Date: Fri, 4 Mar 2016 12:39:48 -0500
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Chapter 8

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NOBLESSE OBLIGE
Book 2
By Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno

An Indian Summer
Chapter 8
The Fulani Club


Stephen was spending every weekend at Croome, working as hard as he did
during the week.  He toured the estate with Blake and they talked to the
tenants who would be receiving the new bathrooms, drawing up final lists of
requirements.  Not all cottagers were enthusiastic bathers and some could
not fathom the designs when they were shown plans and sketches.  However,
such was their respect for Stephen and for the authority of Blake, that the
villagers agreed to be experimented upon.  Stephen had to do some more
drawings for instances where a single bathrooms had to be provided in a row
with an odd number of cottages and he struggled with finding satisfactory
compositions without the need for expensive, specially designed features.

At the dairy farm, as suspected, Tidpit and his wife were unenthusiastic
about modern dairying.  However Tidpit's son, Tom, and his wife, an
enormously capable woman who they came upon moving milk churns as if they
were pillows, seemed more promising.

They took Tom to The Feathers and outlined their plan for increasing the
herd and finding a market for butterfat in Wareham or even Winchester and
possibly supplying whole milk by rail to Bournemouth.  Tom replied that his
wife would be very interested.  They next spoke of milking machines.  Tom
was very puzzled but then Stephen revealed his plan.  He suggested that Tom
and his wife would be paid to work in Totnes or Newton Abbot on dairy farms
he knew to have been mechanised.

"You will be there to be an apprentice, Tom.  We would pay you both and
find you accommodation for a year and then you could come back to Croome
and be in charge of a modern dairy farm.  Do you think you would like to go
and could your father manage here without the both of you?"

Tom replied that he would think about it and discuss it with his wife.  The
money sounded like an inducement and his wife had family in Newton Abbot.

A letter arrived at Blandford Forum from Daniel Sachs.  Lord Delvees had
spoken to him about the need for a manager for the construction side of
things, leaving Blake to run the farming.  He had a relative of his wife's
visiting England for the first time and he would very much like to
introduce him to those at Croome.  His name was John Monasch and he was
travelling with a young cousin, Herman Moss.

The following weekend Sachs arrived with his party.  Monasch was a man of
about 45 and of middle height.  He had liquid brown eyes like Sachs's and a
fatherly disposition.  His cousin was a slender young man; good looking
with curly hair, alert eyes and a winning smile.  He was in his early
twenties.  Both the older and the younger man radiated intelligence and
confidence and Stephen liked them within minutes.

'You are German, Mr Monasch?' asked Stephen, although his English was
perfect, it was accented.

"My parents were German and I speak it, but I was born in Australia, Mr
Knight.  I am an engineer and also a major in the Army Reserve.  I've come
to Europe to see Lord Kitchener about his proposed inspection of
Australia's defences and to see my employers in France.  I represent the
Monier Company.  We build things in concrete, Mr Knight."

"And you, Mr Moss?"

"I have just finished university and I also studied engineering and worked
with cousin John on some undertakings, such as building bridges and
railways and that sort of thing-mainly labouring-in the holidays."

"What I am proposing, Knight," said Sachs, "is that Mr Monasch inspect your
plans this weekend and make some suggestions and you could give some
consideration to employing young Moss over the next year or so to manage
them."

"I have every confidence in my young cousin, Mr Knight and, although I do
not know about farming, I can organise construction," said Monasch.  "I
would be only too pleased to help where I can.  You are even younger
yourself, sir, than when I started, but seem to have the same a talent for
organisation."

Stephen beamed under the praise and replied that he was very interested in
engineering and loved mathematics.  Monasch also smiled and said, "Ah!  My
favourite study too.  My least favourite was Latin."

"Oh I'm good at Latin too, sir," said Stephen.

"Well I suggest that you also learn German, Mr Knight, you'll find it
useful for engineering."

Monash was astounded at the thoroughness of the bathroom plans and
Stephen's scheme for mass construction and the organization of the process
behind it.  He was even more astonished to learn that Stephen was a boy
from the village, from quite humble circumstances, and that he was
achieving so much through his own efforts.  Monasch could not help but see
in Stephen something of himself at the same age.

