Passing at Christmas

Lord Reginald was receiving an early Christmas present. Lady Caroline and her Oxford student son, Percy, were first-day-of-advent dinner guests at his country home, Morton's Staff, in Hampshire. Lord Reginald couldn't countenance the giggly Lady Caroline normally, but he'd waited for years for the luscious Percy to reach his majority, and Reggie wanted to be inside him first—before those dons at Oxford got to him.

Timing was everything, and Percy was ripe for the plucking. Reginald had planned well and extensively, having spent the last month and a half memorizing snippets from the love poems of Donne and Shakespeare and Byron.

He had been bold tonight, informing the ladies after dinner that he and Percy would withdraw to port and "men talk" far enough away from the ladies so as not to disturb whatever chattering they wanted to do—something he would have done anyway to escape the fingernail-on-slate giggling of Lady Caroline. But rather than guide Percy to the library, he told him he had something to show him in his bed chamber.

That "something" was standing straight up, tall, straight, and ruby bulbed, from the yawning opening of his purple silk dressing robe, as he sat on the foot of his bed, Percy sitting close beside him, his trousers already on the floor below them and his shirt open to permit Reginald's hand to rest on the young man's breast.

Reginald had said he wanted to feel the beating of the young man's heart as Reginald recited to him poetry of Byron's that had never been released to the public but had been handed down for decades in the private collections of men of Byron's class and persuasions.

Percy was lost to the romance of both the poetry and Lord Reginald's commanding presence.

The other figure in the room, Reginald's young, loyal valet, Edwin, stood at the door, his purpose being to protect Reginald's purposes. He was standing face in, though, and sighing as he watched his lord deftly open the petals to the young Percy's honey trap.

Reginald was encasing Percy's back in one arm while he whispered the poetry to Percy, who was studying poetry with rapture at Oxford but who had never heard poems as enrapturing as these. He was laying comfortably in the embrace of Reginald's arm, but that he was tense was shown by how tightly closed he kept his legs.

Reginald laid his hand on Percy's belly, and the young man moaned as the older man whispered to him a Donne poem of the plucking of the petals of the early spring flower and of staffs and yielding centers.

His hand moved to Percy's thigh, which he gently stroked. And when Percy unconsciously parted his legs a bit, Reginald's hand moved between them, stroking the inner thighs until they too, with a long sigh from Percy, parted.

Reginald was patting Percy's now-stirring crotch through the material of his undergarment when, with a low moan, he permitted Reginald to let off the now-hoarse-voiced recitation and to spread his quivering lips with his own and feel the flicking tongue of the other.

"Edwin. Some assistance here, if you please," Lord Reginald murmured as he came out of the kiss.

"Yes, my lord," Edwin whispered as he came forward and pulled Percy's undergarment down his leg.

"Lord Reginald, please. I don't think . . . I can't . . . ohhhh."

Reginald was stroking the young man's cock.

"Of course you can, you sweet thing. You want to be a poet. All of the famous poets have done so. This is how Shakespeare himself put it."

Percy groaned as Reginald recited and continued to stroke, and as Percy's cock engorged. Reginald pulled his hand away from the cock and moved down the perineum. He placed his index finger at Percy's rim, and Percy involuntarily rolled his hips up and he moved a thigh over onto Reginald's lap. It brushed against Reginald's erect staff, which began to rub gently against the thigh.

The young man sighed deeply again. His body knew what was happening and accepted it even if the luscious rose himself was struggling against the deflowering. Reginald pushed his finger into the channel.

"Oh please, no," Percy objected. "I've never . . . I've never . . ."

"I certainly hope not. All to the good, son, all to the good. Remember the poets of the past. Remember where they received their inspiration. Let me be the one to inspire you."

Percy moaned, "Noooo, please." But he moved one leg to the other side of Reginald's cock, giving Reginald the inner lie now and he raised the foot of the other leg and dug his heel into the edge of the mattress, rolling his butt even further up to accommodate Reginald's searching hand. Reginald pressed a second finger inside him.

"Sweetness. Honeypot of the gods," Reginald murmured. And then, in a more business-like voice. "The honey—the lubricant—if you please."

"Yes, my lord," Edwin scurried for the lubricant.

"And a condom, please. And a second one for later."

Edwin moved to him swiftly with the requested articles.

"My cock, quickly, please."

