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The fog was oppressive in London when Rob’s plane refused to land there due to the decreased visibility. It was only the first of many disappointments, but Rob kept a stiff upper lip. The plane eventually landed because the fog gave way to a gentle, enveloping rain.
It was not that cold, but there was a chill in the air, so Rob took a jumper out of his suitcase once he got it from the baggage-claim area. Then he made his way through the teeming throngs of people at Heathrow Airport.
He didn’t really like the “travel” part of traveling. He liked seeing exotic destinations or even just ordinary destinations in extraordinary places. But he didn’t like planes or airports or trains or long car rides or trams or barges or anything of that sort. Of course, they were the only way to get to his destinations, so he made do.
When he got out of the airport, the first thing he saw was a pair of men fighting in the upper level of the multi-storey. One of them shouted “Oi! Oi!” so loud, over and over, that Rob couldn’t hear anything else and never found out what the argy-bargy was about (but he had a feeling, based on the football kit they both wore, that it related to sport).
Rob had every intention of satisfying his secondary goal as well: servicing the most arousing alpha males he could find, whatever the cost.
Usually, he would just wing it. He had a knack for finding the right kind of guy anyway, and looking for them gave him plenty of time to see the countryside.
But a friend had given him a lead on an Englishman of incomparable studliness. His name was John Thomas, or, to be more precise, John Thomas Smith Walker Mayne, Duke of Malperham-upon-Avon and Baron Alewar of the Wildest Moors.
He didn’t tell very many people he was anything more than John Thomas. But most everyone in his life knew he was a duke anyway; English people had a way of knowing that even when nobody told them. Whilst that was interesting enough — Rob was still trying to find out what a “Baron Alewar” was — it wasn’t what Rob wanted in him anyway.
He was so handsome it hurt. John was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair that was always slicked back. He was an Oxford Uni student and played cricket well enough that he got tons of Google hits (Rob found cricket impenetrable and he was unable to understand anything about what position John played, what it meant or how good he was, but there were articles in major papers about him, so John assumed he must have been good). John was well-muscled but not bulky, and he had a handsome squarish jaw like a knight of the round table, with dimples Rob wanted to bathe in.
He had to have him, and luckily, Rob thought he had an in. Despite being a duke and a baron, John was middle-class at best (in terms of money), despite reading The Times everyday and pretending to follow it. He was in need of money.
But Rob wasn’t sure how to approach him. Englishmen, especially well-heeled Englishmen like John, didn’t talk about sensitive topics like money. So he started off by simply wandering around Oxford Uni. He looked in on a few classes, but the students all looked serious, grim-eyed and focused on sitting for exams. The few people Rob talked to scurried away like he had frightened them.
“Well, shit,” Rob said to no one in particular. He had thought John would be easy to find. On North American college campuses, handsome jocks were always the center of attention and could usually be found on the quad during the day. Oxford Uni had very small, enclosed quads, and the ground was soggy because of the damp that hung in the air, so no one spent time in the quad here. Rob was disappointed.
John was nowhere to be seen. That’s because he was having his elevenses with his manservant Jeeves. He happened to see Rob from a window as he finished his meal and bade Jeeves meet him back in his flat, but John thought nothing of him.
That was why, when he came out onto the quad and saw Rob again, John nodded to him as though they were acquainted. Rob took it as a sign that this was the Englishman for him. He was even handsomer in person than Rob had expected.
“Excuse me, sir, er… Duke… Your grace…?” Rob blushed.
John cocked his head to the side. “Not many people use my title, old chum, who are you that you know me and I do not know you? And you are American to boot? I have never met an American who uses my title, the idea is quite droll indeed.” A snooty laugh escaped from his thin lips, and the muscles of his broad shoulders flexed.
“My name is Rob.”
“Oh, what a fine fellow! I do greatly enjoy North America. My family owns a hunting lodge in Ontario, and I daresay, aside from les Québécois, it’s marvelous!” He laughed and clapped his hands — his French accent was self-consciously bad: lezz kebekwazz — then looked side to side like he thought he had been too loud. “What can I do for you, my fine yankee friend?”
“I, uh, I’m doing interviews for a North American cricket magazine,” Rob said. “It’s new, it’ll be in the first issue. I wanted to ask you some questions about the sport.”
