a-most-regrettable-evening.html

A Most Regrettable Evening

 

This is a slash fanfiction based on the short story `The Strategist” which appears in Reginald in Russia and Other Sketches by Saki, featuring the characters of Rollo and the Wrotsleys.

Warning: this story contains noncon, whipping, semi-public sex and watersports.

 

`Now, who are you going to be, dear”, the elder Wrotsley said in a tone of savage solicitude as his brother undid Rollo”s trousers and dragged them down his thighs, which were flaming fields of pain from his two prior beatings.

The room was warm, but Rollo”s skin stood out in goosepimples like millions of miniature erections. He hated the feel of their eyes on him, somehow sharp and slimy at once. It wasn”t the same as before. Something had changed in their faces. Even the room seemed to have got darker.

Gone was the etiolated animosity that had maintained the feud more from an abstracted sense of tradition than a personal malice. The difference was, now they were truly angry. Their hostility flexed in the air between them and Rollo like the tendon of some archaic predatory muscle, like a supple steel blade about to shatter in his face.

Rollo marked with mounting panic the tension in the elder Wrotsley”s high brow, the whitening of his epicurean lip, the clenching of his narrow jaw, and tasted in them all a rarest vintage of fury, refined and subtle, yet bestial all the same.

It was some hidden facet of the dark crystal that was the elder Wrotsley, on of which, through the course of their encounters over the years he had caught uneasy premonitions, most strongly when the cards had fallen the other way and it was Wrotsley he”d had under his hand and belt. The man”s smoggy eyes glittered like a sword; danced like he was in love. An intrusive intimacy, a psychic violation, a needle of pure frozen rage inserted through his eyeballs and into his brain, dripping icy beads of terror all down his spine. Then he walked around the table and Rollo couldn”t see him.

`Lucretia? Europa? Lavinia? Philomel?” he continued. Rollo saw a flicker of recognition in the younger Wrotsley boy”s eyes, accompanied by an unnerving grin, which curled up the side of his classic, vacant face like the burning corner of a page. The cousin only palmed apishly at his crotch.

The elder Wrotsley”s voice grew softer and drew nearer as he spoke�seemed to dip–then Rollo gasped as he felt his nether-cheeks parted and hot breath kiss his hole, which screwed itself up in a reflexive against foreign intrusion. Never in his life had he felt so exposed, so vulnerable. It was utterly humiliating, and yet. And yet.

`No. Ganymede.”

`Now look, here, you chaps”, Rollo stammered, feeling a hot flush like the beginning of a fever suffuse him from his belly to his fingertips.

`I am”, the elder Wrotsley said. `Now there”s a peach” he murmured, caressing one moulded ivory globe. `I can”t think why it never occurred to me before. What a gorgeous little rump. Bet it”ll split like a walnut.”

Rollo opened his mouth to speak, but it turned into a yelp, because the man”s mouth was on him, not so much kissing his arse as trying to eat it like iced cream, teeth pinching in just hard enough to sting and making his cock rise with embarrassing rapidity.

God damn you. Down, sir!

His cock did not obey.

It was an automatic reflex, inculcated in his school days. At Briggingham there had been a perfect who had always laved his smarting buttocks with his tongue after he thrashed him, and Rollo had come to look forward to his disciplinary sessions with a queer mingled eagerness and dread. It was the same feeling now, heightened by the awareness that this was someone else”s house, someone else”s library, someone else”s table he was bent over, a roomful of someone elses only a few yards of corridor away. And that he hated the brute devouring his sphincter, hated him worse than any prefect, but it was hard to remember that, or anything, when his prick was rigid enough to split a walnut with one whack.

The younger Wrotsley prodded it with the switch, and made a sound of amusement and disgust, and Rollo was disgusted with himself, for his prick gave an almighty jerk and he felt it release something, like it had burped up a coy little gob of jism onto the whale”s bone. The elder Wrotsley bestowed one final nip on the chewy muscle of his mantwat and pulled away, with a sound that was faintly regretful.

Only then, as the opiatic haze of pleasure receded, did Rollo remember his predicament. He heard the dog-whip slice the air, felt the deceptively gentle wind its passing blew on his trembling flesh. `Oh God, please, you can”t�don”t hit me there.”

