Whitey - 8 - By the fireside

The Ten Companions # 1

May 06, 2026

This is an adult gay story if you aren’t an adult or “gay” isn’t your thing, you’d better look for something else to entertain you. Cheers, Blake. 🔞

Hi Guys, Blake here. Just a quick word before you go ahead. Writing takes time, a lot of time, but it’s something I love doing so I’d like to thank all of those who follow me, and a special thank you for those who are supporting me with their paid subscriptions.

The story so far (spoilers):

Once upon a time… The idyllic life of Whitey, prince of White Swallow, comes to an abrupt end when King Hardon invades his kingdom and kills his beloved father. years later, the king’s mirror reveals to him that there is someone more handsome than himself: the slave prince in the stables. The two men meet, and an irrepressible attraction seems to win over the hatred they feel for each other. The king must find a permanent solution: kill the prince without angering the populace. Whitey befriends Goldween, the king’s cousin and Master Groomer. The friendship is sincere, but the prince is unaware that the king has ordered Goldween to take him for a ride in the countryside and kill him away from the prying eyes of the people. But on the day, instead of killing him Goldween declares his love to the prince and the two men make love on the lake shore. Goldween tells Whitey what the real purpose of their ride was and explains to him that he can’t return to White Swallow, sending him instead on a long journey to safety. Whitey walks for three days, seeking shelter wherever he can. Finally, he reaches what appears to be a camp. There, hidden among the trees, he witnesses two men having sex. Whitey is spotted and introduced to the men of the camp, who feed him and explain who they are. Later, around the campfire, a story begins to be told.

For those unfamiliar with this, the Ten Companions are large stones arranged in a circle. They’ve been standing in the same place for many, may generations before ours, right in the clearing off Brimstone Pond. Only eight stones are still standing, while two have fallen to the ground. A smaller boulder, lies in the center of the circle, above it grows a rowan tree, its roots clinging to its deep crevices. The good people of White Swallow have often wondered how those stones ended up in that arrangement, and this is the story of what really happened.

Edward was silent for a moment, the men watched him through the shadows cast by the flickering fire. Then, when he was satisfied with the stillness that had descended on the group, he began the tale.

A new religion had come to our land. Suddenly, no more fairies, no more forest spirits, only one true God. The good people of White Swallow liked what this God was asking of them: in exchange for complete devotion, they would be rewarded with eternal life. The rather cumbersome problem was that with the good God, the new religion had also brought his nemesis: the devil, who fed on temptation instead.

One particular winter the good people of White Swallow felt as if God had abandoned them: it snowed for weeks, and when the snow stopped falling, it got so cold that birds fell to the ground, frozen to death. When spring arrived, it was wet, the wettest any man or woman had ever seen. The crops rotted in the fields, which were nothing but expanses of knee-deep mud.

The poor villagers didn’t know what to do. They had followed the new teachings to the letter; surely God should have been pleased with them? Instead what were they getting? Nothing but hail, rain, and starvation.

What if their goodness was the problem, instead? What if they had been so pious that the devil had decided to take his revenge, bored by so much virtue?

Desperate, they were willing to try anything to end their misery: if God had abandoned them, perhaps they could make a deal with the devil; indulge him?

And so, on the 40th consecutive day of rain, the local Lord and a small delegation of dignitaries decided to do the unthinkable and, walking against the angry wind they reached Brimstone Pond, knowing that the Devil dwelt there.

They called out to him, shouting into the wind, their cries carried far away. They waited and waited until, finally, as dusk began to fall on that already miserably dark day, they saw him emerge from the cave by the pond. He was naked, brazen, his large member standing proudly between his legs. But this was not the devil they had seen painted on the walls of their churches: no blood-red skin, no pointed beard, or yellow eyes; no. The devil had every appearance of man, and a very handsome one at that! Tall, with curly blond hair, a strong, smooth body. His lips were full, and his eyes a very pale blue, almost gray. The only thing that distinguished him were two small, rounded horns not unlike those of a kid goat. If it hadn’t been for those, one would have thought to be in the presence of an angel.

“Why do I have the pleasure of your visit, gentlemen?”The devil asked in a low, grave voice that cut through the wind.

It was the Lord who answered, kneeling and bowing his head: “Prince of Darkness, we feel that our behavior has met with your disapproval. You must understand, Lord, that we, the humble people of White Swallow, are finding ourselves between a rock and a hard place, between our God’s will and Yours.”

