by G. A. Hauser
Mark reluctantly found a looking glass. “Oh, this is pitiful! Feminine. Yes, I look like a bloody tart!”
Richard stood behind him, pressing his hardness into Mark's bottom, leering over his shoulder at him in the mirror. “You look divine. Positively edible.”
“I look like a woman!” Mark reached to tug it off.
The shopkeeper hurried to take the wig before it was damaged.
“I draw the line, Richard. Please respect my feelings.”
“All right, my beauty. New shoes?”
Peering down, Mark noticed his old ones did seem a bit worn. “Yes. All right then.”
* * * *
After the shopping excursion, they sat in a pub to enjoy a beer and light snack. Mark overheard a conversation behind them. Some English astronomer had calculated elliptical orbits of comets. Halley? What did he say? Edmond Halley? Mark leaned over his ale to ask Richard, “What's a comet?”
Richard tilted his head at the unusual enquiry, disregarding it with a wave of his hand. Richard mirrored him until they were nose to nose. “You are so remarkable looking. Do you realize what you do to me?”
Mark leaned back instantly and took a gander around, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. The noise level masked everything but their obvious body language.
“Come back here, you Ganymede,” Richard purred.
“Who?” Mark's eyes once again became wide.
“You are so naïve and innocent. It is a far contrast to those lush looks of yours.”
“Yes, but...” Mark leaned over once again to whisper discreetly, “You must be careful.”
“Yes. I know.” Richard smiled.
“Do you like women?”
“No, not really.” Richard whispered back, “Do you?”
“Yes, I think I do. I've had little experience in any type of physical touch, Richard. I'm such a novice. There was no one down on the farm to play with.” Mark recalled rubbing his face into the ample bosom of this boy's mother and went into a deep blushing shade of red.
“Women?” Richard drew back at first as if he was insulted but soon his expression straightened out to complete control. “We should head back now. Mother will be waiting.”
Wondering if Richard had read his thoughts, Mark finished his ale in a gulp. “I don't mind if we take pleasure together, Richard. Honestly. There is something heavenly about touching both. Don't you agree?”
Spinning back to catch his gaze, Richard's lips parted. “Where did you come from, Mark Antonious?”
“How on earth did you learn my middle name?” It shocked and mortified him. It was a secret! No one was to know it. It didn't sound English. It horrified him that somehow it had gotten out.
Richard grinned in his demonic way. “I know many things about you, my love. Come. Let's go.”
* * * *
When Mark stepped into the manor house, he found his Uncle David appeared more unsettled than ever. Mark wanted to speak to him in private to ask him why. On his way to do just that, Gabriel intercepted him. “Come, my lovely boy. Come and have tea with me for a moment.”
Mark resisted her pulling at first to gaze back at Uncle David to see if he approved. “Uncle?” Mark asked meekly.
But his uncle's eyes merely turned away.
Like a whore in heat, Gabriel's clutching, chubby hand dragged him into the sitting room. The harpsichord had a sheet covering it. The late afternoon sunlight poured into the room, little sparkles of light shimmered as the rays flickered over the gilded trim.
“Sit, sit.” She gestured to the settee and made herself comfortable next to him making sure both his hands were clasped in hers and on her satin and lace lap. Pausing a moment to stare into his eyes, she whispered, “My adorable cousin, I have had a long discussion with your uncle and we both feel it is for the best that you stay and get a taste of London life. You are too isolated on the farm in Newbury and lack the culture and style London can offer you.”
Mark tried very hard to hide this excitement, biting his lip to stop his glee. Suddenly realizing he was squeezing her hands mercilessly, Mark released that iron grip. “But what of Uncle David?” he whispered, a lump coming to his throat.
“I have offered him a few hired men to help him whilst you are here with me. When you return, you can resume your normal life there, if you wish.”
Return? Did she think he would be content on a farm after experiencing the lush wealth that the Holloway family had offered?
It appeared as if Gabriel was struggling to read his mind. “What are you thinking, my sweet?”
“Then he approves?”
She smiled tightly. “He said it is up to you.”
