The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 03

THE INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES – PART 3

PATRICK'S SCHOOL FORTUNES SOAR – BEATING AND SEX GALORE.

A Homoerotic Short Story

By

Jason Land

CHAPTER 1

We left Patrick Ingram-Lewis at the end of his penultimate year at Rigby School, where he had been, much to his surprise, elevated to the level of Senior Prefect. He had revelled in his new role; after a timid start, vigorously exercising his power to punish his delinquent school fellows with the cane, so that by the end of term he was considered to be the equal of the then Head Boy, Jeremy Meakin, who had the reputation of being the hardest caner ever. Meakin had also introduced Patrick into the joys of anal sex and the two of them were regular partners throughout that final term.

But Patrick had also become close friends with a boy his own age, Roderick Pennington, whom he had beaten and then fucked, subsequent to which the two had become inseparable companions and sex partners. So, one way and another, Patrick truly found his feet at Rigby as he flogged and fucked his way through that final term before the long summer vacation. Flogging and fucking had become vocational activities for Patrick and he adored both.

As we know, Patrick had lost his father at an early age and was, as the owner of Ingram House in Hexham, Northumberland, the sole proprietor of the family's coal mining business, the source of their considerable wealth. So, aged eighteen, he was considered to be Lord of the Manor, free to do as he wished. He had invited Roderick to spend the month of August at Ingram House, where he would otherwise have been alone. His mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis, who had all the qualities of a fly in the ointment, was plnning to spend that entire month with a group of her friends on cultural pursuits in Italy. He was relieved that he would be alone in the house with Roderick and free to do as he wished.

Ingram House was a large early Victorian pile, built originally by Patrick's great grandfather, Jonathan Ingram-Lewis, who had had more money than taste and had created a large uncomfortable house for his family. Since the death of her husband, Patrick's mother had lived alone with a paid companion, whom she bossed around, was waited on by a full complement of servants paid for by the ample proceeds of the coal mining business. She had a butler, two footmen, a cook and various maids, plus a head gardener and his assistant so that the house and grounds were all well maintained.

Mildred Ingram-Lewis was, by nature, a vinegary sort of woman. Highly pretentious, she conducted herself as a member of the aristocracy, to which stratum of society, in class ridden England, she did not, to her enduring regret, belong. True, her double-barrelled surname conferred a certain cachet, but her greatest regret was that she was not Lady Ingram-Lewis.

She was perpetually aggravated by the fact that her father-in-law, Sebastian Ingram-Lewis, who had had political aspirations over and above his coal mining activities, had been incompetent enough to earn, if that was the word, a knighthood, becoming Sir Sebastian Ingram-Lewis, when with a little more push he could have landed himself a baronetcy, with a hereditary title. But he had not done so, and on his death the title died with him so Mildred's husband, another Jonathan, only had the style of "Mr Ingram-Lewis" a fact which was a constant source of irritation to his wife. Patrick didn't give a damn!

Patrick had barely known his father, having been shunted off to Rigby Court Preparatory school at the tender age of eight. His mother had always been a remote figure, who saw him for an hour or so each day at tea time. So Patrick, like so many upper class boys was brought up by a nanny whom he dearly loved, and then at school, where he was subjected to regular beatings across his bare arse. All in all it was typical of the upbringing of boys of his class at the beginning of the twentieth century.

In her desire to belong to the social class above her station in life, Mildred Ingram-Lewis affected all sorts of airs and graces of which the most awfully apparent was the way she spoke, or better put, mangled, the English language. Until relatively recently it was considered not the "done thing" to speak with any form of regional accent in England. And so the upper classes, all of whom sent their offspring to private schools, spoke what was originally called, Queen's English, although what Victoria knew about it, God alone knows, as she and her husband were basically German speakers. On her death it was renamed King's English and then later Oxford English. It has now become a very indeterminate thing known as the "Received Pronunciation." Received from whom by whom one might well ask? Anyway, coming from a region like Tyneside, with a strong local accent and dialect, Mrs Ingram-Lewis made great efforts to speak with a most "refained" accent, masking any vestige of local pronunciation.

