"That was the best interview I've ever conducted," he smiled up to me. He lowered his legs and pulled me down to him. We kissed tenderly, like we'd been doing it for years.
Chapter 3
"We've established that both of us can be versatile," I stated, "but what's your real preference, Alex?" I moved my broad hand over his sculpted chest and captured an erect nipple between my fingers. He winced but didn't pull away.
"In my brief span of years, I've concluded that my preference is heavily influenced by the man I'm with," Alex answered. "I enjoy pleasing that man, whatever it may entail."
"For instance, Earl Scrope?" I pressed. Alex blanched and began to ask how I knew about that tryst. He smiled, knowing my sources were seemingly capable of finding out anything they wanted.
He sighed and nodded. "Yes. He was the consummate bottom and I loved to pound his ass until we both climaxed. But, alas, it wasn't to be."
"That could have been very ugly," I added, stating the obvious.
"Indeed! I have no idea how she found out, nor how my name was never whispered as his paramour," Alex stated. "However, it was rumoured that he was using the services of call boys. If he were, I never knew about it."
"I'm sorry it had to end so badly," I sympathized.
"I was most fortunate to dodge that scandal bullet; for me, it was just sex, good sex, mind you, but just sex."
The Duke had been playing with my dick during our conversation, squeezing it and stroking it gently. "If you keep doing that," I moaned, "I'll have to fuck you again."
He rolled over on to all fours and waved his ass in my face. "It'd be a shame to waste such a big hard-on," he smiled over his shoulder. I slipped a finger up his ass and felt cum and lube. However, my dick was dry so I added a dollop of KY to my dickhead and got on my knees behind him.
"Let me know if this hurts you in any way," I warned. I pressed hard against his winker. The thick dickhead slipped effortlessly inside. The Duke sighed contentedly and pushed his ass back into me, swallowing several thick inches of shaft. His ass muscles squeezed and sucked on my dick, making sure that the angle was right to hit his prostate with each thrust and withdrawal. I leaned over his back and nuzzled his neck. Again, he moaned and pushed back against me. I straightened up and fed him the last two inches of my dick, grinding in the thick root.
"DAMN!" he nearly shouted. "I can't believe how huge you are, Derek!"
"Am I hurting you?"
"No, Gawd, no! If you were, I'd beg you to hurt me some more."
I laughed. "Well, this time is gonna take a little longer. It always does on the second round." I didn't think it wise to tell him it was really my third time this morning. "We may need to add more lube or quit altogether," I suggested.
"I'll be the judge of that, Sir," Alex smiled and wiggled his ass again, chewing and sucking on my buried manhood.
My cum-streaked dick was hard as steel. I couldn't believe how talented he was. The man was a very accomplished bottom. Despite the fact that I'd already shot off twice that morning, he had my nuts boiling and churning for a third. His skills were unsurpassed, even by the very talented Captain Montrose. I moved up his back slightly, so that I was fucking down instead of straight forward. His prostate was probably shredded by now, but he loved it as much as I loved his tight, hungry love tunnel.
The faster I rode him, the harder he thrust his ass back into each forward punch of my hips. Cum from my previous load was being sucked out by my big dickhead, causing it to run down his nuts and on to his dick. He was flailing his own manhood furiously as I neared my climax.
"Fuck me harder. I'm almost there," he croaked hoarsely.
I powerfucked him in long, hard, deep strokes. There was no holding back now! I felt his ass tighten rhythmically. His moans of ecstasy punctuated his climax waves. They transferred to his ass muscles and sucked me off. I blasted one heavy, creamy string of cum after another into his welcoming butt. I felt at least six hard squirts coat his ass tunnel. Whether they contained sperm, I had no idea, but, if my past performances were any indication, Alex was flooded with my baby gravy.
I collapsed on to his back, my hips still thrusting and bucking into him despite my waning climax waves.
"I'm afraid we've made an awful mess of the sheets," he laughed when we rolled apart.
"I'm sure they've seen worse."
"They will if I don't get to the loo!" he cried urgently and dashed out of the room. My "swimmers", especially after two loads, do tend to overfill a man's ass when I'm barebacking.