“Did he?” Mark doubted that very much. Was she making this up as she went along so she may keep coming to his bed? “He actually told you it was I who would make this decision?” When she nodded, Mark continued, “Why do I have an impossible time imagining that line coming out of Uncle David's mouth?”
“My luscious young man. You must decide.”
“May I speak with him?”
Her smile dipped as she hesitated. Releasing one of his hands, she reached out and caressed his long, soft hair.
In the pause that followed, Mark expected her lips to make contact on his own. He wasn't disappointed. Closing his eyes as her tongue wrapped around his, Mark groaned softly as it lingered. Anxious fingers pressed against where he'd grown hard.
When she parted, her lids were at half-mast, her voice smoky and sensual. “I would like it if you stayed, Mark.”
“Ah...” he moaned at the passion she ignited in him. Her hands molded him where he had hardened down one leg of his breeches.
Seeming to sense he was still undecided, she reached behind Mark's head and pushed his face into her exposed cleavage. “Say you will stay.”
Hands lifted in the air for balance, he grunted and pressed his lips against that delightful crease that separated those two large, velvety mounds. Mark knew if anything touched him, he would explode in his pants.
“Come, let us announce that you have decided to stay.”
Disoriented and flustered beyond his experience, his new shoes scuffed the flooring and dragged an area rug with him for a few paces. Gabriel clutched his hand and hauled him along with her defiantly.
Uncle David, Richard, Margaret, Peter, and now even handsome MP Thomas were there waiting for them.
As Mark made his awkward entrance, Richard was the first to notice his state. Mark was humiliated, his face flushed and hot, his posture not its usual crisp stance, and the large mound under his pewter buttons could not be overlooked. Mortified at the way this would appear, Mark would have appreciated a moment to get himself together. It was all happening too quickly and he was more than a page behind. “Sorry, wait, could I just—”
“Mark would like to make an announcement.” Gabriel nudged him front and center.
Uncle David was in the midst of a growl of resentment.
“Please...” Mark tried to slow it all down. “Uncle David. Can we have a word?”
Mark spied Gabriel. She couldn't hide her disappointment.
In a huff, Uncle David followed him to a quiet conservatory. It viewed the modest back garden and the large homes that were built up to it. Mark invited his uncle to sit, pacing before him, his hands drawn back behind him and clasped. Finally Mark stopped and addressed him. “Tell me what to do, Uncle.”
Uncle David's face hardened even further.
“Please. I am helpless to make a decision without you.”
Uncle David sat heavily on a wrought iron chair and rested his head in his hand.
A sob exploded from Mark as he knelt before him and reached for him over his lap. “Please ... help me. I am so lost, Uncle.”
Gently, Uncle David patted Mark's head, a very sad smile on his lips. “I never would have admitted Gabriel could be right in this, lad. But, I'm afraid she is. Maybe you need to grow up and to make a man out of yourself. Is it possible we have babied
you too much on that farm?”
From the warmth of his uncle's lap, Mark raised his head and stared at this man who he loved like a father. “Without you? Without Auntie Katie?”
“Yes, lad.” David wiped at Mark's tears as they spilt. “You can always come back. You know we would never turn you away. Spend a month here. Take it a day at a time. We are only a two days’ journey away.”
“And she will provide you with help?” Mark needed some reassurance.
“She will.” With a dry callused hand, he caressed Mark's face affectionately.
Mark lay his head down on his lap once more and cried. “I will miss you.”
“Nonsense, lad. We are just a coach ride away.”
* * * *
Mark tried to hide his red-rimmed eyes, but he knew Gabriel noticed. She stood in anger, assuming he had cried when denied the right to stay.
Thomas spoke first. “What is it to be, David?”
With his arm around his nephew in a tight adoring squeeze, David said, “He's decided to stay here with you. A month for starters, if that is acceptable.”
Trying not to cry, Mark looked up to see four sets of eyes brightened in amazement. Richard let a chuckle slip out before he could cover it up with his hand.
Gabriel rushed to Mark and reached up to cup his face. “I am so pleased. Why, then, beautiful young man, do you look so sad?”
