Dorian (m/f, gang, hist, milit, vomit, oral/anal, etc.)

[shelley]

this is probably more for the ladies... just saying.

*****

He was a simple man. Not too educated but made an honest living by selling bread in his mother's hometown. Every morning he would wake up early to put wood in the oven and knead soft dough for hours. He loved the feeling of fullness in his hands. The town's folk lined up in front of the shop on the cobblestone street every morning. They waited to buy their staple grain. They peered into the glass windows, mouth watering, hoping to see him walk out of the kitchen to open the door so they could get a whiff of the spongy buttery goodness that lie inside. Dorian provided simple pleasures. If you should ask anyone about him they would tell you he was a good fellow--though a little quiet. His introversion would have been unnerving had he not been a familiar fixture in the small town.

The news of the day was the arrival of the local college's new headmaster. (His predecessor absconded under dubious circumstances involving pupils.) He was a thin, pale man with a large scholarly head-- narrow at the chin, wide forehead with concave temples. His upper lip was as thin as his lower lip protruded. A young headmaster at 40, his slick hair was a shocking blond turned silver. A stark contrast to his darker Andalusian wife. The couple had been making acquaintances around town and the bakery was their last stop. The two entered the shop unceremoniously as Dorian walked out of the kitchen wiping his hands on his apron. With a nod the headmaster greeted him,

"Good morning, I am the new Headmaster Engel and this is my wife Mrs. Engel."

"Dorian," was the short reply as the two men shook hands. The headmaster continued polite conversation but Dorian's thoughts were elsewhere. He regarded Mrs. Engel -- Camilla, he would later learn-- at the time: her large curly hair, ill-concealed cleavage and boldly painted face bordered on burlesque. Her facial features were too sharp and lacking in symmetry. He was deciding whether or not one of her eyes crossed slightly when, with two tinkles of a bell, a young woman walked through the front door. Dorian's jaw slacked.

She was the best that could have possibly come of her seemingly unattractive parents.

"Good morning," she flushed. "I was lost and almost fell off the bridge into the pond outside."

"Ah, perfect," Engel said. " Dorian, this is Claire, my only daughter. She is to help run the school. She should come here in the mornings for some of your renowned bread for the boys."

She smoothed down a stray strand of hair away from her face into the ribbon that wrapped around her head from the nape of her neck. Her straight black hair cascaded down past her impossibly slim waist like a worn pelt of a jaguar. She seemed small--ever so small next to him. Her eyes were as clear as the pond she mentioned, full of the ice cold water from alpine runoff. Dorian could feel himself lean into her. And even though he wasn't too close to her, Claire could feel a distinct warmth radiating from his body. All he wanted to do at that moment was see underneath her stiff blue linen dress and run his hand down her middle.

He caught her eye. She looked away uncomfortably and pulled at the lace cuffs of her sleeves. He could tell she was at least a couple years younger than his 25.

"Well, we should get going now, " Engel's voice cut in, "Have a good morning then, Dorian. It was nice meeting you."

"Good day," Dorian answered. But he said it to Claire, forcing eye contact. Claire quickly scuttled out the shop, nearly tripping on a ledge. Her father held her up by the arm as she tried to catch her breath. She felt the invisible blonde hairs across her body standing on end despite the longer rays of the rising sun.

On the way back to their new home, she asked,

"Father, you know that baker-man?"

"Yes, my dear, what about him."

"He... he makes me a bit uneasy."

"Oh, nonsense, you're just shy. You don't even know the man. I hear he's a good fellow -- though a bit quiet. A brave man, even. He fought in the war, you know, since he was fifteen. Without a father, he took care of his mother until she passed not last year. If anything, he deserves your admiration."

Back at the bakery, Dorian pondered the discomfort in his pants. It never occurred to him to go back behind the store for some private relief. Instead he tortured himself with the thought of Claire and how her full rose-pink lips seemed to burst onto her pale face. Her mouth just waiting, waiting for his tongue, his fingers, his ---

How long had it been since he'd had the satisfaction of a good, hard fuck? This procession of thought took him back 10 years.

