The Brotherhood

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Alfons finds a Medieval Germany monastery cult.
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sr71plt
sr71plt
3,006 Followers

Alfons delivered another tankard of beer to the well-dressed gentleman seated at the best table, near the fireplace. It still ranked as the best, with the most substantial chair, even though the table was functionally only the best in the winter, when a fire was going, not now, in high summer. When he set the beer down, the man grabbed Alfons's hand and didn't let it go for the longest moment. Their eyes met, and Alfons shuddered.

There was something demanding and controlling in the nearly obsidian eyes of the dark-complexioned, dark-eyed man with the swarthy goatee beard. Beyond that there was an aspect of the fox or wolf about him. He was handsome and not above thirty, but he was a man of darkness and of the shadows—all dressed in black other than the lace at his wrist that denoted a man of importance and wealth. After a moment, though, he released Alfons, the expression on his face changing from a piercing assessing look to a sly smile, almost a sneer, and he slightly bowed his head to the server.

Alfons turned away, finding eye contact difficult to break, but needed elsewhere in the tavern room. The inn's taproom was crowded that evening. The blond, openly sunny, boyish visage of the young man was a sharp contrast to the vulpine aspect of the man sitting in the shadows by the fireplace. The man's eyes followed Alfons around the tavern. The next time Alfons had a moment to locate the man in the room, the seat by the fireplace having been vacated, was when he saw him talking in low tones to the Innkeeper, to whom Alfons was indentured, by the bar. The two men were looking at Alfons as they spoke. Alfons blushed, having a good idea what the discussion was about.

The walled town of Rottenburg am Necker in the fifteenth century was a prosperous German market town, catering to many styles and preferences. A man looking for a tavern or inn accommodating his personal comfort and interests could find one without difficulty. The inn to which Alfons was indentured, having recently been brought into service, was one that catered to men interested in other men. It was Alfons's androgynous beauty and affable disposition that had led to his indenture being sold to Hermann Eberle. Alfons had orally served men before, but it was his virginity to anal penetration that had piqued Eberle's interest in purchasing his indenture and husbanding the young man's initiation.

Eberle wanted his investment back in double, and there were few men capable to paying that in Rottenburg. It would likely have to a rich nobleman or merchant passing through Rottenburg, in high need and of special interests, who would be the first to master Alfons.

Tonight was the night.

Alfons wasn't surprised to see the two men talking earnestly and letting their eyes pick him out as he moved about the tavern, taking orders and serving steins of beer. From the look the man had given him and when the man had held his hand moments longer than was necessary, Alfons had figured he would be in some nook or cranny, on his knees to the man. That could happen once or twice on any given night in the tavern—and he wasn't the only serving man here serving more than beer.

The fox man left by the door out into the stable yard, and Hermann called Alfons over. "The man who was just here is the Count Franz von Türbingen, an important and wealthy man. He wants you to join him in the stable now."

"He wishes me to go on my knees to him?" Alfons asked.

"No. He wishes for you to present your buttocks to him, Alfons. He will mount you. He has paid a high price to be your first."

Alfons began to tremble and lower his face in fear and embarrassment.

"Don't withdraw from it, lad," Eberle hissed, placing a hand on Alfons's arm. "You knew that was what you were indentured here for. You have gone unmounted longer than most. The count has paid a large sum from your chastity. He has bought you for two nights. He has a room at the inn, but he wants to mount you first in the stable. You will stay with him for two days and you will lie under him as he wishes. You will not bring questions on this inn of our reputation from what can be bought here. If you do not give him satisfaction, I will whip you within an inch of your life and give you to the beggars on the street for sport. You should be happy that your first time will be with a clean nobleman. After this, you will take whoever pays a much lower price, I assure you."

The count fucked Alfons over a saddle stand in the stables, Alfons's torso draped over one side, his face staring at the loose hay on the rough-wooden planks of the flooring, his arms hanging down, knuckles dragging on the hay, wrists bound with leather strips, and his mouth gagged with the count's belt fastened around his head to keep the noise down. Alfons still produced muffled cries and huffed and puffed the pain of the first breaching of his sphincter muscle by the slow, but relentless invasion of the count's staff as he crouched over the young man from behind, held Alfons's hips between his hands, and insistently bottomed out with his cock before he plowed and seeded Alfons for the first time. The count wasn't appreciably long or thick—not that Alfons was in the position to have comparisons to gauge—but he was cruel considering it was Alfons's first time, giving the young virgin little time to prepare for and open to him before he was forcing himself inside. This aspect of forcing a virgin ass seemed to be the man's primary interest in paying the extra fee to be able to do so.