Refinement in the hands, or rather the mouths, of the upper classes involved, and indeed still involves today, mispronouncing simple words in a way in which they are not written. I call it "pronuncification", a word I have coined to denote the ridiculous way in which the upper and would-be uppers, speak. For example, a word like "that" becomes "thet" , " and" becomes "end", "than" becomes "then", "off" becomes "awrff" , "law" becomes "lawr" , "draw" become "drawr" and so on, and on.

In the mouth of an expert, and Mrs Ingram-Lewis, to her credit was certainly that, one finishes up speaking in a way to which it is excruciatingly horrible to listen. Add to this the tone of the voice, which is very often likened to the braying of a donkey, the whole thing becomes a caricature of what the spoken language should sound like. Those who speak it together do not seem to realise how ridiculous they sound. But ordinary folk, who are in the vast majority, finish up being made to feel very inferior and hardly dare open their mouths in the presence of such "refainement".

In a word, they are intimidated, embarrassed and barely able to express themselves when in the presence of someone who "talks posh". And that is exactly the effect Mrs Ingram-Lewis had on people. It drove any ordinary person, with whom she had contact, up the wall and served to define and consolidate the class divide: us and them! This included her son, Patrick, who thought his mother beyond the pale with her airs and graces. It is not surprising that he was delighted that for the second half of the long vacation he would be rid of her.

CHAPTER 2

But Patrick, arriving home in the first days of July, had to endure his mother and her dreary lady companion for a full month before their departure for Italy and the arrival of his friend. Roderick Pennington would bring him salvation and, he hoped, sex.

As I said earlier, Mrs Ingram-Lewis maintained a lavish style of living. She dressed for dinner every evening and she and her companion were served in solitary splendour at table by the butler and two footmen. Meals in the Ingram-Lewis household tended to be more an exercise in good manners than good food, as the cook, Mrs Partridge, was not exactly a gourmet chef. But at table, under the watchful eye of the butler, all was done "comme il faut" as the diners chewed their way through some truly awful cooking and made polite but utterly boring conversation. Patrick, now eighteen, had to endure all this and it bored him to tears.

However, he noticed that since his last visit home some months previously, his mother had appointed (or was it the butler who did it? I'm not sure; but there was certainly a protocol to be observed in such matters) a new footman. His name was Geoffrey. Footmen were always known by their Christian names, the butler by his surname and the housekeeper and cook, whether married or not, were always addressed as Mrs so and so. All the other maids were known by their Christian names.

Geoffrey looked about twenty years old and was, to coin a phrase, drop dead gorgeous; at least, that is what Patrick thought as he clapped eyes on him at dinner on his first evening at home. Patrick and Geoffrey exchanged glances at the table several times during dinner and it soon became clear that Geoffrey found Patrick as attractive as Patrick clearly found him.

The next evening Patrick could not keep his eyes off Geoffrey as he waited at table. Finally their gazes met; not a word was spoken, but Patrick's eyes asked a question to which Geoffrey's eyes replied. Each understood what they wanted. Whether anyone else present had realised what had happened seems very unlikely; it was communication by telepathy.

As Patrick lay in his bed that evening, he wondered if anything would come of the silent exchange he felt sure he had had with Geoffrey. It was approaching midnight, when a knock came at the door and Geoffrey, still fully attired in his footman's livery, entered, "Good evening Mr Patrick." This was the normal form of address by the servants to the children of the house in which they served. Until the age of seventeen or eighteen boys were addressed as Master, followed by their Christian name and thereafter as Mr. Strictly speaking, Geoffrey should have said: "Good evening Mr. Ingram-Lewis". I can tell you that had the butler heard him make that mistake, he would have been sharply pulled up and corrected on it, form was everything. "I wondered sir, if you needed anything before retiring; is there anything at all for which you need my services?"

Patrick's heart jumped for joy as Geoffrey appeared, for he knew that his visual message had been received and understood and was now being acted upon. He could hardly wait to see how things would develop: "You know, Geoffrey, now that you ask me, there is. Look, here, I shall be here for the next two months, all the summer in fact; so I was just wondering if you would be kind enough to valet for me. As there are no male members of the family in residence, there are no valets. I know it's not really your job, but it would be good if you could look after me whilst I am here; always as long as it does not interfere with your other duties, of course. I'll talk to Bates (the butler) about it first thing tomorrow. So, for now, be a good chap and pick up my things and put them away if you would."