When he returned, he tumbled into bed beside me and snuggled up closely, planting another kiss on my full lips. "You're quite a man, Master Sergeant Jackson," he beamed. "You are well and truly hired, if you'll have it."
I glanced away for a moment, and then smiled back at him. "The interview seems to be going well, but there's more to see in Berkshire," I delayed. "We'll see how that goes. Meanwhile, I think both of us could do with a shower."
He rolled on top of me, pinning me down. If I'd wanted to, I could have pushed him off. My hands strayed to his hard, round ass cheeks. "Are you in a rush to leave?" he asked.
"Not particularly," I answered. "But, you must be a very busy man, Alex."
"Busy with you for the rest of the afternoon, Derek," he smirked and kissed me again.
"I see. So Berkshire is on the agenda for tomorrow, not today?"
"Right. I have a committee meeting at the House of Lords in the morning, and then we'll drive off into the country," he told me. "I'll send you round to my tailor for your uniform measurements while I'm busy tomorrow morning."
I gave him a stern look. "I've not taken the job yet, Alex," I reminded him.
"Quite so. But, in the event that you do, that'll be taken care of. I'll ask Fergus to tell the tailor that it's just for measuring, not making. Not yet."
I nodded. "So, we gonna fuck all afternoon?" I laughed.
"Now, there's a grand idea!" he laughed with me. "No, I thought I'd take you round to the staff here, introduce you to people you'll need to know to do your job, and get you set up to drive the Bentley. You do have a license to drive here, correct?"
"Just my military license."
"That will never do when you retire. I'll call Sir Cyril and ask him how we'll go about getting you a proper English one," he said, more to himself than to me.
"That would probably be a good idea in either case," I agreed.
"It would do us both good to run through the shower before we begin the rounds of introductions. Goodness knows we smell like billy goats," Alex sighed and rolled away.
"As Mae West so glibly said, `Goodness had nothin' to do with it!'" I smiled broadly.
He laughed and offered me his hand to drag me out of bed. "She's a classic!"
In the shower, we spent most of the time caressing and feeling each other's body. I rimmed his ass and he rimmed mine, confirming that we both loved it. We sucked each other's dick, too, but I couldn't coax another load from him. However, he impaled himself on me when he backed up on to my fleshy sword and drew another hot load from my heavy nuts. I'd certainly fucked and shot off more loads than I had today, but not recently. The last guy I fucked that much in one day was two years ago. I guess I still had it.
Before and during dinner in the opulent dining room, I was introduced in fits and starts to the staff, starting with the kitchen, housekeeping, and security. I made a mental note to speak with the security people at greater length at another time, being especially keen to find out how that scarecrow at the entry could stop anyone from coming in. Fergus tagged along, easing the way with the staff better than the Duke would have. There was a definite barrier between the aristocracy and the "help" in this country.
In the library, I also met the unobtrusive, but still attentive, wait staff. The head butler was an older gentlemen of about 65, but spry as a 40-year old. He'd been working at the Club since he was in his early 20s, shortly after the Suez crisis. I had to think about when that would have been: 1956, I vaguely recalled.
Alex was engaged in conversation with other members of the Club, so I excused myself and sought out the head of security. Although my conversation with him was brief, I learned a great deal. Anyone working here was heavily vetted before they were hired. Additionally, all employees were regularly screened again for any peculiar spending patterns or banking activities which didn't match with their salary and circumstances when they'd been hired. He had personally made it clear to all the staff that being a homosexual didn't and wouldn't change their employment status. However, lying about it would. He wanted no employee subject to blackmail on that basis.
For the kind of money the members paid each year for their memberships (I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was substantial), they were served by only the best people who could be hired. They had a strict policy of hiring only native-born Britons. I thought it very prejudiced of them, but receiving no government funds, no one was going to prosecute. However, I did wonder how the members of the House of Lords reconciled their public personas and their private discriminations.
