Date: Thu, 7 Jul 2016 14:01:49 -0400
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige II Chapter 20

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Noblesse Oblige
By Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 20
The Convergence of the Twain


William looked at his reflection in the mirror.  He had tried to assume a
dignified expression but had only succeeded in making himself titter when
there was a polite knock on the door.  He was standing in his room in the
basement of Branksome House in Piccadilly.  The butler's room was adjacent
to the butler's pantry and the room with the strong cupboards that held the
plate.  He had made his first decision since his elevation from
footman-valet to under-butler-really probationary butler and in charge of
the London house.  His first decision was to wear soft collars rather than
the traditional winged collars that Chilvers wore.  Of course, he would
wear those on very formal occasions, but for the moment there would be few
of these and his main job would be to run the empty house and oversee the
other servants, which included his cousin, Carlo, now a valet.

It was Carlo who was calling and he turned from the mirror and Carlo spoke:
"What am I to call you...sir...now that you are my boss?  Mr Glassbottom?"

"I think not, Carlo, I have decided I would like to be called Mr Glass by
the servants if that doesn't strike you as too odd.  Neither of us likes
using our last name, do we?"  Carlo reflected that this was true, although
in his case it was because he had an unwanted wife searching for him.

"No, that's not odd Mr Glass-or may I call you Mr. G.?"

"No you may not, Carlo, but you can certainly call me William when we're
alone -but only then mind-and you still have to stand with the other
servants when Mrs Smith and I enter for dinner."

"In 'pug's parade' you mean?"

"Yes, Carlo.  And speaking of names, you still don't mind being called Mr
Carlo instead of Mr Sifridi as valets are usually addressed?"

"No, Bill, but I do mind that I have to sleep upstairs when it used to be
you and me together for some fun."

"That's the way it has to be now, Carlo, I'm afraid, although we can still
get together for some fun, I'll just have to work out a way."

"Couldn't I sleep out in the mews flat?  That's unused.  No horses, no
motors and it's going begging."

"No Carlo, you're a house servant and a valet.  You must be near our
masters at all times.  I was thinking, Carlo, that you might like to wear a
soft collar too.  I'm sure neither Mr Stephen nor Lord Martin would mind.
Would you like to come up with your own outfit-nothing too outlandish-and
let me know?"

Carlo was somewhat mollified and departed. William was now thinking that
he'd made two decisions and asserted his authority.  The next thing he did
was call in Mrs Smith, the housekeeper, for a meeting.

They sat rather cozily in his pantry and seemed to get on well.  Mrs Smith
was a woman in her fifties.  She, with her husband coming to act as a sort
of caretaker, had run the London house with its skeleton staff for a number
of years.

"Mrs Smith," began William, diplomatically, "I would very much appreciate
your help as I'm rather new to all this.  Mr Chilvers can give me advice,
of course, but he is a long way away and so I may rather have to rely on
your experience."

"Thank you `Mr Glass' she said, using his new title for the first time.  We
will need to work together, but I don't want to exceed my authority."

William nodded.  "Mrs Smith, Mrs Lamp is a dreadful cook, wherever did we
get her?" he opened bluntly.

"Well, Mr Glass, I'm afraid I have to agree.  Since Mrs Hastie passed away
we haven't had a proper cook.  She came to us six months ago from an
agency.  Oh, she had good references-they always do-but I'm afraid they
were more icing than Chelsea bun.  I can't imagine what that dish was we
had for supper."

"She said it was cottage pie, Mrs Smith."

"Well, that cottage should be condemned.  And she's deaf and she shouts at
poor Marigold," she said, referring to the tweeny maid.

"Well, I'm going to have to give her notice, but when we've found a good
cook.  Will that be hard in London?"

"Oh, Mr Glass, you have no idea how hard!  Even with a salary of ?800 or
even more, the hostesses fight very dirty to steal each other's cooks.  I
urge you not to sack Mrs Lamp until you've got one lined up."

When William walked with Mrs Smith in procession that night, all the
servants stood, including Mr Carlo.  Mrs Smith sat next to her husband who
had been repairing a pelmet in the drawing room and had been having a
frustrating day of it.  And then there was the cook, Mrs Lamp, who was
annoyingly deaf and would answer 'yes', 'no' or 'it's in the cupboard'
seemingly at random to any conversational gambit.

They were being served by Marigold who, apart from her outlandish name, was
a seemingly acceptable tweeny, although she looked distressed from having
to shout at Mrs Lamp until she was hoarse.  There were three other maids,
Jenny, Daisy (whose real name was also Jenny but had had it arbitrarily
changed in service) and Sarah.  There was Marie who with the help of
Marigold did the washing and mending and there was Boots, a pimply boy of
14.

