11 comments/  6524 views/  11 favorites

Indentured Pt. 01

By: RalphyNJ



This story takes place in a country where tenant farming and indentured servitude are common. Although it is about servant and master, it does not involve bondage and discipline.



The story will be posted in three parts. The plot unfolds more slowly than in my previous works.

Chapter 1- Change of Address

Owen had never before been off the farm except for a few hours every Sunday when his family walked to the little nearby church. But now, in his eighteenth year of life, he was several miles from home, standing nervously in the drawing room of the landowner's big manor house. He was waiting to meet the man who would be his master for... he had no idea how long.

By the standards of the wealthy, this was a modest residence. To Owen, it was a mansion: The vast entrance hall alone had taken his breath away, with its marble floor, its high ceiling, and the wide grand staircase that dominated the space.

Douglas Hathaway entered the drawing room and regarded the youth who was standing there with lowered head. "Hello" he said. "Sit down, let's chat for a bit."

Owen sat on the edge of a chair and braced himself. His brothers had warned him that as a servant he should anticipate harshness and even brutality from a landowner.

"You might be more comfortable if you sat back" Douglas offered, "and you can look at me you know, I'm not a king."

Owen obediently moved back in the chair but continued to look down at the floor. Douglas walked over and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. He cringed.

Douglas quickly withdrew his hand. "Don't be frightened" he said softly, sitting down opposite the new servant. "I just want to get acquainted with you. All I know is that your name is Owen, your father works one of my farms, and you're eighteen."

"Eighteen and a half" Owen corrected firmly, looking up for the first time. "Almost nineteen."

"Eighteen and a half" Douglas granted with a smile, amused by Owen's insistence on the additional half year.

Now that Owen had raised his head and was no longer hiding under his lush crop of blond hair, Douglas had the first full view of a handsome face whose sky-blue eyes gleamed in the light from the large windows. He had already noted Owen's strapping figure, a result no doubt of the teenager's labor on the farm. He observed silently that Owen had the sort of beauty found only in the young.

What Owen saw when he looked up was a man with an athletic build, who appeared to be little older than Owen. This was not the bloated, cigar-puffing old tyrant he had expected. The contrast so unsettled him that he barely heard Douglas's next question until it was repeated emphatically: "Do you know why you're here."

"Oh. I'm sorry... sir. Yes, my father owes you money."

"That's right. He rents one of my farms and pays me each year from what he earns when he sells his crops. Last year the crops did poorly and he couldn't pay the rent. Rather than put your family out of their home, I suggested that he send one of his children here to work off the unpaid rent. You'll be what is called an indentured servant. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Douglas told Owen what his salary would be, and asked how much he wanted to keep as spending money. Owen asked what he would be required to buy during his indenture. Douglas told him that room, board, and a uniform would be supplied, so whatever Owen chose to keep from his salary would be his to spend as he liked.

"Then please use the whole salary for the debt. It's my father's greatest worry."

Douglas rose from his chair, which caused Owen to rise as well; his parents had told him that a servant does not sit if his master is standing, unless he is told to do so.

Owen was six feet tall, but he had to look up at Douglas, who towered several inches above him. It made the young landowner look especially powerful .

Douglas pulled a tasseled cord on the wall. "You'll be supervised by Mr. Grayson, the Butler. He is in charge of the staff. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes sir. Am I your slave?"

"Good god, no! You're not a prisoner either. During your time off you can come and go as you please."

A stern-looking man strode into the room, and Douglas said: "Grayson, this is Owen Minton, our new footman."

Grayson's austere manner did not preclude a friendly if formal greeting: "Welcome to Brentwood Hall, Minton. You may consult me at any time if you have questions or difficulties. Now let us go and have you measured for your uniform while I explain your duties."

=====

When Grayson came to Douglas that evening to give the daily report, Douglas asked: "How is our new footman getting on?"

"Not well" the Butler replied, "and the fault is not his. Most of the staff are ill-disposed toward him because he is indentured and his clothing shows that he is very poor. I was hoping that because of his age they would be supportive, but only one is so much as pleasant to him. He tries to appear unaffected by their attitude but the hurt shows on his face."

Douglas scowled. "Let's see if things improve over the next few weeks. Maybe as they get to know him their attitude will change. Better clothes should help: The seamstress will have his uniform ready within a day, and for his off hours give him some items from the stock we compile for charity."

Douglas treated his servants well. One example was that each of them had an individual room, in contrast to many of the grand houses in that country where servants slept dormitory-style. Knowing that Owen must have shared a room at home, Douglas pictured him exulting in the comparative luxury of a personal space.

That picture was to prove inaccurate: Walking through the servants' section late that evening, a shortcut Douglas often took on his way to the master bedroom, he heard disturbing sounds as he was passing Owen's door. He stopped and opened it.

The room was dark, but in the light from the hall he saw Owen sitting in a chair, clad in pajamas and holding a pillow against his face in an apparent attempt to muffle wracking sobs. He entered. "Owen?"

Owen jumped half out of the chair, and turned toward the voice. Seeing Douglas, he rose hurriedly to his bare feet.

"Sit down" Douglas directed. "I didn't mean to startle you. I heard you as I was passing, and I came in to find out what was the matter."

"I tried not to make any noise" Owen responded. "Please don't beat me too hard."

"Beat you? What in the world gave you that idea?"

"My brothers said that landowners beat their servants."

"I've never beaten anyone" Douglas told him, closing the door and switching the light on. "Why were you crying?"

Some seconds went by before Owen answered. "At home we sleep two in a bed, I was lonely. I'm sorry to make so much noise."

"You weren't making any noise; I wouldn't have heard you at all if I weren't passing directly outside. Stay there, I'll be right back."

He returned a few minutes later with a brandy snifter containing a small amount of amber liquid. "Don't get up" he commanded when Owen began to rise. He held out the snifter. "Cup the bottom of the glass in your palm, as I'm doing."

Owen could barely believe that his master had not only gone to the trouble of bringing something to a servant, he was trusting Owen to handle an object that looked very delicate. Owen carefully took the snifter. "Thank you."

"Have you ever had cognac?"

"That's alcohol isn't it? Papa doesn't let me have alcohol, he says I'm not old enough."

"You can have this alcohol, it will help you get to sleep. Sip it slowly."

Owen raised the snifter, and was assaulted by the fumes. He recoiled. Then he looked apprehensively at Douglas, afraid that his reaction might have caused offense.

Douglas smiled. "That's called the bouquet of the brandy. Dedicated cognac drinkers consider it an essential part of the experience. It takes getting used to."

Owen raised the snifter again, and sipped. He didn't like the strong taste but he would not insult his beneficent master by failing to consume it all.

Lacking a frequent drinker's tolerance for alcohol, Owen was soon swaying in his chair, struggling to keep hold of the empty snifter. Douglas took it and said "Looks like the cognac is doing its job." He helped Owen walk the few feet to the bed and laid him down. "It will get better" he promised as he swung Owen's legs up and covered him.

He watched until he was sure that Owen was asleep. Then he left the room.

The next day, Grayson reported that Owen had gone about his tasks "rather lethargically, though he is making a concerted effort."

"He was probably awake most of the night" Douglas said. "Last evening I found him crying. He told me he's never slept alone before. I gave him some cognac and that put him to sleep but most likely he woke up again. He'll need some medicinal help for a while. In my medicine cabinet you'll find something I imported a few months ago to treat a bout of insomnia. Look for a bottle with the brand name 'Repose'. Give him two capsules each day to take at bedtime. Also bring him a pair of slippers from my shoe closet; he has none of his own."

Walking past Owen's room that night, Douglas again heard muffled sobbing. The Repose had not been sufficient, and Douglas didn't want to risk an overdose by giving more than the recommended amount. He stood thinking for a minute. Then he went in.

Owen was in bed, with his face buried in his pillow. Douglas touched him on the arm. He turned his tear-streaked face to Douglas and groggily said "Hello sir" as he tried to pull the covers down so he could stand in the presence of his master.

Looking at this teenage boy who had been thrust abruptly into a big house occupied by people most of whom had inexplicably made themselves his enemies, Douglas felt a rush of sympathy - mixed, he had to admit, with a certain amount of physical attraction.

He helped with the covers. "Come with me. You need someone next to you in bed tonight."

"I don't think anyone will let me sleep with them. They don't like me."

"I'm not taking you to anyone else" Douglas told him, opening the door. "You'll sleep with me."

"With you?"

"Yes. Come."

Swinging his legs over the side as quickly as he could manage in his woozy condition, Owen stood up, took a few wobbly steps, and started to fall. Douglas strode forward and caught him. Then, sliding one arm around his back and the other under his behind, Douglas lifted him.

Owen put his head down on Douglas's shoulder.

He was cooing happily as Douglas carried him to the master bedroom.

After putting Owen down in the big four-poster bed, Douglas changed into pajamas and got in beside his overnight guest. He pulled the covers up and was about to say goodnight when he saw that Owen was already asleep.

In the middle of the night, a voice awakened him. He lay still, listening. Owen was mumbling something Douglas couldn't make out. The boy sounded frightened. When the mumbling gave way to whimpers, Douglas gave Owen's arm a gentle shake. Owen opened his eyes and tried without success to focus on Douglas. "They were chasing me, Jimmy" he whined. "They were yelling and they were chasing me."

Douglas sat up and gathered Owen into his arms. "Shhh, it was only a dream." 

Owen became quiet. Douglas began to put him down.

"Hold me?" Owen pleaded.

Douglas held him until he fell back to sleep.

=====

When Owen woke to early daylight, he was greeted by Douglas's smile and a soft "Good morning."

He looked confusedly at his master. "... uh ... Good morning ... sir. ... When did you get into bed with me?"

"Look around" Douglas suggested. "You're in bed with me."

Owen glanced at the room. Then he looked at Douglas, who explained: "I brought you here last night."

"Oh. ... I don't remember."

"That's because of the medicine, you were barely awake. Do you remember crying?"

"Yes."

"It's why I brought you here, so you would have someone with you."

Not knowing if there was a customary response for situations such as this, Owen said: "Thank you."