“Ah, yes, well I am very busy indeed, I am not sure I could fit that in my diary,” he said. He beamed like he didn’t often get recognized for his skill. “I do so love the world of periodicals though, and I wish you the best of luck-“
“I can pay. Two hundred pounds.”
He paused, checking all around the quad for anyone he knew. “Yes, well, the money, of course, is not important. But I do wish to spread the world’s most civilized sport. I have always believed cricket teaches its players the best in comportment and decorum. It is truly a sport for gentlemen,” he said with a grin. Then he blurted out, “-and ladies! I did not forget ladies. Oxford has a marvelous women’s cricket team. Positively smashing.”
“Oh… Uh, well,” Rob stumbled over his words. John’s imposing size and charming grin made it hard to focus. “So will you do the interview? For two hundred pounds?”
“I’ll do it for the sport, not for the money. I’ll do it to exalt the glory of cricket itself,” John said, beaming to show off his dimples. “And I shall take the money, yes, of course, I do not wish to cause a scene.”
“You don’t have to accept the money,” Rob said with a grin.
“Of course, of course, but I don’t wish to rock the boat. If you are paying two hundred pounds, you should pay two hundred pounds. It’s not a problem,” he said with a casual chuckle. He paused. “I do have a prior commitment in a few minutes. Can we schedule it for later today? I have to get ready for my morris side’s rehearsal, I must change my clothes.”
“Oh, can I come with you?”
“Eh… I suppose,” he said. He led Rob back to his flat just a few blocks from uni. His manservant Jeeves was waiting for him there — having cleaned up after John’s elevenses, Jeeves hurried back to the flat to be ready to prepare John for the morris dancing rehearsals. “You can away, Jeeves, I shall dress myself.”
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said, with a heavy tone and a deliberate look like he didn’t entirely believe that John was capable of dressing himself.
Rob pretended to care about cricket then and asked a few questions. He even jotted down John’s answers. John stood in the center of his flat at first. He didn’t expect Rob to wait here whilst John changed.
But John was unsure of expectations. Jeeves, of course, would be here when John removed his garments, but did Rob expect the same? He made no effort to walk away. Americans, John thought, always changed clothing in locker rooms (judging from the cinema, since John had never been to America in person). So John assumed that meant Rob intended to stay here and ask questions whilst John changed.
It was not a big deal, John told himself. It was how the lower classes operated. They often dressed in groups — without a single butler or valet even — such as before working in a mine. John wondered if Rob was a mineworker. John removed his shoes.
“There is a new North American cricket league,” Rob explained. “It’s not that popular. I’m hoping this magazine will increase its audience.”
“Oh how wonderful!” John kept a smile on his face as he removed his shirt and trousers.
“That’s why I wanted an interview with you, you’re charming and handsome, and you’ll bring in women, I hope, but I guess you’re used to that,” Rob said with a flirtatious smile aimed directly into John’s eyes. John blushed in response. He wasn’t used to people giving him compliments like that, so directly and bluntly, especially regarding women.
Rob was entranced by his broad chest, which was smooth and unblemished, a pale porcelain like fine ivory. John smelled of fine soap, not ordinary soap, but something soap-like, smelling a little of flowers and fruit — it didn’t smell like a flower-scented soap; it smelled like actual flowers, like John had bathed in rosewater dappled with blossoms.
“So you do morris dancing?”
“It is an important part of my family’s heritage,” John said. He sighed and rolled his eyes as he said it. “And I would be disappointing them to abstain from participating in it, so you see, there was never any doubt that I would do it. My entire family has done so for generations, so I never even considered skipping it.” He looked at the notes Rob was taking. “Is that going to be in the magazine? I am not certain it would be necessary. Do North American cricket fans care about such esoteric matters of English culture? I should think not.”
Rob had no intention of writing any article, but John didn’t know that. Rob just shrugged. “I gotta take notes on everything. My editor will decide what’s important enough to include in the article.”
“Indeed.”
The morris-dancing costume was simple, and, Rob was annoyed to see, not especially arousing. It covered everything. John pulled up a pair of white trousers, which were loose-fitting and billowy, and pulled on a white shirt. He looked almost like he was unfamiliar with the costume, which mystified Rob — he had no idea that John had never dressed himself in his morris-dancing clothing, so he was unused to doing so without Jeeves’s assistance.