Geoffrey started to collect Patrick's discarded clothes, which he, in typical schoolboy fashion, had left lying around on chairs and the floor and started to hang them up. As a first step in the right direction, Patrick then said: "Take off your coat, Geoffrey, if you are too hot working in here and when you have finished what you are doing come over here and we'll discuss in more detail just what you can do for me." With Geoffrey's coat off, Patrick got a good look at the footman's shapely arse, beautifully moulded into the well fitting trousers of his footman's livery. He was already salivating metaphorically at the thought of what would be revealed once his trousers came down; and Patrick was certain that they would come down.

Patrick felt his cock telling him what it wanted him to do; lust was very definitely in the air. What we today would call chemistry between two guys was already working its magic. Patrick knew full well that he wanted to fuck his young footman there and then; there was no way he wanted to let that lusciously attractive pair of buns escape unexplored that evening. But how did one make the first move? And did Geoffrey feel the same way about Patrick?

The exchange of glances at the dinner table had clearly been enough to lure Geoffrey to Patrick's bedroom; was Geoffrey a willing partner? he just had to be; but did one find out? The start was always so awkward.

Having finished with the clothes, Geoffrey turned around, came towards the bed and stood there in front of the recumbent Patrick. Patrick saw immediately that what he himself was experiencing was clearly also being felt by the footman. As any eye could see, Geoffrey's cock had already hardened and the crotch of his trousers was straining to keep the rampant organ in check. It was clear to Patrick that the two of them were on the same wavelength. The question was how to break the ice and who was to do it. Geoffrey stood facing Patrick waiting for him to say something.

By now, Patrick had decided that this was what looked like what might be called a "Go Situation", so he said: "Geoffrey, you are not very considerate. My mother has provided you with a splendid footman's livery, and just look at what you are doing to your trousers; certain parts of your anatomy are clearly out of control, so I suggest that you rectify matters and take off your trousers immediately before they suffer irreparable damage. Meanwhile, do something to control yourself." But ridiculous though the reasoning was, the ice was broken and the tension which existed between the two young men suddenly vanished.

Geoffrey looked at Patrick, laughed and said: "Mr Patrick, I've heard quite a number of different come-ons in my time, but yours is the most imaginative ever sir; it really takes the biscuit; it truly does! Wherever did you dig up that one from sir?" And whilst he was saying this, he did, in fact step out of his trousers.

"Well, Geoffrey, while you are about it, why don't you hang them up; and you might just as well strip off completely, and get into bed with me here, for we both know why you are here, don't we?"

"Mr Patrick sir, I don't know what to say. I never thought that you had any such idea in your head when I came in here tonight. I was just proposing to act as your temporary valet."

"Oh Geoffrey, cut the crap and tell it to the marines. You know and I both know, that you came up here because I had the hots for you and frankly, unless I have read the tea leaves wrongly, you feel the same about me. We both knew that at the dinner table tonight, didn't we? So let's cut to the chase. Geoffrey, why don't you just strip off and get over here and let's do what we both want to do, which is to fuck each other; I am right aren't I?" Then with a slight panic attack added: " I hope for Christ's sake I have not misread the signs".

"Your word is my command, master," said Geoffrey with a slight bow and a laugh, as he threw off the rest of his clothes and stood there stark naked in front of Patrick, without any embarrassment whatsoever. Patrick gave a low whistle at what he saw.

Geoffrey was a muscular looking stud, with a magnificent cock, which was already rock-hard and raring to go. And for the first time, Patrick saw a tool which had undergone the knife: Geoffrey's cock had been circumcised. And whoever had done this job, not at all common then, or for that matter now in England, had done it superbly well. Geoffrey had a magnificent piece of man-meat with a large head well defined by a beautiful rim. Somehow a well cut cock always looks so much better with the head proud and not shrouded in nebulous foreskin. Patrick was full of admiration, not to mention lust, for what he saw. he wondered saht Geoffrey would think of his offering when it was revealed.

