Date: Thu, 16 Jun 2016 20:21:47 -0400
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige chapter 15

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at the beginning of Chapter One.)

Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who have written to tell how much
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 15
Significant Form

Surrey was a county of picturesque sunken roads running through neatly
hedged fields. Woodlands periodically gave way to gravels and sands upon
which pines and heath grew, with gorse visible on the chalky uplands.
There were many attractive towns and villages in the vicinity of Leith
Hill.  Here and there were clusters of new villas, mostly in the
Elizabethan style, which proclaimed that this was a favoured spot for those
who had business to transact in the City Of London.

'Fayette' was the name that The Plunger's parents had given to their own
establishment, which was an altogether larger dwelling than the houses of
the stockbrokers and retired judges who lived nearby.  It stood in about
100 acres of parkland and was named (or rather renamed) in honour of the
county in Pennsylvania that was the ancestral home of The Plunger's mother
and it was preferred to the more precise, 'Slabtown'.

Fayette was reached by a long drive lined with magnificent rhododendrons,
many of them the wild species of Pennsylvania, and the house itself was
something in the style of a neo-classical seaside villa.  It had been built
by Thomas Cubitt, the developer of Belgravia, and thus shared many
affinities, albeit on a grander scale, with the home of Aunt Maud.

The gravel drive was immaculate and it seemed to Jackman to be a crime to
drive on it at all.  A hail of tiny stones could be heard continuing for
some seconds after the Daimler at last pulled to a stop at the front door.
Here a line of twelve servants formed a guard of honour and, when Stephen
and Martin had passed down it in review, they broke away and began to
tackle the luggage.

At the end of this receiving line stood Lady Eudora Craigth and The
Plunger.  Lady Eudora began by welcoming his lordship and Mr Knight and
apologised that her husband, Sir Gordon, had been detained in London but
would be back for dinner.  The Plunger simply said, "Hello Poole.  Hello
Stephen" and turned to introduce his younger cousins, visitors who looked
to be ten and nine respectfully.

They passed into a magnificent great hall with reredos taken from a
demolished Wren church, and passed down a thickly carpeted hall with barrel
vaulting.  At last they arrived in a splendid drawing room that Martin
recognised from the Sargent portrait.  "It is lovely and warm in here, Lady
Eudora, said Martin pleasantly, "it was cold and draughty in the motor,
despite us being rather crowded."

"That's steam heat, your lordship," she brayed and directed Martin's
attention to the radiators hidden behind white and gold panelling, inviting
him to put his hand out.  "Can't stand the cold houses here in England and
I insisted that Craigth put in decent American heating."

Martin saw The Plunger blushing furiously so he said: "That is really
splendid, Lady Eudora, I must investigate getting central heating at
Croome.  There is no virtue in freezing, is there?"

"That's just what her Royal Highness said to me only the other week," said
Lady Eudora.

Several guests arrived for tea, mostly neighbours and one or two who were
obviously business connections of Sir Gordon's.  The room was furnished
with thick carpets and elaborate silk curtains and a quantity of very
costly-looking Louis XIV pieces.  A butler and two footmen brought in the
tea on a convoy of wheeled vehicles.  There were tall silver stands that
contained the most decadent cakes.  "I maintain both an Austrian and an
Italian pastry chef, Mr Knight.  Our years in Mentone gave me a fondness
for rich cakes-it is my one weakness," confessed The Plunger's mother.

As soon as it was decent, The Plunger snatched the boys away from the
drawing room and propelled them down more carpeted corridors where vases of
fresh flowers filled the air with a cloying sweetness.  The Plunger saw
Martin staring. "Mama had the whole place done over by Mewes and Davis
right after they'd done the Ritz Hotel," explained The Plunger, "I don't
like it, but she does know about antiques.

"Here are your rooms," he continued. "Sorry you're not together but that
door leads to a bathroom and it connects to the other room.  Clever, what?
That was Mama's idea.  This used to be my room."

Martin looked at a room in the style best described as Grand Luxe.  There
were masses of curtains, elaborate flower arrangements in urns and on an
escritoire was letter paper with 'Fayette' underneath a crest and little
symbols that gave a telegraphic address and the railway station.  The
likeness to a hotel was furthered when Martin noticed three electric bell
pushes on the bedside table: he could summon the butler, a maid or his own
servant.

"If this was yours, where are you now, Plunger?" asked Martin.

"Come and I'll show you."

He led them silently along another carpeted corridor and threw open a door.
Here a remarkable sight greeted the boys.  This room had no carpet, indeed
nail holes could be seen where it had been taken up.  On the bare boards
stood a dirty black iron stove with a pipe that lead out through a hole in
a window.  The windows themselves were devoid of curtaining, save for a
long piece of muslin that was looped up to the ceiling.