It was the only time that night he begged. He had that to hang on to when it was over, when all other dregs of his dignity, even his sanity, had been pared away like flesh from the bone.

`Oh no”, the elder Wrotsley said. `You”ve been far too wicked for a mere whipping. Make sure you hold him well”, was the sharp order he gave his brother. `The slut”s not going to squirm out of this drubbing.”

`Now,” he said briskly, returning to the large and weighty matter he held in his hand and was nudging at the springy valve of Rollo”s bunghole. “For my trick, I”m going to make my cock disappear.”

A round bluntness was applied, slightly yielding but firm and scorching hot on Rollo”s slickened portal. Rollo instinctively lurched forward, but of course the table was under him and the others were on top of him and there was simply nowhere he could go and nothing he could do but let them do exactly as they pleased.

A beating was one thing but this! So much more than mere pain, or even injury, was at stake. For all the years he had nurtured his detestation of the Wrotsleys, he never imagined they had sunk to this depth of depravity. He had thought them a bad lot, the eldest a rotter, a bounder, a cad.

But never outright wicked. Not till now.

“Oh God!” Rollo shrieked and the elder Wrotsley let out a euphoric gasp as he drove himself in. The handle of the whip was put between Rollo”s teeth, and he bit down, hard.

`Naughty slut.” The younger Wrotsley had engaged his own tool and tapped it on Rollo”s drawn-back lips reprovingly. `You”d better give it a good basting, old man”, he said, in an infuriating off-hand tone. `For your own sake. I”m sure I don”t need to tell you where it”s going after Wankum”s had his come-off.”

He didn”t, and after a few moments Rollo grudgingly relinquished the whip-handle to let his mouth be filled with several inches of rubbery soap-tasting meat. At least it was clean, even if it made him gag till he wept.

He somehow contrived to suck a cock whilst another was ripping his arse to gory shreds. However much he yearned to bite down till his teeth clacked together, he knew whatever momentary gratification this brought could not hold a candle to that which would be heaped on his head afterwards. He could hardly move his jaw, anyhow. It had been forced so far open when the boy hammered in his nail (one never realised just how much even a normal-sized prick was to handle until bursa escort it was shoved halfway down one”s throat) and seemed to have locked in place. He was essentially just holding his mouth open and letting the beast sodomise his face, bashing at the back of his gullet like the world”s randiest tonsil-surgeon

He could feel the sweat trickling down his nose and into his eyes. He seemed to be getting light-headed. Most confoundingly of all, his cock was still mostly hard. It pulsed painfully each time the elder Wrotsley thrust forward and that remorseless driving heat surged up that vaguely-defined but intimate inner region behind his balls, and between his fundament and his bowels.

This continued for some time. Once both boys had settled into their groove (which ran through Rollo”s core and seemed, though this was probably only the wiring of his nervous system being frazzled by their pounding pricks, to bring them together somewhere under his heart), their motions were rather repetitive. It would have been monotonous, except that the pain was always fresh, always somehow unpredictable in its ferocity. There was little conversation and the words uttered were mostly of the four-letter kind, in-between the steady plap-plap of bare flesh smacking on flesh and the droning hum that was building in Rollo”s head.

It was like a form of slow murder, asphyxiation by penis. He gasped for air, but all he inhaled was the ripe seminal stench of cock. He was constantly choked by the brazen weight of the boy”s length, with the only variation being in how far down his throat it was plunging. He didn”t even have breath to think, much less cry for help.

The only change came when they had both seated their pricks fully inside him, the elder Wrotsley stretching his tall frame up Rollo”s back, the buttons of his jacket scraping along his spine, the wiry hairs of his pubis prickling his buttocks. They huffed and panted as they climaxed (Rollo thought he heard the smack of lips meeting in a kiss). Then they carelessly ripped themselves out and shuffled around the table to switch places. Rollo had a few incredible moments of being able to breathe freely, and then he was being abruptly stuffed full of cock again.

`What a snug bit of cunt”, the younger Wrotsley sighed, fingers digging cruelly into the whip”s bleeding cutwork as he massaged the hills of Rollo”s buttocks around the portion of his shaft that remained nestled between them.