Percy moaned a "Nooo," but immediately belied this by putting a hand on the back of Reginald's neck and pulling his face in for another kiss.

Edwin crowned Reginald's cock with one of the condoms while Reginald's lubricant-slathered fingers were working Percy's entrance.

Edwin slicked down the sheathing condom—lovingly—with lubricant as well.

"Now, if you will help me position him . . . yes, good, like that."

Percy yowled as he was deflowered. Edwin returned to his station by the door and watched intently as Percy, wild-eyed and sobbing, slowly descended into Reginald's lap.

Edwin discerned a slowly changing emotion in the young man to acceptance and the start of pleasure after Reginald had changed the position. Percy's legs were now stretched along Reginald's hips and beyond on the bed, and his torso was arched out over the carpet from Reginald's body like the figurehead on a ship. Reginald was holding the young man's wrists in his hands, and he was fucking the young man deep with slides and releases of his hips.

Downstairs the Lady Caroline and the Countess Magda, Reginald's German wife, chattered on, unaware of and not concerned about the passage of time.

Upstairs the first, spent condom was laying on a sliver tray on the bureau. Percy was on the bed, his butt at the edge of the foot of the bed. His arms were drawn above him, his wrists held by Edwin, who was sitting, cross-legged at the head of the bed and watching—ever watching—the cocking. The ball of the foot of one of the young man's legs was leveraging off the floor at the foot of the bed. His other leg was held high in the air by Reginald's grasp on his ankle. The leg itself ran up Reginald's chest. Reginald himself was standing between Percy's thighs, making full-thrust use of the second condom. Reginald was using his other hand to stroke Percy's hard cock, with time out to pull and squeeze the young man's balls.

"Fuck me, fuck me. Deeper," Percy was crying out as he wagged his head back and forth in ecstasy and dug his fingernails into the material of the bedspread. He was even using the leverage off the ball of the one foot to try to meet Reginald's thrusts with counterthrusts of his own.

Not very poetic, Reginald thought meanly. But very sweet to the ear, he added. Perhaps a little bastardized Donne, he thought. He recited as he stroked, timing his thrusts to end with each line, and at each stroke, Percy groaned and arched his back.

"

When new Towers rise, and old demolis't are,

"

"When youthful virgin sweetness yields to master cock," Reggie interjected.

"

They have impal'd with a Zodiake,

" back to Donne.

"As master impales willing, yielding, thus-freed youth," he added from his own devises.

"

The free-borne Sun, and keeps Twelve Signes awake,

"

"To watch his steps, the horse strokes betwixt the thighs of the hare," changing even the original wording here.

"

And fright him backe, who else to either Pole,

"

"The plunging Pole, the plunging Pole."

Percy cried out and shot his hot cum up onto his belly.

"Edwin, if you please." Edwin moved swiftly to the bureau to retrieve a napkin to clean Percy's shimmering belly, as Reginald stroked on and on to his own ejaculation.

At the door, Percy now dressed, hobbling slightly, a dreamy expression on his face, Reginald squeezed his butt and said, "Now, on your way back down to the ladies, laddie. Please tell them that I decided to turn in early."

"Lord Reginald. I . . . I . . ."

"Would you like to go riding with me in Morton's Forest next Friday, Percy?"

"Yes, of course. To the horses, you mean?"

"At least at the beginning, dear boy. And then we'll find a nice little glen and I will ride you."

Percy sighed as he slipped through the door.

"Thank you for your assistance, Edwin," Reginald said when the two were alone. Edwin was already moving about the room, putting things back in place. He carried the second, spent condom over and placed it reverently on the silver plate next to the first one.

"Thank you, my lord." Edwin was blushing. Lord Reginald rarely thanked him. That's not what lord's customarily did.

"You look out of sorts, Edwin."

"Yes, my lord. Sorry, my lord."

"What is it, Edwin?"

"It's just that . . . that I wish it was me you were fucking."

"I know that, Edwin. But I keep in mind what my father once told me. Reggie, he said, you can fuck the prince's son and you can fuck the actor. You can even fuck the comely lad in the field if you have a mind to. But it must be the field of some other nobleman, not you. Do not fuck the servants. They will take liberties and it is a bad example for the other servants. Do you understand that, Edwin?"

"Yes, my lord. Sorry, my lord."

