The Earl's Catamite

THE earl's catamite

hugh cox

The following story contains scenes of consensual sex involving an adult male and an underage boy. If this subject is not to your taste, then I suggest you leave the Nifty website and return to your knitting.

All the characters and events depicted in this story are imaginary. The inspiration for the boy is Bjorn Andresen who played the fourteen-year-old Tadzio in the 1971 movie Death in Venice. If you haven't seen the movie, or can't visualize him, click here to view a still. The boy in this story is, like Tadzio, around fourteen whereas Andresen was sixteen at the time; so try to imagine him as a couple of years younger. Enjoy.

Many people will be glad to see the back of the year 2016 but I have a particular reason for feeling that way, as my wife of 27 years passed away in February. It was therefore a year of unhappy firsts, none more so than my first Christmas and New Year without her. I gave considerable thought as to how to spend the holiday season; we never had any children and sitting alone in a large house held no appeal. I considered moving into rooms at the university where I'm a professor of chemistry but that didn't seem to be very much of an improvement. My sister suggested that I could visit her but I knew that she was planning to travel to her daughter's home in Australia to see her grandson for the first time and had no wish to deprive her of that pleasure. My nephew, my only other close relative, was going to his father's for the holidays and there was no way that my ex-brother-in-law and I could survive each other's company for any prolonged period.

Eventually I accepted the suggestion of a colleague and booked a ten night stay at a country hotel. Hardon Hall was the ancestral home of the Earls of Hardon who, when taxes and running costs became exorbitant, moved into a smaller house on the estate and converted the main building into a 55 bedroom, five star hotel and spa. According to their website there was an eighteen-hole golf course, shooting and fishing (in season) as well as all the usual relaxing activities to be found in a spa. Over the festive period they were providing entertainment every night and, most importantly as far as I was concerned, the hotel boasted a Michelin starred restaurant.

I arrived late in the afternoon on Friday the 23^rd and got my first view of the building. The original Tudor hall had been destroyed during the Civil War, the Hardon's had been firm Royalists and Cromwell's victorious Roundheads had extracted their usual brutal revenge for that error of judgement. Following the restoration of Charles II the family's fortunes revived, Baron Hardon was rewarded for his loyalty by being elevated to an earldom and the re-building of the hall commenced. This second house lasted another century before the 5^th earl became extremely wealthy through the American slave trade and replaced it with the current Georgian building. As usual with an old country house it claimed to be haunted but, as a man of science, I have always treated such supernatural nonsense with disdain.

I pulled up in front of the hotel and was pleased to find that the service lived up to its five star rating and price. One doorman opened the car door and escorted me to reception while a second brought my luggage. Once I was safely inside the first man took my car keys and went to park the vehicle. The desk was to the left as I entered and the reception area was dominated by a large painting opposite which appeared to be a copy of Gainsborough's The Blue Boy, although the subject had blond rather than dark hair. Checking-in was completed quickly and efficiently and I was shown to my room where I unpacked before heading to the bar for a pre-dinner drink.

There is no need to bore you with the details of my stay, suffice to say most days were spent enjoying the hotel facilities, although I did venture out in the car on a couple of occasions to explore the local countryside. The meals were exquisite, the restaurant living up to its Michelin rating and Christmas lunch was by far the finest I've ever had. Even the evening entertainments were better than I had feared with New Year's Eve itself being very enjoyable. The hotel avoided the clichéd `tartan new year', which in reality bears no resemblance to a genuine Scottish Hogmanay and provided an excellent party which continued well into the early hours of 2017. For the first time since I was widowed I found myself chatting-up a young lady, well younger than my 53 years anyway, although I still wasn't ready to take things any further than social intercourse.

On New Year's Day I rose late, unsurprisingly, ate a light breakfast and went out for a walk to clear the cobwebs. After lunch I had a massage in the spa, a wonderful experience thanks to the young masseuse who allowed this sad old man to flirt outrageously with her. After dinner I retired to the lounge and enjoyed a couple of brandies, not the same without a good cigar but, thanks to the modern health fascists, it is no longer acceptable to smoke indoors and I really didn't fancy joining the tobacco addicts outside in the cold. I finally took my leave just before 11pm and went to bed for the last time before my return home.