"Is Jimmy your brother?"

"Yes, is he here?"

"No. During the night you had a bad dream and when I woke you up you called me Jimmy and asked me to hold you."

Owen was mortified to have made a demand on his master. "Oh sir, I'm sorry."

"No need to be" Douglas assured him. "It's been quite a while since I held anyone, it was nice. I take it that Jimmy is the one you shared a bed with at home."

"Yes." A short silence and then, tentatively: "Sir, could I ask you something?"

"You may."

"My brothers said masters are tough on their servants, but you're being so good to me. I don't understand."

"I can't speak for anyone else, but your brothers were mistaken about me; they even believed I would beat you. I expect an honest day's work from the people I employ but I also care about them. I felt bad seeing you so despondent and sleepless, that's why I gave you the cognac and then the medicine, and took you in for the night when those things didn't work well enough."

Owen wanted to say how much he appreciated everything Douglas had done, but all he could think of was to repeat: "Thank you."

"You slept well" Douglas noted, "except for the nightmare. You realize though, that you'll have to get used to sleeping alone."

Seeing the dread on Owen's face at the thought of spending his nights in isolation, Douglas told him: "I know how difficult it is, I went through something similar when I was even younger than you."

"You did?"

"Yes. Most wealthy families send their male children away to boarding school as young as five or six years old. In a boarding school you don't get to go home at the end of the day, you live there. My parents kept me home until I was seven, which was wonderful except that when they did send me I was the only seven-year-old who hadn't been there for at least a year. Everyone my age already had a group of friends and no one was interested in adding me. I felt so alone I cried every night for the first two weeks."

Owen was awestruck. "Did the other boys ever make friends with you?"

"They did, but it took a while. I got through it, and you will too."

"How long did you have to live there?"

"Until I graduated at thirteen. Then my parents sent me to a preparatory school, followed by university. Those were also boarding institutions."

"Didn't you get to go home at all?"

"I came home during holiday breaks and in the summer. It didn't help much, I felt more and more like a stranger here. Then three years ago I was called back from university and when I got home I was told that my parents had been killed in an auto accident. I was only a few months from finishing my degree but I had to withdraw because I now had lands and business holdings to manage."

"Couldn't your brothers and sisters help until you finished?"

"I'm an only child, and all my relatives have their own estates. They had no time for this one."

Since Douglas was being so open, Owen ventured: "Sir, could I ... I mean may I ... ask you something else?"

"What would that be?"

"Rich people don't have to work, but you look very strong."

"That's because I played sports in college. The coach made us do calisthenics and weight-lifting early every morning before classes and go to practice every afternoon. We all hated him, but in retrospect I have him to thank for my build. I lift weights and do exercises to keep from losing what I gained in those years. Now I want to ask you something. You told me that the other servants don't like you. Have they given you a reason?"

"They say I don't belong here."

"You do belong here. Just attend to your tasks, they'll accept you eventually."

Suddenly Owen looked out the window at the sun, which was now well above the horizon. He sat up and started to pull the covers down. "I'm late for my work."

Douglas grabbed his hand. "You still look very tired, you need more sleep. Lie down. I'll tell Mr. Grayson."

"If I'm not there, someone else will have to do my chores, that's not right."

Douglas was moved by Owen's concern for people who were so antagonistic toward him. "No one will be forced to do your chores" he said as he got out of bed. "There will be volunteers, it means extra pay. Lie down, I'll come back for you later."

Owen did not need further encouragement. "Thank you" he said, and did as ordered.

Donning a robe, Douglas walked out into the anteroom to head off his valet, Evans, who would be coming in to open windows and offer to help Douglas with his clothes (it is one of a personal valet's tasks to ensure that the master's clothing looks just right on him).

There was a knock on the door but it wasn't the Valet, it was Grayson, looking agitated. "Sir, the indentured servant has not arrived for work and he is not in his room. Shall I have the staff conduct a search?"

"He's in there" Douglas said, tilting his head toward the closed bedroom door. "I heard him crying again last night and I took him in with me. I'm sure that doesn't surprise you, knowing what I went through during my first days at boarding school. I may do this again from time to time until he feels more an integral part of the household. When that occurs will depend on the attitude of the staff."

The second knock was that of the Valet. As the door opened, Douglas whispered to Grayson: "Not a word about this" and then in full voice: "Hello Evans, no need to go in today, I've taken care of everything."

Evans' eyebrows rose at this departure from standard procedure, unique in his years of service. But rather than presume to ask the reason for his master's unusual behavior, he responded: "Good morning, sir. I have laid out your daytime clothes, will you require anything else before I go to breakfast?"

"No, have a leisurely meal."

=====

That evening, although Douglas heard muffled sobbing as he passed Owen's door he continued on his way, electing to give it an additional day or two.

He couldn't. He went back.

Lying next to Douglas, Owen fell asleep quickly but later he had another nightmare. Douglas picked him up. "Were they chasing you again?"

"Yes" Owen whined.

"Who were they, do you know?" 

"The other servants."

In Douglas's arms Owen was soon calm. Douglas held him for a few minutes more before lowering him, lying down again, and saying goodnight.

Owen reached for Douglas's hand and turned away, trying to pull Douglas's arm around him. "Hold me, Jimmy."

Douglas hesitated briefly but then he moved up against Owen's back and surrendered his arm.

Not since college had he known the pleasure of intimate contact with another male body. Only now did he realize how much he had missed it.

=====

In the morning, Douglas was jolted awake by a loud "Oh!" as Owen let go of his hand and turned to face him. "Oh sir, I'm so sorry, I don't know how I could have"―

He was stopped by Douglas's hand placed firmly over his mouth: "It's alright, it was the medicine." Douglas took his hand away. "Did you sleep that way with Jimmy?"

"Yes. I'm so sorry."

"I told you it's alright" Douglas said, relieved that Owen's anxiety over possibly having offended his master had apparently prevented him from noticing Douglas's morning erection resting on the cleft of his behind. "Go back to your room now and get dressed for work."

For the next three nights, Douglas left Owen in his own room despite the sounds he heard as he passed Owen's door. It broke his heart, but he was hoping that left on his own, Owen would acclimate to the new environment.



 Grayson reported each day that Owen was struggling with his assigned tasks, plainly fighting fatigue and pretending not to hear the muttered remarks directed his way. On the fourth day, Grayson's report included the fact that the staff had added a new grievance to their list of reasons for disliking the indentured servant: "Because he has declined to visit the pub with them on Saturday nights, they say he is aloof."


Indentured Pt. 01



Douglas shook his head in disgust. "No wonder they're causing him nightmares. First they say he's not good enough for them and now they say he's unsociable. These people are impossible!"

Grayson agreed. "And their attitude is taking a toll: He eats so little that Mrs. Emerson considers it an insult to her cooking. He looks drawn, I'm sure he is losing weight."

Douglas decided to take Owen back in for a week, though not in his bed. "Have a single-size bed moved into the master bedroom. Tell the staff that I've said he's to sleep there temporarily. And I'll take over giving him the medication."

That night, after listening for half an hour to Owen tossing and turning in the small bed, Douglas called to him. Owen came and stood next to the four-poster, waiting to find out what was wanted.

Douglas raised a side of the blanket. "Just be back there before Mr. Evans arrives in the morning."

Owen eagerly climbed in.

"Turn around" Douglas directed. "We'll sleep the way you and Jimmy did."

Owen turned onto his side. Douglas moved up against his back and put an arm around him. Owen took Douglas's hand, and hugged Douglas's arm to his chest. "Thank you."

A little later, Douglas was dozing when he felt Owen move. "Is anything wrong?" he asked.

Owen turned toward Douglas, smiled drowsily at him, and murmured "Oh no" before turning away again and pulling Douglas's arm tighter around him.

That smile set Douglas's heart aglow. He was developing a real affection for this boy.

Chapter 2 - Revelations

Sunlight was flooding the room when Owen next opened his eyes. Seeing that Douglas was awake and watching him, he said: "Good morning sir. I think I slept all night."

"You woke up once. You smiled at me and went back to sleep."

Douglas was treated to another smile. "When I came to this house I never thought I would be treated this way. I can't thank you enough."

"I like having you here. Now tell me about Jimmy. Is he your older brother?"

"Yes, he's four years older than me."

"Do you have any other brothers, or any sisters?"

"Two brothers besides Jimmy, and two sisters."

"Six children, that's a big family. Are you the youngest?"

"I'm the youngest boy, that's why Papa sent me. He said he needs the bigger boys to help on the farm."

"You told me that at home you doubled up in bed."

"We only have three beds, that's not enough for everybody even with two in a bed. My two oldest brothers sleep on hay in the barn."

"Did you like sleeping with Jimmy?"

"He kept me warm in the winter, and if I had a bad dream he held me until I fell asleep again."

"That was not an unqualified yes. I take it there's something you didn't like."

A pause. "I had to do what he wanted."

"And that was?"

Another pause. "He said not to tell anyone."

"You can tell me."

Owen was uneasy about disobeying his older brother, but he felt that he should not withhold anything from this generous and understanding man. "When his thing got hard I had to let him push it into me."

Overlooking for the moment the juvenile language this eighteen-year-old had used, Douglas asked: "Into your mouth?"

"No, in back. It hurt. I cried the first time. He made me be quiet. He said if Papa finds out he'll be mad at me.

"When did this begin?"

"A few months ago. At first it was only once in a while, then it was almost every day. I was always still sore from the last time but Jimmy said he loves me so much that sometimes he needs to be inside me'"

"Do you love Jimmy?"

"I did when he held me after I had a bad dream. I'm not so sure when he said I had to let him do what he wanted because he's older."

"Being older didn't give him that right. And if your father finds out what Jimmy was doing he'll be angry at Jimmy, not you."

"So I don't have to let him do that anymore when I go back home?"

"No, you don't."

Owen appeared to be intelligent, so his childish language and his meek behavior with his brother was perplexing. To say nothing of his ignorance about sexual matters. Evidently no one had ever had 'The Talk' with him. Maybe everyone was so busy with the keeping up the farm and the house that no one had the time. But why hadn't he learned anything from his peers, however inaccurate? "What do your friends call their thing?"

