As the Smutathon fundraising total sat at £1,066 yesterday evening, I made a rather niche offer on Twitter: if someone increased it to £1,087, I’d write a piece of flash fiction inspired by William II of England – otherwise known as William Rufus (or William the Red) – who ascended the throne in, yup, 1087. Happily someone called me on it, and at 10pm I sat down to bash out 500 words of filth, fully intending to have the whole thing posted by midnight.
2,556 words later, I think it’s ready. As well as William II, the story is also inspired by this excellent Eleanor Janega blog post on sodomy. You’ll soon see why.
Smutathon itself takes place this coming Saturday (26th September) from midday till midnight UK time. If you’d like to take part, check out the details here, and if you enjoy this story, please consider showing your appreciation by chucking a few quid at our 2020 Endometriosis UK fundraising appeal.
~
I glanced up from my notepad to see the sun streaming through the high windows on the far side of the lecture theatre. Megan followed my eyes and grunted in disgust.
“They really don’t fucking clean in here, do they?”
As usual, she was right, though the blizzard of dust particles spinning through the shaft of light that bathed the handful of students who’d bothered to show up for Professor Herbert’s latest tour de force maybe didn’t stand out as one of her more astute observations.
“No, they really fucking don’t,” I said, and peered at the screen behind the Professor’s head. He was gesturing animatedly, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, and a sheaf of papers in one hand.
“So William the Conqueror dies in 1087 – killed by his own saddle, poor man – and for the next 20 years pretty much all hell breaks loose, as his three surviving sons vie for control of Normandy. And of England.”
I put my hand on Megan’s shoulder and leaned in close, pausing for a second as her perfume hit my nostrils. She smiled and raised her eyebrows. I coughed nervously. Not now. Instead I brushed the hair away from her ear and whispered into it.
“Remind me why we took Medieval History this term? This is such tedious bullshit.”
“Hey,” she protested, making no attempt to keep her voice down (yes, it had been her idea). “Shut up and pay attention. You might learn something.”
“The eldest son, Robert, became Duke of Normandy,” Professor Herbert continued. “William’s second son, Richard, dies in a hunting accident in 1075, so his third son, another William, takes the English throne. There was another boy, Henry, who we’ll cover properly next week, but for now we’re going to focus on William the Second, or William the Red, as he was commonly known at the time.”
A hand shot up in the front row. Eager little shit.
“Because he was a psychopath, Sir?”
Professor Herbert chuckled. I felt Megan roll her eyes next to me.
“Oh goodness me, no. He simply had red hair as a boy, that’s all. William was a rather jolly fellow, actually. Uncomplicated. Except when it came to, well, sex I guess.”
Nervous laughter echoed around the hall. Megan put her hand on my arm. Yep. This should be interesting.
“Now we can’t say for sure whether William the Red was a, a homosexual, but there’s certainly a lot of compelling evidence…that is to say…well let me just read you this.” He cleared his throat ostentatiously, and reached for a book. “One eminent historian of the time writes that William was a ‘rumbustious, devil-may-care soldier, with no cultivated tastes and little show of conventional religious piety or morality—indeed, according to his critics, addicted to every kind of vice, particularly lust and especially…especially sodomy.’”
His voice trailed off and the lecture theatre went quiet. No-one quite knew how to respond. Dignified silence really did feel like the safest option. For everyone, that is, apart from Simon Roberts.
He turned round to face me from the third row, and it felt like the entire room turned with him.
“If anyone’s confused about the meaning of the word sodomy,” he smirked. “I’m sure David here can enlighten them. Isn’t that right, David?”
I stared down at him. At a house party the previous month, Simon had caught me on my knees in a back bedroom with Tom’s cock in my mouth and – to his audible disgust – Arfan’s pretty much balls-deep in my arse from behind. Of all the ways to come out as queer to him and, by extension, to the rest of the rugby team, it’s maybe not the one I would’ve chosen. As Simon leered at me from his seat, I realized that he hadn’t taken the news well.
I was sufficiently consumed by shock and newfound enmity that I failed to notice Megan’s hand shooting into the air next to me.
“Y-yes, Ms Carter,” Professor Herbert said, even more rattled now by the sudden turn in events and atmosphere.