"You may go now, Edwin. A good night's work. A lot of planning went into that. I appreciate your help . . . and your discretion."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." Edwin slipped out of the bedchamber and immediately made a beeline for the bathroom down the hall. He barely made it there in time.

* * * *

Five days before Christmas Countess Magda held her annual Arts Dinner. Lord Reginald was usually bored with Magda's big country dinners, but he actually liked this annual event. He spent the year shopping and was quite helpful in counseling Magda on what performing artists to bring in.

They all had to be of noble birth, of course—or at least acceptable in the right society—but there was much time available in Reginald and Magda's circle for the young to perfect their choice of performance arts. The pattern of the dinner was that a soprano would entertain the gathered guests in the conservatory for sweets and savories before the first course of dinner. Before the second course, they would attend the staging of a scene from a classic play in the Great Hall. The third course was followed by an instrumental ensemble in the Red Salon. Between the fourth course and desert, all donned their wraps and went out to the forecourt for fireworks and jugglers.

Lord Reginald always enjoyed the fireworks of his fifth course, enjoyed, as the guests were leaving, as he fucked one of the flexible and enticing performers in his bed chamber.

This year, Reginald's celebrations started early.

During the period play in the Great Hall, Reginald's greedy, lustful eyes followed the young actor son of Sir Gerald around the stage. It was a Shakespearean sword scene, and the young actor was wearing a billowy white cotton shirt with flounces and opened almost to his navel along with very tight, hunter green dancer's tights, with a cup. Reginald felt his own sword throbbing.

As if knowing he was being scrutinized, the young Geoffrey allowed his eyes to go to Reginald's often and to bow his head and give slight smiles toward the host when he didn't have speaking lines of his own. Reginald had seen him in a theater in London in September and had insisted that Gerald's son be invited to perform here.

Magda was very democratic. The performers supped with the other guests. This, though, was why she insisted on performers of the right class. Reginald sat at the middle of one of the long tables. Directly across from him sat—by design—the young actor, Geoffrey. Geoffrey had long, thick eyelashes, which he fluttered at Reginald across the table.

Reginald fucked Geoffrey in a garden chair behind a banana tree in the conservatory while Mozart was being played in the Red Salon, with Edwin standing watch, the young man's hunter green tights draped over an arm and dangling the cup from a hand.

The young actor's tail bone was resting forward on the edge of the seat, and his legs were hanging over either side arm. He was holding the back of Reginald's head close to his chest as, crouched over him, Reginald savaged his nipples with his lips and teeth and pounded his ass with his cock. Sir Gerald's son was grunting and moaning. He'd known they would fuck, but he had no idea the older man had such a big and thick cock, and such power in his sword work.

When Reginald was finished with the young actor, he closed his fly, straightened his evening clothes, and came out from behind the banana tree. The actor remained slung in the chair, moaning quietly, legs still splayed—and he didn't reappear for the third course.

When Reginald emerged, he was somewhat surprised that Edwin wasn't standing there. The tights and cup were hanging from a nearby branch.

During the third course, Reginald picked out the young classical pianist who had played for the Soprano in the conservatory earlier. He'd also had this young man invited. Clarence Wright, a piano prodigy, didn't come from the proper class. But he was all the rage in the concert halls this season, and he was a sultry blond, with a mass of curls, and watery blue eyes, that, Reginald thought, needed to be flooded with cum.

Reginald caught the young man's eyes. And Clarence, in turn, lifted his fork to his mouth, gave Reginald a saucy look, and made love to the fork with his mouth.

When Reginald looked away, he saw Edwin, who was helping with the large crowd by working as a footman, mumble something to the head butler, Rufus, and slip from the room.

The next time Rufus was serving him, Reginald looked up and whispered, "Is something wrong with Edwin?"

Rufus looked sad and answered, in a mere whisper, "Edwin is passing, my lord. He has had an attack and has had to leave the room."

"Passing?"

"Yes, my lord."

Rufus moved on, but at his next approach, he made Rufus lean down again.

"I knew nothing of Edwin," he murmured. "How long does he have?"

"The doctor advises sometime before the new year, my lord."

Edwin arrived late at his master's bedchamber that night.

