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The fourteen-year-old squire of Philippe DeGrasse, Jean-Luc, thought the hunt plans were very unusual, as Hugh de Lusignan, the commanding general for the army of his brother, the King of Jerusalem, Guy de Lusignan, wasn’t taking the hunt party out in full, combined force. They had camped very close to the four-fold larger Saracen army on the field in the Levant, below the Horns of Hattin, as the forces of the French crusade pushed toward Jerusalem to wrest Guy’s prize from the Infidels in the early thirteenth century. It thus was dangerous for the general to venture forth without a full retinue around him—mostly of the young men he was lavishing his attention and favors on. And, indeed, when he descended to the courtyard the next day, there was a sizable entourage mounting up.
But to Jean-Luc’s surprise, the general announced that his knights would go off on the hunt in separate, small groups, finding and killing what game they could and sending back to the encampment for men to come collect what they killed. This wasn’t a royal hunt for sport. The army was large and its stomach was empty. They needed to bring in supplies of game from the forest at the foot of the Horns of Hattin and do so in bulk before the planned battle the next day. The men needed to fight on a full belly.
The Saracen army was just beyond, but it was some sort of religious holiday for that army, and thus the crusaders had a day in which to hunt game, not men.
Jean-Luc was elated, seeing this as his chance to shine with his master, Philippe DeGrasse, who had several squires to pick out to hunt with him but who was giving Jean-Luc the chance on this day. It was an opportunity for Jean-Luc to catch the knight’s eye and favor, to show DeGrasse that the fourteen-year-old squire was becoming a man, one having the promise of being a warrior and a strategist himself someday—that he was of more use to DeGrasse than just to warm the knight’s bed and to sheath his shaft, which had not yet happened but that promised to happen soon. The knights of Hugh’s army, like the king himself, favored boys of Jean-Luc’s age. It was time for him to receive notice—in any way he could—in more ways than he thus far had.
The strategist idea worked out well enough. It was Jean-Luc who sensed the presence of the boar and who silently sketched out a promising plan of attack in the dirt with a stick while his master smiled and nodded his approval.
The plan, however, brought Jean-Luc in the line of vision of the boar before his master was fully in place to attack the animal from his flank, and the boar raced toward Jean-Luc in full tilt and with angry snorts. But then Philippe was at the side of his squire, pulling him away and throwing him to the ground while at the same time setting the butt of his spear into the ground and holding fast with his strong arm as the boar rose for the pounce and impaled itself on the spear.
The force of the animal meeting the spear head forced Philippe off balance too, and he was thrust aside and landed full on top of Jean-Luc.
The two men lay there for a bare second, twenty-nine-year-old Philippe looking down into the eyes of fourteen-year-old Jean-Luc, fully sprawled out on the smaller body of the younger man, both men panting heavily.
With just an instant of eye contact, with Jean-Luc clearly seeing the lust in the older man’s eyes, Philippe grabbed the edges of Jean-Luc’s doublet and ripped it open, exposing the younger man’s lithe but well-muscled chest, heaving now not only from the act of being winded by the boar’s charge but also from the shock of what his master was doing beyond the confines of his tent—and at the mixed look of lust and command in the older man’s face.
Before Jean-Luc could react further, his master had lowered his face to Jean-Luc’s and was taking his mouth in a possessive, cruel, deep kiss.
Jean-Luc pulled his face away. “Master!” It was not that Jean-Luc didn’t not anticipate this happening or that he would resist becoming the master’s bed partner—something that had been in Jean-Luc’s plans—but that it happened here, in the forest, when any of the hunters could come upon them.
“What’s good enough for the stable officer is good for me,” Philippe roared, revealing he knew only what his squire was willing to do, but what he had done already to exchange favor for help in getting into a knight’s tent. And then he backhanded Jean-Luc’s face, snapping the young man’s head to the side. Philippe already had his other hand between their bellies, ripping at the lacings of his own breeches and pulling on Jean-Luc’s lacings and then pulling Jean-Luc’s breeches over his hips.
Jean-Luc struggled, calling out “Master!” again. He did so with drama rather than concern, though. This was working well in the squire’s plans. He was an ambitious lad, willing to do what needed to be done to work his way into his own, eventually, knighthood.