Patrick said: "So tell me, Geoffrey, how did you divine what it was that I wanted? We had not even exchanged a word and yet you knew."

"Mr Patrick, when you looked at me across the table, your expression told me all that I needed to know, as did mine for you. We didn't need to say anything; sex is like that. One knows at first sight what one wants; the only problem is that very often one does not get it! Anyway sir, it looks as though things have worked out for both of us just as we hoped. So sir, what would you like to do first? I am game for pretty well anything. Just name your pleasure sir."

"Tell me first how old you are, for it my guess that you are much more experienced than I am. You do know, don't you, that what we are about to do together is an act of buggery, officially known as sodomy and that we could both finish up in gaol if we are caught in the act? That is a risk I am ready to take; but are you Geoffrey? To tell out the truth I am just longing to feel that cock of yours inside me. I've never felt quite like that about anyone before."

"Well, Mr Patrick, I'm actually a bit older than I look, I know I've got what might be called a baby face, but I am twenty five, so that makes me about seven years older than you. Is that a problem for you, for I guess being at school you've been having sex with your schoolmates and not with anyone around my age? As for experience, well, I suppose I'm what you would call an old hand; I started aged eighteen, like you, and I've been at it ever since. I cannot live without sex, but I have to tell you that I'm sort of, how shall I put it, ambidextrous, if you get my meaning. I like it equally well with either a man or a woman. So where do we stand in the light of what you now know? You've seen what I look like, so do you still fancy me as much as I fancy you?"

Patrick got himself out of bed where he had been lying throughout this entire exchange, stood in front of Geoffrey, who was about the same height and stepped out of his pyjamas. "Does that answer your question, Geoffrey? Am I sufficiently attractive now that you see me in the all together?" This was a sort of redundant question for Patrick knew full well that he was a highly attractive looking hunk of young manhood and, OK, even if his own cock was not quite up to Geoffrey's monument, it wasn't half bad and filled most guys who saw it with envy.

Geoffrey laughed again, "Oh I think you might just scrape through sir, if you see what I mean. Now sir, what is your pleasure?"

CHAPTER 3

Patrick locked the bedroom door and then went to the bathroom whence he returned with a small bottle of oil in his hand. He handed to this to Geoffrey. Without a word, he went over to the bed knelt down and offered up his arse to Geoffrey's ministrations. Geoffrey laughingly said: "Am I to understand sir, you wish to undergo a session of anal stimulation administered by me? I am not sure sir, that such an act is covered in my terms of employment in your household. To the best of my recollection sir, I was engaged as footman and not as a cocks-man. Perhaps I have misunderstood the contract sir, so perhaps we ought to look at it together before I ..."

Patrick laughed, interrupted Geoffrey's nonsense and said: "Geoffrey, for crying out loud, stop pissing me around and get on with it. I have offered you my arse on a plate. Now for fuck's sake man, do something about it; mu bum is getting very lonely and cold floating around in the air; it's just crying out for some company. Listen Geoffrey; this is your last chance, either shit or get off the pot!" This was truly the most extraordinary exchange between a master and his footman, but it serves to show how totally relaxed and at ease the two young men had become with one another and all this in the space of a few brief minutes; in modern day parlance we would say that the two young studs had clicked. How one would have expressed it in 1900, I am not at all sure.

Anyway, Geoffrey got the message and very professionally oiled both his cock and Patrick' arse before sharing his monument with Patrick. "I think it might be wise sir, to place a towel on the bed before we begin sir. Fucking is a very satisfying business, as I am sure you are aware sir, but it does also get rather messy. So, if you will permit me sir, I will just slip this towel underneath you."

Any observer would have instantly recognised that Geoffrey was a true expert in the management of his man-meat. He did not mess around, for once ready, he thrust big rock-hard tool as far as it would go into Patrick's hole and then gave him a very vigorous fuck. Patrick loved every minute of his first dose of "anal stimulation" with Geoffrey realising he had found a superbly competent partner for the long summer holiday.