Date: Mon, 4 Jan 2016 19:12:17 -0500
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Chapter 9

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Noblesse Oblige

By Henry Hilliard
With Pete Bruno

Book One
Twilight of the Gods
Chapter 9

Martin and Stephen were returning from their bathing place in the morning
sunshine when Martin had them stop their cycles on a bend in the elm-lined
drive.  Through a gap in the trees the great house could be seen, framed as
it were, by a fringe of tender green leaves and illuminated by the sun as
if contrived by a set designer in a West End theatre.

"I always think this first glimpse is the finest.  The house is shown off
and none of its imperfections can be seen at this distance," said Martin.

"Yes, it looks splendid," agreed Stephen, leaning on his handlebars.  "Have
you noticed all landscapes look best in the morning sun, when it's in your
eyes; the same scene can look very tired in afternoon light."



"Yes, that's true," said Martin.

The house was an enormous pile that told the history of England.  Although
the Poole family could trace itself back to the thirteenth century, they
did not become ennobled until the reign of Henry VIII and the house itself
only dated back to the end of Queen Elizabeth's time, with additions in the
reigns of Charles II and George III and a very large rebuilding, in brick,
in 1840, which obscured much of the Elizabethan manor house.  As they stood
there, they were both thinking that one day it would all be Martin's and,
particularly, Martin was also concentrating on the impression it would make
on The Plunger when he passed this point later in the day.

Martin was on tenterhooks for the visit.  He was looking forward to Archie
Craigth's visit but was fearful of how he and Stephen would get on.  In
addition, this evening's dinner would be the first large-scale
entertainment he had hosted as the de facto master of Croome.

Stephen was in their sitting room reading Anna of the Five Towns when
Martin burst in, flustered, and said, "I say, Stephen, come and help me
make sure that everything is right for The Plunger and for tonight's
dinner."

Stephen laid his book down and, putting his arm around Martin's shoulder,
walked him to the door.  The Plunger was to be put in the Chinese bedroom,
which was really rather splendid with its wallpaper of duck egg blue
displaying an oriental scene of men fishing for carp over and over, and
punctuated by little bracketed shelves that held blue-and-white
porcelain. The bed and its hangings were also in the Chinese taste of the
1760s.  Through a red lacquer door was a small dressing room and a bathroom
was not very far away down the passage.

"Should I have them light a fire?" asked Martin, then, answering himself,
said, "No, it's too warm, isn't it?"

Stephen nodded.

Next they inspected the vast dining room, which had been opened up and
dusted for the occasion.  Stephen had discussed the menu with Mrs Capstick
and Cook and just now the head gardener was putting the finishing touches
to the flowers, which seemed to overwhelm the table, but did something to
relieve the gloom of the ugly chamber.

They were all lined up to meet the Daimler when it at last disgorged The
Plunger.  The trap followed bringing what seemed a mountain of luggage and
Martin had to stop himself from saying it was a visit of ten days not ten
months.

Archie alighted and presented a magnificent spectacle; perhaps not since
the visit of Queen Elizabeth herself in 1599 had Croome witnessed such a
state visit.  Martin rushed forward and shook the elegant gloved hand of
the impossibly elongated figure.  Chilvers motioned to the footman to start
bringing in the luggage and the sight presented itself as something between
a safari in Nyasaland and ants at a picnic.

Chilvers introduced himself and murmured that Paul had been assigned to his
needs.

Martin then eagerly took The Plunger, who had barley uttered a word,
towards Stephen and said, "Archie Craigth, may I introduce my friend,
Stephen Knight, about whom I've told you so much; Stephen this is Mr
Craigth."

"How do you do Mr Craigth?" said Stephen grasping the hand, now removed
from its glove, in a manly fashion."

"Knight," replied The Plunger with a short nod as he fitted his monocle and
he turned immediately towards Martin and asked him about his brother.