Alfons struggled against him initially, which Von Türbingen seemed to enjoy, but as the pain receded and a certain pleasure started to creep in, Alfons settled down, and with a thought to the threats his master had hissed at him, submitted to the plowing. Yes, he'd known this day was coming. Yes, Eberle was right that it was better from a man of position and breeding than from the usual rough workman who came to the tavern. Yes, after this, it would be rough workman.

Toward the eventual moment of seeding of the man inside him, his cock steel hard, throbbing, and rapidly digging into Alfons's quick, Alfons succumbed to his own nature and began to move his pelvis, falling into the rhythm of the thrusts of Von Türbingen's shaft. The count laughed, slapped Alfons on the bare buttocks, and released his seed.

The fucking of the next two nights in the privacy of the count's bed in the inn was a time of adjustment by Alfons to the inevitable and learning from the count what a man of refinement wanted from a beautiful young man underneath him, which included Franz holding Alfons in a close embrace and stroking off the young man's cock beyond Alfons's endurance to resist shooting off his own seed. After this, the count would want Alfons to lie between his thighs and make love to his cock—and then to saddle himself on the count's pelvis and ride the staff.

By the time Franz was in the courtyard, mounting his horse, and bidding Alfons farewell, the young man was clinging to the saddle, not wanting his new master to leave him—fearful and anxious about what came after this when he no longer had a single patron.

"Oh, we will meet again, you and I," the count said before he cruelly spurred his horse in the flank and lurched out onto the road in front of the inn.

In the succeeding weeks, Alfons learned just how refined the count had been. He no longer was a valuable commodity, his chastity intact. He was given over to any man willing to pay double the price of a suck, and he lay under a progression of men who smelled, were animals, and took him in every rough way they could imagine.

Thus it was a godsend when the innkeeper, Hermann Eberle, received a letter from the Count Franz Von Türbingen, with a significant amount of money enclosed, engaging Alfons's services in the larger town of Türbingen two day's horse ride to the northeast of Rottenburg to stay for a month's time.

When the innkeeper's wife saw the letter, she said, "A pity the young man cannot go, as it would require a journey through the accursed forest of Höllewald."

"Curse be damned, woman," Eberle answered. "For this amount of money, I would send the lad into hell itself. I will not be giving this money back."

"Sending him into hell—that's what I said you'd be doing if you send him to Türbingen by the route the count demands. He says he's arranged for the lad to overnight at the Monastery of Die Bruderschaft. You've heard the rumors of that place—of the monks living there."

"Prepare yourself, Alfons," Eberle said, ignoring his wife. "You can take the old mare. I wouldn't want to risk the gelding."

But you are willing to risk me, Alfons thought. It was thought without lingering bitterness, though. He welcomed a month in the count's bed opposed to a single night writhing under the rough men Eberle was selling him to. Among other reasons, he now had discovered that the count didn't have the most demanding cock that would challenge Alfons's passageway. He happily went to the stables to prepare the mare for travel.

Eberle's comment on not wanting to risk the gelding hadn't escaped Alfons as an indication that the innkeeper wasn't as contemptuous of his wife's superstition about the forest Alfons would have to ride through as he had let on. The innkeeper's fear that Alfons might not come back, though, became obvious when Eberle trapped him in the wine cellar that night, bent him over a table, and rode his ass hard himself as if the innkeeper might not ever again have a crack at the young man himself.

* * * *

The weather was perfect as Alfons entered the Höllewald forest shortly after passing through the village of Missinger. He heard the gurgling of a stream off to his right, deeper into the trees. He had been sweating hard under the sun before reaching the cover of the trees and decided that he would bathe himself if the creek to his right had any depth. It did have a pool at the bottom of a rock outcropping with a waterfall, which must have been the source of the gurgling noise that had attracted him to the water.

