Remembering Pleasure

Remembering Pleasure A Torquere Press Single Shot by Julia Talbot "I swear, lad, if you don’t put some effort into polishing those boots, I will beat you within an inch of your life." Alistair scowled. The voice belonged to his new stable master, a relatively young man, but one who came highly recommended by his dear friend from school, Griffin de Mannville. Griff was recently inherited himself, his father passing on only a year or less previous, and he had reorganized his household staff much as Alistair did now, trying to be rid of many of his father’s disapproving sycophants. Still, recommended by a friend or no, Alistair did not allow anyone to abuse his stable hands, and he stepped into the gloom of the building, his eyes adjusting to the change of light, his mouth open to upbraid the man thoroughly. His mouth stayed open, fell even more so, in fact, but no sound came out. None whatsoever. He could never have foreseen the scene before him, not in a lifetime of imaginings.

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His best stable hand, Jack, was upon his knees on the straw and dirt strewn floor, naked as the day he was born, his hands tied behind his back with a set of reins. Mick Cole, the new stable master, stood with his feet planted wide, tall riding boots and buff breeches immaculate, while Jack… licked and rubbed against the shiny leather of Mick’s boots. Mick had a riding crop in his hand, and was rubbing it between the firm-muscled roundness of Jack’s arse cheeks, dipping every so often to lightly flick Jack’s swinging ball sac. It was at once the most disturbing and arousing thing Alistair had ever seen. Oh, he had played at things while in school, along with Griff and a few others, but he had gone on to do his duty. He had married, he had produced an heir, and he had determinedly forgotten the feel of a man’s body. This brought the memories back in force.

"Mister Cole!"

Mick and Jack both snapped around to stare at him, Jack with dawning horror, Mick Cole

with a heavy-lidded look of utter unconcern.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"I do not pay you to dally with my stable lads."

"You are not paying me now, my Lord. Nor are you paying Jack. This is our contracted

twice-monthly day of leisure."

Insolent bastard. "I see. Then I suggest you take it where all and sundry will not walk in

upon you, if you please. There are some things a man would rather not see."

"Very well, my Lord. I apologize." Very gently, Cole lifted Jack to his feet and untied his

hands.

He spoke quietly, and soon enough Jack scampered off like a frightened rabbit. Cole did

not, simply turned and looked at him, hands on his narrow hips.

"What else, my Lord?"

"Where are the other lads? I would like to go riding."

"They are all out exercising your nags, my Lord. Would you like me to saddle

Bathsheba?" "Yes. I would."

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He got a half smile, a glint out of Mick Cole’s strange green eyes. "As you will, my Lord. I live to serve." ***

Why he had not given Mick his walking orders that very day, Alistair did not know.

Instead he avoided the stable, the image of the boots and crop and the pale, silken flesh of

Jack’s backside haunting his memory and inopportune moments, making his tight

trousers most uncomfortable.

His wife asked after him, asked if he was feeling under the weather to forgo riding, and Alistair fobbed her off with an excuse about estate management, and a mention of returning to the city in time for the Season. His friend Griff would not be fooled so easily, though, and so when he came to visit, Alistair decided to take the offensive. After supper over their port was soon enough, and Alistair waited until the conversation lulled before he asked. "I cannot for the life of me see why you recommended that wretched Mick Cole to me, Griff." Griff did not even look up from his chess pieces. "Because he has a fine, delicate hand

with horseflesh."

"Well, he does not have such a delicate hand with his employer, I assure you."

That did make Griff glance up. "What do you mean?"

"He is insolent."

"I see." Griff gave him a searching look. "Are you going to let him go?"

"I should. I vow, he simply has no respect."

"He does have a way about him," Griff agreed. "A certain arrogance. I find him most

intriguing, though."

"Well, you are arrogant yourself, my dear," Alistair shot back. He loved his friend dearly,

but Griff had never grown up, had never settled into dull responsibility.

"Not arrogant, Allie. Just willing to take chances. When was the last time you played?"

"When was the last time you did not?"

They stared at one another, Griff looking hurt, those dark brown eyes he'd admired so

during their school days full of reproach.

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"You know I am trying, Allie," Griff said, rising and setting aside his port. "I shall take my arrogant, frivolous self off, then." "No! Wait, Griff. Please." He followed Griff to the foyer, where his stolid butler already had Griff's coat and hat waiting. "I'm sorry." "No, Alistair. I am the one who was sorry. I rather thought you would like Mick. Make use of him. I can see now, though, that he is wasted on you." With that Griff sailed out his door and down his steps, but before the door closed fully behind him, Alistair noticed that Griff had turned left toward the lawn instead of right toward his waiting carriage. Refusing to meet his butler's eyes, Alistair grabbed his coat and hurried through the house to the kitchen, peering out just in time to see Griff disappear into his stable. Hot blood rising to his face, Alistair yanked on this coat and threw open the door, nearly killing himself on the slick stone steps. He loathed conspiracies and hated being made a fool of. How Griff, well, how could Griff do this to him? He stopped his headlong rush only when he heard the murmur of voices, cold common sense telling him to hear what Griff might have to say to Mick Cole before Alistair tossed them both off his property. "Yes, well, I fear you are about to be sacked," Griff was saying, and Alistair could see him through a crack in the door, pacing back and forth. "Then so be it. I only did this for you, Griff. I miss you, you know." "And I you. Did I not love Allie so dearly…" Griff heaved a sigh, and a great round of grunting and groaning followed, both men just out of his line of sight. "Yes, well," Mick answered, "I have never seen a man so determined to be unloved. And he has been avoiding me like I have the Black Death, so my firm hand, as you said, has been no help." "Then I shall avail myself to it…" he heard Griff murmur, and then there was no sound, save for hot breath and the rustle of clothing. Alistair leaned against the door, closing his eyes and biting off a curse. They were…in his stable. He wanted to join them. He wanted to rush in there and beat Mick Cole down and tell him he was not good enough by far for Griff, that Griff was his. Instead he just stood there, shivering in the cold, until he heard Griff's cry of completion. Then he turned and walked away, feeling like an old man, weary in his bones and too tired of life to even sack his new stable master. ***

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"Are you quite well, my dear?" Alistair's wife, Constance, asked him once again over their breakfast, sipping her tea and eyeing him with a vaguely concerned look. She could not be stirred to more than vague emotion, really, which he supposed was the fault of their society at large, and not hers. Still, it chafed at times. "Of course, my dear. I am simply tired."

