“You can’t keep me here! I’m a lord. I have rights.”
Yoram suppressed a sigh as he glanced up from his whittling at the indignant lordling before him.
Kolbu had instructed him to guard the lad until further notice. The lord’s father needed some persuading to part with his valuables, which might take some time. So Yoram was stuck in this spoilt little shit’s bedroom, dealing with his petulance.
“Getting bold, aren’t you?” Yoram commented. “Why can’t you go back to snivelling in the corner? I liked you better that way.”
Flush rose on the boy’s cheeks and his sharp blue eyes narrowed. He tossed his soft brown hair and gave what might have been an imperious look if not for the dried tears rimming his eyes. Yoram fixed him with a bored glare and waited.
“When my father hears of this—”
“Your father may not have ears when Kolbu is done with him.” Yoram chuckled at the flash of shock that shot across the lord’s face. He thought for a moment to remember his name, if only to order him around. “Quentin? Quentin. Go sit on your bed and shut up.”
“That filthy barbarian wouldn’t dare hurt my father,” Quentin insisted. “My father commands a host. He’ll hunt you all down like dogs.”
“All the more reason to mutilate him, then.” Yoram grinned.
Quentin visibly bristled with rage and took a step forward. Yoram let the grin drop from his face and glared at the lord. Quentin faltered, but it seemed nothing would take the wind out of his sails completely.
“You wouldn’t dare. ” Yoram noted the slight tremble in the boy’s voice. “We are Elbiyan. We have rights. And… and I will not let you keep me here any longer!”
Yoram’s eyebrows raised in surprise as the lord set his mouth and tried to beeline for the door. Setting his whittling aside, Yoram stood and raised his hand. Quentin barely had time to widen his eyes in shock before Yoram struck him in the face and he was sprawling across the floor. Yoram snorted and ignored his shocked little whimpers. He knew exactly how to force obedience if the brat wasn’t going to make things easy.
He strode over to the bed and grabbed one of the pillows. It was huge and plush, but Yoram was more interested in the soft white pillowcase. He stripped the fabric and turned back to find Quentin getting unsteadily to his feet. A flash of red against his teeth told Yoram he’d hit him hard enough, but there was only one way to ensure the little shit didn’t give him too much more trouble.
“You… you hit me!” Quentin sounded on the verge of tears, and Yoram felt his cock twitch in his trousers. “You can’t do that! I’m a lord! ”
Quick as lightning, Yoram darted forward and brought the pillowcase down on Quentin’s head, not stopping until the boy was caught to the waist. He chuckled as Quentin shrieked and started flailing. It would do him no good. Yoram was twice his strength and the pillowcase was well-made.
“You are a brat,” Yram told him. “And where I’m from, we have methods for dealing with brats.”
As he spoke, Yoram twisted the corner of the pillowcase, tightening the fabric until Quentin’s movements were less erratic, though not for lack of effort.
“What are you doing?” The lord still sounded indignant. “Get this off of me! You’re crazy!”
As he protested, Quentin seemed to remember he had legs and started kicking. Yoram chuckled and grabbed at roughly where Quentin’s neck might be, relishing the squeak of shock as he squeezed. His cock was rapidly hardening. If not for being provoked, he might have been content to just sit and whittle, but there was no denying the temptation of bringing the annoying little shit to heel. He dragged Quentin over to the sturdy oak desk by the window and forced him over it. The boy’s struggles intensified. Yoram could see his fingertips scrabbling at the inside of the pillowcase, trying and failing to find purchase and free himself.
“Let me go!” Quentin wailed. “You can’t treat me like this!”
Yoram ignored him and leaned his weight on the pillowcase with one hand. The lordling thrashed in the confined space, his breath audibly panicking. Yoram pushed his crotch up against the lord’s wiggling arse and trapped his legs together. His useless kicks only jostled Yoram’s aching cock, making him groan and grind into the plush flesh in front of him. Quentin froze. No doubt what was about to happen had just dawned on him.
Sure enough, when he next spoke his tone was softer.
“Please don’t,” he begged. “Please, I… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—”
“Shut up.” Yoram smacked him hard on the arse and gave a happy sigh at the answering squeal. He was glad of the oil in his belt. Kolbu hadn’t explicitly said not to rape the lord, but he knew he was less likely to face blowback if the boy could still walk when he was done. He used his free hand to hike the lord’s tunic up and press his thumb into his crack through his linen braies. Quentin shrieked and would have jolted forwards if not for the desk and Yoram’s strong grip pinning him in place.
“Oh gods, please, no, please…” Quentin babbled. “Please, don’t— please. I-I’ll give you anything, just… please…”
Yoram ignored him in favour of rubbing up and down his crack. At the bottom he could feel the back of the lordling’s balls, his hole not too far up and giving slightly even as Yoram was sure Quentin clenched every muscle. The lord’s struggles took on a more frantic energy as Yoram started pressing more insistently against his hole. He could hear choked sobs starting and the pillowcase shuddered as he took his time exploring. Odds were good this little shit was a virgin. Yoram leaned in harder and groaned at the pressure in his crotch. It eased some of his tension whilst at the same time making him more eager to sink into the tight hole before him. He slipped his fingers under the lord’s braies and grinned at the rising crescendo of pleas from Quentin.
