Liam's Mistake, Part 9: The Dynasty

The saga continues! All rights reserved, if you want to copy this elsewhere, please link it back to me.

The forest is not natural. Every tree is the exact same size and shape and grows in neatly ordered rows.  I felt that I must have been walking through it for hours, but still there is no end in sight.  I like it here.  Soft breezes rustle the branches, light pours gently through the tree branches.  This world is static, unalterable, ordered. Exactly as it should be.

I hear zen like flute music from far up ahead.  How odd. It’s pleasant but unexpected. I run through the forest towards the music, only now noticing my nudity. It feels right, somehow, in this place.  Still, that music does not fit.  I sprint towards it, hearing it grow louder until it’s nearly deafening.  It’s coming from a grove of trees surrounded by light. As I get closer, the light gets brighter, so bright that soon I’m covering my eyes with my arm as I stumble closer to it. The light and music surround me, completely drowning out everything else.  The forest is gone. Was there even a forest?  I open my eyes.

The zen music is coming from my alarm clock, which is now glowing brightly.  The clock was designed to gently wake a person up over the course of a half hour, slowly increasing in brightness and loudness along the way.

I reached over and hit the snooze button, then fell back into my covers and groaned.  It was still dark outside.  Normally, I would never drag myself out of bed this early during summer break.

But yesterday evening, after Liam and I had woken from our nap, there had been the call.
And when the call happens, there’s nothing I can do but agree.  Part of the gears of life, it’s as irresistible as the tides.

I gently pulled my self off Liam’s body, tucking the covers back around him. He mewled a little bit and turned, but didn’t wake up.  I was tempted to slap my hard cock across his face and wake him up by forcing him to suck my cock, but there wasn’t time.

I stared out the window at the city below as I pulled on the clothes I had laid out the night before.  Up here, on this wooded hill, all was dark and quiet, but a few hundred feet below I could see the glow of street lights, the reds and yellows of passing cars, the lit windows of the offices and university buildings. I grabbed my bag and walked down the the steps and out the front door, locking it behind me.  I jogged down the private road until I came to the stone steps built into the cliff.  A quick glance at my watch and I run down the steps, catching them three at a time.  The stairs spill out onto the sidewalk and I sprint across the avenue to the bus station, right as the 6:09 16A arrived.  Damn, I am good.

The bus was an old habit.  My mother always disapproved of me using it (you never know what kind of riffraff rides that thing, she would say), but it was convenient.  After I got my license, I thought I’d never use it again, and I didn’t. For all of two weeks. Then I remembered what it was like to catch an extra half of shut eye in the morning on the bus instead of paying attention to traffic, and the next morning I grabbed the bus again.

Today, it dropped me off in the midst of the old art deco skyscrapers downtown. Built in the early twentieth century, these buildings were relatively short, but still climbed a couple hundred feet in the air.  As I walked, I pulled out my phone and dialed.

“Hey Jack”
“Hey Geoffrey. You there yet?”
“Yeah, just got here. You?”
“Crossing the street as we speak. See you in five.”
“Gotcha. bye.”
“Ciao”

I walked around to a side street and entered a parking garage.  I took the elevator a few floors up.  As I walked across the skybridge, I paused briefly to stare at the sign as I opened the doors.

And thus I entered the Barbour Club (Health and Fitness Center).  Established in 1873, old, exclusive. Membership only through invitation by another member.  They say they do not discriminate in the selection of members by race, color, sex, or religion. No, they discriminate by wealth, by influence, by what circles a person moves in in this city.

I head into the locker room and go to my father’s locker.  Geoffrey is already there, sitting on the bench dressed in his shorts and tee shirt.  The racket and goggle lie beside him and he’s rolling a squash between the carpeted floor and his shoe.

He smiles at me. “You’re late,” he teases.
“I’m here exactly when I need to be.”
“Glad to see you’re cheerful this morning, Sunshine.”
“I’m always cheerful.”

