Lord of the Boys
by Foster I. Pines
fosteripines@gmail.com
*Feedback is much appreciated, along with your thoughts on where this story should go.
*I have published a book, "A Boy's Own Island", available on Amazon if you are interested.
*Please consider donating to the Nifty archive.
Part 4
A voice spoke to Liam from out of the darkness. It sounded annoyed.
"Come on, come on! Close the door." The voice spoke in sharp whispers.
The adrenaline coursing through Liam's body implored him to run, or jump, or at the very least shriek at the top of his lungs. He forced himself to remain calm. The metal-snaked door to the crypt had opened smoothly once he had fingered the code from the red speedo. The door revealed a staircase which descended into a dark stone cavern. Maybe ten feet long, Liam thought, or maybe fifty. It was impossible to tell with only a few faint rays of moonlight lighting the chamber.
Liam reached the base of the steps and felt the cold and damp close in upon him. Sam was right, the small mausoleum was merely the entrance to a subterranean chamber. Still, Liam thought as he searched the darkness around him, there didn't seem to be that much to it. Except, of course, for the voice.
"It's midnight. OK? Always midnight. How is that so hard to remember?"
Liam squinted. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness he tried to make out some feature, any feature, of the shadowy figure at the end of the room.
"Midnight, got it?"
Overwhelmed by the darkness, Liam fumbled to find words in reply.
"Uh...midnight...midnight, yeah."
The voice sighed. "Come on. Hurry up."
Liam heard the voice's footsteps set off towards the far end of the hall. He followed tentatively, barely able to navigate the uneven stone floor without tripping. About twenty paces into the darkness he saw the glow of an open doorway and watched as a shadowy figure passed through.
The doorway opened onto a narrow room which functioned as a closet. A single candle threw light and cast long shadows down a row of dark navy robes hanging from a wall. Liam watched the voice, wearing his own navy cloak, as he rummaged through the hanging robes. The voice's face was hidden, buried amidst the fabric.
"Listen. Everything got fucked up over the summer so I don't know where the hell your exact robe is." The voice swung an arm and several cloaks fell to the ground. "Shit. Are you like a medium or large or..."
The voice leaned back and a face emerged. Light blonde hair, a narrow face, delicate boyish features. Liam's heart pounded as he watched that face survey him. At first those pale blue eyes casually examined his height but then, catching sight of his face in the candlelight, the eyes grew wide.
"Who the fuck are you?" The boy dropped the robes in his hands.
Liam was rendered speechless, again. He scrutinized the boy's wide eyes. Wide and afraid, he thought.
"Who are you?" The boy stepped a half-step back. Liam realized he had six inches, maybe more, on the boy's short, thin frame.
"Hey...sorry. I'm just..."
"You gotta get out of here, OK? Just go. Go!"
Liam stood his ground, silently. The boy grew frantic.
"Please! Just go." He ran his hand through his hair.
"I just wanna--"
The boy muttered to himself. "Fuck...fuck! Fucking lock the door!"
"Huh? But I--"
"Dammit!"
Liam realized the boy was cursing himself. "Listen. The door was--"
"I'm fucking screwed."
"Hey, listen, the door--"
"So fucking screwed." The boy began pacing in the tight hallway.
"Listen!" Liam raised his voice. The boy stopped in his tracks. "The door was locked...it was locked. OK?"
The boy furrowed his brow.
"Yeah," Liam confirmed. "It was locked. I...I had the...I had the code."
"You had the code?"
"Yeah. I got it from...I had the code."
The boy took several careful steps towards Liam. His unblinking pale blue eyes fixed upon Liam with a watchful glare, as if expecting him to launch an attack at any moment.
"You opened it yourself," the boy said slowly.
"Yeah."
Liam examined the boy. About his age, he realized. Candlelight snuck between the folds of his heavy navy cloak and cast warm light onto his smooth, firm chest. He was slim, Liam thought, but not weak. As the boy stepped closer Liam admired his delicate face and a subtle sheen on his smooth, wet lips. How strange to find such a face amidst the darkness, amidst the cold damp cavern. Amidst a graveyard. Liam wondered if the boy would keep pacing towards him until those soft lips pressed onto his own.
The boy's hand darted fast and grasped firmly around Liam's wrist. With unexpected strength he turned Liam's wrist upwards and exposed the "333" to the candlelight.
Liam examined the boy's intent stare and thought of Christian earlier that day. The same surprise was there, but none of the malice.
Finally, the pale blue eyes looked back up to Liam's face.
"Take your clothes off."
At the back of the closet, hidden behind the hanging cloaks, was an opening to a tight passageway that snaked some fifty yards underground, beneath soil and rock and bones, before opening onto a massive cavern carved into the rock. An amphitheater of sorts, the circular cavern comfortably sat fifty or so cloaked and hooded figures seated on rows of benches looking down to the center of the room, at a stage.
