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 10
The Profession 

The boys were talking excitedly on the train.  For Stephen and Christopher the prospect of a holiday in London was still a great novelty. The Plunger affected a more blasé attitude but kept forgetting to hold himself in reserve and with increasing frequency joined in their excited chatter.

While Martin instantly liked Christopher who was indeed very easy to like with his boyish good looks and ready smile, he couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of jealousy when he thought of him and Stephen together for their Wednesday night sessions, but this was more from the fact that he would have liked to join them, as he felt secure in Stephen’s affections. Christopher acknowledged that Martin was also nice looking but didn’t have a pet for him, nor did he look up to him as he did to Stephen.  However, he was a little intimidated by Martin’s elevated position in society and had to stop himself calling him ‘your lordship’ until he relaxed into calling him ‘Poole’ as The Plunger did.

Christopher did not quite know what to make of ‘The Plunger,’ as he was now used to hearing the Hon. Archibald Craigth addressed, and felt easier calling this grand personage ‘Archie.’ However he was just beginning to see the light when The Plunger, who had been reading ‘The Pickwick Papers’ was talking at length about obtaining his own coach and four and running a stage service from Dorking up to London in competition with the Southern Railways, giving a detailed description of the coaching cloak and hat he would wear and the long bugle he would blow as they raced through Leatherhead and Sutton to the astonishment of their residents.

The Plunger himself was always cautious of strangers and worked hard to impress Christopher, partly because he was Stephen’s friend and partly because he too fell under his easy spell and partly, it had to be admitted, because he was curious to see what Christopher looked like naked, but he was a little depressed at his talk of actresses and their feminine charms.

In a second-class carriage on the same train Carlo and William were also discussing their London trip.  William was still on a stick and so much of the work would fall to Carlo. Chilvers had made sure they could share a room in Branksome House and that only they would attend Martin and Stephen in their shared accommodation, including the bed-making duty for which they would be paid extra as this was normally maids’ work.  They were somewhat daunted at the amount of luggage they had to handle, most of which belonged to the Hon. Archie.

“I know some friendly pubs in the West End and a few rough ones down East, Bill.  How’d you like to meet some sailors?  We could have a good time on our evening off.”

William had to admit he was excited by the thought.  He had been very much alone at Croome and there was very little opportunity for such adventures there of course; with Carlo he felt different.  He knew himself to be shy and a little reserved and yet with Carlo he would do things he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing before; he knew that, and now Mr Chilvers knew it too, he reflected.

Carlo and William were unpacking for Stephen and Martin, having been much delayed by attending to The Plunger’s needs first.  “Now that you are valets and not footmen, William what should I call you?  I don’t know your last name,” said Martin.

“It is Glassbotttom, your lordship and I’d just as soon be called Glass if you don’t mind.”

“Very good, Glass.  And what about you Carlo, should I call you Sifridi now? “

“I’d just as soon be called Carlo, your lordship, even as a gentleman’s valet, as I don’t like my last name being widely known, sir, as a result of a misunderstanding a while back.”

“Very good then, Carlo,” said Martin exchanging a look with Stephen who was undressing.

“You don’t seem to have any underwear, sir,” said Carlo turning to Stephen, “was it forgotten to be packed? I’m sorry if it was.”

“No, I don’t always wear it, Carlo, I prefer the freedom,” said Stephen as he pulled off his shirt.

“Very good sir,” said Carlo, making sure he got a good look at his new charge, “I will follow your example and be free too.” William shot him a look telling him not to be so bold, but Carlo just grinned.

“We will bring your early tea in at half-past seven, your lordship, and the London papers,” said William as he propelled Carlo from the room.

The boys walked to Piccadilly Circus, but it was so foggy that there was little to see.  They had a few rounds of cards before turning in.

Martin and Stephen had only been in bed about twenty minutes when there was a knock at the door.  It was The Plunger who said that he was feeling very ‘frisky’ and wondered if he might join them for a bit.  He slid off his dressing gown and Stephen inspected him closely. He had put on more muscle during the term and his legs were much thicker.  He sniffed his ginger bush and pronounced it “lovely.”

Martin lifted the covers and The Plunger slid in.  Stephen wrestled him over so he lay between them. “What about Mr Tennant?” asked The Plunger, “would he like to do anything or is he too taken up with his actresses?”