“That is…” Rob had to suppress a giggle, “an interesting getup.” He watched John check that he had his handkerchiefs — that was part of the traditional morris dance. John’s family, the Dukes of Malperham-upon-Avon, had been running the morris side here at Oxford Uni for centuries; even when there was no one from the family attending school there, the Smiths sent a distant cousin or servant to run the side.
“I understand it is old-fashioned, of course,” John said. “But it is our heritage and our tradition. It supplies the Englishman with his soul, even if it seems strange.”
Rob shrugged. “Yeah, sure, no problem. We all have our strange national traditions. It’s no weirder than a sock hop,” he said. He blushed. “I was kinda hoping that you wouldn’t put those clothes on though…”
“I’m sorry, my fine yankee chum?”
Rob cleared his throat. “Well, I promised you two hundred pounds for an interview, and that would be fine. We could do that, and you could walk out of here with two hundred pounds-“
“Which I would be fine with, indeed, but I do not require it, as we have established. I do not wish to do anything for so gauche a reason as money,” John said. “I will do it for cricket.” He stood proudly as though he was being photographed.
“Quite right, tut-tut,” Rob said with another giggle. John looked dourly upon him — Englishmen, he thought, did not giggle. Rob found his intense glare difficult to endure. “But if you wanted… you could earn something more like five hundred pounds. I realize you don’t need it, of course-“
“All this talk of money makes me ill. It is impolite,” John said. He put his hands on his hips and played with the uncomfortable fabric of his morris-dancing costume. “Belgians speak of money. I am no Belgian.”
“Right, well, for five hundred pounds, all you’d have to do is stand there.”
“You intend to pay me five hundred pounds sterling to stand here?” John paused.
“Well, to stand there and not complain as I do something,” Rob said. He inserted one finger in his mouth and sucked on it. John’s eyes opened wide. Rob deep-throated his finger even more explicitly because it wasn’t clear John was willing to accept the implication. Rob blushed as John chortled and stumbled over his own words.
“I say! I-I-I-I-I-I… I dare say you are a disreputable lout! You would pay… pay the Queen’s good money for something craven and perverse!” John said. “Correct? Did I misunderstand you? You mean… you wish to fornicate? And you will pay me… a monkey?”
Rob raised his eyebrow. “A monkey…? Nooooo. You can buy a monkey, I guess. I mean, it’s illegal, I’m pretty sure. Probably costs more than five hundred pounds too.”
“A monkey is working-class slang for five hundred pounds,” John said, barely controlling his pride at being able to explain working-class slang to someone. John harrumphed and crossed his arms over his broad chest, cradled by that billowy white morris-dancing shirt.
“So you’ll do it?”
John winced. “Please, sir, have some decorum. Do they not have manners in America? Of course I am not opposed to… activities of a masculine nature. But it is most improper to do so so wantonly, so flippantly!”
“Oh?”
“The polite way to invite a man to explore manhoods together is to say that you would like to promenade amongst the lavender blossoms,” he whispered.
“But I don’t. I have allergies. I just wanted to taste your dick.”
“Don’t be difficult, sir,” John said. “And please, do not assault my ears with such common talk.”
“I didn’t realize you had such sensitive ears,” Rob said. One of his hands slipped under John’s loose-fitting morris-dancing shirt. John twitched but didn’t tell him to stop. Rob thought that accusing him of having “sensitive ears” would make John quit it with the euphemisms, but John just nodded.
“I am a well-bred gentleman, of course I do not wish to hear of such things or speak of money,” John said. “The only acceptable topics of conversation are cricket, the value of a good butler, the weather and gardening. The latter two are only acceptable provided they have been proceeding handsomely.”
“I see,” Rob said. “Why don’t you take your shirt off?”
“I am not in need of money,” John said as he took the morris-dancing shirt off anyway. He kept a stony look fixed on his face as though he was going to say no, even though he had already agreed to Rob’s offer. He would just never say it out loud.
“Do you want me to jack you off?” Rob asked, eyes twinkling because John exploded in harrumphs.
“Absurd! How dare you speak to me like that!”
“You can tell me to leave,” Rob said. “But my plan is to jack you off-“
“Your diction is shamefully crass!”
“-and then stick your dick in my ass until you fill it with cum, and then give you give five hundred pounds. If you see any flaws in that plan — any flaws that don’t relate to euphemisms,” Rob said, “then let me know now.”
