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 13
Renovations 

There was a hammering at the door.  Martin looked at his watch.  It was just after six.  He found his dressing gown and went down and opened the door.  There, in the first pink light of dawn, stood the grinning Hélias with his bicycle and tool bag, a cigarette in his lips.

“Bonjour mon seigneur.  Je suis prêt,” he said and added, “et enthousiaste”

“Bonjour Hélias” said Martin.  But ready for what?

Martin explained that Stephen wanted to talk to him about the shop window but was still asleep.  Hélias threw his bicycle aside and ran up the stairs.  Martin laughed and shifted the bicycle off the footpath and brought the tools inside.

When Martin ascended to the bedroom there were the two beautiful boys naked and sitting up eagerly in the bed grinning at him.

“Hélias says he had a bath especially for you Mala, although it is not Saturday night.”

“I am honoured,” replied Martin as he sniffed the hairy chest and armpits, which smelt of some appallingly perfumed soap—perhaps his sister’s.  Martin shed his dressing gown and stood for a moment so that Hélias could admire him, then got back into bed between them.  The three shared kisses, Martin feeling excited as he watched Hélias kiss Stephen.

Stephen produced a preservatif and explained that Hélias must wear it.

“A uliliser avec vous?”

“Non, pour lui,” said Stephen pointing to Martin.

Hélias’ eyes widened with pleasure and he removed the cigarette from his mouth.  Martin was prepared by two loving tongues and then Stephen and Martin both used their mouths to get Hélias’ cock hard.  Stephen took charge of the oil, as he wanted to make sure his Mala was comfortable.  Martin insisted on fitting the preservatif then got Hélias to lie on his back before mounting him and taking his length.  Stephen watched, stroking his own cock as Martin bobbed up and down.  He kept asking Martin how it felt but Martin was barely able to vocalise.

When Martin was comfortable with being fucked, positions were changed and now Martin was laid on his back while Stephen pulled back his legs to save his tired arms.  Martin was lost in lust and the Frenchman was covered in sweat, his straight black hair was now plastered flat on his forehead.  There was a burning intensity to his dark eyes.

“Arrêtez!” cried Stephen.

Hélias looked with alarm, not sure that he could stop. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

“M. Hélias, combien ça coûte pour réparer ma maison?” said Stephen, thinking this would be a fine moment to get a fixed quote from the slippery tradesman.

Hélias looked aghast. “M. Etienne, je vous en supplie!  Amour pas enterprise.”

“Combien?” demanded Stephen, not worried at this moment that love was supplanting business.

Hélias looked thoughtful for a moment. “9000 francs.”

“7000.”

“7500 et des matériaux.”

“Très bon.  Continuez.”

“Les Anglais sont si impitoyable,” muttered Hélias as he tried to remember where he was up to and the pleasuring of Martin was resumed.

*****

The other work of the day was well under way and the old shop window had been pulled out when the plombier arrived at 9:00.  The main room was now naked to the street and the townspeople gathered to stare and pass comment.  Martin left off the work of chopping up the old window to join Stephen.

Martin explained about the bathroom under the stairs and pointed to his chalk marks.  They inspected the garden where the septic tank would go—part of the asparagus bed having to be sacrificed.  The plumber then suggested that a door from the outside might be preferable to a door from the inside.

“Could we have both?” asked Martin.

“There would be no room for a bathtub then,” said M. Lucatz.  “What about if you had a shower instead of a bath; it would be cheaper.”

Stephen was enthusiastic and realised that he could make the floor of the shower out of concrete—having become familiar with the material.  He then told Martin that he was also thinking of making a concrete table for outside—the Provençal stone ones being lovely but far too costly.  When Stephen explained that he wanted the water connected to his outdoor bathtub the plumber was astounded at the curious ways of the English and their unnatural passion for washing.  But he said it could be done.

“Did monsieur want the tub moved to a more private area?”

No. Stephen said he liked to be out in the garden so he could look at the vegetables.  They climbed to the attic to see where a tank could be installed.  Adjustments were made to the chalk marks on the floor and the plans were carefully explained to Hélias.

The plumber then gave them a hand to position the new window, which was to be held in by temporary timbers so they could gauge the appearance and to better estimate how much stone would be required for the three-foot gaps either side.  Hélias was just calculating how he would have to order when Mrs Chadwick arrived.

She admired the work and had the boys step out into the street to see how less like a shop and more like a house the building had suddenly become with the new window, despite the thin air either side.  Stephen was ecstatic.