“God? How boring...” replied the Devil, unimpressed.

“But we thought we’d bring with us gifts you might appreciate,” continued the Lord, without looking the devil in the eye.

“Show me, let’s see if you know my tastes...” The devil’s attention had been piqued.

“Bring the girls,” the Lord shouted to someone at the back of the small crowd, who was standing next to a covered cart. Then, turning back to the devil, he said, smiling, confident that he had hit the mark, “For you, Sir, ten beautiful virgins!”

With that, ten women paraded past the menfolk, their white robes soaked by the pouring rain, revealing the shape of their shivering bodies.

The devil looked surprised at first, then began to laugh. His breath left his mouth with such force that the cart tipped onto its side, trees were uprooted, and the poor, frightened bystanders had to cling to one another to avoid being swept away.

“Virgins! What do I do with them? They don’t even know where to begin! Send them home!”

“But sir, isn’t that what you your flesh desire, to break the boredom our well-mannered people bring you?” The Lord, having managed to stand up against the wind, couldn’t understand the devil’s reaction: surely he would have liked some virgins to entertain himself with?

“Ah, you are very, very wrong! Bring me ten men-whores, the best in the land! And hurry, if you don’t want me to unleash another hailstorm!”

“Men-whores, Sir?” The Lord found it inconceivable. “But Sir, we don’t have those kinds among us. Our good men would never dream of laying with one other!” How dared the devil think so badly of the people of White Swallow?

The devil laughed again, the spittle that shoot out of his mouth turning into a spray so thick that the entire region was enveloped in a dense fog.

“Fool, where there are men, there are always other men willing to sleep with them. It’s been that way since the beginning of time. I want ten whores, the finest. I’ll give you ten days. Until then, the sun will shine.”

As soon as he said this, the fog lifted, and for the first time in months, the people, looking up, could see the stars painted on the darkening night sky.

They dispersed; the devil returned to his cave without another word, and the men, after helping the virgins back onto the wagon, began their slow journey back to the town.

The devil kept his promise: the next morning, the sun rose from behind the mountains to the east, a warm, yellow ball of fire whose appearance the people had almost forgotten. Shouts of joy resounded throughout the countryside, from farm to farm, from shopkeepers to market sellers.

But the Lord knew they had to act quickly if they wanted to keep the devil happy.

What to do? Where to find these men? He knew of none on the land, and if they existed, they would surely live their shame in secret. How to find them?

The Lord knew he had to be discreet if he wanted people to loosen their tongues, and when discretion failed, he let a few silver coins do the talking. His men prowled every tavern in the region, from the ones in town to those in the farthest valleys.

Eventually, people began to come forward; no one admitted to be directly involved, but many had heard of someone who had taken part in forbidden encounters. A remote farmhouse was searched, a section of the woods where men were said to meet at night was stalked, doors leading to the back rooms of seedy taverns were pounded with loud fists. One by one, the men were rounded up, shame hanging over their bowed heads as they were led through town and sent to a house on the outskirts, waiting for the rest to join them.

They were strong men, some in their twenties, others with gray strands already showing in their hair. People recognized John Willow— but wasn’t he a father of six?— they’d wonder. There was young Pete, the son of the gold merchant, just back from the big, faraway city— that had to be be where he had picked up the vice, surely! And then there was ginger Tim, the strongest man in the village— No one would ever have guessed! The list went on, some of the men were complete strangers, taken from far away corners. Some were blond, others red-haired or even bald, some tall and slender, others as stocky as bulls; all very handsome, some gentle in appearence some rugged. They had found nine of them, and on the tenth morning, when time was running out and desperation mounting, word came that the Lord had finally found the last one! A man who lived in a hut just off the way to Aberglide; a hermit who survived by selling his body to passing merchants in exchange of food or coins.

But that night, at dusk, when the few town dignitaries went with the Lord to Brimstone Pond, it was only a group of nine men that followed them in a sad line. They wondered what had become of the tenth. The Lord replied angrily that it was none of their business and that he’d explain everything to the Prince of Darkness once they’d reach the pond.

