Erotic short. A footman plays a joke on the house butler.
I did a random Twitter poll thread asking people to choose between two kinks. Prostate milking won over lactation. Will be doing a short for each of the winners!
Erotic M/M+M short between three cis men. 1700 words. Prostate milking, rough sex, anal, tears, D/s, objectification, implications of overstim.
There’s mildly dubious consent in that there’s no pre-negotiation, but it’s understood by the sub that he can tap out at any time, and he submits to everything enthusiastically.
Donald Howard, Samuel Harrison, and Victor Mead originally appeared in this short:
https://johannestevans.medium.com/butler-vs-footman-3145043a09e0
The schedule, of course, had been Mead’s idea.
It wasn’t as though Don minded it, really — it was often enough that he still managed to work in time with Mead or Harrison (or the stable hand, Gibbs, or Doctor Haberly’s assistant, Lloyd-Keel, or the big boy that was the butcher’s son, the one thrice Don’s size and over, or anybody else) in the course of the day, but in the course of a week, Don would have three pencilled in sessions — one with Mead, one with Harrison, and one with both.
Harrison was stifled by it, he said, that he liked when Don’s evenings were free and it was easy to take him aside and do as he liked with him, and Mr Mead had gotten very big and imposing indeed as he’d rumbled, “You ought be grateful I’m permitting you this much.”
Don didn’t mind one way or the other, really — he liked Mead and Harrison both very much, and for all their conflicting styles, they were each very gentle with him after, and it was really quite sweet that they so easily came to blows over him.
One rather felt like a sort of boyish Helen of Troy.
Don had a session scheduled with Mead tonight, which Harrison had been particularly irritated about because his mother’s garden party had gone awry and dashed his session with Don right out of the water as Harrison had been made to clear up all the mess, not to mention catch the dogs.
He was creeping through one of the guest bathrooms, which had a door that led into the servants’ corridor so that he could creep into the attic room with Mead, when a hand wrapped bodily around his chest and held him close.
“Oh!” he cried out in the pitch, but before he could say anything more, a muscled hand that smelt faintly of shoe polish clapped over his mouth.
“There’s nice, lad,” growled Harrison in his ear, kicking the door shut and pushing him over the tub in the bath. Don found himself bent over the tray set over the tub so that he could properly steady himself, a towel thrown over it so that he was leaning on more than wood, and he shivered as Harrison grabbed at his trousers, dragging them around his ankles.
“What ever are you doing?” he asked breathlessly as Harrison shoved his dressing gown and shirt over his chest. “Does Mead know you’re — ”
“Hush that mouth of thine,” said Harrison, “lest tha wants us to tan this hide.”
Shivering and rather delighted, so much so that he found himself smiling giddily in the darkness, Don obeyed. He looked back to Harrison, but he could see nothing at all in the pervading gloom, couldn’t even make out the shine of his eyes. Harrison was barely a silhouette — Don could hear him mostly, hear his breaths, his steps on the bathroom tile, the quiet sound of a tin lid popping free.
Harrison’s fingers slid into his arse with no invitation at all, and Don squeaked out a noise when they pressed directly down on that lovely little knot behind his cock — Don hadn’t even had time to stir himself to attention.
“Steady on, Sam,” Don said strainedly. “Good — Good Lord, Sam, ow, Sam — ”
“Don’t hurt thee none,” Harrison said sternly, laying his other hand on Don’s lower back to hold him steady, and rubbed. It was an impossible sensation, one Don couldn’t really contend with — he was rubbing in hard little circles, and the sensation was so intense that Don felt like it might kill him, forcing a sort of pressure through the whole of his body and making him breathe sharply and headily. It couldn’t be called pleasure, exactly — the sensation was intense with a sharp-edge brightness, less like basking in the warmth of the sun and more like staring directly into its light, and Don scrabbed at the edge of the bath, letting out a tortured sob. “Don’t make a fuss now, that in’t becoming at all in a gentleman, is it?”
“Oh, Sam,” he hissed. “Sam, you’ll — you’ll kill me, whatever are you doi — oh, oh — !”
He gasped in raggedly at the sensation of pressure releasing, and although he couldn’t see it, he could feel his cock pulsing oddly, feel the eye of it blink as spend drooled out of its tip. It was a wholly strange and unnatural feeling, an orgasm without the pleasure that went with it, and he felt his eyes water. His cock was still soft — he didn’t know that it could harden with all this attention being paid to it at once — and yet it seemed to him that spend was pouring from it as though from a tap.