“We will have to get shutters made to match the ones upstairs,” said Stephen.  Mrs Chadwick recommended the man who made their rush-bottomed chairs.  She then went on to interrogate Hélias while Martin and Stephen used the pump to clean up and changed their clothes.

At last they set off to the convent, which was behind a walled garden on the edge of the town.  “You do not miss England Mrs Chadwick?” asked Martin.

“I do Lord Martin.  But there is nothing for me there now.  I have no family.”  There was a pause, “No family now.  This place is now my home and I feel I belong here.  I feel I have a responsibility to the people.  Does that sound silly to you?”

“No, not at all, Mrs Chadwick.  I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yes I shall die here,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Mrs Chadwick was greeted with warmth by the sisters and the warmth was extended to Stephen and Martin when they learnt of their proposal to buy the old table for cash.  Several small children emerged from somewhere.  They were shy about Martin and Stephen but evidently were familiar with Mrs Chadwick who scooped one little mite up and carried her as she continued her conversation with the Mother Superior.

The table was certainly a beauty.  It must have been twelve feet long and the presence of drawers seemed to indicate it was the sort that was placed in big old kitchens like the one at Croome.  The surface had been well scrubbed by generations of nuns and had a lovely silky feel.

The bargaining commenced along strict Provençal lines, according to Mrs Chadwick’s instructions, and a sale was affected.  Then Stephen offered the remaining money as a gift to the orphans.  The nun was very grateful and suggested that the handyman and his two sons who were out in the garden could deliver it for a modest fee.  She sent another sister to find them.

When they returned to the house tea was made on the spirit stove and Hélias put down his tools and joined them.  Mrs Chadwick was busy giving him instructions.

“Are you getting a stove Mr Knight?” She asked, “You will need one in winter as it can get quite cold here when the terrible sirocco blows.”

“I suppose we should, said Stephen.”

“Why don’t we get one of the Croome ranges sent out here?” said Martin.  “We are getting them cheaply and it could come here by ship from the factory.”

“Would that be fair?” asked Stephen and Martin replied that it wouldn’t be robbing either Croome or the stove company.  They then had to explain to Mrs Chadwick what they had been doing at Croome and they showed her the article in ‘Country Life.’  She began to see that these were good boys indeed and felt something like the same sense of responsibility she valued so highly herself.

Mrs Chadwick departed, reminding Martin about her fête, and went across to compare notes with Mme de Blazon.  The window was freed and swung sideways in its gaping hole awaiting the arrival of the table.  The three boys were now working on the brackets for shelving in the small room.  Their shirts came off and Martin insisted that Hélias and Stephen work with their trousers off as well, but still wearing the leather belts from which hung the carpenter’s tools.  They boys were laughing and not much work was being accomplished.  Martin took a screwdriver and pretended to insert it into Stephen who pretended to be pleasured by it.  Hélias took a chisel and sucked on the handle and then pretended to insert it in himself crying in mock alarm “Il est trop gros, Monsieur!” Stephen then took the mallet and pretended to hammer it in. Martin was just kissing their buttocks when a great noise out in the street indicated that the table had arrived.  He rushed down while the other two struggled to put their clothes on.

Once again the narrow street was blocked by a wagon and as usual a crowd had gathered and was offering helpful advice.  Several volunteers were found and the table was lifted to the opening and by pulling and pushing, it was brought inside where it naturally gravitated to the central space where it settled.  There was a small cheer from the crowd and Martin and Hélias swung the window frame back where it was held fast with some large nails.  They then turned their attention to the new table where they took turns in sitting in the rush-bottomed chair and running their hands over the surface.

At 1:00 they broke for lunch and Stephen supplied a bottle of wine from which they took turns swig as they sat and ate bread and cheese under the olive tree.  After their sieste, Hélias was keen to use the remaining stone to begin closing the gap around the window so Martin and Stephen set to work mixing the mortar and bringing a selection of stones for Hélias to choose from.  It was wonderful to see him work.

It was late afternoon when the stone was exhausted and Martin was busy putting up canvas and scraps of wood over the remaining void.  Hélias departed to order more stone, promising to return early ‘to begin his labours.’

While the spirit stove was boiling some water for the bath, the boys sat and admired the new table, which really made the room seem homely.  “We will be able to have The Plunger and Douglas and Christopher here and anyone else we’d like.  Perhaps Moss would like to come?” said Martin.

