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 14
Education and Practice 

“…and our fearless embracing of this magnetic servant reflects how, just as in the fields of Cricket and indoor lavatories, Croome leads not only Dorset; the whole of England is looking to us.  What we are doing here today will symbolise Britain in the Twentieth Century and our glorious Empire of Electricity!”  With that Martin touched the brass switch in the Great Hall, but apart from a slight jolt to his fingertips nothing happened.  He turned the switch again and still there was no result.

There was a murmuring among the servants and Jenny, a particularly silly tweeny started to giggle and was shushed by Mrs Capstick.  Martin tried several more times and was looking exasperated.

“Might I suggest that the tea be served now, your lordship and the staff can then return to work?” said Chilvers in a low voice.

“Good idea Chilvers.  Stephen would you and Mr Moss please go and see what the engineer fellow is up to. Take him a lamp for it’s probably dark in the buttery.”

The conversion of the house to the electric light was a big event on the estate.  The house servants had been given a half-holiday and promised a good tea in an effort to persuade them out of their Luddite conviction that electricity was a mistake and was dangerous.  Hatyer the groom had actually been spreading socialist dissent among the servants saying that the current would, in reality, make work harder for the proletariat or that it would throw them out of work altogether.  Chilvers had to forbid him coming into the kitchen.

A firm of electrical engineers had been at work for some months and three quarters of the house now had electric lamps.  In the State Rooms the old chandeliers had been converted discreetly or else new electric sconces were mounted on the walls and the old candles remained unlit.  Here and there a conduit could be glimpsed as evidence of progress.  The dynamo and the batteries had been installed in the old buttery and Jackman was found to be very good at fixing the small diesel motor that had to run for some hours every day to charge them.  In recognition of his new duties his wages were increased by two shillings a week and consideration was given to the purchase of a new Rolls Royce.  Jackman had also offered to teach the boys to drive.

Martin was now talking to the vicar and Mrs Destrombe and telling them that his older brother, William, Lord Poole, Marquess of Branksome, was returning from France this week as the treatment in the sanatorium in Boulogne had not been noticeably effective and his lordship missed England, even if it was merely that portion visible from his sickroom in Bournemouth.

Across the room Stephen was showing some photographs of his new house in Antibes to Miss Tadrew, for Martin had purchased him a Kodak folding camera in their last few days on the Riviera, partly as an apology for his drunken behaviour that spoilt an otherwise glorious few weeks.  Miss Tadrew saw the images all the better when the lights suddenly flickered and then came on, their steady brightness eliciting a delighted gasp from the crowd who were eating cake and drinking their tea.

Stephen returned and informed Martin that a cow had strayed into the buttery and had chewed a particularly important wire and that’s why the lights had failed.  The cow had recovered but was likely to be dry for some months.

The boys strolled through the rooms, turning on the lights.  The red drawing room showed up very effectively but the gothic dining room merely revealed how shabby it had become under the merciless glare.  “Did you like my speech Derby?” asked Martin.

“Yes it was very fine.  It could have been your father speaking.”

“Well it could have been, it was a speech he often used and in actual fact was written by my grandfather in 1849 when the railway came through.”

“Oh that explains the mention of George Stephenson, Mala.  I’d been confused.”

“Oh did I say that?  I meant to cross out Stephenson and replace it with Edison.  Oh well, I’ll do that next time. What are we doing tomorrow?”

“Well, Moss and I are going to Pemberton to inspect the eight cottages there.”

“May I come?”

“You don’t…” Stephen stopped himself.  He realised that Martin was feeling a bit useless.  Moss and everyone else had been coming to him directly, especially now with all these new projects and Martin, so long used to ruling, now must be feeling like a constitutional monarch.  Besides, he liked having Martin with him.  “I need you to come with me tomorrow, Mala, there are some things I want your opinion on.  Maybe you could also visit the Infirmary.”

“Those old codgers want to see you, not me.  But I will go.  I love being by your side Derby.  Shall we go in the Daimler?  Jackman could give us another driving lesson.  It was great fun, don’t you think?”

Stephen had surprised himself with how nervous he’d been while Martin seemed fearless.  He was not used to be shown up and it made him more determined.

When Carlo brought in the tea the following morning he caught the boys unawares for Stephen was right in the middle of giving Martin a good morning rogering.  “Oh I’m so sorry your lordship, Mr Knight, I see you’re not quite ready for your tea.  Shall I leave it sir?” he said to Stephen who was on his knees behind Martin with his hands grasping his hips.

