Topping The Duke 02
(c) 2020, Taz Xandros, All Rights Reserved.
This is an entirely fictional story that is licensed solely to Nifty for workshopping purposes. It may not be reproduced, distributed, or commercially exploited in any form without express written permission from its author.
This story is Historical Fantasy set in the Early Victorian Era and may be too slow burning for some folks. If you're looking for a quick wank, this probably isn't for you. But if you like action, intrigue, magic and character growth between sex scenes, then this is your cup of tea.
Content Warning: This story contains graphic M/M sex between teenagers, and between adults and teens. The sex is sometimes romantic, sometimes rough and/or non-consensual with an authoritarian, medical, or BDSM bent. Slavery, forced indenture, medical experimentation on the destitute and corporal punishment in schools were still common occurrences during this time period, so things may happen that should never occur in modern real life. Protect yourself and your health by using PReP and condoms and do not try these things at home, especially if they violate the laws of your locality.
If you are a minor, or think something in this story might bother or offend you, STOP HERE.
If you enjoy this sort of thing, read on, and feel free to email me with comments or encouragement at:
taxandros@protonmail.com.
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Your humble author, Taz
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End of Last Chapter:
Driscoll slammed his big fist against Bran's temple, sending stars across his vision, making him lose his grip on the cage bar. His face clanged into the hard iron, his nose sending an excruciating jolt through his skull that kept him from swooning at what Driscoll's fist had done. Driscoll clawed at Bran/s arm and tore his hand away from that warm, willing flesh. "You're my apprentice. You serve me, boy. Don't you ever go touching yourself, or I'll take the strap to you again. Understand?"
"Aye." Bran's voice sounded thin and reedy in his ears. He fumbled around until he could get both hands on the bars to steady himself. He thrust his bum out, trying at least to find that pleasant angle.
Driscoll slapped the side of his face savagely. "Aye, what? Treat me with respect, you little bugger."
"Aye, sir," Bran mumbled, clenching down on that thick, angry spike impaling him, putting all his effort into pleasing his master, so that this torment could be over.
Oh, how he loathed the darkness.
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Topping the Duke (Chapter Two - Pleasing Mr. Champness)
"This won't do!" Mr. Champness peered across his desk them, his round, balding head reflecting the blue sky through the window. He was a squat, florid man with brown eyes set under bushy, grizzled brows. He shook his head at Bran, who stood next to Driscoll on the worn patch of flooring just inside the door to Mr. Champness' office. His rotund face was distorted with disgust and revulsion as he pointed out the tent in Bran's tattered breeches, and the small damp spot in the coal-black fabric crowning it. "The little blighter has a stand on. And his nose is bloody. How can I send him to speak with Duke Lacock like that?!"
Bran wiped the blood from his upper lip and covered the bulge with his hands. His nose had stopped bleeding, but he wasn't sure why his prick had remained so obstinate. Usually it fell back asleep as soon as they left the cage.
Driscoll slapped his hands away and looked critically at the offending area. "Hardly noticeable. It'll be fine."
Mr. Champness shot Driscoll a dubious look. "As owner of this mine, I am responsible for the morals of my employees. It simply will not do to send such a revolting, wanton creature to the Duke."
Driscoll gave a wry chuckle. "No morals in this one." He thumped Bran on the back of the head. "His mother's a whore. He was sucking cock before he could talk."
Bran wanted to deny it, but knew if he said anything he'd get a slap. Besides, it was true.
Mr. Champness gasped at Driscoll's rough words, even as they caused a flush to come to the round cheeks above his grey muttonchop beard. "There is no need for such vulgarity here."
"Are you sure?: A sly grin twisted Driscoll's lips, distorting his dark, bushy beard. His eyes lit up with that greedy look he usually got when his mates came round to visit and complained about their wives. "I heard your missus has gotten in the family way. Again. What's this, the third?"
"Fourth."