"Did Griff keep you up late? I thought he might stay the weekend."

"No, he had to get back to Town. 'Tis nothing, really."

"I knew it! The two of you had a row, didn't you?"

"No. No, we had a slight disagreement," he answered. "Nothing more."

How civilized that sounded. A disagreement. When he'd insulted Griff horribly and then

seen him, heard him, with Mick Cole. The knowledge of them together sat in his belly

like lead.

"Perhaps we ought to go back and open the house in Town," he said, thinking the routine

of the city might numb him.

"At this time of year? Never say so. I cannot abide it," his wife replied, her eyes

narrowing in the way that meant her one scrap of backbone was showing.

"Yes, of course, my dear." Well, that was that. "I think I shall go for a ride."

"Very well. Be careful."

"I always am," Alistair replied. "Damnably so."

***

"I would rather Jack attend me," Alistair told Mick Cole, who carried his saddle over to a

feisty gelding named Ares.

"Jack is out, exercising one of the mares."

"Who gives you the right to send my best lad off like that when I might need him?" he all

but shouted, his hands clenching into fists.

"You did, my Lord. And until you sack me, my word is law here in the stables. Jack is

out there precisely because he is the best lad you have, and will not hurt your precious Bathsheba."

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The man simply drove him mad with that impertinent look, blond hair falling over his forehead to partly cover the cat-like green eyes. Alistair itched to slap him. Instead he backed up a step, breathing deep to compose himself. "Perhaps it is time I let you go, then," Alistair said. "I've no idea what Griff was thinking, sending you to me." "Don't you?" Mick stepped close to him, his presence overwhelming at only a hands span away. "I think you do, and you will not admit it. I have a fine hand with horses, my Lord, but an even better one with men." "I don't want that." His throat felt sandy, as if it had been an excessively dry day. "Yes you do. I can see it in your eyes, my Lord." Mick touched him, one square, scarred hand covering his left breast, feeling his heart beating in his chest, staccato. "I can feel it here." "Stop." "Or what? You will sack me at any rate," Mick said, driving him back against the wall, pushing up against him aggressively. Just as Alistair opened his mouth to protest, Mick Cole took it in a fierce kiss. Blinking, hands on Cole's chest as if he were unsure if he should push or pull, Alistair took the kiss, letting Mick ravage his mouth. So long. It had been so long since he'd felt the pressure a man could bring to a kiss, since he'd had the roughness of whiskers against his cheek. Finally his fingers decided for him, curling into the rough linen of Mick's shirt to pull the man ever closer, his heart beating hard in his chest. Mick kissed him like there was nothing else he might want in the world, thorough and eager. Alistair kissed the man in return as if he were starving. Perhaps he was. He'd been wanting for so long, and unable to admit it. Alistair pushed away. "What are... I cannot." "Would you prefer it if I made you?" Mick asked, putting strong hands on him, pushing him, always pushing. Then Mick spun him about, pulling his hands up behind his back. "I think you would. I think you would like to say you'd nothing to do with it." Alistair struggled just enough to discern that struggling amounted to nothing with such a man. Mick Cole had the musculature of a working man, and while Alistair was no weakling, they were mismatched entirely. He tried. Truly he did, but in the end he remained facing the wall, rough boards abrading his cheek.

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"Now that I have you," Mick whispered against the back of his neck, "what shall I do with you?" "You'll let me go." He put every bit of his lordly imperiousness into it. It made not a dent in Mick's grip. "I will not." Teeth closing on his flesh, Mick bit him hard enough to sting, hard enough to make him jump. His prick jumped as well, leaving him gasping. "Please." All he could do was ask. He didn't even know what for. "Yes." Mick pressed against his backside, hard against him through their breeches. The feeling excited him beyond reason, making him feel like an untried lad again, a feeling he thought long behind him. When Mick backed up a step, still holding his hands in a strong grip, and let the other hand fly to sting his ass, well, Alistair wondered if he might die from the sheer joy of it. He moaned, his hips rotating, and Mick laughed behind him, no malice in the sound, just pure male admiration. "I knew it," Mick said. "I knew you craved this." "I…please." It seemed easiest to do nothing but ask again. If he said no more, he could not say anything that might harm him later. "I shall give you what you desire, my Lord. I shall make this neglected bottom of yours sing. And then I shall have it. Will you deny me that?" "No. No." How could he? He seemed caught in a snare, as if once he admitted to himself he needed such things he could deny nothing. Mick let his hands go, the release almost shocking. "Take your breeches down," Mick ordered, putting yet more distance between them. Alistair almost balked. The farther away Mick got from him, the more cold reason tried to creep in. Still, he undid his buttons and let the cloth fall around his boots, his cock brushing the wall in front of him, standing proud. "Griff was entirely correct. You are lovely. Brace yourself on the wall, my Lord. I intend to leave you no quarter." Lifting his arms, Alistair leaned against the wall, turning his cheek to rest against the soft cloth of his coat. Mick must have felt his coat and his loose blouse got in the way, for the man jerked them up, bunching them about his chest.

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The first blow took him utterly by surprise, the sting of it lifting him onto his toes, his breath rushing out as blood pooled in the impression left by Mick's hand, tingling. The second blow did more than sting, it sent him banging into the wall, and the third came hard enough to make his eyes water. It went on and on, Mick seeming never to tire, never to falter, until Alistair felt surely his ass must be on fire, red and glowing like a blacksmith's work. When it stopped his ears rang, and his muscles remained tense, awaiting the next blow. It never came. Instead Alistair felt two thick fingers, slick with something he most likely did not wish to contemplate, breaching his hole. It stung, perhaps more than the beating, as he had not even touched himself there in so long. So long. Mick opened him expertly, though, pushing three fingers inside and moving them in and out so that his burning backside and the friction of Mick's fingers revived his flagging prick once the burn eased. "Now, I think." Now. Yes, now, before he spent himself like a fool. Alistair nodded, unable to draw breath to speak, and bent even more at the waist, offering. Mick praised him, stroking his back, pinching his white hot buttocks before placing the tip of a heavy, hard cock at Alistair's entrance, insistent, invasive. Necessary. Alistair stood shivering as Mick took him, thrusting inside him with a grunt and a rough curse, finally sounding like the low-born stable hand he was. They rocked together, every sharp push making him brush the wall, the tip of his cock feeling raw and hot. He finally gave up the comfort of his arms pillowing his head and simply braced on one, reaching down with the other to stroke himself, his fingers feeling like strangers to his prick after so long. "More," Mick demanded, moving faster, thrusting harder. One rough hand closed over his, the other holding his hip, and they moved with each other until Mick bit him, hard enough to sting, hard enough for him to feel wet heat running down the back of his neck. Until Mick said, "Now, Alistair. Now." Crying out, he shot as hard as he ever had, his sight graying out as seed sprayed from his body to coat the wall. Mick shouted his triumph as well, filling Alistair so deeply he knew he would never forget it. They stayed there, slumped together, for some time, until their breathing came back to normal and their sweat cooled on their skin. Mick finally slipped free of him, and the discomfort of his aching buttocks and his bunched clothing got the best of him, forcing him to turn about and put things to rights, unable to meet Mick Cole's eyes.

