The Selfish Father
All
was arranged, and it was with light hearts and in anticipation of the removal of
the last annoying inconvenience that stopped me from fully enjoying the wealth
of my property that we rode back home.
My
son, Hilaron’s, entry into his estate would be celebrated well that night with
a small party. I had invited a few young men of the local area to attend and had
planned on the night being one of special celebration for me, rather than
Hilaron. And as we departed from Yarron’s farm I laughed out loud at how well
things had been arranged.
Lucus
and I arrived at the ford, and before crossing the river, we stopped to water
our horses and take a drink ourselves. My mood was so good that I pulled Lucus
to me and kissed him as I gripped his phallus through his clothes and squeezed
it hard. He shook and gasped but did not pull away. He liked it rough. I lifted
my robe, and he fell to his knees and sucked on my engorging rod until it was
rock hard, at which point I took the small thick handled whip from my belt, and
Lucus briefly sucked on the hard handle of that, wetting it down. Then he lifted
his robe and bent over, spreading his cheeks with his hands and showing me his
ass.
After
a few flicks of the whip across his pale ass cheeks, reddening them, I turned
the whip around and the handle slid into his entrance with the ease of long
practice. I enjoyed watching it pumping in and out of his hole as I beat my own
hard rod against his ass and thighs and he moaned and whimpered and wriggled his
butt so the stiff handle stroked new parts of his channel. When I tired of that,
I removed the handle from him, hearing a nice slurping, and then replaced it
with my own weapon and pumped him long and hard, while occasionally flicking the
whip over his ass and thighs. I came inside him, most satisfied, and I think he
finished himself off afterward as I heard a moaning noise as I tidied myself and
went to drink more water from the clear, fast-flowing stream.
We
continued our ride back to the farm even more satisfied, and I was sharing a
joke about the coming night with my companion, Lucus, who is my step-son from my
first wife and not much younger than myself, when we entered the courtyard of my
large farm and the servants came running to help me from my horse.
But
at that moment my day was spoiled. For as soon as we rode into the courtyard, I
found myself facing an apparition, a shocking and perhaps dangerous one.
Hilaron,
that unfortunate product of my union with his mother, Margaret, my last wife,
was walking from the stable with a well-armed barbarian of huge size. And by
Hilaron’s look, they had been doing more than looking over the old horse he
kept inside the stables, which was the only animal there at present.
“The
young devil,” I hissed under my breath, flicking my whip at Lucus, who was
gawking open mouthed at the pair. “Stop looking like a fool,” I added, for
unfortunately Lucus was not always as quick as I could have wished.
“You
have a guest,” I said loudly to Hilaron, unable to conceal the disapproval in
my voice.
“Konan
is a traveler who has asked a bed for the night,” Hilaron replied with that
arrogance he was prone to at times.
“A
weary traveler is usually not so well armed,” I replied, unable to stop myself
from saying it.
The
huge barbarian himself said nothing, but Hilaron had to say, “He comes in
peace and is our guest,” his face flushing red.
I
knew what was going on, but the man looked too big and dangerous to confront in
the courtyard in broad daylight. He was a truly magnificent giant, golden
skinned, muscular, and from the look of the bulging of his loincloth, endowed
like a giant there also. I had no doubt Hilaron had enjoyed his attentions in
the stable, the arrogant, scheming young fool.
“If
he is weary, then you had best have food prepared and a bed made up for him,”
I said, wanting this man, Konan, asleep or at least unarmed and resting, as soon
as possible. We had guests arriving before sunset, and I wanted nothing to upset
my plans for the night’s celebration.
*
* * *
“Did
you see his sword? The one across his back?” Lucus said, “That is a Mogul
prince’s sword. How did a man like that get such a thing? He must be some
bandit. He is probably wanted by the soldiers of the Great Mogul.”
“Unfortunately,
the Great Mogul’s soldiers are not nearby, so that is of no use to us now,
Lucus. But he is being well fed, and if Hilaron has pleased him already, let’s
just hope he takes my son to his bed with him right after he has eaten. If he
rides young Hilaron again, that may tire him and may give us an opportunity to
take him unawares and remove him.”
“You
mean we should kill him? When he is a guest?” Lucus asked, sounding shocked at
the idea.
“I
have no doubt Hilaron has hired this giant to ruin all our plans, so he can take
over the farm and dispossess us, perhaps even kill us.” I told Lucus.
“Oh.
Do you really think that? Hilaron? I didn’t think he had it in him to think of
such a thing. The young devil.” Lucus replied, chuckling.
Once
my horse, and Lucus’s Donkey, had been led away to the stable, we entered the
house, but not by the door to the kitchens as Hilaron and Konan had. We entered
through the main door and into the central family area as was appropriate for
the master of the house. And master of that fine house and all its lands I was
and master was what I intended to remain.
Hilaron’s
treachery in bringing the stranger among us had me suddenly nervous, though, for
as Lucus had said, I had not thought of my son as being so devious. But then,
Hilaron had always done the unexpected and inconvenient.
“From
the day he was conceived in the marriage bed, Hilaron has been nothing but
trouble,” I said angrily, once Lucus and I were in private again.
“He
should never have lived,” he replied.
“No,
he should not,” I agreed.
