Harry Potter-ed out
already? Want a little more adult flesh in your escapism?
Here's an exciting, grown-up,
tasty taste of
An Erotic Novel of Time Travel
(order this book from Amazon through
---from Chapter Nine:
Manhattan-based massage-therapist (and angel) Tommy Angelo, in an
incarnation as Thomas Jebson, a handsome teenage serf in the year 1077,
been brought to the beautiful fortified castle of the good Sir Garet du
young protector of Sir Bertrand, the handsome knight who has claimed
to be his for life. It is ten years after the Norman conquest of
when savagery has taken over and the Norman nobles have stamped their
will on the native Saxon people, many of whom still practice the "old
of nature worship, as rebellious bands of Robin Hoods go into the
to find intense love and companionship among the deep trees and
I reclothed myself,
and carefully climbed down the rickety wooden ladder of the stable's
When I got to the bottom, in the darkness a gloved hand reached from
me and grabbed me by the mouth. "There you are, you roaming ape!" The
released me enough so that I might turn about and see my lord's dark
before me. "Where have you been? Kouth you not I was seeking you?"
"No, sir," I said. "I kouth that my liege was with
others, better than myself."
"Pas," he whispered into my ear, then kissed
me full on the mouth. "No one is better, Tom. You killed that dog Mars,
who would have murdered us both. We are up against terrible things--you
I. You will learn that." Then he said, "You will sleep with me tonight.
Garet only had to say that for the others in his court, his relations
do not know him really, nor his heart. He has given me his blessing
we sleep together. I told you I'd bed you with furs and silks. Now is
hour for this!"
Sir Bertrand led me through the darkness in front of
the stables to a rear stairway. He unlocked a door. We climbed up the
steep circular stairs to a tall back tower. At the top was another
door, which Bertrand
unlocked to our chamber inside. With a flint, he lit a spirit lamp, and
looked around at the circular room that was like nothing I could even
The chamber was . . . so beautiful. My heart
still aches to think of it. Bright and rich with colored silks,
tapestries, carpets, and a bed all laid with linens, soft white ermine
and sable furs, quilted silk covers, and plump pillows. "It for you,
mon confrère," Bertrand announced, "to share with me."
I smiled. He had not lied. He had told me I would
sleep with him in furs and silks, and there they were. "Let me wash you
myself," he whispered, and he poured fresh water, scattered with tiny
petals, from a pitcher into a shallow bowl. Then he carefully removed
dirty clothes and laid them aside. I know they smelled of horse,
Dirk--just as I knew I smelled of him. But I hoped that my liege would
notice this, as I stood before him, totally naked, my sixteen-year-old
throbbing just so slightly with excitement, almost jumping, but not
hard. Not yet.
He was still completely, richly garbed, but he took
a soft cloth and dipped it into the fragrant water and slowly began to
swirl its warm wetness over my face, the back of my neck and its blond
hair, and then, even slower, back and forth over my chest. Each place
that the satiny washcloth went, his lips followed as he gently kissed
my neck and chest
with his slightly chapped mouth; then he went down my tight young
making it tingle with delight. His mouth and tongue stayed on my little
nipples, as he excited them greatly, making them flush with a hardness
warmth I had not known before, in such a sweet place.
"Does that please you?" he asked.
I nodded my head.
"Tell me," Sir Bertrand asked seriously. "What other
men have you known in this manner, and what in the past have they done
I told him that I would tell him, but only if he
made himself as naked as I was. He did so, and then continued to wash
me, this time concentrating on my lower belly, all silky as it was with
short, curly blond strands, down to my pubic region. He washed this
area until water
beaded off the hair tufts, then he sucked the water from them, and
kissed the shaft of my cock, just running his tongue and then lips over
it, until each vein stood out upon it, flush with heat, thick and
purple with rushes of boyish excitement.
"In truth, sir, I have known only the men of the
forest," I confessed. "Crude knaves. Nothing like you, sir. No one
truly . . . as
noble as you, my kind seigneur."
He stopped and looked up at me seriously. "Do not
lie to me, Thomas," he ordered. "Or I shall beat you here on the spot."
I hesitated. I did not want to be beaten by my
young, dark-haired lord. But if it were his pleasure to do so to me,
then, I decided, so be it. "If that is your pleasure," I professed,
"then I am prepared for you to beat me, until I die!"
"I am saddened," he continued with all seriousness,
"that you will not tell me truthfully with whom you have lain, as you
lain with such lust with me."
"I cannot, sir," I said to him. For I was afraid
that in his possessiveness, if he learned about me and Dirk, he would
order me away from his bed and I knew, then, that I would die, if that
were the case. But I also knew--even in my own unlearned youth--that it
for me to hold myself solely to him. He had professed, surely, no love
me; only his possessiveness. As a high-born knight, Sir Bertrand would
protect me, but not love me. I thought myself to be only his vassal, to
as he pleased.
