. "I presume there's still
something for my boys to teach you," I said mockingly, glanc-
ing into the tub where his penis poked upright. "Get out
before I freeze to death."

He laughed and stood up, clambering out of the tub to
shed water like a wet dog. I began to briskly rub his body
with my cloak. Once out of the warm water, the room was suf-
ficiently chilled with night air that he quickly became
cold.

"You'd best get in the tub, Master," Sandor suggested
gleefully from his comfortable position above Kadri. "Unless
I'm much mistaken, there's someone in the bed who'll soon
want more satisfying than what he can get from a candle in
his arse."

"You have such a nice way of putting things," Kadri
reproached.

"Well, it's true," Sandor retorted. he lifted up, snap-
ping his thin fingers at Kadri's rigid penis. "You Favonius
boys are all alike. Your arses beg for fucking without stop."

Kadri jerked away, one hand clutching his groin protec-
tively. For a moment I thought I was at the Sanctuary watch-
ing the boys hone their reflexes with swordplay in the Court
of Master Devon. Of their many games to pass the nighttime
hours, `dick flick' when played among the junior boys was
perhaps my favorite. When more than two boys engaged in that
playful if sometimes painful pursuit, it was very easy to
lose track of the scores.

"Well there's no need to be so vulgar about it. I like
what I like. There's no harm in that."

"Would you prefer I used a candle in your bum, Favonius
boy? Or my dick, which is hot and alive. Although it is a
good deal smaller than a stake of wax, unlike a a candle, my
dick feels what you are feeling, Kadri?"

"Enough said," I remonstrated, stepping into the luke-
warm water. "However, there is more than a grain of veracity
in one of your rhymes today- How did it go?

`They used a stick when they wanted a prick,'

`It wasn't slick, but it was just as thick.'

`It might have been cold, but it never got old.'"

That I had remembered their verses sent three boys into
cackles of laughter. I waved Caelan away, sending him in the
direction of Michel and the warmth of the bed we would share
throughout the night. I slid down into the water and began to
wash myself with haste. I could hear them giggling and whis-
pering, sometimes Michel, sometimes Kadri. What I heard from
Sandor was muffled and sounded much like his head was under
the blankets. Caelan lay quietly.

I proceeded to wash myself, realizing just how dirty I
had been after two days on the road as the water turned even
grayer that it had been from the four boys who preceded me
into the bath.

Suddenly, Kadri let out a loud whoop and kicked at the
blankets. Michel laughed. Sheepishly, Sandor's head emerged
from underneath the blankets. He was blushing even as I
stepped from the bath, wondering what the red-faced boy of
Vulturnus had managed to do to his pretty Favonius friends.

"What's so funny?" I demanded as I hurriedly dried
myself.

The boys were reluctant to answer. It was only then that
I noticed that Michel and Kadri were lying back to back,
close enough that they could be touching. Still dripping
water, I furrowed my brow and I crossed the room. Being such
close friends it was highly unlikely that they were squab-
bling about something, yet I could conclude nothing else
from their positions. That both were sulking was remote for
their giggles continued while I approached. Even caelan
showed sighed of joining in the fun.

"Is there a problem?" I asked when I reached the side of
the bed.

"A problem? Sandor repeated. "Um,- No,- Not exactly,
Master Aidan."

"Then what exactly?"

"Um,- well, there was only the one candle, Master,
because the other one is burning," Sandor said hesitantly.
He smirked at Kadri. "So Michel offered to share his."

"Share what?"

"His candle of course." Sandor giggled. "He's sharing
his candle with Kadri."

I laughed. I leaned down, looking at the two boys, sud-
denly realizing why they were back to back. Even Caelan
leaned over to take a look. They were joined by the candle.
One half was inserted into Michel's anus where I had placed
it, the other half buried within Kadri. Their firm young bot-
toms were engaged in a tug of war, muscular clenches and pel-
vic thrusts that endeavored first to deny, then replenish
the other boy's pleasure. It was an equal pleasure for me to
watch their uninhibited antics. Pure untrammeled joy as only
a boy could endure. Back and forth it went, accompanied by
soft sighs and groans as their bodies loosened and the candle
slid with increasing ease.