[shelley]

Dorian tried to ignore the thick heavy raindrops falling on his metallic helmet. The irregular tapping would still echo in his head 10 years later. It had been a month since he had seen the sun. His unit was sleeping. He needed sleep; he needed food and he wanted warmth. At least he had water. The general exhaustion was making him delirious. He began to talk to himself to stay awake. In one moment he would be angry, spittle flying out of his mouth as he scorned himself for putting him in that position. In another moment he would silently laugh and the rain water would fall into his gaping mouth. Regardless, it was his turn to stand guard. He finally sat under a tree and leaned against the trunk, a musket rifle in the crook of his arm. He resisted sleep as he would the enemy. He looked down at his leather boots hand tailored by his own father.

"Dorian," his father said, holding them up. "Do not come back without blood on these shoes."

The next day's weather chilled to the bone and a thin layer of rolling fog covered the earth. It was beautiful. Dorian was relieved of duty so he went over a small hill to relieve his bladder. After he tucked his member in and tied his trousers, he heard screams -- female screams. He rushed toward the noise. In the uneven terrain, the first outline of a person he could make out was of a soldier looking down a ravine with an intense look of concentration on his face. Whatever was down there, Dorian could not yet see. As he got closer he realized that the soldier had his fully erect cock in hand. Hearing the screams again, Dorian stealthily looked beyond the soldier and down. He found five more soldiers encircling a local girl.

She was probably a servant girl because her golden hair was a dirty brown. Her plain dress also pointed to a humble occupation. She was on her hands and knees in the wet grass. Her blouse was bunched under her udder-like tits and her skirt was lifted up over thick thighs onto her round hips. He noticed scratches on her knees and some cuts on her hands when she shifted her weight to catch her balance. Old tears mixed with the dirt on her face created streaky patterns on her full cheeks. One soldier had her mouth, the other had his cock halfway up her anus. As one pushed into her face the other pulled out of her ass, and the rest of the men furiously masturbated at the sight. The girl's squeals blended with the men's loud grunts.

"Oh, you fucking whore. Want something more to swallow? How does that feel down your throat? Fucking whore..."

She let out a muffled scream when the other slapped her ass unexpectedly,

"Tighten up, you hussy."

The spectators cheered, "Tell her, John!" "Give it to her right, Andrew!"

Shocked, Dorian roared, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Everything paused.

Although, at the time, Dorian was still considered a boy he was a man in stature. He stood a foot taller than the average soldier in the regiment. He had spent most of his adolescence helping out on farms or doing other handy work. In his free time he had climbed mountainous boulders to be alone at the top to smoke tobacco and see the horizon. As a result he was solid, lean, almost savage with veins streaming down his arms weaving patterns in the backs of his hands. (By 16 he was crushing apples single handedly.)

The men immediately threw her off them, sending her sprawling on her bare bottom. She looked up wearily at Dorian then wiped pre-cum and spit off of the side of her mouth with her hand. She drawled,

"You want some, too, you're going to have to pay up and wait in line."

Having reevaluated the situation, Dorian became even more enraged.

"You ungrateful bitch!" He kicked her in the stomach. She hunched over in pain. He grabbed a handful of hair from the top of her head and yanked her whole body up by the fist so she was on her knees. She clutched his arm screaming for mercy. Using the other hand he slapped down on her face. She heard a loud ringing in that ear. Slap. By that point she was hysterical,

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, "I'm sorry!"
"Sorry for what?"
"For being an ungrateful bitch. FOR BEING AN UNGRATEFUL BITCH!" A drop of blood flew from her lip and landed on the toe of his right boot.

