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Part 1: The Legend An old Scottish legend, echoed in the mythologies of several other proud and ancient lands, tells of a woman who is enticed away from home,husband, family, and everything of value to her by a demon who appears to her, taking the form of her dead sailor lover. Hamish McAlpine read the description in a respected online reference source and snorted indignantly. It was so completely wrong, on so many levels, that he couldn’t believe they’d actually had the nerve to publish such trash. For starters, he wasn’t a demon. Not even close. He was immortal, true, but that wasn’t how he’d been born, nor was it by his own choice. Some people might think he’d enticed Alan, although he could have sworn it was totally 50-50 -- so who enticed whom? He had certainly not appeared as a dead sailor – what a ridiculous notion! Hamish could and did get seasick crossing a river. In fact, he had absolutely no power to shift his shape. All he could do was change his clothes and his hairstyle. He’d appeared as he always did – as himself, forever aged 32 “and a bit.” Most outrageous of all, the supposed “victim” wasn’t even a woman. Alan was a man – all man, the most sexy and magnetic man Hamish had ever met in his 988 years of life. And it wasn’t as if Hamish had ever lacked for interested men. He’d planted multiple loads of his immortal seed deep in the tight assholes of more than a few kings, ranging from Richard the Lionheart to Frederick the Great, with a little fling with James VI of Scotland thrown in along the way. He’d fucked, or been fucked by, dozens of men named in the history books, from the great through the not-so-great and all the way to the downright-dirty ones, down through the centuries. There’d also been a few missteps, a few intimate exchanges which ended badly with the party of the second part swearing vengeance, and demanding satisfaction. The results in these duels were predictable: Hamish would let himself be killed, then he would promptly resurrect, and the other man would either run screaming in terror or just blink and berate himself that his aim was so far off. Hamish had been immortal for so long that he scarcely recalled what his life had been like before it got extended indefinitely. He had vague memories of living in the servants’ quarters of a Scottish baronial castle, of acting as a footman, opening doors, bowing, delivering food from the kitchens to the Great Hall. His memory was a bit better when it came to his spare-time activities. Start with Neil, an apprentice armourer. Hamish had walked into the armoury one rainy afternoon, expecting to pick up a spear that was being rebalanced for the Baron. Instead, he found Neil bent over with the blacksmith’s spear embedded in his rear gate. Hamish had gotten down on his knees to suck on Neil’s cock, and soon pulled the sperm up and out as the blacksmith filled the young guy’s ass with his load. The blacksmith pulled out and went back to his forge but Hamish stayed when Neil invited him to fuck him some more. Hamish had driven his cock right into Neil’s butt, still full of the blacksmith’s seed, and the sensation soon drew his own cum up and out, filling Neil up to the point where the combined loads of sperm gushed and squirted out as Hamish kept pounding into his hole. But Neil was by this time getting hard again, and he pulled away, turned around, bent Hamish over, stripped away his clothes, and swiped a handful of the cum from his ass as lube. This was Hamish’s first time getting fucked, and it hurt like hell. He could hear the blacksmith laughing in the distance as the cries of pain were ripped out of Hamish’s throat. But the cries slowly evolved into moans of satisfaction as it became apparent that, in this area at least, the apprentice had definitely mastered some skills. Neil proved to be a first-rate top as well as a pliant bottom, and that combination of gifts kept both of them happy for the next year or so. But then Neil left, to take up a position as blacksmith and master armourer at another castle. More memorable still was Ian, fellow footman with a slim, firm body, blazing red hair, and an equally roving eye. It didn’t take any time at all, after Ian was recruited onto the castle staff, for Hamish to recruit Ian for after-hours extra work. Ian was the kind of man who would bend over any time for any man who asked and Hamish asked – early and often. They started with quickies snatched on the fly in the storage cellars, on the back stairway, or after hours in the kitchen. Hamish would walk up behind Ian, rub his hand across the seat of Ian’s breeches, and the younger man would turn to putty. Hamish would yank Ian’s breeches down, bend him over, release his own hard cock from his clothes, and proceed to plow that lovely Scottish ass with its light coat of flaming red hair. Even after Hamish had fucked him dozens of times, Ian’s hole remained delightfully tight, and it took very little time – sometimes as little as two minutes – before the tightness, and Ian’s quiet moans, pulled Hamish right up to the brink. Then he would pound ass, as fast as he could go, until his cum exploded in a frantic burst of energy inside Ian’s