The Principal Paddles Me Once a Week
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Highwaymen Ch. 01 free porn video
INTRODUCTION
‘Highwaymen’ is a long and still developing story of a Master (who does not yet know he is such), and a slave (who thinks she is Mistress). It concerns their twin entwined journeys to full discovery of their true natures. It includes graphic sex and developing BDSM elements. Some people (my slave in particular!) would have me warn you that there are considerable elements of over-romantic fiction.
CHAPTER 1
He had dressed carefully. As he pulled the black leather riding boots up to his knees, and tucked the dusky velvet of his breeches into them, he turned to a tarnished looking-glass on the chest in the dingy room to check his appearance. He saw there his midnight-dark silk shirt tucked into the breeches, its black-dyed lace cuffs encircling his wrists. An old but well-wrought leather belt, also black, held up those breeches. Now he buckled on his rapier and checked his pistol and powder, before tucking them into a small saddle bag. He slipped a quilted sable jacket over all, donned black leather gauntlets, and placed his cockaded hat on his head. Even the feather was black. He scowled, then smiled disarmingly for a moment, impressed somewhat by the dark reflection, the single thin scar down his left cheek which, he felt, added to his roguish air.
Pinching out the candle and picking up his saddle bag, he slipped noiselessly from the room, listened to check that all was clear, then padded silent as a cat down the stairs at the back of the dingy old inn. The stairs took him to the yard, where he paused and listened again, before gliding into the stables and retrieving his horse. He saddled the dark-flanked mare swiftly, tied on the little saddle bag, and also another larger but empty bag. Then he swung himself into the stirrups and urged the obedient animal into a slow and careful trot, over the cobbles of the yard, and out of the village. After a minute or so, just out of sight of any who might be watching from the inn, he turned her and rejoined the road, though on that moonless autumnal night such a voyeur was hardly likely to see him.
He rode at an easy trot, at first along open road, but a few miles further onward it became a dark tunnel between trees gathered densely on either side. He trotted on, his bearing erect and confident.
–
The figure waited patiently, behind a tree just three paces from the road. The black clothes and black kerchief over the face left only the eyes, together with the fair skin around those eyes, exposed. Dark hair curled around the face and down to the shoulders, adding to the figure’s invisibility under the gloom of the forest at night. In the right hand was a pistol, cocked already. The hand holding it was black-gloved. The well-trained horse was tethered well back from the road. In concentration the figure remained motionless, eyes and ears attuned to the slightest provocation of their senses. Suddenly the hand on the pistol clenched a little tighter as the sound of a horse’s hooves came low but distinct. The approaching rider was moving at a steady pace, clearly on a ride of some length. The watcher tensed, ready to move quickly at need. Then the quarry appeared where the road parted the trees, perhaps twenty paces from the spying figure. The horse was dark, the rider darker still. Only his face showed white, and the little light which filtered through the overcast sky made his dark eyes glitter. The watcher made a face at the arrogant nonchalance with which the rider braved the treacherous road, then flexed knees, ready to move fast.
The rider was a little weary, but with determination held himself upright in the saddle. Suddenly there was a movement in the trees a few yards ahead and to the left. No more than a flitting shadow it seemed. He pulled up, the mare tossing her head at the sudden reining in. His hand flew to his rapier, and as he found the grip, a figure stepped into the road, a pistol aimed at his chest.
‘Leave the weapon!’ The command was peremptory, assured. The speaker’s voice had a rich vibrancy, though there was something about it seemed not quite right, as if it were disguised. The rider slowly moved his hand from the blade, and placed it on the saddle. His eyes were on the face and the hand which held the pistol. The face, where all he could see were the eyes, their piercing gaze, and the hand which held the pistol steady as a rock. He considered his options. Decided they were few indeed at this moment. He must await a suitable opportunity to turn the tables on this impertinent stranger! In the meantime, his words and his wits were all he could rely upon. He started to speak, but the other cut across him.
‘My business need not detain you long. If you would be so kind as to dismount slowly Sir, making no sudden movements, you will remain unharmed.’
That voice! What was it about it? It had such a pleasant timbre, so mannered, so.. his musing was interrupted.
‘Now! I do not have any time to waste!’ The eyes watched him as he swung slowly down from his mount. He kept his hands in view. Inside he was seething that this should be happening to him. The irony of it did not amuse him in the least. He must try to play for a chance, stall until fate offered him some glimmer of a means to rid himself of this arrogant upstart. He looked at the eyes again. He would guess the slim figure might be ten years younger than himself. Twenty maybe? Twenty-two? Twenty-four at the most! He ventured a few words.