“Sorry Professor, but I just wanted to clarify for Mr Roberts that in its original meaning, ‘sodomy’ simply refers to any kind of sexual act that is not specifically intended to result in pregnancy. Hand jobs. Blow jobs. Cunnilingus. Rimming. And yes, anal sex. So William the Red may very well have been a sodomite, and young David here may be too, but I’d wager the same label applies just as accurately to most of us in this hall. Or at least I hope it does.”
Professor Herbert looked like he might faint. Simon glowered up at both of us, and I gripped the arms of my seat, inwardly praying that a hitherto undiscovered fault line in the tectonic plates below us might swallow up the entire building in a sudden earthquake.
As the hubbub slowly died down, and the Professor shakily resumed his lecture, Megan tapped my thigh.
“Hey,” she muttered. “They know you’re bi, right?”
“I mean…maybe? I’m not sure. All they really know is what Shithead over there told them, and that’s light on nuance, heavy on being spit-roasted by two huge dicks.”
“Wait, Tom Bradby has a huge dick? You could’ve told me before I binned him off.”
“Really not the point, Megan. I don’t really know what they think, but I doubt they have any idea that we, y’know…”
I trailed off, and for once Megan opted to say nothing, instead leaving me to reflect on the implications of my sudden hesitation.
That we fucked last week? And again yesterday morning? That we’d been flirting all term, even as she made her way through half the college rowing squad and I had opportunistic sex at parties with men, women, and enbys I didn’t know from Adam three hours earlier? Yeah, I was pretty sure they had no idea about any of that.
At the front of the hall – perhaps emboldened by Megan’s intervention – Professor Herbert was hitting his stride.
“…William ran a court known for its flamboyance, in fact. Decadent and luxurious in their attire, the King and his favoured barons cultivated a reputation for, let’s say, the finer things in life.”
Megan returned her hand to my thigh and picked absent-mindedly at the seam of my jeans. For all that we’d been the centre of attention five minutes earlier, the half-empty theatre had apparently returned to a state of near somnambulance.
“That we do this?” she said, cupping my crotch with her fingers. “By the way, totally a form of sodomy, as far as all those crusty medieval dudes were concerned.”
“Is it?” I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady. “Wouldn’t you actually have to, y’know…”
“Get your cock out? Technically just fondling it would probably count, but for the avoidance of any doubt, I guess I probably should, yeah.”
One by one, she unhooked the buttons on my jeans, as we both fixed our eyes firmly on Professor Herbert’s PowerPoint slides. He was gesturing enthusiastically again, as he described the complex issue of 11th century marriage and succession.
“Were there concubines? Maybe. Did he have sex with both men and women? Almost certainly. What we do know for certain is that with no heir, William was always vulnerable to claims on the throne from ambitious noblemen in the English court, and of course from his brothers.”
“I could be your concubine,” Megan whispered, easing my semi-erect cock out of my jeans and closing her fist around it. “I could creep into your chambers every morning and suck you off while you tell me about all the mischief you got up to the night before.”
I shuddered, and wrapped my hand around hers. “Ok, this is definitely sodomy. Right?”
“Right. It’s sodomy if I squeeze your dick like this, and it’s sodomy if I, ah fuck, yeah, if I pump my hand up and down and damn, it’s distracting when it twitches like that.”
You’re telling me, I thought to myself, my eyes cast upward in desperation. They practically rolled back in my head when Megan leant over and brushed her lips across the head. I looked down to see a glistening streak of saliva where she’d kissed me, and as I turned to stare at her, she slid off the high-backed chair and manoeuvred herself between my legs.
“What are you d-“
“I can’t suck you off – 100% sodomy, just so you know – if I’m in my seat. And I really want your cock in my mouth. But look, there’s no-one behind us, so if I kneel here and you try to stay as quiet as possible, maybe they’ll just think I went to the loo or something.”
I nodded mutely. Once she’d decided to do something, there was limited value in arguing with Megan at the best of times, and while this certainly matched the definition of ‘best’ in a number of different ways, I sensed I should probably just let her get on with it.
As she took a moment to eye up my cock, an unabashedly greedy expression on her face, I checked again on the rest of the room. Professor Herbert was a windbag, but an amiable one, and I felt confident that no-one would want to hurt his feelings by leaving early. The Professor himself had moved on from the hazy details of William the Red’s sex life, and was fluently reeling off what I could already tell would be a long list of facts and observations about the politics of succession in 11th-century Europe. Perfect.
