Date: Sat, 28 Sep 2013 09:45:43 -0700
From: jay roberts <diplomat1501@msn.com>
Subject: "Rammer, the Hound of the Manor, Part Two"  by Jay Roberts    Gay Bestiality

"Rammer, The Hound of the Manor, Part Two" by Jay Roberts    Bestiality


The stables seemed empty.  Of course the four usual horses were there but
the stable master and Tom were not in evidence.  I walked in and was
assailed by the odor of rotting hay and manure.  Just as I was about to
return to the Manse I heard soft steps descending the wooden stairs from
the loft where Tom made his quarters.

It was Tom himself who came into view.  He was barefoot and wearing only
his drawers.  Before revealing myself I paused to devoir the sight of his
strong legs decorated with a reddish fuzz and his broad chest well muscled
and hairiness the same shade of red.  I wondered if his pubic region was
also hued.

Suddenly he spied me.  We were both taken aback and embarrassed.  He put
his large hands in front of the full area at his crotch although it was
covered with the flimsy fabric.  I in turn blushed and stammered.  "I say
Tom, my dear fellow, I didn't mean to intrude on you."

He became serious, "Is there something about the dog, Rimmer?"

"Yes, I came to ask your advice.  He seems listless and not into any sort
of lively behavior."

"Oh, I see," the boy said, and I am sure he insolently winked.  "You must
miss those lively times.  But I do guess the reason for his lack of
activity.  He likely misses his ale."

"You mean I should put ale in his bowl."

"Yes, but not any ale.  He loves the local brew that the Whaley's brew."
While he watched me absorb that information he suddenly clapped his hands,
"Let us go there at once.  I have no duties today and it just a short way
through the forest."

I looked at his nearly naked form and raised an eyebrow.  He said, "'course
I will put on me clothes," and he laughed charmingly.

Soon we were walking, shoulder to shoulder, through the pine forest.  There
was a dim path to follow.  This indicated that there was a regular route
from the estate, Clairborne, to the cabin in the woods where the ale was
created.

We walked in silence except for an occasion remark about the growth
impeding our way.  Tom told me that the Whale boys were a strange lot.
There were three of them and no parents.  They are orphans who seemed to
raise themselves.  The three brothers, Kevin, Patrick and Denis were
eighteen, sixteen and fourteen but wise in the ways of the world.

We came to a small clearing, a snug in the forest with soft grass floor.
It must have been about ten feet square.  Tom fell upon the turf and
invited me to rest here before continuing.

"I always rest here.  It is my special hide-a-way.  I sort out my thoughts
here."  He patted the space besides him.  "May you rest here sir."

I sank down to a sitting position, my hands at my knees.  "My friend, we
are both lovers of Rimmer and we are of a similar age.  You may call me
George, as I call you Tom."  I held out my hand and the surprised groom
took it and held it in a friendly hand shake.

I then lay back and studied the cloud formations as I took this chance to
ask, "What is the source of Rimmer's name?"

"Ha," Tom said with a explosive sound.  "You don't know, even now, after
having Rimmer in your bedroom, the origin of his name."

I was somewhat annoyed that he should take that attitude with me and I am
afraid that I pouted like a child.  He saw it and put a hand on my shoulder
and looked deeply into my eyes.  "Dear George I fear that I have given you
rough answers whilst you have been kind to me.  Let me do better.  Rimmer
was no a wild dog.  I misinformed you.  He spent his early years with the
Whaley boys and brought much pleasure to them, pleasure as you surely know.
These boys are very poor and could not feed the animal anymore.  They earn
only a pittance from their excellent ale.  They asked me to find a home for
the sweet dog."

"Why is he called Rimmer?"

"Hah," he chortled again.  I was annoyed.  "Sorrry," he said pulling
himself together.  "The gay crown in London have a sexual technique they
call rimming.  This dog came to it by nature.  Of course men or boys can do
it too."

"Oh," I said, all coming to a meaning to me.

"I can do it," Tom said suddenly.  "May I service you?"

I began to breath heavily.  Just the thought of this lovely boy's face in
my bum and his firm tongue....Oh I began to grow weak at the thought.

"I see by your face that you desire it mightily.  Lie on your stomach in
this soft grass and let me slide your britches down."

I did as he asked, completely lost in the prospect of gaining feelings of
heaven.  In a moment I felt cool air passing over my naken arse.  I heard
his sharp intake of breath.  "It is a thing of wonder.  So smooth and
white, so perfectly shaped.  I go now to my precious task."

In an instant I felt his full, warm lips pressing against my arse lips in a
deep kiss.  Yet this excellent gesture was dwarfed by the next.  His tongue
shot out and lapped over and over.  I began to lift my arse as if to gain
more from that marvelous organ.  He grunted in recognition and allowed his
tongue to enter into my widening opening to lave an organ just inside.  I
howled like a jungle creature and after about ten pulses I deposited great
quantities of spooge on the soft grass below me.

Tom felt the pulses, felt it in his tongue, and he withdrew.  "I see you
liked that Sir Georgie."

I turned to my side and nodded weakly.  "I must be careful, you have the
power to reduce me to your slave."

He laughed gaily.  "Well on to the Whaly boys."


End Part Two