The junior Wrotsley, belying his more fulsome figure, was longer and thinner than his brother (though when anything was being violently driven into one”s rectum it felt about as thin as a telegraph pole). So when he drove in, splitting apart the tender fragile flesh that had only just begun to reseal in the wake of his older brother”s ravaging, Rollo had to bite the edge of the table. The fear now was less that he was going to snap Rollo”s rectal ring like a bad watch-strap and more that he was going to puncture a lung.

The Wrotsleys” cousin, who had been content so far to watch the proceedings in sniggering, stupefied amazement, now joined in the assault.

He picked up the whip and, for want of anything better to do, laid it liberally over Rollo”s back, buttocks and shoulders as the Wrotsleys shafted him from both ends, frigging himself rapidly as he did so.

Before the cousin was able to water the welts on Rollo”s pale skin with his hot steaming milk, the two brothers each gave a moan and once more irrigated his throat and rectum, respectively. Rollo had an orgasm as well, though heaven knew he had not intended to. Their eviscerating thrusts seemed to bully it out of him, out of the swollen oversensitive organ that was mashed between his stomach and the green leather of the tabletop. He imagined pitiless steel fingers wringing red juice from an over-ripe fruit. It was more painful than pleasurable, but he hated that it brought any pleasure at all.

Then, at last, it was the cousin”s turn to take his part in Rollo”s punishment.

The Wrotsley cousin was excruciatingly ginger, and freckled, with an expression that betokened an immaculate unintelligence that would have been blissful had it not possessed a vague malignant awareness of its own deficiency. But by way of compensation nature, or Beelzebub, had endowed him with a cock as thick as he was, and longer than any Rollo had seen, except on horses.

And he was about it to shove it up Rollo”s backside.

So it turned out a good thing, in the end, that he”d waited till last to plunder Rollo”s inmost depths. Rollo thought that if he”d shoved it in first he might have done something truly drastic like die. As it was, he only wanted to.

Even as well-used as Rollo was, the cousin had difficulty bashing his way in. He advanced by increments, pummelling Rollo”s buttocks with his fists and grunting curses whenever he hit a bend in his pipeworks, as if trying to intimidate Rollo”s body into surrendering space that simply wasn”t there. But his flesh as well as his will was iron-hard, harder than Rollo”s, and he kept on shoving it in him, so in the end it was Rollo”s body that had to cave–quite literally it felt like. The walls and dikes of his inner continents were collapsing, the little world of his inner man raped to ruin.

And still there was more of the bastard. Not so many inches at a time, but like a ratchet, they only went one way: inward. The overheated, over-ripe feeling of his genitals now spread to his arse and his whole lower body. It was a merciful numbness, even if it terrified him to think what was happening now, just how irreparably damaged he might be after it was done. If it ever would be.

Long before the cousin had settled his downy bollocks against Rollo”s stinging cheeks with a wheeze of triumph, Rollo”s cock had thoroughly wilted. Nothing pleasurable could even be imagined in connexion with what the brute was doing to him, for all that it was technically a sexual act. He was being bludgeoned, mercilessly, with a blunt instrument, till he felt bruised all up his innards to his throat, till his heart was pumping his veins with pure pain. He felt chewed up, like the end of the dog-whip, or like a dog”s toy. Chewed up and spat out.

The brothers wiped their drooling members in his hair, over his nostrils and eyelids, their sweat-ripened balls rasping over his mouth and chin. They used his face as if it were no more than a prick rag, while their cousin used his arse as if it were no more than a public pissery.

The only mercy was that it was over quickly. Or at least it felt that way. Perhaps he”d blacked out in the middle, which would have been a mercy in itself. He yearned for oblivion.

The cousin pumped with paltry technique but unstinting vigour for about a minute, then swore and thumped Rollo across the shoulderblades while he had a thunderous (and seemingly never-ending) ejaculation. Rollo actually felt wet inside now, as the cretin layered his teeming wads of cement upon his inner walls. His belly ached, tight as a drum. His limbs and torso felt as pulverised as his backside and throat, so even when the brute finally heaved out and off of him, he escort bayan lay prone across the table for several minutes, wondering if it was really over. Wondering what on earth he was supposed to do now.