The one minority I didn't see was Arabic. I didn't think it was my place to ask, but I did wonder. The head of security noticed my hesitation. When I finally asked him my question, he bristled, but smiled finally. "It isn't about religion, if that's what you're thinking," he sniffed. "We have a number of Muslims on staff. But there are no Arabs because, so far, they can't pass muster." He explained that in every case, something had arisen in the background check that disqualified them. Some lied about their experience or their past, including arrests and memberships in suspect organizations. MI5 and MI6 did a most thorough review of prospective employees, he'd concluded. I never did get a satisfactory answer about the man at the front door.
The property itself was also secure, having abandoned the idea of windows in the front of the building for reinforced concrete where the windows had been. The second and third floor windows had all been changed out for high-caliber, bullet-proof glass. The fourth floor windows were being switched out this year. I smiled at that revelation, ticking that security issue off my earlier, mental list.
With his promise to introduce me to other bodyguards of other members, I left his office and returned to the head butler's station. He directed me to the library where he'd last seen His Grace. I stepped quietly through the tall, oaken doors and scanned the room. Alex was in serious conversation with two other men. When he glanced up and saw me, he grinned slightly, but returned to the two people near him. I mentally shrugged and wandered over toward two other gentlemen standing nearby. From their stance and build, I knew immediately they were security of some kind. Whether it was for an individual member or they were employees of the Club, I didn't know.
But, I knew that engaging them in conversation when they were working would be a big mistake, so I wandered farther along the far wall and leaned against a bookcase. They'd looked me over in a professional manner, wondering just who I was and what level of threat I might be. Clearly, I was in good shape and would be able to handle myself. Keeping a wary eye on me, their gaze flicked back and forth to the door, around the room, and then back to me. The standoff lasted another 10 minutes before Alex arose from his leather chair, shook hands with his acquaintances, and nodded toward the door. I walked in the same direction he'd indicated, arriving at the same time he did. "Bloody, boring, old farts!" he spat, glancing back over his shoulder. "There should be a mandatory retirement age for the House of Lords!" he hissed.
I joined him outside the room, noting that the two security men watched intently as I left. His Grace sighed, and then smiled at me. "House of Lords work?" I inquired.
He signed again. "Yes, abysmal and endless, especially with old fools like those two standing in the way of anything progressive. If it were up to those old goats, we'd still be fighting the Boers in South Africa!" He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. "But, we don't need their votes anyway, though they would have been nice to have."
I nodded sympathetically, quite sure that I could do nothing about it. "What's the agenda for the rest of the evening?" I asked.
"I must meet with my secretary about tomorrow's committee meeting in a few moments," he answered glancing at his Rolex watch, "then, a short conference with my broker. After that, the rest of the evening is free."
"How long do you think you'll be, Your Grace?" I asked as a member walked by. This wasn't going to be easy, trying to remember when I could address him as Alex and when I had to use his title.
"Not more than two hours, I presume," he said. "I shan't be long. Why don't you return to the apartment and watch some television or head to the gymnasium in the basement if that suits you?"
"I think I'll do the latter, after I change clothes," I quickly decided. "I need a good workout today, besides the one I already had upstairs," I whispered and winked. The Duke grinned broadly, but said nothing, heading off to the meeting with his private secretary.
After changing, I took the elevator to the basement. Signs directed me to a fully equipped gym with the requisite free weights, weight machines, and aerobic apparatus such as elliptical walkers, treadmills, and bicycles. I warmed up on an elliptical walker, and then worked my way through a number of familiar weight machines. I was finishing with free weights when my two "friends" from the library strode in. They looked me over, but their expressions never changed.
Emerging from the locker room a few minutes later, they walked over to me and stood next to the weight bench on which I was doing inverse flies. When I'd finished the set, I acknowledged their presence. "Good evening, gentlemen," I smiled slightly.
"And who are you?" the darker one asked.
"Who's asking?" I asked back.
"I'm asking the questions here," he sputtered. I ignored him. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!" he shouted. I grabbed the fleshy part of his hand with my thumb and two fingers and twisted his hand back, bringing him almost instantly to his knees.
"You could be a little more cordial about it," I smiled as sweetly as I could and then glared hard at his companion. If looks could kill, I'd be dead and so would he. But, the other guy didn't make any threatening moves other than his countenance.
"We don't want any trouble here," the second man finally said. I released the darker one. He rubbed his hand and shook it to be sure it still worked.
