Young Jesse At Petersham Hall

        I grabbed my cap from the coat rack in the front hall without attempting to slow my mad dash towards the door. I skidded across the last few feet of marble flooring as a skier would brake his speed and grabbed for the door.

I was bloody late.

I glanced back at the hall floor as I pulled the door to behind me. Mrs. Kitchens was going to be miffed - there were skid marks from the hall stand to the door. I didn't have time. I started for the Bentley that was waiting for me.

"M'Lord," a young voice greeted me as I passed the west hedge. A young American voice. The incongruity of an American on the grounds of Petersham Hall in Northamptonshire in 1938 stopped my headlong rush immediately.

I spotted the ladder immediately and followed it up with my eyes until I was staring at the legs of a lad I didn't know. Long legs, thighs that filled his tight blue trousers - no! These were those denim things from America. Levi-something, I remembered then. The American jobber who had come by the plant last month called them "blue jeans". Trousers designed by an American Jew for American cowboys. These fitted the lad like a second skin. Especially across the bum.

I allowed myself to wonder if the lad actually dared not to wear an undergarment beneath his jeans. As tight as the trousers appeared, I doubted he did. I wondered how he had made it up the rungs of the ladder.

Such things would never make an in-road in the British market. They were simply impractical - and Britons had always been a sensible, practicable people. The Italians, however - with half the males thinking themselves gigolos-in-waiting ...

Before I could force my eyes above his rounded and sculpted backside, I remembered who he was. Mrs. Kitchens' nephew. Jesse something. From America. She had begged me to take him on for the summer while most of the estate workers were planting. He would be at university in the autumn. Petersham may well have become industrial in father's hands but this bloody lingering depression had taught me my agricultural roots well now I was Baron.

And I was supposed to be at the plant in Coventry at the moment. I was thirty minutes late and that was if I drove like the wind and didn't find myself stuck behind a lorry.

"It looks good, Jesse," I told him, thinking more of his backside than the hedge, and pivoted - and resumed my rush to the motorcar.

* * *

The wireless played Tommy Dorsey's Sentimental Journey as I neared Petersham Hall. I was still solvent. One of Josef Stalin's commissars only last month placed an order for a thousand tractors and paid in advance. I thought, to celebrate, Cook might well serve up something a bit more tasty than Yorkshire pudding without the meat - and I was bloody tired of kidney pie. Perhaps Beef Wellington?

Of course, I knew what the bloody commissar intended. His lads out on those endless steppes would steal the design and, next year, the bolshies would be making tractors that looked just like Petersham. But duty to one's retainers overrode even solid business considerations. I was responsible for paying my lads and if it took Soviet orders to do so ...

The War Office had also been by. My man at the plant said it appeared to be only a routine inspection-type thing - to see what we could do.

Of course.

As if Hitler goosestepping about Vienna and threatening the Sudetenland didn't mean even Chamberlain wasn't perking up. We could convert to war materiel fast enough and there were enough young blokes out of work in Coventry alone we could be up to speed in no time. His Majesty's checks would always be honoured at Petersham. Definitely. Even lovingly.

I turned the Bentley into the estate and drove slowly up the drive.

Young Jesse was atop the ladder mid-way along the hedgerow. Shirtless! Practically naked. In front of anyone who happened by. What would the women think? And what if the vicar peddled up in search of another hand-out?

And those bloody blue jeans of his! He may as well have had his naked bum sticking out as he leant into snipping at the topmost section of the hedge. There was not one bloody thing left to the imagination!

I rolled to a stop beside the ladder. Mrs. Kitchens' nephew or no, this lad needed to learn to be a civilised Englishman, not some fop selling his bottom on a side street in King's Cross. Bloody cheeky lad, advertising like this!

"I say, young Jesse!" I called up to him through the open roof.

He started and almost lost his balance. My eyes widened and I was opening the door to get to him, though I knew he would have already fallen before I could.

Young Jesse proved to be an agile lad. He grabbed enough branches to steady himself so that he could reach down to the top of the ladder. He had gained the ground and was wiping sweat from his face with a bare arm as I rounded the boot of the motor car.

"Are you all right, lad?" I demanded as I reached him. "You gave me quite a fright."

He smiled impishly. "I think so, Lord Petersham.' He looked down his body and chuckled. "No bones broken at least.'