“Well, I think he might like to masturbate with us,” said Stephen, “but nothing else.  He doesn’t like chaps but he does enjoy pleasuring himself with me alongside.  If I ask him, will you promise not to do anything he doesn’t want to?  Let him take the lead or let me.  Do you agree?” Martin and The Plunger nodded and Stephen put on a dressing gown and left the room.

It was ten minutes before he returned and with him was a nervous looking Christopher.   “The Plunger said he was feeling frisky, Christopher,” explained Stephen and we wondered if you were next door feeling frisky too.  It is Wednesday after all.  Would you like to join us, we are just going to pleasure our aching cocks and we could also discuss meeting some chorus girls tomorrow night.”  This seduction seemed to work and Christopher came across to the bed.  “It’s cold Chris, get under the covers with us.  It’s a big bed, but you’ll have to take those pyjamas off if you want to get in next to me.”

Christopher obeyed and with the gas turned down to just a peep they boys started to feel their cocks underneath the blankets. “We’ll have to use false names tomorrow night if we meet any girls,” said Archie. “Is that all right?”

“And it’s best not to take too much money in case some light fingered Johnny picks your pocket,” advised Martin. “We could take them to The Café Royal or maybe somewhere less well-known,” he added.

“I also told Chris we’d take him to the shop in Soho,” said Stephen.

“That would be marvellous,” said Chris, speaking for the first time. “Is it true you brought a ring for your cock, Archie?”

“I’ve got it on.  Here look.”  Chris stopped stroking and clambered over Stephen’s large form to inspect the ginger cock with its silver jewellery.  The Plunger lifted his balls to show how it went. “Show me yours.”

Chris exposed himself but there was no touching. “I’d like a strap like Stephen’s,” he said.

Martin, with a nod from Stephen, gave a highly edited account of Mr Daventry’s bronze weight and demonstrated on Stephen how it fitted.  Christopher was amazed.

Oil was produced and they proceeded to stroke in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. When Stephen noticed that Chris was getting close, he put a friendly arm around him and whispered to go slower and make it last.  Chris nodded.

“Are you getting close Plunger?” asked Martin.

“Yes” huffed The Plunger as he threw back the covers and increased his pace, arching his back.

Martin matched him and Stephen rubbed Martin’s chest and offered words of encouragement.  He suddenly spilled, a shot hitting Stephen’s cheek, which caused Martin to laugh.

The Plunger was next, cupping his ginger balls as he shot up onto his ivory chest.

Stephen now set about matters in earnest using both hands and requested that his balls be tugged.  Martin grabbed one side and Christopher, who had stopped stroking, stretched the other.  Stephen arched his back and spilt, the first shot hitting Christopher on the eyebrow.

“I’m sorry Chris,” said Stephen when he regained his composure.  “I bowled a wrong ‘un.”

Christopher only laughed and used it to lubricate his own cock.

All three were now concentrating on Christopher and his fine big cock.  He pleasured himself with greater intensity, Stephen again offering words of encouragement and referring to the charms of actresses they would be no doubt be meeting.  Christopher at last spent, if not to the cheers, certainly to the admiration of the other three.

“See I can make myself last Stephen.  Thank you chaps,” he said with a contented smile.

Stephen climbed out of the bed and walked over to the washstand, Martin admiring his profile and his swinging privates, and returned with a towel.  They cleaned themselves up.  That was a cue for The Plunger and Christopher to retire to their respective rooms.

“That was nice,” said Martin.  You were so kind and considerate to him.  He really did enjoy it, Stephen.” He kissed him on the cheek.

“Well I enjoyed it too, but I’m glad we’re alone, Mala.  Do you want to do anything else?”

“I’m not sure.  What did you have in mind, Derbs?”

Stephen showed him.

*****

In the morning there was a soft knock at the door and it opened to reveal Carlo carrying the tray and William- now Mr Glass- on his stick holding ‘The Times and The Morning Post.’ The boys had not heard them enter and were still asleep, presenting a very attractive picture, with Martin’s golden head resting on Stephen’s chest as he lay on his back snoring, his loose, silky, black curls down over his left eye.  The two servants just stood there watching and turned to smile at each other.

Glass gave a professional butler’s cough and limped over to draw the blinds while Carlo made a rattling noise with the cups that stirred the sleepers.  Stephen sat up brightly and said good morning while Martin uncurled more slowly.  Carlo went to set the tray down on Stephen but encountered the same problem that Chilvers did of a morning.  He moved the tray across to Martin who cried “Careful!” as he tried to set it down so then he moved it back to Stephen’s side again and grabbed Stephen’s erection through the blankets and moved it to the left side so the tray could settle safely.