I should have told them to cease their hedonistic game,
for a master's responsibility is to encourage the boys under
his tutelage to find satisfaction, if not with men, then at
least with other boys. The rules set down by the Master of
the Mount, Lord of the Citadel of Boys, Protector of the
Sanctuary of Roses, alone denied a candle for anything other
than a lonely lad. However, I knew from my own years of grow-
ing up on the Mount that most masters turned a blind eye to
such goings on. That boys sought pleasure with prick-shaped
things happened for the simple reason that there was but one
man to every twelve boys. Doubtless this was a pleasing ratio
from a man's perspective, but less agreeable for the boys
once they were accustomed to a larger organ. Although the
frequency of copulation among the lads compensated somewhat,
there were some things that a boy simply could not do as well
when he lacked maturity. And so, it was a common occurrence,
even among the younger boys, that they sought out alterna-
tive ways to satisfy their needs.

"It looks as if we aren't needed tonight," I quipped to
Sandor. "We might as well leave them to it."

He smirked, his right hand slowly fondling his erect
penis. "It's fun to watch it going in and out," he remarked
to Caelan. "See how their bottoms flex around it when they
push and pull. It's the same way when a man mounts you, only
it moves in waves and does things that you don't expect."

I nodded in agreement, sitting down on the bed beside
the boys. Sandor wriggled closer, making no secret that he
desired affection. Caelan moved away, finding a place where
he was comfortable on the far side of the bed. He was hardly
a timid boy, but it was very likely that he had been given
reason to be scared of what men and boys did together. I
hoped that would change as be began to realize that he was
safe with us.

I responded to Sandor's overture by casually placing my
arm around his narrow shoulders. I drew him against me, soak-
ing up his youthful warmth. He was soft and smooth, like any
boy before his eggs have ripened. Yet, compared to Michel,
his skin was rougher, especially in those places where it had
been exposed to the travails of work. He was stronger too,
but not by much and that could be accounted for in the most
part by an extra month of training. He lacked Michel's per-
fection, yet he was an admirable boy and very desirable at
that.

He turned, bringing his lips to mine. It was a chaste
kiss as far as kisses went, yet I sensed his mood. He needed
to be loved. How long had it been since he had taken a man's
penis between his cheeks? I felt him tremble with the thrill
of closeness, that shiver of nervous energy that needed to be
released, that could only be set free by being taken from
inside. He sighed when our lips parted, shivering with
desire born as much from instinct as prior experience with me
and other men. I squeezed his shoulder gently, then slowly
sliding my hand down his lean back, stopped only when I
grasped his firm buttock. Not large by any measure yet so
much larger than Michel, whose petit pinched bottom was
surely the smallest of any Sanctuary boy in recent memory.
Sandor quivered with anticipation when my fingers trailed
along the cleft, one finger marking the dividing crevice. I
would go no further. As Kadri's lover, he had denied himself
to others, just as I would save my love for Michel.

"Do you want a candle for yourself?" I whispered in his
ear. He shook his head slightly, rejecting out-of-hand as I
expected. "Courageous Vulturnus boy, there is no shame in
doing what you want. The poets have long agreed on that. What
comes naturally in desire cannot be unnatural in deed."

"Master,-" he muttered. "After Kadri,- it's just
that,... I feel so empty."

"Then, dear boy, let me refill your bowels with waxen
flesh."

He nodded hesitantly, clambered over me, and darted
across the room to where the candle had been placed on the
mantle. The remaining candle flickered and went out, extin-
guished for the night. Sandor ran on tiptoes back to the bed.
He passed the candle to me. I quickly molded the softened
end, covering the wick with wax until it formed what felt to
my fingers to be a bulbous ball. Sandor lay down on his side,
drawing his knees up to his chest. Beside us, Michel and
Kadri were silent, likely awed by curiosity for Vulturnus
boys seldom yielded to another, and for him to take the can-
dle into his body without restraint or complaint was nothing
short of astonishing. And Caelan? Just the merest hint of a
smile.

"On your knees Vulturnus boy," I ordered in my sternest
voice. It was difficult not to laugh as Michel and Kadri
barely held back giggles. "You'll not avoid your Master by
lying like a girl."

