Heart of a Lion

Heart of a Lion
Kira Stone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone

England 1446

The Foot of the Chevoit Hills

“This was a fine idea,” Curran Aurick announced to the world at large. He arched his back until the rest of his naked body floated to the surface of the steamy water. The natural hot spring formed a bathtub big enough for ten large men, but this night Curran had it all to himself. Of course, if one of the castle functionaries ever caught him here, his good fortune would take a sharp turn for the worse.

“A member of the guard must not befoul the healing waters into which His Grace’s lily-white bottom descends,” he mocked in the nasal tone of the keep’s chatelaine. Like Luthias’ arse shat daisies.

Not that he had any personal knowledge of the arse belonging to Luthias, the Fourth Duke of Otterburn. Yet. Duke Luthias hadn’t been home since Curran took the post of guardsman. That in no way diminished the respect and love which blossomed in Curran’s heart as he listened to the epic tales spun about His Grace’s battle prowess, kind heart, and lusty cock.

The great nobleman had beaten back the northern marauders time and time again. His campaigns on the border separating his beautiful duchy from the Scottish rocks prevented the butchering heathens from spilling stout English blood throughout the peaceful countryside.

As his large family lived in one of the duke’s protected villages, it was a cause Curran wholeheartedly supported. It was also one of the biggest reasons he’d left home. Curran planned to spend his life chasing adventure so his younger siblings back home never needed to run in fear from the barbarians. What better way to accomplish that than by joining the duke’s army and learning the art of making war from the man who did it best?

Unfortunately, as a member of the duke’s home guard, Curran had no opportunity to take an active role in the duchy’s defense. The only time he’d had to draw his weapon was to fend off a playful attack by a quartet of maids.

Thank you, ladies, but no thank you. It took something stouter than a virgin’s plump breasts to make his cock sit up and take notice. Given the dearth of male lovers in the area, every so often Curran became tempted to take a bite of the sweet meat the ladies offered him. The notion never lasted long, for he need only look at their powdered and perfumed bodies to have his manhood bow down in defeat.

No, his body and soul belonged to men with a warrior’s heart. The heart of a lion. Rare men like Luthias.

True, the duke was aging, but far from infirm if the stories told about him contained a grain of truth. His corded thighs were laced with battle scars. His hands were calloused from a strong grip on the hilt of his sword. No doubt the man’s cock would stand as tall and proud as the duke himself.

Curran longed to know what would please so great and worthy a man in the privacy of his bedchamber. Yet, bedding the duke was a dream destined to remain unfulfilled. His first three wives were fragile creatures, dying in childbirth or soon thereafter according to common servant gossip. The fact that he kept replacing those he’d lost even after procuring a male heir spoke to his preference for feminine charms.

Did the duke require his wife to pleasure him with her mouth first? Or was it her warm, wet channel that His Grace preferred? Would there be anything Curran could do to entice the man to sample what pleasures could be found in the arms -- and snug arsehole -- of another man?

Curran let his thoughts linger on the arousing topic, generating an internal heat equal to the temperature of the mineral-laden water surrounding him. His engorged cock bobbed against his flat stomach as he imagined being impaled by the duke’s cock. Soon his cock swelled with the need for release, even if it had to come from his own hand.

Under the water, his feet sought solid ground upon which to rest. The irregularly shaped wall of the pool provided an alcove which cupped his body perfectly. His fist encompassed his cock, stroking the hard cock in a steady rhythm. He didn’t have much room to widen his stance, but he did what he could with his other hand to bring his balls equal pleasure.

“More, faster,” he moaned encouragingly to the duke of his erotic dreams.

His imaginary lover complied, taking care to rub a thumb over the head of his cock on the upstroke, just as Curran preferred.

Sharp edges of the natural formation had been chipped away to provide a surface that might abrade but not slice through tender flesh. Curran relished the sensation of the rough texture against his skin as he flexed his hips.

In and out, his cock thrust through his tight fist. No, not his, the duke’s. And what was it Luthias was saying? Oh, yes. That Curran was a brave and honorable man. A man who pleased the duke in so many ways…

“Yes, yes. Take me fully into your mouth, sire,” Curran said aloud. It was the last coherent phrase he could utter, for the power of his release overtook his muscles and he cried out to the full moon in one long, shuddering breath.

And in the brief silence that followed, Curran heard a shrill, avian cry that chilled him to the bone.