“Is there anything you can’t convince your sister of doing?” Jake asked as the car swept down the winding drive and onto the main highway.
“Yeah, paying all of my debts,” Hunter said.
“Ah yes, the real reason why we’ve come to…what the hell is the name of this place?”
“Voignier House.”
“Which means what exactly? Doesn’t scream English country estate to me.”
Voignier House was not its original name, Hunter explained, nor was it English by any stretch. Sure, it once claimed an English heritage, back in another century when some Duke and Duchess claimed ownership of not just the surrounding land but all of Berkshire, until they were undone by some political or sexual scandal. It had all happened so long ago, few in town remembered or cared about the exact circumstances. Since then the lush grounds and beautiful house had changed hands numerous times, most recently to a French wine maker who was also a bit of an Anglophile, his tastes running to things cricket and horses. So he acquired the land for a princely sum, renamed it Voignier House in honor of his favorite varietal of grape. Charles LeBeque was his name, and he of course married an English lady, and together they raised a small family, ran horses, and of course, Charles played cricket whenever he could.
“He would have loved to have been a Duke, but alas…the original family had long ago left, leaving their titles buried deep in some family closet or crypt. But some of the original stuff remains—the cricket field is located way back behind the stables,” Hunter explained, “but it’s fallen into disrepair since the grandchildren of the Le Beque’s didn’t fancy the game. Patsy married one of those grandchildren—Devon was his name—and when he died about seven years ago the land, house—and yes, the cricket field—all fell to my beloved sister. Since she’s hardly ever here, I try and make good use of it. The horses are all gone, too, but the stables remain. All Patsy really cared about was the house. Probably even more so than her husband. She can be cold, my sister, when she wants to be.”
“Anything like her brother?” Jake asked.
Hunter decided not to give an answer.
They arrived in Newbury and parked on a side street, and together Hunter and Jake strolled through the cobblestoned streets stopping at various shops to stock up on food and other delicacies. Jake walked around with a sense of wonder, realizing that you didn’t get any more classic English village than Newbury, what with its pubs and specialty stores, its old churches and the River Kennet that coursed it way through the green parks, but that didn’t mean that progress had not come here. A Starbucks and a McDonald’s, but thankfully Hunter spurned such “advances” and instead led them toward the Lock, Stock and Barrel Pub located along the banks of the river, where they lunched on bangers and mash and pints of thick, bitter Fuller’s Pride. Finally, with their spoils packed into the small trunk of the Mustang, they made their way back onto the highway, Hunter taking the curves of the road with a sense of the familiar. He was grinning like some schoolboy gone truant. Jake wasn’t convinced this was the same way back toward Voignier House, and indeed he was right. Road signs began to indicate they were closing in on Newbury Racecourse, and finally Hunter made the exit ramp toward the huge complex. Pulling into the lot, he encouraged Jake to follow him.
The grounds were all quiet. English horse racing took the summer off, it was not “in season,” as Hunter explained, but it would be back in full force for the Fall, a new and exciting racing year awaiting to thrill its eager crowd.
“Yeah, and take all their money,” Jake said.
“Don’t spoil the mood,” Hunter said, “just look around you. At the racecourse, the grandstand, at the far away stables, take in the fresh scent of hay and horses and greens. They may not be racing now but you can feel it, you can taste it. You can hear the thunder of horse’s hooves on the hard-packed dirt. God, there’s nothing like it.”
Jake wasn’t looking at his surroundings. He was concentrating on Hunter, who looked in the throes of ecstasy, even more so than when he was immersed in the art of love-making, during penetration and overwhelming orgasm. No, Hunter was home here, he was alive and vibrant, racing clearly coursed through his veins. It was exciting, no doubt, being a part of this world, but as Jake had seen firsthand, danger lurked with each bet, with each cross of the finish line. Because in world that produced such winners, others had to fail. Losers they were called, and right now, in debt up to his eyeballs, Jake had to wonder if Hunter saw himself through foggy eyes.
