Mark Antonius deMontford Read online

  They both froze at the pounding on the door.

  “Mark? What is taking so long, boy? Your meal is ready!”

  “Yes, Uncle! I shall be down. Give me a moment, would you?” Mark heard the grumbling and could well imagine the expression of impropriety. Richard had him tended and raised up his tea-stained breeches. Before they parted, Richard lay his hand gently behind Mark's head and kissed his lips. “Leave your door unlocked. I'll come again in the night.”

  Before Mark could answer, Richard vanished down the hall.

  * * * *

  Stiffly nervous after an encounter he still was trying to get his head around, Mark sat at an oak table that could have easily held twenty. A servant stood behind Mark's left shoulder ready to top off his wine or replace a soiled utensil. His back ached from the tenseness in his body and his cock twitched at the memory of Richard's wet mouth.

  An eleven-year-old lad had joined them, who Mark learned was the third child of the voluptuous Gabriel, young Peter.

  Raising a wine glass to his lips, Mark caught three sets of eyes staring at him. Richard's hungry yet satisfied leer, Gabriel's undisguised lust, and Margaret's curiosity. Giving each an angelic smile, Mark caught the slight but obvious scowl of Uncle David. Mark sat straighter and realized he'd forgotten to use the knife. He cursed under his breath and grabbed it, trying to remember how to use the darn thing. Let's see, scoop? No. Oh, that's right, use it as a wall to fill the fork.

  Warmth covered his inner thigh. Mark peeked down to see a pudgy little hand. His Cousin Gabriel had managed to sneak under the table and touch him. It slipped off once again as she dabbed her lip with her napkin. “Have you heard of Scarlatti?” she asked Mark. “Or been to the opera?”

  For some reason Uncle David's face went into an instant contortion of anger at the mention of the word “opera".

  Mark cleared his throat and checked to see if his uncle approved of his answering her question. Mark assumed he did not and shook his head silently.

  Richard appeared so enamored by him he almost laughed out loud at Mark's timid response. “I'd love to take you. How long are you staying?”

  “Can I stay forever?” Mark whispered.

  Gabriel's tinkling laughter filled the room.

  “What did he say, Mum?” Peter asked.

  Richard dabbed his eyes as Margaret asked the same thing, “Can he stay?”

  Gabriel leaned over to Mark and clasped his hand. “You may stay as long as you like, my lovely young man.”

  Glancing back at his uncle, Mark caught his disapproving glare. Sighing and lowering his lashes, Mark knew it was too good to be true.

  Following a little clamor at the entrance of the large home, an elegant gentleman entered the dining room with a flourish. Mark assumed he was Cousin Thomas just coming back from Parliament. He kissed Gabriel's cheek and stood to look at the table for a moment whilst the servants hovered around him, taking his coat and filling his wine glass. He took the chair at the head that had stood so obviously vacant. He was a man so alive with a robust energy it seemed the room grew smaller.

  His wig was a bit askew from his rushing. Mark was surprised Thomas wasn't the least bit upset they had started without him. “I am happy that I have caught you still dining! I'm sorry I'm so late.” Finishing his glass of red wine in one gulp, Thomas had another poured for him as he held it elevated in the air. “Welcome! Welcome!” he cheered, patting Uncle David's back with such a heartiness that Mark thought he would snap his uncle in two or at least knock his wig off.

  When Thomas’ eyes came to rest on Mark, Thomas seemed to pause, as if considering something. Mark cleared his throat and made the necessary greeting. “Nice to meet you, Cousin Thomas.”

  “So, this is our little Mark. Well, not little at all anymore. How old are you, lad?”

  Before Mark could open his lips, his uncle said, “Nineteen. Just turned.”

  Thomas acknowledged this information and gave Mark a very generous smile. “Splendid!”

  * * * *

  After the meal they adjourned to the sitting room where Margaret was going to sing and play on the harpsichord for them.

  Mark held onto a glass of wine as he walked, trying his best not to stain anything. The tapestries on the floor looked as if they were paid for with a king's ransom. He decided to just suck it down to prevent any disasters. As the servants lit the wall sconces, Mark stopped in the hallway and guzzled the contents of his glass, savoring it, loving the light-headed feeling it gave him. Drinking wine in the farmhouse was far too wasteful of an expense to be a nightly occurrence, according to Uncle David.