“Yes.  But nothing could compare to this time here with you, Mala,” said Stephen.  He took a knife and bobbed beneath the table where Martin could hear scraping for a minute or so.  When he emerged, Stephen told him to look.  Martin put the lamp on the floor so he could see.  There in a heart was carved ‘M & D’ and the date.  Martin stood and kissed Stephen and then undressed him and led him outside to the bath.

After dinner they walked along the dark plage where a gentle breeze floated in from the Mediterranean.  Stephen took his hand and held it until they emerged into the light of the town.

*****

The following day Hélias arrived early, but not quite so early as he had, but he was in time to help Martin and Stephen dress for the day’s work which involved the pleasuring of them both while the boys set to work to milk him dry, although they feared that he would be too weak to work on the house.  These fears were unfounded and by midmorning, when Martin and Stephen had returned with two second hand bicycles and had placed an order for a pair of shutters, the shelves were finished and a fresh load of stone and cement had arrived and was being unloaded into the garden, one corner of which resembled a quarry.  Martin mixed cement for Hélias and Stephen built the formwork for his shower under the stairs.  The walling was proceeding slowly and the arrival of a cousin of Hélias’ sped matters up, with Helias insisting that a further 25 francs be found for him and that Hélias himself would take the money and make sure that he received the payment later, lest he get drunk.

The next day was Mrs Chadwick’s fête and Hélias didn’t appear for work.  Martin went off to do his duty while Stephen finished a set of pegs to be used instead of wardrobes for the few clothes they intended to have.  By the time he dressed and joined Martin, the occasion was already a marked success, not the last of which was the desire of many residents to meet the curious English lord who was doing things to the old coffin-maker’s shop.  Martin confessed that he had been lucky in awarding the prize for the best marmalade to Mrs Chadwick whilst the best pickled mushrooms went to Mme le Blazon who revealed her secret was to add chopped truffles.  They were talking to the apothecary who spoke some English; Martin had handed out the ribbon and cup for the best rose to the man, although he was thankful that he didn’t have to make the judgement for it was a hotly contested honour and there was a great rivalry between the Provençales and the English who both claimed roses as their national emblem.

“Mme Chadwick told me of the old table you gentlemen acquired from the Little Sisters.  I wonder if you would be interested in an old shop counter with drawers in it.  My father—no my grandfather—had it made especially for the shop and we are now modernising and find we do not require it.  It is quite large and I think you would find it useful for 200 francs.”

“M. Jacme, we may well be interested but we could only pay 150 francs, I regret, and that is if it suited and could fit through the door,” said Stephen.

“I would be reluctant to part with it as my father was very attached to it and my wife made sure our maid polished it every Monday.  Shall we say 175 francs?  I would be pleased to show it to you later today.”

Honour satisfied, the boys agreed.  They circulated among the crowd, stopping to buy things at the stalls and were amazed at how many people knew them.  Mrs Chadwick said that they had raised 25000 francs for the orphans and invited them to Sunday dinner.

The apothecary’s counter proved to be another massive piece of furniture.  It was too big for the front door but was carried with difficulty by a gang of people through the back.  When it was in place along the blank wall opposite the stairs it looked very handsome.  There were many useful drawers and cupboards of various sizes, some of which had brass holders for name cards.  Cut glass knobs were the chief decorative feature and there was very little carving on the dull wood.  Stephen had already worked out a system for organizing what went where, but first the carriers had to be taken across to the bistro and provided with wine, sausages and olives.

The following day was Sunday and Hélias didn’t appear again so the boys did a number of small jobs themselves in an atmosphere of great joy.  Stephen had developed his own anarchic language for working.  Inserted between conventional French and German terms for things like saws and pencils he would invent words of his own or redeploy perfectly innocent words: naturally a marteau became a Martin but the clous which the hammer was used upon became belles cousines.  The ladder or échelle became Ellenbogen- a German elbow.  For some reason a small piece of wood was an Aristide Briand and the folding bed or chalit became Caillaux in doubtful tribute to the President of the Republic.  To use the privy was to have a poisson and there were many other rude ones that had Martin in stitches.

They downed tools (saucisses) to have their mid-day meal with Mrs Chadwick and her guests, which included the vicar from the English church.  The guests plied Martin with questions about Croome, one lady recalling a visit when Martin was an infant.  Stephen supplied cricket news to the starved expatriates.