My room was to the rear of the hotel, one floor above the reception level but, thanks to the sloping ground upon which the building lay, it was still on the ground floor and had French windows which opened onto a terrace. Before closing the heavy curtains I took a final look out at the stars shining brightly in the clear country sky, so unlike the light polluted sky in the city. With no cloud, temperatures would fall sharply and indeed a heavy frost had been forecast.

I'm not sure what woke me; a noise, the moonlight streaming through the open curtains or possibly the fact that the temperature in the room had plummeted thanks to the French windows being wide open. This puzzled me somewhat as I was certain that I closed both windows and curtains before getting into bed. I rose without switching on the light and closed the windows but before I could close the curtains a noise caused me to turn around and there, next to my bed stood a girl. As I approached to ask who she was and why she was there I realised that I was mistaken and it was in fact an extremely beautiful young boy. He was about fourteen-years-old, around five feet two or three inches tall with a slim build, weighing in the region of a hundred pounds. He had long hair, parted in the centre, which fell almost to his shoulders and was blond, as far as I could tell in the moonlight. He appeared to be wearing nothing but a man's shirt which was several sizes too big for him and, as I got closer, I could see that he was shivering.

"P...p...please help me, s...s...sir," he stuttered, "I'm s...s...so c...c...cold." As he spoke he started to climb into my bed and I reached out and grabbed his arm in order to prevent this. His pale limb was freezing cold and I instinctively placed my other hand onto his forehead which confirmed that his body temperature was abnormally low. If he'd spent any significant time outside dressed as he was, then he was lucky to be alive. He pulled away from my grasp and continued to get into the bed. I stood for several seconds trying to decide on the best course of action. Clearly the boy needed to be warmed up but did he also require medical attention? I wasn't sure how long it would take for such help to arrive at this time of night but from what little I knew about first aid I was aware that time was of the essence and that one of the best ways to treat a victim of hypothermia was through shared bodily warmth. Without any further thought I climbed into bed next to the shivering boy and pulled him close.

I was unsure what exactly was the best position for us to adopt but we finished with me lying on my back and the boy half to my right and half on top with his head on my shoulder and his right arm and leg spread across my body. I wrapped my arms around him and began to rub his back vigorously, trying desperately to generate some heat. Gradually his shivering diminished and the cold touch of his skin reduced as his body temperature rose back to a normal level. As he warmed up I reduced my frantic rubbing of his back to a gentler pace, indeed one might even call it a caress.

"Oh, thank you, sir," he said eventually, "you saved my life. I thought I was a goner this time."

As he spoke he started to move for the first time since we had entered the bed. He pressed his face to me while his right hand began to rub against my chest.

"Does this happen to you regularly?" I asked in amazement.

"All the time," he replied. "At least once a month anyway, though I don't always finish up outside and if I do it's not normally this cold. I sleepwalk you see."

By now he was moving his whole body against mine and I was shocked to discover that he had an erection.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to ease him away.

"I'm thanking you the only way I know how," he answered. "Now just accept my thanks, it would be very rude of you not to."

The hand which had been rubbing my chest was now playing with my left nipple while his mouth had somehow attached itself to the other. His right thigh had moved and was now pressed against my genitals and to my horror I realised that the boy wasn't the only one sporting an erection.

Now at this stage I should point out that I've always considered myself to be one hundred percent heterosexual. Like many boys I played around with friends in my early teens but that stopped when I discovered girls. After my marriage I remained faithful to my wife and we enjoyed a fulfilling sex life, even if the quantity reduced in the final few years. At no time had I ever entertained sexual thoughts about other men, let alone a young boy. But now I found myself being intensely aroused by the ministrations of just such a lad and, much as my head was telling me that this was wrong and had to stop, I found that I was starting to enjoy it.