hole. Later on, Hamish reached a senior footman position and got a room of his own. It was cold, drafty, and dark, and the straw pallet was all he had in the way of a bed but still… it was private. Ian and Hamish enjoyed many hours of their off time, romping on that pallet. It gave them much more latitude to explore a whole variety of positions for sex. Since Ian’s cock was both shapely and not too thick, Hamish always enjoyed sucking him off. Ian particularly like the nights when Hamish would take him through their entire repertoire of positions, fucking him up, down, and sideways for several hours and planting several loads of seed deep in the redhead’s ass. In time, Hamish got hold of a bigger pallet and they were actually able to sleep together. Ian just loved cuddling up to Hamish after a good, hard fucking, and falling asleep with Hamish’s arms wrapped around him. There was no real love on Hamish’s side of the relationship. To him, Ian was a damn good fuck with a firm body who was always ready, able, and willing – but that was it. Ian understood that, and didn’t resent it, being grateful to always have hot sex there whenever he wanted it (and that was often). Life got a bit more tiring when the Baron’s second son, Robert, took to summoning Hamish in the evenings to help him relax for sleep. That started after Robert caught Hamish and Ian one night, enjoying a quickie for old times’ sake on the back stairs. Robert’s favourite form of relaxation was to slide his far-from-tiny cock deep inside Hamish’s firm ass when Hamish was on his hands and knees on the bed. Robert would then drive inside that hole deep and hard, sometimes keeping going for as long as an hour, and cumming inside Hamish as many as three times in a single extended fuck. He also demanded that Hamish prove his “loyalty” by cumming too. Robert was far too fastidious and dignified to let the lowly Hamish fuck him or suck him, or even shoot on him, so Hamish had to make do with his hand, with his back turned to Robert (who was actually quite a pleasant sight when undressed), and with Robert’s cock slamming into him at top speed. It all made for exhausting sex as well as a fierce ache in the nether regions, and left Hamish sometimes too tired to do the honours for Ian. Life underwent a dramatic change when the Baron decided to revive his struggling treasury by selling the services of his “private army,” as he called it, to the English King, Harold Godwinson, for a generous fee. The “army” actually consisted of a ragtag group of peasants and shepherds, “organized” (to use a slightly misleading term) under the direction of the castle’s senior servants. The Baron and his sons were nowhere to be seen – sensibly, as things turned out. During the trip south to England, Ian died in a bizarre freak accident. He lost his balance while fording a river, cracked his head wide open on a rock, and that was that. Hamish didn’t mourn overmuch. It wasn’t as if he had fallen in love with Ian, so what he mainly was conscious of was that he’d lost his favourite outlet for his most significant talent. In any event, this journey ended when they joined up with the English army at the beginning of October 1066. The King and his forces were marching to meet the invasion of Duke William of Normandy. The clash was due to happen near Hastings. William, of course, was destined to win immortality and a throne by winning the battle, which altered the entire course of English history. Hamish, though, was destined to win immortality of another kind altogether. That was the one part of his story that was due to demonic interference. One of the Norman knights lined up to participate in the invasion of England had fallen prey to his fears the night before the Norman army sailed for England. He’d called on a local sorcerer who had conducted a black mass to lay a spell of invulnerability and invincibility upon his sword. It had worked – in the sense that the dark power had undoubtedly invaded and possessed the blade. The unforeseen consequence was that the power of the sorcerer’s black arts leaped into the 32-year old Hamish when the knight stabbed him to the heart, as the Scottish mercenary defended the English right flank. Hamish died – but then promptly resurrected in immortal form. Meanwhile, the unfortunate knight got killed seconds later by one of the English knights. The real pity of it all was that he was a definite looker, as Hamish saw when the dead man’s armour was removed. He’d have been happy to have enjoyed a week or three – or more -- of mutual fucking with a man as well-built and well-hung as that one. Oh, the ironies of fate. Hamish got more out of the knight’s meddling with the black mass than just immortality. He also got sent back to earthly life in perfected form. His face, formerly pleasant enough, became devastatingly handsome. His shoulders broadened; his waist tightened. His originally short cock lengthened to a seriously challenging, eight-inch-long, uncommonly thick, weapon of choice for his favourite kind of duelling. Add on a newfound, intimidating level of bedroom stamina and Hamish McAlpine had become a major challenge for all of the man-loving men who would cross his path for the next millennium or so.