"That's for the light.  The room faces north and it has an even light for
painting."

There was an easel with a canvas on it and on a table lay sheets of drawing
paper covered in sketches.  There were tubes of paint- good deal of it
smeared on the walls and floorboards-and boxes of charcoals and pastels.

The Plunger took them to an enormous Turkish divan that filled a corner.
"This is where I sleep now.  I can get up or go to bed whenever I like or I
can paint all through the night if I want to.  It's very convenient.  I
copied the room from Tsindis' studio in Chelsea.  Do you like it?"

"It's marvellous, Archie," said Stephen and Martin nodded unable to think
of anything to say.

"Here, look at these."  The Plunger directed their attention to a stack of
finished works.  They were very modern and Martin found them puzzling.
There were several of bowls of fruit, much of the produce from the
greengrocer apparently blue and grey and shaped like tetrahedrons.  There
was a landscape of the Downs in a windstorm with great blocks of colour
representing ploughed land, pasture, sky and woodland.  The whole
countryside seemed to be writhing like ocean waves.

"I like this one Plunger.  It's good."

"Thanks, Poole."

He took them over to the easel and the precise nature of the work on it
Stephen didn't like to guess, so he kept quiet.  Martin examined it and
looked at the fractured lines and cubistic solids.  He thought he could
detect an eye and some mammalian body parts. "Is it the she-wolf suckling
Romulus and Remus, Plunger?"

"No Poole," said The Plunger in disgust, sweeping a cloth over it, "it is a
portrait of my mother."

They returned to the Turkish divan after The Plunger had lit the stove and
they curled up.  "I love painting," said the Plunger.  "I'm not going to
Oxford.  I'm going to enrol in the Slade," he declared.  "I'm planning on
having an exhibition with Tsindis later in the year.  We have
become...er...quite good friends."

"Would you like to come to Antibes with us at half-term Archie, said
Stephen.  We were thinking of inviting Tennant and maybe Selby-Keam as
well.  You could paint there."

"Could I?  How ripping.  Yes, I could paint the fishermen, but I'd rather
paint your new dynamo at Croome-much more twentieth century-describe it to
me again."



Dinner at Fayette was a terribly grand affair.  There were menus written in
French with very few spelling mistakes and every course was opulent.  There
were so many footmen in yellow and white breeches that one stood behind
almost every chair and before you could think of it, glasses were refilled
and fresh napkins provided.  The knives and forks for the salad course were
chilled on ice, an idea apparently Lady Eudora brought from America.

Martin had gone in with the wife of a politician, but she was not
particularly interested in education and Martin let her talk about
astrology and the wonderful predictions that had been made, including the
mortal illness of Mr Campbell-Bannerman.

After the ladies had withdrawn, Sir Gordon Craigth took the boys into his
study.  He was a red-faced, redheaded Celt, without the refined features of
Archie.  He was friendly, but clearly a man of business.  Occasionally his
Scottish accent slipped out and Martin saw The Plunger grimace when he
pronounced 'world' as 'wherald'.

Sir Gordon got on well with Stephen and invited him to have a cigar.
Stephen said that he didn't smoke and in fact was in training for boxing
like Archie.  "A good cigar will never hurt you, boy," he said and opened a
door to what looked like a bathroom.  The room was lined with timber
cabinets with a multitude of drawers.  These contained the finest cigars
(he said) from around the world and the room was especially ventilated and
warmed so that the cigars were stored correctly.  He passed one to each of
them and explained with a roguish wink, that these had been rolled on the
naked thighs of young girls in a factory in Cuba.  Martin went to slide the
band off.

"Leave it on, boy!  No harm in letting folks know what a good cigar looks
like."

He took it back and cut it and poked it with a gold thing on his watch
chain.  He then lit it and did the same for Stephen.  "Don't inhale, just
let it fill your mouth."

Both boys found it hard to talk, but handled it manfully.  A glance passed
between them that said they were looking forward to the moment when the
bloody things burned down and they could butt them out.

Billiards followed and The Plunger reappeared after checking on some drying
varnish.  Martin and Stephen were easily beaten but there was a real tussle
between father and son.

"Mr Millet," said Martin turning to the local member, "I would like to have
a new school on my estate in Dorset.  Who is the Secretary for Education in
Westminster?"

"Education?" replied the politician as he watched the billiards.  "Good
shot, Sir Gordon!  Why that would be Mr McKenna, Reginald McKenna.  A very
able chap.  Miss Jekyll who was sitting opposite you at dinner, Lord
Martin, is his aunt, I believe."

