English Lads

by Adam Carpenter

  “Yes, Hunter can be quite seductive,” Sandy said.

  “Again, my thanks.”

  As Jake got up to leave, Sandy also rose and followed him to the door. Both men paused, one ready to go, the other obviously with something on his mind.

  “Are you headed home now, Jake.”

  “Yes. Some work I need to finish on the new chapter.”

  “A novel, yes? I look forward to reading it when it’s published. For now, though, maybe I offer you a ride back to Putney?” he asked.

  “What for?”

  “A business meeting on the other side of London requires my time, so I figured since we’re both going that way, you may as well hitch a ride. Awful day outside, no reason to walk.”

  Jake wanted to say no, he’d take the tube, but he knew to reject Sandy would be mean. He’d been upfront and honest, ably assisting Jake with the money laundering, if you wanted to call a spade a spade. Also, the sad, longing look in Sandy’s eyes made Jake feel bad for him. He was obviously feeling neglected since Hunter had stopped sleeping with him, and clearly there was no satisfaction back at home with his wife. Jake recalled that day poolside when he and Sandy and Hunter had indulged their champagne-fueled fantasies, how he had seen a whole other side to the stuffy banker, and by that he didn’t mean his hairy backside. He knew that Sandy was as trapped as Jake, they were who they were, creatures of habit and control, who rarely let go their inhibition. Life had a way of leading them rather than the other way around.

  Outside they went into the August rain, Jake following Sandy to the waiting black limousine, a familiar man standing with the rear door open. It was Charles the Chauffeur from the Newbury train station, and now Jake realized it was Sandy whom Hunter had called that night. Was there no end to the way Hunter Abbott used the people around him—his friends, his sister, Patsy, the lovers he picked and tossed aside as readily as he fucked them. Both men got into the back of the limo. Charles sat up front and soon they pulled away from the curb. The partition separating driver from passenger was up, and along with the tinted windows there was a feeling of claustrophobia inside the expansive seats.

  “Nice way to travel around London,” Jake said.

  “A benefit of life with my wife,” Sandy said, and with a wistful tone to his voice added, “Money is not our problem.”

  “We all have situations in life we don’t like.”

  “There are plenty of things to like, also,” Sandy said, and with that he leaned forward again, planting his lips on Jake’s mouth. The quick move was not unlike the one he’d made that day on the bridge at Voignier House, but this time he’d slipped in faster, taking Jake by surprise. Jake tried to pull back, but the man’s hold on him was strong, and for a second those muscular arms of Sandy’s flashed into his mind. He might be slight of stature, but he packed hidden strength. A picture of Sandy’s naked, hairy body came to him, stimulating Jake into returning the deep, soulful kiss. He knew this was the wrong thing to be doing, sex was never an answer to loneliness, and sex with someone even slightly connected to Hunter was an even worse idea. Still, Jake’s cock was responding as expected.

  Sandy’s hand wound its way down to Jake’s jeans, pulling down the zipper. Jake wanted to stop him, but then he remembered how well Sandy had sucked his cock before, and right now he was feeling that this was exactly what he wanted. Handling the stolen money had turned him on. He wanted to feel the warmth of a hot mouth, a probing tongue all over his shaft, his throbbing head. Jake shuffled out of his jeans, allowing his hungry cock to pop up. He’d never had sex in a car before, much less a limousine. He knew no one could see them, and so he just leaned back, closed his eyes, and allowed Sandy to take his cock inside his waiting mouth.

  “Ahhh,” Jake said, exhaling, enjoying the warmth that spread from his hardened cock to the rest of his body.

  Sandy bent down, taking the entire shaft into his mouth, sucking, licking, deep-throating. Tongue wrapped around his head, probing at the eyelet, fingers caressing hairy balls, Sandy’s actions intensified as their desire grew. Each suck went deeper, harder, and Jake could feel the pressure begin to build already, and he felt like he was going to come. Just then Sandy released his cock, rubbing it against the harsh five o’clock shadow that coated his heavy beard. The feeling was rough, but Jake responded with an eager grown. Sandy stroked it again, against his cheeks and his chin, before slipping the cock once again into his mouth.