I change quickly and we head out to our reserved court. A brief stretch, a little bit of warm up play, and then we get serious.  Squash is often thought of as an old man’s game, but that gives more credit to old men then might be intended. It’s fast paced, filled with endless running, quick turns, sudden stops, and movements worthy of an Olympic gymnast.  But it’s more than just a competition of speed and endurance, it’s a thinking man’s game. It’s three dimensional chess, played at blitzkrieg speed. The players have to concentrate not just on  the returning ball and where it might land, but where his opponent will return it, and what possible strategies his opponent might employ.  Thinking three steps ahead is mandatory, and it has to be done in the mere instants between the whip cracks of rackets.

    Geoffrey collapsed exhausted onto the bench, while I continued to pace back and forth.  After nearly an hour of play, he was beaten. In every sense of the word. Physically, I had run him all over the court.  Points wise, I had crushed him, scoring thrice for every one of his.  Mentally, he was tired.  Emotionally, though, he was exactly the same.  It was the comforting constant of Geoffrey.  I could destroy him over and over again, and yet he still came back, whether through friendship or some form of masochism, I couldn’t be sure.

    “No more,” he gasped, “I’m done.”  “Come on, let’s do some chin ups.” I insisted.  “No way in hell,” he replied, “how do you keep going?” “You’re just lucky my dad isn’t here,” I teased back.  It wasn’t an idle threat. My old man had some very strong theories about sports in general and squash in particular.  In his view, all sports were contact sports. No contact, it wasn’t a sport.  In squash, the general rule is that you hit the ball and then get out of the way. Don’t get out of the way, and your opponent calls “let.” The “let” is to let everyone know that interference has been called and the point should be replayed. Instead, my old man would shout “let” as fair warning to brace yourself right before he hammered you into the wall for not getting out of the way fast enough. And then he would hit the ball.

    Chin-ups were his other thing.  No matter the sport, no matter the workout, my father insisted chin-ups were always a good choice.  So after this squash game, like I did after every workout, I grabbed hold of the chin up bar and began pulling myself up.  Ten times I brought my chin over the bar, ten times I lowered myself slowly down until my arms were straight, and on the eleventh attempt, I struggled, gasped, and eventually dropped.  Breathing heavily, I turned to Geoffrey. “Your turn.”  He struggled feebly on the bar, squeezing out two measly chin-ups before giving up. “Weakling,” I teased him.

    We sat in the steam room, towels wrapped around our waists, my eyes closed and head leaned back.  The steam gently floated in clouds around us, condensing in rivulets on our skin.
“You know I hate this, right?” I opened my eyes and sat up. Geoffrey was hunched over, his forehead propped up on his hand.  His blond hair was soaked in steam and sweat, and the rivulets trickled down his smooth, pale frame.  I was, as I often am when I see his nearly naked body, struck by his resemblance to one of Tolkien’s elves.  Tall, thin, elegant in many ways.

    “Pfff.... just relax.” I replied, “this is the best part of any workout. Besides, when else am I going to see you naked and dripping with sweat?”
“Yeah, see, that part kinda makes me uncomfortable.”
“Oh?” I leered, “Why is that? Are you afraid I’m going to rape you?”
I leaned in and put my hand on his thigh, slowly running it up and down his leg. In my creepiest voice possible, I whispered in his ear, “There’s no one else here, the walls are solid, I could get away with it.”  “Jack, stop right now,” he said as he picked up the bottle of lemon water sitting next to him, “Or I will spritz you in the eyes.” “You wouldn’t.”  He moved to spray me, but I moved faster, grabbing his wrists. We wrestled there briefly as I tried to pin his hands above his head.
    The door swung open, and a well muscled man in his 40s walked in wearing only a towel. “You do know,” he intoned deeply, “that that is not how you are supposed to use the lemon water spritzer.” Geoffrey and I quickly untangled ourselves and sat back down.