Philippe’s hands went to Jean-Luc’s throat, and he squeezed until he felt the young man go limp. When he released his hands, Jean-Luc let out a gasp and tried to rise up. Philippe punched him in the face and Jean-Luc blacked out.
He came to again with a cry and a gasp, as Philippe’s cock, its head already having gained purchase inside Jean-Luc’s entrance, plunged up inside his channel. Jean-Luc’s arms were raised above his head, and his wrists were bound around the thin trunk of a tree. A rolled-up blanket from the saddle of one of the horses was wedged under the small of his back, raising his pelvis to the desired angle of Philippe’s thrusts. Jean-Luc’s legs were splayed out and his knees raised, his feet flat on the matted ferns below. Philippe was on his knees between Jean-Luc’s legs. Jean-Luc’s leggings were off and his doublet had been ripped open. Philippe’s doublet was open too, revealing a massive, hairy chest. His breeches were still in place but the lacings were undone and the material pulled wide from his groin. Philippe’s teeth were on one of Jean-Luc’s nipples and his cock was pounding, pounding, pounding inside Jean-Luc’s passage.
If Jean-Luc had been a virgin to men, he would have been ruined the ferocity of the taking. But Jean-Luc was not a virgin to men. Still, the assault by this man was testing. Fully awake now and in pain throughout his body, Jean-Luc started to writhe and struggle.
“Do I have to put you out again?” Philippe growled.
With a whimper, Jean-Luc stopped struggling and tried to relax. And as he relaxed, he felt the pleasure and his own arousal creeping in. He wanted to be the strong warrior leader his master was. He would do what needed to be done to get there.
“Wanting it now, are you?” Philippe muttered. “Going with me now. You want it. Your cock tells me that too. I cock better than the stable officer does, don’t I?”
Jean-Luc moaned in an obvious admission of Philippe’s challenge, which brought a guttural laugh to Philippe’s lips.
Sure enough, Jean-Luc realized that his pelvis was moving with Philippe now. His heels were on Philippe’s calves, rubbing up and down them in rhythm with the thrusts. His cries and grunts and groans were giving way to deep moans. The staff was deep inside him, making his channel walls shimmer, his whole body to tremble. On each withdrawal of Philippe cock, Jean-Luc was lifting his pelvis, as if he was trying to stay with the shaft, keep as much inside him as he could for as long as possible. And when it thrust deep again, he arched his back and moaned deeply.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Jean-Luc whimpered through gasps.
And his cock showed the genuineness of the boy’s yielding surrender. He was hard, as Philippe was observing. Philippe was fisting the cock and pulling on it, to the rhythm of the fuck. Feeling Jean-Luc going with him now, though, he loosened his grip, and Jean-Luc was fucking the knight’s hand with his cock. Philippe bit into his nipple lightly and, with a sharp cry, Jean-Luc came.
Philippe fucked on, though, with Jean-Luc going with the rhythm until he too shuddered and came deep inside Jean-Luc’s channel.
The two lay there, panting, without moving for several minutes.
“There, and how does it feel to have a real man inside you?” Philippe asked, at length.
“Yes,” Jean-Luc murmured.
“Yes what? What do you mean by ‘yes’?”
“Yes, please cock me again. Again and again.”
“And you will not struggle against it.”
“No. I want it. You were right. I want it. I want it again now. I feel you rise inside me. You can cock me again now. I will happily come into your bed back in the camp—whenever you want me.”
Philippe laughed. “I need not have the permission of a squire to use him as I wish. More’s the pity, however.”
“About what?”
“Your letting me have it. Not fighting me more than you did. But mayhap that’s for the best. Sometimes when I have to take it, I forget my own strength.”
“Can you untie me, though?”
“You don’t like being taken bound?”
“I think I would like that on occasion, yes. Even something rougher. But now I want my hands free. I want to feel your muscles move as you cock me.”
Plastered chest to chest, trying to melt into each other, only their pelvises moving in a deep, long-thrusting fuck, Jean-Luc dug his fingernails into Philippe’s shoulder blades and wrapped his legs around the small of his lord’s back, and he moaned his deep moans of the second hard and thick taking. When Philippe was done this time, he rose from a murmuring and whimpering Jean-Luc, adjusted his clothing, and pulled the spear out of the boar.