Martin conveyed this news to Stephen and when they joined the ladies the
boys made a beeline for the doughty old lady with weak eyes and a severe
expression.

"Croome?" she said. "Lord Martin, I saw pictures in Country Life; was that
your estate with those charming cottage additions in thatch and tile?"

"Yes, Miss Jekyll.  My friend Mr Knight designed them with the object that
they should not ruin the picturesque lines of the villages yet provide
decent facilities for the tenants."

"Well they are very fine, Mr Knight.  My colleague, Mr Lutyens, could not
have done better and he is going to design a new capital for India, you
know.  He should take you on.  Did you see the garden I designed in Suffolk
in the same issue?"

"I'm sorry Miss Jekyll, but I'm not much interested in gardens," confessed
Martin, "although Mr Knight's old cottage in France has a very fine
potager."

Stephen told Miss Jekyll about Antibes and she seemed particularly
interested in Stephen's choice of unpretentious local furniture, with the
slight implication that it was superior to the choices made in certain
parts of Surrey.

When she finished her cross-examination, Martin explained that he wanted to
improve the local school too and asked if she would give them a letter of
introduction to Mr McKenna.  Martin feared it was a frightful cheek to ask,
but she readily agreed and asked them to write down the details for her, as
her eyes were rather weak.

The tables were set up in the music room for bridge and Martin observed
that the Craigths played for high stakes.  Martin tried very hard but was
still down three pounds at the end of the evening-reflecting that it was a
week's wages for someone in Mr Tatchell's factory and considerably more to
one of Miss Foxton's destitute.  Stephen only lost 7/6 because he was
partnered with Miss Loring, a particularly good player, who concentrated on
her cards, despite Stephen giving her radiant smiles.  She was making up
for this at the moment as she had Stephen turning the pages for her as she
played German lieder on the Bechstein grand piano.



*****



Martin pressed the bell beside his bed and William appeared.  "Help me
undress, William and make sure that I have enough clean shirts for the next
few days as I think every night I will be dressing for dinner."

"Of course sir," said William, shocked that his lordship should even think
of not dressing.  The south of France seemed to have a demoralising effect
on all the Pooles, he had begun to think.

At that moment Stephen came striding through from the connecting bathroom
taking off his waistcoat, throwing it over his shoulder, then his shirt
and, finally, after just a pause, his trousers.  Carlo was following behind
bending to pick up the discarded garments, lost between admiration for
Stephen and his concern for missing studs and links, which would never be
recovered from carpet with such a deep pile.  Stephen then swept up Martin
and threw him onto the bed and removed his trousers himself, flinging them
in the direction of William.  William then bustled Carlo out of the room
with much show, but two pairs of eyes could be glimpsed in the black void
of the bathroom, for the door was slightly ajar.

Stephen kissed Martin fiercely and then Martin tried to manoeuvre Stephen's
fully erect cock into his hungry hole.  "I know you want it, Mala, but we
need some oil, or I'm liable to really hurt you."

"I'll ring for Carlo."

In the bathroom Carlo and William were very excited but wondered how they
could answer the call with their own aching, dripping erections in their
trousers.  In the end the bell was left untouched and Stephen made do with
spit and caution and the whimpering Martin was at last satisfied.

Sometime later, after Carlo and William had retired to their own room to
relive the experience, Stephen and Martin lay together, this time with
Stephen's head on Martin's chest.  "This room is so warm Derbs," Martin
said, "and the blankets are so thick and they are edged in satin.  These
sheets are linen."

"They're silk in my room.  We have to try them tomorrow night.  You're not
to wear pyjamas, Mala, I want you to be caressed by the silk sheets."

"Of course not, Derbs.  I know the rules.  I didn't even bring any," said
Martin with just a hint of annoyance.

"Good boy," said Stephen and kissed him.

"The Plunger certainly lives in style," continued Martin.  "It must kill
him to come to school where it's always cold and the blankets were probably
left over from the Crimean War.  Compared to Croome even, this is
syllogistic luxury."

"I think that's 'sybaritic', Mala"

"Oh, is it?  I wonder what The Plunger's doing right now."

"Do you want to go and pay him a call?"

"What, now?  At this time of night?"

"Yes, I don't feel like sleeping and it's too hot in here."

Martin agreed that it would be fun and wondered if Archie was alone on his
divan.  He reached out for a dressing gown but Stephen stayed his hand.

"I think that this is an expedition is one that has to be made naked.  Are
you up for it?"

Martin couldn't explain why he agreed, but in a moment the two naked boys
were running quickly on their toes down the warm and carpeted passageways
of Fayette trying to remember where The Plunger's studio was.  Once they
turned down the wrong corridor and heard Miss Loring's voice as she called
to her maid.  They started to laugh, trying to suppress their giggles with
their hands, which had previously been employed to shield their privates.

