Brambleton Ch. 05: A Higher Life

The Hunt, the Hunters, and the Hunted

The cocktail hour in the large living room at Ravensworth would have been overwhelming for Matt if Perry had not stayed close to him and been adept at including him in the various small chit-chat discussions just enough to make Matt feel like he was part of the discussion. Perry obviously was a favorite among this sophisticated, horsy crowd of eccentric and quite evidently very wealthy people. Very few there were as young as Matt and Perry, but more than a few, both male and female, made little effort to hide that they were the predatory types and were much interested in Perry—and nearly as much so in the blond, clean-cut, male model type he'd brought with him.

They were all too much in the know about Perry and his proclivities not to assume the same ones for Matt. This didn't keep the cougar-type women swirling around in the living room, their wine glasses in hand, from lavishing whatever charms they had on either or both of the young men, however.

The men in the room, all obviously power magnates, talked politics and business and laughed boisterously, and the women twittered around them, gossiping about whoever wasn't in the small group they then were in.

When Thomas opened the double pocket doors to the equally large dining room with its table seating twenty-two, Matt could hardly suppress his gasp at the richness of the silver, china, crystal, and lit candelabras cascading down the table.

During the meal, Matt also couldn't help but notice that he was under scrutiny by a gaunt-looking but handsome and commanding-looking older man with bushy gray hair and thick eyebrows—and a piercing gaze from pale blue eyes—who was sitting at William Henry's right hand at one end of the table.

"The judge. Archibald Atherton himself," Perry leaned over and whispered to Matt.

"Which one?" Matt asked, not being aware that he had revealed he knew he was under scrutiny from several different people at the table.

"The man at the end of the table who's looking at you like he'd like to eat you up. I can see the jealousy all over his face that the Fitzhughs have gotten to you first."

"You mean—?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure he would like to fuck you. But possession is nine-tenths of the law, don't they say? I paid for the tux you're wearing."

Matt could have taken affront at that—except that it was true, that he'd become accustomed to Perry speaking so baldly, and because he was content to let it continue. He was content that he could be bought with the promise of living the good life.

Matt didn't have an opportunity to meet the judge after dinner. Not long after the elaborate meal ended near 11:00 p.m., the guests started to leave. This was the dinner on the night before one of the biggest fox hunts of the season. That would start promptly at 9:00 a.m. the next morning. The hunt was taken very seriously in this region, so many of the guests would go straight to bed from the dinner table.

Perry and Matt certainly did that. They were among the first to leave. Matt had had quite enough to drink of William Henry's expensive liquor and wine and Perry nearly had to carry him up the stairs. When they got to Matt's room, Perry pushed Matt down on the bed with the weight of his body and fucked him while they were still clothed. Their tuxedo jackets were tossed aside, but Perry lay on top of Matt and they squirmed around, kissing and unzipping, freeing, and hand-stroking each other's cocks.

Perry bounded off the bed and pulled the top drawer open of one of the nightstands.

"Aha, victory," he cried out, as he held a condom packet up in one hand and a silver letter opener in the shape of a nasty dagger in the other.

"What—?" was as much as Matt could get out before Perry turned him on his belly and was slitting open the buttocks of Matt's tux trousers and his sheer silk briefs and fingering loose his entrance as Matt squirmed and moaned.

"You're mad. What are you doing?" Matt cried out. "This tux has got to have cost—"

"What does it feel like I'm doing?" Perry said with another laugh. "You'll find two more tuxes like this in the closet."

What he was doing was covering Matt close on the bed and working his cock into Matt's channel, both of them still at least partially in their tuxedos, although Matt had popped out the links holding the front of Matt's tux shirt together and was cupping Matt's pecs. With little gasps and greater groans, Matt widened the stance of his legs in an effort to better accommodate Perry's cock, and settled in for a wild fuck.

They undressed each other after that and settled into each other's arms, kissing and chortling over how hedonist they had been.

