Date: Wed, 9 May 2018 20:31:40 +0000 From: Nicholas Nicholby Subject: Boys Guild Chapter 4, Gay, SciFi/Fantasy, Adult Youth, Prolific Authors Boys Guild Chapter Four This story is a work of fiction. It never happened, it never will. The characters and locations are all make believe and any resemblance to any place or person, living or dead, is simply in the mind of the reader and totally unintentional. Situations and sexual activities of the characters are fantasy, don't try dragon riding at home. The story is also the first in a series of stories about Kind Draviad's Realm. Please let me know if you enjoy by email to nicholas6996 (at) hot mail dot com Copyright 2018 by Nicholas Nicholby, all rights reserved. Not to be distributed or duplicated without express written permission of the author. The author hereby grants the Nifty Archive a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancellable license to use, modify or alter and edit copy for clarity or style, reproduce, display, make compilations of and distribute the work. The Boys Guild The Master Baker took a pull off the bottle stashed in Cobar's little cubby. The lad was a true find and the Master Baker well knew it. After the first few sessions of pulling the boy's legs apart and applying his basting brush liberally coated with egg wash to the dimpled recess the baker had noticed the boy's pin had itself risen and never once deflated. Remarkably it was both stout and exceedingly long. This young one was a grower and now with the baker in full bun kneading mode the man found it a very convenient handle. Using it to lift and position the doughy buns to perfection the Master Baker was astounded to find it spewing creme fresh at the exact same moment the Baker's was piping his own meringue deep inside the crevice. The Master Baker had read about such extraordinary apprentices in several of the tomes held forth for elucidation by the Nifty Archivist. He had never expected to find one so readily randy and gruntingly cooperative. He made a pledge to himself on two fronts now that the yeast had been proofed. First he would drop a coin or two into the Donate cup so artfully displayed upon the Archivist's shop window at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Second he would schedule a thrice daily oven checking regime where both he and the boy could apply their probes and see to proper temperature and humidity settings. Chapter 4 - Minnow Gifts and Mermaid Tears Zekial had been almost overwhelmed with the flurry of activity directed by the Wizard. There had been several days of work deep down in the subterranean levels of the tower. He had carried masses of boxes which had rattled and jingled with the sounds of small bottles. In the laboratory workshop there were unpleasant smells, whirling clouds of multi colored smoke and lots of bubbling beakers. Zekial had no idea what they were making. The apprentice and the Wizard had innumerable discussions, apparently in languages that Zekial didn't understand because he couldn't make heads or tails of it. It seemed he was perpetually exhausted, but the Wizard would just twiddle fingers at him and somehow he would find the energy to keep carrying things down the infernal steps. He had wondered why the Wizard didn't just magic things down the stairs, or magic the lab up closer to the street where the boxes kept arriving, but after the third day he didn't even have the energy to wonder any more. Finally it seemed the last box had arrived, the last bottle emptied into the retorts, the last argument held between the Wizard and the apprentice. Zekial stood almost numb from five days of little to no sleep, even less to eat and not enough to drink to cause him to even need the middens. Standing, actually leaning, against the wall at the bottom of the steps Zekial knew he was ready to pass out. Somehow the Wizard suddenly seemed to realize his plight and with a flourish of cape swirling, arm waving and finger waggling a great cloud of green smoke rolled off the work table and the Wizard sent a beaker of fizzing pink liquid across the room. He ordered Zekial to drink and then rest. There was no argument, Zekial didn't have the strength to barely even notice the warm fuzziness of the concoction. As he finished it he was moderately surprised that the beaker popped into nothingness taking the last few dribbles. He was more surprised to look up and see that he was in the tower bedroom with an inviting pile of soft looking blankets and quilts on the red bearskin rug in front of the fireplace to his left and an equally inviting looking bed to his right. He stumbled to the cloud like pile on the bearskin, shrugged off his tunic, shirt and hose and essentially collapsed naked among the fur and fabrics. He slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted, waking once to find a small table with another beaker of the fizzing pink liquid. He drank and as the beaker popped away he laid back and Morpheus once more took him. The Wizard was