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"Will you let me go, then, my Lord?" Mick asked, that teasing tone enough to make him grit his teeth. "No. But you will not see me here again. Not for this." Checking to see that his breeches fastened up correctly, Alistair twitched his coat back into place and made to leave, his shoulders hunching against Mick's laughter. And against Mick's words as he left the stable. "Yes, I will, my Lord. On Tuesday. Promptly at eight in the evening. Do not be late." *** Every time he sat for the next three days, Alistair remembered his encounter with Mick Cole. He simply had a physical reminder that would not go away. The bite mark on his neck chafed as well, and Alistair felt grateful that he and his wife no longer shared a chamber, for she might have remarked on his state. As Tuesday arrived, Alistair sat at his accounts, determined to stay away from the stables. He still could not believe his utter abandon during his last encounter with Mick, and he would not repeat the experience. He could not. Truly. He had a reputation, an estate, a wife. How could he be so irresponsible as to...well. Still, as the day wore on, he began to wonder what it would hurt. Aside from his ass, that was. Would it be so bad? Mick had to be discreet. Griff was nothing if not that, and he would never recommend someone who would talk. His stable hands were all loyal, and by the looks of it at least Jack had the same thing to hide that he did, if not more. Constance remarked upon his restlessness at the evening meal. "What is wrong, Alistair?" "I am just restless, love. Nothing new." She frowned, her brow pulling up ever so delicately. "You have not been riding. You should go." "What, now?" He almost laughed. She had no idea about riding, did she? "Well, certainly tomorrow if not tonight. I recall you used to enjoy a night ride, though." So he had. Once upon a time. Alistair wiped his lips on his napkin. "Well, then, if you do not mind, my dear, I will go out tonight." She waved a hand, an airy laugh sounding. "Not at all, Alistair. You men. So full of energy."

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"You cannot imagine." He found himself at the door of the stable precisely at eight. God knew why, because he hated to give in to an arrogant underling, but there he was. When he lifted his hand to knock, Alistair scoffed, pulling his coat closer around him and letting the door fly open wide, striding in like the man he was. The lord of the manor. "There you are, my Lord," Mick said, striding out to meet him. "I feared your stubbornness would get the best of you, and I have quite a gift for you tonight." "A gift?" Damnation the man out him off balance every time he came near. "Oh yes. Come to the tack room." Those green eyes glittered at him a moment longer before Mick turned and left him, assuming no doubt that he would follow. He did, irresistibly drawn. The tack room was lit with lamps, the soft glow illuminating the saddles and reins and harnesses. The scent was strong, saddle soap and liniment. Mick stopped in the middle of the room and pointed to the far end, where a saddle sat on a waist high post. His stable boy, Jack, lay across the saddle, face down, his pale ass fairly glowing in the low light. "I'm not sure…" he began. Mick cut him off. "And that is your difficulty. Certainty, my Lord. Certainty of purpose is what you need. Jack prefers the strap to the crop, but I make sure to give him both on occasion, to remind him who is in charge. Which will you give him tonight?" "I." He stopped, and Jack's muscles twitched, a small disappointed sigh sounding. Alistair straightened, hand out. "The strap. We shall see if that gives him the color I want." He got a glittering smile, Mick choosing a thick strap for him and pulling it down off the wall. "He likes it hard. He will beg for it, given half the chance. Do not disappoint us." No, he would not disappoint anyone, including himself. Back when they were lads, Alistair had wielded quite a fine strap, most often against his friend Griff. Surely he still had it in him. Indeed he did, as he found when he landed the first blow. The sound of it snapped through the tack room, and Jack's gasp came sharp and hard, a truly involuntary sound. How could he have forgotten the power of it, the exhilaration that came from watching a dark mark bloom on pale skin, put there by his own hand? Alistair struck again and again, every blow vibrating along his arm, into his chest. Jack moaned and squirmed, soft whimpers starting to come from him, little pleas. They made

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Alistair all the more determined, put yet more strength in his arm. Deep red marks crisscrossed the lad's ass now, trailing all the way to the backs of Jack's thighs. Finally, Mick Cole caught his wrist, stopping the rhythmic, hypnotic fall of the strap. "I think Jack deserves a reward, my Lord. Don't you? Hasn't he done well?" "He has." Alistair breathed deeply, his body aching, his prick so hard it hurt. He hadn't realized… Poor Jack must be in real pain. "What would you have, Jack? You may ask," Alistair said, feeling as much as seeing Mick's nod of approval. Stiffly, slowly, Jack slid to the dusty floor, his knees buckling as he landed so he was on all fours. Jack crawled over to him, leaning against his thigh, eyes wet, so lovely Alistair had trouble containing his moan. "Let me put my mouth on you, my Lord," Jack said, face pressing against his fly. "Yes." How could he deny such a request when the originator knelt at his feet, prick hard and proud, standing away from his body, ass striped with Alistair's own handiwork? He could not. So he opened his buttons to allow Jack to pull out his cock, stroking it, pulling it. Oh, bliss. Jack's touches felt untutored, a tiny bit rough, but they set his muscles to shaking, his body stiff and swaying. Alistair's legs trembled as the whole of his cock disappeared into Jack's mouth, the sight unreal, arousing in the extreme. "Do not hold back," Mick whispered in his ear, heavily muscled arms going about Alistair to prop him up. "Let him have it all." And so he did. His hips jerked, feeding his needy flesh into Jack's sweet mouth, the lips around him soft and wet, Jack's tongue working the underside. He lost all control, his head lolling back against Mick's shoulder, his thrusts becoming violent, harsh. The scent of men at rut rose around them, hot and heavy, making his head spin. Jack took everything he gave eagerly, holding his hips, while Mick reached between his legs with one hand and cupped his balls. Alistair spent himself immediately on Mick's touch, his cry echoing in the tiny room, Jack moaning around him as he emptied himself into that sweet, waiting mouth. The lad licked him clean before sitting back on his heels, looking up at him, hand hovering over Jack's own prick. It took long moments before he understood Mick's murmured, "Tell him he can arrive as well, my Lord."

