Only a Thatcher's Son...
folder
1 through F › A Knight's Tale
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
4,066
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Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
1 through F › A Knight's Tale
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
4,066
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own A Knights Tale, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Only a Thatcher's Son...
Title: Only a Thatcher’s Son…
Author: Abeille deVerte
Rating: NC-17 - graphic rape and torture
Feedback: Please.
Summary: Adhemar gets his revenge for a love spurned, and William is on the receiving end…
Author’s Notes: As noted in the rating, there is graphic rape and torture ahead. If this is too disturbing for you, don’t read. It will be explained in the next part. While this takes place directly in the movie, it is still AU, and if that wasn’t immediately obvious, you need to use your brain – all fanfiction is in the Author’s Universe. I am making no money from this, and I claim no ownership of the characters, the actors, or anything that I do not create on my own, and those that I did create would be listed here. Even though I *wish* I owned Edward. And Roland. But that’s for another time and place.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS, THE RIGHTS, OR ANY OF THE MATERIAL. I ONLY OWN A COPY OF THE MOVIE, AND WILL NEVER OWN MORE THAN ANY OTHER FAN CAN OWN.
Only a Thatcher’s Son…
“They want to see your patents, Will.” That was what led to this… this… misery and depression.
He stood there in the little circlet of light let in by the grate above his cell, listening to the rats scrabble in and around the walls, and the water drip down from the streets.
He felt, rather than heard, the doors and gateways opening behind him. By the time that he heard the voices, he was too out of it to react before the hit landed on his back.
Not a noise was made as he took the beating. Once the ringing in his ears subsided, he could hear someone talking. The voice belonged to Count Adhemar, of course. He was finishing his lecture on how he had found William out and what he was going to do to him.
“You will know the pain I have suffered at your hands. From the time you refused my offer to tutor you to when your precious Prince cast me off to war. Do you have *any* idea how hard it was to get out of there so I could face you? Of course you don’t… that’s why I’m going to show you.” William’s stomach lurched at the pure venom of Adhemar’s voice. It made him glad that he couldn’t see the undoubtedly maniacal spark in the Count’s eyes as he made his last statement.
“First,” at this, he heard a rip, and then felt a cold draft as his back was exposed. “First, you will fell only what I desire.” His pants drop as his belt is pulled free. The initial strike was hard – it felt like a hot iron was slung against his back, burning and freezing at the same time, his nerves not sure what they were experiencing.
The second, third, fourth and fifth strikes were almost a soothing balm on his back. Almost. Each new strike sent little sparks of fire through his spine. The next five were increasingly brutal, made only more so by the savage glee that Adhemar exhibited with his squeals of delights.
Eventually, the beating stopped. Later, William would wish that that had been the last of his ordeal. Thirty blows from a stiff leather belt, flaying him in a much harsher fashion than any whip ever had. His back was on fire, blood streaming down in rivulets from multiple cuts. Every breath was despair, each minute twitch as his muscles strained under the burden of not moving causing sheer agony to flare through his every limb. The thought of living with the pain was enough to make him blanch and feel faint.
Adhemar only seemed more determined to make him anguish. Without warning of any sort, the Count released his aching erection from the confines of his pants, and shoved *hard* into William’s bloody ass. The pain was beyond description. William’s ass was red-hot from the beating, but now it was to the point of hot iron. He cried a little at the rough treatment so soon after his abuse, making little whimpers of pain as Adhemar jerked his hips in and out of the unprepared passage; the Count’s hands were like vice-grips on William’s battered buttocks and hips, forcing the boy to bend at the waist simply to keep from splitting apart at the seams. At each thrust, Adhemar spoke such truths as to make William freeze from fright and burn with fury. He spoke of how he had bribed one of the thatcher’s son’s own neighbors to find him. Of the reason the thatcher had lost his sight, and of the way that he revealed it all to the REAL knights.
Most of all, the words that hurt the most, were those spoken of what would happen once William had been tried; the probability of him becoming a slave, and Adhemar’s plans to buy him, to make him suffer as long as he, himself, had. The thought that he could never see or speak to his friends – Jocelyn, Roland, Wat, Geoff, Kate, and even Edward – burned in his mind and body as no others had. That Edward, his beloved Prince and sometimes lover, would never want to speak to him again, now that his treachery was revealed. That all he would know was pain at his rival’s hands.
With a grunt, Adhemar came, smacking William’s ass as he pulled out and using the tattered remains of the boy’s shirt to clean himself off with. He gave the round mounds a good squeeze, making sure that the deeds done were clear to anyone who looked in; the blood, the cuts, the semen, and the dirt obvious as a monk in a nunnery to all observers.
Once put back to his rights, Adhemar walked William’s trembling form, and grabbed the flaccid cock. Using the shirt still in his hands, he pulled hard, making the thatcher’s son cry out in pained pleasure; his hands sure on the man in front of him, arousing the piece of flesh to fullness, then, using William’s own blood as lubricant, bringing the former knight off, making him come all over himself, his pleasure derived from the very same source as his punishment.
The Count pulled up the boy’s pants and secured them with the blood-spattered belt he’d taken off at the beginning, not bothering to clean the imposter’s body off, just wanting him to be as uncomfortable as possible.
As he sauntered to the door, William’s rival simply stated, “What better do you think you deserve? You’re nothing – a plaything for those who matter in this world. A fuck-toy for bored royalty and a mockery of everything jousting was meant to be to your so-called friends. You don’t know anything; but then again, how could you? You’re only a thatcher’s son. And a piss-poor one at that.”
