Arthur glared at him sullenly, but the darker his scowl the brighter Alfred would smile. He swallowed around the hard lump that had formed in his throat, his body flushed with embarrassment as his hands trembled and touched his own erection.
At first he could not bring himself to move. His eyes nervously flickered up at Alfred and then back to his lap and each time that smile would cause him to freeze. However, he desperately needed release and waiting around was helping no one. Reluctantly, trying to be as subtle as possible – which was a feat in itself – he licked his lips and began to move his hand.
A shiver of pleasure raced up his spine. He spread his legs for more freedom, forgetting his audience for a moment, caught in the chase of those trills of ecstasy that would run through his entire body. His breathing became laboured as he pumped his cock. His other hand snaked up his shirt to touch his nipple, slowly running a nail in circles around it.
He leaned back, grunting as he felt his cock swell. His hand was already a little wet with precum but that simply made it easier to run his fingers up and down his length.
It did not take long for him to cum, staining his hand white. Arthur fell back into the deliciously cool sheets, his legs still obscenely outspread and his flushed cheeks hot as he caught his breath.
“Satisfied?” he panted, staring at Alfred from the corner of his eyes.
“For now,” Alfred leaned over him, planting a light kiss on Arthur’s forehead.
“W – What was that for?” he blushed, too tired to put any energy into his protests.
Alfred simply smiled, pulling the covers over him. It was not until he softly bid him good night did Arthur realise just how tired he was. Somewhere in the mists between consciousness and sleep, he was vaguely aware of those deft hands undressing him, stripping him of the shirt that had taken so long to put on. However, once it was removed the warmth hovering above him abated. He heard footsteps retreating and the creak of a door before he finally gave in and let his dreams carry him away.
XX
When Arthur woke, bright light was streaming through the window, catching steams of dancing dust in its beams. He pulled his body up into a sitting position, noticing the smell of fresh bread and jam notoriously close.
Glancing at the bedside table, there was a tray laden with sweet breads and pots of honey and jam. A piece of paper had been wedged between the marmalade and the teapot; Arthur picked it up curiously and turned it over.
‘Please eat and dress before eight o’clock
- Emily’
Who was Emily? He wondered while stuffing sweet bread into his mouth. Forgetting the table manners he had been raised on, he ate with gusto, spreading crumbs over the white sheets, which he later hastily wiped off with a hand.
He finished a third cup of tea before he finally decided to get up. Judging by the amount of light, it was not yet eight but he dressed anyway, putting on the clothes Alfred had left draped over the chair last night.
It was a little fancy for a servant, if that was what he was going to be from now on. He wondered if it was out of consideration for his previous station that he was giving the sort of clothes he was comfortable in – a plain cotton shirt and starch breeches would have irritated his skin – or if this was Alfred’s own way of making fun of him. Scowling to himself, he was sure that it was probably the latter.
The manor itself was not as impressive as some of the summer homes his family had previously owned, Arthur noted with a touch of satisfaction, but it was by no means unimpressive. The white walls gave the halls an airy, spacious feel, the grey floors were sparkling marble like that of a palace. As Arthur made his way down the stairs he duly took in the decor; mahogany furniture was a nice touch – Victorian he believed – but the watercolour paintings of high mountains and flowered fields were far too whimsical; they belonged in a woman’s parlour.
An old woman in a grey maid’s uniform waited at the bottom of the stairs. Her grey hair was peeking out of her maid’s cap and she stood with a considerable hunch but when she smiled it reached her eyes with genuine warmth.
Re: Pride goeth before destruction [8/?]
At first he could not bring himself to move. His eyes nervously flickered up at Alfred and then back to his lap and each time that smile would cause him to freeze. However, he desperately needed release and waiting around was helping no one. Reluctantly, trying to be as subtle as possible – which was a feat in itself – he licked his lips and began to move his hand.
A shiver of pleasure raced up his spine. He spread his legs for more freedom, forgetting his audience for a moment, caught in the chase of those trills of ecstasy that would run through his entire body. His breathing became laboured as he pumped his cock. His other hand snaked up his shirt to touch his nipple, slowly running a nail in circles around it.
He leaned back, grunting as he felt his cock swell. His hand was already a little wet with precum but that simply made it easier to run his fingers up and down his length.
It did not take long for him to cum, staining his hand white. Arthur fell back into the deliciously cool sheets, his legs still obscenely outspread and his flushed cheeks hot as he caught his breath.
“Satisfied?” he panted, staring at Alfred from the corner of his eyes.
“For now,” Alfred leaned over him, planting a light kiss on Arthur’s forehead.
“W – What was that for?” he blushed, too tired to put any energy into his protests.
Alfred simply smiled, pulling the covers over him. It was not until he softly bid him good night did Arthur realise just how tired he was. Somewhere in the mists between consciousness and sleep, he was vaguely aware of those deft hands undressing him, stripping him of the shirt that had taken so long to put on. However, once it was removed the warmth hovering above him abated. He heard footsteps retreating and the creak of a door before he finally gave in and let his dreams carry him away.
XX
When Arthur woke, bright light was streaming through the window, catching steams of dancing dust in its beams. He pulled his body up into a sitting position, noticing the smell of fresh bread and jam notoriously close.
Glancing at the bedside table, there was a tray laden with sweet breads and pots of honey and jam. A piece of paper had been wedged between the marmalade and the teapot; Arthur picked it up curiously and turned it over.
‘Please eat and dress before eight o’clock
- Emily’
Who was Emily? He wondered while stuffing sweet bread into his mouth. Forgetting the table manners he had been raised on, he ate with gusto, spreading crumbs over the white sheets, which he later hastily wiped off with a hand.
He finished a third cup of tea before he finally decided to get up. Judging by the amount of light, it was not yet eight but he dressed anyway, putting on the clothes Alfred had left draped over the chair last night.
It was a little fancy for a servant, if that was what he was going to be from now on. He wondered if it was out of consideration for his previous station that he was giving the sort of clothes he was comfortable in – a plain cotton shirt and starch breeches would have irritated his skin – or if this was Alfred’s own way of making fun of him. Scowling to himself, he was sure that it was probably the latter.
The manor itself was not as impressive as some of the summer homes his family had previously owned, Arthur noted with a touch of satisfaction, but it was by no means unimpressive. The white walls gave the halls an airy, spacious feel, the grey floors were sparkling marble like that of a palace. As Arthur made his way down the stairs he duly took in the decor; mahogany furniture was a nice touch – Victorian he believed – but the watercolour paintings of high mountains and flowered fields were far too whimsical; they belonged in a woman’s parlour.
An old woman in a grey maid’s uniform waited at the bottom of the stairs. Her grey hair was peeking out of her maid’s cap and she stood with a considerable hunch but when she smiled it reached her eyes with genuine warmth.