Tea was followed by a tour of the house and things seemed to go from bad to
worse.  Stephen, when he attempted to make conversation, inadvertently
seemed to mention beer several times and Archie refused to look at him and
retained a frozen hauteur.

As they dressed for dinner, Martin was almost in tears while Stephen was
furious at the rude treatment he was receiving.

"I think he's nervous, Stephen, that's why he won't look at you.  He
certainly liked to look at the Tsindis and the boxing photograph," said
Martin.

"You showed that long streak of snobbery our pictures!" said Stephen in a
fury.

Martin nodded, going red.  "I'm sorry Stephen, but he did seem to enjoy
them and I had to wipe his seed off the photo more than once."

Stephen just made a noise of disgust but didn't want to upset Martin any
more than he was already.  He went over and kissed Martin and helped him
with his tie.  "I'll try and think of something.  I do like his hair; I
suppose it is real?"

When they went in to dinner, Martin had Archie take Miss Plainsong in and
placed him between her and Mrs Destrombe and across from Mr Kells, the
librarian.  Out of his line of sight was Stephen who could talk to Miss
Tadrew and the Vicar.

Stephen looked handsome in his London evening clothes but it had to be
admitted that he was not as dazzling as The Plunger.  Most gentlemen's
outfitters contrive to vary the shade of white of the shirtfront, tie and
waistcoat; The Plunger's beautifully cut garments all had a whiteness of
such purity and radiance that it hurt they eyes.  He talked to Miss
Plainsong of his home near Dorking and of his years on the Continent.  To
Mrs Destrombe he expounded on the errors of the Anglo-Catholics and to the
librarian he spoke of snipe shooting, a topic that was of little interest
to Mr Kells but who was glad that anybody spoke to him at all.

In the billiard room Stephen offered The Plunger a game but found to his
horror that The Plunger was very good and he was quickly dismissed.  In the
drawing room, however, Stephen was revenged when he won a shilling off
Archie at auction bridge, having taken lessons from Miss Tadrew who won
ten.

Archie at last went up to China after the guests had departed and Martin
cuddled up to Stephen in their own bedroom.

"However are we going to last nine more days, Stephen?  This has been a
disaster."

"Things mightn't seem so bad in the morning; do you remember: they look
better then?" he said, putting his strong, naked arm around Martin's neck.
"Let me suck your beautiful cock to release some of that tension."

Martin smiled and it was a happy release.



As Stephen predicted, things were a bit better in the morning.  The Plunger
came into their sitting room for his breakfast where Chilvers had laid it.
He was dressed in one of his country squire outfits and he actually said
"Good morning, Stephen" and had lost some of his frozen magnificence.

They discussed what they would do that day and riding looked likely, but
suddenly Stephen said, "What about some boxing, Archie, would you like to
come and see our gymnasium?"

To Martin's surprise, Archie said yes, looking quite shy as he remembered
the photograph.  They walked down to the village, taking Job, with Archie
asking all sorts of questions about village life, swinging a knobbly stick,
no doubt with the view to incorporating the answers into his new rural
persona.

They were in sole possession of the hall and Stephen produced from the bag
he was carrying towels and silk boxing drawers.  Martin was first to
undress, his golden loveliness on shameless display with just a few tugs at
his garments.  Stephen motioned to The Plunger to remove his clothes, which
he did, nervously and over some more minutes in view of the elaborate
nature of his tweed costume.  Stephen stared at him hard.  At last the fine
ginger cock came into view but Stephen said not a word.  He actually got
The Plunger to turn around by asking him to pass the rosin which was on the
floor behind him thereby giving himself a view of The Plunger's firm but
flat buttocks that were covered with red fluff and The Plunger's tender
crack where the hair grew somewhat denser.

Lastly Stephen, still with his eyes locked on The Plunger, pulled his shirt
over his head and dropped his trousers, freeing his enormous cock, which,
as usual, quickened with life.  The Plunger gasped and swallowed hard.  He
tried not to look but couldn't tear his eyes away.  His mouth was dry.

