The Gunroom - 2. Chapter 2

It was a quiet watch on deck, with Mr. Travers pacing the windward side of the quarterdeck and Granger standing near the wheel. There were no clouds, so with the bright stars lighting up the night sky it almost seemed as if you could reach up and touch them. They were heading down the English Channel, with the French coast on their left, dark and looming.

“Walk with me Mr. Granger,” Travers said, pulling Granger from his thoughts.

Granger fell into step with Travers in the time honored tradition of pacing and talking at the same time, pausing to turn at the end of the deck, facing each other as they turned inward.

“Thank you for helping me back to my cabin after the Captain's party. I remember leaving, and then waking up a few hours later. What happened in between is a void.” In other words, thought Granger, he was going to pretend that their brief encounter never happened.

“It was my pleasure,” said Granger earnestly. “It really was.” The last three words were unnecessary, but Granger was trying to convey to Travers how he felt in the most innocuous way that he could. Travers seemed to disregard his comment.

“I understand you helped the Carpenter on his rounds the other evening,” he said.

“Yes sir. He seems to know his stuff,” Granger replied innocently.

“You enjoyed your time with him?” Travers asked, just as they made their turn. Their eyes met, Travers' piercing into him, while Granger, impassive as ever, looked right back.

“It was educational sir,” he said. Granger didn't know how much Travers had deduced, but apparently Woodward's preference for boys was no secret. There was nothing to be gained from letting him know what really happened.

“Some time you'll have to show me what he does on his rounds,” Travers said, timing that comment as they turned inward again. Granger studied his handsome face.

“I'd like that very much sir,” he said to Travers. God, would he like that. Ever since he'd come aboard, Travers had been the man to occupy his fantasies. Thoughts of running his hands over the lieutenant's body, of stroking his cock as Woodworth had done to him, of tasting him, taking his dick into his mouth, and of maybe having him do the same. Granger stopped his train of thought lest his erection become obvious even here in the dark.

“Run down and fetch Mr. Bell,” said Travers suddenly.

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, and dashed off to their quarters. What could Travers want with Bell? He wasn't on watch. Time would tell, he decided, and anyway there was no way he could question such a direct order.

He opened the door to the Midshipman's berth and heard soft moaning. Bell and Wilcox had apparently not heard him enter. Bell was standing next to Wilcox's bunk with Wilcox kneeling in front of him, making slurping sounds as he sucked Bell’s dick. Bell started to moan, obviously getting close to blowing, when he looked up and his eyes met Grangers. He pulled away from Wilcox and pulled up his trousers, looking horrified. Before he could talk, Granger broke the silence. “Mr. Travers wants you on deck,” he told Bell, then turned and fled from the cabin, desperately adjusting his own erection.

Bell ran up behind him and grabbed his arm. “You won't tell anyone about that?” he asked nervously.

Granger got an evil thought. “We'll see. You'll have to convince me.” And he leered at Bell. Bell got a terrified look on his face until he saw Granger's leer, then he smiled.

“I'll bet I can do that as soon as this watch is over.” They laughed and Bell ran up to Travers, who asked him to do something trivial. Granger paced the deck with the lieutenant for the rest of the watch, chatting about the ship. Granger couldn't help but wonder if Travers had sent him down to the cabin on purpose, just to catch them. Did he know about Bell and Wilcox?

The ship's bell rang and Dacres and Wilcox appeared as if by magic to relieve them. Wilcox glared daggers at Granger, but he didn't care. He headed back to the Midshipman's berth to find Bell lounging in his bunk, stripped down completely. Granger followed suit, then stood over Bell's bunk, his hard throbbing prick aimed right at Bell's mouth.

Bell moved forward and slowly enveloped Granger, all six inches of his dick, and began to suck on him, bobbing up and down. Granger had never experienced a blow job before, and if the thought of it was almost overwhelming, the feel of it certainly was. In no time at all he was shooting his load into Bell's mouth. Bell swallowed every drop, the motion of his throat squeezing a few extra spurts from Granger’s dick.

