Bears, page 11
“None of that, Mr. Inwood. No bowing, please. I am your Lord, it’s true, but I’m also your cousin, and we are family here at Bear’s Head Hall. Did my nephew not take your coat, at least? The young fool. Give it to me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said obeying his order with shaking hands as he bellowed to Selwyn yet again.
“We’ll take our tea in the drawing room. Be sure to tell the others.”
With a hand on my shoulder, his very touch stirring something deep within me that I dared not name, he led me into the drawing room, a fine room simply furnished, and all the more elegant for its simplicity. Hanging my coat on a hook by the door, he sat me down in a handsome, leather-upholstered chair. A large, ginger cat had been sleeping in the windowsill; now he stretched himself before deeming to offer us his companionship.
“Ah, there’s my Little Lucifer,” said Lord Bearington, reaching down to scratch the beast’s ears.
“Hardly little, sir, at least not for a cat.”
My Lord laughed.
“No, but he was once. Where is our tea?”
“Here, my Lord,” said Selwyn as he came into the drawing room carrying the tea service on an ancient silver tray, followed immediately by another young man carrying a similar tray covered with sandwiches, cakes, and muffins.
“Good lads.”
“Mr. Inwood, allow me to introduce you to your new family. This would be Davith Jones, my nephew’s friend. Behind him you’ll find your cousin, Mr. Bottom, and his lad, Colin Sheepshanks; lastly your cousin, Mrs. Bannon, and her companion, Mrs. Brinker.”
I shook their offered hands, wondering how they all fit into the household and just how we were all related. Whoever they were, they all sat down to tea, chatting with my Lord Bearington about which hives were ready to be deprived of their honey, which mares were foaling, which fields needed plowing, how the cheese was aging, the welfare of the tenants, and the state of the cider, cream, and butter supplies. As they spoke I had a chance to examine my new companions.
Davith, as dark as Selwyn was fair, gave me as many pleasant shivers as Selwyn and my Lord had provided. Typical of the Welsh, his hair and beard were jet, his smile infectious, his legs short, and his broad chest a mass of curly black hair. Like my cousins, he was dressed in riding boots, matching breeches and waistcoat, this time in red, and a fine linen shirt opened at the neck.
For his part, my cousin, Mr. Bottom, was, while pleasant, not so much handsome as carefully made. He was probably as old as my Lord Bearington, but less vital, his ashen hair coated with silver. Like me, he cultivated his moustaches but wore no beard although his cheeks looked to have not seen a razor for many days. Like the other men, he was broad shouldered and solidly made, but unlike them, he wore a fine, embroidered waistcoat to set over his open shirt and mauve breeches. His lad, Colin Sheepshanks, was too young to be bearded, but cheerful and cherubic, his face shorn clean of any down he had thus far been able to grow. Dressed like the other men, only this time in brown, his chest was nearly smooth, but muscular as the others, and his body as sturdy. I guessed him to be less than twenty, but in all ways a man.
My cousin Mrs. Bannon was a small, solid woman with hardly hip, or bosom, to her name. Her hair, I realized with a shock, was manfully shingled so short that one might, at a distance, have taken her for a man, had it not been for her weeds. Mrs. Brinker, however, could not have been more female, and appeared to be made of nothing but curves and smiles. She was a large, happy woman who apparently held Mrs. Bannon in much affection, taking her hand through much of the conversation.
“And what say you?” asked my Lord. “What think you of our little family? Have we made you feel welcome?”
“Indeed, sir. How could I feel otherwise?”
“After tea, Davith will take you to your rooms, and after you rest, Mr. Bottom can give you a tour of the grounds before dinner.”
“And is there anything you like especially for breakfast?” asked Mrs. Brinker. “Kippers, kidneys, pudding, bacon or sausages?”
“I’m sure I will be well satisfied with whatever I’m offered, ma’am.”
“Suit yourself,” returned Mrs. Bannon with a crooked smile. “But don’t say that we did not ask.”
At this Davith and Selwyn laughed out loud, startling Little Lucifer from the bath he was taking on my Lord’s lap.