The snap of the whip across his neck, and then, cruelly, between his bruised arsecheeks, broke him out of his reverie with an agonised shout, sent him staggering back from the table and into a bookshelf.

He hauled great lungfuls of air down his destroyed throat. Even if he could have formed words, there was nothing to say.

The others stood beside the table in a victorious triumvirate. They regarded him quite coolly, as if what had been done to him had nothing at all to do with them. The elder Wrotsley was even smoking. Aside from a faint flush along their cheekbones they betrayed no sign at all of their prior exertions, save that their tadgers were still hanging heavily out of their flies. The cousin”s organ of evisceration was still dripping little off-white worms of prick-paste on the floor.

Rollo did not look at them as he fumbled on his clothes. He tried not to look at himself. One of his legs had gone to sleep, and as he was pulling up his trousers he slipped and staggered against the door.

As if in answer to a knock, a voice came from the Other Side.

`Hullo? Are you still in there?”

It was Dolores Sneep.

`We”re rehearsing”, the elder Wrotsley said, quite calm, even as he came up behind Rollo and abruptly and brutally re-entered him.

`You”re taking an awfully long time about it. We”re all waiting, you know.”

Rollo”s teeth scraped against the varnished oak of the door as he gaped out an almost-soundless moan of agony. The man drove his prick in up to the hilt in one fluid motion. It throbbed once more in Rollo”s core, a massive, unwieldy alien presence. It made him want to be sick, feeling it so far inside him. Push a little harder and he”d be painting the bloody door with my guts.

`Is that you, Rollo? Are you all right?”

Damn her and her bloody donkey”s ears.

`I”m fine”, he gritted out hoarsely. Being impaled again so soon was like having a knife or a studded mace plunged into his bruised and battered colon, `It”s just part of the act. Grr-haaAHHHH dammnit!”

Wrotsley had started to fuck him again.

A short inrush of breath greeted this outburst, then Dolores of the asinine ears departed in a flurry of indignant silence. Then for the moment they were alone again, and Wrotsley could rape him freely.

Smoke blown in an endless burning stream against Rollo”s neck, like the poison wind of the Arabian desert. Rollo arched and hissed and writhed against the door; his assailant made a sound of barely-restrained ecstasy and reached up to tuck his cigarettes behind Rollo”s ear as he began to bugger him so violently the door shook in its hinges.

This time the man”s rutting savoured less of punishment and more of passion, as if his earlier exertions in Rollo”s behind had but whetted his unnatural appetite. He puffed and gnawed at Rollo”s collar as he pounded him, using just his hips to bash his naked prick against the door as he stuffed him over and over with great upward-sweeping thrusts, jolting his whole body forward into the stout mahogany panels.

At last he sighed and seemed to hang his weight in Rollo”s trembling shoulders. His organ swelled against Rollo”s overtaxed rim, his balls snuffled damply into his perineum, and he was coming inside Rollo again, slathering his insides with his stinking seed. Three times in less than half an hour. Rollo wondered with detached horror exactly how long he had wanted to do this.

When he had finished defiling Rollo, the elder Wrotsley popped his prick out with a bending of the knees and jerk of the hips, immediately stepping back and letting Rollo slide down the door to crumple in a heap of sweating limbs.

One of the others kicked him, then, when this failed to move him, something thin and hard probed between his buttocks and stabbed into his well-stemmed rose.

Rollo jumped to his feet with a cry and lurched round, clutching his arse. He saw the younger Wrotsley holding the whalebone switch, inspecting the end with a smirk. It had come out white (and a little red).

The elder Wrotsley touched his cheek tenderly. `Now, darling, I hope you”ve learnt your lesson. If not, we”ll be quite happy to repeat it.”

Rollo stared red-eyed at the man”s emerald tie-pin and shook his head. In fact, all of him shook. As much as he thought himself over it the prospect of going through it all again was annihilating. The man”s eyes rekindled that old malicious glitter; he pushed his long delicate fingers past Rollo”s quivering lips and stroked his tongue, just to show him how completely he owned him now, show him that he was a mere fleshy fuckpillow, an object he could penetrate anywhere he liked, at any time. Rollo took the fingers silently and tried not to gag.

