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  • My schottish lord

    • "George, my boy, I promise you will be very happy at Court!"

    My uncle was hardly making me feel better. I was twenty-two years old, and I had been safe and content in my old home in southern England, where I had been raised. I was worldly and handsome, with long dark hair and a finely chiseled face, but this had not been enough. No: my mother's brother had to see that I accomplished all that he wished me to.

    "The King will like you."

    I made a face. "He is a homely Scot, from what I've heard, and surrounds himself with more favourites than Old Queen Bess had." Queen Elizabeth I had died eleven years ago, and now her successor, King James I of Scotland and England, was in London with his young family and many male favourites.

    "But he is King."

    "I am young, uncle!" I argued, looking out of the coach window discontentedly. "I am more than twenty-five years younger than he is! Would you wish me to play the harlot to a barbaric, aging lecher?"

    We said nothing more.

    London, unlike I had thought it would be, was appealing. And the Court at Whitehall was beautiful. I began to wonder if it would be so terrible here, so long as I stayed out of the King's bed. The thought of cuddling with a Scottish man (whether King or no) held no appeal for me.

    James had been King for eleven years, and still the people were unaccustomed to his Scottish ways. As I approached him in the throne room to be presented, I observed him carefully.

    He was not so bad looking as I thought; he had wavy hair that shone in the sun's light, and his heavy-lidded eyes and sensuous mouth made him look almost handsome. I suddenly remembered talk that his mother, Mary, the Queen of Scots, had been very beautiful. Perhaps stories of James' ugliness were bitter falsehoods from supporters of a different faction than the Scottish.

    Next to him sat an incredibly handsome young man with a strong build quite visible through his thin silk doublet. He had fair blond hair and a dark, handsome complexion. I could see why the King was so taken with Lord Robert Carr.

    Nearby sat the Queen. Now I could truly see why poor James turned from the woman to his handsome, sensual male lovers. She was not unattractive, but she was aging and seemed a little strange. The poor woman was probably the laughingstock of the Court, I thought.

    "And who is this, brought before us?" asked James to Robert Carr.

    The King's favourite looked down on me and smiled, almost condescendingly. I made a low bow before the man could speak and said clearly, "Your Royal Majesty, I am George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham."

    I am sure there was a sparkle in the older man's eyes, a tenderness; if it was passion, it seemed controlled more strongly by a romantic interest. But I do not doubt that there was love in those eyes.

    Robert Carr seemed uneasy that James was staring at me so. As the King's paramour, it would be terrible for him if he lost his position in the royal bedchamber. He cleared his throat.

    "Welcome to Court, young Villiers. I am Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset."

    I bowed and smiled at him, noting his handsome face and strong build. I thought of what my uncle wished for me to do . . . and I almost wished I could make love to the Earl of Somerset instead of the King of England. But more guests were coming, and I was forced to leave the romantic King and his incredible-looking lover.

    It was late in the night, almost a week after my coming to Court. I had made little real progress in my wooing of James I of England, but I knew it was coming along: the way he looked at me, smiled at me, and kissed my hand in private greeting was proof enough that soon we would become more intimate.

    I was in my room undressing before the mirror, examining myself for physical flaws to perfect before seducing the King. Suddenly I saw the curtains of my canopied bed stir, and I shivered. Was someone in my room, watching me, waiting for the right moment to

    "Villiers."

    I spun around to the bed, and I flung open the curtains. To my shock and indignation, lying on my pillows was the Earl of Somerset. Robert Carr smiled lazily at me, winking slyly. "You keep late hours, sir."

    I was too indignant to come up with a reply. "What are you doing?"

    "Shut up." He silenced me with a wave of his well-muscled arm, quite visible underneath the slight robe that rested against the jutting, muscular chest. "I'm here to discuss a matter of mutual interest."

    "And what would that be, my lord of Somerset?"

    He grinned, an unbelievably arousing expression that made my trousers tighten. "Seduction of the Crown; becoming the royal harlot."

    I narrowed my eyes. "I would not stoop to your games."

    "Stoop?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He pushed himself up off of the covers and opened the robe, revealing the most beautiful body I had ever seen.