"You need to be more careful."

"I thought I was-" He grinned. "But you startled me."

I stared at him. I decided immediately he wasn't forgetting his place or even being rude. He simply didn't understand the proper role of a retainer before gentry. I wondered how I had been so blind as to have allowed his aunt to convince me to take him on as summer labour.

I looked him up and down, inspecting for harm - as any gentleman would do.

Young Jesse was a tall lad, almost my six feet. His ginger hair accented his pale English complexion and Irish freckles and made for an exceptionally attractive packet. His chest was wide and smooth, his stomach was tight and slim. A thin, dark red line of hair marched from his navel to inside his denim trousers. With a start, I realised his manhood had become aroused and snaked out to his hip.

My cheeks flushing, I looked back into his face. He was smiling. Like the lad I picked up in King's Cross two years ago - a knowing smile that told me he saw through me. I stepped back. His phallus reached his hip and shoved against the denim for more room. I gulped and flamed brighter.

"You really must wear a vest, lad," I stammered. "Englishmen don't go about nearly naked as you are."

"It's hot, m'Lord." He still grinned broadly at me and I knew now he was playing cat and mouse with me. I would be damned before I would be his mouse.

"Put the bloody thing on, young Jesse. Keep us all happy."

"Including you, m'Lord?"

I stepped back and felt the rear bumper of the Bentley brush my leg. "I think we need to have a talk. Come to my apartments after dinner tonight."

He chuckled. "Yes, m'Lord."

I circled the rear of the motorcar quickly and fell into the driver's seat. "Do a good job, lad," I called to him as I turned on the ignition.

* * *

It was with considerable trepidation that I ate my dinner. With more trepidation I climbed the stairs to my own rooms in Petersham Hall.

I had not spoken with Mrs. Kitchens about her nephew. Just the thought of doing so made my face break out in beads of perspiration.

I had no idea what I was going to say to young Jesse when he arrived at my door. I did not want to be alone with that knowing smile of his - yet, I could not imagine having our conversation in front of anyone.

It wasn't that I was naive about a bit of fun with another lad. I had enjoyed enough backsides in the years since Marlborough. But never - not once - had any of my partners behaved so - so blatantly open as had young Jesse. It was almost as if the lad wanted me to know he was a nancy boy - me and any other male who chanced by. As if he wanted me to be openly so as well.

The lad was my housekeeper's nephew! A bloody member of the commons! From

America! And he would behave as if I wanted him?

I might hire a rentboy. But the lad would be English and know his place. He would most decidedly know mine. Such a lad would leave with his bum well-worked and his wallet several pounds heavier.

So, what was I to say to young Jesse? I was still deciding that when there was a rap at my door.

"M'Lord," he greeted me as I opened the door. I noted with grim satisfaction that he even doffed his cap - though, he really shouldn't have been wearing it inside.

I stood back, holding the door open for him. "Do come in, Jesse." I noticed he was wearing sensible English corduroy trousers this evening.

"I've messed up, haven't I, Sir?" he asked as he entered and I closed the door behind him.

"Other than nearly breaking your bloody neck?" I decided to keep my reprimand light-hearted. As father used to say: if the lad realises he's fouled the water, there's no need to make him wallow in the swill.

"You're going to get on me for having my undershirt off, aren't you, m'Lord?" He hung his head and his toe drew a circle on the carpet. "That - and letting on I was available if you're interested?"

He looked about the sitting room while I wrestled with his last question. He finally snorted. "Hell with that! I wanted you from the moment you came rushing out of the house this morning. Shit! I haven't been properly skewered since I left New York. All they had coming over were nellies who couldn't even get it up without a hard dick in their butts. I need a fuck so bad it hurts."

Blood drained from my face. My hands felt clammy as I gripped them behind my back. This deuced conversation had flown right off its track, and I had thought it going so well.

"Mrs. Kitchens?" I mewled.

"Aunt Kate?" Jesse laughed. "She knows. Everybody in Rye, New York, knows Jesse Hayes likes a big hard one drilling deep in his butt. Mom would tell her older sister something like that."

Oh Gods! I turned paler and wished I had died this morning before this lad found me out.

"You do like to do the plugging, don't you, m'Lord?" he asked suspiciously.

