Page 29 of The Demons of Wychwood

“My god Felix. Please let me buy you a new bed!” Kit insisted between joyful bouts of laughter. That offer stopped me in my tracks. He might not have even meant it seriously, but the insinuation was that he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. He liked me and wanted to do this again, and so I would need a bed that didn’t shriek like there was a murder occurring in my room.

We were side-by-side beneath my mountain of blankets. The heat beneath the covers from having a warm body beside me was lovely. I turned my head when Kit stopped laughing and our eyes collided. “Slow and steady wins the race, aye!” I said with a sly grin. “Reach into the cabinet drawer there. I’ve got a little bottle of oil I used when I—”

“Oh…for when you’re alone and…pleasure yourself?”

“Yes!” I was blushing, I bloody knew it, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. After all, we were naked and about to fuck.

“I um…don’t… do that,” Kit revealed.

“What?”

“Bring myself off…on my own. Edward says self-abuse is a sin. He told me that God would know, and Edward would know if I’d touched myself without his permission. I wasn’t permitted to spend unless he oversaw it.” He paused for a moment and then insightfully he said, “It wasn’t until years later I realized he just wanted me to be so desperate to spend that he could do whatever he wanted, and I would submit.”

The playful air of earlier vanished. I rolled over and pressed myself against Kit’s side. I ran my hand through his wild curls, my fingers brushing them away from his face.

“Listen to me,” I said softly. “You know he’s full of shit now, don’t ya?“ Kit nodded, but I wasn’t quite sure he believed it.“Your body belongs to you and not to God nor Edward. No man has the right to tell you what you can do with your body…oh, plenty will try, but here, alone with me, you can do whatever makes you feel good.”

“You make me feel good, Felix.” There was something tentative and childlike about his admission. “You make me feel…wonderful.”

“Is that so,” I planted a gentle kiss on his tender mouth. “Well, looks like I’ve set the bar high already then,” I grinned wolfishly, “I guess I’d better try to top it!”

I stopped believing in God during the war. Seeing my comrades slaughtered during battles changed me, made me think about what this life was all about and what I believe in. I can’t say I came to any grand conclusion, but one thing I was clear about was that its men that makes the decisions and pretend they’re Gods. If there is a God up there in the heavens, he’s abandoned us humans to squabble amongst ourselves. A battlefield is a godless place, and no amount of praying will save you. Survival is all down to luck. But even though I’d decided long ago that I didn’t believe in God no more, there was something…reverent and spiritual about my first time tupping Christopher Havelock.

“Roll over for me lover,” I’d said, and Kit immediately complied, the bed springs shrieking and the covers shifting until he was on his belly with his face pressed into my pillow.

“This smells of you!” Kit commented, inhaling the cover of the pillow.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked as I climbed over his prone form and stood beside the bed. There was far too much cloth between us, what with the layers of blankets and my nightshirt. I tugged the nightshirt over my head and let it fall to the floor, toed off my bed socks, then found the small bottle of oil and got back into the bed, positioning myself on Kit’s far side so I didn’t fall out!

“It’s a good thing.” Kit replied, “I like your scent, it’s honest, male, I can smell lavender too.”

“Elowen uses Lavender soap to wash the sheets,” I explained leaning in and kissing him across his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never let another man do…it. I was too afraid Edward would know…scent him on me like a dog.”

“And you’re not afraid no more?”

“Oh, Gods yes. I’m terrified. But I don’t want him to ever touch me again. No one knew about us before, and now, because of you, I don’t feel so…alone. I need to understand what it feels like with someone else. I need to understand if what I feel…my desire…is connected to him…if I’m like this because of his influence…I’m babbling,” he said self-consciously. “Maybe I’m not making much sense—“ Kit’s cheek was on the pillow, and I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew this wasn’t easy for him.

“You’re making plenty of sense. Look. We can give it a go. If you don’t like it tell me to stop. I’ll stop, I promise. Even if I’m about to bust a nut I’ll stop.”

Kit laughed then and turned his head to look at me. The look was curious, intrigued.

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a thinking look. Whatcha thinking?” I prodded.

“I was just wishing I’d met you years ago. Maybe then I wouldn’t have become so twisted up and…closed down.”

“I got talented fingers, y’know…they’re very good at opening things!” I ran a hand over Kit’s gorgeous arse, slow and steady. He propped himself up on his elbows and turned, watching me as I caressed him, my fingers trailing up and down his spine then over his backside. Kit’s body relaxed into the mattress. I pushed the covers back and scooted down between his thighs. Although I’d never stuffed my prick into a fellow before I’d seen it done more times than I could remember, and knew some of those gentlemen at Wychwood could make their lovers howl like speared beasts.

I kissed Kit’s soft buttocks, pale and as I’d observed before through the peephole, his arse was hairless and smooth. I parted the cheeks and saw sparse hair around his fundament. I then did something I’d always wanted to try. I thrust my tongue in-between and found his musky taste and scent was not unpleasant. One warm wet lick was all it took to get Kit begging.

“Oh Felix, Gods, please, do that again!”, and so I did. It was a curious thing, eating a fellow’s arse but my god; making a grown man whimper so made me feel powerful. Kit pushed his rear back and his sounds grew needier.

“Please Felix, please, push a finger inside.”

I knelt up and found the oil bottle I’d left resting on the mattress. I uncorked it and poured a drizzle of olive oil in a line between Kit’s cheeks. He groaned, and when I’d returned the stopper to the bottle, I did as he’d asked. I spread the oil over his pucker and began to work him open. My prick was jutting up at half-mast, but as I pushed a finger through the ring of muscle into tight heat my prick pulsed. I drew my finger in and out, and then added a second to stretch him. Kit was melting at my touch.