The boy adjusted his position and switched his mouth to my left nipple, while his right hand ran gently down my torso until it was fondling my aching cock through my briefs. I groaned and thought that I might shoot my load there and then but he seemed to sense this and released my dick just in time. Again he changed position, straddling my body and leaning forward until our lips met and we kissed. His tongue pushed against my lips which seemed to open of their own accord and I sucked it into my mouth. We tongue wrestled for several minutes and, as we did, my hands moved down his back and settled on his bum cheeks. I could feel the hem of his shirt just below and pulled it up out of the way to enable my hands free access to the two firm, smooth globes which I started to massage. As I rubbed and squeezed his arse I let the middle finger of my right hand move into his cleft and, as it passed across his hole, it was the boy's turn to moan.

Now he broke the kiss and moved downwards kissing and licking my body as he went. I felt my briefs being pulled and I raised myself up and he pulled them off in one swift movement. My thick, hard, seven inches of cock slapped against my stomach as they were removed but it was quickly grabbed by a small hand and then engulfed by a warm, wet mouth. My wife rarely performed fellatio, usually it was only when she wanted something in return and, as a result, she never became particularly proficient at it. I was now learning just what a blow job should feel like.

The boy clearly knew what he was doing. He sucked about half my length for a few seconds before pulling off and licking around the head, especially the sensitive part just under the glans. When he sensed I might blow off he switched to my balls, licking my scrotum before sucking each in turn. Then, when the danger had passed, he was back to my cock; the whole seven inches slipping easily into his mouth and throat until his nose was pressed into my pubic hair. I don't really know how long this lasted. He licked, sucked and deep-throated me for at least fifteen minutes, continually bringing me to the edge and then switching to my balls again every time I thought I would cum. Eventually the frustration overcame me and I grabbed his head and started to fuck his mouth, five or six good thrusts did the trick and I climaxed at last. I can't recall the last time I came like that, my whole lower body felt like it had turned to liquid and then that liquid came rushing out of my cock and into the lad's mouth in several huge spurts. I let out a totally incoherent yell and slumped back onto the bed, completely spent. The boy straddled me again and once more we kissed; a soppy, cummy kiss that continued until the last of my semen had been devoured. When we separated I noticed a line of cum dribbling from the left corner of his mouth, I licked it off and offered him my tongue which he eagerly sucked into his mouth before swallowing his reward.

We lay entwined in one another's arms for a while before I decided that I had to find out who he was and return him to his room. I switched on the lights and went over to shut the curtains; the last thing I wanted was for some insomniac walker to look into the room and see a middle-aged man in bed with a teenage boy. With the curtains closed I turned around and saw the boy was now kneeling in the middle of the bed, facing me, with what I can only describe as a seductive smile on his face. He reached down, grabbed his shirt, pulled it over his head and then tossed it nonchalantly to the floor.

Now, with the lights on I could see how truly beautiful he really was. His face was just masculine enough to be handsome rather than pretty and both it and his pale, slender body were flawless. I could see no sign of any body hair although at this stage I wasn't sure whether this was due to him not yet having any or of having it removed. He turned away from me, lowered his head to the pillow leaving his arse in the air and looked back over his shoulder.

"Lick it," he said.

I had always enjoyed going down on my wife and occasionally cunnilingus had become analingus, so rimming wasn't entirely alien to me. Doing it to another male, on the other hand, was and I naturally hesitated.

"Please," he insisted. "I love it and I'm sure you will too."

This was madness, he was only a child and I should be getting him back to his room; for all I knew his parents might already be looking for him. On the other hand he was gorgeous, obviously sexually experienced and my cock was hard again. When a man's brain and cock are in disagreement there is usually only one winner and this time was no exception.