Granger noticed that Bell had been slowly stroking his own cock. He dropped to his knees next to the cot and pushed Bell's hands away, inhaling his tangy odor and admiring the boy's big dick. And boy was it big. Bell must be packing a good seven inches. Granger licked the tip, tasting another boy's pre-cum for the first time, and then set to work sucking his dick. He experimented with different ways, different strokes, and, with Bell's coaching, learned to avoid using his teeth. And then, with a huge groan, Bell came, flooding his mouth with cum. Granger swallowed just as Bell had, trying not to choke on Bell's monster dick. When Bell was done, Granger squeezed his dick from the base up, making sure to get every last drop.

“So did I convince you?” Bell teased.

“Maybe, if we get to do that all the time,” Granger replied.

“I'm not light in the pants or anything,” Bell said defensively. “It just feels good, and since we never get enough to eat, every little bit helps.”

“Me either,” Granger lied. If that's how they wanted to rationalize it, fine with him. He lay in his bunk afterward, thinking about how much he wanted to blow Bell again, and how much more he wanted Bell to blow him.

Granger felt someone shaking him, trying to wake him up. He opened his eyes to see the gunroom steward leaning over him. “You're on watch in thirty minutes sir,” he said.

“Thanks Bolton,” Granger said politely. He waited until Bolton left and then got out of bed and began throwing on his at sea clothes. He looked over to Wilcox, who was snoring gently in his bunk. The guy was barely civil to him at times, and almost friendly at others. He'd tried to be friends with Wilcox, to help him out, but he'd been pretty much rebuffed at every turn. Granger shrugged. You couldn't be everyone's friend.

After wolfing down some food in the gunroom, he sprinted up on deck, arriving just in time to relieve Bell. Bell waited for him to get into the routine of the watch. It was daytime now, and the French coast was clearly visible off the port bow. Travers was pacing the windward side of the deck, so Bell and Granger took the lee side, as was proper for junior officers.

“I can't wait until you get off watch,” Bell said with a leer. Granger smiled at him, but stole a glance over at Travers. Why did he feel guilty about blowing Bell? It wasn't like he was cheating on the lieutenant. Hell, Travers had just groped him when they were drunk, and then pretended that nothing happened.

“Me too,” Granger said cheerfully. “What about Wilcox?”

“I need to slow things down there,” Bell said furtively. “It's not just a release for him. I think he's a little too attached to me.”

“Oh great. Now he'll really hate me.”

Bell paused and looked at Granger curiously. “That's not why he hates you.”

“Well enlighten me,” Granger said, irritated.

“He has his eye on your lieutenant. He was hoping that when Robey left, he'd be up a notch in seniority, and he'd be posted to Travers' division.”

“You think Travers ever did anything with him?” Granger asked.

“No, he didn't. I would have known if he did.” Granger wondered about that.

“You know, when I, uh, interrupted you and Willie, it was because Travers sent me down there. You think he knows about you guys?”

Bell looked at him, an expression of sheer terror on his face, but then he got control of himself. “I don't know.”

“Is there any way he could have found out?” Granger persisted.

Bell swallowed hard. “No.” But Granger knew he was lying. What was he so afraid to tell him?

“Alright. I've got one more question, and I want a straight answer.” Bell looked at him nervously. “Has Travers ever been with anyone in, uh, that way, that you know of?”

He'd asked the question as they turned, so they ended up pivoting and facing each other, eye to eye. “Honestly George, as far as I know, he hasn't.” Granger saw the sincerity in Bell’s eyes and knew he was telling the truth. “You manage to escape from Woodward?” Bell asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, but I told him he could bugger you next time,” Granger teased.

“Mr. Granger,” he heard Travers' voice. He broke off his conversation with Bell, who scurried off.

“Yes sir?”

“My compliments to the Captain, please advise him that we've sighted Ushant off the larboard bow.”

“Aye aye sir!” Granger said, snapping to attention briefly before dashing back to the Captain's sanctuary. He headed down the ladder to the passageway, pausing to nod at the marine guard, who knocked loudly.

“Enter!” he heard the Captain yell. He saw Granger and smiled. “What can I do for you Mr. Granger?”

“Mr. Travers' compliments sir, and we've sighted Ushant off the larboard bow.”

The Captain studied him briefly. “Advise Mr. Travers that I'll be up shortly.”

“Aye aye sir!” said Granger, saluting briskly. He walked out slowly, not making a fuss, until the door shut, and then he tore back to the quarterdeck. “The Captain will be up shortly,” he reported. No sooner had he said that when the great man appeared.

“Pass the word for Mr. Buckle. Have him meet me in my chart room,” he said, and disappeared below. Granger began walking with Travers.

