Date: Thu, 18 Feb 2016 09:20:17 -0500
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige II Chapter 7

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reproductions are allowed without the Author's consent. (See full statement
at the beginning of Chapter One.)

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you're enjoying the story, I hope you stay tuned.  For all the readers
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Noblesse Oblige
By Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 7
The Three Legged Dog


"Careful!" cried the footman.  His plaster cast was bumped into the wall of
the kitchen passage as the chair was being pushed to his room.  William was
still going to be in plaster for another month and a bedroom had been
contrived for him between the scullery and the servants' hall so that he
did not have to be lifted to the attic room he had occupied before the
accident.  His recovery had been steady but terribly slow and he still
sometimes had bad dreams in which he recalled the sounds of the trains
colliding and the smell of the warm blood that trickled in the dark from
the fractured skull of his lifeless master.

Pushing the chair was Carlo, a cousin who had grown up with him in his
native Liverpool.  Carlo was dark and good looking and at 21 was two years
younger than the fair William.  Carlo's looks and temperament came from his
Italian father and he was in many ways the opposite of his reserved and
correct older cousin.

"Neat little cabin, this," said Carlo when they at last reached the sick
room.  "Let me swing you into your berth."  He lifted William like a baby
and deposited him on the bed.

"You sound like you're still with the Union-Castle line.  Do you miss being
at sea, Carlo?"

"I do a bit, but I don't ever want to go back to South Africa."

"Why?" asked William, looking up into his brown eyes.

"Well, I got into a spot of trouble in Cape Town," he said, running his
fingers through his curly hair, "There was this girl I was friendly with
and her father and brothers forced me to marry her because she was in the
family way, 'cepting it turns out that I wasn't the father; she was gone
before I even met her and she lied to me.  It was her brother I was after,
a real charmer he was, and he thought it would be easier for us if I were
his brother-in-law, but he didn't tell me that.  The bitch became
suspicious and finds out about me, threatens me with the police like, and
then she ups and leaves me taking her kid.  Now the family is after me to
pay her keep, even that bastard of a brother wants a piece of me."

"So you scuttled back to Blighty?"

"Yes, Bill, and I hope they don't hunt me down to here.  They know me by
the name of Secondo-that's what I called myself.  But I'm Carlo again now
and I wouldn't mind getting a good berth in service again.  I liked it if
was a good house.  Besides, I was seasick every flamin' voyage.  I'm meant
for dry land I reckon.  Your letter was a godsend."

"What did Mr Chilvers say to you?"

"Well, he said they were looking for a fourth footman but, as there was
only the lad in the house, the footman could also work as a valet during
the school holidays and maybe go up to the London house as well.  Get paid
for it too.  Things are pretty quiet here since her ladyship died.  Is that
right?"

"Yes, his new Lordship is in a nursing home and isn't expected to live.
The lad comes home in the holidays and is trying to run the place like his
father.  Poor kid.  He's a nice boy, very pretty and he has a friend."

"A friend?"

"Yes, lad from the village, but he's going to school in Blandford Forum.
He's a smart one and good to the servants.  He'll save this place, he will,
and we all love him.  He made sure that I got a nice little nest egg for
all this," he said, indicating his legs.  "He's a good lad alright.  One in
a million, I reckon."

"And he and the young lad??"

"I suspect they are at it like rabbits.  I was with them in France.  You
should see the cock on the village lad!  Bigger than yours!  Mr Chilvers
wants to try me as a valet same as you.  I think we'd make a good team and
the two lads would be easy as pie to keep happy-they're not even here very
much.  And as for us, it could be old times again, eh Carlo?"

"Do you mean that?  We used to enjoy helping each other out.  Do you think
we could share a room again?"

"I think Mr Chilvers would let us.  He's strict and it's all 'yes milord,
no milord' but I think he's a bit how's your father himself.  He'd protect
those boys like a lion, but he'd also keep stum about us.  So would the
boys, I'm pretty sure.  You'd be safe here, Carlo.  It would be good to see
you in your uniform again.  I'm getting excited just thinking about it.  I
say, do you think you could help me out right now?  It's been murder with
this cast itching my balls.  Lock the door and get these pyjamas off me."