`One more thing”, the younger Wrotsley said, languidly wiping the switch down Rollo”s trouser-leg. `We”ve got to piss, haven”t we?”

Rollo choked.

The elder Wrotsley did not turn to look at his brother, but his eyes gleamed again. He picked up the plump softened length dangling out the front of his trousers and stroked it stem to tip. `On your knees, slut. And open wide.”

The younger Wrotsley tapped him on the shoulder with the switch, though it was no knightly honour his weeping prick promised to bestow.

Nonetheless, Rollo was almost grateful to sink to the floor.

`I don”t know if I can”, the cousin said, looking bashful.

`Then hold his head”, the elder Wrotsley said. `Don”t let him turn away.”

The Wrotsley cousin gripped him by the lush but sadly disarranged locks of his teaky hair. His neck felt boneless and his head went placidly wherever it was pulled. After all he”d endured the sting in his scalp scarcely registered as pain.

The boy bent down and whispered fiercely in Rollo”s ear, `You”d better swallow it all, cunt. If any gets on my hand I”ll shove that switch so far up inside you it”ll skewer your eyeballs.”

A shiver, like the sparkle from a steel knife, ran up inside his hole to the base of his neck. He screwed up his eyes, as if trying to retract the tears that collected on his lower lids. But in the end he had to open his eyes, and his mouth, and prepare to face what was coming.

It started at once.

Arcs of sparkling yellow light cascaded toward his face. He let the cousin squeeze his lips apart like a fish and tilt his head up to catch the streams, some part of him still conscious that he had a parlourful of young ladies to confront when all this was over, and he couldn”t go out to the meet them with his shirt-collar and hair sopping with piss. Now they had truly made him a sewer from end to end, staling his tastebuds and sinuses with their rancid bladder-waste, seeming to foul all his airways, his lungs, his very brain, with the stink and acrid taste, so salty it was bitter. But he swallowed it all, gulped it as quickly as his rebelling gorge would let him, and commanded his stomach to hold it down bursa escort and not spew it back up. He told himself it was no worse than his initiation to the dormitory at Briggingham, though it was. He hadn”t even really understood what was happening, then and somehow young boys” pee didn”t taste as bad as when their cocks had darkened and thickened, their balls bristled and ripened.

The rape had been fearful agony, but it was nothing better men than him had not borne, if not with honour, then with some measure of self-regard intact. It was only then, on his knees, to all appearances willingly swilling piss like something lower than a pig, that the fight truly went out of Rollo. He was sure not even the god”s kidnapped cupbearer had had to bear this.

This was it, he knew. It was over. It didn”t matter how many he had on his side next time they met. He would never be able to face the Wrotsleys again, let alone fight them. He didn”t know if he could face anyone, even Jack.

Especially Jack.

He scrunched up his eyes as tightly as he could to stop more tears from falling, but by sheer power of will he forced his lips to remain parted and his throat muscles, which had seized up with revulsion, to continue working, gulping it all down. It settled queasily in his aching stomach, so cruelly bruised from below by the stabbing fleshy spears of his tormentors. He opened his eyes when they told him to, and looked up so he could see their gloating satisfaction, their depraved excitement, and so they could see his voiceless rage and anguish, his utter and ultimate humiliation.

Even when they had spent all they had upon him, they made him tongue their dribbling prickheads and suck out the last drops, as if from the neck of a wine-bottle.

Then, at last, they were done.

They hoisted him to his feet (with a good deal unnecessary probing and pinching) and he was able, with effort, to walk, buttressed with the three of them at his back, down the passage to the drawing-room, where ten pairs of female eyes greeted him with impatient expectancy.

Rollo took one unsteady step toward the nearest of them, Agnes, opened his mouth, closed it again when it flooded with a backwash of urine and semen, and fainted at her feet.

`Lady Jane Grey?” one of the girls suggested dubiously.

`Caesar!” Dolores proclaimed, without bothering to consult her fellow guessers.

`That”s right”, the younger Wrotsley affirmed with a snigger, surreptitiously digging the toe of his shoe into the raw canyon of Rollo”s arse-crack. “He was stabbed twenty-three times.”