"The members would be most annoyed if you did," I cautioned them.
"Perhaps, we've gone about this the wrong way," the second man almost apologized. "Marty isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's generally very capable," he scowled toward his friend. "I'm Desmond O'Connell," he added with a smile, sticking out his hand. I shook hands with him and turned to Marty.
He glowered at me. "Sorry, Mate," he finally said. "I should have known better," he finally admitted, extending his hand, too.
"Very well, then," I smiled. "I'm Derek Jackson. His Grace, the Duke of Lincoln has asked me to be his bodyguard and chauffeur. Fergus would like to retire to something less demanding."
"About bloody time!" Marty snarled. "Uh, sorry. I meant Fergus is far too old to provide protection for the Duke."
"I haven't agreed to take the job yet," I corrected.
"For his sake, I hope you do," Desmond allowed.
"Whose sake?" I wondered.
"The Duke's, of course," Desmond hastily amended. "Fergus is a right good chap, but he's getting too long in the tooth to be doing the kind of work we do."
"And you work for whom?"
"Lord Whitely and Lord Chelsea," Desmond revealed. "The old duffers are more a danger to themselves than to anyone else, I'm afraid," he smiled. "But, with their radically conservative bent, they aren't making many friends. So, Marty and I have been tasked to keep an eye out for their well-being."
"Ordinarily, we'd be security at the House of Lords," Marty volunteered.
I nodded, but didn't say anything.
"Again, I'm very sorry for our earlier behaviour," Desmond said. "But, you did have a certain menacing air about you in the library."
"However, His Grace did seem to know you, so we weren't sure just what was going on," Marty said, still a little perplexed. "You could have forced yourself upon him, gaining entry into the Club."
It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing. If they only knew, I thought to myself. "No harm, no foul," I graciously nodded at them. Although they looked even more perplexed, they let it go and walked away. Desmond examined Marty's hand to see what I'd done to Marty to render him so useless so quickly. They glanced back at me, but spun back just as rapidly. I was definitely more than they'd bargained for.
I took another shower in Alex's apartment, toweled off, dressed lightly, and flopped on to the sofa in the living room. A cricket match was on. Odd as it may seem to nearly all Americans, I found cricket to be a fascinating game. However, I'm the first to agree that the games that last days can get rather tedious. The games limited to 50 innings were far more enjoyable. I settled in and watched several innings between two evenly matched clubs.
I never did discover the final score. Alex returned at nearly 10 p.m. He tugged off his clothes and pulled me into the bedroom. We didn't get to sleep until after midnight.
He was just as sex hungry at 6 a.m. as he'd been in the middle of night. With one final sexual romp in the shower, we had breakfast and met Fergus with the Bentley at the front door of the Club at 9 a.m. Fergus drove His Grace to the House of Lords and then took me to the tailor. Luckily, he'd found a parking garage nearby and had walked back to join me.
"Yes, yes, and a fine specimen," the tailor said over and over as he measured me in places I didn't think I had places. Fergus smirked, but didn't say anything as my discomfort grew.
"Now, Percy," Fergus finally broke in, "His Grace will want that beautiful worsted lambs wool you have for Mr. Jackson's uniform should Mr. Jackson decide to accept His Grace's offer of employment. The usual half dozen uniforms, plus two dress uniforms, eh, Percy?" he smiled at the small, fluttering man.
"Yes, yes, quite so," the small man nattered on. "Shirts and socks too, I expect," he added glancing up at Fergus. Fergus nodded. "And you'll be going to Abercherder's for shoes?" Again, Fergus nodded. "Excellent!" Percy beamed. "You'll adore their soft leathers. Their workmanship is second to none!" he crowed. "Oh, yes, and hats! Mustn't forget the hats," Percy exclaimed. "Molton's Hats?" Percy asked inclining his head.
"Probably not," Fergus shook his head. "His Grace has decided to look elsewhere." I looked at Fergus, but got no indication of his meaning.
"Just as well," Percy sighed. "Their quality hasn't been the same since the old gentleman retired last year." Fergus nodded, but I could tell by his eyes that quality wasn't the reason that Alex had changed hat makers.