*****



At school Stephen swiftly implemented the watchdogs for Donald.  Stephen
was with him in Literature and at the end of class would simply propel him
through the door before Mingis could say anything.  Christopher Tennant sat
with him in Geography and Julian Newell was with him in German.  All three
would protect him at dinnertime and collect him after school.  Mingis tried
to talk to him in the passageway but Julian simply put his big arm around
Donald's shoulder and walked him right past the angry master.  In addition
they were spending a lot of time on the tennis courts where Donald was an
asset, although Tennant and Newell would do anything, they said, to help
Stephen and besides, they thought the cause a just one.

Dr Davis was collecting Stephen's essays and a word here and there told
Stephen that he was reading them before handing them to Mingis.

On Mondays, Stephen took dancing lessons where he proved to be very popular
with the young ladies of Blandford Forum who also attended Miss Whittaker's
Acad?mie de Danse, so much so that Julian also enrolled.

Wednesday night remained for drinking at The Nelson and for Christopher's
visit to Stephen's room.  On the first such Wednesday, Christopher was
thrilled with the French photographs.  Stephen particularly liked the one
of the Frenchman with the waxed moustache having his big cock sucked by the
pretty maid.  He hoped that Christopher would be so inspired.  Christopher
was still a little ashamed to do much by himself and tended to save himself
for Wednesdays, which wasn't quite the point Stephen tried to explain.  He
particularly liked Stephen to tell stories about the photographs,
whispering close to his ear, while Christopher used the new oils on his
cock: "Fifi says, 'I can't quite reach the picture rail with my feather
duster-I'll just have to stretch.  Would you hold me, Monsieur Duclos?  Oh
I feel a draft.  Have I forgotten my bloomers again?  Quest-ce qu'il ya
dans votre pantalon, Monsieur?  S'agit-il d'un piquet de cricket avec
balles?"  Christopher would usually be terribly excited, but sometimes
Steven was too silly and they would roll about laughing.

Stephen was trying to teach Christopher to take it slowly and to last
longer.  He would get Christopher to bring himself to the edge and then
remove his hand while his arching cock pulsed and oozed in mid-air.  Then
Stephen would lightly touch it with his fingertip, making small circular
motions on the head telling Christopher to "Hold it! Hold it!" until the
crisis passed and he could resume using his hand.  Stephen usually set the
pace; stroking his cock while Chris beat in time until they both spent
their seed.

They were lying exhausted on the bed, having extinguished the gas, when
Christopher said, "Thanks, Knight, I never knew I could spill so hard."

Stephen just smiled in the dark and put his arm around his shoulder.  There
was a long pause. "Stephen," Christopher began, "Your sweetheart: Is he a
chap by any chance?  Is his name Martin Miller?"

Stephen was shocked, but not surprised and said, "Yes, Christopher, he is a
chap and his name is Martin, but not Miller."

"Oh, it's just that you called me Martin twice tonight and you also said
'Miller'."

"That's 'Mala' and it's a nickname.  I'm sorry Christopher, I should have
told you about Martin.  How do you feel about me having a boy as my
sweetheart?"

"I don't know," he said then paused for a dreadful minute.  "I'm quite
shocked actually and I feel funny.  I know it's sinful and so maybe you
have an illness, Knight.  It's unhealthy to want to do things with another
boy.  My father says so.  I'd never have believed you could do things like
that.  I still really don't believe it."  There was another pause.  "I
think I'd better go to my room now."

Stephen lay back on his bed in the dark, with his hands behind his head.
There were tears in his eyes.  He had lost a friend and possibly he'd best
move to another house.  He didn't think that Tennant would tell Julian and
the others at school, but knew it would be difficult being around him.  He
felt too distressed to go to sleep.  His life was going to be full of these
moments he realised with a sinking feeling.