    “You see,” he continued, taking the spritzer from Geoffrey, “you lay a towel down like so,” and he took his towel off and laid it across the bench across from us, “you spritz with the lemon water,” and he did so, “and then you lay down.”  He promptly set the bottle down on the bench, laid down on his table, and closed his eyes.  Geoffrey and I looked at each other. “I think you’re right,” I told him, “it is time to go.”

    As we sat eating breakfast in the club’s breakfast room, Geoffrey leaned over the table and whispered at me, “Look, it’s not that I’m bigoted or anything.  I believe in equal rights and all that stuff, but … Jack, I’m not that way.  And I know you think it’s funny making me uncomfortable, but... just stop. It’s not cool.” I nodded thoughtfully, finishing up my bowl of cheerios and strawberries. “Well, that’s for playing squash with me this morning.”  “No problem, man. And, um, good luck.” We nodded quickly and headed out, he to catch the tram line back out to the suburbs, and me... I was headed to the huge gleaming skyscraper two blocks away.

    Entering the lobby of the building, I saw the massive security desks. Large, burly guards sat behind them as people in fancy suits lined up behind the metal detectors, flashing IDs and stepping through before to be scanned before being allowed to the elevators.  I walked directly up to the desk, ignoring the line.  The guard behind the desk looked up at me with a scowl, before his face lit up with recognition. “Good morning, sir,” he said, “You’ve been expected. Jarvis here will escort you.”  A tall, muscled man in a black suit with sunglasses and an ear piece nodded at me.  Judging from his tight lipped demeanor, I imagined he didn’t smile much.

    We walked through the elevator bank to the express elevator at the bank.  We entered. A man in a suit almost followed us in, but after a glance at Jarvis, he muttered his apologies and moved on.  Jarvis placed his hand on the scanner and lifted his glasses briefly for the retina scanner.  A green light flashed, and he pressed the button for the top floor.

    As we rose, I reflected on Geoffrey wishing me luck. It would take more than luck... I could face him.

    We exited on the top floor, and turned down the hall way. A massive double door stood in front of us.  Two guards, physically and clotheswise resembling Jarvis stood in front of them. He nodded at them and they pulled the doors open. I walked in alone. As the doors closed behind me, I cleared my throat and spoke up. “Good morning, Father.”

------------------

Three hours later, I unlocked the front door and walked in.  Somehow, even during the hot days of late spring, the house remained dark and cool.  Probably because the lights weren’t on and the air conditioning was.  I clenched my fist and laid it menacingly against the door post. There was little I wanted to do more than punch a hole through the solid wood, hissing through my teeth, I brought myself under control.  That blasted old fool could stay hidden in his tower til the day he died, I thought. Just like his father before him.

    The first piano notes trickled lightly through the hallway. Following the sound into the parlor, I saw Liam swathed in one of my bathrobes playing “Mad World” on the grand piano.  The black silk robe was far too large for him, cartoonishly flowing past his feet and puddling ont the floor beneath his feet.  The sleeves, too, were far too long and we’re folded up his arms.

    “Welcome back, master.”  “Good morning, Liam. The music sounds nice.” I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around him, caressing his body beneath the robe.  He closed his eyes and tossed his head back as my hands crept over his torso.

    My right hand slipped down and felt his trapped cock, locked away beneath the robe. My left circled up his chest teasing first his right nipple and then slipping over to his.... wait.  What was this?  I looked at the robe again, at the crest on the chest my left hand had just slipped across.  My hands trembled briefly as rage and fear shook through me, but I swiftly brought it under control. Any day but today, I would have laughed at the sacrilege, but today he was too near.

    “Take it off.” The steel in my voice left no question, nor would there have been no matter my tone.  Liam had grown absurdly willing of late.  He got off the piano bench, and stepped out, letting the robe pool around his feet.  The robe that had the crest of my grandfather’s college on it, the robe that had his name and the year ‘33 emblazoned on its left sleeve. It had been a gift from him, and a not so subtle hint of what was expected of me, of someone who bore my name, what burden I was required to bear. How dare they expect that of me, I wanted to shout at the heavens, and somewhere, deeper inside, lurked the more insidious question, how dare they expect that of me when they know I’m weaker than him, that I could never match him?

