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
You can also find me on PATREON
All the previous chapter in the Whitey saga are HERE
The story so far (spoilers):
Once upon a time… The idyllic life of Whitey, prince of White Swallow, comes to an abrupt end when King Hardon invades his kingdom, kills his beloved father, and forces his mother to marry him. Later, the king’s magic mirror reveals to him that there is someone more handsome than himself: the slave prince in the stables. The two men meet, and an irrepressible attraction seems to win over the hatred they feel for each other. The king must find a permanent solution: kill the prince without angering the populace. So, at first, the king decides to allow the prince more freedom and offers him a better position as a horse groomer. There, Whitey befriends Goldween, the king’s cousin and Master Groomer. The friendship is sincere, but the prince is unaware that the king has ordered Goldween to take him for a ride in the countryside and kill him away from the prying eyes of the people. But on the day, instead of killing him Goldween declares his love to the prince and the two men make love on the lake shore. Once their passion consumed Goldween tells Whitey what was the real purpose of their ride and explains to him that he can’t return to White Swallow, sending him instead on a long journey to safety. Whitey walks for three days, seeking shelter wherever he can. Finally, he reaches what appears to be a camp. There, hidden among the trees, he witnesses two men having sex. Whitey is spotted and after explaining who he is he’s introduced to the men of the camp, who feed him and present themselves to him. That evening Whitey truly becomes one of the group... At first, everything goes smoothly. Hardon is convinced that Whitey is dead, and life at the castle resumes its usual routine. Until one day, the King asks the mirror a different question, and the truth is revealed. Goldween manages to escape from White Swallow, but will he be safe or will he unwittingly lead the King to Whitey’s hideout?
I didn’t know prison could feel so freeing. Not in my experience: for many years, the stables had been my gaol. Hard work, sleeping with the horses, eating scraps and being treated like garbage, but the worst part had been the relentless loneliness. For years, my only companions were the gentle beasts I cared for. There had been, of course, the brief period at the grooming stables, with Goldween, still not freedom, but at least my conditions had improved manifold, and above all, our friendship made all the difference. For the first time in years, I was treated like a human being again, and more than that, I’d found someone I could truly count on; what happened after only confirmed that in the most dramatic way. Who am I kidding? Friendship? Sure, neither of us knew it at the time, but Goldween and I had begun to fall in love from the moment we first met; the only thing that kept us from realizing it was not knowing that our feelings were mutual.
Goldween. So much has happened in such a short time that I struggle to comprehend what’s true and what isn’t, that I’m not a character in one of tales Edward enchants us with in the evenings by the fire.
My mind goes back to the day of our lovemaking by Fire Lake, when we finally revealed our feelings, and Goldween confessed the true purpose of our ride —my life was turned upside down in a matter of hours. Our farewell… I think of my poor mother; just when she thought she’d got me back, I was ripped away from her again. I wonder if she knows now, if Goldween has managed to talk to her. I keep going back to Goldween, don’t I? Yet I constantly try to push him at the back of my mind because allowing myself to think of him doesn’t do me any good, it’s too painful and too hopeless. Only the fairies know when we’ll see each other again; if that day will ever come. I hope he’s well, and even though the thought of him laying with other men is challenging, I hope he’s found a way to explore his desire. I would be selfish and unfair not to wish it on him, because obviously Wolftooth camp turned out to be anything but what I expected. What a hypocrite would I be if I wished for Goldween’s chastity while enjoying the pleasures of the flesh with the men of the camp. My love for him and my carnal desires can certainly coexist, especially since not only are we are apart, but we may never be together again. Laying with my current companions has none of the intimacy of the sweet complicity that Goldween and I shared. Nor, must I admit with relief, the malignant crave that underlay my encounters with King Hardon. No; sex with these men is simply a sensual and erotically charged way to enjoy our bodies and our fantasies, and it is no lesser for that.
