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The Busbys' were always fantastic hosts. Their weekend country house, tucked away in one of England's prettiest vales, was an enviable addition to anyone's social calendar. Simon, who had only made the acquaintance of Clarence two months ago at Oxford, had been pleased to receive an invite, no matter how off the cuff it had been.
"I say, Holton! Fancy tootling on down to the old pile next weekend?" Clarence had been barely standing at this point, the sheen of brandy glazing his eyes as he threw an enthusiastic arm around Simon, almost toppling the pair of them over. "Mama's having some sort of social function, for which of course yours truly must show his face - but they're rotten things without a bit of good company." Simon had made the appropriate noises of enthusiasm, and the occasion had then called for a drink and then another, then another, until the next thing Simon remembered was waking up under a bush in the college green with only fuzzy memories of the night before. He had therefore been somewhat happily surprised to find himself in Clarence's Abingdon next Friday, cruising along the leafy country lanes, and remained somewhat confounded by the situation when he was deposited in one of the many guest rooms to prepare himself for dinner.
The room was far bigger than his one at home, let alone his digs at Oxford, with a formidable four-poster bed squatting in the centre of the room, framed by bright, breezy bay windows that opened out to the front of the house. The winding driveway curled sinuously through the Capability Brown landscaping, a few large and slightly windswept oaks dotted picturesquely here and there. It amused him, for a second as he stared out of the window, to pretend that he did in fact live here; that the grand house, the beautiful furniture and the rolling lands outside were all his to keep. His idle fantasies were soon interrupted by a knock at the door. He unrolled himself from where he had been leaning against the sideboard and dusted down his travel clothes hastily.
"Er- come in!"
A tall man slid into the room. His well-groomed hair was a pleasant brown, greased back neatly, which went well with his dark, liquid eyes below heavy brows. He bowed slightly as he caught sight of Simon.
"Beg pardon, sir, but the young Master asked me to see if you needed any help getting ready for dinner."
"Oh! That's very kind of him." Simon said, who had not been dressed by someone else since he was in short trousers. He smiled at the manservant, in a manner he hoped was charming but very possibly came out somewhat pained. "I don't go to a lot of these sorts of things, you know, he probably knew I could use all the help I can get. I've packed all sorts, but whether or not any of it is the right Tabasco…" he trailed off and shrugged, waving his hand at the small luggage he had brought with.
"I should be very able to help you with that, sir. I've assisted Master Busby with his toilette for many years now." The man crossed over to stand at the sideboard next to Simon, their shoulders almost touching, as he picked up the decanter of brandy. He had an especially arresting profile, with a prominent aquiline nose. "I could fix you a drink, sir, if you would permit me the liberty of examining your packing to find something suitable for this evening."
Simon's throat felt unnaturally dry as the man held his gaze, waiting for the answer to his question. He stumbled out a yes and the moment quickly passed. Once equipped with a brandy soda, he was expertly shepherded to a large, overstuffed armchair.
The trouble was that at that point in proceedings, he had very little to do but watch the man at work. The confidence with which his luggage was picked over, combined with the man's natural grace, was a slightly heady combination; if the man hadn't been very focused on his own work he probably would've been fairly disturbed by the way Simon's eyes followed his every move. Simon sighed and forced himself to stare into his half-drunk brandy instead. It was probably very bad form to get all Etonian on Clarence's valet. Not that there was much chance of getting Etonian with anyone these days, even at Oxford. People these days thought far too much of getting themselves married off- and far less of the simple fun that could be had with like-minded friends.
These maudlin thoughts carried Simon through the second half of the brandy, and he jumped when the manservant cleared his throat meaningfully. A selection of Simon's clothes were neatly laid over the bed.
"Your trousseau is ready sir."
"Oh, right! Er- yes, looks very good."
He stared up, slightly bemused, from the armchair. The manservant's face was impassive but there was a certain twinkle in his eyes as he coughed gently and murmured, "Sir, may want to get up to dress."
Simon felt his face flame as he leapt up from the armchair, with a decidedly awkward laugh and mumbled apology. God, the brandy really had gone to his head. Once again, he was shepherded to the appropriate position, in front of a full-length mirror. The valet stepped behind him, his fingers' skimming Simon's shoulders.
"Let me help you with your jacket first, Sir."