"I don't have any friends. There's no one near my age on the farms next to ours, and Papa didn't let me go further away than that, he said it would be too dangerous. So I just stayed home."

"What about your brothers, what do they call it?"

"I don't know, they didn't talk to me much. They mostly hang around with each other."

That explained a lot: Having no peers in his life and no interaction with anyone other than his parents and one domineering brother, Owen had in some ways remained at the level of a young child.

Douglas told him the proper terms for the genital organs, and explained about erections and ejaculation. Deciding that this was enough for the present, he sent Owen off to work.

=====

Despite having said that Owen would sleep in the master bedroom for only a week, when the week ended Douglas was unwilling to give up the boy's nightly company just yet. He told Grayson that in view of Owen's degraded health he thought it best to keep Owen with him a while longer. If Grayson had his doubts about the justification, he kept them to himself.

Enclosed in Douglas's sheltering embrace, Owen was now consistently sleeping through the night. Douglas discontinued the Repose.

During Owen's third week in his master's bed, he asked: "Sir, when will you start using me?"

"What?"

"Will you be using me soon?"

"I heard the question. I don't know what it means."

"My brothers said I'll be coming back home a used boy. I asked them what a used boy is, and they laughed. They said I'd find out because I'm good-looking so someone here will use me and it will probably be you because you're not married. One of them walked around with his feet pointing in and said I'd be walking like that. What were they talking about?"

"They were talking about the same thing Jimmy was doing to you."

"Oh. I guess that's why Jimmy didn't laugh."

"It's another thing your brothers were wrong about. I won't do that to you, and if anyone else here tries it I want you to tell Mr. Grayson or me."

=====

One afternoon several weeks later, long before it was time for the daily report Grayson came to Douglas and said: "Sir, I'm afraid we have a situation. The staff are expressing great resentment about your special treatment of the indentured servant."

"They mean his nighttime accommodations."

"Yes."

"Has it affected his work or his attitude? Is he less attentive to his tasks, has he become haughty?"

"No, he works hard and is courteous to everyone."

"Do they think I have in any way interfered with your supervision on his behalf?"

"No sir, their sole objection is that it has been more than a month and you are still having him sleep in the master bedroom."

Douglas stood for a moment, considering the new complaint. Then he said: "Give him a task that will keep him outside for at least an hour, and call the staff together. They're long overdue for some enlightenment."

When Owen had been sent out to tend the gardens and the staff had assembled, Douglas stepped before them. "I'm told that you are indignant about where I have the indentured servant sleep. Well you are the ones who made it necessary. Think of what he is dealing with: Not long past his mid teens and never before having been away from his home or family, he was sent to work among strangers in a big, strange house. He needs support and encouragement. You have instead shown him only coldness and rejection. Your hostility has so dispirited him that his health was rapidly deteriorating. Therefore I decided to provide the support he needs."

Douglas looked around, catching each servant's eye in turn as he continued. "Some of you hold him in contempt because he is so poor. But a child's poverty is the chance result of being born into a poor family, it is not a measure of quality. Character, on the other hand, is a measure of quality. I will tell you about his: When I ordered him to sleep late one day he tried to refuse, saying that he did not want anyone else to have the burden of his chores added to their own. How many of you would have such consideration for people who so mistreat you?"

A few members of the staff shifted awkwardly on their feet.

"He keeps none of his salary for himself; he asked me to apply it all to his father's debt. Now you know something of his generosity, and you know why he does not accompany you to the pub: He has no money."

Many staff members were beginning to look abashed.

"One last fact about the indentured servant's character: He knows that Mr. Grayson and I are both concerned about his health. He could have tried to exploit that concern by asking for special privileges or by working less hard. He has done neither."

Scanning the staff's faces one last time, Douglas closed with: "Under my care, his health has been improving. To further that improvement and keep watch on his progress, I will continue having him spend the night in the master bedroom, where as you know, I had a bed moved in for his use. The arrangement will be maintained as long as I deem it necessary - or desirable."

He stepped away.

Grayson came forward. "Shall I call him back in now?" 

"No. I will."

He went out into the gardens. After a short search he spotted Owen, whose strenuous task had caused him to shed his uniform in favor of just his T-shirt and boxer shorts. Both clung to his body, having shrunk from innumerable washings.

Douglas quietly stole to a nearby spot where he could get a closer look. Watching Owen's biceps and back muscles undulate in the tight T as he raked and hoed, Douglas was entranced; and each time he saw Owen bend to pull an obstinate weed he yearned to force a hand up into the back of those shorts and fondle the superb behind that was outlined by the body-hugging garment.

He remained there as long as he dared before summoning Owen back into the house.

Later that day, Grayson called Owen aside and said that in consideration of his fragile health his workload would be reduced. Owen thanked him but declined the reduction, promising to speak up if the work ever proved excessively burdensome.

Grayson also had a message from the staff: "They have learned of your financial situation, and have established a fund for your food and drink if you will be gracious enough to join them at the pub on Saturday evenings. I realize that you might be disinclined to socialize with people who have treated you so badly, but I urge you not to let pride stand in the way of accepting this gesture of apology. They truly regret their reprehensible behavior."

"I don't know what to say."

"All you need say is that you will join them." 

"I'll be happy to."

=====

The fund was only the first sign of the transformation brought about by Douglas's lecture: In place of animosity, Owen was now met with friendliness from everyone except for two holdouts, and even they were at least civil to him. The new atmosphere, and Douglas's arm protectively around him each night, gave Owen a sense of wellbeing he had not had since he was a toddler. In addition, his everyday interaction with adults fostered the social development his cloistered early existence had denied him. Day by day he gained maturity.

Now that the staff had turned cordial, there was no longer any legitimate excuse for Douglas to keep Owen with him. However, he was keenly aware of how empty his bed would now feel if Owen were not there. He decided on another delay, telling himself that it would last only until he was sure that Owen's health had been fully restored.

He was certain that when Owen awoke each day the boy must notice his bed companion's early-morning erection nestled in his cleft. Sure enough, one morning Owen said: "When Jimmy has an erection he says the only way to make it go away is to push it into me. Why don't you have to do that?"

"Jimmy doesn't have to do it either, he wants to. And I've already told you I won't do that to you."

Owen was puzzled: He should have been relieved that he was not in any danger of penetration by Douglas, but what he felt was not relief. He didn't know what he was feeling. His master was causing reactions in him that he didn't understand.

Douglas's effect on Owen was manifested more clearly on an evening soon afterward, when Owen entered the master bedroom earlier than usual and found that Douglas had not yet put on a pajama top. Seeing his master bare-chested, Owen felt motion at his crotch, which his pajama pants could not conceal.

Douglas looked at the tenting pants and smiled. "That's quite a compliment."

Owen blushed.

Douglas went without a top from that night on.

Over the weeks that followed, Owen gradually began to understand his feelings, and since Douglas said nothing more about sending him back to his own room, he had a growing sense that his master felt something for him as well. He ached for confirmation, but it remained elusive.

Until the morning he was brought from sleep to foggy awareness by the sensation that he was being lifted. He was still too drowsy to open his eyes, but when the motion stopped he knew that he was now sitting up, an arm was around him, and he was leaning on a smooth, cushiony surface. He purred pleasurably and rubbed his cheek against it.

Then he opened his eyes – and saw that the cushiony surface was a muscular chest. He raised his head.

Looking down at him was his master's smiling face. "Good morning" Douglas said. "I'm sorry I woke you, but you looked so adorable lying there asleep that I just had to pick you up." He tousled Owen's hair. "Seems I've grown quite fond of you."

Owen's heart skipped a beat. "You have?" 

Douglas ran his fingers through the hair he had just disarranged, combing it back to neatness. "Why do you think I keep taking you into my bed?"

"I wasn't sure, I thought maybe it was out of pity."

"You see yourself as pitiful."

"Well ... yes."

"Owen, you're not pitiful, you're extraordinary! You were yanked from your family and dropped among people who made you feel utterly unwelcome, and what did you do? You behaved better than anyone could have asked. That's remarkable!"

With a joyful smile, Owen rested his head back on Douglas's chest.

=====

That night, in the wee small hours as Douglas lay asleep against Owen's back, he was roused by soft grunts. He listened for signs of a nightmare.

Owen lay still. He had fallen back to sleep.

Guessing the cause of the sounds, Douglas eased his hand from Owen's and put it on the front of the boy's pajama pants. There was a slippery area, and through the fabric he could feel the head of Owen's erect penis.

Owen had reawakened at the withdrawal of Douglas's hand from his. He turned and looked at his master.

"You were dreaming, weren't you?" Douglas asked.

"Yes."

"You had a wet dream."

"What's a wet dream?"

"A dream that makes you ejaculate. Would you like to tell me what it was about?"

Owen would not like to. He feared that if Douglas knew what he had been dreaming, he might be banished from his master's bed, perhaps even sent away. Yet he felt, as he had before, that he should not withhold anything from this man who was so kind to him – in this case not even at the risk of exile.

"It was about ... a boy."

"Younger than you, or older?"

"... Older."

"And?"

"I ..."

Owen's pauses suggested an obvious possibility. "Did you do something personal?"

Silence.

"Did you touch his penis, or his behind?"

Owen turned his head away. "I know, there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

Owen faced him. "Yes there is, my brothers talk about boys who do those things. They say they're not normal, they call them bad names."

"Your brothers aren't qualified to judge what is normal."

"You don't know everything we did in the dream."

"Was there any violence, any force?"

"No."

"Then I don't need to know everything you did. You're normal. Now go back to sleep."

Owen turned away and waited.

Douglas put an arm around him.

Breathing a thankful sigh, Owen took Douglas's hand.

=====

It had been four months since Douglas began sharing his bed with Owen, when he awoke one morning to something warm and moist on the arm that was around the teenager.

"Owen?"

The feeling vanished.

"Owen, what were you doing?"

No reply.

"Look at me."

Owen turned. "You'll be mad."

"Why?"

Owen began to speak, stopped, began again, stopped again. Then he blurted out: "I was kissing you I love you please don't be mad at me!"