Rollo let out a sob that was only partly muffled in the hearth-rug.

`Shouldn”t he say, “Et tu, Brute?”” one of the girls enquired.

`He”s having a fit. I”ll hold him down”, the younger Wrotsley declared rapturously. He surreptitiously produced a pen-knife from his pocket, ripped the seat of Rollo”s trousers up the seam (disguising the sound with a cough) and stuffed his cock into the well-slicked, torn-open, yet still plush ruin of Rollo”s arsehole.

He grunted as he sheathed himself in that indescribable moist clutching heat. `Quick, Troggs, help me. You take his shoulders.”

The Wrotsley cousin knelt down in front of Rollo”s hot grimacing face and took his shoulders�and his mouth, for his manhood had remained too large and too turgid to get back into even his capaciously-tailored trousers and he”d had to loom awkwardly behind the others so the girls didn”t see the pink swollen thing bobbing below his waistcoat. Holding Rollo while he drank down endless gallons of piss had proved more exciting than he”d imagined.

As he fucked into Rollo”s mouth he sighed, “Oh-oh!” and started gaily to relieve himself, forcing a fierce stream of piss down Rollo”s throat and airway at the same time, making him light-headed. Rollo spluttered around his cock, which was fat enough to stuff his mouth completely, even somewhat soft. The geyser of urine blasted the choked-up ball-water back down his throat; he could feel the heavy spermy lumps clogging it up, stopping him from getting oxygen. He couldn”t breathe. He actually thought he might die.

`I didn”t know Caesar had a fit after he was stabbed”, said Agnes with interest. `Or that they all jumped on him like that.”

The Wrotsleys” cousin only groaned in response. The consciousness of the bright gaslight and bright eyes on him, some curious, others concerned, made a prickling, tingling shiver on his skin, an energy gathering in his groin and surging up the rending spear of his cock, raising his peak to heights he had not hitherto imagined.

He actually started to come while he was still pissing and that was a sensation beyond anything the modest ambit of his mind had yet contained. He closed his eyes and panted with such abandon, as his bladder and his balls emptied themselves in one endless potent stream, that some of the less medicinally-oriented of the girls wondered if Rollo”s fit were not catching.

As for how he was going to extricate himself without scandalising his audience (and staining the carpet), that was a concern for another time, one that might indeed have been millennia hence, so lost was he in the ecstatic singularity if his bliss.

At Rollo”s other end, the younger Wrotsley, straddling the fallen emperor”s thighs, was pretending Rollo was constantly bucking upwards and so would thrust his pelvis forward to hold him down, though in fact he was only holding himself in. It was quite a novel from of copulation, not to mention an unusual setting for it, but it was all turning out rather gorgeous fun. He had never thought of fucking Rollo�or any man at all�before his brother suggested it, and he had certainly never thought of fucking anyone in a drawing room. A whole new vista of intriguing and immoral possibilities had been opened up along with the poor quimtart”s rectum.

As for Rollo, he seemed to have been catapulted much farther back than Classical Antiquity, to the time when the world was one teeming womb of protoplasmic ooze. He was suspended in an ocean of spunk and piss, blinded by it, drowning in it and breathing it in, tainted to his very soul, so that he might swim through a lake of carbolic acid after and not be scoured of their filth. His mind did not register either pain or pleasure, or even humiliation; all such distinctions had collapsed

Meanwhile, the elder Wrotsley, whose long-lusted-for vengeance had assumed dimensions he had not envisioned even in his most vivid nocturnal fantasies, had taken a strategic stance behind a plush high-backed chair and was at present, with the aid of a little quiet but rapid wristwork, coming very hard and very much into the crevice between the back and the arm.

He discreetly wiped the pink plum of his cockhead on the lace antimacassar (reasoning it was all white and so wouldn”t be noticed), tucked himself in and buttoned himself up and approached Mrs Jallat (whose knowledge of history had never been strong, and was quite at a loss for how to respond to the young men”s performance) with a shallow bow and a sigh of deepest satisfaction.

“It has been a most enjoyable evening”, he said to their hostess.

 

 

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