  Jake pushed Sandy’s head further down on his cock, helping him bob, up, down, suck, suck, more, more, slurping at the hardened shaft. Just then Jake felt that familiar pressure return, and he announced that he was about to shoot his load. Sandy only sucked harder, his hand taking hold of the shaft while his tongue licked at the head, his mouth locked on the cock. Jake let out a sharp cry, felt his cock expand. Come shot out of him, with Sandy lapping up each drop, taking each spurt. He sucked, sucked again, draining Jake dry of his load. At last he pulled the cock out of his mouth, happily licking his lips as he did so.

  “You’re a hell of a cock-sucker, Sandy,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, I love to do that. But you know what I like more?”

  Jake saw the wanting expression on his face.

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “You don’t have a business appointment, do you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Jake pushed the button which sent the partition down.

  “Charles,” Jake said, “could you take us to Deodar Road in Putney? Many thanks.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, yes, Charles. As Mr. Westbury suggests.”

  The partition slid back up, sealing Jake and Sandy inside the rear of the limo, both of them suddenly eager, hungry, for a new kind of deposit. They hoped the traffic was too terribly bad this time of day.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The early tease that led to total satisfaction counted among Jake’s favorite parts. The first hint, first taste, of sex, the notion that more awaited him, the anticipation nearly as intoxicating as the climax. Undoing the silk tie, he caught his first glimpse of the dark hair that he knew covered the man’s chest, and he was all the more excited at the prospect of rediscovering it one button at a time. Jake pulled at the soft material, sliding the tie out from beneath the shirt collar. Then he unbuttoned the vest from the top on down, slipping it off his strong shoulders. The dress shirt quickly came next, button after button after button undone, the stark contrast of bright white cotton against the thick dark pelt nearly taking his wanton desires to new, mind-swirling heights. He tore off the rest of the shirt, exposing the full furry chest and flat, hairy belly. Thick whorls rode up his shoulder blades and onto his shoulders. He ran his fingers through the luxuriously thick hair, his tongue searching out hidden nipples beneath all that hair. Lunging his face into the fur, he lapped, licked, sucked, ate, smelling musk, tasting cologne.

  “Yeah, lick my furry chest, I know how bad you want it. Jeez, you’ve got a hell of hair fetish, you know that?”

  “I know it, you know it. Perfectly hairy, how you feed my fetish,” he said.

  The man dropped the rest of his clothes right there in the living room, pants joining shirt and jacket and tie on the floor. Jake dropped hard to his knees and began to suck at the man’s cock, taking every inch into his mouth to the point where his thick pubes were threatening to slide up his nostrils. Eager fingers snaked around his balls, cupping them, following the hairy trail from his crotch to his ass, plunging his middle one deep inside him. The man arched his back, crying out in a delightful mix of pain and pleasure. He urged him on, another finger, a give me another, a third, push now, hard, deep. Jake did everything that he begged for before finally releasing his cock from his mouth and shoving him on to the floor. Turning him over, he thrust his fiery tongue deep into the furry, dark crevice of his tight ass, licking and eating, devouring the man’s entire hole with fierce determination. The tip of his tongue entered him hard, and he cried
out again, again.

  “Oh, more, I need you now…please, please, Jake…fuck me, and fuck me hard.”

  Jake was ready to comply. He readied his cock with a waiting condom, swiped a few drops of lube, and then he pushed at the furry, hungry entrance. The ass was welcoming as it nearly sucked Jake’s hard cock deep inside him. He thrust hard, harder still, his groans loud and passionate and uncontrollable, desire fueling his every move, his every desperate push. The slap of his hard balls against that ass only encouraged him, and he continued to pound, pound, pound, hands reaching up to grab wildly at the thick tufts on the man’s exposed back. He pulled and he screamed, and he fucked and he pounded.

  “Harder, harder, more Jake, more…more.”