Prompted by the conversation at the luncheon, the boys decided to cycle over to Cannes to inspect the progress of the giant Hotel Carlton.  They found it nearing completion and it was an impressive and rather daunting structure with breast-like cupolas and couldn’t be more different to their own dwelling in Antibes. “At least I feel I can see something for my father’s investment,” said Martin with a sigh of relief.

The boys stripped off their clothes and walked along the Promenade in their bathing costumes.  They talked to two sailors but didn’t go with them, despite Stephen being brazenly felt up until he was hard with only the protection of an oleander bush screening them from public gaze.

It was sunset when they rode into Antibes and Stephen said that he had to fuck Martin right away and it had to be in the sea.  These requirements were met by cycling down to the deserted bay at Cap Eden Roc where they waded in to the warm sea and slid of their costumes.  Stephen was hard and frantic and he slid his cock along Martin’s crack and then between his thighs.  Martin locked his arms around Stephen, holding him close, while Stephen thrust in and out with his hips.

“Come on Derby, I want you to spill.  Let me feel that seed.  I need you to do it,” Martin repeated softly and urgently until, at last Stephen erupted, Martin struggling to hold the heavy lad up as he went limp.

*****

The following morning there was no Hélias again.  At 11 o’clock Mme de Blazon came bustling across and reported that her nephew had told his sister who had reported to her cook that Hélias was gone off to another town to do some work for a friend.  Stephen just sighed and Mme de Blazon made them coffee while Stephen told M. de Blazon that half the asparagus bed would be going.  He didn’t seem worried and prophesized that the wastewater would be good for the crops.

Stephen looked again at the bathroom outline. “I think I may need to see you when you’re showering, Mala,” he said stroking his chin, “or you may need to look at me,” he added, quite sure that others would not want to be deprived of his nudity.

“But it might not be quite so convenient when Mrs Chadwick is visiting,” said Martin.

“Well, I would like a window as well as a door so I can walk out on the terrace and dry off in the sun and I’ll make the shower big enough for the both of us—I’m not sure that you are washing every part, Mala, so I might have to supervise you.”

“Better make it big enough for three.  What about a door with a window in it? It will be too cold in winter; what about some hot water to?”

“Three good ideas.  I’ll go and see the plumber when I’ve finished making a new formwork for the concrete base and get him to order a geyser—although I can’t imagine what the French for that is.”

“Chauffe-eau,” called out Martin, as Stephen went for his tools.

“Very good, Mala!”

Stephen returned from the excursion pushing a handcart instead of his cycle.  On it were two lead cisterns with raised designs on them. “I brought these for 25 francs each.  There for geraniums—one for the new window and one for our balcony.”

Martin was made to stand down in the street and sit in the bistro while a cistern was carefully positioned on the balcony with Stephen standing behind it, simulating his morning nudity with the aid of the handle of the hammer.  Martin, by means of hand signals and cries, was able to find the optimum position for this horticultural receptacle to the bewilderment of the patron, although he was unsure of one spot where a tall customer wanting to closely examine the blackboard, might be able to see something but, as he later explained to Stephen, if they were so short sighted as to stand that close, then they would not be likely to see much across the street.  Stephen agreed, but with a tinge of disappointment. 

Stephen had also found four ‘fauteuils de canne’ for just a few francs each.  He took Martin to the shop. “We could have Prims make cushions out of canvas or something.  Get them Derbs, they look comfortable.” Two trips were made back to the house and the cane chairs were installed in the big room and properly tested, Stephen and Martin both slumped in their own, with their boots on the others.

They finished their day at a café near the seafront.  It was a rough place but it was lively.  They ordered the house wine and had fish and then another type of wine with some tough meat that they mostly had to leave. Sailors and longshoremen came and went.  A girl asked Stephen for a cigarette, but he could not oblige and he spoke to her for a few minutes in halting French.  Martin thought he might like to try cognac as that is what the other customers were having so he ordered a glass which he sipped slowly and then another which he didn’t remember drinking at all.  Stephen was now talking to a sailor who had stopped at their table and was leaning with a tattooed hand on Stephen’s shoulder.  Martin said something and Stephen looked over.  His face was flushed and his eyes were unfocussed.  Stephen saw that he was drunk.

“Come on Mala, we’d better go,” he said rising and putting his hand on Martin’s elbow.  Martin shook it off.