"I-" I pulled myself together. Me being on the defensive with a commoner? Never. No Petersham would allow it. "My word!" I growled, "A gentleman doesn't discuss such things."

He studied me closely for a moment. Then the knowing smile of the afternoon slowly covered his face. "Not in public they don't, m'Lord. But these rooms are private - and we're trying to decide how we're going to spend the rest of the summer. I want you between my legs and keeping me well-skewered."

He reached between us suddenly and his fingers spread across my groin. My brows hid in my hairline as my phallus leapt into arousal. His smile became a leer. "Nice and big, Robert, m'Lord. You're going to keep me filled up all summer long."

I shuddered. And knew it had been far too long since I satisfied my libido. Young Jesse Hayes, in all his American directness, was going to have me. His fingers moved up the front of my trousers, undoing the buttons of my fly, until they reached my belt.

"Where do you want to have me the first time, Bobby?"

"Bobby?" I growled, finding something I could resist. "I'm no bloody village constable-" My belt fell open and both his hands were working under the waist of my undergarment.

He grinned back at me, his face swimming toward mine. "What do you want me to call you in private then?"

"My school chums call me Robbie," I groaned as first one hand and then the other found my manhood.

"So, do you just want me to bend over so you can fuck me here? Or maybe lying on the couch?" He smiled endearingly as his fingers traced me out to my knob and stretched the skin over it. "I like beds, but it's your choice." His other hand moved slowly up the front of my shirt, removing studs as it went. I stared into his eyes, unable to move as I became progressively more au naturel.

Jesse pushed my shirt open and his fingers explored the forest of brown hair that covered my chest and stomach. They quickly found one and then the other of my nipples and I saw him grin as he gave the nearest one a nasty twist. I moaned and my phallus jerked at the shock that ran through me.

I stood before the young American with my shirt spread back onto my shoulders and my trousers and undergarment around my ankles. The fingers of one of his hands splayed across my chest and the other hand gripped my manhood. I barely remembered getting into such a compromised position. I decided the moment could become quite awkward if I protested this late in the day.

Jesse Hayes certainly had no intention of protesting. He dropped before me, his fingers sliding down through my forest into my thatch, as he pulled my member to him. I shuddered as his teeth nibbled at the lace of skin he had pulled over my knob. I moaned as he shoved his tongue through it and it cradled the underside of the crown of my phallus. I sighed in relief as his lips moved along my shaft toward my thatch and he swallowed me whole. Both his hands were firmly on my bum pulling me into him.

Gentry or commons, position no longer mattered. Nine hundred years of breeding was forgotten. We were simply two lads enjoying each other. I pulled back, feeling his tongue slide along the underside of my member as my knob approached the backside of his teeth. I humped forward, pushing past his tonsils into his throat. His fingers moved over my abdomen, onto my backside, and between my thighs. They tugged at my purse. I felt rumbling deep within my jewels and knew my eruption was imminent.

I pulled back, seeking to escape his mouth and tongue and throat working me so well. Jesse grabbed my backside and pulled me deeper into him, burying his nose in my thatch. Muscles stiffened from my toes to my fingertips. I grabbed the back of his head, holding him against me so that I could pump my seed deep in him.

Young Jesse sat back on his haunches and smiled up at me. He kissed my knob and smacked his lips. "That hit the spot, Robbie. But it was only foreplay - I'm ready for the real thing, now we've got both our juices flowing."

I stared back at him - white shirt properly buttoned and mostly in place, brown corduroy trousers again mostly in place but tenting emphatically at the groin, and a face that could be an Irish saint's.

Class lines had been set aside already and the revolution was complete. I was one nude and well-sucked Baron and the lad before me wanted more. We might as well enjoy ourselves properly.

"You're still dressed," I complained.

His smile became a wide grin. "I'll be naked before you get everything off." He reached for my member and nuzzled it with his downy cheek. I'm glad it stays up, baby. I want to get thoroughly used to this thing tonight." He frowned. "How big is your cock, anyway?"

"I don't know."

"I'd figure a good nine inches-" He grinned as he stood. "We'll get around to measuring it tonight sometime."

I pulled my shirt over my arms and watched as young Jesse quickly unbuttoned and shed his shirt, staying even with me. I thought I would thoroughly enjoy nibbling at his nipples as I ploughed him. I waddled to the chair and sat down to pull my shoes and trousers off. He toed his shoes off as he opened his fly and shoved his corduroys over his hips. He stood up in just his socks before I had untied the second shoe.