  Mark gasped when a hand caressed his bottom. He expected Richard or Gabriel. To his complete astonishment he found Cousin Thomas’ very impish grin. Thomas seemed to vanish into the sitting room after the incident and Mark tried to replay it in his head. Maybe he was mistaken and he hadn't been caressed. Yes, that was it. He was just going mad again. A servant plucked the empty glass from his suspended fingers with silent efficiency.

  Upon entering that brightly lit room, for all the candles on the candelabrum were now burning, Mark almost wanted to shield his eyes. Making his way toward Richard's invitation, when Mark lowered himself into the chair, Richard moved instinctively closer so Mark brushed by him with his body. It sent a tremor through Mark and he could almost feel Richard's groan vibrating beside him.

  The music started and sounded too loud for such a close room. At first it was offensive to Mark, but when Margaret started to sing, her sweet voice seemed to soften the keyboard. Never had he heard such a lovely sound. He wasn't used to hearing music other than the chirp of the birds. But this sound! It was like angels! The church! That was what it reminded him of. The choir at the church. No, this was better. Less religious. This had a theatrical quality to it. Something risqué. Oh, look at that lovely songbird. Why hadn't he paid more attention to her?

  Richard nudged Mark in irritation but Mark ignored it.

  At the second elbow in the ribs, Mark faced Richard. The glint of his glare summoned Mark's attention. Smiling meekly, Mark gave a little shrug. He hadn't meant any harm.

  The music brought Mark back again to Margaret's angelic face. She sung to Mark with so much feeling, never taking her eyes off him. It was as if they were lovers.

  Mark felt like the core of a great spinning ball of fire. What was it about him? It quite simply had to be his looks. He knew no other explanation.

  When the song ended, his uncle sputtered and awoke. The long journey had taken its toll. Uncle David pretended he had not fallen asleep and stood, making his intention known that he must rest. Reaching for Mark, as if signaling the end of the night for him as well, Uncle David paused before taking another step. Mark wanted to stay up. He wanted to hear another song.

  “Come, lad. Let's get some rest.” That hand was outstretched and Mark knew if he disobeyed it would embarrass his uncle in front of these refined people. And that was unacceptable. Pouting, Mark stood slowly, head lowered in slight humiliation to be treated as less than an adult.

  After he and his uncle had left the room, Mark heard Thomas utter, “What a remarkable looking boy!”

  * * * *

  It was as dark as the forest in his bedroom. Not one to fall asleep too easily, Mark lay with his head on that lusciously soft pillow. His dressing gown twisted like a ghost with a stranglehold from his tossing under the quilt as he strained his ears to the sound of the house creaking and moaning below him. He heard a click and peered into the blackness to see the door through the heavy canopy of the bed. That particular door was not moving. Then a dim candlelight showed off the pattern on the wall at the other end of the room, a space that he had not noticed before had opened. Another entry. One that had been painted to be concealed. But now that he knew it, he could clearly see its outline. Mark sat up and tried to squint through the distracting curtains to see who it could be.

  The person set the candle down on the bureau and pressed the canopy back fro
m the outside. Gabriel, in a sheer dressing gown, climbed on the bed and enveloped him in her embrace. Mark moaned in pleasure as her fingers pushed the fabric of his nightgown up and her little hands molded his cock until it hardened. When she smoothed her palm over its length she muttered a little prayer at its size. Straddling his hips, she mounted him without a word to fill his ears or answer any question. When her breasts pushed into his face, Mark closed his eyes and smothered himself in them. They were as soft as kneaded dough and fragrant with expensive French perfume. Grabbing them with both hands, he found a nipple and sucked it, releasing into her and tilting back his head with a breath. Mark's head spun as the sensations of his first female sexual encounter made him wonder how he had gone without for so long.

  Once he lay back, panting to catch his breath, she seemed satisfied. She leaned over to kiss his slack mouth before she climbed off. The candlelight blackened, the rush of air from a closing door brushed past his cheek. Blinking in shock, Mark lay partially exposed to the night, wondering what on earth had happened. Surely he must be dreaming. He hopped up to wash himself in the basin for he felt sticky. Once he had cleaned up to his satisfaction, he climbed back into bed.