He let her go but remained standing in front of her so that his crotch was in her face. She looked up at him staring down at her. She knew what to do. She untied his trousers and slid them down. She smelled the fresh urine and potent musk of his manhood. He was not at all aroused. She began to masturbate him, licking up and down his shaft. She tongued the head with dexterity then put the head in her mouth. He was so thick that she could barely keep her lips tight. She created suction with her cheeks and rolled her slippery tongue underneath him. With her other hand, she pumped the base of his penis. He was getting hard. She looked up at him for approval but his expression had not changed. The angle in which she saw him made the shadows under his eyes even more pronounced.

Afraid she wasn't doing enough, she began throating him. She throated all of him and gagged. She pulled off and repeated the process. She caressed his inner thighs and balls and furiously deep throated him until he pushed her forehead back. Surprised, she looked up and him then straight at his cock as he blew all over her face and breasts. She felt an intense heat that quickly evaporated, leaving a mess of cold semen all over her chest. After adjusting himself, he threw down a handful of petty change at her as she began to sob uncontrollably.

A funny smile on his face, he lighted a fag and fucked off.

[shelley]

Claire was lying face up in a meadow thinking about all of the new changes in her life. She was watching the clouds. She noticed it was getting dark so she decided it was time to return home. The expansive campus was completely self sufficient with a large acreage for live stock, a vegetable garden and wells. She entered the circular stone building that was her father's new charge. The dorm rooms and lecture halls were on the periphery of the circle with ancient corridors of startling intricacy. In the center, contained by tall, thick stone columns, was a courtyard with a fountain in the middle. It was silent except for the distant footsteps of a monk. She greeted him quietly and continued to her room. As she turned a corner, a scrawny boy ran into her, dropping his school texts.

"Beg your pardon, miss," he implored as she helped him pick up.

"Nothing to worry about," she said kindly. He sounded to her like a local. She looked at him closely and he had such a lovely face. With long eyelashes and chocolate brown eyes... In a different context she would have mistaken him for a girl her own age.

"My name is Claire," she offered, " You must be a student here."
"Yes," he replied, voice almost cracking, "I'm Rowan."
"Well, Rowan, it was nice running in to you but you seem to be in a hurry so I shan't keep you any longer."

He gave her a grateful smile and disappeared down a corridor. Happy to have made a new friend Claire went to the kitchen to fetch water for a bath. Several rooms away from the incident her father had a mysterious visitor in a dark hooded cloak. Engel sat at his desk rubbing his temple with his index and middle in irritation.

"Yes," he said, "that's all well and good, but after this move I don't know what you want me to do about it, Lucien. I simply cannot go about stealing maidens from such a small village and shipping them off in a crate for you! It's just not possible!"

Eyelids halfway shut, the stranger received his histrionics calmly.

"Who do you think would be the first to be under suspicion, hm?" Engel scoffed, "Me, that's who. Especially after my incautious yet indulgent predecessor. Stupid!"

"Either," the stranger said, rolling his r's, "an opportunity will present itself or simply we will have to go elsewhere for business."

The headmaster looked at him dully. He reached out and poured a large glass of port for himself then lifted it in mock cheer. "For my sake, hopes to opportunity because who knows what I would do with only a headmaster's allowance. Now take off your clothes. If anyone, it is I who needs some distraction."

After closing, Dorian spent yet another night eating a measly dinner of hard rolls and scraps of pork. He got drunk on old red wine that approached vinegar status. In that moment, he began to think of better things. In that moment, he thought of Claire. He got excited by trying to remember details.

I can't even recall what she looks like anymore, he thought in a drunken stupor.

The logical solution was to go to the college and find her.

Just a visit, he told himself, I just came by to wish you a good evening...

[nahkit]

Continue please

[hotauditek]

wow !!! *impressed*

[shelley]

Dorian drunkenly stumbled down the meadows with only the pale moonlight for a lantern. When he reached the stone edifice he proceeded with more caution. He climbed up the large stone wall and down the other side. He looked around for any sight of night owl monks or scholars when he noticed the vague shape of a figure on the ground across the courtyard. He stood very still for a several breathes, making sure the object was completely still then slowly approached it. It was a body lying awkwardly with a books scattered above the head. One part of him prayed it was not Claire crumpled up, lying helpless or used. But another part of him couldn't help but wish that it would be just his good fortune to find her so vulnerable so easily.