“Your tongue speaks the crudest of words.” He jutted his hips forward to give Rob easy access to his crotch, even as he looked away and sighed as though scandalized.
John paused and watched Rob’s hand pull down his white trousers, revealing those clean — seemingly brand-new — pair of y-fronts, hugging his arse and his plump cheeks. Rob smiled. He tugged the y-fronts down, and John’s dick flopped out.
“Where do you get your underwear? They’re really hot and they look comfortable,” Rob said.
John frowned. “You can not buy any yourself. My pants are bespoke, made especial for my household by the Cordwainer family of Bristol. They are part of an ancient and storied tradition.” He gave his massive dick a single stroke, and it was half-hard already. “My family does not buy pants that just any American could buy.”
Rob rolled his eyes. He had a feeling he could buy those very same pants if he really wanted to — he was a lot wealthier than he let on — but he didn’t want an argument. He bared John’s massive slab of meat. “You have a giant cock,” Rob said with a giggle.
John scoffed. “You are crass,” he said. He bristled. “You may say that I have a ‘sizable endowment’.” He paused. “That part you may tell people, nothing else.”
“Won’t they wonder how I know?”
John looked at him like he was an idiot. “Of course. But they won’t ask.”
“And the money? You don’t want the money?”
John gulped and blurted out, “I want the money! I mean… I don’t want it, of course, but I should take it.” He paused, watching his manhood firm up in Rob’s hand, as Rob chased it with his tongue. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, after all.”
“I would not be uncomfortable keeping the money.” Rob’s voice was muffled by the rod he kept rubbing over his lips and licking with his tongue.
“Indeed, well, I should not wish to cause a problem,” John said. He flopped his dick between his fingers but looked away as Rob kissed it right on the tip. “So you should do as you intended, of course.” He paused. “By which I mean, yes, you should pay me. Not for the sake of payment, just for the sake of… you know… doing it.”
“Right, right,” Rob said. He hefted up John’s cock in his fingers and slowly jacked it down his throat. John’s eyes opened wide.
John had been jacked off before, but he never knew it could feel like this. He closed his eyes and bit back a moan — he thought it would be improper to enjoy this too much, and he didn’t want to give Rob any ideas.
His dick firmed up right away in Rob’s mouth, and throbbed against his tongue. John leaned forward, forcing his dick in deeper until he realized that might be seen as rude — he was no throat-forcing hooligan, after all — and he took a step back.
Soon his cock was veiny, pulsating, leaking precum that coated Rob’s throat and ran down his chin. It was salty and warm and inviting, and it made Rob want more.
“Are you ready?” Rob asked, smacking his lips as he pulled John’s dick out. “Huh?”
“Ready for what, my good man?” John’s face was ruddy, and a few beads of sweat had appeared on his normally perfect forehead.
“Well… I suppose you won’t want me to say out loud what this next thing is,” Rob said. John’s eyes opened wide in both fear and desire, and Rob giggled. “Oh good, I don’t need to say it. You look like the King after a fart.” He dropped his own trousers and turned around to bend over.
“Perhaps you should leave.” John’s voice was grim and flat.
Rob assumed he had misheard. He turned back around. “I’m sorry?”
“I will not… fornicate with the likes of you! You have disrespected the King, and I shall not stand for that!” His dick was still hard, but for John, the King was more important than any amount of blue-balls. He formed a fist, and for the first time, those massive cricket-jock muscles looked intimidating to Rob, who cowered back. John was big enough his punch was going to pack a wallop.
“Sorry, sorry, I was just making a joke-“
“That is not a joke! It is a declaration of war upon the people of England! It is a wounding of an entire nation! Nay, several nations, for the Welsh and the Scottish and the Manxmen-“
“Okay, relax, John, I’m sorry, I apologize.”
“Well, in this country, we treat our King with the utmost respect,” John said. He stretched his shoulders and legs, and have his dick one quick stroke. “I shall forgive you this indiscretion. Whilst you are in Britain, however, I suggest you carry yourself with an appropriate amount of respect.” He paused. “It is not because of the money. No amount of money would make up for such disrespect. I am simply a forgiving type.”
“Oh, okay.” Rob breathed a sigh of relief and turned around. He spread his cheeks. “Have you ever done it in the butt?”
John sighed dramatically. “Please do not speak like that.” He slid his dick between Rob’s asscheeks. “I have… I have not traversed the rocky road, no, not the one lined with lavender fields, nor the one with petunias on the other side.”