Mark bit his lip to try and prevent more tears. “I am not sad. I am overjoyed.”
Thomas rose to his feet. “A drink! To celebrate!”
The servant hurried out to get a bottle of wine.
Twisting away from Gabriel's grasp, Mark lowered his face shyly. “Please excuse me for a moment.”
Wondering whether he was making the right decision, Mark scuffed his paste-buckle shoes down the hall and ended up in the sitting room. He plopped down at the bench behind the harpsichord and slumped over. It was what he had dreamed of. Why wasn't he happy? He did want to live here. What was there at the farm for him? Hog excrement? He would have grown resentful. But Uncle David and Auntie Katie were his only parents. He adored them. If he hurt either of them, he would never forgive himself.
A rustle of fabric caused him to raise a weary head. Margaret stood at the doorway, looking like the picture of purity. Mark wiped at his wet eyes roughly, feeling completely humiliated to be so weak in front of a fifteen year old, one who in his mind had more sophistication in her little dainty pinky finger than he hoped to attain in a lifetime.
Without a word of acknowledgement, she stood behind the harpsichord and slid off the cover letting it fall to the floor in a soundless pile. Sitting beside him at the bench, she started playing a slow, soft tune, full of yearning and sadness.
Lifted on the melody like a dream, Mark closed his eyes and let the music surround him, mellow him, seduce him.
Suddenly Margaret attached herself to his mouth and tumbled them off the bench and onto the floor. Mark's hands raised in the air like he was the victim of a stagecoach robbery and a pistol was pointed at his chest.
He knew if someone came in and witnessed this, his visit would end as quickly as it had begun. Twisting to the side, he removed his lips from hers. “No! Margaret, you must get up! This cannot occur!”
With a sense of urgent panic, he backed her off and jumped to his feet, reaching to get her to stand and look respectable. “You are fifteen!” he shouted. And I am not pleasing one more member of the Holloway family!
A pain shot through him when from the corner of his eye he felt a presence. Seeing it was just the servant announcing dinner, Mark felt so much relief he almost passed out.
Margaret waited for the old man to leave, sending a wicked smile at Mark. “I am so glad you are staying.” Her hips swayed sensually as she sauntered out, peering over her shoulder at him like she had been in her twenties and this seduction was acceptable.
“No ... no ... NO! Margaret, I tell you, no!” He raced after her.
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Three
Mark knew his uncle would stay for the week, then he would leave him there. Good or bad? Good, right? Freedom, wealth, sex ... Sex!
Mark sat up in bed. The curtains tied back on the bedposts so he could see both doors plainly. Is this how it would be? Was he expected to do this every night?
First he closed his eyes, rubbing them tiredly. It was stuffy in the room tonight. It smelled of dust. The nightshirt seemed like a skin of fur. Lifting it over his head, he felt the coolness of a draft moving through some crack in a leaded windowpane. A tiny flame still burned next to him and the shadows danced over the patterned walls in a ghostly minuet of shapes, two by two. The double shadow intrigued him. Being over-tired had taken its toll. His lids started falling and soon he was in a dream.
Music was playing, drawing him out of the bed. The stairs were narrow and vague. His hands ran against the walls to guide him. That melody, he recognized it. Humming it in his head as he walked, he imagined Margaret's silhouette, her long hair curling down her narrow back. Her voice was the call of the nightingale.
“Mark?”
He grunted, only half believing he was hearing his name.
“Mark ... lover...”
“Oi?” He squinted.
“Are you ready for me?”
Obediently, Mark rolled to his stomach and spread his legs. His ass was caressed and greased lovingly and a loud, masculine purr reached his ears.
With the penetration, Mark was now wide awake. An arm lifted his hips high into the air and Mark leaned up on his elbows as he was toyed with and teased.
Richard came inside him and then seemed to focus on pleasing Mark. When it hit, Mark clenched his jaw to prevent shouting out.
A butterfly kiss touched his shoulder blade as he was released from the embrace. They both stood at the basin to wash up before climbing back to bed.