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"Oh. Oh! Yes, Jack, you may spill."

Jack rolled back on the hard floorboards and pulled at his cock, wanton and abandoned,

grunting and groaning until great gobs of seed splattered his belly and chest. Alistair

watched, hanging between Mick's strong hands, admiring the lithe youth of Jack's body.

When Jack lay still save for his panting, Mick straightened away from Alistair, leaving

him tottering, and went to give Jack a hand up.

"Go on to bed now, Jack, me boy," Mick said, passing one hand over Jack's backside.

"You've a long day of exercising the mares in store tomorrow."

Jack nodded, tilting his head for a kiss that came freely, then gave Alistair a slight bow

and a smoldering look. "G'night, m'lord."

"Good night, Jack."

The lad scampered away, leaving him standing with Mick, his breeches open to the air,

his prick damp and heavy where it poked out.

"That's why you have him exercising the nags so often, is it?"

"Indeed. It reminds him of his place. Sometimes I fill him with a plug before I send him

out. He's a responsive lad, always earning his due."

"What would you have as your due, Mick Cole?" he asked, knowing this man would have

his reward, one way or the other.

"You, my Lord. Strip, if you please."

Those eyes glittered at him, nothing of amusement of derision in them, simply pure

desire. And so he stripped his kit off, standing bare to his feet in the cool air, the lamps burning low enough to make him feel almost like a ghost in the night. "You are a fine man, my Lord. Just as Griff promised."

"What…" he began, then faltered. No, he must ask, and not play the coward. "What are

you to Griffin?"

"I hope I am his friend," Mick answered, shrugging off his coat. "I know I am his lover.

We have much in common, he and I."

"Then why are you here, doing this with me, if you love him?" Alistair simply despaired

understanding Mick, ever.

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Mick laughed, the coat, then the shirt slung over the saddle Jack had so recently departed. "He asked me to. I know you know this. He told you, and you heard it again when you spied on us that night." Half-naked, Mick looked magnificent. Smooth skin, heavy muscles, and scattered patched of hair combined to serve as a delicious distraction. Still, Alistair needed to know more. "Why, though?" "He loves you. He always has. And I told him I would not share him with a specter. Only with a fully realized man. Come and help me with my boots." Like he were some sort of valet, Alistair went to kneel before Mick, pulling at first one glossy boot, then another, casting them aside. The breeches came last, falling at Mick's feet, leaving the man gloriously bare, his cock surrounded by thick hair at the base, wet with need at the tip. Alistair licked his lips. "No," Mick said, catching him as he would have licked the head of that straining cock. "Lie down. On your back." Everything in him attempted to rebel at the summarily given order, but Alistair lay back instead, his muscles quivering with the strain of obeying. "Hands above your head, my Lord." Slowly, staring Mick in the eye, Alistair raised his hands above his head, stretching out, his mind's eye trying to tell him how ridiculous he must look, sprawled on the floor, his cock twitching back to life. "For you tonight it is the buggy whip, my Lord," Mick said, the throaty timbre of his voice almost making Alistair forget the import of his words. They registered almost too late. Alistair started as if to rise and Mick pushed him down with one bare foot. "Too much. It will be too much." "No. It will be just enough. Stay there." Mick gave him a serious, solemn look that was more reassuring than any of the man's smiles, and went to get the long, flexible whip with the trailing tail. "I will not harm you beyond what you crave. You have my word." "I... Yes. Very well." He simply nodded, unable to close his eyes as he wished to, fascinated by how the whip cut the air.

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The first flick hit just above his left nipple, so delicate he hardly felt it, not at all like the force a man might use to urge a recalcitrant horse into a trot. It stood to reason, he supposed, as a man's flesh was not nearly so thick, was it? The second stung his right nipple, landing exactly across, making him jump and writhe. His chest rose and fell, heaving already despite the scarcity of the stripes. His prick rose valiantly, standing hard and deep red, forgetting its own recent exertions. When the whip trailed loosely over his cock he jumped even harder, moaning as Mick pulled it back to smack across his lower belly, narrowly missing the tip of his organ. Oh God, should a full blow land there… The next landed on his chest, then on his thighs, the random placement keeping him off guard, keeping his body twisting. Alistair never once lowered his hands, though, determined to out stubborn Mister Mick Cole if it was the last thing he did. His skin stung, sweat running against the little raised welts, and that had him grunting, gritting his teeth against the cries that tried to come. "Let me hear you, Alistair. Let me hear your need." He wanted to correct the man, give him a haughty stare and a, "My Lord, if you please." He could not. Alistair could only do as he was told, every fall of the whip forcing a sound out of him; deep, guttural sounds even he could not understand. The tip of that whip landed on his belly, his chest, even his throat. His thighs and shins felt it, and so did the soles of his feet. Finally, finally when all of his skin felt on fire and his muscles jumped and twitched beneath it, Mick stopped, tossing the whip aside. "Now you may come and suck me." Just like Jack had done for him, Alistair crawled over on his knees, aching all over. He took the tip of Mick's prick in his mouth, tongue sliding over the head, moans of utter abandon coming from his chest and throat. He could not believe it. Truly. Mick moaned too, petting his hair, stroking it back off his face as Mick's hips began to move, thrusting Mick's prize cock into his mouth and out again. His own prick had risen again, valiantly, and Alistair reached down rub it, which earned him a stinging slap to his shoulder. "I have plans for that," Mick said. "Just suck."