As William tried to chew his steak and kidney pudding, exchanging glances
with Mrs Smith, he contemplated what staffing he thought Branksome house
should have: There should be footmen-a matching pair of course.  The
thought of having a maid serving at dinner was a disgrace.  However, this
extravagance could hardly be justified with only the intermittent sojourns
of Lord Martin and Mr Knight.  Was a maid for every upstairs floor
sufficient, he wondered?  And how was he going to get a new cook?  And a
new cook may demand another scullery maid.

After their supper he walked out across the yard to the mews.  Room would
have to be left for a motor if his lordship ever decided to bring the
Daimler to London and one of the upstairs cribs would have to be kept for
Jackman, the handsome chauffeur.  In the meantime...

He called Carlo. "Carlo, do you think this might be a convenient spot for
us?"

"Well Bill, I could easy slip down the back stairs.  I'm the only servant
in the men's quarters and it's close to your room.  Who's to see
us-especially if I have a key?"

"Ah, a key.  And what's to prevent you bringing back all sorts of hoi
polloi to this spot behind my back if I give you a key?"

"Nothing.  Give me a key," challenged Carlo.

William thought about it.  He could think of plenty of reasons not to,
however he was feeling randy and rather alone in his new position so he
said, "Alright, let's try it tonight."

It was William's job to lock the doors at 10:30 when the maids had all gone
up to their attic and the cook and Mr and Mrs Smith had retired to their
room in the basement.  Boots slept on a folding bed in the corridor.
William determined that he should be given a proper room upstairs for
reasons of both compassion and convenience for his getting to the mews
unobserved.

It occurred to him, as he was climbing the narrow stairs to the room above
the stabling, that this arrangement could present problems if he or Carlo
were wanted at night.  He wondered if the bell could be somehow linked to
the mews just in case.  He would speak to Carlo about it.

Carlo was already lying on the bed smoking.  His shirt was off and his bare
arms and shoulders, shown off in his vest, were very handsome, thought
William, not for the first time.

"You're dressed for it," Carlo said to William who was in his pyjamas and
dressing gown.

"Well I didn't know what was the best," said William.  "We can't stay all
night.  We should get an alarm clock.  Should I have worn my butler's
togs?"

"You look very fine in them, Bill, I mean Mr. G, but you look good like
this too," he said extending a foot lazily off the bed and using it to
flick William's dressing gown open.  William just stood there and let Carlo
massage his groin with his toes.

"Don't worry Bill, I'll make sure everything's alright.  You'll keep your
position, I promise.  Now get these trousers off me."

William relaxed and eagerly leaned over and undid Carlo's trousers while he
finished his cigarette.  He wasn't wearing any drawers and his hairy cock
was hardening. "See, I've made my first decision about my new uniform.  Mr
Stephen will be pleased; he's not happy unless he knows everyone around him
is randy."

"Carlo, don't you dare say that.  And Mr Knight and his young lordship must
never have cause to discover that you are less than fully dressed in their
presence."

"He's a randy young devil though, ain't he Bill?"

"Aye he is and a fine sight to behold," admitted William. "Lord Martin is
very fortunate in his choice of a friend."

William was pleasuring Carlo's cock with his hands. "Kiss it, Bill," said
Carlo softly, "I want to feel your lips on it."  William did. "You getting
hard Bill?"  William replied that he was.  "Come here!" Carlo pulled
William around, dragging off his pyjamas and had him lay on top of him so
they might pleasure each other.  They sucked and slurped with pleasure.
"Any chance of a pay rise and an extra half-day Mr Glass, sir?" said Carlo
taking a break.

"I was actually thinking of cutting your wages unless you can give good
service-at both ends, Carlo," said William, pulling off the big cock.
Carlo went back to work, vowing to write to the Domestic Servants' Union
and William took up his own duties with diligence.



*****



In Blandford Forum, Stephen was concentrating very hard on his schoolwork.
He had given up the Monday night dancing classes now that Julian Newell had
gone up to Oxford and was even spending some weekends at Mrs Leybourne's
rather than going home to Croome.  There were already the first signs of
spring and that would mean returning to Branksome to play cricket in a
month or so and the building of the cottage bathrooms, halted over winter,
would begin in late May, but for now he was focused on his exams.