“Yes leave it!” cried Stephen.

“Was it the Indian or the lapsang you said you wanted, sir, I’ve forgotten?”

“It was Ceylon,” panted Stephen angrily.

“Ah so it was, I’m sorry sir.  Is there anything I could do for you sir?”

Martin began to laugh. “No!” snapped Stephen who was trying to concentrate on doing a good job.

“May I watch sir?”

“No you can’t!” exploded Stephen with laughter. “Fuck off, Carlo!”

“Very good sir.”

Jackman sat next to Martin in the open front seat while Stephen and Herman Moss cowered in the rear.  Jackman worked the throttle on the steering wheel and gave instructions on when to change gears.  There was some clashing at first and the Daimler hopped and shuddered, but by the time they were beyond Branksome-le-Bourne (which was gained very quickly indeed) Martin had mastered it and was comparing it to riding a horse.  He delighted in operating the horn and he caused old Willis to take fright on his bicycle and end up in a ditch.  When he saw who was driving, the villager went to raise his cap, but found that it was floating in the water some distance away.

Half way to Pemberton Jackman respectfully suggested that perhaps Mr Knight would like a turn and added that it would be a good opportunity for him to inspect the mudguard, which he thought may have become detached when they crossed the stone bridge. “I’ve always though those abutments were too narrow, Jackman, I’ll have to have them widened now that motors are coming in,” said Martin.  “That was marvellous, Stephen, don’t be frightened. Come on.”

Stephen took things much more steadily and Martin was almost jumping out of his skin with impatience.  He was about to offer some words of advice when a look from Jackman suggested that perhaps Stephen would not appreciate it until he had progressed further in the art of motoring.  Thus his lordship bit his tongue and tactfully thought of his friend’s pride.

“Isn’t it a pity I cannot purchase my driver’s licence until I’m 17, Mr Moss?” said Martin.

“Not until then, your lordship?  Most unfair,” said Moss hoping sincerely that he would be safely on the other side of the world by that time.

There was great activity in Pemberton with wagons loaded with bags of cement lined up against great mountains of sand and gravel.  A small army was busy mixing cement and barrowing it over a tramway made of planks to the various sites where the bathrooms were being constructed atop formwork of tarpaper and timber.  When each floor had dried and cured the timber formwork could be moved on to the next one.

“Before the last one is poured the block-work of the first one is finished,” said Moss.  When the last wall is up the first one has its roof on and the men can work inside, even if it’s wet.  The men who had dug the foundation for these ones are now nearing the end of the foundation for the next six down the hill and then they will come back here and dig the trench for the sewerage where the wooden tramway now runs.  They will be finished in time to bring in the harvest.”

Martin was amazed and recalled Stephen’s drawings he first saw in their room just a year ago.  When no one was looking, he gave Stephen’s hand a squeeze.

Both boys went to the Infirmary while Moss was checking the lengths of water pipe.  The old folks were pleased to see Stephen and greeted Martin respectfully.  Old Grindling started talking about his grandson.  “Arr he be a bright boy, your lordship and tis a terrible pity that he can’t stay at t’school.  He has t’mind t’ be ar doctor, your lordship.  Mr Stephen can be schooled and I reckon our Jimmy could have t’bright future too.  Talk to t’teacher; baint no smarter lad in t’village,” he said.

*****

The boys had spent a very happy hour swinging from the rope and jumping into the water, although it wasn’t warm.  It was as pleasant as France, but in a different way and, of course, the pool would always occupy a place of affection in both their hearts.

They were lying on the bank, still wet.  Stephen had his head on Martin’s stomach so he could lick Martin’s privates if he felt like it.  Martin was running his fingers through Stephen’s wet locks, lost in reflection.

“Stephen, I’ve been thinking of what that old man said.  I want to do something about our school.  Do you think I could get on the board of Local Education Authority? Am I too young?”

Stephen looked up. “You could represent William by proxy perhaps.  He’s on the County Board- the L.E.A.  I mean, isn’t he?”

“Yes, in theory.  He was the one who made us a Central School.”

