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  • Writer's pictureGood Guy

Adam Šindler: Castellan


"Welcome to the Fuckitton Castle in Fuckshire, my name is Michael and I will be your guide for the next fifty minutes or so."


My partner Filip and I are standing in a crowd of people in the passage of the Fuckitton Castle, and a fleeting smile flashes across our faces. We're coming back from the vintage and we just couldn't miss this destination. Fuckitton! Who ever heard that?


Castellan Michael speaks with that classic guide diction, which I never really understood. As if it couldn't be said normally? Otherwise, he is quite a handsome, flowing hair, sparse stubble, a twinkle in his eye. At least that way. He just says Fuckitton one more time and I burst out laughing.


"Although you may have never heard of it, the Fuckitton Castle stood at key historical turning points, for example, three generals spent the night here when in 1794, after winning the battle at Lickhill, they discussed the post-war organization of this strategically important region," explains the castellan passionately.


Filip continues to frown and I think to myself that, apart from the funny topography, this will be another one of the many boring and unsurprising tours we've already taken dozens of. In the end, it's the same every time. Foundation, rebuilding and reconstruction, change of owners, wars, trophies and porcelain collection. Or some silverware or something.


Standard company, a few older couples, two families with confused and excited children, a few people our age. I'm searching the group to see if I can spot at least one sexy dad, but I don't know where the women are going to see these guys these days. The castellan is probably the most interesting, even though I think he's a bit of a jerk. Who wouldn't be - at the Fuckitton Castle in Fuckshire!


"You will soon be able to see for yourself the Renaissance reconstruction of the west wing. Follow me," Michal rattles his keys and for a moment it seems to me that he is looking at us with Filip.


"We'll fuck in Fuckitton Castle," I just have to whisper it in Filip's ear.


"You mean with him?" he knows right away where I'm going and licks herself horny.


I love this gesture of his and it has never happened to me that it didn't start humming in my stick.


We move down a long corridor full of antlers and various other stalls, lined with doors for placing in the stoves in individual rooms. It's the same everywhere, terrible boredom!


"...replicas, because the originals were stolen in 1645 after an invasion by enemy troops," is heard down the hall and I have no idea what he's talking about, because I'm looking out the windows at the really nice castle park, "will anyone know who they were those conquering robbers?”


Castellan is now staring directly at me, looking greedy like math teacher Mr. Carter, who threw a wet sponge at us for a wrong answer. An old memory activates the brain coils in me, the state of alert is switched on and I process the required data with the speed of an eye blink.


"Swedes, of course," I say, as if everyone knows it.


"Great!" I get the recognition, but I can't shake the impression that he's staring at me in a strange way. Like I was pissing him off or something.


We proceed further into the rooms, trying to fit into the narrow space outside the ropes that prevent entry between the furniture. Certainly rare, inlaid wood, ebony and the other usual castle clichés. Babies, don't even try to pay attention, let alone be quiet. Why are you bringing the parents here? Kids, get bored and just spoil our boredom.


I've been hearing about the Blue Room for a while. What kind of countess slept in it, what china set she used to wash her face in the morning, what potty she peed in at night. It is said that she was a beauty that Joseph II himself went after, who personally visited her at the Fuckitton castle in 1745. Why not, there is probably nothing else to do in this castle.


Wait! What nonsense!


"This could not have been in 1745," I interrupt his interpretation, and the crowd freezes at that moment, "he was only four years old..."


Castellan stares at me on the spot with his strange gaze, until I take a step back in panic.


"If he was already king, it must have been more like 1785," I elaborate on my judgment, trying to assure myself that I'm not babbling nonsense, which would be embarrassing as hell.


"Well done, young man," applauds the castellan, slightly affected. He suddenly smiles, but his eyes say that he would rather impale me and grill me in the courtyard, "you have passed the vigilance test, at the end of the tour you will receive a small souvenir from our castle shop."


Fuckitton condoms! That would be a souvenir! I chuckle to myself and then into Filip's ear as well.


We enter a huge library, which suddenly seems at least a little interesting to me. Ancient parquet floors squeak beautifully, centuries-old books bound in leather are incredibly mysterious and sexy.


"The library miraculously escaped a fire in 1820. Count Johan had a magnificent baroque chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary built out of gratitude, which today adorns the central park sector."


Well, not that! From looking at the ancient manuscript behind the glass, another tumultuous bullshit breaks out of me!


“The chapel outside? It's from the Empire, after all," I say out loud. Where would baroque come from in the 19th century?! At most still historicism, but that chapel has typical Roman elements, that is the Napoleonic empire.


"And so here my colleague takes over the baton and completes the tour instead of me. I'm obviously not good enough anymore," the castellan smiles condescendingly, but he'd rather eat me on the spot. The crowd laughs, maybe even thinks we've set up a skit.