“So your home is in Derbyshire?” Travers asked Granger.

“Yes sir, in a sense. I probably spend more time in London though. What about you?”

Travers paused. “I'm from Kent.” He didn't seem to want to expand on it so Granger didn't pry. “You seem to be adapting to naval life quite quickly.”

“For the most part sir,” Granger said. “Wilcox doesn't seem to like me, but other than that, I'm doing quite well.”

“He's a temperamental sort. Until you signed on, there was the expectation that he'd be moved to my division.”

Granger risked revealing too much information. “I think that's one of the reasons he's irritated with me.”

Travers smiled. “So you're saying that he hates you and it's my fault?” Granger got a panicked look on his face, worried that he'd overstepped his bounds, until he saw Travers smile.

“That's correct sir.” Granger said somberly, playing along.

The Captain reappeared as if by magic. “We'll alter course. Call the watch.” A cry pealed through the ship and men poured up from below decks, flying up the masts to take their positions. Then the Captain rapped out his orders, and the helm went over, the braces came round, and the Barracuda fought and bucked as she was forced onto her new course, just a few points off the wind. A few adjustments and she steadied on the new course, seemingly happy to be settled again, and thrashed along.

The Captain prepared to return to his cabin but stopped abruptly. “Mr. Travers, Mr. Granger, perhaps you two would join me for a little music after your watch?”

“Yes sir,” they said, almost in unison.

“Excellent. You can be my guests for dinner as well. Carry on,” he said, and vanished below.

“Well that should really piss Wilcox off,” Granger observed to Travers with a smile.

“Not if you can't play the flute well,” Travers observed. “The Captain is quite into his music.” Granger gulped nervously. It seemed as if in no time at all Dacres and Wilcox were there to relieve them.

“Take a few minutes to put on your second-best uniform,” Travers ordered kindly. Granger nodded and charged to the Midshipmen's berth.

He found Bell waiting for him, stroking his hard cock. “You certainly are in a hurry,” he said.

“I've been asked to play the flute with the Captain,” Granger said in near panic.

“So you have no time at all?” Bell said, stroking his cock seductively. Granger looked around as if to check for someone else, then smiled. He dropped to his knees and enveloped Bell's cock. Bell knew he was in a hurry, so in little more than a minute he was blowing his load down Granger's throat. Granger stood up and Bell stopped him, returning the favor with similar alacrity.

“So what did Willie say when you didn't play with him?” Granger asked.

“I pretended to be asleep,” Bell said, as if that would solve the issue. Granger frantically pulled his stockings on, then his jacket and coat, and finally unlocked his sea chest and pulled out his flute. He nodded to Bell as he dashed up to the Captain's office, dusting off the flute as he went. Despite two blow jobs, giving one and getting one, he beat Travers to the Captain's cabin, but only by a bit.

“Welcome gentlemen,” the Captain said cheerfully. He stood up and walked over to his small piano.

“I don't think I've ever seen a piano quite so compact sir,” Granger said, feeling daring.

“And I don't suppose you will again. I had this one made especially for shipboard use. I got scads of prize money from the capture of a French merchantman in the last war, and I decided to treat myself to something special.” The Captain sat down and played an octave, surprising Granger.

“It sounds as good as a large piano,” Granger said, amazed. So amazed he'd forgotten to add the word “sir” at the end of his sentence, but the Captain let it slide this time. He smiled with pride at his toy.

“What shall we play today?” he asked. Travers and Granger mumbled, all three of them knowing full well they'd play whatever the Captain wanted. Travers had brought a mandolin with him, and Granger gathered from the conversation that he had a fiddle as well. Granger kicked himself for not bringing along that newfangled clarinet that he'd been playing with before leaving London.

Granger was better at French than music, so it was a struggle for him to keep up with the other two, at least at first. He pulled a few dirty looks from the Captain for his errors, but by the latter part of their set, he'd figured out the music, and more importantly, he'd figured out how they played. The whole experience couldn't be said to be pleasant, but if there was a next time, he'd be better prepared.

Dinner wasn't nearly as elaborate as before, or quite as good, but compared to eating in the gunroom, it was like dining with the Prince of Wales, who was known for his table.

“So you spent a lot of time at Court Mr. Granger?” the Captain asked. Travers looked at him, raising an eye, and Granger steeled himself to answer despite their close scrutiny.