“Well, what do you think we should have?” asked Stephen

“Well, we could have more scholarships to the grammar schools, I suppose.  Perhaps to the Catholic ones too, to be fair.  But don’t you think we should have our own school?  I mean why do our smart children have to go all the way to Wareham or Blandford Forum like you do?  I think Miss Foxton would also want the same chance for the girls—and not just learning ‘domestic arts.’  My father hated Arthur Balfour, but he did admit that he was right: the Germans and the Americans are ahead of us in providing education for everyone.

“You mean your father wanted the working class to be educated?”

“Oh no, Derbs, of course not; he just didn’t like that the Americans and Germans were doing it better.  I certainly don’t think he wanted to pay taxes to make it happen here.  It’s just that he didn’t like the Germans or the Americans very much and he only became reconciled to the French quite recently.”

“Do it Mala!  You could make a bigger difference to the lives of people here than a thousand bathrooms ever could.”

*****

At the village fair, held in the same place as the year before, Martin met the Owens brothers in the beer tent. It had been months since they had seen each other and they quickly agreed with Stephen that they must get back into training the very next day.  They remarked that their own cottage was in turmoil for their bathroom was going to be built the following week and there had already been demolition of the outbuildings including one wall of the pigsty.  “T’pigs is payin’ t’price o’ progress,” said Douglas mournfully.

“He’s bin writing t’poetry” whispered Reuben to Martin.

The Owens thanked Martin for the gift of the Bike jockey’s straps which Douglas said held his bollocks snug like eggs under a brown hen while Reuben confessed that it was too fine to wear but on Sundays.  Martin expressed the hope he would be wearing it at the Women’s Institute Hall to which Reuben replied that he would be.  They finished their ale and went to watch the boxing.  Two sailors were thrashed by the professional.  They were nice looking boys, thought Martin, but were obviously drunk and shouldn’t have been allowed in the ring.  Martin left Stephen with Douglas and Reuben and went off to present the prizes for the straightest furrows and the best ploughing team.

The next day, prior to making another trip to Pemberton—this time on their bicycles— the rendezvous at the W.I. hall was made.  They waited until Mr Destrombe left before terminating their boxing practice and push-ups and headed for the smaller room where they shut the door.  The Owens had been looking at Martin while he was using the chest expanders and were anxious to inspect him more closely.  He was undressed and stood against the wall. “He’s grewed a’ ninch at least,” said Douglas.

“Aye and look how strong be his t’arms and legs now and those titties are as hard as tin plates,” said Reuben feeling Martin’s chest in admiration.

Stephen was also undressed and admired. “Stephen looks like a lad o’ 23, not 17, eh Reuben?”

“Ay tis a beautiful cock- t’ biggest in t’county I reckon,” said Reuben.  “And do wear your strap Stephen t’ look after them stud bollocks,” he admonished.

“Oh I like to feel them hanging low, don’t I Martin?”

Martin was breathing hard but confirmed this was so.

The Owens set to work pleasuring the boys, stroking their own agricultural members as they were labouring. They twice swapped partners to savour the differences and finally Martin, weak at the knees, but with Douglas’s palm planted flat on his chest, spilled all over his face where it dripped off his chin.  “Thart were right handsome your lordship, you can stop shaking now, I won’t let thee fall.”

The boys now turned their attention to the village stud who had not spilled despite Reuben bringing him to the edge several times. “Help me get it t’out o’ him,” said Reuben whose arm was tiring.

“See how far you can shoot, Derbs,” said Martin by way of encouragement.

They all set to work in their various ways on Stephen until, at last, in his favourite two handed finale, he sent a column of seed across the room while his balls were being gently pulled.

There was some debate about where to measure from and the rulings of the recent Olympic Games were invoked as precedents.  A figure of 6 feet had just been agreed upon and the boys were getting dressed when Douglas found he had trodden in another drop of more distant ejaculate  that has hitherto been overlooked and because it had been smeared inadvertently an accurate measurement remained elusive.

Later that day Martin called on Miss Tadrew and was chatting pleasantly as Hughes brought in the tea.  “Yes the new bathroom is a great success.  Hughes and I fight to see who should work the pump in the evening.  I did receive quite a shock some months back when I was in my bath and I saw a face at the window.  It was old Henshard and he just wanted to look at a modern bathroom so I couldn’t be too cross—although I was in no position to take action,” she laughed as she stroked Coker.  “I’ve put up a curtain.”