The boy quietly ushered Liam to a seat in the dark upper reaches of the cavern. Liam had wordlessly followed the boy's commands in the closet and had traded his jeans and shirt for a hooded cloak. A white hooded cloak, Liam noted, in stark contrast to the dark navy cloaks worn by the boy and the figures in the cavern. Now, stunned by the sudden presence of dozens of other people, his heart thumped and he braced for unwanted attention. After a few moments, however, he realized that not one of the cloaked figures had turned to take note of his entrance. All of the faces in the room were hidden beneath their hoods and turned towards the center of the cavern. Towards the action.
"Fuck...fuck...fuck."
"Ah...shit, shit."
"Harder! C'mon. Harder! Slam that ass!"
Three voices, Liam recognized. Three voices reverberating throughout the cavern full of hooded figures. One of them was unmistakable: Christian Waller.
"C'mon. Fucking pathetic! Have you ever fucked before? This is pitiful...I'm not even hard."
Liam leaned and peered around the navy hood seated below him. A tangle of bare flesh flashed into view. Torchlight illuminated a pair of naked bodies, glistening with sweat and writhing against each other atop a stone table covered with red sheets. An olive-skinned boy with a compact, muscular frame kneeled over a pale blonde twink on his back. The olive-skinned boy held the twink's ankles in his hands; he held them high and spread them wide while his hips rocked against twink's ass.
Liam studied the pair's faces as they moaned. The olive-skinned boy had dark hair and a stern face; the twink's pale cheeks flushed red. Neither face was familiar.
"Wreck that hole!"
Liam's eyes darted to one end of the stage. There, atop a stone throne, sat a figure whose size and strength were apparent even beneath a hooded cloak. He tried to discern a face through the shadow of the large drooping hood, but all he saw was a dark void. The voice, however, was unmistakable.
"I want you to make that bitch scream!"
The olive-skinned boy quickened his pace; his hips slammed against the twink's ass cheeks as he dug his dick deeper inside the twink. The twink moaned. Liam studied the twink's face carefully. It seemed to him that the twink's moans were part due to pleasure, but most due to fear of Christian's booming voice.
The boy who had escorted Liam into the chamber leaned over to whisper.
"Keep quiet. Just watch."
Liam nodded.
The olive-skinned boy seemed weary. Liam wondered how long he had been hammering away at the twink's hole. Sweat gleamed off of his full pecs and rigid abs; his ass cheeks flexed mightily with each thrust of his hips; he firmly gripped the twink's ankles. Liam reached through his robes and adjusted his cock, which was beginning to swell.
Liam surveyed the audience. Silent. Motionless. Every face was concealed under the shadow of a hood; not one body so much as shifted in its seat.
The olive-skinned boy rolled the twink on his side. He rested one of the twink's ankles on his muscular shoulder and let the other fall down onto the red sheets. The twink's cock, long and firm, came into view and Liam spied precum dribbling from its tip. The olive-skinned boy pulled his own shaft free of the twink's hole for a moment and Liam admired it, thick and hard and slick. His own cock began to throb.
The olive-skinned boy slowly reentered the twink. He grabbed the twink's thigh and pressed it against his abs. The twink cooed and moaned. This time, Liam realized, the moans were all pleasure.
"Oh...yeah, baby," the twink moaned.
The olive-skinned boy slowly began rocking his hips. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, baby."
"Fuck, this hole is nice."
"Fuck me, baby...feels so good,"
"Shit, you're tight."
"Your cock is perfect."
The olive-skinned boy leaned down and kissed the twink. Liam's cock twitched against his cloak. The novelty of the scene began to overwhelm him. He had never watched something like this; he'd never been in an audience while a pair of hot boys moaned and kissed and fucked. It was a surreal moment, Liam thought, but it was also a surprisingly tender moment. Or at least it was until Christian's voice rang out again.
"I don't want a fucking Hallmark card. I wanna see fucking. Fuck that little bitch, already. Make him scream."
The olive-skinned boy pulled his lips away from the twink and the pair locked eyes. Liam studied the look the passed between them. A knowing look: part question, part apology. The olive-skinned boy resumed his heavy thrusting. The slap of skin on skin echoed throughout the cavern to the accompaniment of the twink's loud moans. Fake moans now, Liam thought.
Christian evidently thought so too. "Fuck that, bitch. I'll give you something to scream about."
The stone throne became a sudden swirling flurry of navy. Christian emerged from the cloud of fabric with outstretched arms as his cloak fell to his feet. He stood, tall and proud and naked. His body brought the chamber to silence. Liam gawked, stunned as he had been when the two of them stood toe to toe in the locker room earlier that day, if not more.