The truth was that the tenth man’s beauty was such that it had awakened emotions and thoughts the Lord had never suspected he could entertain. When he laid eyes on the hermit, it didn’t matter to him that he was covered in mud, with a shaggy, unkempt beard, and clad only in a sackcloth. This was no ordinary hermit!

Edward had to explain: “If I may, my prince, excuse me: Whitey; the description that has come to us through the centuries is that of someone not unlike yourself.”

Edward paused for another moment to look at Whitey and then picked up the narration where he had left it:

His body was healthy and toned as if the forest had managed to provide everything he needed to sustain himself. Or, the Lord thought with a jealous pang, the merchants had been willing to pay a good price to lie with him. His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes hazel, and his demeanor showed no sign of reverence, for to the hermit, only the forest was his master. The Lord should have been offended by the man’s lack of subservience; he was won over by his charm instead. Once they returned to White Swallow, he just couldn’t place Merlin, that was the hermit’s name, along with the other prisoners, instead he hid him in a secret cell in the labyrinthine dungeons of the castle.

It was surprising how alike Merlin, and the prince, sounded. At the same time, Whitey thought back to his first meeting with King Hardon a few years earlier: the similarities were striking.

Edward continued:

The Lord had no real plan, he just hoped the Devil would believe him, and if that were the case, his men would be too busy celebrating the return to normalcy to start asking what had happened to Merlin.

They had reached Brimstone Pond and called for the devil. This time they didn’t have to wait, because he emerged from the cave with an impatient smile on his face.

“We’ve returned with what you asked for, Sir,” said the Lord, pointing to the gift with an outstretched arm.

The devil licked his lips: they had done well, very well. The variety of the offering would keep him entertained for a little while. He began counting, his large cock swinging as he pointed at each one of them.

“One missing! Explain,” he asked as matter of fact.

“Lord, we warned you, our men are very devoted. It’s been hard enough finding these nine. We’ve searched everywhere, even the Northern mountains, but we couldn’t find any more of their kind.” The Lord knelt, lowering his gaze.

“I understand,” said the devil, nodding. “Come here and let’s shake hands.”

Pleased with himself, the Lord stood up and approached the Prince of Darkness with an outstretched hand, but as soon as he was close enough, the devil clamped his fingers around the Lord’s throat.

“You lying cheat, you don’t seem to understand who you’re dealing with!”

His grip tightened, the Lord’s face flushed, the veins in his neck bulging like knots. The Lord tried to speak, but only a senseless stammer came out of his mouth. The devil pressed even harder until blood began to gush from the Lord’s lips and eyes.

*“I’m done with you!” And with that the Lord fell to the ground quickly turned into stone, the stone that still stands at the center of the circle today._

The men sitting around the fire, listening, had begun to wonder if that was that, if the story ended with the Lord turned to stone, but they knew Edward, they knew he liked to set the scene before delving into the more vivid details.

Maybe it was the beer, or maybe they were just tired, but as the darkness thickened over the camp, they shifted positions, making themselves more comfortable among the stacks of hay. Winfred lay down, leaning his head on Fjord’s legs; Wolfe and Bear sat on the ground, their backs against the hay, Randy’s and Omar’s heads resting in their laps, with their legs spread in opposite directions. Only Whitey remained seated as he was, diagonally opposite Edward, with Fjord on one side, Bear on the ground on the other, and Omar lying at his feet.

The sight of the Lord turned to stone, blood splattered across its hard surface, should have terrified the men who came to the gathering, but the truth was that more than a few of them breathed a sigh of relief, for the Lord was a cruel and unjust man. The other men: the gift, did the same, for it was the Lord’s fault that their lives had been turned upside down, their shame exposed, and their future among their peers compromised. Truth be told, when they had been warned of what awaited them, they had wept with fear, but once they laid eyes on the devil and saw that he was no monster but one of the most beautiful men they had ever met; once they saw his proud manhood, their doubts began to vanish as desire took hold of their bodies.

“No more lies!” the Devil shouted at the town dignitaries. “You have one week to find the tenth whore. If you fail, I will make you miss the winter you just had. My revenge will be merciless.”

“Believe me, Sir, we will find him,” replied the man who had quickly stepped in the Lord’s shoes.

“And you.” The devil looked at his gift. “Follow me, it’s time to have some fun.”

Without further ado, the devil turned and walked toward the cave, his perfectly shaped ass swaying with every step before the eyes of his guests.