They went in another direction and startled themselves, Martin sure he was
having a heart attack, when they saw two figures at the end of a gallery.
However it was only their own reflection in a looking glass and Stephen did
a star jump in front of it and his cock hit a vase of flowers, which Martin
managed to steady before it fell.  Martin thought they were getting close
when a dumpy figure was seen entering a doorway.  It was only Miss Jekyll
returning from the lavatory and the boys hastily ducked into a doorway.
Miss Jekyll's eyesight was not good, but she did suddenly think of ghosts
as she hastily locked her door.

At last they found the correct door, burnt umber on the knob confirming
that there was no mistake.  On the count of three the boys threw it open
and jumped onto the Turkish divan to the surprise of the sleeping Plunger.

Poor Archie was held and squashed and tickled and pinched.  Stephen pulled
off his long underwear and Martin dived upon his nice cock, which was
rapidly becoming hard.  The boys took turns in pleasuring The Plunger until
he spilled whereupon Stephen insisted on cleaning his geranium lake pubic
hair with his tongue.

The three boys then settled pleasantly on the roomy oriental bed, Stephen
in the middle with his big arms around The Plunger and Martin.  The Plunger
fell to discussing Art and something he called 'significant form' and
Martin thought he understood because he could not think of colours without
some line or shape in his head. "So you are determined on the Slade,
Plunger?" he said.

"Yes, I think so.  I'm already having classes during the holidays, but it's
still two years away.  What about you Stephen?  Are you going to try for
Oxford or Cambridge?"

Martin's heart was in his mouth because he has long avoided this question.
He knew Stephen had the undoubted ability but there was the lingering doubt
that Stephen had the confidence to mix with the Old Etonians and the
products of the other great schools with their long entrenched social
superiority.  Even if he considered that Stephen was now mixing with adults
from the prime minister downwards-not to mention saying 'thank you' to the
King and Queen-there was the ache in his heart that they would be
separated, or rather, continue to be separated.

"I am thinking of Engineering.  I like Maths and I am very interested in
the ideas that Moss and his uncle have.  Perhaps the Imperial Institute at
the University of London would suit me better than Oxbridge.  What do you
think, Mala?"

"Why do you ask me?" said Martin and Stephen gave him a hurt look.  "I'm
sorry Stephen.  It's just a bit of a shock.  I was hoping you'd be up at
Oxford with me, that is, if I get in, but you'd be brilliant as an engineer
and you could live in Branksome House-it would be good to see it used more.
It's closer for you but I just can't imagine that far ahead.  I'd be so
proud of you," he concluded and kissed his left nipple.

There was silence for some time as they lay thinking of their respective
futures.  They sleepily planned the next few days and one by one drifted
off, Martin feeling that he had to have his nose in Stephen's armpit lest
he ever forget his smell should they be separated.

In the morning the three all woke up rock hard.  The Plunger was begging
Stephen to fuck him but Stephen demurred.  "I'm sorry Archie, that's
special between Mala and me, isn't it, Mala?"

"Yes it is, Derbs, but if you would like to I don't mind."

"We don't have any oil here, Archie, and I don't want to rip you open.  You
wouldn't thank me for that," he continued.  The Plunger wasn't so sure.
"Do you think you could wait until we are in London?  We could have some
fun there and I would make sure you enjoyed yourself.  I'd treat you
right."

"Treat him like a lady?" giggled Martin.

"I say, Poole, that's a low blow," said The Plunger stroking Stephen's
cock.  "It's all very well for you getting your oats every night.  Who
looks after you when we're at school?"

"Sorry, Plunger.  He has been treating me like a lady too, Derbs.  He does
deserve some fun-but when we're in London.  His screams may bring the
servants running in this house," he said teasingly.  "I say, how are we
going to get back to our room?"



The Plunger positioned Martin and Stephen on two chairs next to an artist's
lay figure.  They adopted poses similar to the wooden mannequin and The
Plunger then threw a sheet of muslin over all three, an arm and a leg of
lay figure left protruding along with Stephen's cock under the muslin about
which little could be done.  The Plunger then rang the bell and when the
butler arrived all he could observe was the Plunger in his long underwear
and the usual artist's paraphernalia in the studio.

"Hives, would you send Lord Martin's valet here?  I want to make
arrangements for London," said The Plunger.

Shortly after William arrived and The Plunger said, "William, your master
and Mr Knight are under that material."  At that, Martin and Stephen
sheepishly revealed their presence.  "They don't seem to have any clothes.
Could you and Carlo please bring their tennis togs because we are spending
the morning on the court and then we are going on a picnic."