I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and at first my companions had a hard time treating me like one of their own: in their minds, I was still the Prince of White Swallow. I suppose our immediate intimacy helped them reevaluate the situation... I made it clear that I wanted to help with their tasks; an extra pair of hands would certainly have been useful. And so I’m learning from them; both the lumber work and the daily cleaning tasks. Although the way I described the camp may make it come across as an idyllic refuge, life here is hard, and the Emperor’s demands seem impossible to meet.
The second week after my arrival, we heard the imperial guards’ trumpets. They made sure the men knew of their arrival so they could put down their tools in time and return to the camp. I hid, of course, but my friends were right; the guards weren’t looking for anyone, they just wanted to make sure no one was missing and that the work had been executed according to the Emperor’s requests. There were ten of them, heavily armed, and also a few other which I assumed were some kind of functionaries: elegantly dressed, they looked around the camp with an air of sniffing dogs hanging about them. From my hiding place, I saw Wolfe approach these men with a parchment; they all seemed to study it and finally nodded. After about half an hour, they left, and we went back to work.
During this time, I got to know my friends better: Wolfe, the oldest of the group at 45, was the man in charge of ensuring the Emperor’s requests were met; he read the reports the functionaries prepared, and checked them against his list with everything he had recorded. He’s the one who gave me the parchment I’m writing on now. Winfred is very meticulous; he makes sure we work well as a group and everyone fancies him. Omar is probably the most cultured among the group, after Edward of course. I find it fascinating to hear him talk about the distant land he comes from. He carved a flute from a small branch, and it’s remarkable how it now produces the sweetest melody, even though Randy keeps saying he’d rather play Omar’s other flute… Randy is the jester of the group, but he’s also gifted with unexpectedly profound thoughts and kindness. Edward is a strange one: obviously a leader, is got an enormous pull on the group, but there’s something about him that simultaneously arouses respect and irritates the others, especially Randy, who always seems to bicker with him. I really like Edward; I have the impression he’s the way he is not necessarily by choice, but out of a sense duty, and his knowledge of the natural world is unsurpassed. No doubts he must be mingling with the fairies. And finally, there-s Bear and Fjord; Bear is all hair while Fjord is as bald as an egg. It’s unofficial, but Randy bets they’re a couple, which is sweet. Bear is the strongest man in the group, our logging master, and he’s also in charge of the animals. He loves his chickens; he’s named them all, and we can’t even think about eating them: only the eggs, and the same goes for the cows, which we keep only for their milk to drink and make cheese with. With Fjord they adopted Thunder, or Fluffy, depends who you ask, I guess one could say he’s their baby: they found him wondering in the forest one day, and they’ve become inseparable ever since. Fjord is also one of the bigger guys at camp, very down to earth he’s the group’s handy man, there’s no wall he can’t repair, no leaking roof he can’t fix or structure he can’t build.
Talking of which, the other week he was showing me around one of the huts, the one where he keeps his tools and works on his side projects. I was listening to him getting all misty eyed as he talked about a particularly challenging job he’d managed to accomplish—even Thunder seemed bored and was lying on the dusty ground waiting for Fjord to get to the end—when I noticed a strange construction in one corner of the building.
It’s hard to describe; it vaguely resembled a horizontal millstone, if millstones had been made of wood, and besides, we didn’t have a mill. It was about a meter in diameter and just as tall, with four short vertical poles driven in at regular intervals. I walked over to it, grabbed a pole, and noticed that when I pulled on it, the wheel turned.
“What is this? A prototype for a mill?” That would have been more intriguing than the story Fjord seemed determined to send me asleep with.
“Hmm, actually, I’d never thought of that! No, no, it’s a birthday wheel,” he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.
“What the hell is a birthday wheel?” I’d never heard of anything such.
“Oh, nothing, just a little game we play on someone’s birthday.”
“Sounds interesting,” I replied, spinning the wheel again, following the poles, blurred by the speed. And then I remembered.
