A gay story: The Barn Cold air tugged at his arms as Francis made his way down the small hill towards the barn. Gravel crunched beneath his boots and he could hear the squelch of mud, traces of the spring rain that had come and gone. In his haste, he had forgotten to grab his coat-not that it would matter. From the walkway, he saw the faint glimmer of light from a lantern on the barn door. In the distance, he could still hear the last of the guests laughing and saying their goodbyes. Placing his hand on a side door latch, he took one last look up at the manor, then turned to enter. The musky scent of hay and tackle filled his nose and he noticed the singular stall at the back of the barn where one lit lantern hung. A servant must have been sent ahead to light his path and the mark where he should go.
He stepped forward, removing his cravat and waistcoat- yanking his shirt over his head of dark curls. He tossed them on the floor in a scattered trail. The rebellious nature in him reveled in the irritation it would cause; yet in that same moment, he knew it would cause him more pain. Having removed his boots and flung them aside, each thudding against the cobblestone, he removed his breeches.
Spotting a saddle on a nearby rack across from the stall Francis smiled to himself walking over. Unsteadily, he gripped himself and took aim, releasing a stream of piss across the leather, before shaking himself and turning to open the stall door. For a moment, he observed the wooden pillory stock that had been built to hold his height and muscular build. It was only then that he gulped and felt the dread in the pit of stomach. The stiff crunch of hay beneath his feet marked the beginning of his trial. A tremble went through his lip as the stall door slid closed and the latch clicked.
Walking to the back of the stall, he knelt in a dark corner facing the wall. He winced as sharp points of hay dug into his knees as he placed his hands on his lap-waiting.
Several minutes went by as he sobered slowly in the drafty barn air. There was no clock for him to tell time. His body was the only reminder of the length at which he had been kneeling. The tightening in his muscles and the digging of hay further into his skin did little to ease his mind. His body tensed when he finally heard footsteps echoing through the barn. He heard the dissatisfied grunts, followed by pauses. He knew his clothing was being collected and when he finally heard the thump of his boots being dropped into the stall and the clothing hung over the door- his wait was over.
A deep sigh filled the stall silence, and he knew he was being watched. The stall door opened and he could feel the large shadow cast over himself. “Francis, turn around and face me.”
With some difficulty, Francis turned slowly, grimacing against the raw skin on his knees. He did not look up. He could not. Within moments, he felt a firm hand grip his chin, yanking his face upwards. Cold steel eyes met his and the hand on his chin pressed harder as he tried to shake his head away.
“You were forbidden to drink more than a glass of sherry tonight, and you disobeyed me. Four strokes. I gave explicit instructions not to speak to Lady Haddington and yet again, you disobeyed me. She is a terrible gossip with a lot of power to displace you and I from society if she so chooses. This is not the first time I have explained this to you, but after this night I promise you, Francis, it will be the last.” The last word was emphasized with a growl. “An additional eight strokes for reckless disobedience. Another three for the improper discarding of your clothing. Is there anything I missed, Francis?”
Trembling, Francis knew that if he did not speak now, he would return to this same predicament the next day.
“I-I took a piss on your saddle, Charles”
There was a pause as he felt the hand fall from his chin and another sigh.
“While you are in this stall, you refer to me as Sir. I see that even the basic of rules have been swept from your drunken mind. I have been too lenient with you, another three for foul disobedience. Eighteen is to be your full punishment.”
Placing his hand within Francis’s hair, Charles gripped tight, lifting the man to his feet and leading him to the stocks. He felt the panic ripple through Francis’s exposed body as he jerked to move away from the frame that would close on his neck and wrists,holding him in place.
“Sir please, just a little less. I promise I won’t drink as much ever again. I- I can behave. I will.”
“You are not here Francis because of what you can do but because of what you did not do.”
A shiver went through his body as he felt his neck and wrists placed onto the curved wood. He was closed in and could hear the lock sliding into place with a click.
Leaning into his face, Francis could see the sandy blonde hair that fell to the sides of Charles’s face. “I am always fair to you,Francis. Do you agree to the eighteen?” He brushed a tear that had slipped down Francis’s cheeks aside as the man nodded.
“Save your tears for when I begin.”
Turning away, he walked to the door of the stall where a single hook hung- on it a thick leather corded bit. Walking back, he held it in front of Francis’s eyes and commanded him to open his mouth. Unwilling to add more cane strokes, he obeyed, opening wide enough for the cord to slip between his teeth and be fastened at the back of his head. He did not know why another tear fell,l but he suspected the repeated glasses of sherry had weakened his resolve.
Charles made his way to another corner of the stall, rolling his sleeves as he did so. A single cane rested against the dusty wall. He picked it up and flexed it, swishing it in the air a few times. From behind Francis, he knew all the man could hear was the cane whistling through the cool air. A stifled whimper passed from behind the bit as Francis squirmed his lower half.
“Feet spread apart!”