At last The Plunger bent down to the bag to get some drawers, but Stephen
kicked the bag across the room, and instructed Martin to lock the door.
They were to spar naked!

Martin tied on their gloves, Stephen silent and steady, but The Plunger a
nervous wreck.  The contest began, cocks and balls swinging wildly, and The
Plunger began to relax.  He held his body well and with a steady eye, as
Martin had seen at school, and he jabbed at Stephen with long straight
blows, occasionally getting past Stephen's forearm and biceps that formed a
defensive shield.  Stephen crouched slightly and, with his superior
musculature, was able to deliver telling upper cuts.  Neither boy was
aiming to hurt the other but each was testing his opponent.  Soon they
started offering encouragement to each other and making compliments for
particularly effective initiatives.  They were evenly matched, thought
Martin, as the minutes ticked by.

At last a halt was called and the heaving, dripping, steaming Stephen,
still half-hard, walked over to Martin.  He raised his left arm and flexed
his bicep.  Martin, without conscious thought, buried his face in the humid
back pit, licking, slurping, inhaling and teasing at the silky black hair.
Archie watched this depraved scene with a mixture of horror and fascination
as Stephen kept a steady gaze upon him.

Then he raised his right arm and offered it to The Plunger who in an
instant was aping his friend, lost in the worship of the handsome village
lad.

Stephen reached down and stroked the ginger cock, telling himself that one
day soon he would taste it, but not today.  Martin pulled The Plunger to
the floor where they each continued to pleasure themselves with one hand
but turned their greater attention to Stephen's oozing cock, which they
pleasured singly and together until, with a cry of triumph he spent his
load across their upturned and expectant visages.

The ice was broken and all three were on first name terms as they dressed
and departed with Stephen calling Archie 'Plunger' on more than one
occasion and The Plunger just one more worshiper at the shrine of the
village stud.

They went to the swimming place and had races and, while The Plunger was
demonstrating the backstroke in the pool, Martin and Stephen were lying
naked on the bank, catching their breath.  "You know, The Plunger was a
different person today, thank God.  He was different even at breakfast, I
thought," said Martin.

"Yes, I'm not surprised," replied Stephen.  Martin looked at him, puzzled.
"I told Chilvers to assign Michael to him instead of Paul," he said with a
big grin.



The Agricultural Show was in full swing.  Martin was kept busy in his
capacity as the one who handed out the cups, medals and ribbons and had to
feign interest in ploughing techniques, dairy cattle, sheep dogs, flower
arrangement and bottled pickles.  He was pleased that Miss Tadrew's
crab-apple jelly won a prize in the jam section.

In the evening, the funfair component came into its own and crowds were
drawn from towns and villages beyond the estate and it was considered a
general holiday even for the servants at Croome.

When the three boys walked down to the village green they found it
transformed.  The lingering soft light of the summer evening was supported,
even overwhelmed, by electric arc lights that has been erected on tall
masts where they spluttered and hissed and threw everything into a terrible
relief.  There were tents and stalls and a steam calliope played raucous
waltzes and popular ragtime tunes whilst there were screams and laughter
from children on the merry-go-round.  Carnival folk barked out advertising
for tents offering games and curiosities.  There were hearty guffaws coming
from the beer tent to where the boys made for, Archie opting for a tankard
of the local cider.  There was Elsie, her arms linked with two soldiers;
she gave a glance at Stephen.  Nearby were farm workers and townsmen and
two drunken sailors up from Portsmouth were trying to engage the pretty
daughters of Mr. Silk, a pig farmer, who was threatening them with his
fist.  Children ran about squealing.

Next to the gypsy fortune-teller, the repeated sound of thumping and the
less frequent sound of gong advertised one of those contests designed
particularly for young men to show off.  Naturally, all three boys were
attracted and there was a small knot of females, including Elsie and her
soldiers.  Stephen went first and gave the anvil a mighty thump with the
mallet, but the indicator rose only three-quarters of the way up the shaft.
Next to try was Martin who managed only half way.  The Plunger who had been
watching walked up next and, deftly swinging the hammer, caused the gong to
ping.