"I'm not mad at you. But could it be that what you really love is having someone next to you in bed?"

"No! I mean yes, it's wonderful not being alone at night, but I am in love with you. I didn't understand at first, all I knew was that whenever I'm near you something happens to me. I want to kiss you, I want to give you gifts. If I had money I wouldn't just"― he stopped.

Douglas grinned. "Wouldn't just leave me flowers?"

Owen looked like a small child who had been caught at something he shouldn't do.

Still grinning, Douglas said: "Didn't you realize I would ask Mr. Grayson whether he had ordered the flowers that suddenly began appearing in this room each week? When he said no, it confirmed what I had already figured out. For one thing, they always appear after your day off. Why do you sneak them in here rather than just giving them to me?"

"I was afraid you'd think I wanted something in return."

"Such as?"

"I don't know, maybe less work."

"Mr. Grayson offered you less work. You refused."

"You knew that?"

"He tells me everything that goes on in this house, it's part of his job. Where do you get these flowers, they're not among the varieties I have in my gardens."

"Oh no, taking them from your gardens would be stealing. I collect them in the woods."

"Of course. I should have guessed. Why did you think that telling me you love me would make me angry?"

"Because I'm your servant. Are you really not mad at me?"

Instead of answering his question, Douglas said: "Tell me, who is responsible for taking care of the flowers in this house?"

"The maids."

"Yet you've seen that I take care of these flowers myself. Have you ever wondered why?"

"Because they're beautiful, you always say so."

"The others are beautiful also but I don't take care of those. Want to try again?"

"That's the only reason I can think of."

"I take care of these flowers myself because I know they're from you."

Owen remained absolutely still; he couldn't quite believe what Douglas seemed to be saying.

Douglas smiled. "Yes Owen. I'm in love with you too."

End of Part I 



Indentured Pt. 02



The unsafe sexual practices portrayed in this story are not to be taken as a recommendation. 





Indentured Pt. 02



"A good living, not a good life. Not without you. Please, let me stay."

Douglas came from behind the desk and wrapped Owen in a tight embrace. "Of course you can stay! I hated the thought of losing you but I couldn't face myself in the mirror each morning if I let my own desires prevent you from having everything you want."

Owen smiled up at him. "You've just given me everything I want."





Indentured Pt. 02



"I've spent my happiest years here" Owen told him. "I plan to stay. But I can buy a house for the family wherever you want to live, with rooms and beds for everyone. And I'll have it maintained, you won't have to lift a finger."

"I appreciate the offer" his father responded, "but you know what they say about idle hands. Besides, I'm getting on in years, this is no time for big changes. I'd rather keep doing the work I've done all my life. I have the boys to help me; even Jimmy chips in if I prod him enough. But I'll take you up on those beds."

"Done. And you won't have to worry about crop failures anymore. Instead of paying rent to the landlord you'll be receiving money from him. Now there's something I have to ask of you and the family: The people I'll need as business associates and friends are a very snobby crowd. Unless you're from what they call 'old money' they look down on you. I would be shunned if they knew I used to be poor, so when anyone asks about our identical names, it's vital that you just say I'm a relative you never knew about."

Owen's father nodded his agreement. "If that's what you need." Then a mischievous grin appeared on his face. "Since you're now my landlord, will I have to call you Mr. Minton?" he asked with a wink.

Owen laughed for the first time since losing Douglas. "I'll visit you as often as I can. If you need anything between visits, or if the money I send you each month isn't enough, let me know right away."

His father scrutinized him appraisingly. "You look good; don't let yourself go to pot just because you're rich."

Having settled matters with his parents, Owen went back out to the assembled mourners. He delivered a glowing eulogy, accepted expressions of sympathy from the neighbors and friends, and allowed his tenants to introduce themselves. A few of the tenants stared a bit too long at his face, finding it vaguely familiar. They were not, however, about to question their new landlord.

=====

The morning after the funeral, Grayson came to the sitting room, where Owen sat reading messages of condolence. He told Owen that Jimmy was in the entrance hall. "Shall I send him away?"

Jimmy was the last person Owen wanted to see, but he could not simply dismiss his brother without a word. He sighed. "No, send him up."

Compassion was not in Jimmy's nature. Nor was subtlety. As he entered the drawing room he said: "So Hathaway left everything to you. I was right, he was fucking you."

"What do you want, Jimmy?"

"You must have given him one hell of a good time. I guess I trained you right."

"That's what you call what you did to me? Training?"

"You went along with it."

"I didn't know any better. What do you want, I'm in no mood for this."

"I'm moving in with you."

"Is that so. Well here's a fact that seems to have escaped you: I didn't issue an invitation."

"Now that Hathaway is dead, you need me."

"No, it's Papa who needs you, he's close to seventy."

"He's got the other boys, he'll do ok. My things are all packed. You can send someone to pick them up."

"Go home and unpack, you're not moving in."

"Why not?"

"Where do I start? I don't want you here. Go back home, help Papa."

"You're rich; if you won't let me move in here, give me money to live someplace else."

"No."

"Either give me money or I'll tell Papa that you were letting Hathaway cornhole you. You know how he feels about fags."

"Papa's not stupid, do you think he hasn't figured out what Douglas and I must have been to each other? And even if it were news to him, what would he do, disown me? I'm now the family's source of financial security."

Jimmy was not about to give up easily: "I'll tell your neighbors that you're queer."

Owen laughed for the second time since Douglas's death, but this was a mirthless laugh meant solely to irritate his brother. "Go ahead. I'm a wealthy man with extensive lands and businesses; a lot of people will depend on my trade. They'll still compete to have me at their dinner parties."

During Jimmy's visit nearly two decades earlier, he had been dismayed by his younger brother's self-confidence. This was even worse: Owen's total command of the present situation left him feeling utterly powerless.

Owen rang for the Butler. "Douglas certainly had you pegged, you are truly some piece of work."

When Grayson entered, Owen said: "Please show my brother out. If he ever comes back, have him arrested for first degree trespass."

Jimmy didn't move. Grayson grasped his arm. He broke free. "I'M YOUR BROTHER! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!"

"Very well" Owen replied. "Mr. Grayson, have two of our strongest men help Jimmy back to the family farm."

=====

Most people rejoice at coming into great wealth, but Owen cared nothing for his new riches. He would gladly have relinquished everything if that would bring Douglas back. He vowed, however, to accept the part that life had assigned him: He kept up Douglas's practice of visiting the tenants on a regular basis, and like his former master he accepted invitations to dinner parties as well as occasionally hosting dinner parties at Brentwood Hall. In advance of the first event, Grayson familiarized him with patrician etiquette, from use of the proper utensils at each course to the correct manner in which to greet people of the various social ranks.

The dinner parties would have added zest to Owen's life had it not been that without Douglas, nothing held a spark for him. He approached each day with resignation rather than eagerness.

Owen had consented to being called 'sir' by the staff, and he had also agreed to address the male servants by last name only – with one exception: He insisted on addressing the Butler as "Mister" Grayson, to honor the man who had given him invaluable advice and counsel throughout his years at Brentwood Hall. He used the title even in the presence of visitors, who accepted the odd behavior as a permissible eccentricity.

Lineage and pedigree are of supreme importance to the upper classes, so there was much interest in the ancestry of this wealthy newcomer. Attempts to discover his genealogy by the usual means were unsuccessful (family histories of poor people in that country were not entered in official records); that made Owen a particularly intriguing mystery. Propriety forbade asking him directly about his family, but it did not bar subtle probing.

Even though Owen had no previous experience as the subject of stealthy interrogation, his quick mind enabled him to avoid giving any significant information without seeming rude.

A number of eligible young women visited the rich, handsome bachelor. While cordial, he did not respond to their implied advances, and news of his indifference to the wiles of even the loveliest ladies gave rise to the suspicion that his interests lay in another direction. As a result, he began receiving visits from men who tried their luck, hinting broadly that they would be happy to provide companionship of the sort he must want. He was as unresponsive to them as to the women. Douglas had been his one great love, he did not care to try for what could at best be only a far lesser sequel. He preferred to console himself with memories of the man who had meant everything to him.

=====

Shortly after the second gloomy anniversary of Douglas's passing, Grayson told Owen that the Footman was leaving service in order to care for aged parents. This was a rare, if minor disruption in what had become for Owen a soothingly monotonous life. He told Grayson to contact the local employment agency and obtain dossiers for three footman candidates.

Three dossiers arrived by courier the following day. Owen began glancing through them before passing them on to Grayson, who as supervisor of the staff was authorized to choose.

The second dossier was for a boy whose age was the same as Owen's had been when he came to the manor house. This would be the teenager's first position in service. Owen did not pass the documents on to Grayson, having already made his own choice.





Indentured Pt. 03



The unsafe sexual practices portrayed in this story are not to be taken as a recommendation. 

Chapter 6 - Decisions 

Owen walked into the drawing room to meet his new footman, and was stopped in his tracks: Even the haggard expression and painfully slim figure did not prevent him from seeing the resemblance; it was unmistakable, from the radiant brown eyes to the sensual mouth: Owen was certain that if Douglas had had a son, this was what his son would have looked like. 

He felt old stirrings in his loins. 

And guiltily suppressed them. 

He invited the teenager to sit while he reread the dossier the employment agency had sent. "Do people call you Christopher, or Chris?" 

"My parents call me Christopher. Everyone else calls me Chris." He turned away and sneezed. "Excuse me sir." 

"Bless you. Do you have a cold?" 

"No sir, allergies. I forgot to take my antihistamine this morning." 

Owen walked over to the boy, who immediately rose from his chair and looked up at his six-foot master as Owen placed a hand lightly on his arm and said: "I know how it feels to be away from home for the first time. We'll do our best to help you settle in. I hope you will begin to think of us as family." 

"Thank you sir." 

Owen walked to the wall and pulled the bell cord. "Mr. Grayson, the Butler, is in charge of the staff. He can be strict but he is a kind man, and he is also wise; don't hesitate to go to him with any problem. And if there is ever anything you feel that you cannot bring to Mr. Grayson, you can come to me. By the way, you speak well; have you been to school?" 