a little concerned and angry with himself for not seeing to the boy's needs earlier, but as he leaned out of the chair by the fire and looked down at the sleeping boy he knew it would be alright. Watching the soft rising of the boy's firm nipples and the slight sleep movements of his long slender legs the Wizard marveled that this boy had found him. Beautiful in a classic sense with thin hips, slightly wider shoulders, perfectly formed feet and hands, there was a developing abdomen of pendulating muscles. The cupidic plunging of his iliac furrow lead the discerning eye toward a well formed, well endowed lance and living stones. Unmarred by any extraneous hair the smooth skin stretched tautly across the hidden corona yet was loose and distended at the base allowing the stones to dangle and cool. The rest of the boy showed developing muscles and rising adolescence. Confirming those thoughts the boy's lance began to grow as if responding to the appreciative gaze. Slowly at first the already taut skin began to fill out and plump up and the boy's imperceptible heartbeat became visible in a slight thump-thump vibration raising the lance in an elemental rhythm. Each pair of thumps adding just a little more blood into the slowly engorging organ, lifting and lengthening it along the pubic mound and toward the navel. The Wizard steepled his fingers to his lips and leaned forward on his elbows as this silent ceremony of life played forward. Soon the lance head was poking out of the enclosing sheath, the vibrating thump-thump becoming almost audible as the color of the lance head glowed purple and the lance itself shone deep pinks and reds. Strong blood lines of deep blue fell like ropes along the sides and outer face. The loose skin holding the living stones gradually compressed and with a twirling and dancing the stones themselves were pulled up and against the base of the lance such that each fistful sized stone was clearly presented: tightly bound, yet still writhing inside their bonds. A stasis seemed to have been reached. The rhythmic echoing of the heartbeat, the jitteriness of the stones, an almost respirating opening and closing of the tiny lips seemed to hold the world in suspense. Then a tiny crystal clear drop of dew appeared at the lips and the boy's body give an inaudible but visible sigh and the process reversed itself. A little faster but no less engrossingly and soon the living stones were once again dangling loose between the legs, the lance was laying against the pubic mound instead of above it, the purple head was retracted into its sheath and the whole was pointing in a gentle curve toward the boy's left hip. As the Wizard reclined into the chair the boy's eyes fluttered open, his head raised slightly, he glanced vacantly around and as his head fell back against the blankets his right hand reached in and absently lifted and tugged at the loose living stones, gave a squeeze and a stroke along the soft lance, found the drop of fluid within the folds of the lance sheath and rubbed it across the fingers, brought them to his face and sniffed, then licked them clean. A small smile crossed both of their faces as they settled back each into their own sleep and dreams of seven Summermoons before. Zekial's small dream had been of that time long ago when the Wizard had first popped into his life. The main difference between the dream and the reality being that his lance had seemed even more stiff and breakable back then. Of course the dew drop was new now. New to the dream, but not new to the lips. Zekial smiled at the slippery sweet taste. Drifting back into the dream the excitement on his taste buds seemed to make the flavors and smells of memory more intense. The fishing boat had smelled of the sea, the salt and the ever present fish. Young Zekial had been in the wheelhouse telling the Captain what the new chart said about the fishing grounds. It wasn't often that new charts were made, or that Captains spent precious gold on them, or that the information really changed, but this Captain was always the first with the best he liked to boast. Well not really boast, simply say the truth about his belief in good tools, or so he told Zekial. Zekial thought he was right too. Although the Captain wasn't really loud or boastful in the quayside bars, it was well known that his catch was usually exceptional, his trips less lengthy and his crew helped pick their own number. The Captain said it made for good working mates, the other Captains scoffed because he let his men have any say and predicted the ship would come home someday with empty holds and mutineers at the helm. Aside from that he paid Zekial well for the simple task of reading and gaining knowledge, another act ridiculed by competing Captains, after all what possible gain could come from a boy just six birthmoons old. That day Zekial thought the chart had been particularly interesting in that it had notes about possible pirate gangs, sea monster sightings and a considerable detail