Tennis lessons with Christopher had also stopped but Christopher still came
to him for help with Mathematics and Stephen found the tutoring helped his
own understanding.  Christopher had fallen into the habit of just knocking
and opening Stephen's door, which Stephen fully encouraged, and frequently
he found Stephen pleasuring himself on the bed or in the bath, often in
unusual and inventive positions which sometimes required Christopher's help
and so Christopher's question about simultaneous equations often had to
wait until the solution to another sort of knotty problem had been
elicited-and on one occasion until the pencil could be retrieved.

It was late on a Friday night in the second week of term that Christopher
quietly knocked and entered Stephen's room.  Christopher was wearing just a
pair of blue silk pyjama bottoms.  These had been a much appreciated 18th
birthday present from Stephen, for Christopher had extravagantly admired
the lemon-coloured pair that Stephen wore in place of a dressing gown when
he walked to the bathroom or when sitting at his desk in his room.

Christopher hadn't been the only admirer of the work of the industrious
silkworms for Stephen often had to pass Mrs Leybourne in the passage and
the sight of Stephen with his hair fallen over his sleepy eyes and his big,
bare chest with his nipples prominent in the cold air, caused Mrs
Leybourne's heart to miss a beat.  She often found herself awkwardly
positioned by a jardini?re stand that held a large pottery ewer made by the
Luba people of the Congo.  This valuable curio, apparently needed frequent
inspection by Mrs Leybourne at the hour that Stephen went to take his bath
and the narrow pathway necessitated that Stephen should turn sideways to
pass her, causing, if she were lucky, Stephen's half-erect cock, in its
mockery of concealment beneath the lovely lemon silk, to brush her side.
Always she would say 'But aren't you cold Mr Knight?' to which Stephen
would reply, 'No', and she would feel the goose flesh of his naked chest
for confirmation.

Christopher now stood by Stephen's bed in the blue silk bottoms; low down
on his hips, resting on his half-hard cock and with an inch of soft brown
hair showing above the waist, as Stephen instructed him to wear them.
Stephen had lightly trimmed his bush and had said, "Let people see what
you've got, Chris, don't be ashamed."

Stephen hadn't woken right away and Christopher shook him.  Stephen
sleepily lifted the covers and Christopher obediently dropped the pyjama
bottoms and climbed into his bed.

"Are you hard Stephen?" he said, feeling under the covers. "Of course you
are.  When are you ever not hard?" he said almost laughing.  Stephen flung
out his right arm and Christopher snuggled next to Stephen.

"Have you spilled today, Chris?" asked Stephen quietly, with his eyes
closed.

"Uh huh," said Chris, "Before I got up this morning."

"Good boy.  Was it a lot?"

"I don't know.  Quite a lot I suppose."

"I like to know if it's a lot, Chris.  You should take note.  Did you enjoy
it?"

"Yes, I thought about being the captive of native girls."

"Oh yes, I know that one," said Stephen drowsily.

"Will you tell me a story, Stephen?  You do it so well and I don't want to
go to sleep."

"I'm tired Chris; I've been working hard.  Why don't you just go to sleep
here?"

"Oh I don't think I can, Stephen, I feel too randy.  It wouldn't be good
for me."

"Oh then, if it's a question of your health, that's a different matter,"
said Stephen, still sleepy.

"Can I lick you Stephen?"

"You want to lick my cock?"

"No, yes.  I mean I want to lick you down there, you know."

"You want to do that?" said Stephen opening his eyes.  You don't have to,
Chris, I'll tell you a story."  But Chris said he wanted to and before he
knew it, Chris had Stephen's muscular legs pulled up and had his face in
Stephen's clean, soapy crack.

Stephen moaned. "Oh that's it, Chris, just like that!" he cried as Chris
tongued away, seemingly not requiring to come up for air.

"Now my cock, Chris, please my cock!"  Christopher moved up and took the
head of Stephen's uncut cock in his mouth and sucked all the sweet clear
juices that were freely flowing.

Just as Stephen was getting all worked up, Christopher stopped.  Stephen
looked down alarm.  "I want you to hold it, Stephen, and then we can spend
together."

"Well, I see I am getting some of my own medicine back.  You'd better stop
me from touching myself.  Come up here and I'll tell you a story."

Chris lay in the crook of Stephen's arm once again. "There were these two
young French school teachers..."

"No, Stephen.  Please, no French girls."

"Oh I'm sorry, Chris, I should have thought.  You're still very upset
aren't you?" Stephen thought he could see a tear in the dim light.  "She
was very beautiful, Chris.  One of the most beautiful girls I've ever
seen."

"Yes she was," responded Christopher with a little pride, but his voice
caught just the same.