In the night, Perry turned Matt on his belly again, his body stretched out full length, and began to slowly ride his ass. Matt was so taken up with the fuck that he didn't hear the door open between his room and the one on the front corner of the house. He did, however, feel Perry withdraw and roll off to the side, and a heavier weight cover him close on top of his body. The man was hairy and thicker of both body and cock than Perry was. And he was breathing heavily through his nose at the effort to bury his cock in Matt's channel. Matt squirmed under him, trying to push him off and to pull out from underneath him, but the man—undoubtedly William Henry—put Matt into a full Nelson, and once he had buried his cock and was starting to plow the channel, there wasn't much reason to fight.

As soon as Matt had settled down, he felt Perry, who was still stretched out beside him, move an arm under Matt's midsection and coax him to raise up on his knees. William Henry raised with them, releasing Matt from the choke hold and moving to a standing crouch over Matt's hips to give him deeper penetration. Perry moved his face to Matt's and took his lips in a deep kiss. One of his hands moved to encase Matt's dangling cock, hardening him up and milking him.

When William Henry rolled off of Matt, it was only to push his knees under Perry's buttocks, to turn Perry on his back, and to enter Perry's channel with his cock to finish his fuck there. Then the older man collapsed into a close embrace with Perry and they kissed.

Matt lay there, stretched out beside them, still moaning at the thickness and strength of the older man, and watching the two—father and son—making love to each other.

They all dozed off for a brief time, but Matt was awakened by William Henry, now standing on the floor next to the bed, gathering up his body and carrying him into the other bedroom. He pushed Matt down onto the surface of the bed on the small of his back, grabbed his ankles and wishboned them, thrust inside him, and began a long and deep fuck.

When William Henry was finished, he released Matt's ankles and stumbled to his bathroom, turned on the light, and shut the door.

Whimpering, Matt rolled off the bed and started to struggle back into his own room. But his advance was arrested by a peculiar sight. On the wall of the bedroom, the wall shared with Matt's bathroom, Matt, strangely enough, saw that he could look into his own bathroom, where the light was on—and then, through the open door into his own bedroom. He could clearly see the bed. Perry was still there, on the bed, stretched out and watching the door to the other bedroom. What Matt had thought was a mirror over his bathtub was really a one-way mirror. William Henry could have—and probably did—see Perry fucking him in the bathtub earlier in the day and on the bed in his room just now before William Henry took over the stroking.

The shock of the bedroom setup, and what it meant, having passed, Matt started to return to his own room, but William Henry was behind him and had grabbed his waist in his hands.

"Bend over, spread your legs, and open to me," the older man growled. Cowed, Matt did as commanded with a whimper, and William Henry slammed his cock up inside Matt's channel again and began pumping with a steady rhythm, occasionally taking a hand off his waist to slap his buttocks.

"I . . . I . . . don't understand," Matt murmured when the older man was finished again, told him he could leave, and Matt had returned to Perry in the other room. As William Henry directed, Matt didn't bother to close the door between the two bedrooms. While he was being fucked standing up he'd had time to see that there were monitors on the wall of the bedroom that had cameras directly trained on the bed in the other room. William Henry was going to observe whatever he wanted to see in that room.

"He fucks good, doesn't he?" Perry said, with a smile. "Come back to bed. There's not much time for sleep, so we'll concentrate on that. I know it's been a shock. I'll hold you."

"He's . . . he's your father," Matt managed in an almost plaintive whine. He was moving back and forth, in place, looking over his shoulder, half in fear that William Henry would reappear and carry him back into his bedroom, where he would . . . yes, Matt had to admit it . . . give him a thoroughly enjoyable fucking. He was rougher than Perry was. He didn't want to come any closer to the bed either. But he didn't see what it would gain him to make a dash for the hallway. He was stuck here. And all the time he was worrying about an escape, his mind was reminding him of the opulence he would be escaping from. The struggle immobilized him.

"No, he's not my father in any biological sense. You can see that for yourself. We don't look anything alike. I was eighteen already when he asked my mother to marry him. I think he only asked her because I had already seduced him—yes, for his money. But adopting me that late in life I don't think counts as anything like incest; we are in no way related and he didn't bring me up. Come back to bed. What's done is done. And I'm betting you enjoyed it and will be ready to do it again."

"Again? I . . . certainly . . . don't think so. Just so that he can watch? Is that what this is all about? Are you your father's pimp? You were so anxious for me to come here for this weekend."