“I bet you’re gonna be so tight,” Yoram crooned. “Elbiyan holes fit so well around my cock.”
Inside the pillowcase, Quentin was hyperventilating, the fabric sucking and erupting from his mouth in a frantic staccato. Saliva tinged with red made an ever-expanding wet patch around his face. Yoram watched, entranced, as he sank his finger dry into the lord’s trapped hole. A gratifying keen of distress met Yoram’s ears. Quentin’s muscles convulsed as they tried to expel him, but Yoram only pushed deeper, earning more frightened cries and struggles. He stopped when he judged he was deep enough and probed against the warm, quivering walls around his fingertip. There was no mistaking when he found his mark. Quentin gave a long, miserable cry and his trapped legs shuddered violently against Yoram’s thighs.
Yoram took his time stroking the sensitive knot of nerves, waves of pleasure rolling over him as he reduced Quentin’s screams to soft, confused sobs. Yoram didn’t bother to check, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to find the lord’s cock hard. He withdrew and slipped Quentin’s braies down just enough to reveal his target. Quentin gave a horrified gasp and tried to arch back off the desk, but Yoram’s grip on the pillowcase kept him from rising more than an inch.
“N-n-n-no…” the lord sobbed. “You… you can’t… please…”
He was definitely less bratty now, but Yoram had no intention of stopping. Kolbu might spend days torturing the father. If he could keep the spoilt lord in check then odds were good he would be assigned guard duty again, which in turn meant more opportunities to hold him down and fuck him. That prospect alone was enough to make Yoram reach into his leather belt pocket and fish out his oil one-handed. He popped the cork with his teeth and spat it away before pouring a generous amount over Quentin’s fluttering hole.
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Yoram put the oil on the desk and rubbed his fingers through the glistening liquid.
He could hear Quentin rallying to start begging again, so he cut him off by shoving two fingers in up to the knuckle. The noises Quentin made sounded almost inhuman. He tried again to wriggle out of Yoram’s grasp, but all he achieved was a useless flop inside the pillowcase. Yoram pumped his fingers, rough and impatient, only stopping when he felt the resistant ring start to loosen. That would do. No sense in waiting – not when Yoram was craving that hole so badly.
Quentin’s whole body shook with sobs. Yoram tightened his grip on the pillowcase and poured a liberal amount of oil on his aching cock. He shifted to get a better grip on the boy’s legs between his knees, then lined himself up. Quentin didn’t even beg. Yoram felt him brace, and in the next moment his cock was engulfed in agonisingly tight heat and he was ramming in to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck,” he murmured. “Oh I am going to fill you up with so much cum. Fuck. ”
At that last, he started to thrust. Quentin gulped and screamed as Yoram fucked into him with little care for anything but his own orgasm. The desk was heavy enough, but it still shifted with a creak as he pounded into the borderline painfully tight hole around him. Every thrust pushed another pained cry from the trapped lord beneath him, but Yoram didn’t bother trying to pace himself. He had fought hard to take the manor and dealing with Quentin all morning had left him pent-up beyond belief. His orgasm hit and he fucked all the harder through it, his balls clenching as he unloaded every drop of his dominance into Quentin’s helpless body. The fierce pleasure that washed over him left him breathless as Quentin trembled on the desk beneath him.
After a minute or so Quentin started to wriggle again, so Yoram smacked him on the arse and the lordling stilled. Yoram wasn’t about to rush himself. He withdrew once his cock was half soft and watched with quiet satisfaction as a long line of cum ran from the gaping hole and down Quentin’s pale, smooth thigh. The pale liquid jiggled with the ever-increasing tremor in the boy’s legs. A question hung in the air, unspoken, but Yoram found it wasn’t long before he could answer it. His cock twitched as he watched Quentin struggle to get himself under control. Even with the pillowcase obscuring his face, Yoram knew those pretty blue eyes would be red-rimmed and miserable.
Hard again, Yoram didn’t bother with more oil, just forced his way back in as Qentin shrieked incomprehensible pleas. His hole was just as tight as before. The smooth heat clenched around Yoram’s cock and he decided to take his time enjoying it. He moved with long, slow thrusts, ignoring the pitiful whimpers each time he touched Quentin’s prostate. Every time he was fully sheathed, he gave a lazy grind, forcing himself in as deep as he could while Quentin’s legs kicked and his upper half flopped around inside the pillowcase. Yoram adjusted his stance to lean in and find roughly where the boy’s ear would be.
“I could fuck you like this all day,” he whispered. “I was happy with my whittling, but this is just as entertaining. Nothing like unwilling arse to take the edge off.”