Finally, they left Newbury Racecourse and returned to Voignier House and whatever awaited them there. It was only day one of their new adventure, and Jake for one had no clue what to expect. He’d seen another side to Hunter at the racetrack, and he wasn’t sure he liked him. Sure, a man with ambitions and desires, with interests and hobbies, they attracted Jake, especially when they came wrapped up in the hairy-chested, big-cocked package of Hunter Abbott. But that was all on the surface. Where was the real Hunter Abbott, the man beneath the body? All Jake knew was that they had escaped from the so-called bad guys, they still had the bag full of money, but that didn’t mean that world wouldn’t eventually intrude upon their little scene of domesticity.
It was only a matter of time before Hunter’s world imploded.
Jake wondered about this guy named Henderson Fellows.
Just who was he? And how did Hunter’s friend from the park fit into this mess?
He thought of last night, being picked up by Charles the Chauffeur, traveling in style.
Friends helped him, Hunter had said.
When a friend needed help, it was usually to save him from an enemy.
* * *
For the better part of a week, Jake Westbury had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. When they dined on the food they’d prepared, when they walked along the river’s edge holding hands in front of anyone who cared to view them, when they’d made love in the afternoon and at night, choosing a different room, a different position, each and every time, until they had exhausted themselves in their sexual tour of the old manor house. Jake had even let down his guard after a few days, believing it was possible that only the future mattered and that it came with no complications like a bag full of money and a whole lot of mystery. But then in the quiet of night as Hunter snored, when every crackle of branch alerted and awakened Jake, he knew that the serenity he felt was short-lived. Yup, another shoe had to drop, hard, loud, thunderous, and it finally did, on the following Sunday afternoon, nearly a week into their life of domestic and sexual bliss. He was wrapping up his daily laps in the pool when the outside world intruded.
Hunter was tanning himself by lying spread out on the diving board, his body clothed only in the tiniest of Speedo, which Jake surprised he could actually fit into. Even flaccid his cock left a large impression, and the material was as taut as it could be. Sneaking a look, Jake had to admit he was perpetually turned on by this sexy guy, never more so than now, catching the glint of sun off his burnished chest, the thick carpet of hair shimmering thanks to the tanning oil Jake had earlier spread on it. He felt his cock stirring and thought it might be fun to slide over there, free his cock from the bathing suit and place it inside the warm confines of his mouth. Jake was just about to do such a thing, when suddenly a voice from behind took him out of the moment.
“What ho, boys, getting a bit of our rare summer sun?”
Jake jumped at the sound of the voice. Guess he wasn’t as relaxed as he thought. A week of sun and sex hadn’t really diminished his nerves, mostly because he knew this couldn’t last, that something—or someone—would spoil this deceptive feeling of nirvana. He was right, and it came in the form of Mr. Suit.
“Ah, Sandy, good of you stop by,” Hunter said, sitting up from the diving board. His legs dangled over the sides. The crystal blue water of the pool glowed beneath him. Taking off his shades, he motioned toward Jake, who had just popped out of the water. “I believe you chaps have met, but perhaps not formally. Sandy Berenson, meet J
ake Westbury. Jake, my banker and friend, Sandford Berenson.”
Sandy made his way toward Jake, shaking his hand.
“Pleasure,” Sandy said, “and under much nicer circumstances.”
“Indeed,” Jake said, skeptical still.
“Oh Jake, give Sandy a break. I told you he was operating under my orders, so he really had no say over that meeting in the park. He was nervous enough withdrawing such a large sum of cash from his branch, but he did it nonetheless. It was the only way I could avoid Junior. Sandy’s a good boy, very loyal, very eager to please. So, Sandy, make yourself comfortable, grab a suit and go for a swim.”
“Don’t mind if I do. I needed an escape from the wife. The heat makes her shrewish-ness act up.”
“Damn hot today,” Hunter said.
Sandy raised a pointed eyebrow. “As stated.”
Hunter laughed loudly as Sandy went off to the house to change.
“Just a friendly pop-over?” Jake asked.
“No, no, I was expecting him.”
“Of course you were.”
“Jake, you should know by now, nothing in my life happens by coincidence.”
“Right, it’s all pre-planned.”
“And in my control.”
Such a top.