I go back to the manuscripts, I am fascinated by how they used to play with the text, how they painted the letters and how funny the old English sounded.


"And now, through the secret door, up the stairs, please."


Like this medical manuscript! With pictures of body parts and labels. It's fascinating that anyone could make sense of it. How would the doctors of that time look at today's medicine? They probably wouldn't understand at all...


Suddenly I realize that I hear silence! I turn sharply and ... I'm here alone! What? As? Did they forget about me or what? I don't even know where they went.


I try every door but it's locked. Oh dude! How about now? Should I be hysterically banging here?


I am dialing Filip's mobile phone. He has it muted, of course, but he could at least feel the vibration in his pocket.


"I'm locked in the library, tell that stupid castellan," I write on whatsapp.


I don't understand at all why that Filip didn't call right away. After all, he must have noticed that he misses me. Or does he not miss me anymore?


There is no time for any touching and analysis of our partner relationship. I have to get out! I brace myself and bang on the door, but I don't hear anyone behind it. Where the hell did everyone go?


I try to calm down and sit down in the countess's chair, a royal one in fact. Richly carved, oriental ornaments, elephant heads in the backrests. Comfortable upholstery. I contemplate waiting for the next expedition, but it soon dawns on me that it's five in the afternoon and we were probably the last!


Why the hell isn't Filip looking for me?!


“Using the exhibits on display is strictly prohibited, young man!” I hear a familiar voice behind me.


Finally! He came back for me.


"I thought you forgot about me," I try to be nice. I turn to see where he actually came from.


"Shut up!" hisses the castellan.


Well, what does it allow itself... perhaps...


Before I know what's going on, he's by my side, grabbing my hands, and before I can recover, he's wrapping my hands with packing tape.


"What are you doing? Are you crazy?” I am belatedly reacting to this absolutely shocking situation.


“So you're the smartest one here, huh? And you wanted to steal from the library, huh?”


I stare in a daze as my hands are handcuffed to the seatbacks and this fool calls me out for stealing. I try to jerk myself to my feet, but the throne is so horribly heavy that the straps just dig into my hands.


"Sit and don't move!" the castellan commands and sends me back to the backrest with a stroke to my chest.


"You can't be serious, you're completely screwed! I'll kick your snout!” I exclaim dramatically, still completely shocked.


But he stretches around the throne from behind and sticks my legs to the 18th century carving gem.


"Filip will find me! You're not going to get away with this, he's going to call the police!”


"He won't call, that your pussy! I forgot him in the famine, so sad story.. and there's no signal, just by the way."


“Help!” I'm getting really scared.


“Stop screaming or you'll get a tape over your mouth! No one will hear you here, the cashier has gone home and everyone is already gone!”


"What do you want to do?" I try to think rationally and not panic.


"Now I'm going to search you, if you didn't stole me something, Mr. Smart!"


"Me? What would I take?” I can't help but wonder.


“Shut up, smartass! Was it good for you to humiliate me? Make yourself a smartass? We're not here in Do You Want To Be A Millionaire, we don't!”


Castellan feels my chest and then goes under my T-shirt. He caresses my body, fingers nibbling on my nipples.


At that moment I feel like I'm going to pass out. He feel up me here!


"Michael, can you tell me what you're doing?"

I read somewhere that reaching out increases the likelihood of fine-tuning the communication. It should inspire confidence and break down barriers.


"You get the tape!"


Before I can figure out what to do next, my shorts are unzipped. And the furious castellan is trying to reach my Tommy Hilfiger boxers by stroking...


I can clearly feel the vibration of my phone in my pocket! Filip! He's looking for me! In my mind's eye, I see him bravely conquering the slippery gravel in the famine and risking his own life to climb to a small, barred window to get to one line of signal, and though it fails three times, he calls out the fourth time.


"Filip is calling me! My phone is ringing!”


"It's not Filip, and relax a little," the castellan says to me.


I watch in horror as stroking my cock feels good and my treacherous cock starts to get hardening. This is a scam!


Michal doesn't hesitate and finally goes under the cloth. Excitement runs through my body and I relax into the backrest. He starts playing with it and it's a ride. He didn't score much with history, but he knows how to stand up to the dick. He makes different gestures, one more hotter than the other.


“Cooperate a little,” he motions for me to raise my ass so he can pull down whatever is preventing him from getting to my man's equipment.


At that moment it is already clear that he got me. With a hardening dick between my legs, there is a sharp retreat of common sense, I push away thoughts of my partner languishing in a famine and of our hitherto faithful, beautiful relationship.


Michal just knows how to do it with my horny dick. The pleasure is crushing me on the throne, his touches and games with the foreskin are famous. The swollen glans is starting to ooze juice, which I haven't had in years!