They made a tour of the bathroom sites.  Monasch suggested that the floors
could be made of reinforced concrete laid on bitumen paper and that the
form work could simply be reused each time.  He saw the wisdom in keeping
to a standard design for all of them and suggested that the half ones could
still sit under a whole pyramid roof as this would still be cheaper than
building a total new design.  The surplus overhanging roof could simply
provide a sheltered spot either in the yard or in the street.  He also
described a scissor truss, which he said would allow the ceilings to be
higher and the roofs lower, but still accommodate the water tanks.  A final
suggestion was to make the 'septic' tanks fewer but larger and connect a
whole row of cottages to the one.  Stephen made furious notes.

After lunch they inspected the drainage scheme where Monasch was again
impressed and Stephen was smiling radiantly.  Moss was interested in the
mechanical dairy and thought that the education of the dairyman was an
ideal place to start.

After dinner Monasch sat down at the piano and played a wonderful piece,
which he told Stephen was by a man called Chopin who named it in honour of
his homeland-a place not far from where his parents had come more than
sixty years before.

Sachs went back to London, but Monasch and Moss stayed on.  Sachs departing
words were to regret that his lordship was not home and that it was too
cold for swimming, venturing that Mr Moss could have joined them.

"Oh I went swimming this morning, Sachs," said Stephen, "I don't feel the
cold, but I do miss his lordship's company to make is really enjoyable."
Sachs just smiled.

Stephen felt certain that William and Martin would agree to engage Herman
Moss but wrote immediately to them.  He took the others on a tour of the
house and consulted with Chilvers on which room would be most suited to Mr
Moss if he were to come.

The term was nearing its end.  Stephen had invited Christopher to spend
some of the forthcoming holidays at Croome, without telling him the exact
circumstances of his life there.  Christopher was excited.  Stephen was
very keen that the boys should not get flabby over the winter and he and
Julian were proposing to introduce cricket practice in the nets, even
though it was months before they could start playing.

They were discussing this when Mrs Leybourne called them into her sitting
room for a glass of sherry and some cake.  It perhaps wasn't her first
glass for the day and she was in a lively mood.  They fell to talking about
Christmases past and about what they were doing now.  Mrs Leybourne was
very interested to hear about Stephen's dancing lessons because she
regarded dancing as a very gentlemanly accomplishment.  She persuaded
Stephen, after a few more sherries, to demonstrate some of the new steps he
had learnt and Christopher improvised on the shiny upright piano that sat
under a framed view of Timbuktu.

Mrs Leybourne further suggested that Stephen and herself should test how
well he had learnt them, just as she noticed that Christopher's glass and
her own were dangerously empty.  She filled them from the dwindling
decanter with a consequent detriment to Christopher's playing and Stephen
kept apologising when Mrs Leybourne stood on his toes.  Then Mrs Leybourne
recalled a tune of her youth, which she played while Stephen and
Christopher danced together, laughing, and then Mrs Leybourne, refreshed
with a glass of Madera now, reclaimed her partner while Christopher pumped
out a waltz.

Presently Stephen noticed that it was dark and that Christopher had fallen
asleep in a chair.  He also noticed that Mrs Leybourne was sitting on his
lap kissing him. "Help me with my stays, Mr Knight," she said.  "Do you
know how to unlace a lady?"  Stephen did and Mrs Leybourne lit a cheroot
from an ivory box and held it in her teeth, while she undid her buttons.
"I got the habit in Africa," she explained.

The dancer's restricting garment was removed and Mrs Leybourne's fine bosom
was soon pressed up against Stephen's manly chest as she kissed him,
grabbing a fistful of his hair.  She held her breasts up to him and Stephen
offered each one a special kiss, with a gentle nibble on the nipple that
made Mrs Leybourne terribly sentimental.  With feverish hands she tore at
his buttons and braces and soon Stephen was naked, so he thought it best if
he carried Mrs Leybourne into her own room, which he did, hooking the door
shut with his departing foot.

Mrs Leybourne was quickly divested of her remaining garments and Stephen
lay on top of her, taking his weight like a gentlemen on his elbows.  He
kissed her mouth and neck and worked his way lower.  She slapped Stephen's
hairy backside and cried "Gee up horsey!" and she was already quite moist
when Stephen entered her.  At this point Stephen remembered the little
Wednesday evening classes he'd been giving Christopher and his little
homilies about taking love-making slowly and gently and making the pleasure
last for the woman.  Mrs Leybourne, however, had clearly been absent from
these lessons as she took Stephen inside her quite readily, merely
commenting that the young Ibo tribesmen were big fellows too, and her
requirements were fairly easily met.