"Yes sir, I graduated from high school." 

After introducing Chris to Grayson, Owen said: "On your way to have him measured for his uniform, please stop at the kitchen for a glass of water; he needs to take an antihistamine." 

===== 

When Grayson arrived that evening to give the daily report, Owen asked whether he was finding Chris satisfactory. 

"Yes. He is conscientious and eager to learn. My only concern is that he is very timid. He does not speak unless spoken to, and although he tells Mrs. Emerson that he has never had such good food, he takes only small portions, as if he does not feel entitled to take more. If I may be candid?" 

"When have I ever asked you to be less than candid?" 

"He reminds me..." Grayson hesitated. 

"Of me when I first came here." 

"Yes sir, he does." 

"I had that impression too. And have you noticed how much he looks like a young version of our master?" 

"Like Mr. Hathaway? No sir, I see no such resemblance." 

Owen was taken aback. "It seems to me that he's a close likeness." 

"At the risk of being presumptuous, I suggest that the seeming resemblance may be wishful thinking. The loss of Mr. Hathaway still weighs heavily upon you." 

Owen was distressed by the idea that his eyes were deceiving him, yet he could not deny that Grayson was probably right. He wondered how long his perception would be distorted by grief. 

That evening, vividly remembering his initial wretchedness in this house he went to check on Chris. 

He knocked softly and went in. 

Chris was in bed. Seeing Owen enter, he hastily got up and stood with his hands at his sides. 

"You don't have to stand every time I enter a room" Owen told him. "Get back into bed. Were you asleep when I knocked?" 

"Yes sir. Almost." 

"I'm sorry I disturbed you. This is your first day, and I wanted to make sure you were alright. Goodnight." 

As Owen was leaving, Chris called out: "Sir? Thank you." 

===== 

On Chris's third day at Brentwood, a letter arrived from his home. It was addressed not to Chris but to Owen, who read it and then had Chris sent to the sitting room. He motioned the boy to a chair and once Chris was seated, he said: "Your father has written to me." 

Chris turned pale. 

Owen picked up the letter from his desk. "He warns me ― and warn is his word ― that you have ― again his term ― a lust for other boys. He says you are an abomination." 

Chris had trouble keeping his voice from failing as he asked: "Am I dismissed?" 

"No, absolutely not. All this letter has done is show me that your father is both bigoted and hardhearted. Does your mother share his opinion?" 

Mournfully: "Yes." 

"The letter is despicable" Owen said, dropping it into the wastebasket. "That's where it belongs." 

He waited until the color had returned to Chris's face before asking: "How did they learn about you?" 

"They found a note from another boy." 

"Will you tell me what it said? Unless you'd rather not." 

Chris looked with awe at this man who had just learned the most awful thing about him, and accepted him anyway; even defended him! Of course he would tell! "Devon wrote how good it was when we would sneak behind a tree and kiss. He said he wished we could ... do other things." 

"But you only kissed." 

"There was no place to go. All we could do was talk about the things we would do if we ever got the chance." 

"Your father said in the letter that you are not to come home even to visit." 

The reason for Chris's exile gushed from him all in one misery-laden breath: "They don't want me near my brothers and sisters they said I'm possessed by the devil otherwise the beatings would have cured me they said I was named for Jesus Christ and I don't deserve the name because Jesus hates me and I'll go to Hell when I die and Devon will too!" 

Hearing this account of cruelty, Owen longed to take Chris in his arms. It required all his willpower to remain where he was. "Do you believe that Jesus hates you?" 

"Yes, but there's nothing I can do about it. I can't help how I feel." 

In Chris's fear and hopelessness, Owen heard an echo of his own early fears. He went to Chris and turned the boy's chin upward until Chris was looking into his eyes. "I don't subscribe to any organized religion, Chris, but I've read a great many religious books. That included the New Testament, and I can tell you that Jesus taught love, not hate." 

"But what about Hell? Jesus said that being gay is a sin and the preacher told us there's fire and demons and I'll be punished forever." 

"First of all, most of that description is from works by a 14th century Italian poet and a 15th century Dutch painter. Secondly, Jesus is quoted as saying 'the wages of sin is death', which means that unrepentant sinners would be denied the eternal life that he promised to the righteous. It does not mean they will undergo eternal torture. And most important, nowhere in the New Testament did I find any statement by Jesus that being gay is a sin." 

Chris struggled to understand all the things he had just been told. Maybe he wouldn't be going to Hell after all. 

===== 

Buoyed by Owen's explanations, and away from the toxic influence of the fire-breathing preacher and his condemning parents, Chris blossomed: He began participating enthusiastically in the life of the manor house, striking up conversations with his coworkers and offering help wherever it was needed. He took full portions at meals, and within a month his slim body had filled out. Thanks to the labor that a footman was regularly called upon to do at Brentwood Hall, the additional bulk consisted primarily of muscle. He now had quite an imposing figure. Add to that his handsome face and lustrous auburn hair, and Chris was eye-catching. Owen felt a flash of desire every time he looked at the young Adonis. It made him feel disloyal to Douglas's memory, but it was not within his control. He made excuses to pass slowly through areas where Chris was working so that he could catch a glimpse of the Footman. If Chris happened to look up and notice Owen gazing at him, both of them would hurriedly avert their eyes. 

One thing was out of keeping with Chris's new demeanor. Owen asked him about it: "You seem cheerful these days, but I never hear you laugh. Can you tell me why that is?" 

"At home we were taught that humor is unrighteous. They scold us even if somebody says something funny in church and we smile." 

"Apparently your parents think that being righteous means being solemn. But humor is innocent unless it's at someone else's expense. Laughter can even be therapeutic. Keep that in mind." 

Over the next few months, life at Brentwood Hall settled into a smooth, uneventful pattern. Then one day Grayson informed Owen that a servant was missing his pocket watch, a timepiece that had come down to him through several generations. It was his most prized possession. Owen had Grayson assemble the staff in the grand ballroom and assigned Jespersen, his valet, to keep them there until he and Grayson could complete an investigation. 

They began by searching the servants' rooms. While digging through Chris's dresser drawers, Grayson withdrew something and held it out to Owen. "Sir, this is of significantly higher quality than the rest of the Footman's clothing." 

Owen glanced at what Grayson was holding. He reached for it. "I'll take that." 

Shortly afterward, the Butler removed some sheets of paper from another drawer and said: "These might interest you as well." 

Owen came and looked at the papers. "Bring them with us." 

The stolen watch was found in someone else's room. 

On their way back to the assembled staff, with a stop at the sitting room to drop off the papers, Owen cautioned Grayson not to tell anyone about the unexpected discoveries. 

He released everyone from the grand ballroom except for Jespersen. When the others had gone, he took something from behind his back and held it out. "Do you recognize this?" 

"Yes, it's yours, sir" Jespersen told him, confirming Owen's suspicion. "I thought I had misplaced it, we've been short by one. May I ask where it was found?" 

"In the Footman's dresser. Send him to the sitting room but don't tell him why, and say nothing about this to anyone else." 

Chris knew that an unexplained summons to the master is rarely a good sign. He walked to the chair that Owen indicated, but he remained standing. 

Owen held up the sheets of paper. "You're a very talented artist." 

On the sheets were drawings of Owen, drafted with meticulous care. 

Chris froze. 

Owen smiled and said: "These are incredibly good. And quite flattering." 

Chris was relieved; his master liked the drawings. 

Then Owen lifted a pair of briefs from his desk, and his smile vanished. "We also found this." 

Chris half sat, half collapsed, onto the chair. 

Owen looked fixedly at him, awaiting an explanation. 

Unable to bear his master's silent regard, Chris said shakily: "I only borrowed the one pair. I didn't think you'd miss it." 

"Why did you take it?" 

Chris said nothing. He appeared about to cry. 

"What were you doing with my underpants?" 

Chris's answer, after a long pause, was almost inaudible: "I sleep in them." 

This was not among the replies Owen had envisioned. He stared at Chris, who sat silently awaiting Owen's verdict. Then he walked over and held out the briefs. "From now on, if you want to borrow a pair of my briefs, ask Mr. Jespersen for them. And be sure to put them in the wash before you take a fresh pair." 

After sending an astonished Chris back to work, Owen sat at his desk, deep in thought. The discoveries in Chris's room had disturbing implications. He decided that it would be best to avoid all contact with his footman for a while. 

===== 

'A while' turned out to be not very long, because one evening a week later as Owen was on his way to the master bedroom, he saw Chris standing in the middle of the hall, looking lost. He stopped. "Is there a problem?" 

Chris stood with a vague expression, trying to place the person who had just spoken to him. Then he registered recognition. "Oh, hhello sssir" he said, his words slurred. "Can't ffind my rroom." 

"You're standing in front of it" Owen told him, putting a hand out to feel Chris's forehead. "Do you feel as if you have a fever?" 

"Don't know ... ffeel ffunny." 

Owen took him inside and helped him change into pajamas, suffering a pang of guilt for the tingle produced by the sight of Chris's well-formed body. He got Chris into bed and covered him. "Don't go to sleep yet" he said as he left the room. 

He returned holding a fever thermometer. He uncovered Chris. "Turn over and pull your pajama pants down." 

Chris turned over and tried to do as he was told, but he was so poorly coordinated that Owen had to reach over and pull down the back of the pajama pants. 

Minutes earlier, Owen had seen only the front of Chris's naked body. The beautifully rounded cheeks that were now exposed to his eyes made him gulp. He could hardly tear his attention away to lubricate the instrument. 

After spreading the cheeks and sliding the thermometer in, he asked as he covered Chris: "When did you begin feeling this way?" 

"Affter dinner." 

"Did any of the food taste unusual?" 

"Um ... nno." 

"What about liquids? What did you drink?" 

"Tea annd ... " he stopped. 

"And what?" 

"Don't wwant (unintelligible) in throuble." 

"What did you have to drink besides tea?" 

No reply. 

"You have to tell me." 

"Eddie hadda ... fflask. Gave me ssome, said ... mmake me ffeel good. Be... ok 'cause ... bed ssoon." 