of sounding depths along the outer banks. The Captain waved aside the fanciful drawings of the monsters and mermaids, but paid particular attention to what Zekial was reading about the pirates and then began lightly penciling in curving dotted lines among the depth soundings. "Well gut me finless, that makes good sense," the Captain was muttering. "Best fishing's been here and here two seasons ago, but last season - not a minnow's whisker. Seems all that scaley mob moved to slightly deeper waters; be a little cooler. Tickles their gills like and like that better they do." Picking up on the contours the dots were describing Zekial leaned over the chart and said, "So you'll fish there this time?" "No Minnow," the Captain tousled his hair. "We'll fish here." His finger came down slightly farther out and a little to the south south east. "Ah, I see," Zekial grinned. "It's even a little deeper, it'll be high summer and warmer yet so cooler where it's deeper. And the current flows here, so that spot will be on the fringe of food but still cool and quiet. That's pretty sneaky!" "Not sneaky boy. Just fish sense and information. Don't you be schooling about with the other fry and blabbing now!" The Captain's hand clamped on Zekial's head and turned it to look eye to eye. "You know I'd never!" The boy protested. "I'd not learn of the mermaids and monsters if you didn't have me come see to the charts." Resuming the ruffling the Captain laughed, "Aye lad. I know you wouldn't. Good little fin you be, glad to call you friend." The glow across Zekial's face brightened as the sunshine of praise reached out to him. He hardly had the moment to bask. Kablam! There was a lightning crash of noise and blinding light on the bows and Zekial was blown backwards across the wheelhouse and more or less under the side station. "Damn!" The Captain muttered and quickly ripped open the wheelhouse door and headed forward to see what was underneath the smoke and commotion on the foredeck. Zekial didn't know how he knew reading and writing, but he did know how little he knew of fighting. Long ago he'd learned that hiding was not a bad choice and so for now he scrunched his little body even tighter in underneath the side station, but kept his nose alert for the smell of roasting fish. You couldn't really hide from fire, but the door and the sea were close if that proved a better idea. "Fish Balls man!" the Captain was mildly cursing as he came back into the wheelhouse. "Ya' don't need to scare the catch away for the entire sea every time you want a little rest cruise. And that spot on the deck now'll need a whole week to rebrine. I think's you does it of a purpose just to keep me the talk of the old ladies and the other boys. Poseidon knows they're as crazy as flying fish already, don't need you barracudaing them about." "Aye Captain, you know your men would abandon you and the HoneyB if I didn't come and make you wash down the decks once a century or so," the tall thin cloaked figure who followed the Captain into the wheel house said. Zekial didn't understand it but as soon as he heard that voice and saw that swishing red gold black silver cloak his lance poked straight out and caught the edge of his pants. He struggled to suck in the gasp, suck in his tummy to give his lance moving room and suck in his breath that seemed to be suddenly paralyzed outside himself. What color was that cloak anyway? It seemed like he couldn't get a real look at it. What the devil was happening to him? Did it feel like this to the fish when the fisherman's knife slit quickly up the belly and flicked all the guts away? It was like he was stone cold cod: all flakey but with his eyeballs staring at something he couldn't really see. His lance pounded against his britches. His brain refused to resolve his eyesight. His breath came in ragged fits and starts. His head swirled somewhere he had never been and his living stones seemed to bang against themselves. He dissolved into a pile of nothing under the side station. The Wizard stood atop his tower, naked except for a bright red skull cap. The sun raining down felt like mice and cats cavorting across his body. Ripples of warm breeze tickled the hair on his legs and arms. The cooing of the swifts inside their cote melded with the quiet susurration of his breath and heartbeats. He finished his mantra recitation and raised his arms. At a snap of his finger a small cloud appeared directly overhead and a gentle warm rain beamed down and streamed along his muscles. Another snap and the shower stopped but a frosting of smooth bubbles broke forth from his cheeks down and around his entire body. As he snapped again the bubbles flowed toward the stonework taking all his extraneous body hair with it. A quick snap and the cloud was back for a moments rinse and then the sun was once again caressing every part of him as he slowly spun in a circle. Something erotic in the sunshine never failed to make his lance erect and his living stones sing in harmony with