I walked over to the bed, knelt behind the boy, pulled his bum cheeks apart, lowered my head and ran my tongue up his cleft and across his hole. He shuddered and moaned and this encouraged me onwards. I pushed my tongue against his anus and, to my surprise, it slipped easily inside him. My wife's hole had always been tight and I'd never got further than licking and probing it from the outside. I now realised what this meant, the boy was no anal virgin and I was certain that this was merely me getting him ready for a fuck. This was new territory for me but I gave it my best shot, pushing my tongue in and out of his hole and wiggling it around inside to the best of my ability. If the boy's wriggling and vocalisations were anything to go by I must have been doing OK but my mouth soon began to ache and I knew that I would have to stop.

I pulled out of him and, having guessed what was coming next, wet my right forefinger with saliva and pushed it into the place my tongue had just vacated. As I finger fucked him I leaned down and sucked on his hairless balls and then licked his perineum. I replaced one finger with two and continued to open him up and this time I pulled his five inch cock back between his legs and sucked on that at the same time. Finally I slid three fingers into his anus which stretched easily to accommodate them, confirming my earlier thoughts that this was a well-used arse. When I removed my fingers I looked down at the smiling boy and raised my eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"Fuck me now," was all he said, giving the answer I had expected.

I looked around and said, "We'll need some lubricant."

He looked at my seven inches and replied rather disdainfully, "I've had bigger, spit will do."

The problem now was that my mouth had dried up at just the wrong moment and I couldn't get enough saliva for the purpose. Fortunately the boy realised my predicament, spun around and engulfed my cock in his mouth for the second time that night. A few moments later he was back in position and I was kneeling behind him with my glans pressed up against his anus. I paused for a second or two and then pushed forward, there was a brief period of resistance and then the head of my cock slipped into the warm confines of his rectum. Again I paused for a few seconds, waiting to make sure the boy was OK before I continued.

"Alright," he said, "go all the way now."

I pushed forward again and my shaft slid easily into the lad's arse until I was balls deep and could go no further. After a final pause I started to fuck him, mixing up long slow thrusts with short fast ones. I moved my cock around inside him as much as I could and he responded by using his muscles to grip and release me as I did so. After a few minutes the boy lowered himself flat on the bed and I took my weight on my hands and continued to pound him. Having already cum once I was in no danger of doing so again any time soon, so I settled down to enjoying it and also trying to give the boy as much pleasure as I could. Now I changed position, lying flat on the lad's back with my arms under his armpits and my hands gripping his shoulders. He turned his head and we kissed as I pushed in and out.

"Put me on my back now," he said eventually and I complied, managing to complete the manoeuvre without withdrawing my cock from his arse.

In this position I could see that the boy's cock was only semi-erect and so I took it my right hand and masturbated him as I was fucking him. He hardened up immediately and after a few more strokes asked me stop, as he didn't want to cum yet. The fact that he was concerned about that pleased me; if he was close to cumming I must be doing something right and if he didn't want it to end he was obviously enjoying himself. I leaned forward and kissed him again, slowing the rhythm as I did so, because now I could feel that I was getting close as well, despite my earlier orgasm.

The lad must have sensed this too, he got me to pull out and then positioned himself at the edge of the bed, with his legs pulled up to his chest. I stood before him and pushed back in with one thrust; then, holding the back of one thigh in each hand and spreading them apart I began to pound him with deep fast strokes. He reached down and gave his cock a few tugs and then released it, it was rock hard and I could see pre-cum glistening on the crimson head. I felt the tightening in my balls as my climax approached and at that moment the boy came - three, four, five ropes spurting across his chest and belly, the first two thick and creamy, the rest thin and watery as you'd expect from a lad of his age. As he came, his muscles spasmed and his anus contracted, pushing me over the edge as well and I filled him with the results of my second orgasm of the night, something I hadn't managed in years. Finally I lay down on top of him and we kissed yet again as my cock softened and I felt it slip out of him.

I returned to my feet and as I did so the head of my cock popped out and a rivulet of cum dribbled out after it. I don't know what possessed me but I knelt down and licked it off before pressing my mouth to his hole and sucking out another load. Then I got back onto the boy and kissed him again passing the contents of my mouth to his which he duly swallowed. I broke the kiss and he grinned at me.