    But before me was what mattered, my horny naked slave. He slinked to his knees and buried his face in my crotch, rubbing his cheek against my rapidly growing erection.  I ran my fingers through his jet black hair, before grabbing hold of it and pulling him to his feet.  Dragging him over to the couch, I sat down and pulled him across my lap.  My hardon dug into his stomach as he lay across my lap, and I could feel his cock, locked away in its CB, pressing against my thigh.

    I lay my right hand on his butt cheeks, slowly caressing them, feeling them, squeezing them. He really did have the perfect ass, gently rounded and a beautiful copper tone. I circled my palm on his ass, gave his cheek a gentle squeeze, then pulled my hand back and gave it a sharp slap. A small “ooh!” passed his lips as he winced, but otherwise he remained still. What a good slave.  A cruel smile formed on my lips as a dangerous thought passed into my mind, How much could my little Liam take?  I raised my hand again and spanked him again, on the other cheek. Another hand print formed, another wince, but this time he was a silent.  I raised my hand, and spanked again. And again, quickly now, my hand rose and fell in succession, smacking one cheek, then the other,  the white hand prints turning red and merging together.  He was squirming now, rubbing his trapped cock against my thigh, trying to maneuver his ass out of the path of my hand.  He had bitten his lip keeping silent at first, but now he was moaning loudly, and I noticed the trickle of a tear coming from his left eye.

    His right arm reached involuntarily down to block my hand from his ass, and I caught his wrist.  I pinned his arms behind his back with my left hand and continued spanking him. A few more spanks, and I gave his poor, reddened ass a break.  I ran my fingers along his cheeks, feel them radiate heat. Running them down his crack, I felt his tight, twitching hole beneath my finger tips. I gently caressed his hole with my index finger, running it along his brown ring before laying it on his hole and softly pushing in.  He moaned as my finger pushed its way into his tight hole, still twitching and spasming from the brutal spanking I had given him.  Once it was inside, I gently stroked his prostate and felt his entire body spasm and shake on my lap.  I pulled my finger out, until only the tip was inside, and then pushed it in again, gently fucking him.  He panted deliriously, the pain of his still tender ass meeting the gentle fucking of his hole.  I pulled my finger out again and reached over to the nearby chessboard. Grabbing a pawn, I popped it into his ass, his hole closing around the thing part of it until only the base stood out.  A small, velvet circle, like a bullseye, stood out in the middle of his reddened, rounded bottom.

    Too tempted by the target, I began spanking him again. Alternating cheeks as usual, but this time with a twist. Every now and then I would spank directly in the middle, right on the velvet base of the chess piece.  Every time, he would cry aloud as the rounded head of the pawn rubbed up inside him, teasing him.  The more I spanked him, the more his ass twitched and spasmed, and the more the pawn rubbed his boy spot inside.  I felt my thigh dampen as his pre-cum flowed from his locked cock.  He was crying openly now, the tears running down his cheeks, but between his cries of pain, he begged for me to fuck him, to bend him over and pound him with my cock.

    I stopped spanking him and cupped my hand gently on his cheeks, rubbing them softly.  They were beet red now, and warm to the touch.  I gave one of them a squeeze and he whimpered, pain running though his ass, causing his hole and cock to twitch. I grabbed the base of the pawn embedded in his ass, and pushed the pawn deeper in, causing hm to groan deeply as it rubbed inside him.

“Does that feel good, boy?”
“ohhh master, it feels amazing, sir.”

I yanked the pawn out with a sharp tug and smiled as he yelped in surprise in pain.  “Stand up,” I ordered him, “face away from me.”  He stood up on trembling legs, like a newly foaled colt.  “Push your ass out towards me.” He complied, and I put the tips of my left index and middle finger up against his hole. “Now,” I said, and I smiled cruelly as I spoke, “fuck yourself on my fingers.”