"Has he chosen a new haberdasher?" Percy pursued.
"He hasn't confided in me if he has," sniffed Fergus. Again, I knew Fergus was evading. Gossip was the trade of the trades, I'd been told. Fergus was trying to stay above it all. Considering Percy's chatty nature, I was sure this conversation would be all over town within a day.
We left the tailor's shop and drove back to the House of Lords. Fergus left word with the guard that His Grace's limousine was available. While we waited, Fergus let me in on what had been left unsaid at the tailor's. "Percy is a terrible gossip," he started. "But, he's also the best tailor in London. I always give him some information, but never anything crucial. Beware of the likes of him, Mr. Jackson. He's charming to a fault, but all information imparted will be all over England within a fortnight." I nodded my understanding.
A few minutes later, the telephone in the Bentley purred. The Duke's secretary was phoning to let Fergus know that His Grace would be at the street entrance in a moment. Fergus arrived as the Duke descended the stairs. Fergus hustled around the car and opened the rear door for the Duke. I sat primly in the front seat, ever alert for signs of threats. None materialized as we drove away from London.
Traffic out of London was its usual mess. However we finally got on the M4 and made good time out to Reading and beyond into the countryside of Berkshire.
"Do you alternate your routes, Fergus?" I asked.
"Always, Sir," he replied. "I have nearly a dozen to choose from." I nodded and smiled back at him. Although he was getting older, he still remembered some of the basics.
"Fergus is a jewel," the Duke volunteered. "I shall miss our chats in the limousine. However, you'll still be at the house, so I can still rely on you to tell me the truth of things."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Fergus blushed.
"Do you follow the market, Mr. Jackson?" the Duke asked. "Fergus doesn't, so he's not one to counter my broker's opinion."
"I follow the American markets, not the FTSE or the DAX," I replied.
"Good show!" Alex exclaimed. "Only the American markets seem to be moving in the right direction. But, my broker is telling me that Alan Greenspan is correct. There is irrational exuberance in the market now. It's headed for a fall. What do you think?"
"I think your broker is right. It's only a matter of time. I think there will be a long, perhaps slow, plunge off these meteoric heights."
"When?"
"I give it six months to a year," I said. "There will be some additional gains, but they'll all be wiped out in the slide down."
"You're suggesting a crash like '29?"
"No, too many safeguards for that," I considered. "But, a steep decline over a couple of years at least. We have a long way to go down before we get to the real value of stocks."
"So, you would suggest a more defensive position: commodities, for instance?" he pressed.
"No, if the economy tanks along with the reduction in people's net worth, they'll all pull in their horns. Commodities will devalue as well. Manufacturing will decline, so the need for commodities will, too," I added.
"What are you doing about it, if I may ask, then?"
"Bonds, high grade, good yield, certainly a return better than inflation. And I'd put some into cash as well. You never know when you'll find a bargain again in the stock market, but you'll want to be ready when you do," I suggested.
"No stocks at all?"
"I wouldn't know which ones could survive the downturn," I replied. "I'm not enough of an economist. But, I trust my brother and he's a broker on Wall Street. He told me to bail."
"Hearing it from both sides of the pond, then, eh?" the Duke mused. "I'll phone my broker and tell him to start liquidating slowly right away. Bonds, you say?" I nodded. "Very well. The high fliers go first." He picked up the telephone in the console in the back seat and dialed a number from memory. "Charles, Alex here. What we talked about last night. Move me out of stocks and into bonds, slowly. I don't wish to panic the market." A pause. "Yes, do it over the next six months or so. Nothing quick, just definite." Another pause. "Yes, high grade securities, good return," he smiled up at me. "I'll leave it up to you to decide. Just let me know what and when you've done it. Thanks, Charles. Good afternoon."
"I hope I haven't led you astray," I cautioned.
"Not at all," he answered with a flip of the hand. "I'm listening to several influential people. Some are saying the market has a long way to rise yet, but others are more cautious. And it's in my nature to be cautious with the family fortune. Therefore, I'm out!"