"Can't imagine she's been seeing to your needs. Being a proper woman, and all."
"What exactly are you implying?"
"Nothing. Except, perhaps, that proper women aren't willing to use their mouths when the gates of paradise are closed. You need a wicked little bastard for that." Driscoll's rough hand squeezed the back of Bran's neck, a painful notice that the boy would be required to perform. Or else.
Mr. Champness gasped again, then sputtered. Despite the outraged look on his face, his flush had deepened. He squirmed a bit in his chair.
"You're a busy man," Driscoll continued in his sly, soothing way. "Always seeing to the mine. I can't imagine you've had much time to get any relief from the local lasses..."
"Are you suggesting that I...?" The mine owner's florid face was beet red, but his breathing had quickened., Leather squeaked as he squirmed in his chair.
Driscoll chuckled, looking pointedly from Bran to Mr. Champness, and back to Bran. "If you can't send him to the Duke in that state, why not use him until he's decent? And enjoy yourself, in the process?"
"I couldn't."
"Of course you can." Driscoll pushed Bran towards the man, then turned around and locked the door to the office. "You're a captain of industry. A pillar of the community. You deserve to be attended to."
Bran dutifully made his way over. He did not relish the idea of servicing the fat old mine owner, but he knew it was always best to do what Driscoll wanted. Best to satisfy Mr. Champness and then, perhaps, Driscoll would be pleased enough to leave him alone when they got back to the rowhouse. Bran could use a good night's sleep.
"But the boy is so...filthy."
"Isn't he, though? If you'd like, you can whip him. That'll bring his cockstand down. After that, you can ride his arse all the way to Heaven. He's got a tight little bum."
"I've never buggered anyone before."
"Then have him frig you. Or use his mouth."
When Bran rounded the corner of the desk, he saw that, despite his protestations, Driscoll's words had made the flap on Mr. Champness' trousers swell. The green satin waistcoat around his ample belly made him look like a shiny cabbage.
"He'll really do such things?" Mr. Champness studied Bran. Thoughts, possibilities seemed to swim in his eyes, temptation warring with righteousness. He pulled a frown, and shook his head, clearly appalled. "He's not much to look at."
"Then don't. Close your eyes. Imagine your wife. Or some other winsome lass."
Bran reached out and rubbed the fine woolen cloth over the warm lump. He felt it twitch and fill up further under his caress. His hands were still black with coal dust, and as he moved his palm in a slow circle, fingers gently squeezing, he left a dark smudge on the brown wool.
Mr. Champness didn't seem to notice, instead rolling his head back and closing his eyes with low, happy murring sound. He pushed away from the desk and unbuttoned his flap, releasing an angry red worm in a nest of grizzled hair. Bran gently curled his fine fingers around it, lifting the shaft up so that he could cradle the two grizzled eggs below. He knelt down and dabbed his tongue delicately under the foreskin, making a slow, sensuous swirl as he frigged the shaft and dandled the balls.
"It's been so long," Mr. Champness sighed with delight. His fingers entwined in Bran's mop of black hair. He spread his legs, his cock plumping up to a five-inch mast. Nowhere near as big as Driscoll's, and for that, Bran was grateful.
Bran peeled back the foreskin, trapping the bell end of the man's prick with his lips. Mr. Champness had a salty, mushroomy smell, far better than Driscoll's rank stench of piss and stale beer. Bran made a series of pulsing little sucks while rubbing the top of his tongue around the piss hole. Mr. Champness shuddered in ecstasy and pressed down on Bran's head, lust charging him up with a forcefulness that drove away any further reservations. "Swallow me, you dirty little molly boy."
Bran did so. That big belly made it so Bran had to really push his forehead in to ensure he got his lips all the way down to those grizzled hairs. He swallowed the fat little worm easily. Driscoll had long ago trained him to open his throat without gagging.