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Closing his eyes, Alistair sucked, his hands naturally clasping behind his back, his mouth moving, cheeks hollowing then filling. He sucked until his jaw hurt, until he could taste nothing but Mick, smell nothing but him. Then suddenly, shockingly, Mick pulled away. "Up, Alistair. Over the saddle." Mick's clothes went flying to the floor as Mick yanked him up and pressed him face down over the saddle Jack had laid on. He felt utterly disoriented, his prick pressing between him and the leather, dragging a little with the most delicious friction. This was Mick's plan then. Alistair wasn't sure whether to cheer or cry. "Do you want me, my Lord?" Mick asked, two fingers slipping inside him, wet with something. Spit perhaps, as the scrape was not lessened by anything truly slick. "Yes. Yes, please." Cheering it was. Alistair pushed back with his hips, taking Mick in as the man pushed at him, cock slipping inside him like it belonged, even as it stretched him beyond bearing. They moved together, Mick pummeling his upraised ass, pushing in and out so hard that it rocked the saddle post. Alistair could find no purchase with his feet, his toes barely brushing the wood floor, and all he could so was to let Mick move him, let his body go, sweat pouring into his cuts and welts on the front, the pressure as he rubbed the saddle almost too much, and yet just enough. His hands finally found a grip on the slick leather, helping him gain leverage, and Alistair ground back, loving the animal sounds Mick made, the way it made their skin slap. And when Mick stood back and pulled him up and off the saddle, pushing up into him, holding him with amazing strength, Alistair spent himself, pinned there, legs kicking as his cock jerked. Mick filled him. Completely. With both flesh and seed. His world actually went gray around the edges and when Alistair came to they both lay on a horse blanket, Mick's arms heavy and warm around him. "Are you well, my Lord?" Mick asked. Perversely, Alistair now missed the more intimate use of his given name. "I am. That was quite a surprise you had for me, Mick." "It was, hmm?" Self-satisfied, utterly male, the sound of Mick's purr moved through him, made him shiver. "It was. Come back to the house with me tonight?" Mick stiffened, sitting up, setting himself away. Those off green eyes glittered at him, raking over him. "Why?"

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His fingers moved over the rough blanket, picking at it, the scent of horse suddenly stronger than that of sex. "Because I do not wish to be alone." "You have a wife." "She does not really live with me. She has her own suite. Please." He felt like an imbecile asking, but he could not bear things as they were, could not fathom being naught but a diversion, or a duty to Griff. He needed more. "I fear that is a bad idea, my Lord." Mick rose, muscles bunching and pulling as he went to assume his breeches. "I know. I am asking anyway." Mick turned and gave him a long look, as if he were searching for something in Alistair's eyes, his face. Then he got a nod. "Very well. You go, and I shall join you in a seemly amount of time. That way if anyone asks I can say I am going to the kitchen for a late bite." His protest went unspoken. Mick was correct, after all. This was no time to throw caution to the wind. He rose, dressed, and left the stable. And when Mick Cole slipped into his bed an hour later Alistair said not a word, only turned his face up for a kiss, praying that they would get through the night. They did. *** The City rose gray and wet before him as Alistair left his solicitor's office. Three days. Three days of meetings and signing papers and damnably boring droning, but the property Alistair wanted he now owned. 'Twas a good investment, and would serve him well as a second summer home, one where his wife might stay, should she wish, and fill with her frippery and flapdoodle. Settling his hat atop his head, Alistair turned the opposite direction from his Mayfair town home, making his way instead toward his club. A fine dinner out and a glass of port would be just the thing to refine his ill mood into something altogether more pleasant. The club held few people, which came as no surprise given it was barely five. Still, a uniformed butler showed him to a seat in a shadowy alcove and offered him a drink and he felt better than he had in days. Ridiculous, that he should miss Mick Cole. Yet he did. He missed the man's sullen good looks and twinkling green eyes and his solid, steady presence in bed at night. Utter insanity.

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"Hello, Alistair." It took him a moment to realize someone was speaking to him, so lost was he in his imaginings. When he did look up he started, his cheeks going hot. He scrambled to his feet. "Griff." "Do you…that is, would you mind if I join you?" Griff shifted from foot to foot as he asked, and Alistair regretted ever making the man doubt his place as a friend. "How could I mind if my best friend visits with me?" he replied, smiling warmly. How wonderful Griff looked, his glossy brown hair curling about his forehead and ears, his dark brown eyes cautious, but fond. Griff sat across from him, leaning back to lean one booted foot on the opposite knee. "I am sorry for how I behaved when we last saw one another, Griff." He was sorry he had heard Griff together with Mick, as well, but he did not mention it. "You've no reason to be. I took umbrage at what really was only the truth. I suppose…" Griff looked him square in the eye. "I suppose I was missing Mick, and a little jealous, both of him and of you." ”Why did you send him, Griff?" Alistair could not fathom it. If Griff and Mick were serious, were involved, he could see no reason for it, despite the wondrous things Mick had done to him. "Because I never saw you smile anymore, or relax. He's got such a marvelous way about him. I thought…but you know now, don't you?" A knowing smile played about Griff's mouth. "You've had him." "I would say rather he has had me," Alistair muttered as the butler arrived with a glass of brandy for Griff and the dinner menu. "Yes, he is most…forceful." "Do you love him?" he asked, watching Griff's face carefully. "After my own fashion, yes. I miss him desperately when he is not about, and I crave what he does to me. He is not much of a constant companion, if you will." The dimples that appeared in Griff's cheeks made Alistair smile too. "I can see that. I imagine he would not be much for chess or whist." "No, though he is remarkably well read. The beef or the lamb?"

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How strangely normal is all seemed, to discuss their shared lover over an evening meal. "The beef, I think. The lamb had too much sauce the last time." "Hmmm. Yes, the beef then." They sat in silence for a while, both of them drinking, Alistair smoking. Finally he looked up, catching Griff's eye. "Mick says he came to me because he would not share you with a ghost." The most extraordinary grimace crossed Griff's face, and he sighed. "I have hurt him, I know. Done him a disservice. But I do love you, Allie. I always have." "I've no idea why. I am rigid and stuffy and quite a prig." “Nonsense." Griff only laughed at him, eyes twinkling much like Mick Cole's did in the midst of…well. Physical exertion. "You have simply been mired in responsibility. Between marrying Constance and providing for Geoff... How is he by the way?" "Off at school." Alistair's mouth twisted. All of that effort to produce a son, and now five years later he was hardly allowed to see him, his own father having set the course of the boy's life so firmly no one dared argue. "I swear, Griff, I must be the dampest dishrag in the known world." "Oh, do stop feeling sorry for yourself, Allie." They stared at one another, Alistair with his mouth hanging open, Griff obviously fighting a smile. The right bastard. Finally all he could do was laugh. "You're quite right. I shall hush now and eat my supper." The meal was excellent, well prepared and perfectly spiced, the temperature perfect. He'd expect no less of his club, and really, Griff had the right of it. He should stop complaining. For his part, Griff was the perfect dining companion, and Alistair enjoyed his friend's company more than he had in years. So much so that when the club began to fill up, this baron or that earl coming by to chat or clap them on the back, Alistair looked at Griff and offered, "Come home with me?" "I'd be delighted to. Did Constance come with you?" "No. We shall have the run of the place." Something flashed in Griff's eyes, so quickly he might have missed it. Something hot. His heart picked up its beat.