"The trick is it has to be struck with a quick blow; not a hard one and the
rod has to be not be vibrating for the marker to rise," he explained to the
amazed boys.  Sure enough, with a few more tries each, The Plunger's
scientific approach paid off and all three were heroes in the eyes of the
small crowd of onlookers.

The boxing tent was the next attraction but Martin was adamant that neither
of the boys was to be allowed to challenge the brutish professional.  He
threatened to close the whole sideshow down if they even thought about it.
The Plunger and Stephen looked disappointed but Stephen, with Martin's
approval, paid the proprietor a pound if The Plunger and he could fight in
the ring, thereby giving the professional brawler a break to refresh
himself in the beer tent while at the same time drawing a crowd of young
girls and their beaux who might be attracted to the sight of the two
handsome novices of the ring.

And so while the boys changed and his lordship was found a seat, the
proprietor set up a terrible racket spruiking for customers.  Presently the
two boys bounded theatrically into the ring, illuminated by the white arc
lights outside and by the weird yellow flames of the lamps around the
raised ring.  There was a cheer from the crowd and a deafening whistling
was set up.  While The Plunger looked cool and elegant, Stephen bounced
around on his toes, his cock drawing the attention of more than one pair of
eyes.  The bell sounded above the noise of the crowd and the match began.
Stephen landed a few body blows and The Plunger caught the side of
Stephen's head.  The noise increased and the calliope started up an insane
ragtime tune.  Martin closed his eyes against the light.  Thud, thud, thud
went the relentless metronome of The Plunger's long jabs.  Whoomp, whoomp
was the sickening sound of Stephen's heavy left and right to the body.  The
noise rose and Martin could hear the sounds of the screams from the
merry-go-round, then the noise of the fighting sailors.  The calliope
played another tune.  It grew dark, with sudden flashes of light, and red
flares rent the blackness.  The thud, thud, thud went on and on.
Whoop. Whup.  There was screaming, first from the children then from
somewhere else- an injured horse-and then he was in a shattered landscape;
a place he did not recognise as any place on Earth and suddenly there were
the soldiers again, but without Elsie.  The relentless pounding grew louder
and Martin felt his head would burst.  There was crab-apple jelly- no, it
was blood now and it stained a puddle of water in the muddy
landscape. Thud, thud, thud.  There was an explosion.  He felt he must be
dead.

Suddenly Martin opened his eyes.  Stephen was kneeling before him, looking
at him tenderly.  Behind him was The Plunger with a look of concern.  "Are
you all right, Martin?"

"What?" he managed to say, in confusion.

"You seemed to have a bit of a turn there, old chap, are you all right?"

Martin touched Stephen's face; there was no blood.  He saw that The Plunger
was also unmarked.  He looked down at the floor; there was no mud; only the
green grass of rural England and it was beautiful.  "Yes, yes, I'm alright.
It must have been the heat."

The two boys helped the shaky younger son to his feet and presently they
were leaving the fairground, the incident forgotten.



The two next days passed very happily.  The three friends went riding and
showed The Plunger something of the countryside, stopping at the wayside
inns for lunch where the local menfolk were having their mid-day pint in
their dinner hour, for harvesting was still some months away and the long
summer days provided space for some leisure even among working people.  The
Plunger, while not actually taking notes, was carefully observing country
ways, no doubt to be interpreted after his own fashion in some future
iteration.

The Plunger rode well and had a 'beautiful seat' and could make his horse
do anything with his usual effortless aplomb.

While they rested their horses in a shady grove of giant oaks in a small
valley Stephen said, "Riding always makes me randy.  I need someone to suck
my cock."

"You can't here, someone might come past, were not far off the main road!"
cried Martin.

"Then you keep watch and you get over here Plunger, that's if you want to."