"There was this girl, just 16," began Stephen again, "and she sang in the
village choir. It was a small stone church in a village in a northern
county.  She had blond hair, which she tied up with blue ribbons.  She wore
a lots of white dresses-the sort that look like sailors uniforms-and she
tied her big straw hat on with a blue ribbon when she ran-she did a lot of
running with her dogs."

"What sort of dogs?"

"Cocker spaniels," said Stephen.

"Oh," said Christopher, a little deflated.

"No, they were those black and white ones,"

"Border Collies?" asked Christopher hopefully.

"Yes, that's them.  Well, when she wasn't running over the moors with the
dogs, she was playing tennis on the courts built in the vicarage garden.
Her father was the vicar.  Did I say that?  Well he was.  And she was
playing tennis with another girl..."

"What does the other girl look like?" interrupted Christopher.

"Rather fat, but jolly.  She panted a lot trying to return drop shots."

"Anyway, the doctor's son had been away at school and he hadn't seen this
girl since she was 11 and back then he didn't think anything of her and
couldn't even remember her name.  Now when he saw her laughing and her
attractive breasts moving under her white blouse his heart missed a beat
and he crashed his bicycle into a tree.  The girls laughed and he went red.
He was a tall boy-rather like you Chris-and he had soft, straight brown
hair and the girl-or both of them-could see he had honest brown
eyes-slightly sad under long lashes.

"He talked easily to the pretty girl-the other one went home because it was
tea time-and offered to show her how to do a proper backhand stroke."

"I'm awfully good at those, aren't I?" said Christopher.

"You are Chris, but who said this boy is you?  Anyway, he was holding her
close and she could feel how comforting his manly chest was and how strong
were his brown arms, all the while he was smelling her hair which smelt of
Pear's soap.  Then he boldly asked her if she was going to the ball at Lady
Dogood's (which was raising money for sports equipment for the Anglican
mission in Nyasaland) and she, admiring his boldness, replied she was
going, but without a dancing partner as she, had to help her father, the
Vicar, with the tombola and things like that.  The boy..."

"Chris?"

"Yes that was his name...well Chris said he would love to help as he was
very interested in the welfare of the Pacific Islanders and if he could be
of any use to her at all he would be delighted, especially if it involved
lifting heavy things for her, and perhaps they would find a spare moment
for a dance as he'd been taking lessons with his good friends at school and
would love to show her the grizzly bear and bunny hug.

"She said that would be lovely, but her father must not see them doing
those sort of dances as he'd disapprove until she'd talked him round to
it-which she often did.

"Then she told him her name."

"What was her name, Stephen?"

"I don't know, Chris.  She never told me."

Christopher was quiet for a long time then he said, "Will that be my life,
Stephen?  Will I find a girl like that on my own doorstep?"

"It's likely, Chris.  A girl like that will love you.  You'll be a doctor
and be kind and the people will love you too."

"Will I be happy?"

"Close your eyes and think about it and tell me."

There was another long pause.  When Stephen looked Christopher was fast
asleep.  He sighed, thinking of his excitingly wet crack and his
unsatisfied cock and would make sure that Christopher finished what he
started in the morning.

When Mrs Leybourne was dusting the Luba ewer the next day she was
inconvenienced by two very attractive bare-chested boys in low-slung silk
pyjama bottoms and, had she not been so intent on the pottery, she might
have noticed they emerged from the same bedroom door.



****



The weekly rendezvous in the mews apartment seemed to be working
satisfactorily.  With the excuse that it was needed for the chauffeur, a
firm had extended a wire in a conduit across the yard and the bell would
now alert them should they be required during their late night trysts.  An
alarm clock and a key for Carlo were obtained and Boots was delighted to be
lodged in a room of his own in the attic.

"Carlo," said William as they laid in the narrow bed, not asleep, "how can
I get a new cook? I want Branksome House to be the finest house in the West
End and now tramps at the kitchen door turn up their noses at Mrs Lamp's
muck and ask the way to the Salvation Army."

"Have you tried an agency?"

"Yes, every blinking agency in London.  I've walked my feet off.  I've even
put out feelers to see if I can poach Lady Vane-Gillingham's."

"Well," began Carlo slowly, "I just might happen to know of a very good
cook, but you won't like it?"

"Why not?  What's her name?"

"It's not a she, it's a he.  He's a first class chef."

"Well there's no objection to that.  Was he on a boat?"

"Yes, with P & O."

"Well why isn't he with them now or why hasn't some house or hotel snapped
him up?"

"Well that the rub, Bill.  He's been in prison."

"Good God, Carlo, do you think I'm stupid?  Do you think I'll allow a
murderer or thief to work here?  I'd sooner eat Mrs Lamp's trifle."