William left, but not with quite the degree of surprise that Martin had
expected and soon the happy sounds of young people on the tennis courts
could be heard floating over the garden.

Miss Loring and Miss Dowdell were attractive players, each trying to
emulate the feats of Mrs Lambert Chambers at Wimbledon and also attract the
attention of the male members of the party.  Sir Gordon and The Plunger
played a hotly contested singles and there were mixed doubles, of sorts,
played with Archie's young cousins who had both developed a crush on
Stephen.

Lady Eudora took Martin around the garden and showed him the new sunk
garden designed by Miss Jekyll, which promised to be a beautiful feature.
Martin commented on the electric lights placed throughout the garden and
lady Eudora was pleased to give exact details of the extraordinary number
and precise cost of this novelty.  "I got the idea from my friend Mamie
Stuyvesant Fish at Newport."

Martin started to giggle. "I'm sorry, Lady Eudora, but that's a funny
name."

"Lord Martin, I don't think it's very nice to make fun of people's names.
Why Mr Chauncey Depew said ..." Martin spluttered and tried to
apologise... "at the house of Mrs K. Schuyler Knickerbocker..."  Martin
exploded again and had to stuff his handkerchief in his mouth. "...that at
Colonel Parker Trout's house at Mt Kisco..." Martin was finding it hard to
breathe.  "Lord Martin, I'll have you know my mother was a Trout."  This
she had to assert bending over as Martin was now rolling helplessly on the
lawn.

The picnic at Leith Hill was a splendid affair.  A convoy of opulent
motorcars set out shortly after two brakes filled with servants and
victuals had gone ahead and when the guests arrived at the summit of the
hill, after abandoning the vehicles lower down, they found that a splendid
repast had been laid out beneath the gothic tower.  There were tables and
chairs and a carpet had been unrolled. Footmen circulated with champagne
and cold chicken and sandwiches were piled up on silver platters.  The
party concentrated on eating and then paused to admire, through the trees,
the patchwork of England below them, struggling to remember exactly how
many counties were visible on a clear day.  Silly games were played and
Stephen wrestled with the two young Craigth cousins and they held contests
rolling down a grassy slope.  The little girl insisted on holding Stephen's
hand for the rest of the afternoon, much to the annoyance of the Misses
Loring and Dowdell.

A magnificent silver service was unpacked and tea was brewed and it was
accompanied by more cakes, both Austrian and Italian.  A few drops of rain
elicited well-worn phrases about timeliness and the party headed back to
Fayette.

The Plunger's discussion about art had prompted him, bent on education, to
offer a life-drawing class before the guests had to change for dinner.
Naturally Stephen was chosen as the model and the propriety or otherwise of
young ladies being exposed to male nakedness armed only with sticks of
charcoal was debated.  The young ladies insisted that they attend and so
Mrs Loring said she should chaperone.  Mrs. Millet said she thought that,
as the wife of a Member of Parliament, she had the requisite gravitas to
also chaperone in such a delicate situation and said that her stars had
suggested undertaking new and unusual activities.  Mrs Smith-Forbes said
bluntly she wanted a good look at the young man, as her husband spent most
of his time at his club.  As Lady Eudora found she would have no one to
talk to, she said she would come as well.

The ladies were positioned around The Plunger's studio with drawing boards
resting on their knees.  The Plunger gave a little lecture the relationship
of line and colour to aesthetic emotion.  The ladies felt it difficult to
separate aesthetic emotion from other emotions, especially as not yet
having an aesthetic object to evoke them, and hence they were tapping their
crayons with impatience when The Plunger finally drew his remarks to a
close.

At last Stephen came into the studio in his dressing gown and marched to a
rough fruit box thoughtfully draped with a towel.  The Plunger positioned
him with his back to the sketchers and on a slight angle. There was
perceptible murmur of disappointment.  The dressing gown was removed and
the ladies feverishly set to work.

The Plunger wandered among them, occasionally picking up a pencil and
correcting a line or intensifying some shading.  Most of the artists
concentrated on the shoulders and the v-shaped form of the back with its
sinuous line made by Stephen's spine that snaked down past rippling
muscles.

Lady Eudora caught Stephen's hair very nicely and beamed under her son's
praise.  Had Stephen actually resembled many of the sketches he would never
have managed to fit into a shirt or coat, however allowance had to be made
for artistic licence.

Mrs Smith-Forbes' work was different to the others, as she had drawn
Stephen from the front.  When questioned by The Plunger she explained that
this profile, she thought, brought out something that the other lacked and
that she was aided by being able to see Stephen's front reflected in the
window glass, which explained why some left leaning parts were depicted as
being on the right.  What she could not observe clearly from life, she had
drawn from her imagination.