    He was powerfully built: firm, rounded muscles that cleaved his chest into two symmetrical, beautiful halves; a taut, muscled stomach and firm, strong arms. His member was large and well hung, although I noted it was slightly smaller than mine, although perfectly shaped and quite thick. I tried to resume an expression of nonchalance, but I know I stared.

    He chuckled. "You like stronger, dominant men?" He slipped from the bed gracefully, tucking his arm behind my head. "Noblemen?"

    Our lips met, and I crushed my mouth against his, savouring the sweet taste inside, sweeping my tongue around the interior of his mouth. His body pressed against mine, and I felt myself go rigid.

    "Royal men?" I heard him whisper with his silken voice as his hands slipped to my belt.

    I pulled away abruptly, despite my yearning. Physically and emotionally, I was more than prepared to surrender myself to this god of a man, to be crushed beneath his weight as he made love to me. But I had more class and cunning than he thought.

    "Leave me."

    He stopped, his muscles almost quivering, his erection still firm and pointed, his beautiful face confused. "What?"

    "Leave me, lest the King himself hear of his whore's infidelity!"

    Carr stared at me for a minute or so, angry and embarrassed, and then he flung his robe together, threw open the door, and stormed from my chambers.

    Robert Carr, I knew, would never be my lover; he would, however, be keen competition. Now that I had a taste of both the man and his mettle, I was prepared to set my sites on the King himself.

    The battle had been engaged.

    ---

    It was competition now; who would become the King's favorite? The devilishly handsome Robert Carr was no longer the only possible solution for the King to turn to when he needed the erotic company of another man. And I was determined that James of Scotland and England would one day love me more than the Earl of Somerset.
    My physique was just as good as Carr's; however, I had charm and class, something the King's present paramour did not. Now I just had to convince His Royal Highness that I could rival and, I had every confidence, surpass the pleasures that Robert Carr had bestowed on him.

    It happened one night at a ball held in honor of Charles, the Prince of Wales. Robert Carr was present, dressed in a white silk doublet and dark trousers scarcely concealing the powerfully built body and the bulging crotch. Near to his son, the boyishly handsome Prince of Wales, sat the King in a dark shirt and a long, flowing cape of Royal Blue.

    Throughout the night as the musicians played, I locked eyes with the King and teased him. I could see that he favored me and was attracted to me, but there was some element missing, something that Carr had and I didn't.

    It didn't take long for me to notice: Robert Carr wasn't flexing his sexual powers over the King; instead, there seemed to be a very handsome, well-endowed page who was attending him. In the sly smiles, the careful eyes, the simple touching, there it was. It was all sex.

    The King retired for bed at one o' clock in the morning, requiring two men for his escort to his private chambers. I dismissed one of the guards and helped the other one half carry James up the stairs and to the royal bedchamber. The King noticed me and patted my head good-naturedly.

    "Well, if it isn't young Buck! There's a good lad, help me to my bed!"

    The guard left us at the door, and I proceeded across the room with the King hanging on my shoulders. I slung him onto the bed, and he laughed loudly, drunkenly, looking up at me.

    "You're a strong boy, aren't you, Buck?"

    I smiled and flexed my arm muscles, smiling down at him. His eyes hadn't changed, and they seemed to glow with that ever-ready look to serve. A King wishing to serve?

    "Yes, a strong, handsome, well-mannered young Duke is what we have on our hands now," said James, almost more to himself. I smiled, unsure of what to do, and suddenly I thought of Robert Carr. What would he do?

    My sheepish grin turned into a seductive smile, and I walked a short distance away to a smaller cot, sitting down and slumping against the headboard, carefully spreading my legs. I held this position, waiting to see the effect on the King. It seemed as if time was stopped. And then he moved.

    King James crossed the room slowly, drunkenly, with that hungry look in his eyes. He mounted the bed stiffly and crawled slowly between my gaping legs. My breath quickened as I realized that I was going to finally make love to the King. By now I was so hot and ready for pleasure that I was trembling.

    James pulled off his doublet slowly, balancing on his knees. His smooth white chest came into view, the dark hair covering it densely. He was muscular enough to knock my lust-indicator up another notch, and I felt myself beginning to sweat. Then off came his trousers, and up sprang his majestic phallus, as beautiful as his person. It was not as long as mine or Carr's, but it was thick and beautiful, from the mushroom head down the long, thick, straight shaft to the testicles. He truly was God's anointed.