"Then it is for me to beat you, Thomas Jebson," he
declared seriously. "I shall beat you soundly and since we are here
alone, you may cry out as you want, but no one will notice you."
I told him, then, that I was prepared to accept any
violence from him. I threw myself down on the bed, so that my tender
met its softness, and waited for him to attack me.
"I must first find a device of discipline," he said,
and he started to look around the room. He picked up his long leather
glove, and began to flog me with it--one stroke, then another, then
my back--using it as a whip; then he became tired of that, and it hurt
very little. "You are not crying out," he said. "So I will choose
device for your discipline."
this, he went to a large oaken chest, opened it, and took out a
a square of black silk, doubled it, and then used it as a blindfold on
face. "Can you see?" he asked.
I told him no. It was true. The favor left me as
blind as a church bell bat. Still, I felt a bit . . . I can only say
have it on.
"Bon," he said, then he bound my hands behind
me with a slender rawhide length and told me to get up and accept my
punishment. I managed to get off the bed, then stood, but only found
myself being tripped, no matter in what direction I walked.
Sometimes I was tripped because there was a wall
directly in front of me, other times I was tripped by something under
my feet. I
had to be careful to keep from falling on my head, or landing flat on
rear! Finally, after several attempts to stand on my own, my young Sir
Bertrand took me by the hand and bade me stand alone, by myself, and
"You will be punished soon enough," he warned with a
sneer in his voice; then I felt his mouth go briefly to my lips, and I
followed its warm, slightly chapped course down my chest, until, there,
at that area below the bottom of my stomach, I felt his mouth on my
swelling young tarse. It rested there, filling me with longing,
hardness, and a warm wet softness at once. He sucked and licked my
boyish tool, while at the same time I felt on the muscular round cheeks
of my arse the cunning sharp tongue of a whip--a real true whip this
time--though, definitely, a small one.
That I would bet with my last coin! It was a small
whip, but still I flinched and flinched. Even so, my lord was able to
perfectly in his mouth; even as my arse was being whipped handsomely by
But, how could this be his hand, I wondered?
Could Sir Bertrand of the Land at the End the
Mountain administer such love to me with his mouth, while at the same
time flogging me so expertly from behind with a small whip? My arse,
though, I knew was getting warmer--and, most probably, redder--until,
finally, I began to find this "punishment" almost pleasurable. Except
that I wanted, more than anything, to have my lord Bertrand kiss me. To
have him raise himself to my lips,
and stay there, quite simply, with his manly, slightly chapped mouth
I yearned for this. Hungered. how much, I can only
barely tell you. I wanted his lips on mine, even as much as I delighted
attention he was giving to my excited tool. Soon enough, though, he
away from me. I stood now, blindfolded, bound, my cock twitching from
as it stood, fully hard and desperate to be relieved of its bounty of
"So, Thomas Jebson, how does this punishment meet
with you?" my lord asked, as the flogging hand continued to lay its
strokes on me.
"It grieves me. Because I would rather you kiss me,
sir, than punish me."
"Very well--" my lord said.
Then his mouth came up to mine, to fill
with his tongue, getting it deep inside my throat until I thought I
faint from sheer happiness, even as I, still, was being flogged. Yet,
he did this, suddenly the flogging halted and I felt something other
also enter me. A slickened warm thick cock entered my tight, but pained
arse, which opened slowly, as this member pushed skillfully into me.
I cried softly, moaning with the sheer warmth of it,
as it passed my reddened flogged cheeks, then deeper into the reaches
gut. Now, surely, I might pass out from another hunger, deeper than
that even for food, as I wanted this excellence to hold and enfold me,
and not stop.
Instead, I felt many strong arms taking me back onto
the bed. This was done even as I was being taken from the rear by this
beautiful, and not small, organ working its way down into my breech,
with another pair of lips now softly nibbling and kissing the back of
On the bed, my legs were lifted up. With this tool
still working its way into me, and slowly moving up and down to a
rhythm of its own, my cock was also being sucked attentively, as yet
another mouth made love to my chest and nipples. "Please," I whispered.
"Unbind my eyes that I may know who is doing these good acts to me."
"But that means you do not like your punishment,"
Bertrand whispered, and then another voice said, "We must punish him no
more. I command it."
At that command, my blindfold was removed and I saw
that I was being fucked by none other than the young Sir Garet du
and that Dirk's mouth had left my cock and was now licking my chest, as
my lord Bertrand kissed me over and over again.
I then took my liege's organ into my mouth and
sucked him until he delivered his juice directly to me. I lapped it
and it was by my taste as good. Still I was not fully satisfied, and
not be until Sir Garet had his way with me, fucking me slowly and then
and fast, delivering himself to me from the other side, and with that,
sucked me to completion, and I did him yet again, and then we were all,
as one, tired on the great bed. So much so that I did not even witness
Garet leaving Sir Bertrand's dark chamber only a short time later.