The next morning at breakfast, Christopher avoided Stephen's eye and made
an excuse to leave for school before he did, when they had been accustomed
to walk together.  Concentrating on his lessons was hard and even Mingis's
needling did not penetrate his numbness.  He even began to wonder if what
he did with Martin was as repulsive as Christopher and his father thought
it was. 'Am I sick?'  he wondered, but only for an instant.  Stephen's
whole sense of being was founded on an understanding how he felt inside, in
his heart, and from the guidance his stepfather had given him.  He
considered it carefully: no, he didn't feel he was sick or wrong.  Then he
was worried about how twisted and hate-filled Christopher's father must be
with his perverted use of science to frighten the boy.  He knew from nature
that love expressed itself in all sorts of ways.  He thought of Martin, of
how he loved his Mala.  That could not be wrong; love hurt nobody and he
would never hurt the boy he loved, well, except for-well, that was more a
pleasurable discomfort and it wasn't his fault that God had made him so-no,
it was Christopher, poor fellow, that was in the wrong and he would have to
bear the loss of his friendship as best he could.

Just then he looked up at some cries he heard across the school ground in
the direction of the pitch.  A group of students were tormenting a boy from
the town and his small fox terrier, an ugly little dog and deformed, with
just three legs with which it was hopping across the field.  The students
were jeering and laughing and Hodge, an oafish boy of nineteen-still in his
senior year because of his stupidity and an indulgent father- was busily
kicking the leg of the little dog so it collapsed comically every time it
tried to take a step.  The boy was in tears and Hodge held him off with a
strong arm as he continued to torment the ill-favoured canine to his own
delight and that of the junior boys who formed the crowd.

Stephen ran over and the crowd parted.  He roughly pulled Hodge away from
the dog and its master at which Hodge abused him and threw a punch, which
collected Stephen on the jaw.  He didn't flinch.

He held Hodge by his shirt until Christopher and Julian ran up. "I thought
you two were supposed to be prefects?" said Stephen, angrily, handing his
prisoner over.  He then turned to the crying boy and knelt down and placed
his hand on his head, urging him not to cry.  He then gave the boy a
shilling and picked up the dog and deposited it into his arms.

He gave the dog a pat and said, "He's a very fine dog-a very brave dog and
could give all those hounds with the usual four legs a run for their
money."  The bell went and Stephen walked away.



There was a soft knock at his door and Stephen sat up.  It was Christopher.
He came over to the bedside and said, "I'm sorry Stephen, I behaved like a
swine.  I don't know if I actually believe what I said the other night.  I
sounded like my father.  You have been the best friend in the whole world
to me-and to Sewell and to Selby-Keam and anyone who can take five wickets
off 23 runs must be all right.  Lasses or lads will make no difference to
me, I promise.  I hope we're friends still.  I'm sorry for what I said
before.  I say, can I get into bed with you?"

Stephen lifted the blankets and Christopher took off his dressing gown and
climbed in.  "It's rather cold and I think I'd sleep better if you put your
arm around me."  He snuggled in.  "Would you tell me about the knight and
the dairy maid again?  I'm afraid I left the photograph back in my room."



*****



A small crowd of eager schoolboys had gathered in the Craigth Pavilion
changing room.  At the centre stood Martin and Archie in their new jockey's
straps, the objects the admiration of the boys, many of whom were half hard
and leaking at the sight, and they were the recipients of some more tactile
plaudits which inevitably included the snapping of the tight elastic across
their rosy, plump cheeks.

Suddenly there was a booming adult voice somewhere and the crowd parted to
reveal Mr Daventry, the Games master.  He took a look at the crowd of boys
and told them to hurry up and get changed for footer.  He told The Plunger
and Martin to come to his room.

Mr Daventry was a nice looking man, but quite old thought Martin-at least
thirty-and of course he was strong and fit.  Martin had observed his
muscular, hairy legs many times and admired their girth where they met the
hem of his rather revealing shorts.  Martin was thinking of them now and of
his sweat-stained shirt as he stood with The Plunger in the master's room
with its array of balls, bats, clipboards, tape measures and team
photographs.  Martin was trying to discern which, if any, in the
photographs was Daventry himself in his younger days.