Shamefacedly, Sandor did as he was told, taking a posi-
tion beside me so his bare hip pressed against my knee. I
oiled the candle carefully and positioned it by feel. His
anus was tight, much tighter than it would have been for any
other Sanctuary boy.

"You know the drill, despite your role with Kadri. On
three," I announced. "Breath in. Relax. One. Two. Three."

I pushed firmly as Sandor wriggled back. Determination
achieved what lack of practice should have denied. Together,
we forced the end of the candle through his anus. He gasped
at the moment of penetration, that instant when a boy cannot
deny that he's been entered. His sphincter clenched instinc-
tively behind the molded knob, but without effect for the
deed was done. He gasped as the candle continued onwards,
deeper into his sacred place. He shuddered suddenly, wincing
from the breadth. Emptiness was replaced by fullness, yet I
pushed relentlessly for only a third was in.

"Ohhhh," Sandor groaned.

His muscle quaked, biting then relaxing quickly. The
candle surged deeper, sliding on the oily film. He buried his
face among the pillows, whimpering softly.

"So good. Oh,-. Master Aidan. Ohhhh! Oh yes, so good. I
need it deeper."

I pushed it in as far as I dared for a boy who had
become so tight. With Kadri consuming his love, it was no
surprise that Sandor was unaccustomed to a man. The candle
entered no more than a hand's breath, perhaps a little more
than the length of my finger. Just half way in before I
stopped. Sandor quaked, struggling to accommodate the width.
It was far enough inside his canal that it brushed his tender
gland if he so much as moved. He gasped, no longer fighting
to keep the waxen candle out. Instead, he grunted, gasped and
tried to draw it deeper, to increase the pressure in that
special place within a boy where joy is found.

His body flushed with sudden heat, melting any resolve
that he might have had. His heart quickened, then that raspy
breath that came with greed. His hips twitched, once, then
again, then began to move with awkward thrusts that pumped
the candle back and forth.

"Don't let it go so long before you have a man, Sandor,"
I advised soothingly. "You can love Kadri with all your
heart, but you're still a boy back here."

"Yes, Master,-" Sandor sighed. "It's good to feel full
like this again."

"I know. I was a boy myself once." I smiled at Caelan.
he appeared to be interested in what was happening beside
him. "There's no feeling quite like it, even for a Vulturnus
boy."

I leaned over Sandor and tenderly brushed my lips
against his back. I would never love him or Kadri the same
way that I loved Michel or Etienne, but my feelings for both
of them were as strong as those for any other boy I had
known, as strong as any master had known for a boy. The curi-
ous thing was the feeling that I had known Caelan all my
life, that I loved him as much as Michel.

"Take me,- please," Sandor implored longingly. "I need
you in me, Master. Not a candle that has no feeling of its
own. I need your cock."

I smiled and gently rubbed his upturned bottom, each
globe so delicious in its softness, cupping his roundness.
The temptation was nearly overpowering. Beneath the soft
skin was firm muscle, not the jellied flab that some boys
have to guard their most private place of all.

"Indeed, there is almost nothing I would rather do." I
squeezed the little cheeks together, compressing them around
the wax stake. "But I have pledged this night to pleasure
Michel with my sturdy sword of flesh."

"The candle, it's not big enough," Sandor complained.

"Perhaps not, Vulturnus boy, but before you ask for
more, know that it's only halfway in," I teased.

"It's not more length I need," Sandor grumbled.

I laughed and thrust the candle in as deeply as I dared.
He jerked and gasped before be uttered a low groan. For an
instant it sounded painful, but that guttural sound came not
from being hurt. Even Caelan recognized the sound for what it
was. For Sandor felt it buried deeply, the tip well past his
core, now exerting constant pressure on that special gland
within him.

Realizing that at least for the moment, Sandor was sat-
isfied, I glanced to Michel and Kadri. They had lost interest
in Sandor's sodomy and had returned to finding happiness
together. Such tantalizing games that young boys play when
given the opportunity, I thought. Their bodies had reached
that state when muscles that were usually constricting, had
relaxed and loosened up. That dilation opened them to each
other's increasingly energetic backwards thrusts. Facing in
opposite directions, neither boy could not see the other,
yet they were so synchronized in movement, I found inspira-
tion. It was not unlike watching a blacksmith forge the sword
for Damocles, so powerful were their pelvic strokes. They
moved in turn as the candle surged within their bowels and
ground hard against their precious zones, then softly whim-
pered as the phallus of wax was pulled back. Their pleasure
heightened, whimpers turned to groans, shaking with sensa-
tions that had no equal, their bodies quaking from the vigor
of boyish lust. They were very close to the pinnacle of plea-
sure. Perhaps a few heart beats away. Caelan trembled, his
eyes fixed on them.