“Yes sir,” he said. Trying to make it sound like he hadn’t would be a lie.

“Then perhaps you know our diplomatic friend? Lord Calverton?”

Granger tried to remain impassive, but he could tell that his expression had given him away. He could tell by the look on Travers' face. “Yes sir. He is a friend of my older brother, Freddie.” Granger fought the memory that tried to engulf him, and the erection that came with it.

“Indeed? You seem to be well-connected,” Travers observed. Granger gulped and nodded.

“I don't suppose you could enlighten us about him?” the Captain asked, and Granger understood now the purpose of their dinner and music. It was this topic. The Captain wanted to know about the man he'd be chauffeuring around.

“Calverton's father is the Earl of Bromfield. His title is a courtesy title as the eldest son. He came to Bridgemont to visit with Freddie quite a few times.” Granger paused. “He's a bit of a fop sir. When you meet him, you'll think there's nothing to him but a desire to be externally tasteful. Don't let his dandified exterior fool you.”

“Indeed?” asked the Captain. This is what he wanted to know.

“Yes sir. Calverton has a sharp mind, and a sharp wit, underneath that exterior, and he can be cold and calculating when he needs to be.”

“You make him sound like a heartless bastard,” Travers joked, making them all smile.

“Well sir, that's a more direct way to put it.” Just like Freddie, Granger thought.

“We'll make you his liaison for our trip then,” the Captain observed, “since you two are acquainted and come from the same circles.”

Granger swallowed. “As you wish sir, although we're not exactly friends. His ties are with Freddie, not me.”

The Captain eyed him carefully. “Are you asking not to be appointed to help him out while he's aboard?”

“No sir. Not at all sir,” Granger said hurriedly. He'd made a blunder, a big blunder, by voicing concern. It was his problem, not the Captain's, and not Travers'.

“Very good. Try some of this gelatin poor Cheevers worked so hard to concoct,” the Captain said, changing the topic. The conversation became light for a few minutes, and then dinner was over.

Travers stopped to face him in the passageway as they left the cabin. “It seems that last time we were here you had to help me to my cabin.”

“I'd be happy to help you again sir,” Granger said hopefully.

Travers grinned at him. “I think I can make it on my own this time. But thank you for your offer.” Granger just nodded, disappointed yet again, and wandered off to his bunk to grab a few precious minutes of sleep.

The Barracuda glided slowly into Gibraltar and anchored under the Rock. She'd made a remarkably smooth passage, and a remarkably quick one. Granger found himself hoping the one to Naples would be even faster. He hadn't even seen Iggy, the name Calverton's friends called him, but Granger already couldn't wait to be rid of him.

“Mr. Granger, I'll be going ashore in thirty minutes. You will accompany me,” ordered the Captain.

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, and then looked to Travers for permission to leave the deck and change. Travers gave him a brief nod and a worried look. They'd become close on this brief voyage, almost friends. Close enough that Travers could sense his trepidation.

Wilcox was lying on his cot but Granger just ignored him. If anything, Willie had become more belligerent. In Granger's world, you didn't make enemies on purpose, because those people who were your enemies one day could very well be your allies the next. It made no sense to irritate someone for no purpose. Granger smiled to himself as he put on his best uniform. He should practice what he preached. He hadn't seen Iggy in almost three years, since the incident. Maybe they wouldn't be enemies this time. Granger knew they could never be friends, at least not in his book, not after that.

He arrived at the entry port, punctual as always, to find the Captain waiting for him. The Captain looked incredibly dashing in his full dress uniform with gleaming epaulets. If Granger didn't have such a massive crush on Travers, the Captain would definitely be in his jack off fantasies.

Granger lowered himself down the side, realizing only when he started that this was only the second time he'd done this, and the first at disembarking. Fortunately the water in Gibraltar Harbor, behind the protective mole, was nice and calm, so he had only to scamper down the side and leap into the boat without knocking over the oarsmen. The Captain made his descent much more gracefully.

“Have you been to Gibraltar before?” the Captain asked.

“No sir.”

He laughed. “Watch out for the monkeys.” The monkeys? Something else for Granger to ponder as the boat headed for the jetty. They arrived to find a carriage waiting, an ornate thing, which took them straight to the Port Admiral. A guide greeted them at the door, a naval lieutenant. Granger saluted crisply, not wanting to embarrass his ship with a breach of etiquette.