"Wait on, Bill, he's none of those things.  He's been inside for three
months for bigamy."

"Bigamy!"

"Yes, seems he married a lass in Liverpool when the one he left in Palermo
was still legally his.  It's more carelessness than crime, don't you
think?"

"Well, I'm hardly surprised that you think so.  And he's Italian I
suppose."

"Italian mother from Provence, Swiss-French father."

"Well, I suppose we could see him?  Is he in London?"

"Reading.  He's not due for release until Friday."



William took the train down to Croome to talk to Mr Chilvers.  Chilvers
noted the soft collar but let it go, thinking that William was of a younger
generation with its own ideas.  He thought that putting in the telephone
would be a good move and indeed may have even saved William a trip.  He
agreed, now a convert, that the house needed electricity, but said that
this idea should be put to his lordship and that it would doubtlessly be
very costly.

William also put some other worries to him.  He suspected the maid Jenny
had been stealing small sums of money, but had no proof.  He then turned to
the question of the new chef.

Chilver's reaction was much as his own.  Then William found himself
defending M. Defaux and pointing out that marriage irregularity might not
necessarily be an impediment to being a satisfactory chef.  He praised his
skills and quoted examples of the fare that he was said to routinely
produce in Swiss hotels and then on board great liners, until his recent
disgrace.

Chilver's said: "I'd like to meet M. Defaux and I think you should tell his
lordship-both of them and Mr Knight too-of your decision.  Don't ask them
what you should do, but tell them what you recommend they adopt.  Do you
understand what I mean?"

William nodded and Mr Chilvers made arrangements himself to travel back to
London with William.

The interview with the ex-prisoner was conducted at his sister's place in
Camden Town, well away from Mrs Lamp, for while her hearing was poor, her
other senses were keen enough to know her days were numbered.  Defaux was a
large man in his early thirties and it was not difficult to see that women
would find him attractive, even if not one at a time.  He seemed humbled by
his recent experiences but flashes of arrogance, particularly with regard
to his trade and his reputation came through now and again and Chilvers
found this oddly reassuring, as he believed good chefs needed to have more
than plain cook personalities and a reputation for slight temperament would
only enhance the lustre of Branksome House in the eyes of London society.

"Will you excuse us for a minute, M. Defaux?" asked Chilvers.  The chef
moved out into the hall and left William and Chilvers in conference.

"What do you think, Mr Chilvers?" asked William when they were alone.

"What do you think, William, is more to the point?"

William knew this was a test.  "Well, sir, I think Defaux is an honest man,
generally speaking.  He got himself entangled with the law as a result of
passion-and of course that may happen again-but that need not affect his
cooking or the reputation of our family, unless it's something truly
shocking next time.  It perhaps was his hard luck that the divorce from the
original Mme Defaux was not forthcoming, but there is no divorce possible
in Sicily, I should imagine.  His cooking seems to be first class if
working at those hotels and on the liners is to be believed.  He may be a
little hard to work with in the kitchen.  However, my biggest fear is that
he will complain that there is no one to cook for, and of course the other
problem is that employing an ex-convict is slightly irregular."

"Yes, that is true, William.  On your first point, however, I might have
some news.  Lord Alfred, I believe is coming back to England-possibly
permanently-and has asked if he might live in London.  That would mean
there would be Lord Alfred, Mr Stephen when he starts university and Lord
Martin on occasion.  It is not a big household to be sure, but I have a
feeling that the young gentlemen may want to venture into society a bit
more."

"Should we try him on a three months approval then, Mr Chilvers, if the
family agrees of course?"

"Perhaps six months and you'll need to dismiss your present cook."

So it was arranged.  Martin and Stephen did not seem to mind the previous
residence of M. Defaux and Lord Branksome merely shrugged, possibly knowing
that he would never see the London house again.  William was nervous, but
simply called (loudly) for Mrs. Lamp to see him.

"It's in the cupboard, Mr Grass," she replied, but was steered into his
pantry by Marigold.

"Mrs Lamp, I'm afraid I am giving you three weeks' notice.  Your cooking
has not been up to the standard that your references indicated."

"What?" she said, with her floury hand to her ear.

William took a piece of paper and wrote: `You're sacked-three weeks' and
handed it to her.

She read it and simply shrugged.  "I've had an offer at Lady Troubridge's.
I'll pack my box.  You can send me my money."