I smiled. I knew of other men who would deny the joy
that two boys had discovered together. Even on the Mount,
there were some men who argued against boys finding pleasure
with each other instead of them. Yet it was natural and
uplifting, entirely right for boys to be joined together.
Their orgasm was mutual, spontaneous, miraculous. Other than
that frenzied finality that culminated in half-a-dozen sav-
age jerks that slowly died away to nothing, there was no sign
of their release. Such is the conquest of the prepubescent
boy. They lay, still joined by the candle, breathless,
unmoving, and more than likely even slightly sore for they
had been so frenzied at the end that their wild gyrations and
plunging back and forth were enough to irritate the rectum of
even the most experienced Sanctuary boy.

"It seems as if my boys have discovered an admirable
substitute for man and Master, Sandor," I joked.

"And the same might be said for me," Sandor responded
with a dismissing laugh. "Kadri looks worn out. Perhaps you
will fuck me now they're finished for the night."

"NO! We were just getting ready for you," Michel and
Kadri shrieked together.

Their shameless eagerness to be loved as only boys can
be loved was awe inspiring. They pulled apart, the oily film
on the candle suctioning their bowels until it came free with
two loud pops. That familiar sound was music to my ears. Even
Caelan smiled.

Gingerly, he reached out and picked up the candle
between a finger and thumb. It had softened from the heat
inside their bowels, adopting a curved shape on either end,
distorted to the muscular tubes within them. It was covered
with pearls of slime, precious gems from deep inside.

"What will the innkeeper say when she finds this in the
morning?" he asked in mocking voice. "Tha buys shudha fooked
ma dooters and noot ma candool?"

Calean's accent was terrible, but we were in the mood
to laugh. Immediately, all of us began laughing together,
rolling from side to side. We laughed until it hurt, hardly
the sort of thing that a priest and acolytes of the Greka
Drega should be doing, and certainly not with a slave boy
present. Finally, having regained some control for myself, I
managed to hush them. I repositioned the boys. Sandor and
Kadri together on the other side of the bed, Michel on one of
me and caelan on the other. With Michel lying over me, strad-
dled like a rider, I stroked his sides, from shoulder to hip
and back again. We kissed. Quickly. Slowly. Then long and
hard, until our lips tingled with the taste of love. I licked
his nose, suckled on his chin, smooched his cheeks, tanta-
lized his eyelids with the tip of my tongue, all the while
with Michel crooning soft words of love to me. Caelan looked
on, seeing very little in the darkness, but attentive with
increasing fascination.

Beside us, with an equal sense of urgency, Sandor lay
down over Kadri, pressed boy part to boy part, front to
front, their little things slippery with warm oil and slid-
ing back and forth. In the darkness, no sight, just touch,
and sound and the hint of lye-soap, the slight unguent aroma
of fresh oil. Our hearts beat, Michel fast, mine slow, yet
together. Beside us, Kadri groaned softly. Unmistakable
sounds. Wetness. The slap of flesh. Breathing deeper. Kiss-
ing. Mute whispers of love like ours, a love that dared not
say its name too loud. Urgent sounds of the night.

"Fuck me."

Kadri? Michel? Both together. Both wanting, needing,
eager to be taken. I lifted back, applying the slick oil from
the flask that Sandor handed to me. Michel's legs lifted
higher, his knees above his shoulders, his bottom lifted up,
eternal offering. I glanced sideways and in the darkness of a
hand's breadth distance, I could barely see Kadri similarly
positioned before Sandor. In darkness there was isolation,
the solitude needed for two people to make love. My heart
throbbed with longing, my mind distracted from reality, no
longer thinking, but acting on intuition born of lust. I
dwelled on words once said to me by Etienne.