"And Mr. Grayson didn't object?" 

"Wasn't ... there." 

"How much did you drink?" 

"Don't knnow. Didn't ... llike it. ... Eddie ssaid ... drink anyway, mmake me ... ffeel good." Chris was having increasing difficulty speaking. 

Owen withdrew the thermometer, wiped between those seductive cheeks, and pulled up the pajama pants. He covered Chris again and read the instrument. "Your temperature is normal, you're just intoxicated. You'll feel better in the morning." He walked to the door, adding: "though not at first" and shut off the light. 

He was nearly asleep half an hour later when he felt the mattress tilt. He opened his eyes and saw Chris awkwardly trying to climb onto the bed. He sat up. "What are you doing?" 

"Mmy rroom ... keepss mmoving" Chris whined. "I gotup, ffell." He swayed precariously with one knee on the bed and one foot still on the floor. "You ssaid could... come to you iff ―" 

Not wanting to risk starting something he shouldn't pursue, Owen abruptly reminded him: "I said you could come to me and talk, not get into bed with me." 

He was about to send Chris back to his own room when he pictured the boy lying alone, frightened and confused. Owen had once lain alone, longing for a comforting presence by his side. Douglas had taken him in. How could he now refuse Chris? "Are you sick to your stomach?" 

"Nno. Dizzzy." 

"Alright you can stay. If you start to feel nauseated" he pointed to a door, "go in there right away." 

"Okhay" Chris mumbled, clambering onto the bed and getting under the covers. 

Owen found that for Chris, "come to you" meant putting an around Owen and cuddling up. He was annoyed by Chris's presumptuousness, but he reflexively put an accepting arm around the boy, who took that as leave to tuck his head under Owen's chin. 

Owen couldn't help noticing how well Chris's smaller body fit against his own. 

Chris nuzzled him. "You ssmell nnice." 

That was gratifying; Owen didn't use anything scented. 

For a minute, Chris was quiet. Then he kissed Owen's neck and said: "Bess massr ... ever. Evvryone ssez." 

Another period of silence. Then: "You're wwarm. Why do ... th'maids say ... you're hhot?" 

"The maids say I'm hot?" Owen asked with a smirk. 

"Hhot. ... wish you ... wweren't bent." 

"They wish what?" 

"Not... bent." 

Owen was baffled until the likely meaning dawned on him: "You mean they wish I were straight?" 

"Thass right. Ssame thing." 

Owen's rumbling laugh made the mattress vibrate. "No, Chris. It isn't." 

Chris kissed Owen's shoulder. "I love you. Oopss. Mussn't... tell. Did... anyway. I'm ... intox ... iated." 

"You are very drunk." 

Another kiss on the shoulder. "Drunk'ss good." 

"I imagine you'll have second thoughts about that in the morning." 

Chris didn't respond. Owen felt soft, even breath on his neck. 

"Did you just pass out?" 

No reply. 

"I guess you did. Oh Chris, you're going to have one colossal hangover tomorrow." 

Owen wondered at the strangeness of this situation: It was not simply another echo of his own experience, it was as if he had become Douglas: He was master of an estate, and his young footman was in love with him. However, there was one major difference here, a difference that made him profoundly sad for the youth who lay nestled in his warmth. "You poor, blameless boy; you've fallen in love with a man whose heart belongs to someone else." 

===== 

When Owen awoke in the morning, Chris was still asleep. He cautiously took the teenager's arm away and got out of bed. The disturbance woke Chris, who opened his eyes - and winced at the bright daylight that blazed in the large windows. He clamped his eyes shut and put his hand to his head. 

"Not feeling so good?" Owen asked with a sympathetic smile. 

Chris opened his eyes partway. "How did I―" then suddenly he threw back the covers and bolted from the bed, his hand over his mouth. 

"Right in there" Owen advised, pointing to the bathroom door he had indicated the previous night. 

Chris barely got the door closed before Owen heard the telltale sounds of Chris's dinner making a return appearance. 

Somewhat later Chris emerged, walking gingerly and holding his head, squinting in the sunlight that was now streaming into the room. "I cleaned up the mess and opened a window. Oh sir, I'm so sorry. Last night is hazy but I remember getting into bed with you. I'm so sorry." 

"It was pretty audacious but you weren't responsible for your actions. You were extremely drunk, and not by choice." 

"So that's what it's like to be drunk. ... Oh my god, I kissed you didn't I?" 

"We'll talk later. Go back to your room now and wait for Mr. Grayson. I'll have him give you something for your stomach and something for your head. Go right to bed after you take them. Don't get up until you feel better." 

Chris gasped as he remembered more about the previous night: "Oh god, I told you that I... oh god. Are you going to dismiss me?" 

"No. Go to bed." 

"Did I do anything else? Please tell me." 

"You passed out." 

"Nothing else, that's good." He turned to leave, but then he turned back and asked: "I got Eddie in trouble, didn't I?" 

"He got himself in trouble. No more questions. Go. NOW!" 

The shouted word caused Chris's head to throb. He made his way out of the room, trying with both hands to still the pain. 

Owen rang for the Butler. When Grayson arrived, Owen told him about Eddie's largesse with the flask, and of its effect on Chris. "I found him in the hall, completely disoriented. I put him to bed but he came in here later, dazed and frightened. He's never been drunk. I let him stay until morning." 

"Oh dear. I shall discipline that purveyor of unauthorized spirits." 

"No, I'll handle this myself." 

"If that is your preference. How is our young Footman?" 

"He's badly hung over. I told him to wait for you in his room. Give him a tablespoon of ante-emetic syrup and if he keeps that down give him four buffered aspirin." 

"I will attend to it forthwith." 

Owen went to where Eddie was working. "Getting the new footman drunk yesterday, was that your idea of an initiation?" 

"Drunk? No! He's always so serious I gave him a couple swallows of whiskey to loosen him up a little, that's all. It wasn't enough to get him drunk." 

"It might not have been enough if he weren't taking an antihistamine. That increases the effect of alcohol. You must have left before you saw what it did to him; he could barely stay on his feet. And for your information, he's always serious because he grew up in a house where any display of lightheartedness brings a sharp reprimand. You put him in grave danger, he could have fallen down a stairway or gotten injured in any number of other ways. He's young and naïve, he trusted you. You betrayed that trust by playing a prank that could have cost him his life." 




Indentured Pt. 03



Eddie was genuinely appalled. "I didn't know!" 

"That's the trouble with practical jokes, they can have unintended consequences." 

"Is he ok?" 

"No. He's very sick." 

Eddie hung his head. "What have I done? I'm an idiot." He looked up. "Is anyone taking care of him?" 

"Mr. Grayson is giving him medicine. I'll check in on him shortly." 

"Could I go with you? Please, I need to see how he's doing and tell him how sorry I am. I didn't mean to get him drunk. Please." 

Owen's inclination was to refuse, but he could see that Eddie was truly remorseful. He consented. 

Chris was asleep when they entered his room. Eddie knelt beside the bed and peered intently into the boy's placid face, as if he were hoping that by sheer force of will he could bring about Chris's recovery. He turned to Owen and whispered: "Could I stay with him? In case he needs anything when he wakes up. I'll work late and finish all my chores." 

Owen's anger abated somewhat. "Don't do anything to disturb him, let him wake up on his own." 

===== 

That afternoon as Owen sat working at his desk, Chris came to the sitting room door. "May I see you sir?" 

Owen waved him in. "You still don't look well, why aren't you in bed?" 

"I'm feeling a lot better. I woke up a little while ago. Eddie was there. He told me why I was drunk. He apologized over and over, and asked what he could do to make it up to me." 

"What did you tell him?" 

"That there's nothing to make up for because I know he didn't mean me any harm. He thanked me about a dozen times and begged me to let him know if there's ever anything he can do for me. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I came to find out my punishment." 

"There is no punishment." 

"But I got into bed with you." 

"Yes, after I gave you permission." Owen smiled. "And you were very cuddly." 

Chris blushed, and smiled too, but then he muttered: "I told you I love you." 

"Chris, I already knew that." 

Chris was startled. "You did?" He considered for a moment. "The briefs. It was the briefs, wasn't it?" 

"It was the drawings. They just radiate the love you poured into them." 

"Even so, it's not my place to say such things to you." 

Owen walked to the door and closed it. "Sit down, there's something I need to tell you." 

He sat down opposite Chris. "You're an enormously appealing young man, Chris. Having you cuddled up to me last night, and the touch of your lips, it was ... arousing. I wish that I could pursue my attraction to you. Lamentably, I can't." 

If Owen had been standing, his knees would have buckled. "You're attracted to me?" 

"Yes. I can't act on that attraction, but with your looks and your personality you'll have no trouble finding someone to sweeten your nights, someone to fall in love with, other than me." 

"Couldn't I sweeten your nights?" 

"No. I would be taking advantage of you." 

"If I can make you happy it will make me happy. How would that be taking advantage?" 

Chris's declaration put Owen in a quandary. Conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. He remembered how much pleasure he and Douglas had given each other, and that had been a relationship between master and servant. But it had been based on mutual love, and although he had great affection for Chris he did not love him. He didn't want to love him; he didn't want to love anyone anymore. 

Admittedly though, Chris was having a powerful effect on him: Since Chris's arrival, Owen had gone whole weeks without pining for Douglas; seeing Chris each day was somehow dissipating his grief. Wasn't it only right to reciprocate by giving Chris the intimacy he craved? For that matter, shouldn't Owen grant himself that intimacy? The prospect of having Chris in his arms every night was enticing. While this wasn't love, maybe it was a worthwhile substitute. 

But would it be disloyal to Douglas's memory? And what if he were to fall in love and Chris were to die? True, Chris was twenty years younger than Owen, but Douglas had died early so Chris's premature death was not inconceivable. Losing Douglas had devastated Owen. He was sure he could not endure another such loss. He would have to say no. 

Then he remembered something Douglas had once said: "My joy would be complete only if you had the best possible life". In that instant he knew that by accepting Chris he would be honoring Douglas's memory, because the man who loved him more than he had known, would not want him to sacrifice the rest of his life to fear or nostalgia. 

