Date: Wed, 25 Feb 2009 16:45:27 +0000
From: Jerry Coole <jeek0@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Duty

"Duty" A word used regularly by my father. A word which has directed my
life from my formative years into adulthood. A word that has provided a
pathway that has dictated the things I must do.

I was born in rural Sussex in 1885, the only son of a landowner, and, as
was the tradition I was named Edward after my father (this was generally
shortened to Ted by my family and friends). From as early as I can remember
my father was stern, but forthright about my future in this world. As his
heir, it would be me who would inherit his lands and properties, and my
upbringing was geared to that purpose.

Miss Dora Goldthropp was my nanny and governess during my early years. My
mother, whom I saw a lot of at this time, consumed herself in country life,
from hunt balls, to local operatics, card games and, of course, our local
Parish church. My early education, therefore, took place at home. Miss Dora
(as she preferred to be called) taught me my three Rs as well as the basics
of Latin, geography and history. In keeping with my father's tradition, she
was strict and rather aloof, although I had the utmost respect for her.

At the age of 10, as duty dictated, I was sent away to boarding school. The
prospect was daunting at first, as I had rarely left my home during my
early years. Once settled, I enjoyed the company of other boys, and
although I didn't excel at sport, my academic ability earned me respect
from both the boys and masters alike. Despite this, I was beaten on a
number of occasions, usually for minor transgressions. My Latin master
found reasons to give sound beatings to most boys he came into contact
with. In my case, a spelling error. Looking back, he was a sadist who took
pleasure in humiliating his pupils as well as inflicting pain upon them. I
received six strikes of his can across my bare buttocks in front of the
rest of my Latin form. The scars took over a year to fully heal and made
sitting down a painful experience. I would have been downhearted at such
humiliation had I not seen most of my class go through the same ordeal. We
even compared our "battle scars" and were scathing of those who appeared to
have got off with a lighter beating.

My schooling never involved any discussion about growing up or the changes
to our bodies, but there was no doubt that we were all quite curious of
each others bodies and the changes taking place. Being naked in front of
each other was commonplace. We had to line up naked twice a week to have
our feet and hair inspected before taking a bath. There were eight bathtubs
in the dormitory which were all hand filled by matron and her staff. We
queued up shivering before plunging into the just less than cold water and
were expected to wash ourselves thoroughly before being hurried out and
handed our towels. Boys who misbehaved were often made to stand unclothed
and shivering for over an hour before having to get into the cold bath
water that had already been used to wash around ten other boys.

Our form master did, at a number of his lectures to us, refer to the
importance of never touching our bodies in an improper way, and to be
truthful, I didn't know what he was talking about. On one of these
occasions, he spoke for some time about remaining pure in heart and mind
and of the evils of giving into temptation. By this stage I'd become good
friends with a boy called Isaac Hartington. He was in the same dormitory as
me and had three older brothers, and seemed to know a lot of the older
boys. Isaac could always be relied on to know everything, so that evening
when we were laid in bed I asked him about what our form master had
said. Isaac was always matter of fact in his replies.  "He means don't play
with your Jimmy."  I grinned at him, and to cut a long story short, it was
from Isaac that I received all the information I needed to know about sex,
together with a number of other boys who, giggled in disbelief at some of
the information. He also told me about boys who were punished by having
their hands covered in sacking and tied behind their backs when they went
to bed.

Curiosity, of course, got the better of me, and once the gas light at the
end of our room had been extinguished I lifted my nightshirt and held my
cold penis in my hand. It became hard quite quickly, which alarmed me. I'd
known it happen before, but I'd never really known why. Isaac had told me
it felt nice. Like a warm feeling, and he was right. By this time I was
fourteen and had a good growth of hair. Our form master had warned us that
once we gave into such temptation, we would never stop doing so. He was
right! In these early explorations I did little more than hold my penis
until it stiffened and gently fondle my ball sack. Isaac had warned that a
white liquid would shoot out and I wanted to avoid this. But it was only a
matter of time before the inevitable, and, luckily, I was prepared with a
handkerchief which was soon soaked in my semen. I kept it hidden until I
had chance to wash it discreetly.

This, of course, became a regular occurrence, and I found myself
masturbating two or three times a day. Often, I would use one of the
outside toilets which I considered to be safer despite the popular practice
of boys climbing up and looking over the door. Sometimes two or three of us
would masturbate together in a toilet. To my shock, Isaac, became a victim
of our form master, and was paraded in front of the rest of the boys in my
dormitory with his hands tied. The worry over being caught made me stop but
three days later, Isaac and me were masturbating together again in the
toilets.  "They only tie my hands at night," he mused, and made up for it
the rest of the time.