The next morning I awoke with the light. As I had been forewarned, no one had come to awaken me. If I required a fire, it was already laid and I should light it. During the winter, I was also told, the household slept later to suit the season; while in summer, as long as the weather was fine, more time was spent on the grounds than in the manor. I thought this a bit odd, but then remembered I was in a country house, in a far-flung province, and hundreds of miles from Town.
My rooms were cozy, and more than sufficient. My sitting room boasted a large window seat facing south where one might read, and a handsome suite of masculine furniture of a quality that I could only have dreamed of enjoying before my current situation. Attached to the sitting room was a bedroom large enough for what was needed, including—as if expecting that it might provide comfort for more than one man—the largest bed in which I had ever reposed. How unlike the dingy horrors of Mr. Dickens’ novels! My rooms were not dark and dirty, as I had feared they must be, but bright, and clean, and well appointed. Fiction, then, was not to be taken as seriously as so many did; there was no moral caution in this peculiar household, only joy in productivity and each other’s company.
After a generous breakfast from a sideboard providing a veritable feast to sate the hunger that country air inevitably inspired in one, I went to my new desk to await my Lord’s pleasure. My duties, I learned, were simple and straightforward. I was to take care of my Lord’s correspondence, making fair copies for his signature as well as for his files. My duties took only a few hours a day, after which I might be sent into Bearington to post letters or run whatever errands were needed, but would otherwise be free to wander the grounds at my leisure, awaiting my Lord’s pleasure. Any purchases made in Bearington, or even ordered from Town, I was told, even if it were for no one but myself, were to be charged to my Lord’s accounts.
“For one thing, man, you need a pair of proper riding boots and proper breeches like the rest of us, clothes you can move in. No need for your city threads here—at least not most of the time.”
That very afternoon, after my duties were completed, Davith took me in the gig to Bearington that I might purchase my Lord’s livery.
“Davith, can you tell me please how each of you fit into my Lord’s household? What are each dependent’s duties?”
Davith laughed, his blue eyes sparkling in the spring air.
“Now let’s see: Mr. Bottom does milord’s accounting; Selwyn supervises milord’s stables; Mrs. Brinker looks after the kitchen and the larder, and Mrs. Bannon the housekeeping. I take care of the orchards and hives, and young Colin looks after the game when he’s not helping Mr. Bottom. And milord looks after the manor and tenants himself.”
“And does everyone live in the manor and take all their meals there?”
“We do for certain, the men that is. Mrs. Brinker and Mrs. Bannon have a cottage of their own on the other side of the orchard. The daily help come from all over milord’s land. He treats them well and they are happy to be well cared for. Never lets anyone go sick and untreated, or even die alone, milord does, man or woman; if a tenant has no one to be with him at the end, milord will stay at the bedside himself, all night if need be. And he makes sure the surgeon goes on his rounds each week to all the households, and if need be, the apothecary is called from Bearington.”
“So the girl who laid my fire and the others sweeping and scrubbing, and the men I saw cutting firewood…”
“They’d be tenants and tenants’ children, Mr. Inwood. Some gets paid wages, some work in lieu of rent, and they’re all happy for the fair treatment. Now tell me, Mr. Inwood, what color will you want for your new kit?”
“I’ve never worn anything but black,” I answered.
“That will never do, Mr. Inwood. Milord favors a sensible drab for himself, while Selwyn is partial to blue. Colin has his brown. I love me red habit, and Mr. Bottom likes his grays and purples. Now, let’s see, what color does that leave you?”
“Green, I suppose.”
“Yes it does, Mr. Inwood; as green as milord’s eyes.”
I did not add that it was also my favorite color.
“Now that’s more like it,” said my Lord when he saw my new livery. He slapped me on the back with approval, his broad hand caressing my shoulder through the linen shirt. “Now I can see what a strong man you are, without all that foolishness hiding your fine form. You may be bantamweight, my lad, but you’re a fine specimen to be sure! We must have a wrestling match betwixt you lads some day. Or would you prefer boxing?”
“Either would suit me well, my Lord. I flatter myself that I have some skill in both sports.”
“Then we shall have both!”