the tower stones. Something in today's sunshine and air tickled every part of his anatomy. "Enough!" he thought. "It's time to work, this idleness is unbecoming." Besides, he had no idea what pheromones were in the air or premonitions on the wind, or omens on the horizon to raise his libido higher than it had been in decades. He shook his head, told his lance to be still and suddenly was fully dressed in tunic and tights and trousers and cape and traveling hat. He chuckled as he wove the spell to jump from the tower to the tiny fishing boat in the remote island harbor. Captain Apini would be delighted although gruffly annoyed as he arrived unannounced. He almost giggled, "Well not quite unannounced, let's just say unexpected..." he thought as the lightning flashed, the thunder broke and the smoke rolled across the foredeck of the fishing boat. He was surprised by the blow directly to his mind and his living stones and lance as he entered the wheelhouse behind the grumbling Captain. Sucking in his own breath he was instantly alert for danger: there was nothing. Yet his stones persisted in their jangle. Warily keeping some senses alert he pointed on the chart where he wished the Captain to take him. "We must needs go now." "Aye, bloody dolphin you are. Pop up, blow about, want to play. 'Tis not like that for honest working folk ya' know. Why ya' don't just pop there yourself I'll never cotton, your kind are as inky clear as octopi." "Well, if you must know, I don't much like treading water for hours and hours and a wet cloak a fast escape denies," the Wizard answered. "Besides, there's nothing quite like the Mermaid Tears Rum you seem to always have aboard." "Aye, thieving loach. Come below and drown your sorrows if not your body. The crew will have heard your arrival and be here soon. We'll set out then to see what damage ya' want to do to me nets. Mayhaps a shark or two will greet ya' warmly and I can be rid of your waving tentacles. Don't know why I fall for your Sirena babbling each and every time," the Captain opened the wheelhouse door and led the way aft toward the lower cabins. The vaguely unsettling jangling of the wizard's living stones ceased as soon as the door was shut behind him. Zekial's mind cleared as the door clicked shut. It wasn't long and he heard the sounds of the crew coming aboard and beginning their tasks. Something still in the air of the wheelhouse seemed to lull him and he drifted into a nap. The bucking and yawing of the deck banged Zekial's head against the support post of the side station. He shook off the fog of sleep and realized he had stayed aboard as the boat left the harbor. It wasn't the first time he'd been out with the boat, but he usually hopped ashore as the boat cast off and found other more interesting, less strenuous landside occupations. "Aye, the lads'll keep you busy up front Minnow," the Captain waved and laughed as Zekial unfolded from beneath the station. "I didn't wake ya', thought maybe there'd be interesting stuff happen. Damned Kraken Lord Wizard usually causes excitement and mayhem where er' he goes." "K'," Zekial said as he scampered out the wheelhouse and forward. He was examining the large light tan spot on the deck when a wave splashed on board. The water ran off the normal deck without a trace but seemed to soak quickly into the light spot. Maybe that's what the Captain meant about rebrining. He wondered if the Wizard always made such a racket when he arrived. It was pretty exciting, but wouldn't be good in a tavern. Might cause quite a stir in the bedroom too, Zekial giggled thinking of the bar girls who took sailors upstairs to the small rooms above the tavern. The girls sometimes complained in the kitchens about some sailors almost giving them heart attacks they were so energetic. Popping in like that would surely give a girl a heart attack before she even got her panties off he bet. "Here boy," one of the sailors tossed one end of a line to Zekial. "Tie that around your middle, it's connected here to the safety line. Looks like it's going to blow up a bit and we might get bounced around. If ya's go over the side you can pull yourself back on board, or maybe we'll notice and pull you up quicker. Just be super quick iff'n you see sharkfins." Zekial shuddered thinking about the shark the fisherman had hung from the big mast steep at the end of the jetty. It's teeth were almost as big as he was and there had been more than he could count. He tied the rope around himself with the tight knot the Captain had shown him, something called a bow-line although what it had to do with bows and arrows he could not work out. There wasn't much to do as the boat made for the fishing grounds. The men hunkered down in the lee of the bows on the foredeck. One of them was showing Zekial how to do some tiddly work. The boy already wore a Turk's Head bracelet he had made and was trying to get the hang of the monkey's fist but the increasing pitching of the seas was making it a rough go. >From