William breathed a sigh.  He had come through a difficult trial



*****



It was with relief that Stephen and Martin returned to Croome for the
Easter holidays.  Stephen was waiting at the station in the Daimler and
drove soberly up the road to the house.  Martin was bouncing with
impatience and wanted Stephen to open the throttle more, but Stephen was
adamant.  Then he undid Stephen's flies and was pleasuring him, making
Stephen swerve and nearly collide with Miss Plainsong who was carrying a
basket of old clothes for the needy to the vicarage.  "Stop it Mala; it's
dangerous," said Stephen crossing his legs.

They arrived safely however and the motor was returned to Jackman without
dilapidations, although he did notice that Mr Knight's fly buttons were
torn.  The boys' reunion was a passionate one and even before Chilvers had
closed the door Martin had his face buried in Stephen's fragrant armpits.

Stephen had refrained from bathing and pleasuring himself for two days so
that his Mala might enjoy him all the more and soon Stephen had sown two
loads of seed deep into his willing lover.  Martin had himself spent on the
floor, after barely touching his cock, as they had been too engrossed to
even make it to the comfort of the great eighteenth century bed.  Such was
the noise that they made in their congress that Chilvers could clearly hear
Martin being thoroughly fucked through the dressing room door as he hung up
Lord Martin's clothes and it was only with the greatest restraint that he
stopped himself from having a very protracted view of the proceedings
through the keyhole, from which he had thoughtfully removed the key prior
to his egress.

There was still time after tea to visit the Women's Institute Hall as it
was the Owens half-day, although Stephen wondered if Douglas would be
there.  As they rode their bicycles down, Stephen told Martin of the
remarkable change in circumstances of Douglas Owens and 'Nancy Nott', the
poetess.

However both brothers were there. "I bin sent back t'village to work on
t'next book by Mr Fisk, your lor'ship.  It be about t'both o' us grow'n up
like in't village, c'ept Mr Fisk want t'set it in t'wild west."

"Why is that Douglas?" asked Martin.

"So he can t'sell book t'moving pictures, your lor'ship.  Tis big money in
t'moving pictures, he says."

"But you've never been to America, Doug," said Stephen.

"Aye thart's very true, Stephen, but Reuben bin ahelpin' me by reading Mr
Zane Grey, hasn't thee, Reuben?"

Reuben put down the dumbbells and said it was true.  "Alus had to do is
alter t'words some and make Pendleton into Dodge City and t'like, Stephen."

Stephen was very keen to organise a boxing match and Reuben said that
farmer Yates' teenage son, Albert, would be interested and perhaps it could
be arranged as soon as Easter Monday.

Sparring practice and weight lifting having finished, Stephen's muscles
were felt and admired and soon the four boys were naked and the aching
muscles in their cocks were being stroked.

"Stephen, I don't think you will be able to spill.  You've done it twice
this afternoon," said Martin.  The three boys closely examined his lordship
arse where the evidence was thrillingly visible.

"If I watch you three I'm sure I can," said Stephen.  And so he did; when
Martin had spilled along Douglas's bristly crack and Douglas and Reuben had
pleasured each other.  Stephen was hard again and his eyes were shining.

They invited him over and with their combined efforts the village stud was
made to orgasm again and he drenched them all with a big smirk on his face.



The four lads were not the only ones intent on physical activity for the
footman James had made his afternoon walk in the direction of the Women's
Institute Hall where he first saw Job with Stephen's dogs and then Mr
Stephen's and Lord Martin's bicycles abandoned by the lych gate.

Having found the doors locked he went around to a side window which was
high but a brief glimpse could be obtained by jumping.  Several bounds
disclosed to James the unusual sight of four naked boys, with swinging
balls and cocks packing up the boxing equipment and the Indian clubs.  He
found this very curious and determined to put this into the letter he was
composing for the Reverend William Carter who was due back just after
Easter, having decided to extend his successful tour of the Welsh valleys.

William also followed the bicycles down to the swimming place where he
spied his masters swimming naked in the brook and jumping from the rope
that hung from the tree.  Certainly Mr Stephen was an impressive sight, but
it was hardly his fault that God had blessed him so.  When the boys lay on
the bank on towels William got closer to hear what was being said.

"We beseech thee to behold this thy family," he heard Mr Stephen saying.
He looked around for any sign of the families of either of the naked boys
until he realised that it was a prayer being rehearsed-Stephen was to read
the collect at Easter.  He thought that this piousness would impress Mr
Carter, despite their nakedness, although they were all boys together and
the sensibilities of no young girls could be offended.

It was not until late on Easter Tuesday that James was able to see the
Reverend William Carter.  When the maid opened the door it was clear that
the house was in turmoil.  "You've just caught Mr Carter, James," said the
maid who recognised him and indicated the trunk and bags waiting in the
hall.  "He's rushing to get the late train."