He ran his hand over my newly cropped hair with such vigor that I half-hoped I might crumble beneath his strength—or at least into his massive arms. Alas, just then the bell was heard, and we were called into the great hall for dinner.
A day or two later I was riding one of my Lord’s horses to the river to investigate the cider press that had produced the spirited grog we drank with our dinner most evenings. It was spring, so hardly the time to see the press in action, but still I wanted to see it, for until that day I’d only read about them. I left my horse by the water trough so she might refresh herself and went into the structure I assumed sheltered the cider press. Indeed, my assumptions were correct both as to the cider press’s location and current inactivity. I examined the wooden contraption closely, wondering just how it might work, when I heard what sounded like a scuffle in an adjoining workroom. Hoping that nothing was amiss, but still thinking I ought to investigate, I cautiously poked my head through the doorway.
There, to my astonishment, I found Mr. Bottom bent over a barrel, his breeches in a heap around his boots. Behind him stood young Colin, clearly even more a man than I’d first guessed. His shirt was off, his breeches likewise around his boots, his torso beaded with manly sweat, and his enormous member pushing its way into my colleague’s eager buttocks. Colin’s thighs and buttocks, I observed, were covered with soft, curly blond hair, though he was as smooth as silk above the waist, reminding one of a satyr, or perhaps even of Pan himself.
So amazed was I, so enthralled with an exhibition that I never expected to see outside the infamous bawdy houses of Cleveland Street, that I stood still, mouth agape, and watched, as my own substantial member crept down my leg looking for its freedom.
Colin was already more than halfway through his journey; clearly the eager stallion, he bucked with tremendous fervor, his breathing growing short and sharp, as he worked himself into a lather. Then there came a sudden groan and final thrust into the accounting clerk’s arse, as young Colin spent his seed. I silently retired lest they see me, but not before observing that Mr. Bottom was also spent, his cream spilled upon the planked floor.
What Buggers’ Paradise, I wondered, had I fallen into? What Paradise, indeed!
A week later I was walking through the lower garden, a vale that, despite facing the Cornish coast, was so well protected year round that my Lord was able to grow a host of exotic plants and trees that would otherwise find no fit home on our Blessed Isles. Midway down the path was a fountain I had heard much of already, said to be both decorative and useful. Hearing the welcome tinkle of its falling water, I hastened toward it for the promise of refreshment and, as I was also told, many inspiring prospects. As I turned off the path I came upon Davith and Selwyn in a state of déshabillé sharing what was clearly a postcoital embrace. They heard me as I started at the sight, and, turning to me, only smiled.
“There you are, Mr. Inwood. Sorry, but you’re too late to join us.”
“Another time, perhaps,” I only managed to mumble.
“Hope so, Mr. Inwood. What is it you prefer? The giving or the getting?”
“A bit of both, I’m afraid.”
“Excellent, Mr. Inwood! You are just what our party needs.”
They stood up now, still bare-chested, and I could see just how covered with hair they both were. So beautiful did I find it, I was unable to resist the urge to touch both their chests, to feel the raw power of the pelts covering their bodies. Likewise, after feeling the richness of so much glossy fur, I brought my fingers to my mouth to taste the essence of their manhood, their sweat and seed. My young friends smiled at my homage, and pulled me to them in a tripodal kiss.
“Wouldn’t you know it,” said my cousin Selwyn. “My Lord has found us a new man to sport with.”
“And wouldn’t you know,” added Davith at the sound of the kitchen bell, still clearly heard in this protected vale, “it’s time for tea.”
“You may be a bantamweight like my Lord says, Mr. Inwood,” said my cousin, stroking my jutting member through my new green breeches, “but there’s more than bantamweight about your manhood.”
“I saw it first,” said Davith as we headed up the path to the manor.
“Nay, I did, Davith, when I first saw him at the station, clearly seen it was, too.”
They pulled on their shirts and walked on either side of me as we ascended the path, each with a firm hand on my buttocks.
That evening, I was just settling in with The Voyage of the Beagle and a glass of port wine when there was a knock at the door. Before I could answer, Selwyn and Davith, their shirts barely about their shoulders, stumbled into my sitting room, all grins and guffaws, and more than a little tipsy. They slammed the door behind them and began undressing as they moved toward my bedroom. I followed them, only to find their hands all over me, my waistcoat unbuttoned, my shirt fairly torn from my body. It was when they got to the breeches, though, that the pace changed.