“Miss Tadrew,” began Martin, “I’m of a mind to make improvements to our village school.  I’m not too sure how to go about it.  Would you introduce me to Miss Flint next door; she might be a good place to start.”

“Why don’t I bring her in?  That is unless you’d like it to be private?”

“Oh no, I’d value your contribution, Miss Tadrew and please feel free to ask questions that I can’t think of.”

A note was written and an extra cup was fetched.  Miss Flint appeared.  Martin stood.  She was a thin woman with grey hair like Miss Tadrew, perhaps she was slightly younger; it was hard to tell.

Miss Flint quickly fell to talking about school and, like most teachers, could not resist giving character assessments of the children and the staff.  Apparently there were five teachers as well as the principal, Mr Morden, who also helped with the small class of continuing boys.

“I will approach Mr Morden, Miss Flint, but could you tell me about the L.E.A. and if you think Branksome would be a good place for a higher elementary.”

“Well, I know Mr Morden sits on it, your lordship.  You’d best ask him.  His lordship, your brother, is its chairman.  There is also Mr Tatchell, the factory gentlemen over in Wareham, I’ve often heard his name mentioned in the staff room.  I only teach the grades two and three; Mr Morden and Mr Foster take the older ones, nearly all boys this year, and they do complain when the bright ones are forced to leave school at 14 or even younger.  Sometimes it’s the parents that want them to work.  Sometimes it’s the cost.  If we had a school here they wouldn’t have to go away to a grammar school.  Even if there was a government school in Wareham or Wimbourne Manor it would be quite a distance for our children to go.”

“But if we had our own school then we might also attract students from Wareham and Wimbourne Manor as well as providing for our own,” said Martin.

“Yes your lordship, put in Miss Tadrew, but it would be an equal distance for those students to come here and Branksome is a much smaller places than those two towns.”

“Ah that is true,” said Martin, realizing that this was a complicated problem.

The next day he went to see Mr Morden who lived in a comfortable house in Broadstone, just off the estate. He was telling Stephen about it at dinner.

“Derbs, it seems that Mr Morden would be keen to have a higher elementary built here.  The L.E.A. would have to be convinced and then they would have to convince the government.  Your friend Tatchell is the problem though.  He is not in favour as he says landowners and manufacturers would have to pay higher taxes and he has quite a few Liberal supporters and nearly all the Conservatives are on his side.  He is proposing a small school to teach girls ‘domestic arts’ but he wants that to be built in Wareham.”

“Well, the next step is to go and see William,” said Stephen.

“Yes and I think I should also go up to London to see my godfather for advice.  Will you come with me?  And I say why don’t we go and see The Plunger at Dorking.  I know he’d love us to come and I miss him.  He could come up to London too.  It will be fun.”

Letters were written and William was sent to post them in the village to expedite matters.  The visits would require lots of clothes and Chilvers was consulted.  It was determined to take the Daimler as soon as the headlamp was repaired, Martin wondering if he would get another chance to drive it, and both William and Carlo were to accompany them.  “Even the Craigth’s should be impressed when we arrive with a chauffeur and two valets,” giggled Martin.

It was quite crowed in the car, therefore, when the boys found themselves on the now familiar road to Bournemouth.  There was much luggage tied to the roof and on the rack that let down behind.  The two valets sat up in the front with Jackman, and Martin shared the back seat with a hat box and Stephen.  “I say Derbs, Jackman was quite rude when I suggested that I would like to drive.  I think that extra two shillings has gone to his head.”

“Well,” said Stephen, determined to give him five shillings if they reached Bournemouth alive, “he was only doing his duty.  The road is steep in places and I can imagine Carlo also demanding a turn and we can’t have that.”

At the Royale Norfolk they found rooms, Carlo and William having to share with the handsome chauffeur.

“Do you think we could go on the town tonight, Jackman?”

“That’s what I’m intending, Carlo.”

“What about if they want anything?” said William.

“They’ll be out themselves probably, either visiting his lordship or off to a music hall.  I’ll sweet-talk them and see how we go.  Have you got other clothes Jackman or are you going to wear your breeches and cap?”

“Of course I have and I’ll be glad to get out of these, they’re tight.”

“They look pretty tight; let me help you get them off.” Carlo ran his hand over the jodhpurs, giving Jackman’s groin a good feel.

“No you don’t Carlo!” said Jackman, “I know you.  You will have me spilling now and I want to save myself for some little bathing belle on the pier—or under it.  Keep your Italian hands to yourself.”