I left school at 17 and, as dictated by my father, I was sent to London to
work as an accounts clerk for an estate manager. All part of my training
for my life back on the estate. I found it boring, but enjoyed some of
evenings where I was introduced to strong drink and tobacco. Whiskey was
always my favourite, and I preferred the modern cigarettes to the more
traditional cigars that my father smoked. I bought myself a silver
cigarette case and filled it each day. I felt as if I had now grown up.

At the age of 19 I returned to the estate, and to the rural life I was
beginning to lose touch with. My father set me to work immediately, whilst
my mother ensured I was introduced to the daughter of one of the adjoining
landowners. A match which made sense, and like all my other duties, I
accepted. Alice and I enjoyed each other's company as we spent our evenings
strolling around our lands, attending the various functions within the
local villages, and preparing for our marriage. It was a large country
affair, followed by a short honeymoon in Scotland on the estate of another
family connection. Alice was more duty bound than myself, fulfilling the
role of wife perfectly. We did our duty together, and soon I had two
daughters. I'm sure my father would have preferred a grandson be he never
said so. Alice seemed immensely happy as a mother, wife and country lady. I
admired her, but, in truth, I had never loved her. As time moved on, we
seemed to spend less and less time together, and when we were together, she
seemed more like my mother than my wife.

I was kept busy with the estate, and now more experienced; my father put me
in charge of the many tenanted farmsteads on the estate. One of my duties
was to ensure tenants paid their annual rent, contributed to the farming of
the land and maintained their cottages appropriately. The tenants always
referred to me as "Master Edward" at my father's insistence, and in most
cases, I found them courteous, loyal people. It was always difficult
dealing with those who had lost husbands or wives. When I visited Mrs. Amy
Hudson, I felt quite emotional as she explained that her husband had died
suddenly during the previous winter, and it had been difficult for her to
keep up the rent. Fortunately, her son, Thomas, who had been working as a
gardener on an estate elsewhere, had now returned home intending to fill
his father's footsteps. Thomas Hudson, a tall fit looking man of about my
age, appeared to dislike me immediately. I assumed it was my authority, but
I chose to ignore the sour, slightly arrogant tone in his voice and agreed
that their rent could be deferred until he had received his wages for his
work in the dairy.

As Summer approached I found peace in the warm evenings strolling around
the estate. A good step from the house, the river became a water-fall,
something I had much admired as a child. Above the falls, the river formed
a still pool. As I sat by the pool I recalled those childhood days when I
would fish and swim, and the desire to swim again returned. Above the small
beach was a grass slope. I sat on there and removed my clothes and laid
them out tidily. A total feeling of freedom overcame me as I plunged,
naked, into the cool water and immediately felt refreshed and
invigorated. I swam from one bank to the other and then just lay back,
allowing myself to float and relax.

The peace was shattered by a shout, and I immediately twisted round and
looked to see who was there. A figure on the grassy bank near to where my
clothes were was stood grinning. At first I didn't recognise him, but then
I remembered: the son of Amy Hudson, the recently widowed woman, who I had
visited about her rent the day before. My first reaction was to tell him to
keep away, that he shouldn't be trespassing on this part of the estate. But
remembering what he was like, I was certain to get a mouthful back, and any
threats from me about his job or cottage would only hurt his mother. I,
therefore, nodded to him and hoped that would ensure he went on his way. I
then started to swim further upstream, but his shouting continued, and I
could feel myself getting angry inside.  "You like splashing around in
there do ya?" he hollered. Again, I answered him politely, believing this
to be the best course.  "Very refreshing," I replied. To my disgust, he had
now opened the front of his pants and was urinating against a tree.  I
tried not to look again in his direction, and assumed he'd moved on when no
more questions were fired at me. But just as tranquility appeared to
return, I heard a splashing and turned round. Thomas Hudson was stood,
naked, in the edge of the river kicking the water up with his feet and
grinning at me again. It was clear from his muscled, tanned body that he
did a physical, outdoor job. The shock of seeing him must have shown on my
face, but it didn't deter him. It was now obvious that I needed to get out
as quickly as possible. I had no desire to spend any more time in his
presence. My father would be appalled at how familiar he was. The man
showed no deference or respect to my status on the estate at all. However,
in my compromised position, I saw no point in showing my annoyance. I
intended to swim to the bank and depart.