“It’s too fine a thing to rush,” said Selwyn.
“Ayer, it is, my love. Perhaps we should sit back and let him reveal his manhood to us.”
“His manhood and the pretty pink rose I’m sure he has buried deep between a pair of fine, downy buttocks.”
“Ayer, you’re a poet, love.”
Not wishing to disappoint them, I lit the bedside candle and slowly unbuttoned my breeches. When the last button was undone, my breeches fell to the ground to reveal a linen tent perpendicular to my groin. Selwyn and Davith expressed their admiration with a single sigh.
“Don’t tease us so, Dickey. Show’t us!”
I undid the linen undergarment and let it, too, fall to my knees, my member jutting straight before me, a drop of honey glistening at the tip of the gland.
“That’s lovely, that is.”
“Now show us the rest, Dickey. Let us see that pink rose I know must be buried there.”
Always one to be compliant, I turned my back to them and bent over, spreading my legs as far apart as I could.
“Oh, beautiful, beautiful, Dickey. I must have that, and now….”
The next thing I knew, I was bent over my bed, my trousers and linen in a pile around my boots, as Davith and Selwyn took turns spitting on, and caressing, the orifice they had praised so highly. And then I felt Davith’s extraordinary manhood enter me, ever so slowly. I winced but said nothing, not wanting to delay the joy that was to follow. Meanwhile, Selwyn sat next to me on the bed and kissed me, continually filling my mouth with his tongue. I found myself lost in his kiss, and was hardly aware of the moment when Davith’s fleshy sword was fully sheathed inside me. He called out something in his native Welsh as he rocked back and forth, in and out of me, filling me and then leaving me almost empty, abandoned, until he once again pressed his rod deep inside me. I was swept up by the euphoria of lost virginity, only aware of the joy that coursed through my veins, as the rocking increased in speed and force, his hips hitting hard against me, his bollocks slapping against my arse.
Selwyn continued to kiss me, occasionally calling out encouragement to Davith.
“What a fine stallion, you are, Davith, and what a man, too. Oh, Dickey, if you could only see what I can see. Oh, there it is, he’s passed the precipice, he’s going to fly.”
Davith slammed into me once again, nearly splitting me in two as he cried out in his native tongue.
“What a fine arse this is, love. Oh, wait until you’ve had it.”
Selwyn and Davith exchanged places and I was once again pierced, though this time more easily, wet as I was with sweat and Davith’s seed. Selwyn did not bother to allow me to become accustomed to the breadth and girth of his manhood, as Davith had done. He plowed into me again and again, laughing out loud as he did so. He bucked against me, fast and furious, with no thought for anyone’s pleasure but his own, which is the sort of quality one looks for in a partner when one is sporting in the flesh.
“Here it comes, Dickey,” said Davith. “His face is all in a bunch and that can only mean—”
Selwyn screamed and screamed loud. I felt his phallus pulse inside me as it spent itself, spilling uncounted seed where they would never grow. With another scream he disengaged and collapsed next to us on the bed. I looked at Davith with concern for his lover.
“Oh, it’s nothing Dickey. Everyone at Bear’s Head knows Selwyn for a screamer.”
“I see,” I said attempting to stand, feeling cream seep from my loins as I did so.
“Oh, you’ll be needing clean linen afore bed, Dickey.”
“As will we all, Davy. But now why don’t you do our Dickey a good turn, as only you know how?”
Davith smiled and knelt before me. He looked up at me, kissed the head of my still-hard shaft, then opened his mouth and swallowed me whole, his dark, bearded face rubbing against my smooth, ginger groin. Never had I felt such sensation, such bliss! My back arched, my hips bucked, Davith holding tightly onto my buttocks, as I sought my release from a pleasure so intense that I feared I might swoon. And then it was my turn to scream: I erupted as I had never erupted before, burst after burst of milky seed exploding from my solar plexus, all of it eagerly swallowed by Davith. When I finally collapsed back onto the bed it was amid their laughter.
