3-Whitey
Bonus story -Whitey's journal-
This is an adult gay story if you aren’t an adult or “gay” isn’t your thing, you’d better look for something else to entertain you. Cheers, Blake. 🔞
Hi Guys, Blake here. Just a quick word before you go ahead. Writing takes time, a lot of time, and it’s something I love doing so I’d like to thank all of those who are supporting me with their paid subscriptions. I know that option isn’t possible for everyone and I’m certainly not judging. Alternatively, the eBook of my Christmas at White Swallow story is available at $1.99 (I recommend the Smashwords option). Thank you! Blake.
From Whitey’s Journal
I have just come back to my room, shaken in body and mind.
It was quite late in the evening when the raven came; later than the previous times anyway, but there was still some light in the summer sky, in the distance, over the vast sea, I often heard tales of but I had never seen.
I was in my room, lit by a candle, reading a chapter from the latest book I had borrowed from the royal library. Reading, oh, what a pleasure! After my mother and my freedom, it was the thing I missed most during the years spent in the stables. As for my mother, I still miss not being able to see her whenever I want, but at least I have the privilege of visiting her once a month, and Goldween makes sure our time together is as private and personal as allowed under Hardon’s strict orders. My freedom is now limited to the castle grounds, but they seem as vast as the lands of a continent compared to the confines of the stables. And for the past few weeks, I’ve been allowed to ride into town with Goldween, a small gain, but as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. And I truly am: a beggar at the mercy of Hardon, of his power and of his body.
But books; that’s where my true freedom lies: I can choose any tome I want, as many as I want, anything except alchemy. I imagine Hardon doesn’t appreciate the joy of reading, and by allowing me to do so, he hasn’t realized how much freedom he’s granting me: the freedom to travel, to learn, to discover!
I was reading the History of Easybeth, the legendary queen who hundreds of years ago gave birth to what became the heads of all the royal families of Berven, mine and Hardon’s included.
Goldween hadn’t come to play cards after dinner; in fact, I didn’t even see him in the canteen vault. Strange, but not uncommon: he was often called away to make last-minute arrangements, for some dignitary visiting our kingdom or for some of our nobles travelling abroad. It was all about first impressions and the horses had to be at their best.
So, I was reading about Queen Easybeth rallying the troops, when I heard a familiar cawing on the windowsill.
It was Bullet, Hardon’s trusty raven; it could only mean one thing. I went to the window, stroked the bird’s head, and undid the string tying the message to its leg, a small scroll of paper that I then burned on the candle.
Since Hardon decided to heighten the secrecy surrounding our encounters, this is how he communicates: Bullet appears at my window with a message telling me where to go. Once I get there, and I must be careful not to be followed, I have to don a hooded cloak. In the cloak pocket, another message will tell me where to meet Master Bates, who will eventually lead me to the king’s chamber.
This is how Hardon conducts his most secret meetings, his intrigues, his plots. This is how he meets his courtesans and his whores. I believe I fall into the latter category.
I met Master Bates near the third oak tree, by the statue of Hope. The chamberlain has so much power, yet he’d have the most to lose should anything escape the four walls of the king’s chamber, hence his total loyalty to the king.
Once again he led me to Hardon through the servants’ stairway, deserted at that time of evening.
He ushered me in and closed the heavy door behind me.
My eyes had to adjust to the light in the room, the chandelier and candelabra casting shimmering shadows against the walls, the curtains drawn for absolute privacy.
I expected to find the room empty; I knew the routine: I had to undress and lower myself into the warm water of the tub prepared for me, then the king would arrive. Even after being promoted to the grooming stalls and allowed to wash to rid myself of the sweat and odours, which I do every day, the king wants me to bathe before him. I think he enjoys finding me naked and sweet smelling.
But tonight was different.
The usual tub had been replaced by a much larger, gilded one, and to my surprise, Hardon was in it, as far as I could tell, naked except for a small crown tightly sitting on his head, catching the candle light.
My cock suddenly twitched, such was the king’s hold on me. I’d like to think there’s a deeper reason for such a raw attraction, something to do with power, domination, and submission, and probably there is, but part of me has to admit that I am simply drawn to the king’s unparalleled beauty, the strength his body projects, and the desire to make him mine.