Just then Sandy re-emerged from the house, clad only in a pair of swim trunks. Jake found himself staring at the man’s well-kept body. He might be on the short side, but he was in great shape. And Hunter had been right, the guy’s body was as furry as you get. His chest was blanketed by a thick black pelt, a heavy trail of hair spreading out over his taut belly before disappearing beneath the line of his swimsuit. Jake had originally thought the man was okay looking, but now he’d been moved to the plus side of attractive. He felt his cock begin to stir, especially when he looked back at the hairy-chested Hunter. Jezz, it was total fur-fest at the poolside, and he liked it. Hunter had cleared the diving board, giving possession of it to Sandy. The man boarded, made his way toward the edge, and then dove into the air, a furry blur that descended and slipped beneath the cool waters of the pool. Jake realized he’d been staring.
“Told you,” he said.
“Told me what?”
Hunter only grinned, words unspoken.
“Yeah, so, he’s my type. Doesn’t mean anything…I mean, he just mentioned his wife. He’s married, Hunter, and…”
“They have an ‘arrangement,” Hunter explained knowingly.
“So he likes to get a little on the side, right?”
Hunter grabbed his own crotch. “More than a little,” he said. “But don’t worry, Jake, ole Sandy is just here for a bit of business. I’ve got a tasty little luncheon prepared, some chilled champagne courtesy of Patsy’s limitless wine cellar, and then we can all settle down and discuss the matter at hand.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“Stay tuned, Jake.”
“Why do I think I’m going to regret this?”
“Because that’s how you live life, Jake. You regret things even before you’ve done them. At least enjoy yourself before you start piling on the guilt. Now, keep our guest entertained while I see to lunch.”
Hunter went inside the house, and Jake plopped down at the patio table, hiding from the sun under the large umbrella. He watched as Sandy swam a few laps before lifting himself out of the pool with surprisingly muscled arms. Water dripped off his body, pooling around his feet. He padded over to the lounge chair near Jake where a pile of towels were stacked. Jake’s eyes carefully watched him. Why, he wasn’t sure. Did he not trust him? What could he pull here? Was he suspicious of him, or suddenly attracted to him? Sure, he had Hunter in his bed, but Jake was intrigued by this odd little character. Dressed, he looked like a nebbish. In swim trunks, he looked kind of hunky. With Sandy facing away from him, Jake couldn’t help but notice that the man’s furriness extended to his back, where a healthy coating of black hair was visible, damp from water of the pool. He knew a lot of the gays would be turned off by such a display, and not that Jake counted himself among the hairy-backed “bear” enthusiasts, there was still something enticing about how the locks looked on Sandy’s torso. Perhaps it was because the rush of testosterone was so unexpected on him. When Jake had first met him in Hyde Park all suited up, he’d looked a bit nerdy, a bit asexual if you will. Now he was seeing another side of Sandy—actually, all sides—and to see him covered in that black hair was a total turn on. He wondered if it was soft and plush like Hunter’s hair but it looked coarser. Who knows, maybe he was an animal in bed, pleasuring his wife with a beastly, feral coupling. Jake pictured himself beneath that furry body, grabbing at his back while being fucked him long and hard, loud groans mirroring the sounds of two gorillas in lust.
Suddenly Sandy turned around and started to make his way toward Jake, draping a towel around his shoulders, partially covering his chest. He dropped to a neighboring chair just as Jake tossed a towel over his crotch. Got to hide his erection.
“So, seems everything turned out just fine that day in the park,” Sandy said, wiping water droplets from his face.
“So far,” Jake said a bit defensively.
“Oh, now, don’t be hostile, Jake. I was merely following instructions. Hunter can be mighty persuasive. But so can I, when motivated.”
“Oh? And what motivates you, Sandy?”
“Let’s just say that ever since I met Hunter my life has been far more interesting than I could have imagined. More exciting.”
“Hmm,” Jake said.
“Seems he’s done the same for you.”
“How so?”
“Well, here you are at his sister’s rather fanciful country estate, indulging in the good life with him.” He paused with a knowing, almost competitive edge. “And I assume you’re sleeping with Hunter. He’s rather aggressive when it comes to sex, he’s got an appetite as big as…well, I’m sure you know what it’s as big as. Tell me, have you done it in conservatory yet?”