Nevertheless Jackman gave them a good show when he pulled off the confining thick garments: he had a fine bulge in his long drawers and there was some soft, brown chest hair was visible as he hadn’t done up the buttons on his vest.  He was a young man in the prime of life.

Complaining it was warm; Jackman removed his vest and hunted through his case for a sleeveless one.  Carlo stared boldly but William looked away.  “It’s all right William, I don’t mind you looking.  You just keep your paws to yourself Carlo,” he said, good naturedly.  He walked over to William and took his hand and placed it on his biceps.  “I try and keep myself in shape, but I’m nothing like Mr Stephen I know.”  William went red but felt his arms then moved his hand over his chest.  When it drifted lower Jackman laughed and stepped back to see William give a sly smile.  “You two are cousins indeed.”  When the show was over, Carlo stood, adjusting his groin and declared he was going to get them the evening off.

There was a knock at the door and Stephen called, “Come!”

“It’s me Mr Knight,” said Carlo.

“I’m in the bathroom giving Lord Martin his bath.”

Carlo went right in and there was Stephen just in his jockey’s strap squatting by the bath and soaping Martin whose golden hair was plastered flat and whose chest was covered in soapy designs of whirls and squiggles that may have interested “The Stvdio” magazine.

“Shouldn’t that be my job, sir, as I am his lordship’s valet?” said Carlo, licking his lips.

“No you’re my valet, Carlo”.

“Then shouldn’t I be assisting you sir?” said Carlo, making a slight lunge towards a bar of soap.  Steven intercepted his hand.  “I think I can manage this important task, Carlo, but you can pass me that stiff brush.”

Martin started to panic when he saw the rough object come towards him and his erection started to flag.  Instead Stephen just fished his hand out of the water and began to scrub his nails.

“If you are quite, quite sure I cannot be of assistance sir, your lordship, could William, Jackman and I have the evening off?  We’d like to go along the pier.”

“That will be fine Carlo,” said Martin, “we won’t need you until the morning when I may need you to help me bathe Mr Knight—it’s a big job and he’s very dirty.”

“Oh yes sir, I’ll be up at 6:00!”

“We won’t need you before 10:00, Carlo.”

“Oh very well then your lordship.” 

***** 

At Braemar Dr Alexander was asked to sit with them.

“Explain my treatment, Dr Alexander,” said Lord Branksome.”

“Well, your lordships, Mr Knight, in France Dr Duclos was trying a new treatment with a drug called Salvarsan. It was developed by the Germans and is a compound of arsenic, which you will know has pharmacological properties in small doses.  It was good in theory, however it is a hard drug to administer because it is unstable in contact with the air.  Possibly his lordship’s care was not as it should be.  I wish to try an improved version called Neosalvarsan which I have had sent over from the Hoechst Company.  Dr Duclos does not agree with it and he was suggesting infecting his lordship with malaria as the disease is not found so readily in malaria patients.  I argued that his lordship would not survive the treatment and so his lordship has decided to return to my care.”

“Thank you Dr Alexander.  I think I can say I am no better, but then I’m not much worse, except I am still having funny little turns, isn’t that right, Dr Alexander?”

“Yes your lordship.  The disease attacks the central nervous system—that is the brain—gentlemen.”

Dr Alexander was dismissed and all three tried to change to a brighter topic.  Stephen’s photographs of Antibes were shown and there was a longing in William’s eyes, for he’d never see it.

“I did some painting in Boulogne,” said William showing some delightful canvases.  Tsindis likes these and wants me to show them.  He suggested a joint exhibition with your friend Craigth.”

“With The Plunger?” cried Martin.  Are you saying that The Plunger paints?”

“Oh yes, didn’t you know?  He’s quite good.  Terribly modern Tsindis says.”

“Martin and Stephen looked at each other with open mouths.  “We’re seeing him tomorrow, William.  It will be interesting.”

“Would you like one of my paintings for Antibes, Stephen?”

Stephen was delighted and was torn between one of the French seascapes and one of the cliffs at Studland Bay.  William insisted that he should have both and that he would dispatch them to France care of Mrs Chadwick.

Martin then told William of his ideas for the school.  William was enthusiastic, thinking of it turning out graduates like Stephen.