The dressing gong sounded and the class was over.  Miss Loring handed
Stephen his gown and he departed in a dignified manner.  The ladies rolled
up their sketches and, thanking The Plunger, departed for their rooms.



*****



The Great Railway Strike that had paralysed the country was over.  Archie,
Stephen, Martin, the two valets and a valet for The Plunger, departed for
London on the train.  Jackman, having got as far kissing Lady Eudora's maid
on the slopes of Leith Hill, was sent back to Croome.

In the second-class carriage, Carlo and William were listening to the
almost endless stream of chatter from Haines, The Plunger's valet.  Haines
was distressingly Nancy and referred to himself in the third person as
'Miss Haines' or 'Gertie' (his real name being Albert).  The Plunger was
more often than not referred to as 'she', while his mother, Lady Eudora,
was referred to as "the Bulldog' or 'the American Bitch.'

"...and then she says to me, `Gertie are my shoelaces ironed?' and I said,
`Mr Archie they are not the flat type,' and then she says to me, `Gertie,
do you want me to look like a tradesman in round shoelaces?  Go and fetch
me some proper ones and iron them flat.'  So there's poor Miss Haines
frantically trying to heat the iron when the train is leaving in less than
half an hour, and trying to turn her out like a gentleman, when she's more
like Sarah Bernhardt and here's me thinking all the while of how much less
bother it would be to valet for that sweet Mr Knight who isn't a gentleman
but doesn't need to try to be."

"He's not particular, is he William?" said Carlo at last. "He doesn't care
about his laces and mostly does his own clothes.  He's certainly no bother
over his drawers," he whispered, for there was another person in the
carriage, "never wears them!"

"No!" exclaimed Gertie.

"Yes!" chorused William and Carlo, and they continued the discussion of
their respective masters, sotto voce, Gertie squirming in his seat, until
they reached Victoria.



"Stephen," said Martin when they were alone for a few minutes, "I'm sorry
if I sounded less than enthusiastic about you coming up to the University
of London.  I think it will be so marvellous and we will still be
together."  Stephen smiled.  "And Stephen," continued Martin in a slightly
changed tone, "you will be particularly nice to The Plunger and give him a
good time, won't you?"

"Yes, of course Mala," he replied, turning over in his mind what form this
would take.



When they arrived at Piccadilly they went to their usual rooms.  Gertie
sought the help of William to hang and shelve all that constituted his
master's travelling wardrobe.  Carlo appeared and said that Mr Craigth was
wanted in his lordship's room.  Archie, who had been sorting and
book-marking his art books, put them down and followed Carlo.

"Carlo," said Stephen, "would you draw me a bath, please, and put in a few
drops of the rose geranium, I think."

"If you are getting ready I'll come back," said The Plunger.

"No, Archie, the bath is for you.  I want you to relax," said Stephen,
putting his hand on The Plunger's shoulder and speaking low.  "I want to
wash you and make sure you're a clean boy for me."  Whatever composure The
Plunger had, was rapidly crumbling and he felt anything but relaxed.  His
hands and knees were trembling.

Stephen slowly undressed the trembling Plunger, handing his clothes to
Martin.  The last two buttons on The Plunger's Charvet shirt were causing
trouble and so Stephen simply rent the costly chemise, the buttons flying
across the room.  Martin foxed them thinking that Gertie might re-stitch
them onto the formerly splendid garment.

When The Plunger was naked, Stephen ran his hands all over his body and
thrust his nose into his red bush, inhaling deeply.  "I love a ginger," he
said.  The Plunger was taken to the bathroom and Stephen rolled up his
sleeves and tested the water.  He added two more drops of the rose geranium
and assisted The Plunger to settle into the warmth. "Relaxed, Archie?"

"Yes, Stephen, very," he replied in a trembling voice.

Stephen produced a cake of soap and a flannel and began to gently wash the
boy.  These instruments invaded every crevice of The Plunger and by the
time Stephen was washing in between his toes The Plunger was hard under the
suds.

"Mala, I'm not sure you're clean," said Stephen in a honeyed voice.  "Do
you think I need to wash you too?"

Martin was quite sure he was filthy and rapidly divested himself of his
clothes and climbed in the other end without spilling too much water.

Stephen began to wash him in the same manner, getting Archie to assist with
difficult to reach places.  "Now I need to shampoo your ginger hair,
Archie," said Stephen reaching for a bottle.  He soaped and massaged with
his fingers and invited Martin to help him.  The Plunger thought he was
possibly relaxed now and tried to enjoy it, closing his eyes and breathing
deeply.  Stephen then thought the shampoo should be applied to all of The
Plunger's red locks, but when he went down he exclaimed, "Why Plunger,
you've spilled!"  He opened his eyes and saw his seed floating in the
water.  It was true.