“Go back to the encampment and bring men here to carry this boar. I will be going off in that direction in search for a second one.”
Philippe was only moments gone on his horse, when the bushes rustled, and Hugh de Lusignan stepped out into the small clearing. He had been watching the taking of Jean-Luc by Philippe de Grasse from concealment. His codpiece was unlaced, and he was holding his erection in his hand.
“My lord,” Jean-Luc murmured, going into a bow.
The backhand strike, coming up from the general’s waist and catching the squire under the chin, flung Jean-Luc, still naked, into the tree to which he’d been bound and caused him to slide down the tree trunk to the ground on his back. The general, stroking his shaft with his free hand, was upon the fourteen-year-old squire immediately, pinning the boy to the ground with the weight of his heavy body. He caught the boy’s throat with his other hand and shock Jean-Luc’s body, as the boy gurgled and went limp. Straddling the squire’s body, the general slapped him a couple of more times to ensure the boy’s submission.
Jean-Luc had heard that the man not only liked young teenage boys, but that he was a cruel lover. That was borne out here, because the man didn’t put the boy to the shaft immediately; he first put him to the fist. As the boy lay, trapped under the weight of the man, he felt the general’s fingers penetrate where Philippe DeGrasse’s thick cock had just been, dilating Jean-Luc’s channel so that the pain of the fisting did not come immediately.
Jean-Luc panted hard and groaned as the man’s knuckles rubbed against the rim of his entrance, but he cried out and began to writhe as the knuckles breached the sphincter, the fist penetrated inside him, and the general began to flex and move the fist inside the boy. Jean-Luc panted hard and moaned, fighting to settle down, which he eventually did, striving for survival mode, and, in time going with the rhythm of the fist, riding it, as the general grunted the satiation of his own lust. When Hugh was moved to do so, he pulled his fist out, replaced it with his shaft, and gave the boy a good fucking.
As quickly as the general had appeared, he was gone, having spilled his seed and breeded the young squire. Jean-Luc lay there, still panting, but with a little smile on his face. That had been Hugh de Lusignan, although the general probably did not know Jean-Luc had recognized him. He not only was the general of the king’s army, he was the brother of the king himself. The grunts of the man when he realized that Jean-Luc would and could take the fist—that he’d not only take it, but also rock on it, take the fuck of it—told Jean-Luc that, if he played his cards right, he could move up in status, ever closer to his goal of being a knight himself.
That night, Hugh de Lusignan called his knights to him in his tent to inform them that they would be engaging the Saracen army on the plains of Hattin the next day. He singled Philippe DeGrasse out to commend his bravery in battle, in honor of which Philippe would be in the forefront of the first assault on the Saracen battle lines.
It was quite an honor. It also was an honor that not many knights previously had survived.
Sounds of the battle the next morning on the plain below the Horns of Hattin reached and flowed over the encampment, leaving those left behind roaming around listlessly, if they moved at all, and avoiding eye contact with each other. All had an eye toward the edge of the camp toward the heights and the sound of the fighting, wondering from moment to moment if the Saracens would break through and be upon them. It was maddening not to know how the battle was going and what, if anything, they would be doing later in the day. The fates of all of those in the camp were in the hands of their soldiers on the field. If the Saracens broke through, they go through the camp swinging their swords like a warm knife through butter.
Jean-Luc spent the time in Philippe DeGrasse’s tent arranging and rearranging what few goods the knight had brought with him to make his tent comfortable. The squire checked and rechecked the wine supply and that of the few bandages and ointments they had. All the time he was thinking more about the general, Hugh de Lusignan than about his own master and weighing whether the move up to the general’s tent would be worth enduring the cruelty of the man’s fist.
For hours he had no idea whether DeGrasse would come back raising his shield in triumph or lying on his shield—or perhaps would not come back at all. The knight had been elated he’d been given a position of honor on the front lines. Ever the one having to look to his own survival, Jean-Luc was not that convinced of the honor. He rather thought that DeGrasse was too smart to misunderstand the likely result of the “honor” as well.
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