“Draw the gentlemen their bath, Carlo,” said Glass who had been watching.  Carlo departed.

“I’m very sorry, Mr Stephen, Carlo has been too long at sea sir, with the free and easy ways of a company steward.  Mr Chilvers has warned him about being bold, sir, and he is not so used to valeting for gentlemen, I’m afraid.”

“Mr Glass, I am not sure that I am a gentleman and I had never had anybody lay out my clothes, fill my bath or bring my tea until twelve months ago, so I don’t blame Carlo,” said Stephen.

Martin plucked up courage and said: “Glass, you and Carlo have no objections to attending to us like this?  Bringing us our tea together for example?”

“Oh no sir, we have— that is Carlo and I have— similar arrangement as to our own lodgings, your lordship, Mr Chilvers has seen to that and it would be hardly my place to comment in any case sir.  It is a pleasure to serve you sir which reminds me sir that the cook is in tears, sir.”

“Why?” asked Martin.

“Well it seems that Mr Craigth, sir, especially wanted peach juice— from white peaches—instead of his usual tea and there are none to be had in December even in London.”

“You might try Messers Harrods,” said Martin. “Telephone them.”

“There is no telephone in this house, sir, but I will send Carlo around this morning.  Please don’t let my cousin take liberties, sir; I’m afraid he is rather Italian.”

The boys spent the day sightseeing, despite the cold and had tea at Aunt Maude’s and the events of Christmas were reheated for they were still were still good.  Sophia came in with Miss Foxton who was introduced to Christopher.

“I do hope you can come down to Toynbee Hall, Lord Martin, I am on duty the day after tomorrow if you are free.” Martin promised to make time and asked if they had tea in the afternoons.  Miss Foxton just smiled and said they would provide tea if he came.

Sophia said: “I am calling on Mrs Buckweet on Sunday, would you care to come with me Mr Knight?” Stephen reddened but said he would and so it was arranged.

Naturally there were many balls and parties to be had and Aunt Maude laid out a selection before the boys as if they were choosing a boarding house in a seaside town.  They picked one on New Year’s Eve that Aunt Maude said she was sure she could get four invitations to and it would still give them time to return to Croome for the New Year’s hunt which would be on the 2^nd this year so as not to hunt on the Sabbath— besides which, Mr Destrombe was a keen horseman.  Archie had brought his pinks especially and was looking forward to this ancient tradition.  Then they fell to discussing their costumes for the ball, as it was a fancy dress affair.

Carlo and Glass had laid out the boys’ evening clothes, including The Plunger’s cloak with its chartreuse lining and his silk opera hat.  The others had opted to wear soft hats, but Martin changed his mind and wore his new gibus, for the first time, to keep The Plunger company.

Carlo was run off his feet.  He helped Stephen into his evening trousers and Stephen noted that that the bulge running down Carlo’s leg perhaps indicated that he was no longer wearing drawers either and he was just assisting Martin with his tie when Glass called him into The Plunger’s room where the complications were more than the crippled valet could cope with.

They dined up at The Langham Hotel as William said it had a good restaurant.  In the cab Martin made sure that Christopher knew that tonight’s entertainments were down to him as they were all his guests.  They ordered champagne at The Plunger’s insistence, although Stephen and Christopher would have preferred beer, and they were quite jolly by the time another cab took them to The Coliseum in St Martin’s Lane where they had booked the two-and-sixpenny seats in the red plush and gilded gingerbread of the stalls.

It was all wonderful, and not just Christopher was entranced by the limelight and greasepaint.  There was Vesta Victoria who sang a song of woe about her lodger and then revived (by popular request it was stated) ‘Daddy Wouldn’t buy me a Bow Wow’ which she performed quit ‘dead pan’ holding a little kitten until her winsomeness had the audience in tears of laughter.  Then there was someone called Little Tich who performed a comic song wearing enormous shoes.  The whole audience erupted into song and swayed to a new tune called ‘I Do Like to be Beside the Seaside’ sung by Mr Mark Sheridan, which the boys said would be certain to be a great hit as they propped up the marble bar and ordered beer—except for Archie who had whiskey.