"I'm sorry, Stephen," he said.

"Don't be sorry, Archie," said Stephen soothingly as he rinsed his hair,

"There will be more tonight won't there?"

"I hope so," said The Plunger.

"Hope so?" said Stephen, putting his face very close, "I need there to be,
Archie.  Promise me there will be more."

"I promise, Stephen," said The Plunger, his voice now shaking again and not
quite sure what he was promising.

Stephen had the now-clean boys get out of the bath and he dried them off.
The Plunger was dusted down with talcum powder, which delighted Stephen as
it made his white skin present an even greater contrast to the red hair.

"Archie," said Stephen as he led him naked back into the bedroom, "if we're
going to enjoy ourselves tonight I'm going have to open you up.  Do you
understand?"  The Plunger nodded.  "Good.  You're going to have to wear
this for the rest of the day."  He held up the Chinese plug.

The Plunger gulped.

"We'll get you ready."

Archie was bent over and Stephen and Martin took turns to tongue The
Plunger's red trench and tender hole.  The oils were produced and Stephen
took a good ten minutes before he inserted one finger, then another.  The
Plunger took them and didn't seem greatly distressed.  A glass dildo was
also employed until Martin said, "I think he's ready, Derbs."

The slicked oriental object was slowly inserted and snapped into
place. "How does it feel?" said Stephen with genuine concern.

"It actually feels rather good," said The Plunger smiling.  "I feel full."

"Good boy!" said Stephen. "Now go and dress."

The Plunger looked horrified. "But I can't let Gertie see me with this in.
Let me put my drawers on."

"No drawers tonight, Archie.  I may need to feel you at dinner or in the
theatre and I can't do that properly if you have drawers on."

The Plunger looked helplessly at Martin who said: "Could Carlo bring his
clothes here?  Would you care if Carlo saw you?  The Plunger wasn't at all
sure but nodded his head.

Carlo was sent for and when he observed the naked and vulnerable baronet's
son with the evidence of the fiendish Chinese instrument visible, Stephen
said, "Mr Craigth is participating in an experiment Carlo.  Do you
understand?"

"Oh yes sir, quite.  Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?"

He was therefore a little disappointed when he was merely required to fetch
Mr Craigh's evening clothes, but the list was a long and complicated one
and parts of it had to be written down.  "I'll take William with me to
help," said Carlo as he departed.

The Plunger was kissed and rubbed by both boys in reassurance and soon
Carlo, assisted by William, had the Plunger dressed in his immaculate,
dazzling evening clothes and then they turned to attend Martin and Stephen
who were dressed with much less fuss.



"Did Gertie mind your taking Mr Craigth's clothes, Carlo," whispered
William as they were brushing the shoulders of the boys' tailcoats.

"No," whispered Carlo back, "he said it would give him more time to paint
his toe nails!"



The boys walked to Piccadilly Circus where The Plunger treated them to a
splendid dinner at the Criterion and then they took a growler for the short
distance to the Garrick Theatre in Charring Cross Road for where they had
tickets for the musical play Kismet with Oscar Asche and Lily Brayton.

As it was a warm night, they walked back up to Leicester Square where
Stephen pointed out the boys near the fountain who were loitering for
gentlemen.  The Plunger filed away this piece of information and, as it was
still sometime before 11:00, they called in to The Ship Restaurant for
supper and had beer.

The Plunger was still a little nervous when they regained Branksome House.
All three valets were sent to bed and The Plunger found himself in Martin's
room being undressed lovingly by Stephen.  The Chinese plug was removed
carefully and The Plunger tried to see its work in the looking glass but
had to be content with a fulsome description.

Suddenly Martin announced that he was going to sleep next door in Stephen's
room and The Plunger panicked.  "Don't leave me, Poole," he cried.

"Why?  Stephen's no monster.  You can come with me if you insist."

The Plunger didn't insist and Stephen was just letting his trousers fall
about his ankles when Martin quietly closed the door.

Martin didn't like to eavesdrop and in fact didn't hear much.  He thought
he heard some soft sobbing at one point, but that may have been the
antiquated plumbing of Branksome House which often gave imitations of
tormented souls or brass musical instruments being sawn in half.

It was 9 o'clock when Martin himself brought the tea into the bedroom.  The
Plunger's red head was resting next to Stephen's and he looked very
content.  Stephen sleepily arose and put on his dressing gown and went into
the bathroom.  Martin sat on the bed. "Well, how was it Plunger?"