Alfons was stripped and gliding into the pool of water before he realized that he wasn't alone in the water. As he swam to the center of the pool, a head and two arms, connected by a very-well-muscled chest, appeared from behind the base of the waterfall.

"Oh, I didn't realize anyone else was here," Alfons exclaimed.

"You must forgive me," the man said in a pleasing, cultured voice. "I heard you approach and hid myself until I was sure that you were no threat. Then I could not help myself in watching you take off your clothes. You're a beautiful young man. One of God's gifts to the world surely."

Alfons was embarrassed. "Perhaps I should leave. You were here first."

"The pool is big enough for both of us," the man said. "My name is Paul."

"Alfons," the young man instinctively answered.

"And the pool is deep enough too. Where you are swimming is quite deep. You know you can dive in there from the lip of the waterfall and have no danger of hitting bottom. Here, I will show you."

Without waiting for comment from Alfons, the man paddled over to the side of the pool and stood up from the water. He immediately started climbing the rock to the lip of the waterfall and, when he reached it, he stood and posed there. He was naked and his body was magnificent. He was perhaps ten years older than Alfons. His hair was a reddish auburn, showing more red highlights as it descended his body down his chest and into his pubes, the bush of which was curly and a golden red. He was in erection, long and thick. Alfons sucked in his breath as the man dove into the pool, coming up just in front of Alfons, his hands glided up Alfons's legs as he came back up to the surface. One hand went to the young man's waist, but the other one cupped Alfons's cock and balls and remained there.

As Paul's face came up level with Alfons's, he took the young man's mouth into a deep kiss. Alfons hungrily returned the kiss and initially grasped the older man's shoulders in his hands, rubbing their chests together. But then, with a gasp and remembering the circumstance they were in—that he wasn't in the inn now, subject to the desires of any man with money to pay—he broke the kiss, pushed off from Paul and backpeddled to the side of the pond, where he could find footing on the bottom. He had gone to the wrong side of the pool. The man was between him and the bank of the pond where his clothes were. He backed further toward the side of the pond, and the man advanced on him to where he was able to stand on the bottom as well. Alfons was crouched down on his knees, trying to stay under water, trying not to reveal the effect of seeing the man naked and then kissing him had on him.

"Please . . . why . . .?" he sputtered.

"I have been to Rottenburg," Paul said. "I have seen you in Eberle's inn. You work there. You lay under men."

If he'd been in the inn, Alfons realized, the man knew what sort of inn it was. "That doesn't mean—"

"I think it does mean that," the man said. His voice was calming. What he spoke was made to sound so natural, so sensible. "I watched you disrobe. You've seen the effect that had on me. I made sure you saw by leaving the water to say I would dive from the top of the waterfall. I made sure you saw the desire and readiness in me. I have felt the effect that I have on you. You lay under men. We are both in heat. Your response to the kiss told me all I needed to know about your desire for my body to lie on yours. I'm sure that, if you think about it, it told you all you need to know too."

"I don't . . . we can't . . ."

"Yes we can." Paul was right there with him. "I have money I can give you. I will pay you the going rate. You need share none of it with your master. If I were to come into your tavern and pay the innkeeper for your services, you would lay under me there. Your master would give you no choice. What is the difference in doing so here? Am I so unappealing that, given some choice in the matter, you do not want me to cover you?"

Alfons couldn't think of a countering argument to that. And the man did have a magnificent body and would be clean. He'd just cleansed himself in the pool. The man took the failure to answer as enough of an answer.

"Rise to me," Paul said, standing in water that reached only to his knees. He reached down and lifted Alfons to his feet. Alfons was shorter then he was, his face only coming to the matting of hair between Pau's pectorals.

"Perhaps you need a reminder," Paul said in a low, cajoling tone. One arm went around Alfons's waist, pulling him into Paul's embrace. With the other hand, Paul raised Alfons's chin and lowered his own face into another kiss that started out tender and flamed into a raging fire of mutual need. Paul moved his free hand to between them and frotted their hard, throbbing cocks together.

