In early twentieth century England, a good valet can be damned hard to come by -- at least, when one’s requirements are quite so specific as Lord Algernon Huffingham’s. Algy likes a man with a firm hand. Preferably work-calloused, and applied with vigour to Algy’s aristocratic buttocks. He’s beginning to despair of ever finding a man who can give him what he needs and still respect him in the morning.
Disgraced footman Robert likes a roll in the hay as much as the next man. Preferably with the next man. But he’s more accustomed to following orders than issuing them -- and some of his lordship’s requirements are a bit more extreme than he’s used to! Robert may be easy on the eye and flexible in his morals, but will he be able to rise to Algy’s challenge?
Buggered, Algy thought sadly to himself some time later, was the one thing he was not. He kicked moodily at a dandelion -- or possibly a rhododendron; horticulture had never been his forté -- as he strolled through the rather lovely grounds of Blithering Coombe, Cedric’s father’s estate. It was a damned shame it hadn’t worked out with Hibbert. In many ways, he’d been the ideal servant: discreet, reliable and a stevedore in the sack.
Where on God’s green earth was Algy going to find another man like that?
As so often when his thoughts turned to potential lovers, Algy found his feet had turned towards the stables. There were so many interesting things to be found there -- whips, bridles, assorted arcane items of leather and brass, their purpose lost in the mists of time. Algy adjusted himself hastily in his trousers. Oh, he’d spent many a happy hour in his father’s stables, his face in the hay and his arse in the air, his nostrils filled with the sweet aroma of horse shit while his favourite groom beat him black and blue. Once the man had even put a saddle on him and ridden him around the yard, Algy fondly recalled.
It hadn’t lasted, of course. Father had banned him from going within fifty yards of the stables back at Fetheram Hoo, claiming the horses were starting to suffer from neglect. Still, Algy thought, brightening a little, Sir William, Cedric’s father, had put in place no such prohibition. And a little nostalgic visit would do no one any harm.
Smiling happily, Algy quickened his pace until he reached his destination, whereupon he darted a quick glance around, then slipped inside -- and almost walked straight into a pair of firm, hairy buttocks, which tensed and flexed as Algy watched them. Attached to the buttocks, Algy could see a fine pair of shapely, muscular legs, round the ankles of which pooled livery trousers. It was one of the footmen, he surmised. The rest of the man was in keeping with the general theme: a broad, well-sculpted back; sturdy neck; and dark hair, the natural unruliness of which had entirely failed to be restrained by its coating of brilliantine.
Algy’s mouth was suddenly as dry as the fresh hay piled by the door.