The Plunger had planned to be non-committal and phlegmatic but the act was
useless and he broke into a wide smile.  "It was marvellous, Poole.  Oh you
are so lucky!  You can have that every night."

"And every morning too, Plunger, and I hope to have it for many years to
come."

"He's a wonderful lover," he almost whispered, looking at the bite marks on
his chest. "Do you think I'll be able to walk today or should I have Gertie
push me in a Bath chair?"

"I think you'll be all right, Plunger.  Shall I get Carlo to draw your
bath?"

When The Plunger at last disappeared into the bathroom and Stephen had
returned.  Martin kissed him.  "Thank you, Derby.  I've never seen him
smile so much."

"Oh I just did my usual, nothing fancy.  But Mala, let's let it be just you
and me tonight."

Martin kissed him again and grabbed his cock through his dressing gown. "Is
there any more left for me?"

"I think there might be one left, Mala, but be quick or The Plunger will
want that one too."



The Plunger had recovered sufficiently to go riding with Stephen in the
Park and Martin went to have lunch with his godfather at Boodles.

"Well you see, Martin," said Lord Delvees when he had heard of Martin's
plans, "there is only so much that a politician can do to influence a
decision such as where to place a school.  It is the Civil Service who have
to be reckoned with.  They will have their plans and they will be concerned
with their budget and the costs."

Martin digested this as he stirred his coffee.  He thought of the L.E.A
Board that would be meeting in Dorchester and tried to imagine what he
would say to them.  He wasn't even on the debating team at school, so he
was apprehensive about speaking to a room full of adults.  He found it all
rather difficult.

"As a politician I am of limited value I'm afraid," continued the Viscount,
"I'm in the Lords for a start.  I'm a Tory and the Liberals are in
ascendancy.  However, I can tell you this, Martin: The Liberals are not
united.  There are the old ones who grew up with Gladstone.  They still
hanker after free trade and want no taxes. Then there are the new ones like
poor old Campbell-Bannerman and Lloyd George who want the government to
spend on pensions and free school dinners and so on.  They don't like the
Poor Law.  Some of them want Home Rule and those who don't vote with us.

"Having said that, I think it would be wise to see McKenna.  Wouldn't mind
betting they've got their eye on him for the Exchequer.  Now tell me more
about the school."

Martin was busy thinking of way to make the school sound an attractive
prospect.  He would donate the land for a start and, being in the country,
it could be on a bigger allotment than in Wareham.  "Could I start up a
motor omnibus company to bring pupils directly over from Wareham, sir?  The
ones coming from Wimborne Minster don't have to change."

"That's certainly a good idea, but then why couldn't your children go to
Wareham by the same bus?" Martin realised that was what Miss Tadrew had
said.

"Well, the ones that came to Wareham from Wimborne Minster would have to
change trains and that would make it a long journey.  Branksome is sort of
central to both and with a bus..."

Lord Delvees nodded.  "And they would want electric light.  Both those
towns may have it already."

"Perhaps I could provide that too."

"This is getting to be a very expensive exercise, Martin.  Are you sure the
school is worth it?"

"Oh yes, sir," replied Martin fiercely, "it is!"

Martin left with a letter of introduction to the Education Secretary and
some ideas that were starting to crystallize in his own mind.  He would
also write to Miss Foxton to get some arguments why a higher elementary
school would be better for girls than one that concentrated on 'domestic
arts'.



A hansom took Martin to Tite Street in Chelsea and looking at a card he
found the address of Tsindis' studio.  At the top of the stairs he knocked.
Stephen opened the door and Martin walked in.  Yes, it was similar to The
Plunger's recreation at Fayette, except that there was a skylight as well.
The Plunger was posing naked, leaning uncomfortably over a box as if it
were a piece of machinery, with a long-nosed oilcan in one hand and a large
spanner in the other.  Tsindis welcomed Martin but kept his eye on the
canvas.  On this easel Martin could be see a fractured cartoon of The
Plunger, with African lips and a furrowed brow, set against giant pieces of
machinery which seemed to be in dizzy motion.  Martin though the sense of
movement was very cleverly captured.

"This is my portrait of Unhappy Twentieth Century Man, Lord Martin.  He's
the slave of the machine, not its master.  I got the idea from Mr Wells."

"Don't you think it's ripping?" said Archie.

"Hold still Craigth and stop smiling; you're meant to be oppressed.  Are we
going to the Caf? Royal afterwards, Lord Martin?  And could you lend me
five quid, I'm afraid I'm a bit short of the readies."

Martin though this was a bit of a cheek, but then he realised that it was
just yet another manifestation of 'significant form'.

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.