“That’s a lad,” purred Harrison, and for all the intensity of the sensation, for all it made him whimper, Harrison’s voice was so warm and soft and so full of praise that Don felt his cheeks blush. “Tha be good for us and no harm’ll come to thee.”
“Isn’t this harm?” asked Don blearily. The sound of his cock dripping was obscene, a sort of spattering drip right into the tile, and he couldn’t help but think it would be an awfully slick oil spill for someone to slip in.
“Nay, no harm in this,” said Harrison, still rubbing, still rubbing, boring through the very core of Don’s sex and making his vision darken at its edges. Don’s balls were tight and twitching, and he couldn’t breathe. “No different to us fucking thee, which tha well likes, as far as I know.”
“But — but it’s Mead’s night — ”
“In’t fuckin’ this eager little boycunt of thine, though, am I?” asked Harrison, leaning over Don as he kept fingering him senseless, breathing on the back of his ear and his hair, and Don’s cock gave a desperate little sputter, spitting out a great deal of wetness all at once. The release was strange, edged on painful — the relief was almost like a piss, but not quite like it, and Don didn’t know that he would ever be able to describe it. “Not at nothing Mr Mead banned us from in his rules.”
“Sam, you’ll kill me,” whimpered Don, and Harrison laughed, rubbing harder.
Don almost cried out, but Harrison grabbed him by the mouth again, squeezing over his lips at the same time as he pressed so hard and rubbed so quickly that Don did sob into his palm, tears on his cheeks, cock aching as it was milked dry.
“S’like studding horses,” Harrison murmured in Don’s ear, and Don gasped around his hand, choking on air. “There’s a lad, be good for us now, be a good lad.”
Harrison didn’t stop until his cock was dry, until he was rubbing and there was absolutely nothing left in his bollocks to give, before he dragged his oiled fingers back, pulled his pyjamas up around his waist, and dropped his dressing gown down. He hauled Don up to his feet, and Don stumbled, his knees weak.
“There, now,” said Harrison. “Time to go to Mr Mead, now, so’s th’aren’t late.”
“What?” Don asked hoarsely as Harrison briskly wiped his face.
“He’s been looking forward to that sweet boycunt of thine sheathing his big cock for two days and nights, an’t he?” asked Harrison, and although it was dark, Don could see the mischief glinting in his eyes, see the savage curve of his smug smile. Don’s knees went even weaker, and he didn’t know it was from having his cock milked dry or at the sheer, phantasmagorically arousing fact of Harrison doing it to him just to spite the butler. “Can’t disappoint the big man now.”
“Oh,” said Don breathlessly.
He stumbled several times on his way up to the attic, and he was very surprised when he got there and found that by some other shortcut, Harrison had gotten there before him. Mead was sitting on the bed — this was one of the unused servants’ rooms, and it had a decent bed that didn’t creak at all — with Harrison stood beside him.
“Harrison?” Don asked.
“Mr Harrison and I have a friendly wager between us,” said Mead, in the rumbling tone of a man who was not being friendly about it at all. He kissed Don on the mouth, stroking a finger through his hair.
“What wager is that?” asked Don.
“Oh, I’ve a bet on with Mr Mead that he can’t make tha come on his cock alone,” said Harrison, grinning fiercely, and Don felt a good deal of the blood drain out of his face and make its way down to his cock, although it didn’t seem his cock was yet feeling up to making use of it.
Don opened his mouth, and Harrison took advantage to push a piece of cloth into it, tying it around his jaw, and Don whimpered.
“Now, now,” murmured Harrison. “Don’t tha want to help me play a jape on our butler here?” he asked smoothly, and Don shuddered.
He could say no. There was no reason he wouldn’t — if he really told Harrison he couldn’t stand it, Harrison would take the gag off immediately, would tell Mead everything, and perhaps the two of them would spend the evening patting and stroking him, let Don suck their cocks.
Harrison’s smile was so dangerous that Don wanted to impale himself on it, and his whole body felt so flush with blood he thought he could burst.
Don, as Icarus looking up toward the sun, nodded his head.
“There’s a lad,” murmured Don, and smacked his arse. “Slag’s ready and waiting for thee, Mead.”
“I do warn you, Mr Howard,” said Mead, rubbing slick around his cock, and Don stared at it dizzily. “You shall be ridden quite hard and put away wet.”
The noise that eked out of Don’s throat was indescribable, and even had a gag hadn’t been in his mouth, he had no doubt it would have been wordless. Obediently, readily, as a man before the executioner’s axe, he let himself he spread out on the bed, and wondered — sort of blissfully — if this would kill him.
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