  Before he had time to assess the sexual act with any clarity, another sound drew his immediate attention. With his head tilted this time to the door at the hall, yet another yellow flicker came into view. The tiny wick was set on the bedside table and the drapes of the canopy pulled back to reveal a wicked demon. Richard raised his bed shirt over his head, baring his slim, hairless build.

  “Roll over, my sweet.”

  Mark did. His thighs were spread wide and the bed shifted from Richard's weight. When something cold and wet touched him, Mark jumped in surprise. Richard's hands spread a slippery substance on him. As Mark waited in anticipation, he was entered from behind. Mark shouted out in shock, but soon the contact brought something else to raise the goose pimples on his arms. Pleasure! Intense, deep pleasure, like he had never imagined.

  Grabbing him around his waist, Richard raised Mark's hips up to meet his own. Richard clasped Mark's flaccid cock in his hand and worked it ruthlessly. Mark's eyes widened in awe as he felt himself rising for yet another blast, even more intense than the first. When he heard that male grunting in his ears, Mark let go into that aggressive palm, dropping to the blankets in exhaustion. Richard kissed his left cheek bottom and left. The candlelight flickered and died. Once again he dragged himself out of bed to clean up at the basin.

  He heard a scratching at his door. Mark shook his head in denial, knowing he must be delirious because none of this seemed real. The door opened and one of the old servants came in and requested, “Master Mark, could you please follow me?”

  Unsure what this summons was about, Mark wondered if something was wrong. He was sure he was in trouble. You couldn't have this much ecstasy without punishment, or at least that's what his uncle always said. Sin and you shall burn in hell. Wasn't that it? Mark assumed he was being led to the fire.

  Mark's bare feet chilled on the stone flooring as he paraded slowly behind the bent old man with the tiny candle. The arthritic servant opened a door at the very end of the elongated hall, bowing and gesturing for him to enter. Mark peered in. Where was he? Whose room was this? A dim, peach colored candle showed him another dark, oppressive, incense scented bedroom. Mark spun back as the door was closed and he was left seemingly alone. Did they want him to sleep in another room? How utterly confusing. He tiptoed to the bed stopping short when he saw it was occupied. The master of the house, who looked quite different without his fancy clothes and white wig, smiled greedily at him. Reaching out his long, narrow hand, Thomas said, “Come here, my lovely.”

  Mark studied those intelligent, youthful eyes and full head of dark hair in amazement. “Sir?” he whispered, like this needed clarification.

  Thomas rolled the quilt back. “Take off your dressing gown, let me see you.”

  No mistake now. Mark lifted the gown over his head.

  Thomas’ eyes began their inspection at his mane of hair and worked their way down Mark's body to his thighs. “What an extraordinary lad you are. Come here.” He beckoned.

  Boldly, Mark climbed onto the warm bed. Thomas embraced Mark and sealed his solid, fit length against Mark's. As Thomas squeezed and prodded Mark, he inhaled him like Mark was a rich perfume, caressed him like a fine fabric, and tasted him like favored wine. Mark accepted that mouth on his and the weight of Thomas’ whole body. Mark gave what he could to please the man who just may ask him to stay if he was satisfied. Rolling over, feeling cool oil on his bottom, Mark was once again taken.

  When the master of the house reached his peak, he crushed Mark in a vise-like hold and whispered into his ear how glorious he was. “You've the skin of a princess,” Thomas hissed.

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  * * *

  Chapter Two

  To a slanted sunlight, Mark awoke in the guest bedroom he had first been escorted to. He heard a loud knocking at the door. His uncle stepped in and shook his head in dismay. “Why are you still in bed? The meal is about to be served. Look lively, lad! You want to make a good impression on these people, don't you?”

  Mark burrowed under the pillows and moaned. This man had no idea what his night had been like. How if he had gotten more than a few hours in a row of sleep he would have been lucky. But obedient as ever, Mark rolled over to squint at him. “Yes, Uncle.”