The second half of the show was equally good, although the audience itself was now noticeably livelier.  The boys too went out to the bar for more drinks.  A very beautiful singer, Miss Constance Gray, had the most superb figure and blonde hair and she sashayed up and down the stage and intoned ‘Every Little Movement has a Meaning of its Own.’  She received wild applause.  Next came Miss Evelyn Gray, her younger sister, and they sang a duet about lost love.  Finally Miss Evelyn Gray had the spotlight to herself and Christopher hushed the boys and sat with rapt attention, his head held in his hands.  The beautiful young girl sat at her dressing table tying blue ribbons in her long blonde ringlets and making small but apparently necessary adjustments to her stockings as she sang in a sweet, soft voice (apparently to her canary), that she too was merely a bird in a gilded cage.  The audience with a mixture of tears and lust applauded and cheered and Miss Gray, who suddenly gave a beautiful smile in the general direction of the two-and-sixpenny or sixpence seats, swept off the stage, bowing and blowing kisses.

The boys looked at Christopher who appeared to have been struck with a blunt instrument. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he said with predictability and they three exchanged glances and agreed fulsomely with Christopher that indeed she was the most beautiful girl they had ever seen. “Stephen, will you help me meet her?”

“Well, I believe taking her flowers to the stage door is the usual procedure, isn’t that right Plunger?”

The Plunger had no idea but, as a man of the world, he said it was and that she should be invited to supper with them at the Café Royal.  Martin had a feeling that this was going to be an expensive evening.

The four young men in expensive evening clothes presented a very attractive spectacle at the performers’ entrance to the Coliseum.  Christopher had obtained a costly bunch of hothouse flowers from a stall nearby, no doubt positioned for this very purpose.  To their surprise they were shown in and passing down a rather utilitarian corridor were halted at the Misses Gray’s dressing room.

Only Archie and Martin had adopted false names (Jeremy and James) while the others kept theirs.  They admitted to the sisters’ manager they were schoolboys—honesty being the best policy—and Christopher produced a photograph of Miss Evelyn that he hoped could be autographed.

The manager was a tall and thin young man with a neat moustache and was quite nice looking really.  He sized the boys up and admitted them to the room, which was surprisingly comfortable and warm.  The sisters were already changed when Percy Forbes, the manager, made the introductions.  Christopher began by praising their performances—both their performances he was careful to stress—although he only had eyes for Miss Evelyn.  He went on to show his knowledge of their work and the songs they sang.  “I wanted to see you when you were in Berwick-upon-Tweed but… er… but my father wouldn’t let me.” He blushed.

“Well your father has evidently changed his mind,” said Miss Constance.

“Oh well…he doesn’t actually…I came with my friends…I go to school with Stephen,” said Christopher, flustered.

“We come from Carlisle, Mr Tennant, and we are not always used to the fast ways of London are we Constance? Said Miss Evelyn, looking at Christopher as if she’d eat him up. “Fortunately we have Mr Forbes to help us.  He is the best theatrical manager in the north of England, aren’t you Percy?  But he drives us hard.  We have very little free time.”

“And you Mr Knight, surely you are too old for school?” said Miss Constance.

“No, Miss Gray, I am at school with my friend.”

“Have you any interest in the stage, Mr Knight?” asked Miss Evelyn. “I can see you as a leading man and you, Jeremy, I can see you as a swell—Burlington Bertie— don’t you think Constance?”  The Plunger didn’t know whether to be pleased at this career advice or not.

Stephen took a good look at the sisters.  Miss Evelyn was certainly very pretty but her lips were thinner without their rouge and her skin may have been sallow, but she wore a great deal of makeup and it was hard to tell.  Perhaps she was eighteen or twenty thought Stephen.  Miss Constance looked older at close quarters, nearer thirty than twenty and her blonde hair, which was piled up elaborately, did not look quite right.  She too wore a great deal of make up, including on her breasts, which were plumped up under her tight bodice and their exact texture was veiled by a layer of tulle.

Mr Forbes was engaged with Martin, telling him about the life of a touring performer and the vagaries of the accommodation for theatricals, especially in the provinces.  Christopher had handed over the bouquet and had had his photographed autographed and had been presented with one from Miss Constance as well.  He was now looking desperately at Stephen who didn’t miss his cue.  “Would you, Miss Constance, Miss Evelyn and you Mr Forbes care to have supper with us? We are going to the Café Royal.”

And so they found themselves in two cabs heading for Regent Street.  Miss Evelyn and Mr Forbes rode with Christopher while the other four rode in the cab following, Miss Constance pressing her knee on Stephen’s.