But Thomas had other ideas. He plunged in, diving under the water, then
started splashing about.  "Hey Master Edward!" I looked over, as he pushed
a surge of water at my face. My hair, which had been dry, was now soaked.
"Come on then, splash me back, I deserve it!" I felt there was no
alternative but to indulge him, so I flicked water at him, and, of course,
his game continued. Then, he ducked underwater and glided quickly towards
me, placing his large hands around each of my hips. He then raised me out
of the water before releasing me into the air so that I came cashing back
down making a large splash. When I came to the surface, I quickly swam to
shallower water so I could get my breath back. But Thomas was there, keen
for the game to continue.  "Reckon you're strong enough to do that to me
then?" he asked playfully.  "I'll give it a shot," I replied still panting.
Then, grabbing him just below his hips, my hands stretched across his firm
buttocks, I raised him up and threw him. Not as dramatic as he'd done to
me, but, I thought, not a bad effort.

I decided I'd had enough by then and made my way out of the water on sat on
the grassy bank near my clothes. I noticed Thomas's clothes next to mine.
As I had no towel I decided to dry off for five minutes in the warm evening
sunshine before dressing. I lit a cigarette and laid back. Thomas continued
to splash about on his own, diving under and jumping from some of the
rocks. I tried not to look, as I thought he was just seeking my attention.
Just as I was about to start dressing, Thomas came running out of the
water, still high spirited, and sat next to me.  "That was great, really
enjoyed that. Haven't swam in there since I was a kid." he chuckled. "Got
another one of those?" he asked, pointing at my cigarette. I was dumfounded
by his cheek.  "Did your mother not teach you any manners?"  I
instinctively asked, and then regretted it, as I expected a curt answer.
"If you please, Master Edward!" he asked with a sarcastic grin on his face
and his hands put together as if in prayer. I couldn't stop myself from
grinning back, and reached into my trouser pocket and pulled out my case,
then handed him one without speaking, and lit it for him. And then what he
said took me by surprize.  "Never thought I'd mix with the likes of
you. But you're a good bloke you, Master Edward! You looked after my
Ma. Sorry if I was a bit short when you came round. Don't tend to trust
people. Had some bad experiences. We should meet up more often. That's if
your father lets you. He'll probably think I'm beneath you."  His words
made me think. Was there anything wrong it being friends with some one just
because they hadn't had the same upbringing as me? It was strange how my
feelings for this man could change so quickly.  He was probably the only
person who had treated me like a real friend since I'd returned to the
estate.  "You're a good bloke too, Thomas, coming back in your Ma's time of
need. And I don't think you're beneath me." I told him thoughtfully.  "Call
me Tom, only my mother still calls me Thomas," he said looking into my eyes
and not grinning for the first time.  "Call me Ted," I replied, "and thanks
for a good evening!"  Then he put his arm around my neck and I was filled
with warmth and pleasure. A look of panic must have shown on my face when I
realised I had an erection. But then so did Tom, and he just maintained his
warm grin. Five minutes drying off became nearly an hour as Tom and I
chatted. Although the question of our sexual excitement was never
mentioned, there was a sense of desire in his face, and a feeling of desire
in me. We looked at each other with a longing I had never known before!

Tom was never far from my thoughts the following day, which ranged from
total total pleasure to total guilt with not much in between. Should I see
him again? What would happen? Why did I have such feelings for him, a man?
Lots of questions, but no answers, just feelings of warmth and desire.

Butterflies started in my stomach as, nearly two days later, I prepared for
my walk down to the river. Would Tom even turn up? And what if he did?
Excitement was mixed with confusion and guilt. But I had to go down to the
river as the urge to see Tom again was overwhelming. Once I arrived, there
seemed to be no one in sight, so I sat down on the grass bank where we'd
sat before and lit a cigarette. I was there nearly ten minutes and starting
to feel a little down-hearted, when I heard those familiar tones. Thomas in
his dirty grey pants and collarless shirt stumbled down the bank, his usual
grin on his face.  "Not swimming today then?"  "Just about to," I replied.
"Race you then!" he said before flinging off his shirt, then dropping and
removing his pants. I didn't rush, content, instead, to watch Tom's naked
form as he dashed towards the bank. I trembled as I admired his firm muscly
bottom, and his cock swinging as he moved. Once undressed myself, I headed
down to the water, making no attempt to hide my erection, and hoping he
would notice.

