Lanced a Lot

By Silenos69

Published on Mar 30, 2022

Gay

LANCED-A-LOT

By: Silenos

This story is a work of fiction and involves teenagers in sexual situations. If that offends you, don't read it. If you are underage, don't read it (like that's going to happen). This story belongs solely to the author and may not be copied or reproduced in whole or in part without permission of the author.

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Feedback is always gratefully appreciated: silenos69@protonmail.com

Dear Reader: If you have not been following the story an explanation of where it came from is after the end of the chapter. Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I was going to post and realized it was a mess and had too many things that were contradictory, and some which did not belong here. So, hopefully the contradictions are out and a much of what was here will be in the next two chapters. It also explains why this chapter is short even for me. However, I think you will find there are some good bits here.

LANCED-A-LOT: Chapter 22

Holy all things unholy, and what is Holy anyway? Gwydion smiled and joked "You're right, we can't be brothers, because not only are we the same age, but Ma would have had to be pregnant and in two places at once." He slipped closer to me, surrepticiously took my hand in slipped them behind our backs to hide them from Maq. Goodness gracious! What a sensation! My cock went from erect to instantly spewing at his touch. The bolts of lightening that shot through me were not confined to myself. While not letting go of the grip on my hand as he spoke I noticed the ground beneath his tunic was as soiled with cream as that beneath mine and he was trying to keep from shaking as much as I was.

"Da," he stuttered, recovering himself, "I'd like to show Bug the tower and the well we've found there." How did he know me by that name?

"What would be so interesting about a well,... Oh! Yes. You should show him." He said as he noticed the grass marked with our milk and concluding we needed some time alone. Stammering a little he smiled and said "Ju.., just don't be late for supper." Then he mounted his pony and rode off. I realized they had both been riding ponies, not mules. Subject for further thought. Was it a sign of status: yes; but, why? Both Gwydion and Maq seemed not concerned with such things. I had no time at the time to think of it for as I stood watching Maq disappear down the road. Gwydion clenched my hand more firmly and rapidly set off with me in tow toward the hilltop ruin.

Somehow Gwydion's fingers twined with mine and the sense of their touch sent shockwaves through my body. I was erect again, I needed him in me, on me and all over me not only physically but emotionally. "Desire" would be an understatement, if we did not take each other soon I would have raped him; only I was denied that debasement.

He yanked my hand and began to run, not trot, RUN toward the remnants of the Roman's tower gasping "not yet! It must be there!"

Being in his spell I could not resist this amazing boy and silently followed. The tower, as it turned out, was made of blocks of stone over a foot thick and really amounted to no more than a housing for a stone staircase that surrounded a Well, with the remnants of floors up above. I could not, and would not, let go of his hand as he led me to the very top of the thing. In reality the floors were falling in, but the roof was still solid and covered in slate, it had been designed to last and keep out the elements. From there you could see not only Castlemount but the building tops of Gallanthole some miles off and the sea in the other direction. The views made one feel like you were on top of the world. The sun was high in the sky, broaching afternoon but only just past noon, with hours still to go before dark would fall.

"We are here," he said. "Now is where we begin." He said other things as his lips met mine blocking them out. If I had thought nothing would be more magical than the touch of his hand in mine I was wrong. He kissed me, first on the lips then pushing his tongue in through my open and willing mouth. I tried to draw away, realizing what Maq said was probably true. It was wrong because I knew it was true, we were brothers at least by half.

"I cannot be. I am not sixteen I am thirteen," I protested as I opened my failing mouth to embrace his tongue again with mine. No arguments would stop me anyway at that point. I was gone; my dreams were coming true. This handsome boy actually wanted me. Only this was different, it was not just my body, the devil wanted my soul and I was only too willing to give it.

He pulled back laughing joyously "I know. We have the same mother, but this, us, was meant to be. I have dreamt it and so have you. We must speak more later, but now..."

What happened next was an indescribable meeting of passion. The most I remembered was him finding the oil I held up my sleeve which turned out not to be needed as I was still well lubricated from my recent encounters and he, I found, had oiled himself in anticipation (the devil had planned this).

I reached under his tunic to find a massive sausage equal to mine, a ferocious 6-7" and thick lance. I wanted it where the stars do not shine. At this point I was under him on the flagstones, somehow our tunics had disappeared. My lust and desperation had overcome me. I needed this young man, boy. He threw my legs over his shoulders and pushed easily into me as our moans matched the satisfaction we both felt as we continued our kiss. If I had thought Idris was a perfect fit for my twinkling hole I was mistaken, this was perfection. His thrusts were magical, stroking my spot each time in just the right way.

"Oh yes!" I exclaimed.

"Not enough! You feel my cock in you, you like my cock in you?" Gwydion growled.

"Yes, yes, yes!" I panted. I was beyond spending, I just needed him in me. Thrusting and tantalizing and bringing me to the edge then backing off and oh whatever Gods I prayed to did not matter. Whoever they were I did not want it to end, yet I wanted it to end because so much pleasure was sure to kill me. My lance became a fountain all on its own as I felt him spend in me with a mighty roar as my arse clenched down on his heated member.

Our lances remained hard as rocks. In one fluid motion he slid out of me, dropping my legs, then moving over to mount me, his hole virtually sucking me in. He rode me violently, groaning and panting, as his cock bounced on my come covered belly. My passion matched his as I thrust up to meet each descent, I reached up to pinch his hard erect nipples, causing him to roll back his eyes and throw back his head as he spent copiously all over me. The grip his arse took on my lance sent me to the moon and I joined him in ecstasy, shooting bolt after bolt into his bowels.

He collapsed onto my chest pulling my lips to his in a needy kiss as we lay panting and recovering. Never had I felt so good in my life, holding my Gwydion to me in a firm embrace.

I have spoken of my enjoyment of sex, it is fun; but this was a whole new level. I was coming but not coming, relishing his sweat and fluids. I did not want it to end. We tried to speak, but our lips and joints and joins got in our way making a lovely sticky mess. We must have been at it for hours; but to me it seemed like minutes.

Finally he pulled himself off my still hard weapon and rose, pulling me to my feet with my hands and into his embrace. "I never want this to end," He groaned "but we must go. We can speak as we ride, and wash at the Hole when we get back."

"I know, I know" I agreed with regret. "I never want to leave this place." But that is what we did.

This tale came to me from a wealthy friend who found it bound in his family's extensive bookshelves. Nobody could read it as it was in a strange hand and written in a mix of the common tongue and Norman French of its day. His family has lived in the same place, if not home, for centuries and are what one might consider landed gentry. My friend brought it to me in hopes I might be able to transcribe it into the English of our own time as that sort of thing is what I do. I have updated it only in that I have made such things as measurements, expressions, and such understandable by our reckoning today. What I found in my labors was quite startling. It would be wise for the reader to remember that mores were different then, and that the perception of "age" was as well. Average life expectancy was about 33 years, and people were smaller too, the average height being about 5'7". Insofar as I can tell these pages were written after the Norman conquest, but not by much. England, Scotland, Wales and Cornwall were all very much their own kingdoms, with petty kingdoms within, and Vikings could still be something of a nuisance in some parts even though history says their terror ended in exactly 1066.

Next: Chapter 23


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