Noblesse Oblige
Book Two
Indian Summer

By: Pete Bruno & Henry Hilliard
(© 2013 by the authors)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 8
The Fulani Club 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you Mr Moss?”

“I have just finished university and I also studied engineering and worked with Cousin John on some undertakings such as building bridges and railways and that sort of thing—mainly labouring—in the holidays.”

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

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

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

“Oh I’m good at Latin too sir,” said Stephen.

“Well I suggest that you also learn German, Mr Knight, you’ll find it useful for engineering.”

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

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

After lunch they inspected the drainage scheme where Monasch was again impressed. Stephen couldn’t repress his pleasure.  Moss was interested in the mechanical dairy and thought that the education of the dairyman was an ideal place to start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a cad, Mrs Leybourne, that’s what I am.”

“Oh no Mr Knight you’re the finest of young men, don’t say that.”

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

“You mean I’m your first, Mr Knight? I had no idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be wizard, Knight, I’ll come down on Christmas Eve if you like, I’ve already asked my father.  He’s not keen on London though, I might not tell him that part.  It will be ripping to be there with you.

“I say, Knight, have you got the silk handkerchief with you? I’m awfully hard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe your father was right,” joked Stephen.

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

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

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

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

“It’s leaking a lot.” he observed.

“Do you want to watch me spend?”

“Yes!” said Chris.

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

“Oh Stephen, spend or you’ll explode. You’ll do yourself a mischief.”

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

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

“Does that feel good?” Christopher asked needlessly.

“Oh yes,” replied Stephen as he lay back puffing.

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

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

“You mean Martin at Croome?”

“Yes, Martin.  He is titled, you know.  He is actually Martin Poole, the Earl of Holdenhurst and this Croome is a great big place and rather intimidating at first—although I’ve known it all my life, really.  You’ll see it for yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes Stephen, I am.  It’s these damn sheets on my cock.”

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

“No, I don’t think I can wait that long.”

To be continued... 

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

Posted: 10/11/13