Bottom’s Tale Read online

  He looked up as Tad approached and smiled. “Ah, good morning,” he said, his tone genuinely pleased. “’Tis right good to see you, Mr. Merryman.”

  “Tad,” Tad mumbled. “Just call me Tad.”

  “Right, then. Tad it is.” He laid the partially completed blade on the anvil and stepped toward him. “Nobbin’s right happy, he is. Slept like a wee colt and woke with his leg near back to normal.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Aye, and it is. Now, you’ll be wanting to see him, I wager?”

  He stood very close to Tad now, patiently awaiting an answer. His broad smile made Tad’s eyes hurt. The sight of the big hands wiping themselves on a smudged rag made his cock hurt.

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” At this point, Tad wasn’t even sure what question he was answering.

  “Right. Then off we’ll go.”

  Martin led the way to the barn behind the shop. Tad saw Nobbin’s head hanging over the top of a stall door. The horse looked as content as Tad had ever seen him. He could almost swear the creature was smiling. “He seems better.”

  Martin nodded, leading the way into the barn. “Aye. He’ll need a bit of care -- poultices and such.” He pulled the barn door shut behind them and suddenly grabbed Tad by the shoulders and kissed him.

  “Mmph,” said Tad, pushing at the broad, powerful shoulders, then Martin’s tongue slid into his mouth and he couldn’t say anything at all.

  He also stopped pushing. Martin pinned him against the stable wall, kissing him deep and hard, wedging his hips against Tad’s stomach. Tad could feel the thick, hard ridge of the other man’s cock pressing into him.

  The blacksmith tasted not unpleasantly of dark tea and some sort of fruit. For some reason Tad had expected ale, though it was far too early in the day. He felt his own hands flailing, unsure where they should rest. But his mouth remained actively engaged, thoroughly enjoying its unfettered exploration of the blacksmith’s. He wanted… wanted… He wasn’t even certain what he wanted.

  Suddenly Martin pulled back and Tad was certain he didn’t want that.

  “I’m sorry,” Martin stammered. “So sorry.”

  Tad just stared at him, stunned mute. “I don’t…” he managed after a moment.

  Martin took another awkward step back. “’Tis all right if you’re no’ wanting to. I understand.” The huge blacksmith seemed to shrink in on himself, shoulders bowing. A red flush spread over his wide face.

  “Isn’t what I meant,” Tad stammered, barely able to breathe, much less speak.

  Martin’s eyes took on a hopeful look. “What did you mean, then?”

  Language seemed suddenly a strange, foreign thing quite beyond Tad’s ability. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed it, then tried again with similar result. Realizing he was gaping like a fish, he took a step toward the blacksmith.

  Had the smith been a half a foot shorter, or Tad a half-foot taller, Tad would have grabbed Martin by the back of the neck and just kissed the life out of him. But the difference in their heights would have made the move at best awkward, and at worst disastrous. So instead he closed the distance between them and clasped the hard lump of Martin’s erection.

  God, he was huge. Completely in proportion, Tad thought, feeling the long, thick shaft through the blacksmith’s loose trousers. Martin made a shuddering, shaking gasp and laid his hands on Tad’s shoulders.

  “You want --” Martin’s voice choked on the words.

  Tad gaped like a fish again. The whole thing had to be horribly unattractive, he thought, yet Martin’s large presence seemed to render him incapable of speech. His fingers squeezed a little on the impressive bulk of the blacksmith’s bulge. Martin gasped again.

  Tad wanted to tell him yes, he wanted. He wanted things he’d never wanted before, and didn’t know why he wanted them. He wanted that thick cock inside him, and he’d never wanted anyone inside him before. He wanted to be overpowered, taken, surrounded by this man’s strength and smell. Wanted Martin to use him the way Titania had -- use him up, milk him dry. He couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

  But when he opened his mouth to tell Martin he just wanted to be fucked, hard and deep and fast, all that came out was a strange, strangled sound, as if a horse in the next stall had just stepped on a tree frog.

  So, since his mouth didn’t seem capable of forming words, Tad went to his knees in front of the wide, bulky blacksmith, pulled down the man’s loose trousers, and stuffed his otherwise useless mouth full of cock.