They were led to an ante room. “The Admiral will be with you shortly,” the lieutenant said. No offer of a drink of any sort? Now that was downright inhospitable. In the end it didn't matter, as they were ushered into the Admiral's office almost immediately, and he did offer them a drink.

“So you're Granger?” the Admiral asked.

“Yes sir,” Granger replied, awestruck. How interesting, he thought to himself, that he could be presented to the King himself and feel more relaxed than talking to an admiral and a captain.

“Your orders are to take Lord Calverton to Naples?” he asked the Captain. Granger had the feeling that he really shouldn't be here, but then neither of them seemed to think his presence significant enough to worry about, so he kept his mouth shut. “I hope you fare better than the last Captain to transport him. He was a difficult passenger, or so I was led to believe.” Granger grinned inside. Iggy would be a pain in the ass.

“I am sir,” the Captain said.

“I'm going to give you an additional assignment Sir Evelyn,” the Admiral said. Then he sighed. “This revolution the French have brought upon themselves seems destined to embroil the whole world soon enough, including us. I want you to peek into Toulon and see what our French friends are up to.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain said. “It's on the way back, shouldn't be a problem. I'm assuming that you don't want me to go sailing in on a courtesy call?” Granger admired the way his young captain could joke with a senior admiral. It dawned on Granger that he could learn a lot about how Sir Evelyn liked to be treated by watching the way he treated his own superiors.

“Hardly. Please don't create an international incident,” the admiral said jovially. Sailing into the naval base of a foreign power, unannounced, would create a flurry of unwelcome communiqués between capitals.

“No sir. Of course not sir,” Sir Evelyn assured him.

“Well then, let's go meet your passenger. I hope you have extra room to stow all of his trunks,” the admiral said sarcastically. He looked nervously at Granger.

“It sounds as if Lord Calverton has not changed much sir,” Granger said to relieve their anxiety. The Admiral smiled briefly at him. They walked into another chamber, and through that to another room. There, in the corner, standing as if he were posing, and studying one of his fingernails, was Calverton.

“Your mode of transportation seems to have arrived,” said the Admiral.

“Quite early too.” Iggy moved forward gracefully, almost like a ballet dancer, and bowed slightly to the Captain. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Evelyn. I have heard much of your exploits.” Iggy hadn't changed a bit. He could be quite charming. He caught Iggy's eye and saw the twinkle, saying he'd get to him in just a minute.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” said Sir Evelyn. “We are ready to sail as soon as you are, but if it meets your schedule, I should like to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Indeed? And why not today?” Iggy asked.

“I wanted to take on some stores my lord,” the captain said. “And some water as well.”

“Of course Captain. It is peacetime. A few hours’ delay will cause me no concern. Perhaps we could leave in the morning then. I'll come out to your ship shortly after dawn.” He certainly wasn't being difficult now. Then he turned to Granger.

Iggy stood at medium height, with dark blond hair, and an imperious hooked nose. He smiled at Granger, showing teeth that were hardly straight and even less white, but somehow the effect was charming. “Georgie, look at you! You have grown into such a man since I've last seen you. And a King's officer now. Turn around and let me look at you.” He made Granger do a pirouette, much to the amusement of the Captain and the Admiral, and much to the irritation of Granger. “The uniform suits you.”

“It's good to see you too,” Granger lied, omitting the sir. If Iggy could approach him as a friend, even though they were nothing of the kind, he'd respond in a similar fashion.

“Now George, people are rarely glad to see me. You flatter me,” Iggy said, pouring on the charm. He turned to the Captain. “Captain, would it be alright for Mr. Granger to stay here tonight to help me pack for my journey? It would give us a chance to catch up on the doings of mutual friends as well.”

Granger hid his expression, the one that wanted to scream at Iggy, maybe punch him a few times, and stared at his Captain, praying he'd say no, but knowing that he really had no choice. “Certainly my lord.” The Captain turned to Granger with a slightly worried look. “I'll see you in the morning with Lord Calverton.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said and came to attention. Iggy snickered at his nautical term. The Admiral and the Captain took their leave, while Iggy led George upstairs to his room.

“I know you hate me, you don't have to hide it now,” Iggy said as they entered his room and he shut the door. He shed his foppish image, appearing to try to seem genuine. Granger rolled his eyes. That's something Iggy never was.