  Mark made his way to the dining room. Everyone was awake and obviously eager for a sight of him. Keeping his eyes lowered, he avoided accepting anyone's gaze out of the sheer embarrassment that they would figure out he had contact with each. Sitting heavily in the vacant chair between his uncle and Thomas, Mark nodded in thanks for the coffee the servant poured.

  After eating, Mark raised his head from his now empty plate. He had consumed every last tasty morsel. The quality of the meal was such that he imagined lifting the china dish for a lick. But he'd already caused enough of a lasting impression in this house and it would be in bad taste, even though he was tempted. The damn knife was there, clean. He had forgotten it once again. They must think him a barbarian.

  When Richard had his attention, he said, “I insist you come out with me today. I'll show you some marvelous shops.”

  Imagining Richard naked and standing before his bed, Mark fixed his gaze on Richard's face. Richard had that white wig on once again. Mark wondered if he only took it off to make love. Richard had a nice full head of hair, like his father Thomas. Why did they hide it? The wigs seemed silly to him. He couldn't imagine tucking his lion's mane into one. Not for a moment. Old men like Uncle David did that.

  Gabriel smiled sweetly at him. “You must. Allow me to treat you.”

  Feeling his face warm up in a blush, Mark checked with his uncle before committing himself either way.

  “It's not necessary, Gabriel. The boy has all he needs,” came the predictable reply.

  “Nonsense!” She waved him off like she was shooing a gnat. “I insist!”

  * * * *

  Seated in the carriage Mark startled out of his thoughts when Richard's hand cupped over his breeches. A very wicked smile emerged from under that white wig, one Mark was growing used to.

  Richard pushed Mark down and went to work on his pewter buttons.

  “Oi? In the carriage?” Mark gasped.

  “It's a fair ride. It'll kill the time,” Richard replied whilst he tugged Mark's cream colored breeches down.

  Gasping as Richard sucked on him, kneeling in front of him in the swaying coach, Mark closed his eyes and gave in to the rising bliss.

  * * * *

  The traffic of horse and carriage, noise and commotion, were like nothing Mark had ever seen. Hundreds of people all on the move, shops were crammed door to door behind a wet glazed cobblestone track, uneven and rutty. Horses jingling their bridles in the mist and hawkers shouted out their wares of newspapers, fruit, fresh meat, and vegetables. The scent of baking con
trasted to sewage. And the brilliant rainbows of color of proper ladies in high brimmed hats who walked with gray and brown-suited servants doting behind them or dogs barking from straining leashes.

  Bewildered and overwhelmed by the complete overload of his senses, once inside a shop Mark gazed around at all the slick material and shiny mirrors in awe. Richard chatted with the tailor, expounding on the fact that Mark was to be clothed in the finest money could buy. The princeling clothed as a prince.

  Unable to prevent it, Mark's eyes were very wide as rich silky fabrics were laid across him. The tailor measured his sleeves, his chest, and his inseams.

  Richard insisted on almost the entire spectrum in velvet, though to Mark's taste they seemed a bit bright. “Richard, yellow? I cannot be seen in yellow. Blue is more to my liking, thank you kindly.”

  “Fine, Mark, fine. But you do need a little lightening up. I'm afraid farm life has turned you dull.”

  After they had ordered the new clothing, Richard dragged Mark to the next stop.

  Mark was led by the hand to try on a wig. “Oh, Lord no!” He resisted with every bone in his body. Staring in the mirror, Mark shook out his thick, brown tresses. “No. I must refuse this, Richard.”

  “Try one. Let us just see.” Richard nodded to the shopkeeper.

  “You will never get me out in public.” Mark crossed his arms defiantly.

  “You know how desirable you are when you pout?” Richard crooned softly into his ear.

  Mark blushed crimson and peered around to see if it was overheard.

  A white dusted wig elevated like a cloud in the air, then descended. His hair was unruly at best, so off came the wig and netting was set up to gather the rich chocolate waves to hide them.

  When that big white thing was placed back on his head, Mark immediately rolled his eyes at the folly.

  Richard covered his mouth over his greedy smile. “You appear to be a woman disguised as a man. You are far too pretty, Mark. Far too feminine for your own good.”