  Martin said something Tad couldn’t make out -- it might have been in another language. At the same time, the blacksmith’s hips twitched forward, driving his cock against the back of Tad’s throat. Tad swallowed hard to keep from gagging, then grabbed Martin’s ass, holding him steady.

  “Sorry, lad,” Martin mumbled, and Tad nodded, because his mouth was full.

  Very full. Extremely full, even. He drew his head back, his tongue curling around the bottom of Martin’s cock, drawing it partially out of his mouth, savoring the flavor. It was early in the day, so Martin hadn’t had time to work a great deal, so his scent was still clean and pleasant. He smelled, in fact, of soap, leather and horse, a combination Tad found pleasantly arousing. He sucked at Martin’s cock, reached under to lift his testicles, feeling the big man shudder, breathing in the musky smell from between the blacksmith’s legs.

  Martin’s hands came to rest on Tad’s head, fingers combing into his hair. His hands were so big they encompassed Tad’s skull, caressing his hair, his cheeks. Martin’s fingers tilted Tad’s chin up, changing the angle of entry as Martin fucked his mouth in steady strokes.

  The world narrowed to just the sensations of sucking Martin’s cock. The taste of it in his mouth, the way the soft skin felt against his tongue, the press of his fingers into the muscles of Martin’s ass, the head of his cock bumping against the back of Tad’s throat, and over all the growing scent of arousal drowning the smells of horse and hay.

  A soft whinny sounded behind them, and Martin suddenly drew back. Tad looked up at him, registering the flash of panic in the other man’s eyes. Tad stroked the blacksmith’s tight ass as if calming a horse.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “No one there.”

  “No,” Martin agreed. “No one but the horses.” He looked down at Tad, his eyes dark with desire. “I want --” He broke off. Tad heard him swallow, and he closed his eyes a moment as if preparing himself. “Why do they call you Bottom?”

  Tad frowned, but the question didn’t anger or embarrass him as much as it had the first time Martin had asked it.

  “’Twas a joke of the Lady Titania,” he said, answering honestly. “She cursed me to never top again. But I can’t… I’ve never…”

  Martin looked away, but not before Tad caught sight of his disappointment. Tad touched his arm. “Martin. It’s all right. For you… for you I will.”

  Tad wasn’t entirely certain what happened next; it happened quickly, roughly, and knocked the breath out of him. The next thing he knew, he was bent over a hay bale, a blanket protecting him from the stiff hay, and Martin was jerking Tad’s loose breeches down to his ankles.

  “I’ll not hurt you.” Martin’s voice was breathless and strained. At least he could talk. Tad could only nod mutely, blinking back the stars floating in his vision from his chest making too-rapid contact with the bale of hay.

  But he knew that, regardless of how hard Martin tried, this was going to hurt. Tad had deflowered enough virgins in his time to know that, man or woman, the first time being fucked was always problematic. He pressed his face against the blanket and slowed his breathing, forced himself not to think about what was about to happen.

  Martin’s big hands dug into the muscles of his ass, squeezing. Tad wriggled against the hay bale, his painfully erect cock pushing into the blanket and the hay beneath. He wanted to be inside, wanted to be fucking something, but the moment he formed the thought, his erection began to flag.

>   He jerked against the hay bale as Martin’s big thumb suddenly pressed inside his ass. “Ach,” he said, the word coming out in a harsh, involuntary breath.

  “Sorry… God, and I’m sorry,” Martin choked, his voice thick with arousal.

  Martin’s eagerness would be more endearing, Tad thought, if that thumb in his ass didn’t just plain hurt.

  “Oil,” said Martin, and Tad nodded vehemently. “So sorry,” the smith went on. “Didn’t think.”

  “It’s… all right,” Tad reassured through gritted teeth. Not that he’d exactly enjoyed it, but he knew there’d be more to come, a bit better planned and hopefully with more warning.

  Some sort of warm oil dribbled down between his ass cheeks, coating his entrance and the thumb that still sat lodged there. Martin drew his thumb back a bit, giving Tad a moment to catch his breath.

  “All right then, lad?” the blacksmith asked.