    "Buck," he said in a raspy, quiet voice. "My Buck."

    His hands shakily found my collar and undid it, sliding the doublet from me and revealing my lean body, the muscular chest and firm stomach. He bent down, unable to control himself at this point it seemed, and touched his lips to my bare flesh. The kisses tickled from the wiry moustache, but I was incredibly aroused by the passion behind them.

    My trousers came off next, and I heard the gasp of pleasure that came from him as he beheld my penis. Suddenly I saw him lean down and put his mouth over the erection, and I threw my head back, savoring the sweet pleasure of the moment. I had never heard of anything like this; many men had young male lovers, but anal entrance seemed to be the only way of achieving orgasm. I had never thought of this, but it was wonderful.

    The King's mouth -- that sacred, blessed mouth -- was on my very privates, and that tongue, which had spoken the Oath and declared himself to be the first King of a united Britain, was now moving wildly about my cylindrical shaft, trying to find how best to stimulate me. I grew harder, hotter, and my need to be physically involved in the process became overwhelming. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to be one with him; was I falling for the King, or was my lust so powerful that it was taking over?

    The King's saliva dripped onto my testicles, and I groaned quietly, touching the wiry hair of his beard, which was grinding into my privates, feeling wonderful. The slurping sounds were driving me wild, and the visions before my eyes swam. The canopied beds, the paintings on the wall, they were all part of an illusion while the King of England made love to me with his mouth.

    I wriggled down onto the bed, pulling his head lower against me and pushing my member farther into his mouth. His roaming hands found my eager body more willing than he probably suspected and he began to feel my hard, sweaty torso, my flexing, eager buttocks, and my wildly flailing arms. I no longer cared if the guards heard the King using me so sexually in his bedchamber: I was ready to be taken.

    Finally, I could stand it no longer. I pulled my phallus out of James' mouth and stood up, turning around and staring down at him lustfully. He smiled coyly and kissed my hand, almost a feminine gesture. I found myself dying to be this man's lover.

    "What is it, Buck?"

    I felt weak in the knees, and I sank to the floor, dragging the King to the end of the bed and gently taking the waving penis in my hands. The moment I touched it I felt I would erupt, although I was glad I had not. I pressed my lips to the shaft, kissing it, gently squeezing it, worshipping it as I would worship the King of my country.

    "Your Majesty!"

    I opened my mouth, flattened my tongue, and lowered my head onto the member. Though it had not seemed so large, James' penis filled my mouth and I suddenly felt extremely good about what I was doing. I slowly began to bob my head up and down on the shaft, and I felt the King's bejeweled hands on the back of my head, pushing me down gently.

    "Taste the royal seed, Buck."

    I wanted to; by God, I would have it no other way! The lower I went on the King's fat tool the more he groaned and writhed in ecstasy, and the harder my own erection became. I began to breathe deeply and pressed my penis against James' leg in a rhythmic fashion while my mouth sank to the base of the penis and he gasped for breath.

    "Buckingham. Buckingham!" the King cried.

    My penis raged with my own fruit, and I vigorously worked at James' outstretched member. I could feel him probing my body, wishing I were doing more than just imitating what he had done to my privates. I tickled the expanding mushroom head with my tongue.

    "Villiers." He was moving all around, and I almost felt that his penis, the one I wanted so badly, would fly from my hungry mouth. My own cock needed release badly.

    "George!"

    That was all it took. I let out a yelp as fluid shot from my swollen phallus, and my hands shot to the King's own unit, to keep myself from hurting him in the delight of my orgasm. At the same time, James climaxed, letting his white seed flood into my waiting hands and trickle between my fingers.

    We waited, panting and weary, for a few minutes, and then he smiled and kissed my face tenderly on the cheek.

    "How big you are, Villiers!"

    Boldly I leaned back and placed my lips on his, letting our tongues meet and challenge each other with rough passion. The Stuart charm had taken its toll on me. I was entranced.

    "I live to serve you, my Scottish Lord."

    He smiled and gestured to his bed, pulling me close to him on the white linen and wrapping his arms around me, pressing me against his hairy, handsome body. "Then we will be very happy together, Buck. Just think of the days -- and the nights. Just you and I, Buck; you and I."

    I buried my lips against his beard, wanting only him. "I hope so, Your Grace."


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