  * * *

  Sandy Berenson was just as Jake had imagined, an unleashed animal in bed. Furry as a bear, he just liked to be fucked deep in the ass whenever and wherever possible. Since that initial blow job in the limo, Jake and Sandy had been sucking and fucking as often as they could. Quickie cock sucking in his locked office when Jake came to deposit more cash, a hard screw in the back of the limo, and now, for the sixth night in a row, urgent couplings at Jake’s flat. Take that Jennie and Steven, with their frequent sex and thin walls.

  “Yeah, take my cock Sandy, you like it…yeah, I love to fuck my furry boy.”

  Jake pulled out before he could come, he wasn’t ready to rest. He wanted Sandy on his bed, he wanted his legs in the air and he wanted to pound him into the mattress, leave him satiated, satisfied, sore. He lifted Sandy up, and together both men made quick motions to the bedroom, and once there, they began kissing passionately, tongues exploring, teeth gnashing, bodies rolling around atop the blankets, Jake’s hands exploring his hairy friend’s body. From the thick black pelt on his chest to the belly full of hair, to his shoulders and back and ass, it was like feeling up a gorilla, and Jake, hairy man enthusiast that he was, was indulging his fetish with every grab, every pull, every lick of the man’s furry torso.

  He threw Sandy on to his back and lifted those hairy legs. They wrapped around Jake’s ass as his pulsing cock made for penetration. Both men gazed at each other, and knowing that this was all purely physical, that they had promised no emotional attachment, this was release, this was desire, this was indulgence of the most urgent, most beastly fashion. Jake, in one fluid motion, shoved his hardened cock into Sandy’s ass. Sandy cried out. Jake fucked him, hard, hard, hard, hard, each thrust slapping the bed against the wall, the noise loud, violent, and aggressive. Neither man was deterred. Jake’s cock was hungry for that furry body, he couldn’t get enough of it, and while he fucked him he grabbed and he pulled and Sandy cried with fury.

  At last Jake felt his cock begin its ascent toward orgasm.

  He thrust.

  Sandy cried out.

  He pounded.

  Sandy screamed.

  He plowed.

  Sandy urged him, pleaded, begged.

  Hot come raced out of Sandy’s cock first, and seconds later Jake was shooting hit load deep inside him. Each man continued their violent motions, rocking the bed, wanting each drop to shoot and slide and slip and drip out of them. When finally their cocks were silenced and their breathing began to return to normal, Jake allowed himself to plant a kiss on Sandy. On the lips, with passion, all while his hands brushed at the thick pelt of his chest. He kissed the chest then, enjoying the furry feeling on this tongue.

  “God, I can’t get enough of your hairy body,” Jake said, running his hand beneath the thick carpet.

  “I’m glad you like it so much. That you are getting as much as you can, while you can.”

  Jake felt those potent words penetrate his mind, invade their intimate world. He slid off his lover, resting on his back while staring up at the ceiling.

  Sandy cuddled beside him. “I’m sorry, Jake. But we both know this is just temporary.”

  “I know. It’s just…it’s the first time either of us said it. You know, out loud.”

  All of Jake’s monetary deposits had been accomplished two weeks ago, but that had not stopped Jake Westbury and Sandford Berenson from continuing their fresh, torrid relationship. And it hadn’t all been sexual between them, the two sharing quiet dinners at fine London restaurants, or just casually knocking back a few pints at various neighborhood pubs. As Sandy explained, his wife was away in Majorca for the month of August, just as she did every summer, busy sunning herself by day, dining at night, shopping away the family fortune when she could. Which left Sandy alone in London all month long, living a carefree bachelor existence until her return. Jake was enjoying himself too, since he knew his English adventure was nearly at an end, and as much as he was looking forward to reuniting with Matt and Freddie back in New York and to hear about their trips, he also felt bittersweet about the end of his.

  To say his trip had started on a note of high drama would be an understatement, right down to the lost passport incident at JFK, but since he’d rid himself of the twisted, dependent world of Hunter Abbott and all the trouble he brought, Jake had actually enjoyed all London had on offer. The weather had mostly cooperated, the sights, attractions and museums had been amazing, and his unexpected, passionate fling with Sandy had been a bonus. Now, as he lay beside him contemplating the future at hand, he realized there was still one thing he didn’t have the whole story on. Sandy had opened Pandora’s Box this time, exposing the end of their affair.