"Hal does enjoy a good fuck on the night before he goes to the hunt, yes—and he loves to watch young male bodies in action. But I don't see that you have much to kick about. You're getting perks that I know make you salivate. You couldn't hide how badly you want what I've given you. Come back to bed."

"I don't know. I just don't . . ." Matt was murmuring.

Perry came off the bed and walked to Matt and took him in his arms. They kissed. "I thought this was what you wanted," he whispered.

"You didn't tell me everything. You are pimping for your. . . your step-father. You are just supplying him with men you have seduced."

"Mostly with men who have seduced themselves. Young men who, like you, like what I can give them. William Henry is paying for all of this—everything you have been given. Do you want to leave right now? I could have Jaime drive you back to UVa. That's what Sean wanted. William Henry wore him out in one night. He couldn't stay the course. I thought that you were built of stronger stuff. I've seen you take half a dozen huge black cocks in succession. Do you want to be taken back to the University."

"I . . . I just don't know," Matt whispered. And indeed, he was ashamed to admit. He didn't know. He wanted so much.

But at that point, William Henry had come up behind him and encircled his body and was dragging him back toward the door into the other bedroom. Matt could hear the man muttering to Perry. "You're taking too long. If you're not going to give me a show, I'll take him back and fuck him again myself."

"Or don't come back to bed," Perry said with a little laugh as William Henry was pulling Matt back into his bedroom. "Just more sleep for me, I guess, and you'll be here tomorrow."

William Henry lowered himself on the center of his bed on his back, holding Matt above him. "Do a cowboy. Ride the cock. Show me that you'll take it."

Matt sighed and raised himself over the bulky body of the man who owned Ravensworth and who, Perry had informed him, now owned Matt as well. Much as he didn't like that thought, he liked giving up the promise of a new, more privileged life less. He had already prostituted himself to the limit; there was no pride left to protect in that vein. William Henry took his waist in his two beefy hands, and Matt slowly lowered his channel on the thick cock that had miraculously reloaded and began to move up and down and back and forth and in slow revolving movements as William Henry groaned deeply and murmured, "Yes, like that. Just like that."

Matt now readily could believe that Perry and William Henry weren't really related. William Henry could stay hard and fuck and ejaculate almost continuously. He was much more hardy stock than Perry was.

Mastered by the Master of Brambleton

The horse Matt was given the next morning to participate in the fox hunt was a larger and more muscular one than the polo pony he'd been riding, and of a more headstrong breed than the other horse Perry had trained him with as well.

"He's bred to take the jumps," Perry said with a rather sneery twinkle in his eye as their horses walked side by side down a dirt road that led from Ravensworth, across Brambleton, to the fields of the next estate, where the morning's hunt was to take place.

"Jumps?" Matt asked nervously. "You didn't say anything about jumps."

"Just keep a look ahead at where the fox is taking us," Perry answered breezily, "and just take him around any fences or unlevel ground. It's all pasture land over there—as I remember it. You don't have to do any heroics or take any sort of lead in the hunt. Just take the easy routes. And you have to assert authority with this one, or he'll take you on a merry chase."

That was easier said than accomplished. When they got to the estate where they were going to ride and the hounds got the scent of the fox, Matt's horse was more interested in staying with the other horses and riders than doing anything Matt wanted him to do.

The first low fence tossed Matt around in the saddle, but he managed to hang on—and was fooled into thinking this was as "jumpy" as it was going to get. At the second, higher fence, the horse and Matt were joined at the top of the fence, but they hit the ground on the other side of the fence in different locations—and the horse, not minding being riderless at all, was gone with the chase, leaving Matt in a heap on the ground. Matt was still moaning and doing a muscle-by-limb check of his body to assess the damage, when he heard the snort of another horse nearby and a cheery, "I say, you seem to have taken a tumble. Anything seriously damaged?"

"I think everything is seriously damaged," Matt croaked, only then looking up to see the bushy gray hair and eyebrows and gaunt late-fiftyish figure of Judge Atherton on a more magnificent charger than Matt had been bested by.