At the restaurant they were found a table and Martin was sure that Mr Forbes heard him addressed as your lordship.  Champagne was produced.  Stephen didn’t see Mr Forster there, but on another table he thought a man with a beard might be Mr George Bernard Shaw.  The Gray sisters were engaged with the delighted Christopher, Miss Constance occasionally addressing a remark to Stephen or putting a hand on his knee when words failed. The Plunger and Martin were making desultory conversation with Mr Forbes and Martin was quite pleased to see Tsindis and asked him to join their table and have a drink.

Tsindis did so and fell to talking to The Plunger who said he admired his sketch of Stephen awfully and went on to relate the tragedy of the Sargent portrait. Tsindis, while not actually blaggarding the portraitist, let The Plunger know that Sargent was by no means in the aesthetic vanguard and that his work was now regarded very much as mere success d’estime. He asked the boy if he had seen the post-impressionists at the Grafton Galleries, which The Plunger had to admit he hadn’t (nor had he heard of the movement). Tsindis then begged The Plunger to come with him across the room where he wanted to introduce him to a Mr Fry and two more up-to-dates portraitists named Lavery and Orphen.  The Plunger’s head was spinning from the champagne and from the vortex of modern art, but he went to the artists’ table and was there deep in conversation for the rest of the evening.

Food came and went and more champagne was consumed.  Mr Forbes was explaining what devout girls the Misses Gray were and how it pained their parish priest back in Carlisle when they went on the stage, but how the sisters went to Mass once a week unless there were matinees and contributed generously to the Catholic mission in the New Hebrides.  Indeed the sisters were going to an early service the following day, as they were to travel north to an engagement at the Empire Hartlepool.  Martin took this as a hint that the evening was over, but Stephen read the situation more subtly. “Could we escort the ladies back to their hotel, Mr Forbes?” he said.

“They are staying with me Mr Knight in a theatrical hotel just off Russel Square, and we’d be delighted if you gentlemen could come back for a nightcap.” Martin paid the bill—a sickening nine pounds and fifteen shillings—and went to retrieve The Plunger.  The Plunger, asked to be excused because he was just hearing about the most marvellous person called Lady Ottoline Morrell and Tsindis wanted to make a study of him in his studio in preparation for a new portrait that he had just commissioned.

Christopher was very excited that they were going home with the ladies to whom he hadn’t stopped talking.  He had even begun to hold Miss Evelyn’s hand to emphasise a point he was making, although it was the sort of profound declaration that did not quite make sense to the listeners but would have been very familiar to empty champagne bottles had they ears.

The hotel was a little seedy but was possessed of a lift.  Miss Constance touched Stephen’s hand while Mr Forbes managed to place his on the groins of both Stephen and Martin while telling the boy to take them to the fourth floor.

In the suite of rooms the evidence of packing was all about them: open Innovation trunks and scattered clothes.  Personal touches included some photographs in silver frames, a small religious picture and a large family Bible draped with rosaries.  More champagne was sent for and Martin began to feel sick.  The Misses Gray and Christopher disappeared into a bedroom where there must have been a piano for a tune was being picked out accompanied by the ladies’ voices.

Mr Forbes said: “Well gentlemen, your young friend seems to be having a wonderful introduction to The Profession; Miss Constance and Miss Evelyn appear to have taken a shine to him.  It is such a pity we leave tomorrow.  You know travelling is so exhausting, not to mention expensive, and you gentlemen have kept the girls up very late tonight.  I can’t have the management complaining that they are yawning through their numbers can I?  Shall we say five quid?  I think your friend will get his money’s worth.  Tell you what, make it six quid and I’ll suck you both.  Can’t say fairer than that and we’ll have to fill in the time somehow.  You look to be a big fellow down there Mr Knight what could use some attention and it seems Miss Constance is booked up tonight.”

Stephen was angry but not surprised and Martin looked as if he didn’t want anything to do with Mr Forbes but there was the problem of Christopher.  The music had ceased. “I feel we have been taken advantage of, Mr Forbes,” said Stephen. “You and the ladies have has a very fine meal on us and Mr Tennant is clearly a stage struck young man.  You can have your five quid but you will pay us ten shillings if you want to watch us fuck and you will go and fetch us some coffee first.”

Forbes had never heard an offer like this before and was taken aback by its cheek. “And what makes you think I’d want to watch?”