`He has inflamed my passions

and consumed my heart with fire.

Because of him I have been left

without understanding and wisdom.'

I pressed into my young lover, Etienne's brother, feel-
ing with my fingers to find his greasy opening. He winced,
still very tender from the pricks that had been used to make
the tattoo. Another week or two before the soreness left him,
the symbol remaining around his precious hole forever. He
nodded urgently, eagerly, slipping his hands down to spread
his cheeks further apart, to make a place for my soldier's
helmet head, although it really wasn't needed with the drool
of oil that seeped down from inside him. The tip of my penis
nudged his orifice, seeking entry with a wistful sigh.
Michel sighed too, longingly, relaxing, willing me to enter
and partake of his body's heat. So tight, still. Not for much
longer, the rule required that a boy be taken by a man a
dozen times. Just a few m ore days until he stayed open, then
like any other Favonius boy whose hole was always being used,
he would greet his lover with an open place to burrow. As if
reading my mind, his anus flexed, embraced, deliberately
yielding to welcome my penis into him. I groaned, relin-
quishing my sex by taking him again.

Kadri groaned. Sandor growled. He pushed all of it,
curved, blunt-tipped hardness entering suddenly, deeply into
the fair-skinned boy. Then, jerking back, grunting with the
force he used. I smiled, not seen by any of them as I appre-
ciated the difference of men and boys. Sandor would be fast.
I would be slow. The pleasure for our partners would be so
different. My penis crept into Michel's heated tunnel,
stretching him wide, so wide that each breath caused him to
flinch. I could feel his body trying to adjust, quivering,
quaking, relaxing, closing up again when I withdrew. Two
days abstinence has restored some tension, but not so much
that it would hurt him badly. Onwards, ever deeper, using
little pushes that were carefully given. He whimpered if I
pushed too hard. From pain or pleasure? It had to be the lat-
ter for his hands grasped at me, pulled me inward even as he
seemed to cringe.

"Enough, my darling lover?" I whispered in his ear.

My penis was little more than halfway inside Michel;
but it was far enough for the moment. He nodded slightly,
then thinking, deliberately shook his head from side to
side. Like me, he needed, wanted more inside him. Still, I
gave him a momentary respite by habit, easing back before
pushing once again. No need to pause, for Michel squeezed
back. A gasp from both of us for the pressure was beyond
belief. Then, suddenly, he strained against me and grunted
loudly. It surged again, going further, deeper into him.
Then, taking over, I thrust upward and into him to complete
our union.

"Enough?" I teased when I could go no further.

It felt tight inside him, as if his bowel was being torn
asunder, but not so tight that he so much as whimpered. Yet,
even the slightest motion seemed to wrest it from his
innards. I stilled my thrusting to barely moving. He squat-
ted above me, proudly buggered by his lover.

"Oh Master Aidan. Yes, that's it," he groaned. "The
pressure,- so,- wonderful,- I'm so happy. I would not mind
dying on a sword,... but only if it was your cock impaled
inside me."

He quaked and trembled, arms and legs writhing, twitch-
ing. He shuddered violently, overcome by pleasure. I felt
him reach that pinnacle of male joy, a dozen frantic cramps
that clamped against my member. I waited patiently, con-
trolled my senses, not even flexing until he regained his
sanity.

"Enough, my pretty boy?"

"Not yet."

"You're a horny little devil," I mused as I petted his
silky cheek.

"I love you, Master Aidan."

He tightened that place of musk and oil, gripping my
sword of flesh within his bottom hole. My eggs were planted
between his thighs, having completely impaled the boy upon
my lance. He sighed like the western zephyr that gives the
name to Favonius boys. Gently, slowly loving him with gentle
thrusts, not stabbing like the eager boy who knelt beside me.
Michel's heat increased gradually, growing like a fever of
lust till his back was beaded with a sheen of sweat and he
urged me to take him harder, faster. By then, he had loosened
even further, still twitching hands and feet as he lay upon
me like a sacrifice upon the highest altar, barely breath-
ing, protesting only if I dared to slow my pace.

Despite his protestations, I controlled my undulating
hips, using my back and thighs to lift him higher, straining
hard to drive the pike like a skewer between his widespread
cheeks.