Stephen ploughed her good and hard.  When he spilled the first time he
could feel the waves of passion vibrating through her body.  She was
moaning loudly.  Stephen stayed hard, a fact which Mrs Leybourne found very
convenient and, after some passionate kissing, she rolled Stephen onto his
back and straddled him with her plump white thighs; her legs still modestly
covered in some now-tattered stockings.  Stephen slid in easily once again
and Mrs Leybourne performed athletically on the sixteen-year old, resting
her palms on his strong chest and casting her eyes upwards above the bed,
perhaps focussing on a war club used by the Fulani warriors in their own
passionate confrontations.

When Stephen had spilled again and Mrs Leybourne was now laid across him
with her face on his chest, he was suddenly apprised of the awkwardness of
the situation.  She was murmuring something about the Yoruba who kept their
cattle and women in common when she noticed that Mr Knight was unusually
stilled and silent.  "Why Mr Knight, whatever's the matter?"

"I'm a cad, Mrs Leybourne, that's what I am."

"Oh no, Mr Knight, you're the finest of young men, don't say that."

"But it's my sweetheart back in my village, Mrs Leybourne; we had an
understanding you see.  We were saving ourselves for when we were married;
when I had finished school and found a job and could support her.  It's all
we've planned for.  Now I've ruined everything."  Here his voice was much
affected.

"You mean I'm your first, Mr Knight? I had no idea."

"I was weak, Mrs Leybourne."  She'll never believe this, thought Stephen:
"I was overwhelmed with passion-it was dancing with you-perhaps I should
stop the Monday nights if I can't resist the ladies' charms.  I feel so
ashamed.  Will you forgive me?  It will be all over with my sweetheart, of
course.  I'll have to tell her.  It will break her heart.  Perhaps she will
find someone else- the curate has been making eyes at her."

"Oh no, Mr Knight. Don't break the poor girl's heart.  I know what it is to
have a passionate nature, myself; we are slaves to our desires.  You have a
too-romantic nature, Mr Knight."  Here she felt Stephen's two massive loads
of seed trickling down her thighs.  "This will be our secret.  You must
never tell your sweetheart.  Keep it locked away in your heart like I will.
It is how nature made us.  We are but weak vessels."

There was a long and thoughtful pause, the thinking on Stephen's part
running along the lines of his auditioning for a part at the Lyric Theatre.
"I will think about what you've said, Mrs Leybourne.  I will have to try to
be strong and resist?er?dancing? with you and dampen my desires."

"Oh you poor boy," she said, running her hand through his hair.  "Yes do
try.  We'll both try.  Very hard.  But as we have already drifted perhaps
we could just??"

Stephen grinned and lifted up the covers and Mrs Leybourne noted that he
was trying half-hard already and she moved her head down to the sweaty,
silky loveliness of Stephen's groin, which had proved itself so romantic
more than once already, and encouraged him to full hardness with her lips
in the hope (which was justified) of one more blaze of passion.

Julian and Christopher had gathered the cricketers together in the
unaccustomed cold.  They were put through physical drills and given a
regime of activities to keep them fit over the forthcoming winter break.
They were particularly worried about Fotheringham who had a tendency to
stoutness, even at seventeen, and was at this moment trying not to harm
half a pork pie that he had secreted in his pocket.

The next day they went out for more training, this time in the nets.  A
small crowd had gathered and even Dr Davis and some of the masters had come
to watch in the confidence that next spring the First XI would be in top
form.  In fact he was just saying something along these lines when a
delivery lofted by Stephen's bat escaped from the mouth of the nets and
fell to earth after striking the skull of Dr Davis who hadn't seen it
coming.

Stephen thought that he had killed him, but he was merely concussed.  A
doctor was sent for and the principal was carried off.  Stephen felt
terrible and practice was cancelled.

The next day Stephen had to hand his essay on Milton in to Mr Mingis, as Dr
Davis was not expected to return to active duty for the rest of the term.
Stephen had a sinking feeling.  Sure enough, the very next day Stephen was
admonished for failing to do the assignment.  "But I did hand it to you
yesterday at the end of the class, Mr Mingis, when you collected everyone
else's."

"I don't think you did, Knight, here are the essays," he said, waving them
in front of the class, "and yours is not amongst them."