Being
good looking and intelligent, I had in my young days married Lucus’s mother,
an older widowed woman with no other family whom I had wed for her property. I
had worn her out with my demands on her both in the marriage bed and out of it,
and she had soon died. Then setting my sights higher, I had married a pale, thin
woman, Margaret, the only surviving child of a very wealthy and lecherous father
who had produced many children, mostly female, all of whom, apart from this one
frail daughter, had died in infancy. I had every reason to be optimistic that
any child my new wife managed to produce would be a girl and also that it was
most unlikely to survive, and the birth could easily be the death of her. All
good points in Margaret’s favor in my view, because then on her father’s
death, all the property that was his would become mine.
It
had seemed a most satisfactory match, and having bedded her roughly and
repeatedly till she was sickly and obviously with child, I left to visit my own
farm some distance away, where Lucus still lived. Margaret’s father would not
have Lucus live with me at my new home. The old man was a nuisance, and though
half crippled, he refused to die. Margaret’s care of him was too good, but
there was little I could do about it, as the old man had several brothers and
cousins still living around about, all of whom were land holders of some wealth.
I
stayed away until I knew Margaret was approaching her time and had good hopes
that when I returned, I would be weeping to find my wife on the point of death,
if not dead already, and the child gone with her. And I knew her father would
depart this life soon after.
But,
no. Instead of returning to play the grieving husband, I found my wife,
Margaret, delivered early of a small son, and her father revitalized by the
birth. This had seemed a minor setback, as the child was small and there was
that history of dead infants behind her. But then my wife wailed and wept so
much when I took my marital rights with her that I turned to taking the servant
girls instead, and then I argued with my father-in-law over some minor point of
discipline that involved me beating the servant he was then having in his bed,
and I gladly returned to my farm and my far more obliging step-son, Lucus.
I could wait a few months till our weak-looking son
died.
Unfortunately,
the boy child, Hilaron, did not die in infancy, and as I moved back and forth
between my two homes, I found that each time I arrived at my wife’s farm the
boy had grown bigger and stronger. But still I had plans for the day my
father-in-law finally had the decency to leave us.
“Do
you think they have finished eating yet?” Lucus asked eagerly.
“Uh?”
I was dragged back from my brooding on how badly things had turned out. “They
should have, and I am sure the giant can think of better things to do to fill
his time than sitting about eating. We shall go to the kitchens and see what is
going on,” I replied.
But
the barbarian was still eating, and by the pile of bones, skins and remains
before him he had already eaten enough for half a dozen normal men.
“Wine,”
I cried, “why is there no wine for my guest? Bring it now,” I ordered, for
there was none on the table at which the monster and Hilaron sat. There was only
what looked like a jug of goat’s milk such as children might drink. Hilaron
had taken much of it when young. Wine was a far more suitable drink in the
circumstances. “The best,” I yelled to the running servant.
The
better the wine was, the more this Konan would drink, I was sure. These
barbarian swords for hire I knew would drink all they could get their hands on.
“And
where do you travel from, Konan?” I asked from politeness.
“From
the West,” he replied, before falling on another plate of fine meats.
“I
have also been to the West,” I replied proudly, “but I have been all the way
to the magnificent palace of the Great Mogul himself. To pledge the loyalty of
this region,” I boasted, “I have seen its wonders and been admitted to the
great hall where the mogul sat upon his throne. I saw him from some distance,
true, but few men get closer to him than I.”
“It
is a wondrous place,” Konan replied and said no more.
He
was a rough and stupid man who could do nothing but eat and drink and take his
carnal pleasures whenever he wanted, I was sure. And who would soon be drunk on
my wine, and no more trouble.
“Hilaron,
be sure to show this . . . traveler to his bed and give him more wine and
whatever else he needs to make him comfortable.”
“As
you command, Father,” Hilaron said, looking at me with his calculating eyes.
I
hated him. The only way my son could serve me was dead.
Lucus
and I returned to the central area of the house, and I saw he was stroking his
organ and his eyes were glazed. “On your knees,” I ordered him.
It
was obvious that the barbarian visitor, Konan, was hung like a donkey and Lucus
was aroused by what he had seen of his manhood as it tented his loincloth. And
if Lucus wanted to be serving anyone, it was going to be me. He knelt obligingly
and, gripping my quickly hardening manhood, he sighed, “Oh the barbarian truly
is a magnificent animal,” and fed my growing rod to his lips, his experienced
mouth muscles gripping me firmly but gently as he slid his head down. I sank
deep into the opening and teased at his throat. Soon I heard him moan, and his
mouth stopped its perfect sucking as he came. I pulled free of his lips, and he
almost toppled over as he spurted another shot of his juice across the floor.
“Over
the bed. Quickly,” I growled at him, holding my throbbing weapon and stroking
it.
Lucus
stumbled to his feet, and lifting his loose robe up, he fell across the bed. I
was between his thighs and plowing him deep and hard in no time at all. And as I
rode him, I imagined that great barbarian interloper riding young Hilaron to
death, splitting him with his huge, engorged barbarian weapon, and with those
good thoughts in my head, I filled Lucus’s belly with more cream than I had
spouted for a long time.
BarbarianSpy for
literary heat