Francis jumped slightly, but quickly obeyed. His breathing quickened as he heard
Charles step forward, commanding him to count the first ten. He recognized the swish that would land on his bare bottom and gasped out, “Un!” The second strike followed shortly after the first, “Hoo!” He clenched his fists then released them, willing himself to ease into the fresh pain. Another strike, “Hee!”
He could feel the drool from the bit begin to seep around the edges of his lips. The cane landed once more, stinging against his flesh- his pale skin began to transform. “Hor!” There was a pause as he heard Charles step closer and he felt a stiff hand rub against the welts he knew were forming. He winced as the heat from his bottom met the rough fingers. Taking a step back, Charles tapped the cane lightly before swinging his arm back and stiffening right at the moment of contact, delivering another punishing strike. “Hie!” Another strike, “Sish!”
By the time he had finished counting to ten, his bottom was on fire. He had begun to jerk within the stocks, He had been grateful for the pause at ten. The quick distraction of Charles’s hand passing between his legs to stroke him before moving away had settled him only for a moment. Foolishly, he believed that Charles would change his mind and release him from the stocks-imagining he would take him there against the wall or down on his knees. It would be a whirlwind of pain and pleasure. He was shocked back into remembering his current predicament when the next four blows landed with barely a space between each stroke. His whimpers increased as the fourteenth stroke landed.
As the fifteenth fell across his reddened skin, the tears sprung back into his eyes, pouring down his cheeks. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his knees shook. He felt the bit against his jaw even more than when they had begun. Each sensation crashed through his mind. The cold air, the wood restraining his movement, the searing pain on his bottom all a frightening and wonderful torment. His grunts and muffled screams tore through his throat as the strokes continued- the steady progression towards the end. His head hung limp, jerking only from each stroke. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. The stocks held his weak body. It was over.
He heard Charles set the cane down and walk around, placing a heavy hand in his hair, gripping him tightly once more. A kiss was placed on his forehead. He sniffled as he felt another kiss on his right, then left cheek.
“Have you learned your lesson, my dear?”
Francis nodded, blinking away more tears.
The sound of boots steps and the latch to the stable door opening echoed in the now quiet space. He felt Charles step away, while commanding whomever had entered to come forward.
“Kneel here. I wish for one last lesson to be taught. Had you behaved properly, Francis, you would have been given this honor. However, since your mouth has been useless all evening, I will have to make do with another.”
Francis watched as the familiar head of their newest groomsman, William, came into view. Kneeling in front of the stocks, he lowered his head to kiss each toe of Charles’s boots before looking upwards. In the haze of his pain Francis could see the man reaching up to unbutton Charles’s breaches, his head pressing against the cock that sprung from within. Charles patted William’s face before commanding him to open his mouth. Jealousy whirled in his mind as he watched the head bob back and forth and the pleased grunts of Charles. He heard William struggle with the length at first, then adjust. The eager encouragement of Charles filled his ears as he heard,
“No no don’t run away, take it all, that’s it, yes.”
His cock hardened as he recognized the familiar quickening of breath along with the slurping- Charles’s tell tale sign of nearing his finish. He heard the powerful grunt of release noticing his hand remaining clenched in William’s hair. He watched as Charles pushed William’s face away, watching as the man swallowed and returned to his kneeling position, awaiting orders.
“Take care of my stallion’s injuries, William, then bring him to bed.” The stall door opened and Charles left, his heavy boots thudding against the flooring.
Standing up William walked over to Francis, wiping a hand over his chin covered in spit. He began walking around the stocks to look at the angry red bottom displayed to him- angry red stripes. His right hand gripped Francis by his cock, roughly stroking him. A grunting moan flew from behind the bit and Francis jerked in his hand.
“That’s it. How about a bit of relief?”
His hand was relentless, stroking from cock head to base with a confident skill.
The view from before had already led him halfway and with this fresh energy, Francis soon neared the edge. Stopping just before he could finish, William walked around to face Francis, leaning forward to remove the bit. He walked away, hanging the bit up, then returned.Breathless, Francis gasped out his jaw stiff, hardly able to form his desperate plea, “P-please, go on.”
William observed his tear-stained face, and gave a wicked smile, “Beg me to touch your cock.”
“Please,” Francis whispered faintly.
“Louder, Please touch my cock Sir.”
In desperation Francis shook in the stocks his mind giving in to the pleasure of degradation in begging a servant, “P-please touch my cock- Sir.”
Walking back around, William reached between his legs tugging once more, able to fully hear the desperate moans of the man twitching in his hand. He trailed his hand down the welts of his bottom, stroking forward and backwards until he heard the cry of release from Francis’s lips and he spilled into the hay below.
Francis hardly remembered being removed from the stocks or the haze at which his mind was in as William applied salves to his marks. He barely recognized the familiar walkway towards the manor or the steps he took to the bedchamber he shared with Charles.
When he awoke it was to a hand on his chest and the smiling face of Charles above him. All was forgiven, but secretly Francis was planning his next act of disobedience. He would very much like to return to the barn. He rubbed his bottom gently although perhaps not too soon.