"Well I can redo it, I have my notes at home and I can hand it to you
before we break-up," said Stephen, with a sigh, thinking of the effort
involved.

"No, Mr Knight that would be unfair on the rest of the class who have done
theirs on time.  Your bucolic attitude has been your undoing."

There was nothing more to be said; Stephen was trapped.

As the class left Stephen lingered behind and said to the master, "You know
I've done that essay and what you are doing is beneath you, Mr Mingis."

"How dare you, Knight.  What is at fault here is you getting above
yourself, sir.  You have no right to be in this school-an object of
charity-when you should be back in your village gleaning the wheat fields."
Stephen was furious.  "However, I will look through my papers again this
afternoon and find you if I should come across your essay."

Stephen was seen in the late afternoon furiously serving tennis balls,
smashing them powerfully to no one.  He periodically stopped to fox the
balls, filling a bucket only to resume his practice services, deep in
thought.  He looked angry and unhappy and was sweating profusely.  At long
last, having broken a string on his racquet, he gathered the scattered
tennis balls for the last time and walked with his head bowed to the
pavilion.

He had taken his soaked shirt off and was drying his naked chest when he
heard a noise and a familiar voice called: "Are you in here, Knight?"  Mr
Mingis entered the room as Stephen looked up.  "Ah, here you are, Knight."

"What is it Mr Mingis?" replied Stephen sorrowfully, putting the towel
around his neck.  "Have you found my essay?"

"I may have Knight," he said producing some foolscap folded lengthwise.
"There is an essay here-quite an acceptable effort-that may or may not be
yours.  There is no name on it you see, so I can't be sure whose work it
really is."

"Oh but it must be mine, sir, everyone has theirs back.  I'm sure I wrote
my name on it, let me look."  He approached Mingis who lifted the essay and
put it behind his head.  When Stephen made to grab it, Mingis lunged at
him, grabbing the towel and pulling it with both hands to bring Stephen's
face just an inch from his own.

"I'll have to be persuaded it is yours, Knight," breathed Mingis and
suddenly he kissed Stephen on the lips, forcing his tongue into Stephen's
mouth.

Stephen just stood there, letting himself be kissed.  This surprised Mingis
who had expected some opposition.  When the master broke the embrace and
pulled back his face became contorted in horror, for there, behind Stephen,
stood the head prefect, Christopher Tennant, while next to him was the
captain of the First XI, Julian Sewell.  He let out a sort of whimper when
from behind these two big boys stepped the figure of Donald Selby-Keam.

"Thank you for finding my essay, Mr Mingis," said Stephen as he plucked the
papers from the master's frozen hand.  Then Stephen drew back his right arm
and broke the Literature master's nose with a single blow.

That night, after an unscheduled celebration at The Nelson to which Donald
was also invited, Christopher came to Stephen's room, still excited.  He
didn't even ask but simply shed his clothes and, still talking, climbed
under the covers with Stephen.

"That Marie is a good lass," he said referring to the barmaid at The
Neslon, "she served Selby-Keam along with the rest of us.  Did you see how
pleased he looked?  I thought he would never stop smiling.  You've done a
great thing for all of us, Knight.  The school should put up a statue to
you: 'The Mingis Slayer'.  I'm going to nominate you for prefect next half
and that's for sure."

Christopher was stroking his cock as he talked and he didn't even have his
pictures to help. Stephen pulled back the blankets and showed Christopher
his cock and ball strap and Christopher was fascinated.  He asked to try it
on and Stephen obliged, helping him to fit it, although it was a bit loose.
"We'll take you to the shop in Soho when we go up to London after
Christmas.  We'll go to a music hall too.  You can come and stay, can't you
Chris?"

"That would be wizard, Knight, I'll come down right after Boxing Day if you
like, I've already asked my father.  He's not keen on London though, I
might not tell him that part.  It will be ripping to be there with you.

"I say, Knight, have you got the silk handkerchief with you? I'm awfully
hard."

It was produced and teased across the boy's engorged head.

"You're leaking a lot, Chris, that's good.  You must be pretty excited,"
observed Stephen, tasting a drop on his finger. "Pull back on your skin and
squeeze tightly at the base.  That keeps the blood in.  Don't let yourself
go yet."

"Oh this is cruel," cried Christopher as the silk enflamed the tender slit
on his head.