  “Yes.” Tad’s answer was more than honest. With the warm oil slicking him, making him brave, Tad pushed back, bringing Martin’s thumb in deep. “God,” he breathed. “Fuck me.”

  “Not yet. I’ll want to be opening you first.” He chuckled, though, in response to Tad’s sudden eagerness. “’Twill be good, I promise you.”

  “No doubt of that.”

  “Just have patience, lad, and it’ll go easier for you.”

  Tad knew this, of course. He was usually the one applying the oil, gently opening his bent over or splayed out partner, fingers pressing deep, then deeper, until the other man was ready to take his cock inside him.

  But being on the receiving end of these ministrations was a different experience entirely. Martin knew what he was about; he was just gentle enough not to hurt Tad, just rough enough to not be womanly about it. As the oil spread deeper inside Tad’s body, and Martin’s fingers moved farther inside, thrusting slowly now, Tad’s body opened up for him with a slow, delicious burn unlike anything Tad had ever felt in his life.

  So good. So damn good. He found himself writhing on the hay bale, pushing back against Martin as if to get the blacksmith’s entire hand inside him -- which he’d seen done but didn’t think he was ready for -- noises coming from his mouth the likes of which he’d never heard before. The sensation burned up into his chest, deep, hot and satisfying. His cock had gone steely-hard beneath him. He wanted to take himself in hand, but somehow felt he shouldn’t, that Martin should guide or direct his pleasure for him. He’d taken that stance with his own partners often, especially when they were physically smaller than he was. It seemed the right thing, somehow, that Martin should control him in that way, right now, under these circumstances.

  “Right,” Martin mumbled now, as if gentling him. “’Tis all well, lad.” One big, warm hand clasped Tad’s ass while the fingers of the other moved inside him, opening, probing. “You’re near ready, I think.” His finger curled up, and Tad gasped at the lightning-sharp sensation that stabbed through him, a tight needle of pleasure from that place inside his body. Martin made a soft hum of satisfaction, as if pleased he’d touched Tad exactly right.

  “Now?” Tad said, unable to remain patient, unable to stop himself from asking.

  Martin gave one last, careful push to that spot inside Tad, then drew his fingers slowly out. Tad wanted to cry out in protest as the deep, powerful burn was lost to him, then realized what was to come next. He remembered how big that thick cock had felt in his mouth and his body clenched in apprehension. He’d taken the smith’s big fingers, and taken them with pleasure, but his cock was different -- bigger, thicker, and longer.

  Martin must have felt Tad’s body tauten, because he gently stroked the smaller man’s back. “Sh, lad. ’Tis well. You’re ready, I think.”

  Tad nodded, still not capable of coherent speech. He spread his feet apart, tipping his hips back to open himself for the ready blacksmith. With Martin’s big fingers gone from his ass, Tad ached to have the sensation back again, the intense, powerful burn of penetration.

  He felt Martin shift behind him, and the thick head of the blacksmith’s cock pressed against Tad’s opening. He flinched again, then relaxed as Martin’s hands gently moved over his lower back, his buttocks. He knew he had to relax; any tension would take the pleasure out of the experience and turn it into pain.

  Martin moved behind him and more warm oil trickled between their bodies, slicking Martin’s cock, Tad’s ass. Then, carefully, slowly, Martin eased his way inside.

  Tad forgot to breathe. Then remembered again as the sensation became almost too much to bear. Breathing helped him relax and turn himself to soft clay, able to accept the thick, long cock into his body.

  Martin paused, petting him. “You all right, lad?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

  He felt Martin’s nod. The big smith’s hand moved around him and under him, lifted him a little from the hay bale. The big, warm fingers curled around Tad’s cock, then moved down to stroke his balls.

  Tad suddenly felt as if he’d done this a million times, as if every move, every shift, every hot, lancing spear of desire, were completely familiar to him. He moved back toward Martin, and Martin slid fully inside him with a sudden gasp. From there, the rhythm came together perfectly, as Martin thrust and Tad took him in, faster, deeper. Martin’s hand worked Tad’s eager cock.