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"Then let's go," Griff said, rising, holding out his arms for a serving man to put his coat on him. "Yes, let's." Perhaps he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, asking Griff to return to the house with him with definite intent behind it. Perhaps it was time he simply remembered how to take chances. *** The house sat dark and quiet when they got in, the butler running up from his supper to meet them. Alistair dismissed both he and his valet gently, urging them to take the evening as a free one, leaving strict instructions to leave the upstairs unmanned. He wanted no one about should he succeed in enticing Griff to play, something he now wished to prove he could still do. Griff wandered about his suite, a snifter in one hand, the other trailing over brocade sofas and piecrust tables. "Your father is still very much here," Griff said, studying an austere portrait of some long-dead relative. "And I imagine any number of other people have sat on this settee. Really, Allie, you should redo the place." He almost said that Constance liked it just as it was, but stopped himself when he realized what a martyr that made him sound, and he clamped his lips together, shrugging with exaggerated casualness. "Oh, Allie." Griff came to him, hands landing on his shoulders. "I keep upsetting you. I'm sorry." "No. No, I'm fine." Was he? Not at all. He was having a paradigm shift. "I can see it in your eyes, Allie. I've hurt you." His own hands came up, fingers stroking Griff's strong wrists. Ever the horseman and sportsman, Griff was in fine condition. Alistair shook his head. "No, I think I've hurt myself over the years. I've missed you so, Griff, and I've never let myself think about the things we did together." "And now?" Oh, that hopeful face made his belly tighten, his cock rise. "And now I'm thinking about it." "Alistair!"

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Griff took his face between both hands and pulled him up for a kiss, one such as none he had encountered since his school days, wild and joyous. His toes curled, his breath deserted him, and Alistair wrapped himself about Griff's solid body and kissed back, his tongue pushing into Griff's mouth to explore and taste. Hot, wet, and perfect, Griff kissed him back, battling him, the pleasure exploding between them. When he pulled back, those dark eyes he loved were cloudy with need and Griff's lips were swollen and dark. "Take me to bed, Alistair," Griff said, kissing his throat. "What about Mick?" he asked, though he knew he should leave it well alone. "Mick isn't here." Griff simply appeared confused. "Please, Allie." "Yes. Now." Selfish or not, he took Griff's hand and led him to the large bedchamber, the big, old tester waiting on them. They pulled the curtains back and by some unspoken agreement began to undress. Alistair felt awkward, almost silly, until Griff's nude form began to come into view. Then he forgot all about himself. "My God, Griff. Look at you. You were fine as a boy, but as a man you take my breath." "Do I?" Griff smiled, reaching for him and helping him remove the last of his clothing. "Oh, Allie, I've wanted you so long." Fearing their descent into increasingly ridiculous words, Alistair simply leaned up and took a kiss, cutting off whatever Griff had planned to say next. Such passion he could not remember in recent years, certainly not with Constance. Mick had come close, but Mick controlled, while Griff simply gave, fanning the fire in his belly. They fell to the bed, both of them touching and stroking. Griff's skin felt so much smoother than his, the hair beneath his arms and between his legs rough by contrast. Alistair rubbed his fingers over Griff's nipples, feeling them rise to hard points for him. Then he leaned to lick them, sucking one bit of flesh into his mouth and humming at the salty flavor. They rolled about the big bed, first Griff on top, his prick like a brand across Alistair's belly. Then Alistair twisted them, straddling Griff's hips, hands braced on the wide chest. He looked down, meeting Griff's gaze head on, licking his lips. "You make me want such things, Griff."

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Griff wiggled, the action seductive and playful at once, rubbing Griff's cock against his buttocks. "What do you want, Allie? Tell me?" "I want this in me," he said, reaching back for that hot prick, rubbing it up and down. "I want to be in you. I want your mouth. I want to mark you with my hands and my mouth and make you mine." Groaning, arching, Griff nodded, his breath starting to come in hard pants. "Yes. I want all of that…" "Good. We'll start with this." He put his fingers to Griff's mouth, the softness of Griff's lower lip astonishing him. "Wet me." Eyes hot as fire, Griff sucked his fingers in. Every pull felt like a tug on his cock, like a slap to his belly. His heart set up a pounding like a kettle drum. When his fingers felt thoroughly wet, Alistair reached behind himself and pushed two inside his own body, the back of his hand rubbing Griff's flesh. After Mick Cole's thick cock his fingers felt small, inconsequential. What made it good was Griff watching him, touching him. They seemed unable to get enough of their skin on each others' skin, simply rubbing and pushing, sweat fusing them together. When he felt ready, Alistair rose and took his fingers away, letting his ass settle against Griff, letting the hardness there push at his stretched entrance. The forces of nature took over then, pulling him down on Griff's cock, larger and heavier than he remembered it, opening him so wide that he cried out and stilled, hands braced on Griff's chest. "Yes. Oh, heaven." He could feel Griff throb for him, could feel the rhythm inside him as Griff's heart beat fast. "Yes," Alistair agreed. "Heaven." They began to move, him pushing down, Griff pushing up. Short, sharp movements rocked them both, making them both grunt and strain. The room smelled of sex and dust, almost making him sneeze, but Alistair held it, knowing it could be disastrous. Instead he took Griff's hand from his hip and put it on his cock, muttering, "Please." "Yes. Oh, yes." Griff cradled his cock, stroked it, murmuring love words he could barely hear, things he never thought to hear again in his life. He could barely stand it, his cock so sensitive it hurt, Griff's fingers feeling rough and almost harsh, but so good that his teeth clenched and his muscles went tight and he shot, spending himself in great bursts, his eyes falling closed as he rode the last shocks. "Allie!" Griff came inside him, wet and heated, cock pushing inside him, stretching him impossibly before starting to soften.