The Plunger did not need to be asked twice and was on the knees of his
jodhpurs in a trice and had his lips around Stephen's manhood trying to
apply pneumatic pressure for the pleasure of them both.  Stephen had him
untie his cravat and strip off his shirt and vest as Archie continued to
service Stephen's cock, paying particular attention to his foreskin and
balls and now wearing only his riding trousers and shiny boots.  Stephen
was running his hands all over The Plunger's naked back, with its
attractive constellation of freckles, and he took a particular and
malicious delight in messing-up The Plunger's carefully coiffed red hair,
occasionally gripping handfuls in his passion.

Stephen had not spent when he pulled The Plunger up and kissed him,
whispering in his ear, "Now I want some of that ginger cock."

With trembling hands Archie fumbled with his belt, boots and the tight
leggings.  Impatient for action, Stephen pushed The Plunger on his back and
simply pulled the jodhpurs off with brute force as he did, with contempt,
The Plunger's combinations.  He disrobed more simply himself, pulling a
shirt over his head and letting his trousers drop by undoing a single
button.

As there was no warning from Martin, Stephen began by licking The Plunger's
plump balls with their diadem of ginger hairs and then pushed his nose into
the fragrant red bush that had so intrigued him at the Women's Institute
Hall.  The Plunger's cock was aching but Stephen wouldn't let him touch it.
He turned The Plunger around and ran his tongue down the ginger hair of
Archie's crack before licking and nipping at the white flesh of The
Plunger's tight buttocks.  "Keep yourself clean for me down there," said
Stephen bluntly and The Plunger simply nodded.

Stephen at last took The Plunger's cock into his mouth and began to suck
him as The Plunger held onto his shoulders.  The Plunger was in ecstasy but
almost thought the most sensuous thing of all was running his fingers
through the silky black locks of Stephen's shaggy mop of hair.  By passing
his tongue over the sensitive slit in the circumcised knob, Stephen brought
The Plunger to a panting climax and he spilled his seed into Stephen's
mouth, Stephen making sure he didn't pull out.  There was none to share as
Stephen had swallowed it all.

Stephen called Martin over, past caring much whether they were being
observed or not, and told The Plunger to pleasure Martin, if he cared to.
Stephen personally stripped the boy, while keeping an eye on the road.  He
then watched as The Plunger sucked on Martin's cock, occasionally aiding
matters by pressing the back of The Plunger's red head causing him to take
Martin deeper than he might otherwise have been inclined.

"You suck him good when you're at school," warned Stephen. "I want him done
properly." The Plunger nodded as best he could.  "He likes it under here,"
said Stephen helpfully indicating a particular portion of Martin's cock he
thought neglected and you can pull on his bush; he likes that too," he
added.  "About now you can insert a finger in his arse-he loves that just
before he spills.  Here, I'll wet if for you," he said, taking The
Plunger's index finger and moistening it.  "But just a finger, mind you,
and if I hear of you hurting him or making him do anything he doesn't want
to, I'll kill you."  The Plunger tried to indicate with his eyes that
nothing could be further from his mind just as Martin spilled, Stephen
helpfully holding The Plunger's spluttering head still in an iron grip.  He
pulled The Plunger up for a kiss, tasting Martin's seed, which he shared
with his lover.

Stephen held his own flaccid cock to The Plunger's mouth for him to kiss
and then walked over to Martin, who was now collapsed to his knees, and
allowed Martin to lean on his hairy thigh, with his nose touching his
hanging cock.  "But this," continued Stephen, indicating his cock, "belongs
to Martin and fucking is somethin' special between him and me," he said,
lapsing into the local dialect for a minute, "baint it lass?" he said
looking down at Martin.

Martin, catching the hint of a smile in Stephen's eye, slapped the cock
with a stinging blow and said "I baint your lass, Stephen, I tole you
thart." And the pair burst into laughter while The Plunger looked on not
quite understanding.