“I think you could be my proxy on the L.E.A., Martin, I know it’s in the rules.  That Tatchell is a difficult customer.  I can imagine him not wanting to pay a penny more in tax.  He is just like father was in a lot of ways, even though he’s been a Liberal candidate.  It’s his wife though that ‘calls the shots’ as they say. Have you heard of Sir Arthur Dyke Acland, Martin?”

“He’s a politician isn’t he?”

“He was a politician like his elder brother the baronet.  He is still an important figure in Education and he lives in Devon.  I think he might be helpful and he knew papa.”

At last the business of the afternoon was reached.  The tea had been cleared away and the doors closed with the screen shifted behind the visitors’ chairs.  William thought he would like to see if Stephen could break the record that Martin told him of.

Stephen was prepared and William inspected him closely, checking his balls for any evidence of cheating.  Martin also thought he could work better if he was naked too.  Stephen suggested various activities to get him primed and then Martin set to work pleasuring him first with one hand and then with the other, getting faster and faster.  Then Stephen took over with both hands, taking longer and longer strokes, leaning back and thrusting his groin forward.  William leaned in closer to watch and Martin, fearful of getting hit by an elbow as the panting Stephen became more frantic, suddenly stepped back just as Stephen reached climax, bringing down the folding screen with a terrible crash.  Stephen’s seed was plastered all over the fabric and the frame. The umpire called “let” and no measurement could be taken.

There was some discussion of getting Stephen to do it again, but it was considered prudent to dress quickly as the crash may have alerted Dr Alexander.

*****

It was later that evening that William, Carlo and Jackman were drinking beer on the pier and planning which public houses they would tour subsequently.

“You ever had a women, Carlo?” said Jackman, bluntly.

“I’ve had quite a few, Charlie,” he said.  “In fact I was married once, but I don’t like that spread around, if you understand me.”

Jackman nodded, but didn’t really understand.  “I was nearly engaged once, but I was only 18 and that was before I came to Croome.  South Africa must be an interesting place for a young fellow.”

“It is,” replied Carlo and gave him a fulsome account of the chief attractions along those lines.

“… and it is rich in cattle on the Karoo and diamonds and gold in the Kimberly.  Here look at this.” Carlo showed him a thick band of gold with a most unusual design on it.  “Made from a single nugget of gold.  I won it in a card game.  Try it on.” Jackman took the ring and put it on his own finger where it was admired.  “Come on.  Boys let’s do some serious drinking.”

They left the pier and went from pub to pub, getting drunker.  William talked to some sailors, but they went on their way.  At another place they met some girls and Carlo and Jackman were heavily engaged with them.  Carlo’s one went off with her friend but it was nearing closing time and Jackman was still talking to his girl who was being very attentive.  Jackman even managed to sneak a look of triumph over in the direction of William and Carlo.  Carlo nudged William and nodded in the direction of Carlo.

 “It’s your shout Carlo,” William called.

Carlo swaggered over to the bar and could be heard ordering three pints and stout-and-lemonade for his girl, chatting to the barmaid in the process.  Carlo stepped over to the girl and said something to her and then returned to William just in time to receive his pint.

It was only a few minutes later, in fact as soon as she’d finished her stout, that Carlo’s girl made an excuse and rushed out of the pub.  Jackman was nearly going to follow her.

“What was all that about?” said Carlo in sympathy.

“I don’t know,” said Jackman, bewildered, “I thought I was on a certainty.  Women!”

“Women!” agreed the other two.

Jackman drowned his disappointment and was quite drunk and frisky when they made it back to their little room at the Royale Norfolk.

“Let’s help you into bed,” offered Carlo, generously.

“Oh no you don’t Carlo, William will help me.” William did, with Carlo hovering near.  When Carlo’s trousers came off there was an obscene bulge in his underwear.  Carlo looked down and blamed the fickle girl for his state to four sympathetic ears.

“It’s hot in this little crib.  Keep going Bill,” said Carlo and William removed Jackman’s sleeveless vest and then his drawers.  A large cock rose and became hard in the fresh air.

“Oh how am I going to sleep with this thing?” moaned Jackman.

“Well, we could take care of it for you,” said Carlo and at that moment it seemed like a good option to the handsome chauffeur and William and Carlo were already half undressed before he could think of any others.

“Oh could I have my wedding ring back Charlie?” asked Carlo as he lowered his mouth onto the throbbing member.

To be continued... 

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

Posted: 11/01/13