When they heard a light scratching at the door, Mark froze and hid under the covers dreading seeing Gabriel. It was all a mess. A terrible mess.
“Master Mark?” a servant called in a hoarse whisper.
Mark knew immediately the head of the house was summoning.
“Why does the servant call to you?” Richard asked, full of suspicion.
Mark bit his lip. “Uh, I have to take medication in the night.” He knew it was a horrible tale, but nothing else came to mind.
“Are you ill?”
“No! I mean, yes, but not very.” Mark climbed out of the bed and found his nightshirt.
“I had no idea.” Richard sat up and stared at him.
“You needn't worry. I can't spread it. It isn't like that.”
“Can I wait for you?”
“Could we meet tomorrow? I'll be awfully tired.”
Richard seemed to melt at Mark's words. “Yes, of course.”
Feeling like a thief in the night, Mark followed the old servant down the hall, glancing back at the door that held his uncle. What would Uncle David do if he knew what was going on? Surely he would go completely mad.
The door was opened and the same feeling penetrated his bones. How could it be thrilling and petrifying at once? This was a Member of Parliament, a man of power, handsome, fit, craving him! Only with Thomas did he feel the pressure to perform. Richard and Gabriel were playtime.
A sensation washed over him that somehow this was his destiny. His calling. Everyone excelled at something. Maybe pleasing people in this way was what he was placed on this earth for. It seemed natural. He had no regrets, loved the work, and knew nothing else he'd rather do.
Could he do this and continue to have his clothing paid for? A roof over his head? Fed sumptuous meals? Were there men who did this for a living? Should he ask someone if this was considered a proper job? This was London! Here these things were acceptable. They must be. Everyone in this house was doing it.
“Come here, my beauty.” Thomas reached out to him.
Mark approached and climbed onto the foot of
his bed with the casualness of someone who has some power and influence and can do as they like. He curled his knees under him and tilted his head seductively. “Why do you not sleep with your wife? Uncle David sleeps with his.”
A pleasant smile grew on Thomas’ lips. “When you are wealthy enough to have separate rooms, you'll savor your peace and quiet.”
Mark absorbed that information just as if he were at his lessons. “Will I be wealthy then?”
“Come here.” Again the hand beckoned him closer.
Mark shimmied over the quilt to Thomas, yet still just a fingertip away. “How old are you?”
Pausing, Thomas replied, “I am thirty-eight, why?” When Mark didn't answer, Thomas requested, “Take off your nightshirt.”
Obeying at once, Mark didn't even hesitate to raise it over his head. As it lay crumpled beside him Mark asked, “Is this my vocation?”
The expression that followed the question was unreadable to Mark. It was somewhere between hilarity and astonishment.
“Come here. Closer so I may touch you.” Those large, masculine fingers reached and curled like they were each little asps.
Mark slid closer. Now the little serpents could lick him with their tiny tongues.
As soon as Thomas could get his hands around Mark's shoulders, he drew him near enough to taste. With his eyes closed, Mark could feel that warm, dry palm smoothing down his side and hip hungrily. He nuzzled into Thomas’ neck. “You did not answer my question.”
“No. How am I expected to answer a question so unusual?” Thomas made little kisses down his forehead and nose to his mouth.
Mark opened his lips to receive him and tasted the wine Thomas had drunk. Mark surrendered. What else was there to do? He loved being touched like this. Like he was an object of so much desire no one could resist him. As if he were a satin doll, he would lie back and be caressed, handled, sucked and ultimately, fucked. Could life be any grander?
And these were the Holloways! Influential, powerful, wealthy!
Oh, I must be made of velvet the way I am being stroked. Mark was so hard he ached for the release. Richard was too hungry for the act and let nothing build. For him the sooner he drove inside the better. But what Richard didn't understand was this play before hand. This gradual rising of the pleasure. It was so much richer than that simple act of pushing in. Would Richard allow Mark to slow him down? He doubted it. Besides, he was not the master in any of these encounters, only the eager slave. He did not care how each liked it. Mark was happy to please. And they did please him. Each one in their own manner. An evil smile played on his lips as he kept his favorite to himself.