‘I know your business Sir, that is clear enough from your garb.’
There was a laugh. In other circumstances he would have found it an infectious laugh. ‘Oh, and do you believe you know me and my business Sir! From such a brief acquaintance too! No, don’t trouble to answer, I am in haste. Stand with your hands on the saddle, whilst I relieve you of your encumbrances.’
The figure approached him warily, reached out with a hand – fumbled one-handed with the saddle bags as the other held the pistol trained on him. ‘Dammit! You will untie these and throw them to the ground at my feet’. The speaker stepped back two paces, and hawk-eyed watched the other untie the small bag, and throw it to the ground as instructed. Then as the ambushed man untied the other bag he decided this was, slim as it was, the best chance he would have of remedying the embarrassing situation. It was that embarrassment precisely which led him to his next rash action. He suddenly flung the bag at the robber’s face, and followed it up with a rush, right arm trying to draw his sword whilst left balled into a fist and aimed a blow at the enemy’s face. Unfortunately for him, in his haste he misjudged the blow. The other reacted quickly, swinging the pistol around to catch him on the chin, whilst a knee connected agonizingly with his groin. The twin blows had him on his knees, dazed. Through the haze of pain and bitter anger he heard words barked.
‘If you move now I’ll shoot you dead, you fool!’ He stayed there, until the thumping sickening pain in his groin began to recede somewhat. He felt a thin trickle of blood from his chin. As his consciousness improved he looked up slowly, saw the pistol pointed at him once again, and groaned inwardly. He had grasped at a straw and drowned! He saw the eyes too, caught a hint of blue as they flashed their anger at him. ‘Now, let me see what I have.’
The figure bent carefully, never once taking eye or pistol from the victim, and felt within the larger bag. ‘Bah! Empty!’ Then he reached inside the smaller, discovering the pistol within, and also a black kerchief, not dissimilar to that which hid the face of the investigator. A wry smile creased the eyes pleasantly. ‘So! What have we here. It seems maybe I have met a fellow of my own profession. Though not a lucky one it would seem. Nor very sensible of his safety neither!’
The kneeling man grimaced. ‘Aye, my quarry was further afield Sir, but I believe I would have been richer by the morning.’
‘Would you so? And perhaps that quarry was
the coach from Norwich, due not five miles from here in an hour and a half or mayhap two hours?’
‘Well if it was, it seems it will not be now.’
‘Indeed not, for it has been all day my full intention to relieve the passengers of that coach of any burdens which might trouble their souls, wealth being such an obstacle to a souls’ attaining paradise as they say. My ambush here was but to while away the time, on the chance that something might arrive to make my wait profitable. But chance did not smile this night.’
He gritted his teeth and waited as another wave of pain wracked his groin. Then spat out ‘Chance appears at least to be more on your side than mine Sir.’
‘Carelessness deprived you of your luck Sir, and foolhardiness too. Spirit you showed indeed but precious little sense! You are lucky not to be lying in the road dead this very moment.’
He made a face again, knowing this was truth. The stranger’s manner seemed altogether pleasant and easy, so at odds with the pain his body was still feeling from the encounter. He tried a last throw for fortune. ‘Of course, two might more prudently intercept the stagecoach than one..’
A pleasant sounding little chuckle was returned. ‘Two might indeed be more prudent, though I am surprised to find you thinking of prudence when by your action you just demonstrated its complete absence. But then the prize would be halved. I’ll not share that. No.’
‘Well.. I have some information may be of use to you. Take it as a token that my offer is genuine.’ He thought he may as well try to undo a little of the harm his rash escape attempt had caused. Though it seemed this man was not intent on murder, who knew how things might go? ‘The Norwich coach has been running later this past week or more. Your wait will be at least an hour longer than you imagined.’
‘Thank you for that. Now I must make sure you’ll not interfere with my mission. Rise now Sir, and walk ahead of me – between the trees there.’ A hand pointed the way, and then he was walking down a faint path which meandered between the trees, until the road was left well behind. He felt the nape of his neck prickle as he thought of the hand holding the pistol steady at his back. Now he reached a little clearing where a horse was tethered.
‘Stop there. Move a pace right. That’s it.’
He watched as his captor fished in his saddle bag, and brought forth a longish piece of rope, looped at one end. Instructed to remove his surcoat, he shrugged it off. The night was only a little cold. Now he was told to extend his arms, wrists together. He looked for another opportunity to fight, but the loop was dropped over his hands and jerked tight too swiftly. A moment later and the other end was thrown over a bough above his head, and captured deftly as it snaked down. His arms were yanked upwards until he was stretched, the balls of his feet pulled from the ground, but then he was lowered back down a fraction. Now he could just stand. The other uncocked the pistol, still watching him warily, tucked it into his waistband, and swiftly tied that end too around the captive’s wrists, pulling on the knots to ensure the tether was secure.