He had a slim one and not a battering ram as mine was. I thought the bloody thing looked a succulent mouthful, one I would enjoy as I prepared him for my entry. He smiled at me. "You like?" I nodded. "Good. I do like to be sucked before I get fucked."

I cringed at his directness as he crossed the room. "Lead me to your bedroom, m'Lord," he said as his arm went around my shoulder. "I want to show you how good I can make you feel."

Young Jesse sprinted for the bed the moment we were within the bedroom. He threw himself on top of it as I closed the door behind us. Lying back against the pillows, he held his hands out to me. "Come and get me, Robbie."

I sat beside him and his hand was a fist on my member as my fingers found his knee. He spread his legs as my fingers moved up along his thigh. I had reached his jewels when he swivelled around and sucked my knob into his mouth. I gasped in surprised delight.

I leant over him as my fingers encircled his manhood. My lips pressed lightly against his helmeted crown, nibbling at it across its width. His hips humped upward, spreading my lips wide and pushing into my throat. He swallowed me down to the eggs.

Jesse pulled away and pushed all of himself into my throat. He sat up, pulled himself from me, swivelled, and straddled my chest. He grinned down at me as I reached between us and pulled slowly on his member. "Ready for the tightest butt you ever felt around your pole, Robbie?" he asked as he began to inch his backside down my body, trailing glittering pre-ejaculate over the whorls covering my chest.

He reached behind himself without waiting for an answer and gripped my member. His grin broadened. "Oh, yeah! It's good and slick. You're really pumping some slime now, baby."

His knees rode my flanks at the bottom of my ribs. He hiked his arse and began to lower himself as he slowly guided my manhood toward his rear entrance.

His portal opened for me easily, as if my member were a hot knife slicing through butter. "Jesus!" he gasped when my crown was within him. Despite his cry, young Jesse continued to impale himself without hesitation. Inch after inch of my mast rose into him as his backside sank around it.

"You are one ever more big boy, Robbie," he said through gritted teeth when the insides of his arsecheeks spread across my thatch.

"We should stop?" I wondered aloud and tried to remember if that first Marlborough lad had shown similar pain when I accepted his offer of his backside after he had lost our wager.

"No!" young Jesse hissed and ground his hips against me, his legs tightening against me. Inside him, his muscles spasmed, milking me. "Baby, I'm going to have tons of this dick inside me this summer." I felt the hard nut within his tight gut push into my manhood, a jutting hard mast forcing my engorged inflexible member to curve about it. "Oh, yeah!"

His muscles grasped my mast like vice-grips as he lifted his body an inch before dropping back to my pubis. "Oh, Lordy! That does feel good," he moaned, arching his back and staring up at the ceiling above us.

He lifted his backside until most of me was outside of his canal and grinned down at me. And slammed down along me. "Oh, yeah!" he cried to the room as my fingers moved to hold his hips.

Young Jesse had gauged me properly and well. He rose along my shaft until only my knob was embedded in him. He dropped like a weight of stone until his backside was plastered across my thatch. His muscles milked me going and coming. His manhood regained its arousal, plopping across my chest each time he lowered himself on me.

My jewels tightened, my purse closing about its booty and was full.

Not since the night father died had I known this kind of pleasure. Two long years. Two excruciatingly long years of loneliness. Young Jesse Hayes had ended that. And I hoped forever.

His member plopped onto my stomach. His jewels tightened above my abdomen. He impaled himself on me with abandon. I was suddenly aware he knew me better than I knew myself. He was pulling me into orgasm - but in synchronisation with his own. "Do it, love," I called up to him softly. "Do it with me."

He pulled off me and slipped in beside me. I still gasped from the force of my eruption within him. "Tell me I was good, Robbie."

"You were good," I managed, heaving to bring up the air to answer him.

He chuckled. "Tell me that you want my butt the rest of this summer."

"I want-" I wheezed and had no more air to give him.

He nuzzled his cheek. "Okay, Robbie, we'll get together every night then. Just you and me. Every day, though, it's 'm'Lord this and m'Lord that'-" He laughed softly. "We have to keep up appearances, you know."

I nodded, supremely happy this American lad had some sense of propriety about him for all of his abandon.