Castellan's touch conjures pleasure in the place of my swollen balls, in which it hums like a June linden tree. He's feeling the bag like it's smuggling coke or something. I start breathing heavily and moaning a little.


Now he's holding my balls and at the same time gently massaging the edge of the acorn, I have the feeling that even with the throne I'm flying off somewhere into the century of its production. No one has ever done it to me so beautifully, I don't understand it at all.


I observe the castellan with the interest with which he processes my ultra hard prick and I notice that he is actually a very handsome guy, with an intelligent expression in his eyes.


At that moment my dick starts to twitch and it looks like I'm cumming soon ... and I am almost cumming ... huh ... one more second and ...


Castellan stops.


I fidget impatiently on the throne, my dick strongly jerks and I want to cum desperately. But bad luck.


"You're doing very well, Michael," I try to encourage him to do the next activity with praise.


"I know, smartass."

And again he takes hold of the work and again with his hand and skillful touch he conjures pleasure, which spreads from the area of my crotch to infinity and takes me with him. Prick throbbing with excitement, getting ready to cum. My body stiffens, heart frantically pumping more and more blood into my already engorged cock.


Castellan stops.


I'm gasping for breath, the urge to cum is unbearable.


"Do it to me, I'm not giving it," I sigh.


"You would love that! No way! That's for Joseph II."


Maybe I'll fall on the spot, that's not possible. Is he going to torture me here? As a punishment? Mr. Offended Vanity! And then it hits me hard. Straps, teasing... oh yeah, he really wants to torture me here!


However, other thoughts disappear from my brain in a flash, because Michael once again grasps the dick and switches to the broadcast of radio Ecstasy FM.


I squirm in my kingly position and try to push my dick faster and harder into his hand to help me cum. My hot glans is already on the verge of swelling, threatening to explode. Michal slows down and begins to do something terribly gentle and slow, causing an explosion of excruciating pleasure.


I have tears in my eyes. I make sounds similar to dog whining.


"Please do it to me, please," I whimper, not recognizing my shrill voice.


Castellan is still gently teasing me, which makes me shit with pleasure and at the same time I want to take a good cum. Really cum! Huge cumshot! I whimper and whimper.


"I need to cum, please, please, please," I whimper, wiggling my ass like I'm sitting in an anthill.


"That's for the chapel now!" he is adamant.


"I'm sorry, I'll never interrupt your interpretation again, I'm sorry, just do it to me now. Or untie me and I'll jerk off."


Castellan waits for my tortured dick to pulsate again towards the finish and ... stops.


I am completely broken, raging with hormones, heart rate, pressure and unsatisfied desire.


"Please..." I whimper and start to cry. Dick is absolutely huge and only half second is missing to explosion. Maybe if I blew on it from the open window now, it would finally start creamig. But no, even nature is against me.


The castellan looks at me with folded arms and an amused grin. And he's not evil, he just enjoys it.


Asshole!


“Mike, pleeeaaase,” I squeal in utter desperation. Perhaps I have never in my life whined so much and crawled in humiliation. Figuratively speaking, of course.


Castellan kneels down and takes it in his mouth. I think I'm going to collapse on the spot. He gently licks me and starts another hellish torment. Delight throws me around like I'm getting electric shocks. Another wave of ecstasy rushes through me, threatening to shatter me into tiny pieces.


It's coming to me again. One more time, two more times and I'll be over the line of no return. Ohh shit!


And the castellan doesn't stop!


He doesn't stop! Good God, now I will set up a chapel of gratitude in Fuckitton! He doesn't stop! I'm shaking like a rattle, I help myself as much as I can to get to the top. Just a moment and my cock, which has grown to gigantic proportions that I have never seen before, is nearing the finish line.


I knock myself and start bawling. Finally comes the tipping point. Everything stirs in me, an ecstatic wave occurs, perhaps pulsating from within the very essence of being. The floodgates are released and a giant orgasm begins. I'm roaring all over Fuckitton Castle, my tortured dick finally cums!


No, that's not cum! These are explosions of huge cumshots, a long, thick splash flying through the air. I splash for dear life, splashing on myself, around me, everywhere. My horny and irritated to death balls let out liters of seed to finally get rid of it to the last drop.


I curl up on the throne and roar. Sweat flows from the forehead and its drops mix with the sperm on the T-shirt, creating a compound of pleasure.


I finally collapse, take a deep breath and want to cry with relief. The prick is still wagging and it himself does not want to believe that the hardships are over. The relief is indescribable.


“Thank you,” I whisper, “thank you.”


***


"Welcome to the Fuckitton Castle in Fuckshire, my name is Michal and I will be your guide for the next fifty minutes or so."


I am standing in a crowd of people in the passage of the Fuckitton Castle and a fleeting smile flashes across my face. I feel a gentle tickle on my stomach. I stare impudently into the castellan's eyes. So what year do I catch you today?




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