"Craigth, Poole, what do you think you were doing in there?  You know the
School's rules on strict uniform. What are those things?"

Archie spoke: "They are athletic support garments, sir.  They were designed
for bicycle riders first, sir, and then other sportsmen found them
very?er... comfortable for their?er? privates sir.  They're from America,
sir."

"America, you say?"

"Yes sir, but they can be obtained from the sporting goods department at
Messers Austin Reed in Regent Street, sir, in London, sir."

"You're American aren't you Craigth?"

"No sir, I'm an Englishman," he lied, "but my mother was born in
Philadelphia, sir."

"Well I have every reason to be thankful to your mother and to her country;
the new shower baths have given me a great deal of pleasure, Craigth,
almost endless.  Let me take a look at these sporting accoutrements.
Poole, take your trousers off and let me see.  Did you wear it for lacrosse
practice today?"

"Yes, sir.  It was the first time.  It felt very?very snug sir."

Martin now had his trousers off and was being closely inspected by Mr
Daventry.  Of his own volition, Martin removed his upper garments as well.

"And your arse is uncovered?"

"Yes sir, it doesn't inhibit one, sir, I mean for running and such, sir."

"And it feels good in the front here?" he asked, indicating where the front
was with his cupped palm."

"Oh yes sir, even Craigth finds it comfortable and very supportive for
boxing and hurdling and he's very large down there, sir."

"Well you'd better let me see, Craigth," said Daventry.  The Plunger
dropped his trousers and the games master felt the bulge below the red bush
that was just visible above the pouch.

Suddenly Mr Daventry felt something untoward and told The Plunger to take
the strap off.  The Plunger obeyed and his long cock and ball sack were
revealed adorned by the silver ring.

"Good God, boy! What's that?"

"I bought it in London sir, there's nothing in the school rules against it;
I checked.  It sort of exercises the private's, sir, although it does take
a bit of getting used to.  I don't wear it all the time sir, and it's
silver so it won't rust."

"And it makes you feel 'good'?"

"Oh yes sir, very invigorated.  The shop has lots of different equipment"
and he went on to describe what he could remember with Martin supplying
further details, including the address.  While this exchange was taking
place, the games master was stroking both of their long cocks with his
strong hands.

"I'm getting very close, sir," said Martin.

"And you Craigth?"

"Nearly there, sir.  A bit faster if you please."

Daventry increased his wrist action, glad now that ping-pong had been
introduced, and moved the two boys together so they could put their arms
around each other's waists.  They stood on their toes and spent in unison,
covering the hairy arms of the games mater with their fulsome seed.

"That was a sterling effort boys.  You're fine athletes.  I will see about
getting these straps from Austin Reed's for all the boys," he said, picking
up the garments in question from where they had been discarded.  He went to
hand them back, "No, this one's yours Poole," he said, putting it to his
nose.  "And this one's yours Craigth," he said after inhaling deeply.

Thy boys dressed and left with a note from Mr Daventry excusing them for
being late to Dr Squinch's Divinity class.

It was only a little over week later that Daventry had all the boys lined
up for P.T. in a miserable drizzle.  He was huffing and puffing telling the
boys to pick up the pace as he jogged on the spot, touched his toes and
then had them do star jumps.  Even the fittest ones were flagging as they
were made to continue their springing movements for ages.  It was because
Daventry fell silent that Martin, still jumping, glanced up at the master.
He was a funny colour and all of a sudden his knees gave way and he
collapsed to the ground.  Martin was the first one to reach him and noted
that he seemed to be in pain.  He told Smith-Forbes, the prefect, to get
the other students to go and change for the next class and he and The
Plunger helped the master to his room.

"I'm alright, boys," he said, although he was breathing in a ragged
fashion.  He slid his shorts down and revealed a large bronze ring around
his low-hanging balls. "It stretches the scrotum," he explained.

"You shouldn't have worn it for games sir," admonished Martin, "or for so
long.  Look Plunger, his balls are all swollen and chaffed."  The Plunger
inspected the inflamed scene.