"Thanks," he said. "You saved my life and then gave me a fantastic fuck. I was supposed to be doing you a favour, not the other way round."

"You'll never know what a big favour you did me," I replied. "last year was an awful one but I think you've just proved that this one is going to be much better."

The boy slipped under the duvet and looked up at me, "Hold me, please," he implored. I got in with him, switched off the lights and then we spooned together with me behind him with my right arm across his chest and my cock pressed against his bum.

I must have fallen asleep and then, when I woke, it was that strange half-conscious state that you sometimes get where you're neither fully asleep nor awake. I kept my eyes closed but I could feel the boy was still in my arms and then the great miracle, my cock stiffened again. Surely I couldn't manage a third time? I didn't want to waken the lad so I just humped against him, recalling what had occurred earlier, until I did indeed climax for the third time in one night.

When I woke again I was in a panic. Although the curtains were still closed it was obviously daylight outside and, at this time of year, that means after eight o'clock. I knew I had to get the boy back to his room quickly. Surely he would have been missed by now. I looked down and the panic was replaced by puzzlement, the boy was gone and I was cuddling a pillow. I picked it up and noticed a large, damp patch on it. I touched it with my finger, raised it to my nose and sniffed; it was cum. I laughed out loud; obviously the boy had slipped away ages ago and the last time, when only half awake, I'd fucked my pillow thinking it was him.

I rose, showered and dressed before heading to the restaurant for breakfast. Throughout the meal I kept an eye on everyone who came and went, hoping to see my boy one last time. I still had no idea of who he was or where he came from but no-one who looked anything like him appeared while I was there. I returned to my room, packed and made my way to reception to check out.

When I reached the desk there were two customers already being served by the two staff on duty so I wandered over to the large painting opposite the desk. I had noticed it on arrival but during my stay I had used a side entrance to come and go and had not thought about it again. As I had surmised, it was a copy of The Blue Boy but with a blond subject. Now I realised, with a stomach churning jolt, that the subject was in fact my boy. For his picture to be here he must be a member of the Hardon family and not a hotel guest at all, which would explain why I hadn't seen him during my stay.

"Do you like it, sir?" a voice at my shoulder asked. I turned and one of the desk staff was standing behind me.

"Yes," I replied, "tell me, is he one of the Hardon family?"

"Not exactly, sir. In fact he's the earl's catamite."

"He's what?" I exclaimed, not believing what I'd heard.

"Oh, not the current earl," the man chuckled, "He was the sixth earl's catamite in the early nineteenth century. It's a sad tale really, apparently the boy was a somnambulist. He used to sleepwalk to the rooms of the earl's guests and try to get into bed with them, rather embarrassing for the earl as you can imagine. One night in the middle of winter, however, he must have gone outside; they found his body in the morning, he'd died of hypothermia. The earl had this painting done as a tribute but when the family moved into a smaller residence they didn't want it and left it to the hotel."

"Then the boy must have a modern doppelganger," I replied, "because I'm certain I saw him in the hotel last night."

"Oh, I'm sure you did sir. Didn't you know the hotel is haunted? The boy is our resident ghost, apparently he still goes into guests' rooms, freezing cold and tries to get into bed with them. Is that what happened to you?"

"Er, well, something like that," I stumbled in reply, feeling my face going red.

"Well you're very fortunate, not many of our guests have had the honour of meeting him."

I walked over to the desk and completed the check-out formalities.

"When do you think we'll see you again, sir?" then man asked when we'd finished.

"What makes you so sure I'll be back?" I replied with a smile.

"All the guests who've seen the boy have been mature men staying on their own, sir," he responded, with a knowing grin "and every one of them has come back. I look forward to seeing you again."

I picked up a leaflet from the desk, which gave details of upcoming events at the hotel and held it up for him to see. "And I look forward to cumming again!"

THE END

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I have previously written five stories which have been posted on the Nifty Archive. If you haven't read them they are listed below with links. Please don't try to contact me via the email address as it no longer exists.

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