"That's right," said the clergyman himself as he came down the stairs
putting on his overcoat and picking up his stick, "I have received a sudden
invitation to address the Women's Christian Temperance Union in New Jersey
and I sail for the United States on the 10th.  I'll be back on the 29th
James, I'll speak to you then."

"Good luck sir.  What is your talk about?"

"Self Abuse and Unearned Capital; I'm widening my scope into political
economy, James, and I'm anxious to hear an American speaker on the place of
dietary roughage and Onanism-what did you have for breakfast?"

James found it hard to remember.

"Never mind.  Is that envelope for me?"  Carter took the envelope and put
it in his pocket as the trap arrived to take him to the station. "Goodbye,"
he called, "and I'll see you soon."



*****



The boxing match was held in the Women's Institute Hall and there were to
be three matches.  The Owens boys were to be in one each against Sedge the
thatcher's twin sons and further down the bill was Stephen versus Yates'
son, Albert.

Douglas and Reuben had won their matches fairly convincingly and Martin was
in a place of honour among the appreciative audience who kept coming and
going to The Feathers for refreshment and to put on wagers with the
publican's wife.

Stephen came bouncing out in his silk trunks, his jockey's strap holding
him more firmly than on previous occasions, but Martin still got a thrill
to see him.  Martin was frequently reminded of the photographic portrait he
had had made two years before.  Stephen had been rubbed with oil and
glistened in the lamplight.

The match commenced and Stephen's physical prowess gave him the edge in the
first round.  Martin actually found the deep thump and the physical contact
when a blow connected with Stephen's body oddly arousing.  Stephen was all
virility and aggression and had the better of his opponent in the second.

In the third round Stephen bounced out on his toes, glistening with sweat,
his hair falling down over his left eye.  Albert collected Stephen with a
powerful right hook to the eye.  This seemed to spur Stephen on and three
blows in succession sent Albert to the floor and the match was over.

Martin noticed that he was hard as a rock in his trousers and had to cover
himself with his overcoat when he went over to Stephen.  Reuben and Douglas
were treating the cut over Stephen's eye, which was already swelling up.
He was congratulated by all and even Albert came up to see if he was
alright.  The panting boys touched gloves in a friendly fashion.

Martin threw his coat over Stephen's damp shoulders and hurried him out to
the Daimler where Jackman was waiting to take them up to the house.
Stephen attempted to dry himself with a towel when Martin said, "No don't.
I want you sweaty and in your boxing trunks.  You've made me terribly
randy.

"Hurry up, Jackman!" he called, "I want to get Mr Knight's injury seen to."

Apart from a hurried kiss, Stephen's black eye was sorely neglected and he
was thrown onto the bed where his sweat-soaked body quickly saturated the
sheet.  Martin didn't even take off his own clothes at first but attacked
Stephen's body with his tongue and licked the sweat off every part, paying
particular attention to his bruised chest and armpits.  He plunged his face
into the silk trunks where Stephen's cock was restrained under the strap.
Soon the spit soaked trunks were torn off and the jockey's strap was
removed, with Martin inhaling into the pouch deeply.

"Derby, I want you to do to me with your cock what you did to Albert Yates"

With a few drops of oil applied, Martin lowered himself onto Stephen's pole
and then Stephen took control and fucked him without mercy, neither of them
conscious of how many times they spilled before morning.

When Chilvers brought their morning tea he was aghast at the destruction of
the room and the disarray of the baroque bed upon which he saw the naked
form of the boxer, blood drying on his forehead, snuggled against Lord
Martin, quite possibly with his hard cock still inserted cosily inside his
contented lordship.



*****



A large dinner had been arranged up in London to welcome Uncle Alfred back
from Rajpipla and to test the skills and suitability of M. Defaux, the new
chef and late guest of His Majesty.  Aunt Maud and Sophia and Antony were
to be joined by Lord and Lady Delvees, Miss Foxon, The Plunger and Mr
Erskine Childers, the author, and his American wife, Molly.

Glass had lain awake at night planning the smooth running of things,
constantly reflecting on what Mr Chilvers would do.  Lord Alfred had sent
word that he would be bringing with him is own servant and the household
went into shock at the thought of a Hindu or Sikh batman about the house.

"Are we allowed to drink alcohol and eat meat in front of them?" Marigold
had asked.

"Will he be able to charm snakes and sleep on a bed of nails?" asked Jenny
who had not been sacked for lack of evidence.

"Perhaps he's a Parsee," ventured M. Defaux.

When Uncle Alfred arrived with his valet they stared. "Where are you from?"
asked Glass, almost rudely.