Rob furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. “So are the petunias vaginas?”
“I shall ignore that. The v-word is so impolite; it is grossly inappropriate.” John gingerly slipped the tip of his dick into Rob’s ass. He bit his lip when a jolt of pleasure shot up his spine, and he kept feeding his manhood deeper into him.
His hands caressed Rob’s ass until he remembered he was touching a man, and he took his hands away. His heart thumped. If his grandma-ma found out about this, he’d be disowned from the family — for a variety of reasons: because the yank was “lavender”; because he was doing work for pay; because he was spending time with a commoner; because he was disgracing Oxford, where being caught would be shameful for the whole family; because John was alone with a flamboyant American.
But John wasn’t really worried about being caught. It actually made the whole experience more intense for him. He felt victorious getting away with it, like when he and the lads in boarding school had raided the kitchen at night. They’d eat jelly and pudding until dawn and his heart would nearly thump out of his chest as he fled back to his room.
“Oh god, cornhole me, your highness!” Rob said with another giggle that turned into a full-throated guffaw at the look on John’s face.
“I am not royalty,”John said, his eyes opened wide as sweat trickled down his chin. He was on the verge of orgasm, but even then he felt the need to lecture Rob about proper terms of address. “That is not the proper form of address in this context-“
But John stopped talking because Rob was laughing too hard to hear anyway, and it was hard to concentrate with his dick throbbing mightily in Rob’s ass. John blushed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t really mean that literally…” Rob said. He wrenched his head back and moaned, with John’s cock resting on his prostate. He couldn’t bear it anymore and writhed. He howled so loud Jeeves could hear it (he was out in the corridor, and though he wondered intensely what was happening, he would never inquire about it).
“Yes, well, it is not necessary to speak like that.
“Please do penetrate me further, milord,” Rob said with a gasp and a laugh.
“You do not need to tease me,” John said. He wrinkled his nose but kept plowing his entire cock in with every thrust of his hips. He had no idea he was perfectly lined up to stimulate Rob’s prostate every time he rammed into him.
John was easily upset by teasing, but he kept a stiff upper lip — a skill he had perfected in boarding school. He used all of those cricket-toned muscles to piston his cock deep into Rob’s ass.
Rob shot his wad into his hand, filling up his palm with more creamy fluid than he thought possible. He hadn’t shot such a big load in a long time. But John not only had a big cock and a big body, but he also seemed to think he needed to plow extra hard to prove himself — not like most of the men Rob paid, who usually treated him like a piece of meat. That certainly had its appeal, but for now, Rob enjoyed the feel of John caringly grinding his dick into Rob’s ass.
“I am finishing now,” John said with a moan. He finally showed a little passion on his face and in the timbre of his voice, and his cheeks turned apple-red.
His load filled Rob up with warmth that seeped into his flesh. He shot a big load too, even bigger than Rob’s, great gobs of cream and juice spraying into every corner of Rob’s ass.
Rob cried out wordlessly, his fingers tightening into claws and his toes curling. His whole body tensed up as the most potent orgasm of his life exploded within him.
“Oh goddamn!” Rob shouted, only for John to frown at him as though he shouldn’t express his orgasm verbally. Rob just writhed and nuzzled his face against John’s muscular body.
Then, Rob fell limp, and John too, atop him. They both humped there together for a moment, John’s soft cock still moving and twitching in his ass. That turned John’s cumwad into a big frothy mess that bubbled out and into his crotch, sliding between Rob’s legs.
John leaned back and let his dick flop out. He sighed, his eyes opened wide at the sight of the puddle of cum that coated his crotch. He frowned. “Ah… you are quite the flamboyant little American.” He stood there, looking at his cum-splattered dick as though he had no idea how it got that way.
Rob quickly dressed. “Are you… okay?” Rob asked. John still hadn’t moved.
“Yes. I just need a minute.”
“Okay, well, I’m going,” Rob said. He gave John the money he had promised him, and then headed for the door. John grabbed the five hundred pounds as though he didn’t care about it, but he carefully placed it in the pocket of the trousers he had previously taken off and which now rested on the floor. John stood there, grim-faced and bleary-eyed, dick dangling moistly between his legs, as Rob opened the door.
John cleared his throat. “Can you ask Jeeves to come in? Tell him his lordship needs to be cleaned up.”