  “God. God…” Tad had no other words in him, and suddenly his body convulsed as Martin speared him one last time, hard and deep, squeezing the head of Tad’s cock at the same time. Tad felt the warm come spill out of him, onto the hay bale, over Martin’s busy fingers. Martin grunted against the back of Tad’s ear, and he, too, shuddered and bucked, his big cock pulsing inside Tad.

  They were silent and still for a moment afterward, then Martin lifted himself away from Tad and stroked his back gently. “Are you well?”

  Tad managed a weary nod. He felt used up, wrung out, but in a good way. He wanted to stand up, but wasn’t sure his legs would hold him.

  “’Twas good?” Martin asked, squeezing the top of Tad’s shoulder.

  “Oh,” Tad murmured. “Oh, yes.”

  Martin chuckled. As Tad finally made an effort to lift himself off the hay bale, Martin offered him a hand up. Tad’s legs wobbled, but he managed to stay on his feet.

  Another long moment of silence settled, not quite awkward. Martin clasped Tad’s shoulder, the touch something close to a caress. “Your horse will be well, but --” He broke off. Tad turned toward him, and was surprised to see a struggle going on in the big man’s eyes. “-- perhaps he should be staying a day longer, just to be cautious, like. And… you could stay, as well.”

  A slow smile moved across Tad’s mouth. “Seems a reasonable precaution,” he agreed, and laid his hand on top of Martin’s.

  In the stall nearby, where he still stood with his leg wrapped warm and steady, Nobbin seemed to smile, as well.

  Chapter Three

  In the end, he stayed three days in town, sleeping in the blacksmith’s bed. Some of the usual customers gave him odd looks, but he didn’t care. The euphoria of nearly constant arousal and copious sex made him immune to pointing fingers and whispered innuendo.

  Martin, it soon became apparent, was an enthusiastic and indefatigable lover. But indefatigable in a good way, not in a bad way like Titania. Tad went from never-been-buggered to buggered every which way but sideways in short order -- and there was still some debate about the sideways. He had never been so tired, so sore, or so content.

  The horse seemed happy, too, which was a puzzle to Tad because Nobbin was never happy. But he seemed now to be enjoying his life, lounging in his stall, his leg wrapped in warm poultices, eating hot mash and ogling the mares. Perhaps his contentment had more to do with not having been harnessed to a plow in several days, but in any case he was well on his way to being cured.

  Like any idyll, though, it was destined to end. Tad began to feel restless, late into the third day, thinking he should get back to his work, before the townspeople forgot abou
t him and turned to others for their wood delivery needs. And he knew Martin had work accumulating -- he’d seen it in the workshop, bent swords and toys awaiting repair, notes left on his door by farmers with horses needing shoes and plow blades needing straightening.

  On the fourth morning, Tad got up, put his pants on, and made porridge over Martin’s fire. Drawn from bed by the smell, Martin meandered in, scratching his disheveled head.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  Tad nodded. “Sit.”

  They weren’t much for words, not now that an understanding had settled between them. They didn’t really need words when a grunt or a gesture would do. Martin took a seat at the table and Tad spooned porridge into bowls for the two of them.

  Martin poured cream into his bowl, then settled down to eat. Tad watched him, thinking about Martin’s other appetites, and, more importantly, about Martin’s mouth on his cock.

  “’Tis time,” he finally said, reluctantly. He’d hardly touched his porridge; he took a quick bite now to fortify himself.

  Martin looked at him, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Time for what, lad?”

  Tad swallowed and stared at his porridge. “Time for me to be getting back home. I’ve work to think of, you see, and you’ve work to do, as well.”

  Martin regarded him soberly. “Well. You’ll be coming back, of course.”

  “I will?” Tad felt slow and stupid, awkward, and he couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands.

  The blacksmith’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Of course. I’ll have to check on the horse, and all.”

  Tad nodded, his heart quickening with excitement which he fought to keep out of his voice. “Right. Then I’ll be back.”

  The smith smiled and patted Tad on the cheek, then, to Tad’s surprise, kissed him. “Aye, you will. As soon as you can.” He straightened, looking down into Tad’s face. “Before you go, though…”

  “What?”

  Martin grinned. “You’ll see.”

  * * *

  “Just relax.”