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They rested, him stretched out on Griff's body, fingers moving lightly on the fine muscles

of Griff's chest and arms.

"What are we going to do, Griffin?" he asked, feeling as if his whole life depended upon

the answer.

"We will go on, as we always have. Only…only I hope we may continue to meet this

way."

Chin resting on Griff's chest, Alistair looked up. "And Mick?"

"I…I love him, Allie. I know it seems impossible, and perhaps greedy…"

"No. He gives you that which I cannot." It was true enough. Hopelessly true.

"And he give you something as well, I think," Griff said, searching his face.

"He does. You have both given me hope again."

A mischievous look the likes of which he'd not seen since they were boys flashed across

Griff's face. "Then perhaps it is time to give something back to Mick, hmm? I believe that

singly we are no match for him, but together…"

His whole body took interest in that idea, surprising him with its recovery. "Why yes, Griff. I believe together we might have a chance." ***

They had ridden in during the night, after a two day ride, Alistair checking in on

Constance and finding out from the upstairs maid that his wife had gone to visit her

mother in the next county over. All the better. That way he could spend the night in

Griff's room, tiptoeing back to his own just before dawn.

They discussed their plan of attack over breakfast the next morning.

"Do you suppose he's been fucking the stable boys?" Griff asked, making Alistair choke

on his tea.

His cheeks reddened as he nodded. "There is one in particular, Jack. A malleable, lovely

boy."

"Ah. You've had him too."

"I've paddled his ass, yes. And had his mouth."

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"Do you think he might help us?" Griff had the look again, the one that made Alistair harden under his buttons. "Help us how?" he asked, spreading jam on his bread. "Well, I was thinking. Mick is not the type to take to a beating…" That seemed true enough. The man had a core of steel like a fine blade running along his backbone. They might well lose him should they attack him that way. "So what, then?" "Well, if Jack will help us, we might instead ambush him and tie him, making him watch us with Jack." "That would…" Oh. That would. Goodness. Alistair dropped his bread, staring off into space, all of the possible variations playing in his head. "Yes. Yes it would." "Very well then." He sipped at his tea again, this time managing to keep it in hits mouth. "I shall call Jack to the house after our meal." "Excellent." How civilized they sounded. Another bite of egg and Alistair blotted his mouth with a napkin before crawling under the table to push his face between Griff's legs. It was time for the rest of his breakfast. *** Jack proved to be a most helpful conspirator. Once they finished with their stammering and blushing and made him understand what they wished, Jack seemed very pleased indeed to help out. In fact he offered to show his appreciation immediately, but remembering what Mick said about making Jack anticipate, Alistair declined, despite a reproachful stare from Griff. "Just be ready to distract him when need you to, sweet," Griff finally said, getting a nod and a bow and a swish of Jack's ass as he bounced out of the room. By nightfall they had all of their preparations in place, and were pacing nervously, waiting. They had eaten a light supper, and planned a more filling meal for afterward, including Jack and Mick in their plans. 'Twas only fair, and cook need not know that all of her decadent meal was not slated for just the two of them.

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They spent the last quarter of an hour locked in Alistair's study, kissing and touching, trying not to excite each other beyond bearing, but too worked up already to stay away from one another. Finally, finally the clock chimed, informing them that Mick's workday was at an end. So they went. The stables appeared dark and deserted, the sound of horses stamping and blowing the only thing they heard. Alistair shared a look with Griff, hoping their plan was not foiled before it started. But then they heard a low moan coming from the tack room, and knew Jack must be hard at work for them. Avoiding creaking boards and the tiny bits of straw left strewn about, Alistair led the way, peering in the still open door to see Mick Cole lighting a lantern, studying the naked Jack with a satisfied stare. "You lack marks, boy." "Yes sir. I hope you do not mind me coming to you…" Such a flirt, their Jack, thrusting one hip forward, hands sliding down his chest. The lad's eyes twinkled at them over Mick's shoulder for an instant, then returned to Mick's face, at once daring and devoted. "And what would you have of me tonight, Jack?" Mick asked, voice gone husky. Beside him, Alistair felt Griff shiver. Yes, that voice could do wondrous things to a man. "Whatever you wish, sir. But if I may request something, I would like a kiss." "You may indeed, sweet Jack." With that Mick Cole stepped up to Jack and bent him back over one strong arm, kissing the boy hard enough that a wet, sucking sound filled the room. That was their chance. Alistair sprang forward, as did Griff. Griff was the stronger so he grabbed Mick and wrenched his arms back before he could struggle. The more nimble of them, Alistair tied the man, winding a leather strap around his wrists and securing it, then barking an order at Jack. "Quick, lad. Tie these to that hook." Just that quickly a kicking, cursing Mick was trussed and staked out, unable to run at them or use his hands. Even fully clothed it made him a fetching picture.

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"What in the name of…Griffin." Mick went quiet, staring from one of them to the other,

so still Alistair felt like the prey of a large cat, about to be pounced.

"Hello, Mick. Did you miss me?"

"Yes." It came out flat and dry. "And Jack?"

“Jack has been so obliging, hasn’t he? I hope you will punish him suitably later. So does

Jack, don't you my lad?"

The stable boy gave Griff an altogether agreeable smile. "Indeed, my Lord."

"For now," Alistair took up where Griff left off, "we simply need him to help give you a

small gift, Mick."

"A gift," Mick repeated, pulling at his bonds. "What sort?"

"The sort that makes you happy. Will you promise not to kick Jack if he helps you

disrobe?" Griff asked.

"Of course."

Smiling hugely, Jack bounced over to do just that. The shirt and coat hung from Mick's

tied wrists when Jack finished, but the breeches and boots lay in a neat pile on a shelf

nearby.

While Jack had worked, Griff had pulled a bench out and sat, removing his own coat and

shirt as he did so, making Alistair stare hungrily. Then Alistair patted one knee.

"Come here, Jack. Allie, the paddle."

Oh, yes. The plan. Alistair handed Griff the paddle they had bought in Town, watching

intently as Griff cut the air with it. When the flat wood hit Jack's ass with a heavy thud,

all four of them jumped.