“Oh just the way you’ve been looking at my friend and touching me, but if I’m mistaken you don’t have to watch us at all and you’ll save ten bob.”

Forbes ran his tongue over his lips and had a ferrety look in his eyes. “Deal,” he said. The four pounds ten was handed over and he disappeared from the room to get the coffee.

Stephen turned to Martin in urgency. “Is that all right Mala?  I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. He just made me so angry.  We could just get Chris and go.”

“No, Derbs, I admire your plan.  I just don’t want to be sucked by him but I am feeling terribly randy—it must be the champagne—and I don’t care if he watches.  I may actually enjoy it, especially as five bob should be mine.”

Stephen crossed the room and listened at the door of the bedroom where the piano was.  He couldn’t hear anything.  He opened the door to what was another bedroom.  He then examined the room they were in, looking into the trunks and opening the Bible on the table. Just then Forbes came in with two cups of coffee on a tray.  Stephen and Martin drank it in silence while Forbes finished the champagne.

Stephen led the way to the empty bedroom and told Forbes to sit in the chair while he turned on a small electric lamp.  He picked up Martin and carried him to the bed.  They both knelt on the counterpane and undressed each other, putting their clothes carefully on the nearby chest of drawers. Forbes moved his chair slightly so he could get a better view.  He let out a small groan as the boys took their trousers off; neither was wearing drawers and Martin turned Stephen around so Forbes could see Stephen’s torso and groin.  He knelt behind Stephen and ran his hands all over his chest, tweaking his brown nipples and biting his left ear lobe.  Both boys fixed their eyes on Forbes who was feeling himself through his trousers.  That was the last time they acknowledged him for Stephen pulled Martin around and kissed him deeply and stroked his cock, letting his other hand go right underneath him until he had reached his crack and his balls were cradled in his elbow.  In this position he gently raised Martin from the bed and rotated him, positioning his own head and shoulders on the pillows and bed head while Martin uncurled his legs and lay completely prone between Stephen’s hairy thighs which were spread wide.  Martin raised his head and took Stephen’s cock in his mouth.  He stretched the long brown foreskin with his teeth and then worked under it with the tip of his tongue.  He slathered up and down the length of it until it was rock hard.  Stephen could reach down Martin’s back and run a wetted finger up and down the blonde crevice.  Martin moaned.

“Fuck that beautiful arse with your big cock! Force it in!” cried Forbes.

“You paid to watch not comment.  Be quiet or we’ll stop,” warned Stephen.

Martin then organised a change of position so that his arse could receive even more welcome attention and Stephen set to work with fury.  He took some soap from the washstand and applied it to Martin and to his fingers, which soon had the panting boy opened up and begging.  Stephen made sure that Martin was comfortable with pillows and entered him slowly with his large member, now also frothy with soap.  Martin groaned and a groan could be heard, like an echo, from Forbes’ corner.  Martin whimpered and there were some tears that Stephen tenderly kissed away.  Finally he was deep inside.  Martin smiled and kissed him.  Slowly he pulled out and then pushed in.  With each thrust Martin made a noise, which was soon joined by the brass bed that was also in distress.  When Martin seemed to be getting uncomfortable, Stephen turned him over and continued to pound.  He sometimes pulled right out to marvel at just how stretched Martin’s hole was.  He couldn’t be sure if Forbes could see it too, but they had both actually forgotten the procurer’s presence in the room. “Please spill in me, Derby!” cried Martin and Stephen tried just that little bit harder and did so, the sweat pouring from his back and forehead. 

When he had spent he took Martin’s cock in his mouth and brought him to hardness, loving the sensations of his nose in his blonde bush.  He then used his hand lubricated with his own sweat and some Wright’s soap to bring his Mala off, causing him to spill all up his chest.  Stephen collapsed on top of him. A noise made them look up.  Forbes, with his trousers down around his ankles, had spilled and was now beside them.  He used a finger to scoop up some of Martin’s seed, which he put to his own lips.

“That will cost you sixpence,” said Martin.

“It’s worth it,” said Forbes. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

They joined Forbes in the other room.  There was no sign of Christopher yet.  They sat in silence.  There was no more champagne.  All three must have drifted off when Stephen was awakened by Christopher shaking him. “Come on, let’s go,” he said.

“What time is it Christopher?” asked Stephen.

“Why its…”

“I think you’ll find you have left your watch in the room.  Try Miss Evelyn’s bag if you can’t find it directly.