"Hold it Chris.  You can do it."  A cold sweat broke out on the boy's
forehead and his legs started to tremble.  Stephen removed the silk and
placed his own hand around the straining cock.  "All right, now!" he cried
and began to stroke it.

Almost at once Christopher released the pent up seed and a long stream shot
out, landing with an audible splat on Christopher's chest.  Stephen milked
him furiously making sure his balls were emptied.

Christopher fell back with a sigh, a broad smile on his face.  "That felt
very good indeed, but I feel so weak now," he laughed.

"Maybe your father was right," joked Stephen.

"No, definitely not.  What you do feels right to me, Stephen.  You've made
me realise it.  I'd better clean myself up and you haven't spent yet.

"No, leave it Chris, it looks good.  What would you like me to do?"

"Would you fuck the mattress?  I like that and have been doing it myself."

Stephen gave his cock a few strokes and rolled over on his stomach.  He
made some long thrusts into the fabric, flexing his hips, and the skin was
dragged back on his cock making him moan.  Christopher watched as one
fascinated.  "Oh this feels so nice, Chris.  I could do this forever."  But
he didn't; instead he bent his cock painfully underneath him and he asked
Christopher how it looked between his thighs.

"It's leaking a lot," he observed.

"Do you want to watch me spend?"

"Yes!" cried Chris.

Stephen rolled over on his back and grasped his cock in both hands.  He
brought himself to the edge of climax, but held it there.  He stroked some
more and again let himself settle.  He thrust up with his hips, holding his
hands still and again paused.  This was repeated and repeated.

"Oh Stephen, spend or you'll explode.  You'll do yourself a mischief."

"Quickly, pinch the end!" commanded Stephen, urgently, and Chris used his
thumb and index finger.

With a roar, Stephen let himself go and his seed came out in halting jets,
controlled by Christopher.  Christopher could feel the whole of Stephen's
body convulsing and the concentration of energy in his massive prick.  At
last he was spent and Stephen finished himself off with some intense
strokes and Christopher squeezed the cock to milk the very last drop.

"Does that feel good?" Christopher asked needlessly.

"Oh yes," replied Stephen as he lay back puffing.

Their little chats in the dark were almost Christopher's favourite part of
these evenings.  Christopher wouldn't let Stephen clean up either and he
now realised loved the smell.

"Chris, I don't think I've told you everything about my 'sweetheart', said
Stephen, laying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head staring
up at the black ceiling.

"You mean Martin at Croome?"

"Yes, Martin.  He is titled, you know.  He is actually Lord Martin Poole,
the brother of the Marquess of Branksome and this Croome is a great big
place and rather intimidating at first-although I've known it all my life,
really.  You'll see it for yourself."

"Gosh!" said Christopher, unsure now what it would be like to visit.

"Well, you see Martin is at school like us and his brother is an invalid
and lives in a nursing home and so there is no one at the house because
both parents are dead.  His lordship, Martin's brother, has recently
adopted me as his ward and, well, it's been a big change for me.  Mingis
may be right; I am just a village lad getting above his station.  It's all
happened so quickly."

Stephen then went on to reassure Christopher that he would like Martin and
vice-versa and asked him if he had the right clothes for Croome and for
London, explaining his own embarrassments of the recent past.  Christopher
replied that he could borrow his brother's evening clothes and that he had
a suit as well as a Norfolk jacket, which Stephen thought, would be fine.

"You won't need to bring too much money, Chris.  I know your pa hasn't got
a lot to splash and I have plenty now.  If you could bring ten shillings,
that could be a five bob tip for the servants at Croome and the same in
London, that's what they'd expect from a schoolboy.  You'll just have to
trust me, Chris.  I will look after you and so will Martin.  Everything
will be fine and we'll have the most marvellous fun.  Now do you want to go
back to your room and practice some more?  It's getting late."

"Well would it be all right Knight if I just stayed here for a bit?  It's
nice and warm and comfortable and your snoring isn't much louder than
through the wall."

Stephen didn't say anything and put his right arm across the pillow and
Christopher snuggled into the space.  "Christopher are you hard?" Stephen
asked after a pause.

"Yes Stephen, I am.  It's these damn sheets on my cock."

"Good boy, stay that way.  We might have to think of something to do in the
morning, unless you feel that you should wait until next Wednesday?"

"No, I don't think I can wait that long."

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.