It took a while to dress Archie again, a search having to be made for his
monocle and the gold pin shaped like an acorn that had recently adorned his
splendid cravat with its decoration of tiny horseshoes.

At last they were clip clopping through Branksome-le-Bourne when Mr
Destrombe, the vicar, stopped them and asked them into the vicarage, a boy
being given thruppence to hold the horses.

Destrombe told his lordship of a distressing case over in Pendleton.  A
destitute young father and his infant son had walked all the way from
Bristol and were now in a terrible state.

"The pair is at his sister's cottage and she is in no position to support
them as she is a widow herself," he said. "Oh you should have seen the
state of them from being on the road for a week and having almost nothing
to eat, your lordship.  His boots were completely worn out and he was
carrying the little chap who was too weak to walk."

"How did he come to be on the road?  Is there no mother?" asked Martin.

"He was turned out of their house -their room I should say- because they
were in arrears.  The wife is in some kind of trouble and he had lost his
job some months ago-I forget what it was.  Yet something tells me he is a
good sort, sir, despite the wife.  Do you think we could we find him a job,
your lordship?"

"Couldn't he go to Wareham and get work in Tatchell's or somewhere?" said
Stephen.

"Yes he could, they're looking for new hands and working double shifts,"
said the Vicar, "but who would look after the little one?  It's too far
from his sister's, but you could put that to him, that is, milord, if you
could find the time to go over to Pendleton."

Martin didn't particularly want to go over to Pendleton but felt that The
Plunger was watching him and that he'd better be the model squire.  The
others agreed and within an hour they were on their way to the distressing
case, Martin driving the trap which was loaded up with old blankets, food
stuffs and other provisions which Mrs Capstick had hastily assembled, with
helpful contributions such as Gentleman's Relish and a Stilton cheese, from
The Plunger's own picnic hamper he had brought from Dorking.

The cottage certainly looked poor and Mrs Meadows who opened the door
seemed to be burdened by her own woes, which principally consisted of her
own three children and a shortage of funds.  Meadows, Martin was reminded
quietly by Stephen, was the man who lost his life when his gun went off as
he climbed a stile very probably while poaching on Martin's own estate.
"The village poacher has his place too, I suppose," said Martin with a
sigh, ever the supporter of feudalism, when out of earshot of the widow who
had gone out the back to find her brother.

The brother was surprisingly young, only about 22, and was thin and drawn.
He had a slight but neat frame under a fine head of dark hair and would be
quite handsome if he were shaved and scrubbed.  His brown eyes spoke of his
misery.  The little boy, about three or four, was adorable and kept
clinging to his father's leg in his shyness as the kitchen now so full of
strangers.

Tom Hughes was better spoken than the three had expected when he came to
tell his story.  Apparently his young wife was the cause of their plight,
having become addicted to the drink, especially after the birth of young
Thomas and, as a consequence, lost her piecework job and was frequently
locked up overnight for public drunkenness.  She ran up debts and Tom lost
his job and was now being pursued for their repayment.

"Where is your wife now?" Martin asked.

Tom was reluctant to answer until the child was out of the room.  "She's in
gaol, milord; she took to shoplifting to get money for gin and she got two
years."

"What was your trade?" asked The Plunger after quite a pause.

"I was a hotel servant, a porter and waiter, sir.  My wife sewed and mended
at home for the same hotel.  I don't think I know anything about country
life, your lordship," he said turning to Martin, "and I must stay near my
little Thomas; the nearest hotel is over in Wimborne Minister."

"I'm sorry I can't offer you any work at Croome; we have more than enough
staff for our small household, but could you work in a house?"

"I've never been in domestic service, sir, but I suppose I could try."

Stephen suddenly spoke up, addressing Martin rather than the others in the
room: "Miss Tadrew could use a servant since she let her maid go."

"But can she afford it, old sport?" asked Martin.