I stayed there that night, with Sir Bertrand on
side and the handsome groom Dirk on the other, his beautiful red hair
sometimes falling into my face and his mouth upon my chest, even while
Sir Bertrand kissed me and held me from the other side. It was a night
of pure happiness, but it was not to last for long.
For early the next morning, before the sun's rays
had penetrated the narrow windows of our chamber, Dirk returned to the
stable to see Wilfred, who knew nothing of Dirk following the ways of
the forest. Once in the stable, he would have to pretend to be
asleep--and give a ready excuse why I was not there. ("Oh, Thomas
Jebson has been commanded to Sir Bertrand's chamber to help his knight
dress, Wilfred. You understand the
ways of noble folk--they are quite helpless without the work of us!")
I was allowed to sleep later, at least until cock
crow, but then saw, once my eyes were open, that Sir Bertrand was now
fully garbed in the most handsome red and black. Two colors that
reflected his own state of mind. "Get up!" he ordered. "We must get up!
A catastrophe! Très dangereuse!"
I asked him what he meant, but he only took my face
into his hands and whispered to me, "We must take courage. You and I. I
will be there always for you, Thomas Jebson. But we must have courageux
heart. For nothing shall part us, I give you my knightly oath."
"What are you speaking of?" I asked him as I
struggled to dress myself quickly in a new outfit that had been waiting
for me in
the large chest in Sir Bertrand's room. And handsome, it was, too, with
green hose. Green hose! What I had wanted always; and a yellow tunic,
a shirt to go over that.
Bertrand looked away from me, his beautiful head
down, so that I could see only his glossy, raven black locks, shining
in the fresh morning light. "Come. Regardèz."
We walked from the chamber down the parapet stairs,
and entered through a series of passageways the big hall of the court.
There, with Sir Garet seated on a raised polished chair before us, we
saw, on a
black catafalque, the pale bloodless corpse of an older knight. How
I thought, he must have been in life with his gray whiskers; though now
was stone white, with no color on his face, even about the gash of his
mercilessly slashed throat.
"L'Ansel," Bertrand announced to me, his
voice barely able to suppress the cry in it. "He was . . . 'delivered'
to us just before dawn. Two hooded messengers came up to the keep and
called out for Sir Garet du Fontayne."
"We suspected an ambush," Sir Garet said. "So I came
down from my bedchamber and brought my men out with me. Then we found
this awful sight, dropped by the moat, like a load of wood . . . to be
"Mon Dieu," Bertrand said softly, "Imagine
"He must be avenged!" Garet cried. He strode down
from his chair--I thought it had to be a throne, but learned later that
knights do not sit on thrones, only kings--and planted a kiss on Sir
Ansel's cold forehead. "He was like a father to us. Uncle, brother, all
"True!" Bertrand shouted. "Surely, none other than
Odred de Campe did this. Monstre! We had to kill his lackey,
tried to ambush us. We were unarmed, naked from river washing. Now he
done this to Sir Ansel. I want Odred's head, mon cher Garet. I
"Non," Garet said. "As much as I love you
dearly, cher Bertrand, I cannot let you go alone. I shall find twenty
men--the best, the bravest. I shall go to the Baron's keep and demand
that he fight with me, one on one, in combat de honneur. Then
we shall lead him to trial. If he is found guilty, we will hang
him--and then burn what is left of him, publicly in our courtyard!"
"Pas," Sir Bertrand said sadly.
"Why?" Garet argued. "I want Odred to be brought
back here alive. I want all to see that justice is yet alive in
"Cher Garet," Bertrand sad sadly, "you are a
good man. You have understood me as few have. You know my heart. I fear
you will be the one to burn, and faster. You have only a small
here. It is justice in this part. Odred will destroy all of you. He is
and without mercy. When you are gone, there will be no one to fight his
allies. But I have another plan."
"Oui?" Garet said, listening.
"In an hour, I will set forth from here with Thomas,
"Yes, Garet. Mon Thomas. He is from the
region of Odred, he knows that area perfectly"--I do? I thought--"and I
afraid of the Baron. The two of us, if we must, are completely prepared
to die. Believe me, vraiment, that is so."
I was sure that the beautiful dream of last night
was turning into a nightmare, as Bertrand went on-- "Thomas knows my
that I will not die without him. So to prove our affection for each
"Exactly!" Sir Garet du Fontayne exclaimed. "And
your own nobility, Sir Bertrand, mon cher ami!"
"Oui, therefore, with stealth we'll do what
must be done. We shall pass into Odred's keep easier than any force of
I can be cunning, too. And if we do not return in--"
"Holy Jesù!" Sir Garet said, as I
listened, unable to say a word, but turning stone white already. "If
you do not return in a fortnight, I will send a message to my cousins,
the du Fontaynes on
the Irish coast. They will come if they have to. And then if the two of
die, we can then avenge all three of you!"
"Your cousins, bon," Sir Bertrand said,
nodding his head. "Très bon. But I believe after we are
through, there will be no need for them."
Ahh, here's Tommy—Playgirl's hot
knave of the month. Curious? Try him out . . .
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