  “So, Sandy, besides the five percent cut you got from me, why did you want to help me?”

  “Ah, truth time, I see. Well, I had several reasons,” Sandy said. “First, I liked you, and I most certainly enjoyed our time that day at Voignier House’s pool, and I supposed in the back of my mind I wanted to see what sex would be like with just you. Without the pressure of…”

  “Hunter.”

  “That cock.”

  “It is intimidating,” Jake said, and both men laughed at the ridiculous topic of talk.

  “With Nevil and Hunter reuniting so dramatically and so intensely, I knew it was only a matter of time before Hunter had no further use for me—sexually. Sure, I remain his banker, but for a man with no sustainable income, that doesn’t call for much actual banking. If sister Patsy isn’t paying his bills, then Nevil is.”

  “A patsy of a different sense,” Jake said.

  Sandy laughed out loud. “True, true. But the guy makes a fortune as a bookie, and he will continue to do so as the racing season gears up again. Be thankful you won’t be around to witness it. Makes them both crazy, which of course is what leads to their problems. Still, his being back with Nevil makes Hunter less reliant on his sister and her fortune.”

  “Always depending on others, that’s our Hunter.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Sandy said, “but in answer to your question, ultimately I guess I helped you because those two boys needed a lesson. You see, they’ve broken up numerous times over the past several years, and each time they do, the war escalates between them. The 50,000 pound debt was the icing on the cake, Hunter’s biggest stunt to date. I think it was Hunter’s odd way of truly testing Nevil’s devotion to him. And trust me, it’s more devotion than love…or lust. They are co-dependent, and they make each other happy until they are making each other—and those around them—miserable. So, you got caught up in their little scheme, their petty, but big-stakes game of one-upmanship. I have to say, I rather think you came out spectacularly well in the end. After all, they are poorer for renewing their relationship, and you are 50,000 pounds richer. A nice bit of cash for one summer, I might add.”

  “But it’s not what I came to London for. To get richer.”

  Sandy leaned over, kissing Jake’s chest, his erect nipple, nuzzling his neck with the shadow of his heavy beard. “Riches, my boy, don’t always come in the form of money, my fair American.”

  “Says the banker,” Jake said. “But what do you mean?”

  “Do you ever think, Jake Westbury, that you put too much pressure on yourself?”
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  “I repeat—what do you mean?”

  “The fact that you don’t know the underlying truth says much,” Sandy said. “Look, Jake, you took a three month sojourn to London—in the summer yet, a time most people think is for rest and relaxation—and not only did you tell yourself that you would fall in love—a monumental task to begin with, but when you make such a declaration it just raises the stakes. It sets you up to fail. I learned also that you came to write a book, which for most people would take years of effort and struggle, and yet you think you’ll get it done before you leave. So, I ask you, with such a plan, how are you supposed to rest, relax?”

  “What’s wrong with having a plan?”

  “Because you’re so busy sticking to your plan, you miss out on the simple pleasures. If you’re so busy sticking to your well thought out schedule, you’re missing out on life’s joyful spontaneity. Certainly neither of us could have predicted when we unceremoniously met that day in Hyde Park that our relationship would become…this. Hate me for saying it, but Hunter has a point—to a point. Go with the flow, see where life takes you. It can’t all be controlled.”

  “He thinks so. And besides, I think I’ve indulged in my share of pleasure,” Jake said. “I think I’ve let my guard down a lot—and look at what happens when I do.”

  “Yes, but the point is that you did indeed let go, at least for awhile. Your life with Hunter at Voignier House, what was that but pure fantasy, and certainly not planned? From what you’ve told me, sex has not exactly been lacking on this trip, so you had to have realized at some point the old adage ‘if it’s Monday, it must be laundry day’ doesn’t always work. But is that what you really came to London for? The only time you let yourself deviate from your plan was when sex was being offered. What about that creed of yours, no more one-nighters?”