"Thank you… oh but I don't know your name!" Simon exclaimed, There was a noise behind him, much like a laugh being stifled, but when the man responded his voice was decorum itself.
"Tom, sir. Tom Hartley. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holton."
Tom's voice was rich and warm and to Simon's ear, it seemed that he put rather more emphasis on the word pleasure than was really needed, as he helped him to shrug off his jacket. A silent shiver went up his back, and he felt quite unable to meet Tom's eyes as he came around to assist with the shirt buttons.
It was deuced difficult to behave normally, with Tom's hands on him. Simon must have seemed a perfect idiot, flushed and barely able to string words together as he was stripped and dressed. It seemed to him almost as though Tom was teasing him, but of course that must have been his own imagination. He felt like a complete pervert, getting fired up by the poor man's professional touch. When it came to his own trousers, he insisted on doing them up, feeling too ashamed of where his own thoughts would go if he allowed Tom to do it.
Finally only his bow tie remained. Tom took the loose tie ends in his capable hands, stepping so close they could have lit each other's cigarettes if they were smoking. Simon's eyes flitted up, unable to resist the sight of Tom's face close-up. To his surprise, Tom was already looking at him. It was impossible to read anything in his gaze, but Simon still shivered.
Tom looked back down to the tie, fastening it quickly. He lingered on the bow a while, making imperceptible adjustments, until, as if by accident, one of his fingers traced a line against Simon's neck. Simon swallowed, and Tom looked back up, his finger still resting on the exposed skin above the collar. He held Simon's gaze as his hands slipped downwards, brushing invisible lint off his lapel and waistcoat.
"There." he said, stroking the waistcoat as it lay flat against Simon's stomach, his hands resting there for just a beat too long. It was possible Simon was still deluding himself, but this certainly didn't seem like part of the typical valeting routine.
It had gotten him in enough trouble at Eton, but Simon couldn't help himself. His cunt was already pulsing at the proximity of the man in front of him and as Tom looked at him, dark eyes flashing, he surged up, pressing their lips together. Tom responded instantly, one hand went to the back of Simon's head, the other around his waist, pulling them flush together. He could feel the firm bulge of Tom's cock even through the layers of fabric that separated them, and he groaned, rubbing up against it. The feeling made him go wild, licking and biting at Tom's lips until they were flushed and red. Panting, they separated for a moment, staring in slight bewilderment at each other.
"I-" Simon began, but did not know what to say. He reached out and ran a tentative thumb over Tom's slicked lips. The man, who only moments before had looked entirely respectable, now looked ruined. His pupils were dark and a deeply pleasing flush had come over his face. Simon hadn't even remembered getting his hands in the other man's hair, but the slicked back locks were now rumpled and loose. He had never wanted another man inside him so badly, the wetness from his cunt was already seeping into his underwear
"Fuck." Tom said suddenly, pulling back. Simon felt a lurch of uncertainty until the man leant forward again and bit his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth. The sound he made at that was embarrassing, more like a dog's whine than anything a human would make. He was kissed, roughly and thoroughly, a few more times before Tom withdrew again. They were both trembling.
"If you don't want this to happen, you need to tell me now." Tom said, his voice rough, as he began kissing down Simon's neck. "It's a bad idea for both of us, God help me, but-" He bit Simon's neck as Simon cried out. "I don't know if I can help myself, a sweet little thing like you."
"God, yes. Please, yes." Simon said, almost begging now. "I-" He whined again as Tom bit the other side of his neck, grinding his crotch against the bulge of Tom's cock as best he could standing up. "I need it, I need you, please."
Tom grabbed his waist again, manhandling him a good few steps backwards until his legs hit the edge of something soft. "Down boy, that's a good boy."
Simon sat abruptly, landing awkwardly on the bed below. His face was now level with Tom's cock and he couldn't help pushing himself forward, just enough to mouth at the growing bulge It was warm under his lips, smelling like sweat and arousal. Tom let out a choked-up sigh, running his hands through Simon's hair, pressing him forwards. Simon thought for a second that he would keep him there, imagined being held down and a fat cock pressed into his mouth, opening him wide, ruining his face with spit and pre-come. He moaned quietly at the thought, feeling his cunt glistening with anticipation at the weight of it inside his mouth.