Nothing was said between them thereafter. There was no need for anything to be said. Paul pulled them back into the pond to where he could crouch down, creating a lap for Alfons to sit on, facing away from him, with the water coming up to their nipples. Alfons panted and huffed and moaned, as Paul positioned the young man's entrance on the bulb of his cock and then slowly brought Alfons down on the staff, the young man's passage opening to the invading shaft, trained now to taking a man inside him.

Paul moved Alfons up and down on his cock in the water, using the leverage of his arm encasing the young man's waist, as he stroked Alfons off with his other hand. When Alfons didn't have his head turned for a kiss, Paul's lips were buried in the hollow of the young man's throat. At length both men came in a peaceful flow, enhanced by the motion of the water. Then they just held there, kissing, as they both reveled in the feel of Paul, once so long and thick and hard, slowly going flaccid inside Alfons's passage, albeit still long enough to hold deep purchase inside him.

No taking that Alfons had ever experienced at the inn was as pleasurable to him as this was. No man had stayed with him through the mutual pleasure of an afterglow of feeling the once-raging staff inside him go flaccid in satiation—and then, as happened here, stir to life and engorge again.

"Come," Paul said at length, "I want to make love to you on the bank of the pond. As you can feel, I desire to have you again."

The man moved over to the side of the pond—still on the opposite side from where Alfons had stripped and the mare was grazing—and pulled Alfons up onto the bank, laying the young man on a mossy spot next to the man's clothes. Paul was in full and magnificent erection again. He glided his hands up the inner surfaces of Alfons's thighs and the young man opened to him, widening his stance, bending his legs, and placing his feet flat on the moss. Paul hovered over him, on his knees between Alfons's spread thighs. He reached up, grasped the young man's wrists, and held Alfons's arms over his head. Alfons grasped the thin trunks of two trees over his head and raised his pelvis to Paul. He jerked and gave a little cry as Paul slid inside him again, hard and thick and long once more, and began to plow him slowly, but with increasing speed and thrust. The older man lowered his face to Alfons and took him in a kiss that lasted for the time of their coupling, Alfons thrusting his pelvis up to Paul as Paul thrust down, each of them wanting the union to be as deep as possible. Alfons was lost to the man. He'd been fucked before but he'd never been made love to before, like this.

Afterward, the man's payment for Alfons's sex laying on the young man's pile of clothes, Alfons half dozed, as Paul teased his naked body with long blades of grass.

"I don't know where you were going," Paul said with a low, hoarse voice, "but I would like you to come back to my village with me."

"Your village? Which is your village?" Alfons asked. He knew it was impossible—that he had a charge to keep, bound by his indenture—but he didn't want this afternoon to stop.

"I live in Missinger, just outside the edge of the Höllewald."

"Ah, I have just been through there, just now. I am headed into the Höllewald."

"That is not a good idea. Young men like you go into that forest and sometimes don't come out again." He was standing, pulling up his clothes, pulling his black cassock over his head and letting it cascade down to his ankles.

Alfons looked up and his eyes went wide. "You are a priest."

"Yes, I am a priest."

"I can't go with you," Alfons said, rising from the moss. "Priests are celibate. We cannot do this . . . what we just did."

Paul laughed. "Priests obviously aren't always celibate. And the proof of that is that we just did 'this.' We did 'this' twice. If I had the time to be absent from my village, we would do 'this' again. I want you to come back to my village and I will do 'this' to you all night and all week and all month. I am smitten with you."

"You can't. We can't. You belong to the church."

"We all belong to the church, and it is God who made us with the desires we have. I've heard tell that the pope himself has a mistress and enough bastards to fill Rome," Paul said. "Priests have needs. I have needs. You have needs. You can't tell me you don't have needs. You are hard for me again, even now."

Paul pulled his cassock off, pushed Alfons onto the moss on this belly, came down on top of him, entered him strongly, and they were fucking again. Paul grasped Alfons's wrists over his head again, Alfons raised himself slightly on his knees to give Paul deep purchase, and, groaning and whimpering, he moved his pelvis with the rhythm of the fuck.

"We are doing 'this' and 'this' and 'this' again," Paul growled, punctuating every "this" with a thrust. Alfons moaned underneath him. "Tell me you love 'this'—that we can be doing 'this.'"

sr71plt
sr71plt
3,006 Followers