Quentin tried to jerk his head away as Yoram spoke but only managed to twist the pillowcase tighter. He whimpered and wriggled, making Yoram’s eyes flutter at the tightening around his cock.
“Please stop.” Quentin’s voice broke over his plea. “I… I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I’ll go sit on my b-bed and… be quiet…”
“Mmmm.” Yoram gave a short thrust. “But you’ve got me all worked up now. You expect me to just go back to whittling when I could have you over this desk all day without anyone here to stop me?”
Quentin gave a quiet gasp as Yoram grinned, starting to thrust again, but he wasn’t done. He tried to kick as Yoram’s cock filled him to the brim.
“Please, it feels strange,” the lordling begged.
“It’s not supposed to be pleasant,” Yoram replied, and Quentin went very quiet. That gave Yoram pause. Beneath the fear in that silence there was something else, he was sure of it. He fucked slowly into him again and Quentin squealed.
“Or does it feel good?” Yoram asked. “Is that why you’re so upset?”
Quentin didn’t reply, his shoulders straining against the pillowcase, so Yoram sighed and reached down. The lord wailed as his thick fingers made contact with an erection almost as hard as Yoram’s own. Yoram chuckled. He rubbed his hand along the spoilt lord’s shaft until he found his delicate balls and gave them a gentle squeeze. Quentin jumped and his hole clenched, making Yoram groan.
“Shame you’re such a prick,” Yoram told him. “We could’ve had a great time together in the bed.”
Quentin sounded hoarse.
“Here is what is going to happen.” Yoram gave another long thrust and Quentin shuddered. “I’m going to finish fucking you, and then you’re going to go sit on your bed like a good little boy and give me no more trouble. With me so far?”
Yoram gave another thrust, short and sharp, and Quentin cried out.
“Yes!” he agreed. “Y-yes, I understand!”
“Good.” Yoram kept thrusting as he spoke. “After that, if you are still under guard tomorrow, I will come and guard you again.”
Quentin took a breath as though he wanted to speak, but thought better of it. His breathing came hard and fast as Yoram took his time fucking him. As he went on, some thrusts made Quentin moan now, though Yoram could still hear him sobbing, and his hole rolled delightfully every time Yoram filled him. It didn’t take long until he could feel another orgasm coming on. He quickened his pace and let Quentin’s loud, keening cries carry him over the edge as the tight hole around him convulsed and milked him of every last drop. Yoram took a moment to realise his prisoner might have cum too.
When he pulled out this time, Yoram was pleased to see more cum dribbling from the hole that had given him so much pleasure. He watched it for a few moments, then sighed and tucked himself away.
Quentin didn’t move even when he released his grip from the pillowcase. He leaned over and tugged it away.
The lord looked thoroughly debauched. His dark hair was plastered to his face, tears drenching his cheeks and his eyes a whirling mixture of shock, confusion, afterglow and shame. Yoram reached out and moved the longer strands behind his ear, then ran his fingers through the rest of the thick dark locks. He looked so good that Yoram was tempted to get hard again and go for another round.
No, he decided. Kolbu might not assign him guard duty tomorrow if the boy was too visibly out of shape. Yoram pulled Quentin’s braies up with a sigh and stepped back to see how his legs would hold him.
After a minute, Quentin still hadn’t made any move to stand up, so Yoram prompted him.
“Get into bed,” he ordered. “And give me no more trouble.”
Quentin took a deep breath, his gaze darting to where Yoram stood behind him, then tried to stand. He was on the floor a second later. Yoram smiled and sat back down in his chair. He knew he hadn’t caused any real damage, so he assumed Quentin must just be legless from his climax. The pale liquid splattered against the side of the desk was big enough that Yoram could believe he hadn’t cum in quite some time.
“Come on,” he said. “Into bed.”
“Don’t fuck me again,” Quentin mumbled. “I can’t, it’s… I can’t…”
“Don’t give me a reason to and I’ll leave you alone,” Yoram assured him, silently adding ‘for now’ as he considered the beginnings of the statuette in his hand. His mind was already mostly back on his whittling but he kept half an eye on the crumpled lord on the floor.
He grinned as Quentin finally crawled to reach the bed. Even on all fours, his limbs shook and he could barely drag himself along. Yoram watched for a moment and adjusted his cock in his trousers. Perhaps he would sit on the boy later and jerk himself off onto his face. That would be a lovely image, he mused as he whittled. If he could scare him enough, it might even be safe to fuck his mouth without getting bitten.
The statuette in his hands was beginning to take shape. He could whittle for a while, then take a break, go join Quentin in bed and see if he could make him cum again. He glanced up found the lord had made it to the mattress. The next time he looked over, Quentin’s eyes were closed and his mouth hung open as he dozed.
Peace, quiet, and the prospect of fucking Quentin again later left Yoram smiling as he continued with his whittling.