Reginald was already fucking Clarence. He was sitting on the foot of the bed, his purple dressing gown wide open. A naked Clarence was crouched on his lap, facing him, and fucking himself on Reginald's cock. Shortly after Edwin entered the room and took up his usual station, Reginald changed the position, pressing on Clarence's chest until the young pianist raised his legs to run up Reginald's chest on either side. He arched his slim torso out and down toward the target, where his golden curls covered and brushed the tops of Reginald's feet as Reginald grabbed the young man's hips and pulled him on and off his cock until long after the pianist had ejaculated and Edwin had cleaned off his chest and belly with a napkin.

"See the young man out, will you, Edwin. And then come back to me straight away."

"Yes, my lord."

Edwin guided Clarence to a side door, opening out onto the car park.

"Did he like me? Will he call for me again?" Clarence asked in a breathy voice.

"I think you did very well. If he wants you again, he will call for you."

"I had no idea he was so big."

When Edwin returned, Reginald was still sitting on the bed where Edwin had left him. He had been stroking his cock, but stopped with the valet returned. It was engorged again. Edwin leaned over him, removed the spent condom, and cleaned the area gently with a wetted cloth.

"Another condom, I think, Edwin."

"Certainly, my lord," Edwin said, moving toward the bureau and wondering where his master had another young piece of ass hiding and waiting for his cocking.

"And a pair of silk gloves, if you will."

"Yes, my lord."

When he had rolled the new condom on Reginald's cock and helped him put the gloves on, Edwin stepped back, ready to take up his usual position or to do anything else he was asked to do.

He gave a little, involuntary cough, and Reginald looked up, concern showing in his face.

"Now, if you will, take off your trousers and underdrawers and kneel on your knees on the carpet."

"My lord?" Edwin asked with surprise.

"Did you not understand the instruction, Edwin?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And lubricate yourself, please. But quickly."

Reginald fucked Edwin from behind like a dog, holding the valet's hips with his gloved hands. Edwin knelt on all fours on the carpet below the bed. He yowled to the ceiling and let out a big fart as Reginald first bottomed in him.

"Sorry, my lord."

But Reginald was laughing too large to hear him. Another thrust and another fart. Reginald laughed again, and then made a little game of bringing the gas out of the valet with the different pattern he gave his fucking.

Edwin came and collapsed on the carpet, embarrassed but exhilarated at the same time. As Clarence said, the cock was big. Not just big, the cocking was magnificent. Much better than Rufus was able to give him.

"Sorry, my lord," he moaned.

"Nothing of that," Reginald responded. "You've been a good and faithful servant. And it's Christmas. The time for giving. Please do your cleaning, and then you may retire for the night. And I hope you find rest. Take care of yourself."

"Yes, my lord," Edwin said as he quickly cleaned up the evidence of the evening's fuckings and withdrew. How strange, he thought, as he left. But, as the lord said, it is Christmas. And he was holding back. He didn't use the bed, and he gloved his hands.

The next night, as he was helping Lord Reginald prepare for the night, Edwin cleared his throat and said. "Lord Reginald . . ."

"It's another fucking you want, is it, son?" Reginald asked.

Edwin was taken aback. He'd only been going to ask if the lord and countess were going into London for New Year's Eve—just so he could start planning what clothes to make sure were ready for the visit.

"Uh . . ."

"Well, go fetch a condom and some lubricant—and the gloves."

This time both men stood, with Edwin bent over double, and clutching his ankles. When he came, Reginald didn't stop pumping him.

"Um, sir, I have come."

"Well, I haven't yet, Edwin. I want to come this time."

Edwin racked it up to Reginald not having anyone else to fuck that night. But still, he had not come inside Edwin the previous night. This was the first time, Edwin was sure, that Lord Reginald had ever come inside one of his servants.

* * * *

"Master is acting differently toward me the last few days," Edwin muttered to Rufus. "Do you have any idea what has come over him?"

They were in Rufus's bed. Edwin was not senior enough to room alone. Both were on their sides, with Edwin's butt tucked into Rufus's crotch and Rufus's arm around his neck. Rufus's cock was softening inside Edwin's channel, and they were both calming their breath after a quick fuck for Rufus. He was still stroking Edwin's cock, nowhere close yet to bringing the young man to climax.

It had been an OK fuck, but nothing like Lord Reginald could do.

"Ah, I'm afraid I told him you were ill. He surprised me by asking, and I answered straightforwardly without thinking."

"Ill?"

"Yes. You left service in the dining room on the night of the Arts Dinner. Master asked why, and I told him of your flatulence—and that the doctors said it should pass before New Years."