He rose and waggled a beckoning finger at Chris. 

Chris searched Owen's face. "Does that mean―" 

"Stop talking and come here" Owen said, opening his arms. "It means yes." 

Chapter 7 - Hurdle 

Owen had never gotten around to having the single-size bed moved out of the master bedroom. He notified Grayson that Chris would now be sleeping there, and directed that furniture be moved in for Chris's use. 

Grayson had noticed Owen's stealthy glances at the young footman, and Chris's equally furtive glances at Owen. He hoped that this finally marked an end to Owen's grieving. 

That evening, after changing into pajamas Chris went to the single-size bed and drew back the covers. He looked yearningly at Owen in the four-poster. 

Owen patted the place next to him. "As long as you're back there in the morning when Mr. Jespersen arrives." 

Chris hurried to the four-poster and climbed in. 

But he stayed timidly at a distance. 

"Don't be a stranger" Owen quipped, reaching over and pulling Chris to him. 

Chris's muscles tightened. 

"This was easier when you were drunk, wasn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well relax, this time you're here by invitation." 

After a few moments of uncertainty, Chris happily snuggled up. 

They lay for a while in cozy silence. Then Owen said: "I want you to tell me everything you and Devon talked about doing if you ever got the chance. We'll do all those things, and more if you want. In return, I need you to promise that if you ever dislike anything I'm doing, you'll tell me, even if it's something you asked for." 

"I'll like anything you do." 

"Promise me." 

Chris again tried to protest, but Owen repeated the requirement. 

Chris promised. 

===== 

That week, Owen had an unexpected and most unwelcome visitor: Grayson came to him and announced: "Your brother Jimmy is here. I thought it best to inform you before summoning the authorities." 

As with Jimmy's brash appearance the day after Douglas's funeral, Owen could not bring himself to have his brother sent away without at least speaking to him. "Don't do anything yet. I'll see him in the sitting room." 

When Jimmy entered, Owen broke in before his brother could begin to talk: "I warned you that if you came back I would have you arrested, yet here you are again, turning up like the proverbial bad penny. What do you want this time?" 

"The same thing I wanted last time. I hate the farm, give me money so I can live on my own." 

"You get an allowance from Papa; save up for your own place and when you move in there, find a job so you can maintain it." 

Jimmy's mouth curved upward in what could only be described as an evil grin. "I have a better idea." 

In his previous visit, Jimmy's attempts to extort money from Owen had failed because Owen had been able to defuse his threats. Since then, Jimmy's conniving mind had been constantly at work and he believed he now had a threat that was impossible to counter: "You're going to give me all the money I want because if you don't, I'll tell people who you really are." 

Owen's blood ran cold. Jimmy seemed to have him in an indefensible position. 

Then, marshalling his formidable intellect, he walked up to his brother, coming so close that Jimmy moved back a step. Then, from only a few inches away Owen spoke in a voice whose low volume only emphasized its menacing tone: "You will regret those words, because now if people ever learn of my origin I'll blame you, and believe me, you could not suffer a worse fate. I will hire as many people as necessary to carry out a full-time mission of making your life a living hell. You will never again have even one day of peace." 

Owen's face left no doubt that he was deadly serious. Jimmy desperately tried to think of something that would blunt Owen's resolve. "What if they find out from someone else, you couldn't blame me if that happens." 

"I could and I will, because I'll assume you're behind it. So not only had you better do nothing to reveal my secret, you had best do everything you can to protect it. Now leave, or I will have you arrested." 

===== 

During their first week together, Owen held Chris every night but did nothing more. He was waiting for Chris to grow comfortable lying next to him. 

His forbearance proved wise: By the end of that week Chris had begun moving into Owen's arms as soon as they were in bed. 

The following Monday, Owen gave Chris a light kiss and said "Happy nineteenth birthday. 

"How did you know this was my birthday?" 

"It was in your dossier from the employment agency." He kissed Chris again, and ran his tongue along Chris's lips. Chris murmured with pleasure and opened his mouth. Owen's tongue slid in to survey and taste. 

As they began their third week, Chris asked Owen to make love to him. 

"I will, but not yet." 

"Why not?" 

"When I first asked my master to make love to me he said we should wait. I wish I had taken his advice." 

"Your master? How could you have a master?" 

"Do you remember standing in the drawing room the morning you came here, and hearing me say that I understood how you were feeling? I'm sure you thought I couldn't really understand, but I did and now I'm going to tell you why. You're going to learn some things that few people know about me, Chris. I'm trusting you to keep them to yourself." 

He told Chris about his family, and recounted his history at Brentwood Hall. When he reached his declaration of love for Douglas, he said: "So you see, Chris, I've been on both sides of that." Then he proceeded with the rest of the story. 

Hearing of Owen's bequest, Chris was in awe. "He must have loved you very much." 

"More than I ever realized. I had no idea that I was even in his will. I had never given it a single thought, it was not something I cared about. I won't be able to leave the estate to you, Chris. My family is poor, I'll have to leave everything to them. That's why I resisted becoming intimate, it isn't fair to you." 

"Yes it is! You just told me you didn't care about inheriting anything from your master. Can't you believe that I feel the same way about you?" he asked, gazing into Owen's eyes. 

"When you look at me like that, I do believe it." 

"Then make love to me." 

"I'm as anxious as you are but we need to wait." 

Chris frowned. "Why?" 

"Because I want us to prepare by becoming completely familiar with each other's body." 

That was not Owen's true reason for the delay: Chris's choice of words had made it clear which role he desired, and Owen had never topped. He desperately wanted Chris to enjoy having Owen inside him, and that would require a mental review of everything Douglas had done, so that Owen could make it as pleasurable as possible for Chris. The review would take time. 

"Can we still kiss?" Chris asked plaintively. 

"That we can always do" Owen said, leaning in to plant one on Chris's soft lips. 

===== 

When Chris entered the bedroom the following evening, Owen said: "Take off your pajamas" and began to remove his own clothes. 

As Owen gradually revealed himself, Chris stopped to watch. His eyes moved downward from his master's powerful chest to a flat belly and a light tan bush above an ample circumcised penis resting on a full pouch, between solid thighs. "You're beautiful" he said. 

Owen smiled. "Thank you. So are you." 

"You've never seen me naked." 

"Yes I have." 

"When?" 

"The night you were drunk and I put you to bed. Now lose those pj's, I've been looking forward to seeing your gorgeous body again." 

Chris undressed, smiling shyly. He blushed when he stood nude in front of his master. 

Owen regarded him. "I could look at you forever." 

In bed, Chris was very cautious; he would not touch Owen anywhere until he had asked permission. After his third request, Owen said: "You don't have to keep asking, do whatever you want." 

Chris squeezed Owen's broad shoulders, taking delight in the feel of his master's firm flesh compressing under his hands. Growing more adventurous, he moved his hands down Owen's chest. He stopped at a nipple, bent forward, and licked it. The nipple rose. He took it in his mouth and suckled. Owen sighed. Chris continued briefly before resuming his hands' downward journey. At Owen's bellybutton he suddenly drew back, confronted by an erect penis whose mushroom crown was where his hands were about to go. He looked up at Owen. "Would it be ok―" 

"I told you, stop asking." 

Chris put hand around the warm, stiff shaft and tilted it upward. It twitched and the purplish crown oozed a drop of clear liquid. He brushed his tongue over it, licking up the glistening drop. His face contorted. 

Owen chuckled. "Precum is an acquired taste." 

Chris barely heard; he was staring at the engorged head of Owen's erect penis. He put his mouth over it and hummed a pleased "mmmm" at the rubbery feel. 

Owen started to say "Chris, you shouldn't do this yet" but then Chris moved his head forward. 

Owen inhaled delightedly, and said nothing more. 

Chris took in as much as he could, then he paused, ecstatic at having his mouth filled with his adored master's penis. He moved his tongue around in a way that he hoped would please Owen. 

Owen closed his eyes. 

After a minute, Chris drew back. "I guess I'm not very good at this." 

"You are!" Owen declared. "That was great! Did you like it? The truth." 

"Yes, I just wish I could be sure of what I was doing. I felt clumsy." 

"What you did was first-rate." 

Chris smiled and ran his hands down Owen's thighs. He lifted a foot and licked across the hollows in back of the toes. Owen giggled. "That tickles." 

Chris attempted to turn Owen over but he couldn't manage the larger man. Owen waited through two tries, then said "Let me" and rolled onto his stomach. 

Chris's hands moved slowly down Owen's smooth, muscular back, ending up on the behind he had long wanted to see uncovered. He kissed each cheek and sank his fingers into the cleft. He could feel Owen's rosebud. He pushed a finger in. It was clutched tightly for a moment, the grip pulsated, and then loosened. He pulled the finger out. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" 

"Just the opposite! Look." Owen lifted a hip. On the sheet was a puddle of semen. 

Chris smiled proudly. 

During the next two weeks, as Chris continued his exploration his remaining shyness faded. When it was gone, he became like an unleashed puppy, touching, sniffing, and licking Owen everywhere. Not a nook or cranny went uninvestigated, whether it was behind Owen's ears, on the undersides of his knees, in the valleys of his groin, or even in his cleft. 

Owen conducted his own study, as thorough as if he were planning to sculpt a statue and needed to memorize all the details of Chris's body. 

Then one night, as soon as Chris joined Owen in bed Owen grabbed him, flipped him onto his back, and said "Time for a belated birthday present" as he grasped Chris's penis, which immediately grew and hardened under his touch. When it had reached full size, Chris felt Owen's mouth engulf it, and Owen's tongue now did for him what he had tried to do for his master two weeks earlier. Before long, Chris shouted a warning - which Owen ignored. 

Chris shot abundantly into Owen's cushioning mouth. 

Owen had expected to spit out the slippery fluid because the only other time he had tasted semen, he hadn't liked it. To his surprise, he liked Chris's. He swallowed it all. 

Chris lay still for a minute, a satisfied smile on his face. Then he asked: "Will you make love to me now?" 

