(part of Down on the Farm)
Callum came to the farm to find a home, but will he find his last resting place instead?
Callum flees the poverty stricken lowlands of Scotland in the hopes of finding work. But as fate would have it, he’s lured onto the moors by the will-o-the-wisp and falls into enchantment, and straight into the arms of a licentious Barrow-Wight.
Something’s stalking him. He’s heard the Bean-nighe’s eerie cry. The Bodach has foretold his death. With the help of the very sexy gruagach, for a time Callum resists the dark magic gathering around him. But will Liam’s help be enough to save Callum from his fate, or will he succumb to the mystical allure of the moors?
Callum ran until his lungs burned; every breath ragged, painful. Fear spurred him on, though fog began to cling to the rough mounds of the barrows, making such flight dangerous. Stones stabbed through his worn boots with each footfall, but he daren’t stop. There had been voices in the shadows…
Exhaustion slowed him, his chest heaving as he fought for air. Dusk began to lay its dark mantle on the landscape and he shivered as a finger of dread traveled his spine. Dangerous to be on the moors at night without shelter. He cursed the ill fortune that had sent him this way, but he was hungry and ill. He’d followed the will-o-the-wisp, thinking they were the lights of a farmhouse. His brothers would crudely have called them swamp gas and continued on the road, but Callum had always been the fool.
An owl hooted in the semi-darkness making his skin crawl. “Sweet lord,” he muttered, heart thumping. “Protect me—”
He stumbled on a loose stone and fell heavily against a dark mound of earth. Oh God! The ground caved in under him and he dropped into the barrow in a shower of dirt.
“Save me!” he sobbed as he scrambled to his knees. Sinewy arms reached up from the blackness and wrapped around him. Callum screamed, but no sound escaped his throat, choked with terror. He was yanked against a hard chest and hands ran over him, disembodied in the darkness.
“Soft. Sweet.” A voice sliced the silence, a cold breath against his face. He gagged on the waft of rot and decay. The tip of a dry tongue scraped over his jaw and he shuddered against the body under him. “Nice strong bones to gnaw,” the voice continued. “Sweet marrow to suck and swallow. Shall I eat you, my lovely one?”
Callum whimpered as the low tones wound through his head. The mists parted and moonlight filled the barrow, showing him the creature. He gasped at the cold beauty of its face. Eyes dark as pitch burned into him, brushed against his soul. Lush lips, dripping honey, overripe, took his mouth in a kiss that sent his pulse into a riot of hunger and desire.
A vague warning sounded in his head, urging him to run. The wight’s hands slid down his back and squeezed his ass and Callum groaned as he was rocked against the long, hard length of the creature’s erection. His own cock grew heavy, aching as it rubbed along the impossible thickness of the ghoul’s shaft.
Nimble fingers pushed against his balls and sensitive hole through his clothing and Callum’s deep moan spilled into the lush mouth sucking his tongue. There’d been a boy back home he’d touched on occasion, but they’d never… He never… But the thought of the wight’s huge cock sliding into him, stretching him open, filled him with a wild lust he couldn’t control.
He trembled and sobbed with need as the creature in the guise of this beautiful man trailed kisses down his neck. It moved his long hair aside to nibble at his collar bone. The thing’s hand reached between them and clutched his cock, and pleasure, hot as fire, swept through him.
The wight’s plump lips returned to his ear. “Stay with me,” it whispered as he stroked and squeezed him into a frenzy of bliss.
Callum fought to catch his breath, dizzy. “Yes.” He panted. He’d promise anything to keep the creature stroking his dick. The wight’s other hand snaked into his trousers, tugged his ball sack, and he shouted as he came, his orgasm ripping through him in waves of ecstasy. His seed spilled in a warm gush into the creature’s hand. Even when he was spent, the thing continued to pull on his sensitive cock, sending unbearable sparks of bliss through him. He fell weeping against its chest, begging to be let go.
The wight’s whisper nudged Callum from the dream he was falling into. What?
“No!” He pushed up in a panic. What had he sworn to do? Large hands reached for him, but terror gave him strength and he scrambled for the ledge above him. Catching hold of the crumbling lip, he swung his legs over, and rolled from the barrow. The wight’s screech of fury chased him across the glen. Running in terror, he skirted the remaining mounds and fled onto the moors.