Jake nodded wanly. “With his candlestick. I played Professor Plum.”
“Haha, very good, Jake.”
“What’s very good?” Hunter asked, appearing as if from nowhere. So focused were Jake and Sandy on their strained conversation, they hadn’t heard him approach. Hunter set down a platter of fresh fruits and artisan cheeses that he and Jake had purchased at the farmer’s market in Newbury Town Centre, only to disappear again. He returned a minute later with a bottle of champagne and three crystal flutes. Apparently satisfied that he wasn’t going to get an answer to his questions, he popped the cork in rather dramatic fashion, the sound like an orgasm. Jake felt his loins stir as he looked from one man to the other. Sexy, studly, hairy, hot, controlling, competitive. He’d have to be careful with this situation, the combination of hot sun and cool alcohol could make a man vulnerable to suggestion, to a proposition he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to follow through on. Because to him this seemed like an obvious and—since we were talking about Hunter here—pre-planned seduction. Hunter and Sandy no doubt had had sex before, and Jake had the feeling they might be very interested in adding a third member, literally, to their coupling.
“So, boys, cheers,” Hunter said, raising his glass of liquid gold.
The three men clinked glasses, then drank.
Hunter sat down, still dressed only in his Speedo. Legs wide open, his package was on full display, not hard but it didn’t need to be to make an impression. He reached for some grapes and popped a few into his mouth before dropping the last into his glass. The bubbles of the champagne attacked the fruit like desire unleashed. Jake knew how that felt, even after just one sip of the bubbly he was beginning to loosen up and enjoy the mood. Around Hunter, Sandy had dropped all hostility.
“Hunter tells me you’re from the States,” Sandy said.
“New York. Just here for the summer.”
“Lucky you. Why England?”
“I’ve always loved London, but I hadn’t been back in several years. An opportunity presented i
tself—and here I am. I’ve got two friends who are also gallivanting around Europe. My pal Matthew is in Paris for the summer, and Freddie chose Rome. See, that’s how this all came about. I told them about my summer excursion, and they followed suit.”
“Why not travel together?”
Hunter smiled. “Because the idea was for them all to fall madly in love, isn’t that rich? Having the three of them pal around together would limit their options. If you ask me, they weren’t thinking creatively enough. But Jake assures me it’s all very platonic among them. I find their ventures rather charming. It’s nice to know not everyone has given up on the notion of true love.”
Jake wasn’t pleased with Hunter’s flippant dismissal of the reason behind his trip. But he said nothing, since Jake was quite obviously playing the role of hypocrite rather nicely. Hunter was no man to fall in love with, he was a fling—a sexy one, for sure, but still, in the end it would quite simply…end.
“Actually, I’ve barely had a chance to enjoy London—Hunter here stole me away. But if I’ve learned anything on this trip, it’s to just go with the flow.”
“Ah yes, like you’re rather clever escape on the Thames.”
Jake tossed Hunter a look, and then said, “I didn’t know that was public knowledge.”
“Hardly public,” Hunter said, “not like I placed an advert in The Standard. There are certain people who are aware of my, uh, situation, and so they need to be kept in the loop. This is a need to know operation and Sandy needed to know.”
“So, when do I become part of that inner circle?” Jake asked.
“Ah, so our new friend here is unaware of what’s going to transpire?”
“No, I don’t. I would love to know.”
Hunter just shook his head. “Come on, chaps, let’s just enjoy the day. Refills anyone?”
They all nodded, and Hunter played his role as host perfectly. Soon the bottle was empty and so were the platters of food. A refill on the bubbly came in the form of a fresh bottle, which they popped and drank from and indulged in again. Still, neither Hunter nor Sandy offered up any more info about what was going down, but clearly some plan or other was afoot. A plan that involved the sack full of money. Hadn’t Hunter stated he planned to increase his take? Which meant not only not paying back 50,000 pounds but earning enough more to clear the debt and come out on top. With the racecourse closed for the season, Jake wasn’t sure how Hunter was going to go about securing such a huge sum of cash.
English Lads Page 9