"You're supposed to oil yourself up first, sir, they should have told you
in the shop."

"Sent for it in the post.  Thanks Craigth," he gasped.

"How does it come off?"

The master removed a pin and it parted sideways and his balls were
liberated.

"Poor Mr Daventry," said Archie. "I feel it's all my fault, Poole.  Here
come and help me."

They took the weight away, feeling its heaviness, and then got between the
games maters thighs and used their tongues to sooth the inflamed flesh.  He
started to get hard and had the boys stop.

"Thank you, gentlemen, you have been a great help.  Perhaps we can go for a
cross country run on Sunday?"

"That would be fine," said Martin, looking at The Plunger.  "And do be
careful sir, we wouldn't want you to do yourself a mischief.  We'd have to
have extra Geography or Divinity if you couldn't take us for Games."



On Sunday afternoon the excited and expectant boys, after urging one
another on all week, met the master in their running togs at the gates and
they set out across the fields, opening gates and jumping styles until they
reached a distant village.  At the inn, the boys sat outside while Mr
Daventry brought two pints of ale and a pint of stout (for Archie) and
carried them out.  "I don't think your housemaster needs to know about our
'lunch'," said Daventry.  They drank their pints because they were thirsty
and started on their run back.

Alongside a hedge they stopped to catch their breath, bending to rest with
their hands on their knees.  "Excuse me sir, said Archie, I need to relieve
myself.  It was the stout, sir."

Archie dropped his shorts and his strap and took a very long piss against a
Scotch Fir.  The other two watched him. "That was a fine stream of piss,
Craigth.  Fine cock too, lad."

"Thank you, sir" said Archie, leaving the object in question exposed.
Martin needed a piss too and Daventry observed that the boy was hanging
naked under his shorts.  Daventry pulled down his own shorts and underwear.
The boys were relieved to find the bronze instrument of torture was nowhere
to be seen.  Daventry saw they were looking.

"Thank you boys, for last week.  I don't put it on for very long now and
I'm more careful, although Mrs Daventry does like me to wear it."

"Mrs Daventry?" said the boys in unison.

"Yes, my wife.  She thinks it very becoming."

"You do have very big balls, sir if I may say so," said Martin.  And it was
true: they were low hanging, one more pronounced in its declivity than the
other.  His cock was uncircumcised and of an average length, falling well
short of the scrotum.  Daventry allowed the boys to feel them.

"May I pleasure you sir?" asked Martin.

There was no need for a reply and Martin took the games master's cock in
his mouth and got him hard while feeling his balls.  When he looked up, the
Plunger was having his long cock sucked by Daventry.

Presently Mr Daventry said: "I'd like to watch you two boys exercise with
each other.  I'm sure you've had a lot of training."

Daventry stroked his own member while Martin and the Plunger shared a kiss
then got to work.  The Plunger worked on Martin's cock with pneumatic
pressure while Martin's ran his hands over The Plunger's freckled
shoulders.  Then positions were swapped.  Finally they ended up standing
with their hard cocks between them as they rubbed one another.

"Over here boys," called Daventry and the two waddled across to where he
was sitting, with their cocks obscenely arched.  He spat on each palm and
furiously pleasured the boys as before.  They spilled and coated his face.
To his surprise they bent down and licked at the more obvious flows.

"But what about you sir, you haven't spilled?" cried Martin.

"Oh I'm saving this for Mrs Daventry," replied the master as he went to
pull up his garments and the boys were grieved with disappointment.  All of
a sudden they leapt on Daventry, pinning him to the ground and Martin
buried his head between the games master's big, hairy thighs.  Daventry
didn't struggle too much and Martin and Archie swapped places.  They were
determined to make him spill, which he, at length, did and when both the
boys' heads were in his groin.  They shared his old man's seed between
them.

"I'm sorry sir," said Archie, not really sorry, "but it would have been
unfair."

"And we don't like to lose in a contest," added Martin, looking at him and
breathing hard.

To be continued?

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I
would love to hear from you.

Just send them to farmboy5674@yahoo.com and please put NOB Nifty in the
subject line.