"Yes" Owen answered, getting out of bed. He took hold of Chris's ankles and rotated the boy until he lay sideways across the bed with his behind a few inches past the edge. Then, pushing Chris's thighs down against his chest, Owen said: "Hold them there." 

Owen knelt and licked the grooved hole that was now exposed to his appreciative view, evoking a buoyant gasp from Chris. As he straightened up, he playfully smacked a cheek before retrieving a tube of lubricant from a drawer of the bedside table. Taking a generous amount on a finger, he applied it around the rim of Chris's pucker and in one continuous motion pushed the finger all the way in, watching Chris's face for any sign of pain. There was none. He rotated his hand and, quickly locating the bulge he was seeking, he massaged it. Chris moaned, and his redeveloping erection grew to full hardness. Owen withdrew the finger. 

After applying the lubricant to his own rigid member, Owen held Chris's hips and entered him. 

Chris winced. Owen hesitated until Chris said "Ok, keep going." 

Never having topped until this night, Owen was struck by how tightly his shaft was clutched as he moved inward. 

Soon he felt those captivating cheeks against his belly. He paused to enjoy the sensation. When he began to move again it was in long, slow cycles, pulling nearly all the way out and then gliding back in, changing the angle each time until Chris's, breathy "Ahhh!" and twitching erection told him that he was hitting the bulge he had fingered earlier. Maintaining that angle, he steadily increased his speed and stroked Chris's penis in time with his thrusts. The boy's rapturous cries rang in his ears. 

Looking down and seeing his manhood sliding in and out between those cheeks, he was barely able to hold back his climax. 

All of a sudden his shaft was repeatedly squeezed as Chris came, shouting and sending white spurts arcing through the air like shots from a roman candle. That defeated Owen's last vestige of resistance; with an exuberant cry he let loose a volley into Chris. 

When their ejaculations ended, Owen pulled out. 

Chris let his legs down and lay smiling up at Owen, who stood for a minute in fond contemplation of this boy who was so cute lying there naked with his legs dangling over the side of the bed and his deflating penis drooling semen. Then Owen carried Chris to a chair and sat down, placing Chris astride his lap, facing him. 

With an arm around Chris's back and a hand cupping one of the pliant cheeks that now rested sensually on his bare thighs, Owen sat looking into Chris's eyes. 

Chris looked blissfully back at Owen. Then his eyes began to close. He put his head down on Owen's shoulder and within moments he was asleep. 

Owen sat holding Chris until he too grew sleepy and carried Chris to bed in the four-poster. 

===== 

He was awakened a short time later by the sound of sobbing. "Chris, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing. I'm ok." 

"No you're not, you were crying. Why?" 

A pause. "What we did is a sin. We should want girls." 

"Should? Do you think we can choose what we want? No one can do that, Chris, our desires are built in. And what we did is no sin." 

"Then why does the Bible say a man shouldn't lie with a man?" 

"The Bible says a lot of things. It says a father can sell his daughter into slavery, it says that you must not wear any garment made from two kinds of cloth." 

"Is that true, it really says those things?" 

"Those and more. The ones I quoted are in a part of the Old Testament called Leviticus." 




Indentured Pt. 03



He let Chris think about that, and then he asked: "Do you believe that God created everyone?" 

"Yes." 

"Do you think that God makes mistakes?" 

"No, God is perfect." 

"Well in that case God must have made you and Devon and me the way we are, on purpose." 

Hesitantly: "I suppose so." 

"You aren't convinced." 

"I understand what you're saying, but ... I'm still scared." 

"That's because you understand only intellectually. You also need to understand emotionally, and you don't. You're still suffering from the poison spewed by that preacher who has taken a religion meant to espouse love, and twisted it into a religion of severity and hatred. It will be a long time before you realize with your whole being that your desires are not sinful." 

Seeing Chris still so haunted by his upbringing, Owen was in despair. He was afraid the situation might be hopeless. 

Then Chris had an idea: "One of my friends goes to a church where you can sit in a little booth and tell someone called a priest what wrong things you did. The priest says what you have to do to make up for them and when you do it God forgives you. It's called ..." He tried to think of the word. 

"Penance" Owen said. "It's like a punishment." 

"Could I do that?" 

"Make a confession to a priest and have him assign you penance? Yes, if you become a Roman Catholic." 

"Oh." That possibility was not open to Chris; it had been drilled into him from early childhood that his church preached the one true religion. 

He was silent for a time, and then he had another idea: "What if you whip me with your belt, like my father used to do? Could that be my penance?" 

"I won't do that, it would be cruel. Your father shouldn't have done it either." 

Some more time spent thinking. Then a third idea: "When I was too young for the belt, my father used to take my pants down and spank me. Could you do that for my penance?" 

Owen brightened. Spanking wouldn't injure Chris, or inflict excruciating pain. And Owen was thrilled by the prospect of slapping Chris's bare bottom. "Yes" he said. "That would work." 

"Will you spank me now? For what we did tonight." 

Without a word, Owen got out of bed and sat down on a nearby armless chair. He patted his thigh, his penis rising to attention at the thought of what he was about to do. 

Chris walked quickly to the chair and draped himself over Owen's lap. 

Owen put a bracing hand on Chris's back and raised the other hand, ready to deliver the first blow. He paused with his hand in the air, loath to inflict violence on that sublime rear end. 

Then he started. 

Chris whimpered but asked him to make the blows harder, "otherwise it might not count." Owen strengthened the slaps. Chris's whimpers gave way to yelps as the cheeks began to color. His anguished cries made Owen feel terrible. 

When the color deepened from pink toward red, Owen stopped and said "That's enough." He offered to apply an anesthetic salve. Chris said no, he wanted the burning to last. 

They made love again several nights later, and a minute into the spanking, amidst Chris's wails of misery, Owen felt warm splashes against his thigh. 

Owen had just learned that Chris's agony was pretense: In reality, Chris found it highly arousing to be spanked by Owen. 

From then on, Chris almost always ejaculated during the spanking, even when he had climaxed only a short while earlier while Owen was inside him. And for Owen, there was nothing more exciting than holding a naked Chris face down across his lap and seeing those enthralling cheeks shudder each time his hand came down on them. His erection had always redeveloped in anticipation, and since it was nudged by Chris's hip every time Chris jerked in reaction to a slap, Owen too often ejaculated a second time. 

Following the spanking, Owen would carry Chris to bed, lay him down gently on his stomach, and get in beside him to stroke his back tenderly until he fell asleep. 

===== 

Convinced that the spankings atoned for what he still believed might be sinful, Chris became an ardent lover. He was constantly searching for undiscovered erogenous areas, which would thereafter get special attention from his fingers and his tongue. He especially liked licking Owen's well-filled pouch and continuing from there to Owen's rosebud. He would lick around the rim and then treat Owen to a warm, wet probe. 

Owen did everything he could to match or even exceed the pleasures Chris gave him. Month by month he increased the scope of their activities, and true to his word they eventually did all the things that Chris and Devon had wanted to do. 

One morning following a night of particularly vigorous lovemaking, they were asleep together later than usual. There was a knock on the door and as is the practice in grand houses, a servant entered without waiting for a response. 

Roused by the click of the latch, Owen was panic-stricken. He looked toward the door. 

And saw that he need not have worried. It was Jespersen, a man known for his impeccable discretion. In keeping with that reputation now, the Valet exhibited absolutely no reaction to the sight of Chris asleep in the four-poster with his head on his master's bare chest. Jespersen did not so much as break stride on his way to the first window, where he raised the sash and issued the traditional sunrise greeting: "Good morning sir, I have laid out your daytime clothes. Will you require anything else before I go to breakfast?" 

===== 

It was five years to the day since Owen had begun taking Chris into his bed, when he asked Chris one night as they were preparing for sleep: "Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?" 

"Yes, of course I do." 

"I didn't say that I loved you." 

"I didn't expect you to." 

"I didn't say it because it would have been a lie. But I can say it now, because it has become true. I love you, Chris." He grinned. "It's your fault, you know. I didn't anticipate that this would happen. I didn't want it to happen. But you're so lovable I couldn't help myself." 

Chris frowned. "You couldn't love me, I'm just a servant. A nobody." 

"Oh Chris, being a servant doesn't make you a nobody." 

"Yes it does, servants never do anything important." 

"What makes you think that? 

"Well I never have." 

"Even if that were so it wouldn't make you any less lovable. But I'm going to tell you something and then you can judge for yourself." 

He spent a minute carefully choosing his words before he began. 

"When I lost the man who meant everything to me, I thought I would never be happy again. I didn't care about anything, I might as well have been dead. Then you came to Brentwood, and ... there was something about you ... your presence in this house was like a burst of sunlight. You made me want to live again. Let's see ... saving a life ... does that qualify as doing something important?" 

Owen waited, but Chris just stared at him, speechless. 

Owen took Chris's face in his hands. "Not only did you save my life, Chris, you've brought me the happiness I believed I had lost forever. Of course I love you." 

Chris's eyes were glistening with tears. "Not even in my wildest drmmff" ― the rest of what he had intended to say was stifled by Owen's passionate kiss. 

===== 

In the years that followed, Chris gradually ceased to fear that his desires might be sinful. The spankings became unnecessary, and would have stopped had they not both enjoyed them so much. 

And their years together were many, because Chris did not die prematurely, nor did Owen, who lived into his late seventies and died knowing that he had helped a shy, timid boy develop into a confident, capable man. Chris was Owen's second great love, and Owen did not think of it as a lesser one. 

Owen left his estate to his family, as he had said he would have to do. He had been tempted to leave nothing to Jimmy, or to specify only a disparagingly small amount, but he knew that unequal bequests can tear a family apart. 

He did, however, make two omissions from the family's legacy: He left a large sum of money to Chris, along with one of his income-producing investments. Chris was in his fifties, and most people of his class continued in service long past that age, but the lump sum and the assured revenue from the investment enabled him to retire and buy a cozy cottage in a pleasant little village. His siblings had reestablished contact when their coldhearted parents died, and they now frequently exchanged visits with him. 

He missed Owen every day, but he was grateful for their years together and felt that overall his life had been very good. With his restored family ties, his comfortable home, and his friendly neighbors, he was content. 

END