We arrived at the country home of the Duke of Lincoln. It was a magnificent manor house with bits from the Elizabethan era as well as the more solid Georgian period. It had gone through several expansions in the last 400 years or more. The grounds were a park. I commented on it. "Oh, that's the work of `Capability' Brown, more correctly, Lancelot Brown, from the middle 1700s. Brilliant man," the Duke admitted.
"Your gardeners have certainly maintained it well," I congratulated him.
"The public tours offset nearly all the cost of maintaining the place," he smiled. "On good years, I even make enough to do more intensive maintenance or upgrades."
Inside, I was greeted by the head butler and head housekeeper. The head chef gave me a tour of the kitchen and introduced me to his staff. The housekeeper gave me a tour of the palace, introducing staff as we met them and telling me what they did and who they worked for. Later in the afternoon, I met the head gardener and his staff. It was all a whirl in my head. I'm sure I'd met more than 100 people at the Duke's Berkshire residence. Clearly, he had major bucks to pay for a staff that size, plus the heating, lighting, and furnishings.
Late in the evening, the Duke sent for me. I was escorted by the head butler to the Duke's chambers, consisting of five rooms (a bath, two sitting rooms, an enormous bedroom, plus one smaller one discretely hidden behind it). One of the sitting rooms was furnished more like a meeting room with a large table and chairs.
"You'll be staying here, Derek," Alex indicated pointing to the smaller bedroom behind his. "My bodyguard should be close by at all times."
"I was going to ask you about that, Sir," I began. "How can I be your chauffeur and be your full-time bodyguard? Dealing with the car, parking it, getting it for you when you've finished a meeting takes me away from your side at some potentially crucial times."
"Ah, yes, so it does," he mused, seeing my point right away. "Well, it has worked rather well for the last 30 years with Fergus."
"You've been damned lucky."
"Perhaps," he allowed. "What would you suggest?"
"I think you should find someone else, someone younger on the household staff who could be your chauffeur. Fergus is getting to the age where his reactions and his eyesight aren't as sharp as they were," I pointed out.
"Well said," he considered. "Perhaps, I'll ask Fergus whom he might recommend and, of course, I'll tell him why. I'll ask Fergus straight away to come see me."
"If you'd like, I could tell him and explain it."
"No, but thank you. Staff decisions are mine to make and mine to correct." He dialed an internal number within the house. The head butler answered and promised to direct Fergus to the Duke's bedchamber immediately.
Fergus arrived a few moments later, still attired in his chauffeur's uniform. "Your Grace sent for me?"
"Yes, Fergus. I'd like your recommendation for a chauffeur replacing you from the household staff." Fergus glanced at me, wondering why I wasn't taking the position. "Mr. Jackson very correctly pointed out that he can't be my bodyguard when he's parking the car or sitting idle at the curbside."
Fergus smiled. "Yes, indeed, Your Grace. An excellent observation by Mr. Jackson." He paused a moment. "Young Mr. Dunbar would be my choice. He comes from a good family and is an automobile fanatic. He's always asking me about the cars, Sir."
"Send him in, would you please, Fergus?" the Duke requested. Fergus bowed and left the room. "I recall Mr. Dunbar. A good family as Fergus pointed out and a handsome lad at that." A few minutes later, a tall young man of about 25 years knocked on the door and was bidden to enter.
"Your Grace?" he mumbled.
"Come here, Lad," the Duke beckoned. "Let me get a good look at you." The shy young man approached and stopped four feet away and bowed. "Have you a driver's license?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Have you taken an evasive driving class?" I asked.
"Uh, no, Sir. I haven't."
"I think, Your Grace, we should have his reflexes tested," I said turning back to the Duke. "If they are as sharp as I suspect they are, I'll get him into an excellent class that the Embassy uses. With your permission, of course, Your Grace."
"Yes, Mr. Jackson. Please proceed," the Duke agreed.
"Tomorrow morning, then?" I nodded to Mr. Dunbar. "I'll meet you in the garage where the Bentley is parked at, say, 9:00 a.m.?"
"Very good, Sir. Thank you, Sir," he beamed.
When he left the room, Alex burst out laughing. "I think we just made that young man's day. Now, how about you make my night?"
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