To be continued in Part 3 “William”
Author: Abeille deVerte
Rating: NC-17 - graphic rape and torture
Feedback: Please.
Summary: Adhemar gets his revenge for a love spurned, and William is on the receiving end…
Author’s Notes: As noted in the rating, there is graphic rape and torture ahead. If this is too disturbing for you, don’t read. It will be explained in the next part. While this takes place directly in the movie, it is still AU, and if that wasn’t immediately obvious, you need to use your brain – all fanfiction is in the Author’s Universe. I am making no money from this, and I claim no ownership of the characters, the actors, or anything that I do not create on my own, and those that I did create would be listed here. Even though I *wish* I owned Edward. And Roland. But that’s for another time and place.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS, THE RIGHTS, OR ANY OF THE MATERIAL. I ONLY OWN A COPY OF THE MOVIE, AND WILL NEVER OWN MORE THAN ANY OTHER FAN CAN OWN.
Only a Thatcher’s Son…
“They want to see your patents, Will.” That was what led to this… this… misery and depression.
He stood there in the little circlet of light let in by the grate above his cell, listening to the rats scrabble in and around the walls, and the water drip down from the streets.
He felt, rather than heard, the doors and gateways opening behind him. By the time that he heard the voices, he was too out of it to react before the hit landed on his back.
Not a noise was made as he took the beating. Once the ringing in his ears subsided, he could hear someone talking. The voice belonged to Count Adhemar, of course. He was finishing his lecture on how he had found William out and what he was going to do to him.
“You will know the pain I have suffered at your hands. From the time you refused my offer to tutor you to when your precious Prince cast me off to war. Do you have *any* idea how hard it was to get out of there so I could face you? Of course you don’t… that’s why I’m going to show you.” William’s stomach lurched at the pure venom of Adhemar’s voice. It made him glad that he couldn’t see the undoubtedly maniacal spark in the Count’s eyes as he made his last statement.
“First,” at this, he heard a rip, and then felt a cold draft as his back was exposed. “First, you will fell only what I desire.” His pants drop as his belt is pulled free. The initial strike was hard – it felt like a hot iron was slung against his back, burning and freezing at the same time, his nerves not sure what they were experiencing.
The second, third, fourth and fifth strikes were almost a soothing balm on his back. Almost. Each new strike sent little sparks of fire through his spine. The next five were increasingly brutal, made only more so by the savage glee that Adhemar exhibited with his squeals of delights.
Eventually, the beating stopped. Later, William would wish that that had been the last of his ordeal. Thirty blows from a stiff leather belt, flaying him in a much harsher fashion than any whip ever had. His back was on fire, blood streaming down in rivulets from multiple cuts. Every breath was despair, each minute twitch as his muscles strained under the burden of not moving causing sheer agony to flare through his every limb. The thought of living with the pain was enough to make him blanch and feel faint.
Adhemar only seemed more determined to make him anguish. Without warning of any sort, the Count released his aching erection from the confines of his pants, and shoved *hard* into William’s bloody ass. The pain was beyond description. William’s ass was red-hot from the beating, but now it was to the point of hot iron. He cried a little at the rough treatment so soon after his abuse, making little whimpers of pain as Adhemar jerked his hips in and out of the unprepared passage; the Count’s hands were like vice-grips on William’s battered buttocks and hips, forcing the boy to bend at the waist simply to keep from splitting apart at the seams. At each thrust, Adhemar spoke such truths as to make William freeze from fright and burn with fury. He spoke of how he had bribed one of the thatcher’s son’s own neighbors to find him. Of the reason the thatcher had lost his sight, and of the way that he revealed it all to the REAL knights.
Most of all, the words that hurt the most, were those spoken of what would happen once William had been tried; the probability of him becoming a slave, and Adhemar’s plans to buy him, to make him suffer as long as he, himself, had. The thought that he could never see or speak to his friends – Jocelyn, Roland, Wat, Geoff, Kate, and even Edward – burned in his mind and body as no others had. That Edward, his beloved Prince and sometimes lover, would never want to speak to him again, now that his treachery was revealed. That all he would know was pain at his rival’s hands.
With a grunt, Adhemar came, smacking William’s ass as he pulled out and using the tattered remains of the boy’s shirt to clean himself off with. He gave the round mounds a good squeeze, making sure that the deeds done were clear to anyone who looked in; the blood, the cuts, the semen, and the dirt obvious as a monk in a nunnery to all observers.
Once put back to his rights, Adhemar walked William’s trembling form, and grabbed the flaccid cock. Using the shirt still in his hands, he pulled hard, making the thatcher’s son cry out in pained pleasure; his hands sure on the man in front of him, arousing the piece of flesh to fullness, then, using William’s own blood as lubricant, bringing the former knight off, making him come all over himself, his pleasure derived from the very same source as his punishment.
The Count pulled up the boy’s pants and secured them with the blood-spattered belt he’d taken off at the beginning, not bothering to clean the imposter’s body off, just wanting him to be as uncomfortable as possible.
As he sauntered to the door, William’s rival simply stated, “What better do you think you deserve? You’re nothing – a plaything for those who matter in this world. A fuck-toy for bored royalty and a mockery of everything jousting was meant to be to your so-called friends. You don’t know anything; but then again, how could you? You’re only a thatcher’s son. And a piss-poor one at that.”
To be continued in Part 3 “William”