He reached out and turned the face over. It was not Claire. Dorian took notice of the undeniably feminine features of the unfortunate youth. He crouched above her wondering what the hell a village wench was doing out here at this hour in such an obscure corner. He noticed her hair was cut short with a layer starting all the way around the crown. She wore a dirty black shirt and trousers - the uniform of the school. She had a plain face but her nose was bloodied and there was a small gash across her cheek. She began to stir. Dorian stealthily backed away into the shadows of the columns as she gained consciousness. She slowly sat up and reached for her nose. She saw the coagulated blood on her fingers. After a long sigh the girl gathered her books, stood up painfully and limped away. Although he was curious enough to follow the girl under other circumstances, he decided to continue his search for the original target.

Dorian looked into several keyholes vainly until he reached the headmaster's chambers. There he saw the profile of the headmaster Engel with whom he was acquainted to not 3 hours ago crouching in a towering leather chair. Across from him sat a stocky naked man. The man's legs were slightly parted so Dorian could see every contour of his inner thigh muscles pressed down into the seat. In between the man was massaging his large purple cock head. He lightly squeezed his fully erect penis in his palm and rolled his wrist as his hand moved up and down in a familiar ritual. Eyes closed, the man had an uncontrollable expression of ecstasy on his face. Dorian heard the headmaster hissing obscenities under his breath. The man opened his eyes then looked at the headmaster looking back at him. He began stroking harder, gaining speed, chest heaving up and down. Even from the door Dorian could hear the panting. Dorian turned away; he didn't much care for old man Engel or his hobbies.

The next couple of rooms were empty class halls and the kitchens. At the end of the corridor he could see flickering orange light and hear the crackle of firewood. He peeked into the door. It was a stone wall cage like all the other rooms with a sloped wood-planked ceiling. It was one of the larger rooms with a fireplace but there were touches of Claire -- a bunch of wildflowers in a vase, a few ornaments above the chimney shelf, and matching oriental rug.

Claire was standing over a large round steaming barrel. She had stripped off all her clothes except for the white dress that loosely enveloped her down to the ankles. She leaned over and he could see the soft curvature of her breasts. The dress being somewhat sheer, he could also see the fleshy colour of her body. The steam engulfed her, leaving a moist sheen on her skin. Claire tied up her thick hair and wound it elegantly on top of her head. He could now see the full length of her neck. His hands clenched at the thought of holding her down. She finally lifted her arms and pulled the dress over and off. Even though she was seemingly alone she covered herself modestly with a lithe arm across her chest. Dorian silenced a frustrated groan in his throat. She lifted a knee to climb into the water. He saw her stomach was nearly flat, sloping down between her legs. She prudently pulled in her other (glorious) leg. She then turned around in the tub so her back was facing him, before easing into the water. He nearly lost himself when he saw her lush bottom and the ever pink crease, ill-concealed by her thin, wispy, almost inexistent cunt hairs. He wanted to lean in and smell her, lick up and down that line with greediness he only knew as a child at the annual fair with a fistful of sweets. He wanted to stick his tongue in that tight hole and push, feeling her most intimate flesh parting just for him. He swallowed a well of saliva at the thought of breathing in her excitement as she gasped--

"Ah!" Claire yelped. Dorian snapped to attention only to realize that the water had been too hot. He watched Claire slowly lean against the tub, acclimating to the water temperature. He heard the small lapping of the water. He pictured her wet tits glistening from the light of the fireplace, her eyes closed as she drifts off into half sleep. After a long pause, Dorian quietly opened the door and shut it behind him never taking his eyes off the back of Claire's head.

[batman]

... nice narration .. I enjoyed the dialouges ...