“Actually, it’s my birthday in a couple of days. I completely forgot!” with everything that had happened in the previous few weeks, the last thing on my mind was that I’d be turning 30 on August 27th.
“Great!” But Fjord didn’t seem very interested, hitching to go back talking about his carpentry achievements.
That day we went to work as usual. Even though it was the tail end of summer, the season still seemed unwilling to let up: we’ve had a few thunderstorms with large, black, billowing clouds, spectacular lightning that pierced the darkness of the sky, and pouring rain, but each time the sun came back stronger; a relentless winner.
We’d begun clearing a new section of the forest, the previous area now a vast empty space where the dense evergreens have been cut down to short, amputated stumps and a sad tangle of branches, whose resin fill the air like the scent of the trees’ tears. A true devastation. The Emperor’s madness and his thirst for grandeur are threatening not only the lives of thousands of young men, but also the delicate balance of the natural world. I’m sure the fairies and forest spirits aren’t happy with that.
We’d worked hard all morning, and even though it was my birthday, I didn’t really feel like bothering anyone mentioning it. I only had vague memories of how birthdays should be celebrated; from my childhood, when my parents and I would ride our coach through the town handing out presents to the children, so that my birthday would be a real celebration for them too. Then we’d go to some place in the realm and eat a summer meal, by a lake or in a meadow with a pretty view; my parents, me, and a few close friends. Then everything had come to an end of course, each following year unfolding in a chain of unforgiving misery. The only time I celebrated it again was last year, when Goldween and I played cards and ate a cake, washed down by a bottle of fine wine he’d managed to persuade the cellar Master to give him.
I was surprised when, just a couple of hours after our lunch break, Bear decided to call it a day and told us to head back to camp. I’m no expert on these things, but looking up at the sky, I saw nothing that could have even hinted at a storm approaching. Bear, however, generally knew what he was talking about, and after all, no one was ever going to complain about a shorter work day. So we grabbed all our gear and walked the few kilometers back to camp. When we got there, Fjord and Thunder came to greet us. That day, it had been Fjord’s turn to stay behind and take care of the daily chores: cleaning the huts, the laundry, lighting the fire for the evening meal, and things like that.
“Come on, guys, in the river, it’s hot today!” Bear was still in a commanding mood, and we were more than willing to follow his orders. We all stripped, Fjord included, and headed for the water. There we were: naked, with tan lines on our arms that highlighted our paler torsos and legs; except for Omar’s, of course whose already dark skin hid those lines much better. It always started like that, even when we didn’t set out with those thoughts, the sight of so many naked bodies inevitably led to them. Since the day was so warm, the water, by contrast, felt colder than usual, and our descent was accompanied by cursing words that I’m too polite to recount here. But we adjusted, and the initial shock soon turned into a pleasant sensation, our tired muscles awoken by the cold. It was Edward who approached me, which was unusual, given that he tends to keep to himself. He was holding some thin pine twigs, the ones we often carry into the water to clean ourselves with.
“Do you mind?” he asked almost shyly. Of course not! Edward is a very handsome man: blond with a short beard, inscrutable blue eyes, and a voice like a smooth aged liquor. Like a magnet, despite his aloof aura, or perhaps because of it, we all feel a sort of pull toward him.
He leaned closer and placed one hand on my neck, while with the other he began brushing the branch over my chest, the soft needles tickling my skin in a teasing game.
“This is nice!” I wasn’t used to Edward’s attentions. His hand slid lower down my torso, to my bushy trail, with a directness that surprised me.
“I’m glad you like it.” His whisper in my ear traveled through my body, making my flesh swell, and his hand made things worse when he reached it. I was vaguely aware of the other men; I knew they were watching us, even if they pretended to be doing their own things.
Edward leaned in. His kiss was like one of his stories: slow, detailed, and kept me guessing.
I placed my hands on his hips, his skin taut, quivering at my touch, his kissing intensified responding to my touch. I slipped my hand between his legs, meeting his hardness like a branch trapped under water.