But Tom instead stepped back, moving his hands down to the waistcoat he had so carefully buttoned only a few minutes ago. His movements were swift and sure and Simon found himself rapidly unwrapped, both his shirt and waistcoat opened out for Tom to run his hands over his chest, thumb grazing his belly. Simon yielded, crawling backwards onto the coverlet as Tom knelt over him, kissing and biting his now exposed chest.
"God! Please Tom, please!"
"Sssh, there's a good lad. We mustn't be overheard now."
Tom kissed Simon once more before his hands slid down to the trouser fastenings below. The warmth of his hands made Simon's desperate cunt pulse painfully, and he tried and failed to stifle his whine as Tom pulled down his underclothes. The sound Tom made at the sight of his nakedness was deeply gratifying; Simon could only imagine how utterly depraved he looked already, with his little hard cock and slick hole beneath. Without warning, Tom leant down, giving Simon a couple of good hard licks over his cunt, as if he couldn't help himself from having a taste. The sensation was almost overwhelming and Simon arched up, clutching Tom's hair, a cut-off gasp that turned into a low moan escaping from his lips. Tom looked up at Simon's red face and smirked, leaning into his cunt again for a last good suck of his cock. Simon twitched again, helplessly rocking his cock forwards in search of more of that delicious feeling.
But Tom had other ideas. He climbed up on top of Simon again, kissing him lightly, pinning his wrists against the bed. At some point, Simon had no idea when, he had released his cock from his own trousers and it fell heavily onto Simon's hip, smearing it with wetness. He held Simon down like this for a moment, trapped and helpless as a wet cock rutted slowly against the crease of his thigh, the head pushing against his soft stomach. For some reason, the fact Tom remained largely clothed excited Simon, and he felt his head rush with arousal.
"God," Tom murmured, putting his cheek against Simon's, "The things that you do to me boy."
That was all the warning Simon had before Tom angled himself down and pushed inside. The feel of Tom's cock, warm and heavy inside him, was far better than Simon could've imagined, and he helplessly made the most desperate noises as Tom drove him open, slowly and inexorably coring him out. Tom's was not the longest cock he had ever had, but it was certainly the thickest and he felt almost split apart just by having it inside.
"Sssh, sssh. That's good, you're good." Tom said.
They were both breathing heavily now, Tom trembling, his eyes closed as he let his weight rest more fully on Simon's trapped wrists. Simon was completely at his mercy, pinned down by both his hands and cock and the thought of it made him buck up once again. He could feel the roughness of Tom's waistcoat against his naked stomach, the buttons cold against his heated skin. Tom opened his eyes, his thumb stroking Simon's wrist in a strange gesture of fondness and then he snapped his hips, giving Simon one good sharp fuck. Simon cried out, then again and again, as Tom kept driving into him, fucking him now with speed and precision. The hands that had pinned his wrists now moved to his hips, holding him down so that Tom could rut into him like some wild beast. The cock had been fantastic just spreading him open; to have it fuck into him like this drove Simon wild. He could feel the bulbous head spreading his lips open, the weight of Tom's balls slapping against him, hear the shlock-shlock of his wet cunt being filled over and over again,
Without any warning his hole seized and then he was coming, clenching down on the cock that continued to piston in and out of him without pause.
"Good boy," Tom said, leaning forwards to kiss his neck as he continued to fuck Simon's oversensitive hole, "That's it. Quiet now."
He couldn't help the noises that spilled out of him then, pressing his hand to his mouth in a desperate attempt to curtail them. His hole seemed to spasm with every thrust of Tom's cock, his own cock twitching with the friction of the man moving against him. Tom kissed him roughly, pushing his tongue into Simon's mouth and it was this, the feeling of being opened up at both ends, that made Simon abruptly, almost painfully, fall into another orgasm, with a sharp yell.
"Ah, can't be having that, my sweet." Tom said, pulling his cock out. The emptiness in his cunt was appalling, and Simon was about to completely embarrass himself by begging for another fucking when Tom began to manhandle him, flipping him onto his hands and knees and pulling his open shirt and waistcoat completely off. His face was pushed down against the pillow, his back arching naturally as Tom ran his hand up the spine. "There my lad, you can make all the lovely noises you please into the pillows now."