Martin was woken and Christopher returned with his timepiece and they quietly left, Forbes being sound asleep.

There was silence in the cab on the way back to Piccadilly. Finally Martin spoke up and said, “Did you enjoy tonight, Chris?”

“I’ll say!” was all he said, but his smile spoke volumes.

“I think I need to sleep with Mala tonight,” said Stephen kindly as Christopher was directed to his own door.  He nodded and went in.

When they were in bed, snuggled together, Martin said, “I hope The Plunger is all right. Should we have stayed with him?”

“He’s a big boy, Mala, and Tsindis is a friend of your brother’s.  I wonder if he’s home yet?”

“It was a funny night wasn’t it?  Those three were not as honest as our Irish Guards.  At least Chris enjoyed it; fancy him having two sisters at once.”

“They weren’t sisters, Mala, I saw their names written in the Bible; Miss Evelyn is only fifteen and Miss Constance is her mother.  Forbes is her brother.”

“No!”

“Yes! But I don’t think Christopher needs to know that.  The world is a pretty ugly place sometimes.  I love you, Mala.”

“I love you too, Derbs.  And you owe me five shillings.”

*****

The next day at breakfast Christopher was telling as much of his adventures as he could in front of the servants.  Carlo’s ears were flapping.  The boys kept laughing and The Plunger couldn’t understand what was so funny.  He tried to expand on the cubist theory but his friends’ giggles became greater until he stopped, looking very po-faced.  “What’s so funny, you chaps?”

“It’s you Plunger,” chortled Martin, “You’ve got paint all on the back of your head.  Chrome yellow, I think.” The Plunger went to a mirror and tried to look and feel with his hand.  He left the dining room with as much dignity as he could muster.

They all had different things to do in the afternoon.  Martin was to go to Toynbee Hall, Stephen with Sophia were to call on Mrs Buckweet and he also had an invitation to call on Mrs Asquith who had some younger novelists in.  The Plunger was off to the Grafton Galleries with Tsindis to see the post-impressionists and Christopher wanted to wander up Shaftesbury Avenue.  However first they had to do some shopping for their costumes and visit Soho.

Stephen was a little worried about how Christopher would cope with the sights in that shop. Certainly his eyes were on stalks and he kept whispering to Stephen, “Do people actually like that?” Stephen directed his attention to the French postcards and a wide selection was made, Stephen picking the ones that he thought he could most readily elaborate into a libretto for their little Wednesday nights.  Martin and The Plunger inspected the ball-stretching weights that poor Mr Daventry liked.  Stephen was again very interested and insisted on trying one on behind the screen.  His sack was certainly pulled down low and he said it felt good and that he could take even more weight, he thought, but he found he couldn’t walk with it on and Martin was relieved when he handed it back to the proprietor who wiped it and put it back on the shelf.

Christopher wanted a leather cock ring like Stephen’s had but felt that the one that also fitted around his balls did not suit and was quite pleased with a simpler one, especially after Stephen praised how good it made his manhood appear.  All the boys stocked up on lubricating oils and creams and some preservatifs were purchased that fitted Christopher more snugly for any ‘further adventures’ with ladies.

Martin did not exactly know how to get to Toynbee Hall and had never been in this part of London.  He thought it inappropriate to arrive in a cab so he took the underground to Aldgate and found that the building was just around the corner.  Commercial Road did not look particularly grim but it certainly had a variegated population, with foreigners, many of them costers and sailors, outnumbering locals.  However he did not turn down any of the side streets, glimpses of which hinted at dreadful living conditions hidden behind the facades of the shops.

He was warmly greeted by Miss Foxton, who seemed very busy with her work, but still took time to give Martin a tour and explain the purposes of the institution.  Her friends were mainly young men and women from the universities who had come to live for a period here in the East End.  Much of the establishment was devoted to evening classes for elementary education with Miss Foxton stressing that education was the key to solving the twin problems of poverty and poor health.  In one room women were being taught to operate sewing machines and in another young men were doing woodwork.  There was a large clubroom where, Miss Foxton said, games were played and plays and musical entertainments were put on. “We are in need of sporting equipment, Lord Martin,” she said frankly.

Martin tried to show that he was sympathetic with Miss Foxton’s cause, citing his projects for improving the amenity of the cottages on his own estate. “I also believe in the power of education for the lower classes, Miss Foxton.  It was my brother who persuaded my late father to have our village school become a ‘central school’ taking students on beyond the age of 13 and my brother is now head of the local authority and wants to create a higher elementary school on the estate or nearby, but his ill health limits his ability to press for this. I have seen the value in education, not for myself, because I am not a particularly good student, Miss Foxton, but for others.”