the wheel house the bell clanged four times and the tiddly ropes were swept away into pockets and pouches as the men roused themselves and stood to their work stations around the deck. Zekial's assigned station when aboard was to stand in the bows and lean forward constantly watching the waters for danger ahead. It was thrilling work to be leaning out over the rail and seeing the dual waves carved out of the sea by the prow. Sometimes there were dolphins jumping just hand spans in front of the fast moving boat. It seemed impossible to Zekial that they could swim so fast as to be steadily jumping and seemingly leading the boat without ever even flicking their tail. Today the Captain had the sails coming down and the boat was slowing. The bow waves were calming but the sea itself seemed to be in a complete dither about what it wanted to do. It looked like the swell was running one way, the waves were running another and some unseen current was struggling against them both. Hundreds of pointy mountain peaks of water were rising and falling as far as the eye could see and the boat was pitching and yawing enough to make even sailing men a little queasy. Zekial looked back at the wheel house but the Captain made him no signal so he just watched ahead that none of the mountain peaks of water was really a rock in disguise. The boat seemed to settle into a wildly bobbing wallow and Zekial's eyes were soon tired of the jumbled waters. He took to scanning the horizon as the Captain had shown him when the waves threatened to mesmerize. That wasn't very interesting for very long either and a couple of times Zekial thought he would almost pitch forward and just fall into the sea. It was almost calling to him. Suddenly there was a pin point of white on the port horizon. Zekial stood up tall as he watched for it to reappear as the boat rose and fell. It didn't, but Zekial understood more than most about vision and the sea. He stepped up a little higher on the rail and began a slow count. Yes! There was the spot of white again. He started the count immediately at one again and by the time he got to 24 the boat had risen three times and the spot showed again. "Sails Ho!" Zekial screamed into the wind and willed his arm to be another foot longer as he pointed to where he'd seen the white. One clang of the bell told him the Captain had heard and then two clangs confirmed the sighting from the wheel house. There was a flurry of activity among the men and slowly the boat began sailing again instead of just bobbing. As they started movement toward the spot on the horizon a short clanging told Zekial to fast fin it to the wheel house. As soon as he entered the strange swirling in his mind and the sudden constriction of his living stones and almost violent erection of his lance made him stumble as his nervous system tried to make sense of what was happening. His stumble turned into a fall. His fall propelled him forward. He knew it was going to hurt because the only thing in front of him was the solid binnacle of the compass and the wheel. He folded his arms into his sides, long ago having learned to tuck and roll rather than flail and try to catch himself. Sore arms and sides were far better than snapped wrists or fingers. This time though it was as if time suddenly slowed down. He tucked his arms in. He began to turn his shoulder forward and under. He prepared to bounce off something hard. Instead something black silver red gold seemingly plucked him from between standing stumbling splattering. He was raised and looking out the wheel house window and then turning and looking into the deepest black and gold flecked eyes. He fell headfirst into them even though he was caught as still and immobile as he had made himself on the bow rail. The eyes spoke. He had no idea what they said, his living stones and lance were exploding first red and then silver flares and finally golden flashes in his pants and in his head. He leaned his forehead against the cloak that he still didn't seem to be able to see properly. As his own mind jangled and his living stones wrenched his attention away from the horizon and toward his suddenly straining lance the Wizard saw the blur of motion and reflexively snatched the missile of the boy's body out of the air before it crashed into the great oak wheel. The boy's face first focused on the horizon and then turned and looked directly into his own eyes. The wild cerulean pools were wide and as turbulent as the sea in front of the boat. "Well, hello," the Wizard said. The boy shuddered from his buttocks both down through his toes and up through his forehead. Golden Orechasm poured forth from the boy and into the Wizard's mind and soul. His own lance shuddered and spewed into his hose in parasympathetic response. He turned to the Captain and said, "Call when the ship is closer. We seem to need a shot of Mermaid Tears." The Wizard stepped over the wheel house bulkhead and carried the still shuddering boy below to the Captain's tiny cabin.