Simon had never felt more like a whore in his life than he did then. Face down, legs spread, letting a perfect stranger mount his sodden pussy like a bitch dog in heat. He knew, abstractly, that he should keep quiet, that the scandal of being caught like this, pinned under Clarence's valet, would make any polite society henceforth unbearable. But it was hard to care, with the feel of that glorious cock inside him, the weight of the man pressing him into the bed like he was about to fuck him through it. He groaned, a long drawn out sound that caught every time Tom re-entered him, skipping like a dirty record. The bed shook with every thrust and Simon found himself being pushed further and further into the mattress until he was almost fully prone, his legs splayed wide to allow Tom to rut inside him. This position pushed his little cock against the bedcovers, the friction it provided was almost too overwhelming. Tom was getting noisy too, grunting hard as he thrust into Simon's cunt over and over, hands tightening again on Simon's hips.
He was going to come inside him, Simon realised through his fucked-out fog, and the thought alone almost made him come himself. He'd never let anyone come inside him before, but stopping didn't seem like an option right now. In fact he wanted it: to be marked with this man's seed, to let it fill his pussy until it dripped right out of him.
"Please," he moaned, "Please God, Tom, I need it."
He was too ashamed to say what he really meant, that he wanted to be filled with come like a common whore, wanted to be used like a breeding bitch. But Tom seemed to know anyway, fucking his cock deep one last time before he came with a bitten-off shout and a shudder, pressing his face against Simon's neck . His cock twitched as he filled Simon up; Simon, pinned down underneath him, could only lie there and take it. Tom's hips spasmed again, a simple back and forth, but it was enough to take Simon over the edge one last time, clenching on Tom's now softening dick. He could feel Tom's come spilling out of him, pooling on the bed below.
As he came back to himself, he felt Tom's hands stroking him, running down his arms and sides. Kisses trailed down his neck, until, with one final bite to his shoulder, Tom withdrew. Simon groaned again into the bedsheets, letting himself enjoy that satiated feeling of being do thoroughly used. Finally, he was able to coax his unwilling limbs into moving again, rolling onto his back.
Tom had already tidied himself up, his hair was flat and his fly was once again buttoned. Except for the slight wet patch on his trousers front and the slight flush in his cheeks, it was almost like nothing had happened at all. He met Simon's eyes, briefly, his gaze winding over his naked body, landing on his hairy cunt, which Simon could still feel leaking cum. Tom flushed and looked away.
"Dinner is soon." he said, "We need to get you ready." He stood up, starting to pick up Simon's slightly crumpled clothes from the floor. "Will you… That is, would you like something to clean up with?"
Simon flushed too. "Doesn't sound like we have time."
"Very good, sir." Tom said, attempting to shake out some of the more crumpled items in particularly severe manner.
The atmosphere was suffocating, a post-coital experience that was not unfamiliar to Simon.
"Look," he began, "You don't need to… I won't tell anyone. It's just a nice bit of fun, isn't it. Don't worry about dressing me or anything, I'm sure I can get myself down to dinner in one piece." He even managed a wry smile at the end.
Tom looked up, startled. For the first time since he'd walked in the room he looked lost for words.
"I-" He wet his lips. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to this sort of thing outside of, well…" he trailed off, his eyes tightening. "Nevermind." He picked up Simon's clothes and placed them on the bed next to him, reaching an arm out to delicately stroke his calf. "Let me help sir, you'll never get all those buttons fastened in time."
Simon took it for the slightly confusing olive branch that it was. "Thank you Tom, that's very good of you."
The re-dressing was a far more practical procedure, both of them too worried about the impending dinner gong to linger this time. They finished as they had before, with Tom tying Simon's bow tie. It was hard not to feel the echo of the previous moment, and Simon felt his eyes go to Tom's lips once more. He held himself back but Tom seemed to feel no such compunction, leaning down to press a soft, chaste kiss to Simon's lips.
"It's been a pleasure, sir," he said.
"Thank you, Tom."
The gong chose that moment to sound, and Simon returned a quick kiss before stepping back.
"Will I see you- if you'd like to that is- again?"
"I hope so sir, I really do."
Simon made his way downstairs and hoped to god he didn't look too obviously freshly fucked. It was going to be difficult to focus at dinner with Tom's spend still seeping into his underclothes.