"Oh, dear, we'd better check then," the judge said as he deftly dismounted and crouched down over Matt. He began gently prodding this and that, checking out Matt's body parts—and perhaps a little more intimately than Matt would have assumed would be necessary.

"I've probably exaggerated," Matt mumbled. "I'm sure I'm fine." The judge's hands were strong, the fingers long and sensuous. And the look the judge was giving him indicated that he probably knew in what capacity Matt was a guest at Ravensworth and that he, himself, was interested. Perry had told Matt the previous day that the judge was married, but that the wife remained in Philadelphia, and that the judge had a reputation for other interests.

"Well, this looks like a nasty gash. Here on your thigh."

It was true. Matt's jodhpurs were slit high on his thigh and a bit of blood was oozing out along the gash line. He could see where he had landed on a sharp rock there, and now that the wound had been pointed too, he realized that the thigh was where most of the pain was coming from—other than his pride, of course. The judge had one hand under the back of his knee, but the other one was above the wound, at the fold where his thigh attached to the top edge of his groin. It was a sensitive spot for Matt, and he felt his breath thickening and himself beginning to harden.

The arousal must have shown in his eyes, because the judge's eyes flashed increased interest as well.

"I think we should get this attended to," the judge said in a low voice. "I think your hunt experience is probably over for the day."

The "we" registered with Matt, but what he answered was, "My horse has lost all interest in me and galloped on, so I'll have to agree with you about my day. But I can make it back to Ravensworth on foot. It's not far, I don't think. That's where I'm staying—with the Fitzhughs. You'll want to go on with the hunt. Thank you for stopping, but I'll be fine."

"Distances are deceiving out here. It's probably farther back to Ravensworth than you think. I know where you're staying. And who you're . . . staying with," the judge answered. "I saw you at the dinner last evening, and Hal told me about you . . . and his stepson. I think I'm much more interested in taking care of your needs than the hunt. We'll be riding to the hounds frequently between now and the new year. Now we'll just take care of you. And Brambleton is closer than Ravensworth. You'll come home with me and get fixed up. Here, let me help you up. You can ride on Big Dan behind me. Tell me, you're a university student aren't you?"

"Yes, University of Virginia. Second year architecture," Matt answered as he permitted the judge, much stronger in grip than his gaunt appearance suggested, help him off the ground.

"Then you would be what in age? Above eighteen, I would guess."

"Yes sir, twenty in June."

"Ah, very good. Me first up on the horse. Then I will help pull you up—yes, like that."

The judge was very strong indeed—at least on that day, Matt learning later that the man tended to save his energy for his beloved hunt sports—riding to the fox and on men. He gave further evidence of his strength and stamina after Matt's boots and jodhpurs had been pulled off his legs while his wound was cleaned and dressed with gauze, and then his briefs were pulled off his legs as, while dressing his wounds, the judge's eyes had conveyed a question and Matt's eyes had answered his assent. The judge's stroke was strong and vigorous—both initially of Matt's cock and eventually with his own cock inside Matt's ass.

To Matt's great interest, the judge had taken him into the burned-out wing of Brambleton through a back entrance. The partial shelter the wing accorded had been given over to stabling or hay storage of some sort. The floor was strewn with straw, and hay bales were haphazardly located around. The judge had thrown a horse blanket over two bales set against each other and bade Matt to sit on those while he went to get the antiseptic and dressing. When he returned, Matt couldn't help but notice the pronounced bulge in the man's crotch, not something he'd noticed before and something that surely would be very embarrassing if it had been there earlier during the hunt.

The judge was breathing heavily and looked flushed. He pulled Matt's boots off and then his jodhpurs. While he was working on the dressing, he moved a hand occasionally to the crease between Matt's thigh and the corner of this groin. The third time he did that without Matt doing more than tremble at the touch, he ran long fingers under the waistband of Matt's briefs and stroked Matt in that crease. Matt shuddered, licked his lips, and returned the judge's questioning gaze with the direct signal that the judge was not taking unwanted liberties.

Matt was afraid that the bulge at the judges crotch would split the seams of his jodhpurs at any moment.

"There I think that has it," he said in a low, hoarse voice when the dressing was secured.