Megan settled into the cosy little gap formed by my spread legs, the edge of my chair, and the seat in front. She was entirely hidden from the view of anyone in the steeply-tiered rows below us, and I relaxed just enough to properly appreciate the sight of her there. Her glasses slid down her nose, and as she sighed in irritation I had to stifle a wholly inappropriate urge to laugh at the momentary echo of the Professor’s weekly struggle to keep his spectacles in place.
Any resemblance between the two disappeared the instant Megan took my cock in her mouth. I already knew that, as a rule, she liked to get straight to the point, and she pushed her lips along the head, over the coronal ridge, and down the shaft, I sensed this wasn’t destined to be a slow, teasing blow job.
I moved my hands awkwardly to her shoulders, and bit back a moan of delight when she sucked hard, clamping the head of my dick between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. I could feel saliva spilling out to coat the skin, and when Megan came up briefly for air, she wrapped her left hand round me again and moved it firmly up and down.
Without taking her eyes off mine, she put the middle finger of her right hand in her mouth.
“Pull your jeans down, David,” she whispered. “No, not all the way. That’s far enough. I just need access to your ass. I have a little more sodomy in mind.”
I did as I was told, and was rewarded with the tip of her finger circling my hole, as she tugged my cock back into her mouth. This time she swallowed even more of it, and for a second I felt her lips press against the neatly-trimmed hair at the base. She eased back immediately, her tongue retreating along the underside of the shaft at the same speed as her finger entered my ass.
“Sodomy,” she mumbled around my cock, and I clenched down hard, enjoying the way it made my cock jump. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and I knew instinctively that she was thinking about the previous times she’d had my cock in her mouth; about the way I’d guided her with my hands, my words; and about the change in speed and pressure, with both hand and lips, that had forced unstoppable orgasms from me on each occasion.
“…a hunting accident – or at least that’s how it was described at the time. Most unfortunate, and quite the coincidence that an expert bowman’s arrow should happen to find the king’s heart…”
Professor Herbert’s words continued to drift up from the stage. I glanced at the clock above the giant screen, and realized that the class was nearly over. Megan dragged herself closer to my body, and kissed the tip of my cock. Finger still in my ass, she looked up at me and undid the top two buttons of her shirt with her other hand.
“If you jizz all over my tits, that’s definitely not going to get me pregnant.” She pulled my cock towards her, and pumped it a couple of times to emphasise the point.
“Sodomy,” we whispered in unison, and her grin alone was almost enough to make me lose it. Instead I watched as she slicked the head of my cock with spit again, and started stroking. I ground down onto her finger, then back up, my hips thrusting forward till it felt like I was fucking her fist.
“Now,” she murmured, as Professor Herbert slammed shut the book he’d been reading from.
“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” I closed my eyes, but opened them again immediately. I needed to see her. She aimed my cock at the top of her cleavage and squeezed hard, just below the head. Cum shot all over her, collecting in her clavicle and coating the skin from the base of her throat down to her nipples. I watched her face scrunch up in glee, and wondered for a moment how my own must look. As I felt my cock spurt over and over again in her hand, I was conscious of an exhilarated tremor spreading from my thighs up through my stomach and chest, till even my shoulders felt like they were shaking. My neck and cheeks were burning hot, and I moved my hand over them, unsure how else to hide or disperse the obvious joy radiating out of me.
Megan rubbed my cum into her skin, removed her finger from my ass, and coolly rebuttoned her blouse. In front of us, the screen went blank, and Professor Herbert clapped his hands together theatrically. I offered Megan my hand, but rather than allow herself to be hauled up, she took it in hers and brought my fingers to her lips, then pressed her face against my open palm and shook her head in what I could only assume was disbelief as what we’d just done.
As our fellow students started to climb out of their seats, I pulled my hand away and hurriedly made myself decent. Megan half-rolled back to the footwell of her own chair, then rose to her feet, brushing the dust from her knees as she did so. Without warning, she dissolved into helpless laughter, and I allowed myself to be swept along by it, till we were both doubled over and gasping for breath.
Simon Roberts passed the end of our row, a sneer fixed pointedly on his ratty face.
“What are you two freaks laughing at?” he said.
“Oh you know,” I said, waving in the direction of the screen. “Just William the Red. And sodomy.”