“Perhaps for your friend, the beautiful Mr Knight?” said Miss Foxton with a smile.

Martin was surprised but said, “Yes, I was thinking of Mr Knight; without schooling, this country would be deprived of the abilities of someone like Mr Knight and it grieves me.”

“Do you not fear that the working people will overthrow the aristocracy, Lord Martin?  Will the Labour Party bring about a socialist revolution and will people like Mr Knight be governing England.”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, I confess.  I cannot imagine a world where workmen will give the orders to their masters or where wives and daughters will rule their husbands, although I have heard it talked of, but I do know that this country needs people like Mr Knight, even if they do rise up from humble origins, and that we have too many people in high office who are not so able.  You don’t have to be a radical to believe this, although my late father might disagree.”

Miss Foxton laughed.  She then took Martin to a library where a Jewish boy wearing a yarmulke was reading. “Lord Martin may I introduce Isador Rosen.”  The boy stood and shook Martin’s hand.  The boy was tall and very thin and took off his wire-framed spectacles and rubbed his eyes.  He had an intelligent face, no—a beautiful face—with intense eyes that blinked as if startled.  He had the stooped shambling gait of the scholar.  “Mr Rosen has been learning English with us for five years, isn’t that so Izzy? She asked.

The boy nodded and blinked. “We spoke only Yiddish at home and now I have completed elementary school.  I would like to go on, your lordship, and study to be a doctor.”  He showed Martin the copy of Gray’s Anatomy he’d been reading.  My father sells potatoes, sir, and I will probably end up selling potatoes too,” he said in a matter of fact voice.

“I know you see the great need, Lord Martin and I won’t insult you by pointing it out,” said Miss Foxton as they walked arm in arm out the front door.  She led the way through the bleak, wintry streets.  “There are so many needs of course: we need clean water and ventilation in the dwellings of these people; men need work, women need protection from violent husbands.  The people are addicted to drink.  They are sick and malnourished. Women need to—don’t be shocked Martin—women need to limit the number of children they have.” Martin went red.

They arrived at Fashion Street where there were great tenement houses and children were playing, but not joyously, in the gutters below a damp, grey slice of heaven crisscrossed with washing lines.  There was some sort of ruckus going on in a public house.  A rough looking woman was vomiting up her gin. “Isador Rosen lives in this street.  A thousand pounds could be invested and provide a scholarship for a boy or even a boy and a girl to go on until the sixth form every year.”

Martin nodded. I will speak to my brother, Miss Foxton.  I admire your work tremendously. You’re not depressed?

“Sometimes.  Izzy is a great joy, for example, but it is very hard to bear the great certainty that he will never reach his potential and sometimes the problems down here do seem insurmountable.  I shed a few tears, I may tell you.  But the people can be very warm and great fun and they are not all vicious; they’re just poor.  And here we are back at the Underground, Lord Martin.  Thank you for coming and I will see you again at your Aunt’s I should imagine.”

*****

“…and so I think we should fund a scholarship at Toynbee Hall, Derby, what do you think?” Martin was in bed with Stephen who himself had had a stimulating afternoon with the wife of the Prime Minister and her vivacious daughter.  He had also met a tall, thin boy- terribly clever and also about his own age- named Huxley.  He was suffering from poor eyesight but had already written a novel but could not find a publisher for it.

Stephen thought it was a good idea and reflected on the immense difference a scholarship had made to his education. “You know, Martin, you could find a thousand pounds by selling off some pictures at Croome that you don’t want.  There’s that terrible one of the lion tearing at the horse in the dining room by Stubbs; that would fetch a pretty penny.  Would you and William miss it?”

“No, I don’t think so.  It is a gruesome thing to look at when carving the joint.  I’ll speak to William and maybe get Sachs to see if he can find a buyer.  I won’t sell any that we really like, but two or three won’t be missed and I think Miss Foxton could make better use of the money and we won’t have to touch our investments.”

“You’re saying ‘our’ Mala.”

“Yes, I think of Croome as ours, don’t you?”

“Not really. It’s a difficult jump to make; I think I’m just happy with you being mine.”

“Thanks, Derbs.” He said kissing him. “All I ever want is to be yours.”

To be continued... 

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

Posted: 10/18/13