“I don't hate you,” Granger said sincerely. “I just don't like you.”

“And I don't blame you one bit,” Iggy said, moving up to Granger, right in front of him. “I'm sorry I hurt you. I truly am. I know you don't believe me. Most people don't. Most people are right not to. I guess my past haunts me in that now that I am genuinely sincere, my words must seem hollow to you.”

Granger looked up into his eyes and found that they were open, relaxed, and that he could actually read the man for once. And he realized that he was telling the truth. “And for once, I actually believe you,” he replied with a smile.

Iggy moved closer, their noses grazing against each other, their lips touching as they met, and then meshing together in a gentle kiss. Granger felt his hormones taking over and fought mightily to rein them back in. “We can't do this Iggy. Not after last time.”

“I was young and stupid George. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just overcome with lust.”

“You fucking raped me! I was twelve years old and you fucking raped me,” Granger spat at him. He saw the words hit Iggy like a brick. He relented a little bit. “And you have a big dick, which only made it hurt worse.” He turned away from Iggy and looked at the wall. Granger felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped, then relaxed again. He felt Iggy moving up behind him, felt his strong arms wrap around him, smelt his perfume, much too strong as always.

Iggy wrapped his arms around Granger, forcing the contact, although Granger didn't really resist. He was emotionally drained, spent at the recollection of that event that seemed as if it took place years ago. He didn't tell Iggy what a crush on him he'd had at the time. He didn't tell him how devastated he was to have the man he idolized rip his ass open. Iggy moved his mouth close to Granger's ear, allowing his lips to graze his neck. “From the moment I met you George, I've been infatuated with you. The first time I beat off, I was dreaming about you and your cute little ass. You drive me nuts. You are my Achilles heel.”

George could feel Iggy's erection, probing his ass seductively now, remembering the last time, when it wasn't so seductive. They'd been in the stables, with no one around, and Iggy had tackled him and bent him over a bale of hay. He'd pulled Granger's trousers down, exposing his ass, and with no preparation, and with only spit for lube, he'd driven his cock into Grangers tight, virgin ass. The pain had been excruciating. The humiliation, of being used like some disposable fuckrag, had been unbearable. Still, there was no denying one aspect of it. When he'd pulled himself together, long after Iggy had left him, there had been a small bit of cum on the bale of hay, evidence of his first orgasm, and evidence that at least at some level it was pleasurable.

George felt the anger rising up and struggled against Iggy, trying to get away from his grip, but that only rubbed his ass against Iggy more, arousing him even more. He felt Iggy's hand drop to the front of his pants, to his own throbbing erection. He could feel Iggy's smile even though he couldn't see it. “Why did you have to be such an asshole?” George said, biting back the tears. “I always thought you were attractive. If you would have taken just a little time, a little effort to make it good for me, I would have loved it.” He was close to sobbing now, but his stoic upbringing held the emotions in. “And then afterward you treated me like shit, worse than ever.”

“I know, I know I fucked up,” cooed Iggy in his ear. “I was a boy then, a stupid boy. I'm a man now. There's only one way for us to put this behind and move on.” His hand massaged Granger's crotch with more purpose. “Let me show you how gentle I can be, how good I can be. Then you can remember that, think about that, and forget about what an ass I've been.”

His hand was inside Granger's trousers now, flesh against flesh as he stroked Granger’s cock. Granger tried to control his feelings, anger and lust chief among them. “No. You want me to forgive you, I'll tell you what you have to do,” Granger said, turning to face Iggy.

“What?” Iggy looked at him nervously.

“Tonight, you're my sex slave. You do whatever I say.”

“Whatever you say?” Iggy asked even more nervously, but he was tenting out his trousers.

“Whatever I say. Is it a deal or not?” Granger asked his face firm.

“It's a deal,” Iggy said nervously.

“On your knees,” Granger ordered. Iggy dropped to his knees, his eyes glazed with lust. Granger pulled out his cock and moved it toward Iggy's mouth. Iggy licked his lips and absorbed him in one move. Granger grabbed the back of his head and started pounding his mouth, gagging him at first, until he got the hang of it. Then he exploded down Iggy's throat.

A servant knocked gently to tell them dinner was ready. Granger made Iggy go down to dinner unsatisfied, all the while thinking of all the shit he was going to make him do after dinner.