The time was near for those beside us, gasping, all but
crying out in panic that it would soon end. I listened,
amused that Kadri could be satisfied so greatly by so little,
but that was the nature of their love. Boy with boy, both
pricks like toys, yet enough in love to satisfy their hunger.
I paused as they began to rut like beasts, no longer caring
to constrain their passion. It ended in rush, a mindless fury
of two boys satisfying lust, both groaning loudly in simul-
taneous ecstasy.

Michel giggled shamelessly, recognizing the squelching
sound beside him. His muscle clamped again and squeezed with
increasing urgency, beginning the rush for one of us. His
bowel sucked loudly, squeezing again and again, his pretty
face contorted with the effort.

Yet, a look of purest ecstasy formed as he writhed and
flailed and gave his all to me. Another quaking shudder,
stronger than before, eyes closed, abandoned to the powerful
sense within him, becoming one with me, releasing the pre-
cious sap that few boys had. The juice of Ganymede flowed
once more, the barest trickle for very little was required,
yet the scent was strong. Sweetness, like a ripe red melon of
the summer, spreading along my heated prick. Another shud-
der, seeming an endless rush of energy until he was done.
Slipperiness unlike any other had gathered where we met
inside, my steely sword gliding deep inside him. Still
thrusting, not counting, perhaps five times so far, yet
needing more. All Sanctuary boys were like Michel, not stop-
ping even when their flesh grew sore. We plunged together,
plugging that gaping hole with throbbing blood-filled heat.
He wailed with happiness once more, then listless as he con-
centrated on the final biting spasms. He was so close to
exhaustion that he barely moved.

"Had enough yet, my little honey boy?" I growled.

"I can always take more love, Master Aidan," he encour-
aged, breathing deeply, turning his head to meet my lips.
"It's even better than before. I need it harder,- love me the
same way that you loved my brother. I want it looser."

I gazed upon him, in the darkness imagining his deli-
cate features, lips quivering, eyes closed to narrow slips.
A man might almost believe that my love for his brother had
caused him pain. Yet, it was not that. He sought only to con-
vey his desperation. Etienne had never attained that level.

"Too much too soon will tear your hole," I warned from
underneath him.

"But I'm so close again."

"And I am too my lover boy, yet I would not spoil you to
spare my passion."

His thin arm locked around my neck as my arms clutched
his slender chest. Again his lips sought mine. It was an awk-
ward position, but we did what was needed to ascend again.
Our lips sealed, engaged to battle with our tongues. Again
and again, we sought to do what men and boys have always done
together until desire was subdued. Finally, I reached the
point when even with the devotion of a priest, I could not
last. It was enough to satisfy both of us. I fucked him hard,
the way he wanted. It ended quickly. I forged a scabbard
within his body, hammered like a blacksmith until he
shrieked in joy. With a great heave that lifted him bodily
into the air, my fluid spurted forth, gushing out in waves,
endless throbbing that pulsed within his slop-filled hole.
He kept shaking even after my spasm ended.

"Don't take it out," Michel whispered tiredly.

I was still beneath him, too tired to move, captivated
by the smell of sex, the fragrance of his bowels. Beside us,
Caelan, Kadri and Sandor had fallen asleep.

"`Art thou musk or ambergris?

Because thy delicious odor intoxicates me,'" I asked.

Michel merely giggled.

"We can't sleep like this, Miel," I added softly. "You
make a fine blanket, my lover, especially with my snake rest-
ing in your hole, but I have never acquired the ability to
sleep upon my back."

Michel giggled again. "Then hold me tight Master Aidan
and roll to the side carefully so he does not slither out and
leave me lonely, not even for a moment," he instructed glee-
fully.

A moment later we were curled together, wrapped arms
and legs and joined as only lovers can be united. My hardness
faded, yet it stayed within the boy, a soldier's helmet held
hostage by his inner muscle. His weakened anus was still like
a ridge that I could not pass without retreating to defeat.
Joined together, we shared a lover's victory.