"I will have five pounds a week, thanks to William and you, and I was
intending that some of it should go to my father and some to Miss Tadrew.
If I gave her 25 shillings a week, then I'm sure she could find the rest
and having a young man about her cottage might be more useful than a girl-
that is if she won't think it too unusual or scandalous."

Stephen turned to Tom and said, "I might have an elderly lady who is in
need a manservant as she has no maid in her cottage, only a charwoman.  If
she agrees, would you consider working over at Branksome-le-Bourne?  It
would mean leaving little Thomas here with your sister, but it's not far to
cycle on your day off and you could send some of your pay to Mrs Meadows
for his keep; you'd receive more than fair wages."

"In the meantime, Hughes, I will ask Mr Blake the estate manager if he
needs any more hands for the harvest as its going to be a big one this year
if it's not ruined by rain.  Do you think you could manage that?" asked
Martin, not wanting to appear entirely impotent.

"I'm sure I could sir," he replied, "and I'm all the stronger for the hope
that you have given little Thomas and me, your lordship."

"Thank Mr Knight, Hughes, he's the one with the ideas and we'll speak to
the lady and send word to you.  I can't promise anything," said Martin.



It was Stephen who approached Miss Tadrew who naturally thought it
extremely odd for a single lady to have a male servant but said that these
were changing times and that she would go and see Hughes, taking Mr
Destrombe with her.  'If they suited each other,' Mr Destrombe's part in
the matter might put the situation in a better light with the villagers,
she said.  As to the money, she was overcome and hugged her Stephen and
said he was the best gift God could ever have sent her-apart from her
Sarah- and she accepted.

The rest of The Plunger's visit went well.  On the days that it rained they
played cards and explored the house.  On the fine days they went bathing.
They did not see the Owens boys; that was to be a treat for another visit,
thought Martin.  On Sunday Mr Destrombe had The Plunger read the lesson
after his wife had told him what sound views the young man held on the
errors of the Anglo-Catholics.  The Plunger looked particularly resplendent
and begged to be allowed to poke the fire in the tiny fireplace in the
Poole family pew-an idea, along with thatching his neighbours' houses, he
was determined to replicate in his native Dorking.

On their last evening they were playing auction bridge with a dummy in
Martin's sitting room.  Chilvers had already taken away the coffee but the
boys were still drinking a hock that Chilvers had brought up from the
cellars to drink 'before it spoilt'.  Stephen left the room and reappeared
in the silk pyjama bottoms that he had worn in London, which caused Martin
to ask for the story of Miss Orchard-Baird to be retold for The Plunger's
benefit.  The pyjamas sat low on Stephen's hips with his v-shaped iliac
furrows exposed and pointing down to the silken pubic hair that was tufting
above the waist.  Stephen kept rubbing his hand across his naked torso and
this and the action of the silk on his cock made it arch obscenely.  The
Plunger was mesmerised and revoked twice, Martin snapping up the sixpence
in the pot.

Stephen rose and yawned, exposing his armpits and tenting the silk pyjamas
even more.

"I'd better go to my room," said The Plunger at last.

"Take off all your clothes, you can sleep with us if you want to, but I
want you naked, understand?"

The Plunger did understand and the morning found The Plunger's carroty head
lying on Stephen's right bicep with his body snuggled up to his side while,
on the other side, Martin lay with Stephen's left arm around his shoulder
and his head resting, as accustomed, on the soft triangular patch of chest
hair.

The Plunger awoke and slipped out of the bed and found Stephen's discarded
pyjama bottoms and pulled them on, making a dash next door, before Michael
appeared with his tea.  Michael received a pound when The Plunger and his
luggage had at last departed for the train.

When Chilvers came up to make the bed in his lordship's room, his impassive
eye caught some suspicious threads of red on the pillows and a further
forensic inspection showed more red hair and untoward markings on the
sheets.  The servant looked around to make sure he was unobserved and
extended his tongue to taste.  He arched that famous eyebrow in a manner
that needs no interpretation and left the room.

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@gmail.com and please put NOB in the subject
line.