"Why I'm from 'ammersmith, Mr Glass.  The name's 'iggins.  Halbert
'iggins."  Less like an Indian could not be imagined and Higgins proved to
be a bright and cheeky sparrow who seemed fond of his elderly master.

With all thoughts of beds of nails and juggernauts banished, Higgins was
found a bedroom in the attic and Lord Alfred was given a large bedroom that
connected to a dressing room.  William was going to suggest that a doorway
be made to an adjoining bedroom that would make an attractive sitting room
or study for his lordship, if his stay was of be of any duration.

Mr Craigth and Miss Foxton were assigned bedrooms.  Gertie, Mr Craigth's
man, was placed in a room next to Carlo on the top floor.  Lord Martin and
Mr Knight would have their usual rooms and the rest of the guests would be
returning to their own homes, the Childers living in Chelsea, convenient to
the Houses of Parliament where Mr Childers apparently worked.

M. Defaux was prone to being rather irritable when he was in full flight.
"I must have silence so I can create!" he declared as he glared at Marigold
who was chattering to Higgins.  The kitchen stared at him as he clutched
his hair with both hands and closed his eyes and then made a series of
exclamations.  He then threw himself into action.

The menu was a great success.  The original idea of Indian dishes was
abandoned and instead Soupe Imp?ratrice was followed by Souffl? ? la Reine.
There was a turbot and a hot pat? of quail.  Duckling ? la Rouennaise was
the main course and an iced bombe completed the dinner.

The guests were stunned by the meal and even the English practice of not
commenting on the food was ignored.  "Where did you get this marvelous
chef, Martin?" asked Aunt Maud.

"He was last in the service of His Majesty, I believe, Aunt," said Martin
cryptically.

"Shall we go to the Saville Club tomorrow, Mr Knight, said Childers, having
been guided away from talking about Irish Home Rule.  Lord Delvees also
volunteered to look in a 5 o'clock.  Stephen wondered what his reception
would be, for his face was slightly bruised and his black eye was covered
romantically by an eye patch.

At the other end of the table, Mrs Childers was saying how much she and her
husband enjoyed their racing yacht, Asgard, and Martin thought of the
little second-hand skiff that he'd had Joni and H?lias buy for Stephen and
what a surprise he hoped it would be.

The party went on to the theatre afterwards.  The play was called Pygmalion
and was by Mr Shaw.  Stephen enjoyed the play but was very subdued
afterwards.  They were lying in bed when Stephen spoke.  "Mala, was that
play about me?  Am I the squashed cabbage leaf that you have made a
gentleman for your amusement?  Will I disgrace myself at the Saville Club
tomorrow?

"Stephen, that is a dreadful thing to say.  I have never laughed at you or
had cause to. The point of the play is not Eliza's humiliation but her love
for the professor, isn't it?  Will she go to him or with Freddie who loves
her?  It's about the power of love."

"Yes, you're right.  Sorry Mala, but it was quite unnerving."



*****



The bell rang in the mews. "What's that," said Gertie?

"It's your master, Gertie, what does he want at this time of night?" said
Carlo.

"She probably wants her shirt links shampooed or something," said Gertie,
crossly, putting on his trousers.

"You'd better hurry across to the house," said William.  "Don't slam the
door and hurry back or Carlo and I might have to start without you."



*****



The Reverend William Carter was leaning on the life preserver attached to
the taffrail in the chilly air of the North Atlantic.  He had been
listening with approval to a fellow passenger who stood with his 16-year
old son and was expounding on the dedicated band of women who, with the
help of men of good will, had closed all the saloons in a number of states
in the American Republic and indeed what a better place it would be for his
young Cyrus to grow up in-"clean of mind and limb."

Mr Carter looked at the boy and then remembered the letter in his pocket
and fished it out.  Excusing himself with a pat to the boy's rump, he read
with delight about the naked frolic in the Women's Institute Hall and the
nude bathing and the blasphemy of the rehearsal of the Easter reading.  Of
the literature being read he could make little: Riders of the Purple Sage
by Zane Grey and a book of poems by Nancy Nott-yes he'd heard of her and
she was a most respectable poetess, he believed, but it was instructive
that William had found both books beside the bed in Lord Martin's chamber
and nothing in Mr Knight's supposed adjacent room.

"Excuse me sir, this deck is reserved for first class passengers," said a
steward.  Mr Carter looked up and tried to muster his dignity but the
crewmember was unmoved and the clergyman slid away from the rail towards
the second-class companionway revealing a life preserver bearing, in large
black letters, the name of the luxury liner.

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.