‘Now I can be sure you will not interfere with my plans. Yet perhaps in time you might escape. I think I should take steps to prevent that. I wish to ensure you are still here when I return.’ The other knelt, and yanked at the riding boots, with some difficulty removing each in turn. Then his belt was undone and placed with the boots. ‘That should ensure you do not go anywhere too fast! I will hide these, and return them to you after my business is concluded.’
He spluttered protest. ‘Sir! This is hardly necessary or seemly. Oh damn!’ The latter said as his breeches slid down to his knees. The other’s eyebrows rose as his nakedness was exposed, and that so-pleasant laugh stirred him again. He felt suddenly embarrassed, as he would not normally in nakedness before another man. The other saw this clearly, and a twinkling mischief played across the eyes. He turned and walked back to his horse, returning behind the stretched captive. Suddenly a swish sounded, and the sting of a riding crop slashed across his ass.
‘Ow! My God, what is the meaning of this?’ He spluttered out the words in indignation.
‘I have merely decided to amuse myself with you a little. Since you have been such a pain to me, I thought I would add a little more to your pain.’
‘Sweet Jesus! Did you not hurt me enough back there on the road?’
‘Yes Sir, but that was self defence. This is.. recreation, I shall call it. Purely for my entertainment.’ The crop was swung again, and bit hard across his buttocks. Yet it was the indignity hurt him. The actual hot bite of the crop, its warmth spreading through his buttocks, was almost welcome in the slight chill of the night. Again and again he was striped. The fiend wielding the crop seemed to be enjoying the play very much, making little comments about ‘How pretty a striped bottom looks’ or how his ass was ‘Nicely made for punishment’. To his immense chagrin he found the combination of warm stinging pain and complimentary word, uttered in an almost soothing voice, a hypnotic, entrancing combination. The figure finally stepped to his front. He turned a reproachful and he hoped withering look onto those eyes. Yet the eyes had shot wide open, and their fierce blue was clear in their merry regard of his groin. The belaboured captive looked down, and groaned audibly to see his sex standing at full attention.
The crop was being slowly extended towards it, dipping between his thighs. He tensed and tried to move back. Then the crop was raised, until it lifted his balls gently, and let them fall. His cock jumped at the touch. The stranger’s eyes smiled deeply. ‘So Sir, it seems a little pain inflicted by a man is not unwelcome to you.’
‘I.. I..’ His eyes despaired. He could not find an answer. He had never before felt lust provoked by another man, and though the idea did not disgust him, it certainly took him utterly by surprise.
The torturer moved back behind him. There was a short pause, and hands began to fondle his buttocks. They were soft, gently caressing hands. ‘Gods!’ He gasped, as his cock jumped in answer to the touch. They traced the raised welts, one by one, languorously. Then they stroked downwards. Now they started at his inner thighs, fingertips caressing gently upwards, upwards, and lifting his sac, a hand passed between his legs, grasped his shaft. He groaned, and gave himself up to the pleasure of it. Behind him his teasing torturer laughed a most thrilling laugh. He groaned again, could not comprehend his body’s reaction, yet he was powerless to restrain it. Now the fingers of the other hand probed his nether regions. Pushed at the puckers of his mouth. He groaned yet again in a kind of delighted despair at the need this engendered in him. Gasped in offence and thrill as a finger pushed rudely into him. Gasped in relief and loss as it departed. His breath caught in his throat as a voice spoke by his ear. ‘Have you ever been loved by a man?’ The voice sounded like the most wonderful of lovers. He felt that he was entrapped by some devil-incubus. He grated out a ‘No!’
‘Shall I love you?’ That syrupy voice, so irresistibly alluring. He groaned ‘Oh my God!’
‘No then?’ The voice sounded so disappointed. He wanted the touch again. He whispered ‘Yes.’
Suddenly there was a full, throaty, tinkling, seductive laugh. A soft hand struck his rump a stinging slap, and the figure strode around, pulling off the kerchief as it halted before him. The face revealed was fair complexioned, the blue eyes startling, the dark hair as the figure shook it flew out, falling in a thicker cloud around the face. She smiled.
‘My God! Thank God!’ The astonishment and the relief wrought an entirely comical effect on the face of the poor victim. She laughed again, that deep throaty, stirring laugh.
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