Once in the water, Tom got physical almost immediately. Picking me up in a
cradled position, he spun me round before plunging me into the cool
water. But this time I didn't end up submerged as he put his strong arms
under me, allowing me to float on my back. His grin was now more of a warm
smile which I returned. His strength and gentleness combined made me feel
like I was in heaven. In those moments, though, I still wasn't certain
whether Tom was just messing or whether there was real feeling in the way
he held me. But I was about to find out. As I stood up, he approached me
again, and just as I was expecting him to lift me and fling me in, he
wrapped his arms around me. One around my neck, the other on my backside
with his fingers sliding into my crack. I looked up at him and I
instinctively knew what was coming next. He bent over and pressed his lips
on mine. It was the most delicious moment of my life. The kiss just lasted
and lasted as he allowed his tongue to explore my mouth and I repaid in
kind. I wanted to melt into him, to be his forever.

On the grassy slope we laid, our bodies entwined. Tom lusted over me,
kissing licking like all his love, his sexual desire he's held in for
twenty-one years was bursting out at once. He slithered down my body,
squeezing my firm nipples between his lips, then down until I could feel
his nose pressing into the thick mass of dark brown hair that my erect
penis lay across. And then, in one movement, he submerged my stiff cock in
his warm mouth. I writhed pleasurably allowing in to slide in and out,
knowing I would fill his mouth with my thick, white semen at any
moment. But then he stopped and let my wet cock fall back onto my fuzz of
hair. I wanted more, but I knew he was teasing me. Then, as he returned to
my cock, I felt the surge of pleasure. My body quivered and everything spun
around as semen spilled into his mouth and all over his face. I panted as
Tom wrapped himself around my body and squeezed me before lifting himself
back up and kissing me again on the lips. As he kissed I could feel his
stiff cock rubbing against my stomach, and within seconds, he lifted his
head and exhaled rapidly as his warm, manly juice squirted out between the
two us. He then collapsed back onto me and we continued passionate kissing
for ever - I hoped!

When we finally broke apart, we sat on the grassy banking smoking together
before Tom suggested another swim to freshen us up. Saying our goodbyes
went on a long time. I didn't want to leave Tom and when I did I felt empty
and lonely.

Our liaisons continued but as the days shortened and cooled our riverside
pleasures came to an end and were replaced by less frequent meetings at his
cottage while his ma was visiting her sister. These were difficult and I
was forced to sneak in when it was dark. It was on one such meeting that
Tom me he was going to do something special. I laid on the bed and he began
to explore the inside of my bum with his fingers, something he'd done many
times before. Then he started to gently push his penis inside. I was scared
at first. Was this a step too far? I'd been told about such things at
school, but I imagined it to be painful and dangerous. It hurt a lot as he
got further inside me, but at the same time he was gentle and slow. His
penis was large compared to mine. The very feel of it against me sent
shudders of pleasure throughout my body. He stopped after a while and
although my bum hole felt sore, I wanted him to do it again and I told him.
"I want to fuck you so much!" he suddenly blurted out. His language shocked
me at first but I agreed with him.  "I want you to fuck me," I replied. I
was totally in love with him.

I was desperate to feel Tom inside me again, but arranging a meeting was
never easy. One of the estate barns was the venue. This time he used his
tongue to moisten the inside of my hole before sliding his lovely big cock
inside me. As my skin stretched there was some pain, but that disappeared
as I felt his thick bush rub against my cheeks. He moved slowly at first,
massaging and pleasuring my insides. As he moved faster I took deep breaths
and tried not to pant out loud. But the intensity of it all made that
difficult. My body started to bounce as he fucked me harder and faster,
pulling his cock almost fully out before thrusting it back in me. It was
like I was in another world. I could feel his thick thighs against my
buttocks, this delicious man loving me like I'd never been loved
before. Then I felt his penis expand and a further wave of pleasure hit
me. I willed him to carry on as a surge of his manly fluid pumped out of
him and into me. I prayed no one could hear our yelps of ecstasy! Tom
finished off by pulling me over and grabbing my cock. Three firm pumps and
it erupted like a volcano spilling all over my stomach and chest.

The guilt of loving a man was still there, but the desire for him always
took precedence. As Winter approached it was becoming increasingly
difficult and more risky to see Tom. I yearned for him, but through all of
this, maintained the dignity of my status on the estate, and Tom respected
that. And then our luck changed. Our gardener, who had worked on our estate
all his adult life announced that he was retiring and would be moving out
of the tied cottage. When my father asked my advice about who could take
over, I had to avoid being too enthusiastic about Tom, but at the same time
selling his virtues. He had been employed as a gardener previously and was
given a good reference. Tom was equally keen, but for me, the cottage, a
stone's throw from our house and totally away from prying eyes was
wonderful. Tom would be at my beckon call!

I parted Tom's warm cheeks and allowed my tongue explore his gaping crack,
and, in the gardener's cottage, a place Tom and I would relish for many
years, I fucked him for the first time . . .

I value your comments: jeek0@hotmail.co.uk