"Oh! My Lord!" Mr. Champness sighed in ecstasy. "I've never felt this before!" He kept Bran's head trapped, grinding away as the boy used his throat muscles to grip and pulse. The quicker Champness spent, the sooner Bran could breathe again.
Soon, the old man's wrinkled eggs drew up as his lusty groans filled the room. The head swelled up in his throat and shot several times. Bran was becoming dizzy from lack of air and sagged down, swallowing. He gasped with relief when the shriveling sausage pulled free from his mouth. He wiped his lips and then busied himself tucking Mr. Champness away and buttoning his flap.
"My God, my God..." Mr. Champness pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. "Is that what a whore's mouth feels like? And to think I have denied myself such paradise all these years."
"They're not all as good as this one," Driscoll replied, a smirk on his face. "But if you pay him as a collier, and not a drammer, I'll send him to you twice a week. In the morning, when he's still clean and not filthy from the mine."
"You tempt me, sir. I shall consider it." Mr. Champness stared down at Bran as if seeing him for the very first time. He scowled and rubbed at the fabric of his trousers. "You've dirtied my clothes."
Bran lowered his gaze, backing away on his knees. "I'm sorry, sir."
Driscoll peered over the edge of the desk at Mr. Champness' crotch. "You can take it out of his arse tomorrow, if you like. I'll send him in with a good birching rod. There's nothing quite as delectable as ramming your cock home after his bum's been properly thrashed. He wiggles like a salmon and he's so bloody tight he could suck the brass off a doorknocker."
Bran gritted his teeth, glowering at the floor. He hated that Driscoll used him so cavalierly. It was bad enough that he'd been required to please Driscoll's mates at the rowhouse, but to be expected do so for Mr. Champness, as well? He rubbed his eyes lest the men see the tears there.
He had three more years on his indenture. How many more men would he be forced to service during that time?
Driscoll grabbed him by his shaggy mop, lifting him as easily as a kitten. He dangled him in front of Mr. Champness, poking a rude, painful finger hard into Bran's groin. "See? His prick's gone down. He's ready for the Duke, now."
Bran shuddered. Would he be expected to service this Duke? To suck some old shriveled pizzle, or get buggered, or worse?
"Your boy knows what to say?" Mr. Champness gave them both a stern look. "He's got enough sense to do what he's told?"
Driscoll regarded Bran with that hard, angry look that told him he'd best behave. Or else. "He knows what's good for him."
Bran stole a glance at Mr. Champness, then looked up at Driscoll. There was a seriousness in the men's faces that made Bran wonder why they would trust anything so vital to him. Driscoll slapped his balls, and he yelped. "Aye, sir," he promised breathlessly. "I'll say whate'er you want, do whate'er you want, I will."
"Good, then," Mr. Champness intoned. "You are to tell him, when he asks, that we do not employ any children, here."
"But what about the traps? Dee Moss is only six, and--"
Driscoll slapped him again. "Tell him you're the youngest."
"Remember," Mr. Champness added. "He is a Duke, so treat him accordingly."
"And `ow is that?" Bran had never met anyone of the Quality. He wasn't sure how to treat someone noble, other than keep his mouth shut and his eyes down.
Driscoll pulled his hand back to strike again. Bran whimpered, but the blow didn't come. Instead, Driscoll set him down on his feet. "You call him `Duke Lacock' or `Your Grace.' Understand? You tell him that there's no children working in the mine. Tell him you're the youngest. And you're paid well. Treated fairly. Understand?"
"Aye, sir."
"Good," Mr. Champness smiled at him. "Mr. Driscoll will take you to him. You do this well, boy, and you'll be paid for a full day, today."
"Aye, sir. Thank you, sir."
Driscoll clamped his big hand on Bran's bony shoulder and steered him out of the office after unlocking the door. They marched down the hall, past the stairs that led down to the company store and the ground floor, all the way to the west end of the building. Driscoll rapped smartly on the door with his free hand.
"Enter," came a muffled reply.