Jack moaned, Alistair tried to breathe, and Griff smiled over at Mick. "How am I doing?"

Griff asked.

"Harder," Mick said.

Yes, Alistair thought. Harder.

Griff began to paddle Jack in earnest and the lad squirmed and moaned like a practiced

whore, his mouth open and his face as red as the paddle imprints on his ass. The moans grew deeper, almost guttural as Griff continued to paddle Jack's ass and thighs, seemingly

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tireless, and Jack began to squirm in earnest, as if with each blow he tried to get both closer and farther away. Alistair looked from them to Mick and back again. Mick had a heavy-lidded look of pleasure on his face, his magnificent cock fully extended. Griff appeared just as pleased, his cheeks pink, his hair mussed, his arm rising and falling steadily. Finally Alistair could take no more and he stripped out of his clothing, his hand finding his own cock automatically and stroking in time to Griff's blows to Jack's fine bottom. "Alistair…" Shocked into stillness, Alistair stared around at Mick, who stared back, eyes focused on his prick. He would never have thought he would be as arousing as the tableau before him. "Yes. He's lovely, isn't he? He's learned abandon again, Mick." "I see. Plug the boy and let Alistair have you next." The paddle thudded to the floor and Griff helped Jack to stand, whispering to him. Bemused, Alistair watched Jack limp to a shelf where he opened a small chest and came back with a cock-shaped piece of leather and a bottle. The lad shook with eagerness, the muscles in his ass jumping and twitching. Griff took the plug and slicked it with the oil from the bottle before turning Jack about and slipping the entire length of it between the flaming cheeks. Alistair felt his knees weaken. Somehow watching Griff do such a thing to such a willing participant and knowing Mick watched…his arousal soared out of control and he very nearly came, forcing him to pull down on his balls. "Alistair!" Mick's voice cracked like a whip. "Get the wide strap. Griffin, finish undressing." Even bound and nude before them, Mick commanded them all. "Jack, come here," Mick continued. "Use your mouth on me. Start low." Jack dropped to the floor and crawled to Mick, bending to kiss Mick's ankles and work up the hairy legs. Alistair found himself with the strap in his hand before he even knew it, staring as Griff turned and bent to plant both hands on the bench Alistair had so recently vacated, Griff's bare ass sticking up in the air.

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He glanced at Mick. Those odd green eyes stared right into his. "Beat him until he begs for mercy, Alistair," Mick demanded. Nodding, swallowing to ease his suddenly dry throat, Alistair turned away from that burning gaze, and from the sight of Jack licking and nibbling Mick's inner thighs, and let the strap fall hard against Griff's flesh. He had thought never to have this again, and he might well expire from the pleasure of it. Griff had always been the most responsive man he'd ever met. The strap snapped down, then came back up and landed again, over and over. Griff moaned, arching to meet it, the angle of that broad back almost impossibly doubled, bright marks blooming there. His arm rose and fell as if it were not connected to him any longer, as if he had endless reserves of strength and need. It went on and on, him sweating and working, Griff moaning, Jack panting and rubbing against Mick and Mick Cole watching it all, orchestrating it, even though he was ostensibly hobbled. When Griff's ass practically glowed for him, and his forehead was wet with sweat, Alistair stopped, looking to Mick for the next command, amazing himself with how completely he had given himself over to this pleasure. Griff had been begging for some time. "Very good, Alistair. You have earned a reward. You all have. What would you have?" "I..." he wanted... Well. Everything. "Untie Mick, Jack," was what he finally said, helping a flushed and teary Griff to stand. Jack sprang to his order, untying Mick and practically leaping on him as Mick came free. Alistair followed suit, kissing Griff with all he had, squeezing the red, abused buttocks. Mick came to them, hauling Jack with him, and soon they were all lost in a haze of skin and heat, hands and mouths moving, cocks rubbing. "I would not leave you needing," Mick whispered against his ear as they watched Jack lick down Griff's body to suck his prick into a hot, wet embrace, tongue moving visibly on the hard flesh. "Then I need your hand, Mick. Please." Griff gasped, eyes huge. "Yes. Oh, yes, please." Yes. And Mick gave it to him, bending him over where he could see what Jack was doing to Griff, smacking him on the buttocks over and over. Every blow had his cock jerking,

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every movement of Jack’s mouth on Griff's cock or of the leather cock in Jack's ass made him moan as he saw it. Finally he could bear no more, and Alistair lunged, standing to kiss Griff full on the mouth as he came, his seed falling against Griff's hip, on Jack's shoulder. He heard Mick moan, and the man drew close, invading the kiss he shared with Griff, tongue pushing against theirs as Mick's wet heat splattered his side. Like a chain that could not be broken, Griff went off next, spilling in Jack's mouth, and poor Jack finally spent as well, falling over on the floor with a blissful smile on his face. Silence reigned for long moments afterward, all of them seeming stunned by the violence of their loving. Alistair knew he certainly was. He'd never felt anything like it. "We..." Alistair cleared his throat. "Griff and I have a meal prepared. If you would like to join us." Griff gave him a gentle smile, nodding. "Please, come up to the house as soon as you are able. We will see you there." Together, he and Griff dressed and went to the house, barely a word passing between them. There was no easy way to continue what they had begun, and they both knew it. Indeed, it was a social faux paux of the worst sort to invite stable hands to the house. Still, Alistair knew now that he had started, he would not easily end it. So they would simply have to find a way. *** "Why don't you go and play with Griffin," Constance said one morning nearly six months later, causing Alistair to choke on his tea. "What?" "You have not seen him in nearly a month. I am going to see Caroline until the end of her confinement. Go and visit with him." Indeed, he had not seen Griff, or Mick for that matter, as he had sent the stable master home with the man he loved. Alistair had vented his need on Jack, unwilling to give up the pleasures that he so craved now, but a trip to see Griff... That would be heaven. Alistair smiled at Constance, finding himself grateful for her steady, undemanding presence for a change.

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"I believe I will, my dear," Alistair said, smiling into his cup as he thought of surprising the two of them by arriving with the new box of toys he'd procured on his last trip into town. "I believe I will."

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Remembering Pleasure Copyright © 2006 by Julia Talbot All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502. Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press: Single Shot electronic edition / February 2006

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction,

CO 81502.

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