    He pushed back on my fingers, groaning as they entered him. I twisted them and stretched his hole with them as he impaled himself on digits. Once he had taken them down to the base, he started pulled himself on them, slowly fucking himself on my fingers. The next time he lowered himself down to the base, I gave him a sharp smack on the right cheek with my right hand, causing him to yelp and almost pull himself off my fingers. I say almost, because inside him I had spread my fingers to a V. As he tried to pull off, they forced his hole further apart. That, combined with the tendency for his hole to clench whenever spanked, made it hard for him to pull off. Like a fish caught on a barbed hook, he was stuck. He looked over his shoulder at me and pouted cutely.

    “What are you waiting for?” i leered at him, “Fuck yourself faster.”  He lowered himself back on my fingers, pushing himself more quickly this time, and he groaned as my fingers tickled his spot inside him. Another quick spank and he jumped up again.  Getting the pattern of things, he thrusted himself back down on my fingers, and  jumped up just as I was spanking him, lessening the blow, but still causing him to moan and wince as he did.  On the next stroke, he made sure to ride my fingers even faster. Up and down and he went, moaning and groaning and wincing as my fingers probed and plundered his hole and I spanked him and over again.   A long string of pre-cum would form, dripping from his CB and dangling down, before breaking off and dropping on the floor, joining the ever growing puddle beneath him.

I slipped a third finger in and felt his body quake with pleasure and pain, spasming as yet another finger invaded him. Unable to hold back anymore, he cried out “Oooooh god … fuck me master, fuck me!”  Ramming my three fingers into him and spanking him hard, I chuckled as i corrected him, “Be a nice slave, Liam, and ask politely.”  “Please master, will you please fuck me, sir?” He asked, with as much control in his voice as he could manage.

At this point, my own raging cock was painfully erect against the inside of my pants, so I decided to oblige him. “Very well, Liam. Let’s run upstairs to my room.”  Once we had gotten there, I ripped off my shirt while he knelt at my feet and unzipped my pants, tugging both my pants and underwear down in one tug. I hopped out of the clothes pooled around my feet and stood there naked, my massive cock hard and throbbing pointing straight ahead.  Liam, still kneeling, took my entire cock into his mouth and throat, deep-throating the huge, ass splitting member, bobbing his head up and down a few times. As he pulled off, a trail of saliva hung briefly, from my huge, spit coated cock to his mouth.  A look of deep seated, almost drug like contentment was on his face, like a heroin addict who had just gotten his fix.

    “Get up here.” I snarled at him, pulling him to his feet. He jumped up into my arms, wrapping his legs around my waist and his arms around his shoulder.  He hissed through his teeth as my hands grabbed his reddened, beaten ass, pulling his cheeks apart as my saliva coated cock head probed his open and eager hole. “Whoa God!” he cried as I rammed my entire cock, balls deep, into him. “Oh yes, master, fuck me, fuck me,” he panted into my ear, a monk like mantra that he repeated over and over again as I rammed my cock in and out of his hot ass.  I could feel his trapped cocklet pressing against my stomach, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum, almost shooting another spurt with every stroke by my cock.

Feeling myself get close, I threw him down on the bed, and hammered into his ass missionary style, his legs draped over my shoulders, our faces inches apart. I kissed him deeply, powerfully on the lips, my tongue plundering his mouth as my cock plundered in his ass.  I grabbed his nipples and pulled and twisted them, hearing him cry out and moan and hiss as the waves of ectasy crashed over me, and I came in his ass, shooting spurt after spurt of white hot jism into his hole, which dribbled around my cock.  Exhausted, I collapsed on top of him, my cock buried in his ass.

“Oh god, master...” he whispered in my ear. “I”m exhausted, but still so horny.” He humped his ass against my pelvis a couple times, my still hard cock probing his insides. “Will you please, please let me cum?”  he begged.  The sweat dripping from my brow, I kissed him gently on the forehead. “Not this time,” I said. “Maybe later.”