Standing atop the small dais on which the throne sat, Christian loomed over the olive-skinned boy and the twink. His frame was tall and muscular and tanned everywhere but for where his water polo suit would normally be found. Liam wanted to take in the sight of him and examine that body from head to toe, each curved bicep and rippling ab, but his attention was quickly captured by the sight of Christian's massive cock.
Three-quarters hard, it hung heavy and impossibly thick between Christian's sturdy, firm thighs. Liam swallowed hard. He'd seen two, maybe three, dicks that big in his life. His own was one of them. He knew the wonders it could work, but he also knew the pain it could bring.
Christian grabbed the olive-skinned boy by the shoulder and pulled him away from the twink. The boy shot a glowering stare at Christian's back. Liam hoped the boy might fight back, but all he did, all he seemed able to do, was stand aside and watch as Christian spit on his hand and lubed his swollen shaft.
"Here you go, bitch." Christian lifted the twink's thigh, pressed his fat cocktip to his pink hole, and leaned the entire weight of his body against the twink's defenseless ass.
The twink screamed. Liam winced. Christian smiled.
"Yeah!" Christian yelled over the twink's pained moaning. He arched his back and drove his shaft as deep as he could into the twink. He began making deep thrusts. "That. Is. How. You. Fuck. A. Bitch." With each thrust the twink yelped.
Liam stared at the snide smile of Christian's face and felt a rage rising within him. He looked around the room. Do something, he silently begged the hooded figures. Not one figure moved, not one figure made the slightest noise. The shadowy faces watched the brutal scene unfold in front of them.
Fuck this, Liam thought. The silent solemnity of the cavern that had overwhelmed him minutes before now seemed unbearable; it seemed reprehensible. He nervously tapped his foot and looked down the rows of stone benches below him, plotting a quick path that would lead him through the audience so he could land a blow across Christian's sneering face. Christian's taunting voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You like that, bitch?" Christian yelled as he spit on the twink's face. "You like getting torn up?"
Just say it, Liam thought as he looked at the twink's tremulous face. Say it and I'll knock this motherfucker out so cold none of these fuckers will know who I am or where I came from. Just say it.
"Yes...yes," the twink weakly croaked.
Christian laid a hard slap on the side of the twink's face. "Yes what?"
"Yes, lord."
Christian smiled and began pounding harder. He spread a hand wide and then reached down and wrapped it around the twink's thin neck.
"Again."
"Yes...lord. Yes, lord."
"Say you like getting torn up."
"I...like...I like getting torn up, lord."
Beads of sweat glistened on Christian's forehead as his thrusting reached fever pitch. The twink's flushed cheeks grew flusher still as Christian grip on his neck became a choke.
"Good," Christian moaned. "Good."
Enough, Liam thought. He didn't care what the fuck was going on and who said they liked it. He was going to end it. He started to rise.
"Take it, bitch. Take it." Christian let out a wild groan. His thrusting stopped and his muscular, sweaty torso curled down over the twink. He kept his choking grip on the twink's neck.
Liam sat back down but kept a wary eye on Christian.
After several moments Christian caught his breath and stood upright. He slowly released his grip on the twink's neck and slid his swollen, half-hard cock from the twink's hole, which oozed cum onto the red sheets. He grabbed his cloak from the foot of the throne and slipped it back into it. Then he turned around to face the audience with a triumphant, sneering smile.
Liam, still roiling with rage, could not make sense of the scene. Christian seemed to be performing for the audience, for the society, but yet he seemed to look up at them with disdain. Why was there this silent obedience to this guy, Liam wondered? And why did Christian hate them in return?
"Alright, shitheads," Christian said as he adjusted the cloak over his wide shoulders. "Anything else?"
The room fell silent.
The boy beside Liam, who had escorted him into the chamber, rose to his feet, trembling in his cloak. His high, tremulous voice cut through the ominous silence.
"We...we have a supplicant!"
The sound of swishing cloaks filled the cavern as all of the hooded figures turned to face the boy. Indistinct, low murmurs began to rumble through the crowd.
Liam scanned the crowd, now able to see the features of a face or two or three in the torchlight. He looked from hood to hood, trying to find a familiar face amidst all the surprised expressions. After a moment he stopped. The faces no longer looked up to the boy. They were all staring at his white cloak, staring at him.
Christian's face seemed to be the only one without a look of surprise. Instead he flashed a wicked smile up in Liam's direction.
"Bring him down."
by Foster I. Pines
fosteripines@gmail.com
*Feedback is much appreciated, along with your thoughts on where this story should go.
*I have published a book, "A Boy's Own Island", available on Amazon if you are interested.
*Please consider donating to the Nifty archive.