“I don’t want to go, he said viciously, “Why don’t you go and fuck your sailor friend or perhaps you’d rather that girl; you’re not particular.  Or do you want me to watch?  You’d like that.  I don’t even know why I came here with you.  This is a place for perverts.  At least I could have got myself a faithful one from down in the village, but I had to go and choose the one that was hung like a horse but had the morals of a bitch in heat.  It’s my own fucking fault.  Just fuck off and leave me alone.”

Stephen managed to leave some money on the table and propel Martin out into the street where he kept up his tirade of invective, people turning to stare.  At one point Martin expected Stephen to strike him, knowing that he would surely have a broken nose or jaw had he wanted to, but Stephen merely turned on his heel and walked off while Martin slumped on a low wall.  When he looked up, Stephen was nowhere to be seen.

Martin made his way back to the house and climbed the stairs, stumbling twice, and collapsed onto the bed.

The first rays of the sun woke him because the shutters had not been closed.  He was still dressed.  Opening one eye he managed to see with a groan that it was 6 o’clock.  Stephen was not next to him, nor could he see his clothes.  With an effort he got down the stairs and drank some water from the pump.  He looked about for Stephen and there was no sign.  He searched the garden and then went out into the street.  Panic was rising in his throat.

The bistro wasn’t open yet and the streets were mostly deserted.  Twice he saw a figure in the distance that he thought was Stephen and once he cried out to the astonishment of a local.  At last he wandered down to the plage and was trudging along the sand thinking that Stephen may have departed and caught an early train.  Had his bicycle been parked there?  Oh how he hated himself and how dreadful were the little vignettes of his future without Stephen that he was busily painting and then erasing in his feverish mind.

Ahead on the sand he saw a body.  He knew from the shape and the colour of the clothing that it was Stephen, even from a distance.  He broke into a run, the sand agonisingly slowing his traction, until the form grew larger and larger only confirming that it was indeed Stephen. “Stephen!” he screamed as he fell to his knees.

Stephen woke and sat up.

“Oh my God!” cried Martin I thought…” Stephen said nothing. “Oh Stephen, please don’t be cross.  I’m so sorry about last night.  I was drunk and didn’t know what I was saying.”

“Are you all right now?” said Stephen at last but with no warmth in his voice.

Martin nodded vigorously.  Stephen got up and commenced to walk away.  Martin grabbed him by the arm and said, “Please forgive me, Derby, I will die if you don’t.”

Stephen said: “That is going to be very hard to do Martin.  You said some terrible things to me and about me.  Now that I know what you think I don’t see how I can.”

“But I don’t think those things really.  I said them but I don’t believe them.”  There was a pause.  “Unless perhaps,” he said slowly, “unless perhaps I think those bad things deep down inside and don’t really know that I do and can’t say them unless I’m drunk.  Could I be so wicked on the inside Derby?”  He was genuinely upset at this prospect.

“No, you’re not bad inside, Mala, not any more than anyone else.  But you hurt me.”

“But you hurt me with Mrs Buckweet, remember, and I forgave you.”

“Yes, I did but that was different.”

“How?”

“I hurt you accidently; I didn’t mean you to find out or rather I didn’t think you would be hurt.  Last night you tried to hurt me.  You threw everything at me.  That was cruel, Mala.  It was deliberate.”

Martin saw that this was true. “But if you leave me I’ll die; I’ll never be happy again and my whole life will be ruined.”

“So you are asking for forgiveness because there is something in it for you?  That’s prudential remorse —you’re only sorry for yourself.”

Again Martin was chastened. “I’ll do anything for you Derby.  I’ll cut off my finger…I’ll …I’ll crawl back to the house on my knees.  You can hit me, go ahead, I deserve it.”

“Now that’s stupid.  How will that make me feel less hurt?  And now tell me why I wouldn’t hit you.”

Martin was puzzled for a minute. “You wouldn’t want to hurt me…because you love me?”

“Yes, Martin, I love you.  When you are hurt you may want to hit back, but that only leads to everyone being hurt.  You should know that, and you of all people should know what to do if you are hurt by someone- especially by someone whom you love—shouldn’t you Mala?”

“Oh!” he replied in realization, “You should turn the other one.” Stephen looked at him squarely, his mouth a firm line, and he nodded slowly.

“Then how do you get forgiveness, Derby, tell me please.  Get me out of this hell.”

“Only through love, Mala.  Love and time.”

“Oh but Derby, I do love you.  For that reason I am so sorry I hurt you.  I hurt the person I love.  Please forgive me.”