He sighed gratefully, gleefully using the muscles hid-
den in his body to massage my flesh. As we drifted off to
sleep, I thought of the juice that would seep out from his
slippery bottom during the night. Likely it would soil the
sheets, evidence of our nightly toil. It would form a dark
wet patch of manly seed, of oil, and the sweet-smelling juice
of Ganymede. I thought of the words ingrained throughout my
Vulturnus youth:

`Ah, believe me, were the Golden age to come again,

Ganymede should no longer slave to highest Jove.

Thou to heaven ravished, by day his cup refill,

Thou by night give him kisses, and find within him,

nectar far more sweet, than the juice of any fruit.'



Often I have heard it said that dragons are attracted by
the smell of boys, although equally it is said that they are
indifferent to that of men. Even more attracting to the scaly
creatures is the fabled fluid that is reputed to flow from
some boys' bowels. Indeed, dragons have been known to fly a
thousand leagues when the scent of Ganymede is strong. Thus,
I should not have been surprised when I awoke before the
eastern sky had greyed with dawn. The sound was unmistak-
able, even in the flicker of a passing dream that had Michel
and me upon a distant sandy beach. At a distance, the sound
was not unlike an owl, not fluttering in the cold calm air,
but a steady beat that was muffled by its sheen of scales.

I awoke, a fleeting thought of luscious warmth, grati-
fied by the soft embracing warmth of the smooth-skinned boy
before me. There was barely enough light to see Michel's
golden silky hair or translucent eyelids that kept night
from day. Beyond Michel, Caelan stirred then settled back to
sleep. So different to the boy I loved, yet just as beautiful
once the grime of slavery had been washed away.

I leaned over Michel, consumed by a mystical apprecia-
tion of a face that could be described only as divine in
inspiration. His lips were pure, shaped precisely right,
enough to fuel a man's desire. It was only then when I real-
ized that my protuberance was swollen hard and thick, deeply
ensconced between his tender cheeks. It had stayed there
throughout the long hours of night. In the darkness, his rec-
tum had resumed its normal size, becoming tighter like a vir-
gin. At that moment, he felt so full that even the slightest
motion on my behalf would cause his hips to move about. I
tried to ease away to lessen his strain, but ceased my back-
ward motion when he trembled slightly. His muscle clenched,
and then he sighed. He was still asleep, but so demanding was
his need that even then he was conscious of the presence of
my member. My engorged cock had been imprisoned by his hole,
not daring to wilt as his ring pulsed and throbbed with every
heartbeat.

Yet even as I lay appeased by pleasure as only a man can
be when a boy's taut flesh surrounds him, I listened to the
sound of beating wings approach. My cock softened slightly,
perhaps responding to my increasing alarm. Growing louder,
ever nearer, a steady sweep of gigantic outstretched wings,
then a momentary silence as it glided, swooping on the
chilled morning air. Suddenly, the sound was too close for
comfort. Again, some inner alarm caused Caelan to shudder, a
distant memory perhaps?

Not longer waiting for Michel to awaken, I gently drew
back, pulling against his small rump, dragging a reluctant
worm through slippery flesh until all that remained within
was a bulbous head within his passage. I smiled in passing
amusement as I contemplated the words of Master Sui who
trained me as a boy:

`First thing in, last thing out, is the tenderest part,

First thing in, last thing out, is the largest part.

But a boy taken twice, thrice, or even more,

t'is nothing but a slippery joy.'

I did not complete the thought for Michel stirred sud-
denly, then quickly tensed as he felt the vacuumed emptiness
within him. His muscle squeezed quickly, forming an impene-
trable wall. A barrier no less formidable than the gate of
the Sanctuary itself kept us joined together for longer than
I wanted. I had not intended to abandon him so swiftly, yet
the sound of wings had become much nearer. I jerked away, a
sudden sodden yank that stole my cock from Michel's warm
treasure. He grumbled, still sleepy, yet aroused enough to
know what now was gone.

"What?" he bemoaned. His eyelids slowly opened to
reveal sky blue.

"Hush, Michel," I whispered in a anxious voice.

I hesitated to tell him what was wrong for my instinct
said that he would want to come.

"We must not wake our friends," I added.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing that needs you to rise from the warmth of this
bed," I explained.

I lifted back the blanket, barely glimpsing the hon-
eyed hue of his slim legs, the roundness of a bottom that was
reddened in the cleft, the dull sheen of oil that was smeared
upon his skin.