Stephen but his arm around his shoulder and they walked together back to the house.

“Why are you so good?  I must be horrible inside and you’re good through and through.  It almost shines out of you, Derby.”

“Steady on, Mala, I’m not that good.  You said so yourself last night, remember.  And I’m only repeating what my stepfather told me.”

When they reached the house Hélias was there unpacking his tools.  He looked up in surprise.  “You will have to work by yourself today,” Stephen explained in French, “We are spending the day in bed.”

“Ah!” thought Hélias, “now the Englishmen think like a Frenchman.”

Hélias set to work closing the gap either side of the new window, mixing his own mud and hauling stones in from the garden.  It was on towards midday that he heard noises from above.  There were grunts and groans and little screams.  The bed was scraping on the floor.  He smiled to himself.  The noises grew alarmingly louder and he felt that he should begin to take the mallet and bolster to shape some stones in the street and drag the shovel nosily and unpleasantly across the flagstones.  He even tried to hum loudly and the pedestrians were starting to stare at him.  He returned inside and the continuing ruckus made him hard in his trousers.  He felt himself.  Then the noises ceased and he resumed his work.

A short time later Stephen appeared, naked and with his big cock still dripping, carrying the equally naked Martin, who had his arm wrapped around his neck.  Stephen with his burden descended the stairs and he marched out the back door.  The next thing Hélias saw was Martin in the bathtub and Stephen kneeling beside it lovingly soaping his body.  It was such an intimate scene that Hélias felt he must turn away and hunt for his spirit level, although it was difficult to locate it with tears in his eyes.

*****

All too soon the boys were on the express headed north.  There was a feeling of satisfaction knowing that two rooms were habitable.  Hélias had been left instructions and some extra money had been handed over so that he might employ his cousin to rebuild the other room upstairs and complete the bathroom with the plombier.  Mrs Chadwick had been a great help and had promised to oversee Hélias and collect their letters from the post office.

The boys had vowed to return for their half-term break and were debating whom to invite. “What about your friend Julian?” asked Martin.  Stephen frowned.

“He doesn’t know about you and me, Mala.  I’m not ashamed; it’s just that it’s complicated.  We do have to hide.”

“I know.  I understand,” said Martin.

“Could I take him up to London with Christopher one weekend and stay in Piccadilly?   He’s leaving school at the end of term.  I’ll miss him a lot.”

“Of course, Stephen, it’s your house too.  That’s a good idea.  You can have fun with ladies, but Stephen…not too much fun.”

Stephen grinned. “Then we could have the others—and Douglas too—to Antibes.  We’ll have the cellar and the other bedroom set up by then.  I’m sure they’d help us finish whatever is left to be done.  Knowing the Provençale it will probably be just as we left it, except with chickens inside.”

“No, Mrs Chadwick and the patronne will keep them up to the mark.  We are very lucky aren’t we?”

Stephen nodded and they started to undress in their compartment.  Martin took hold of Stephen’s penis.  He glided his hand backwards and forwards in easy motions, watching the head poke through the long foreskin. “I wish I was uncircumcised.  It feels so beautiful,” he sighed, thinking of his own cock with so much less skin to play with.

Stephen stretched out his foreskin with two hands and invited Martin to place his shiny helmet-shaped head into the generous folds. “This is nice,” said Martin as Stephen pleasured both penises inside the one skin. “I feel like I have mine back again. I wish I had a cock like yours.”

“But your cock is beautiful as it is.  I think about it all the time, Mala. I wish mine was bigger.”

“Yours, bigger? Why?”

“So I could have more of me inside you when I love you, Mala.”

“But I don’t think I could take any more Derby.  It’s already huge.”

Stephen then embraced Martin and his lips were softly breathing on Martin’s left ear in the most thrilling fashion.

“But you’d try for me, wouldn’t you Mala?” he said barely audibly. “You’d really try hard.  You’d stretch and take me—open up and take all of me inside you; so I could be deep inside you; so I could show how much I really love you and so I’d know how much you love me too.”

Martin was finding it hard to breath and think.  He thought he was dying of love.  His cock was leaking terribly and because it was a hypothetical scenario he said:  “Yes I would, Derby.  I’d do anything for you.”

Martin departed the train in Paris still dizzy from the night’s lovemaking.  He caught the train to Boulogne to see William while Stephen continued on to England so as to be in time for cricket—even though the days of pouring rain promised that there would be no play after all.

To be continued... 

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

Posted: 10/25/13