Tea for Two

When the maid is away, the valet will play (with his Master).

***

“Your crumpets, sir.”

Richard Weston looked up from his armchair to find himself treated with the most agreeable sight: young Oscar, holding a tray of tea things. But it wasn’t the plate of Mrs. Higgins crumpets or the gleaming silver teapot that kindled a fire inside him. No, it was the sight of Oscar’s lean body showcased in that valet’s uniform, the dark flannel a perfect foil for his pale skin. It was the way that a lock of his dark hair escaped from its fellows and made a daring swing down over his forehead when he leant forward to set the tray on the low table. Oscar’s colour rose and he stood hastily, pushing the errant lock back from his face with an apologetic smile.

“Is there anything more you require, sir?” he asked.

Richard detected the anticipation in Oscar’s stance; he positively thrummed with barely contained excitement. Really, the lad would have to learn to dissemble better, or he’d give himself away in front of polite company.

It was a good thing it was just the two of them in the house for these afternoon hours. Between the char leaving at two and Mrs. Higgins returning to prepare dinner at four, Master and man had a couple of precious hours to spend as they wished.

Richard glanced at the mantel clock. A quarter past two: Oscar certainly had been keen today, setting a record time for his preparations. It wouldn’t do to give him what he wanted just yet, however.

“Pour me a cup,” Richard commanded, delighted to observe that recalcitrant lock break free from its moorings once again as Oscar bent forward.

“Excuse me sir,” Oscar mumbled, adjusting his coiffure. He resembled nothing so much as an overgrown schoolboy, fumbling awkwardly.

“If your hair is misbehaving, perhaps you’d better adjust your posture, boy.”

Oscar’s face was a picture of bewildered delight. Excellent, Richard would have to use that name again if it had such an effect on the lad.

“Sir?” Oscar’s confusion was so palpable that Richard took pity on him and deigned to explain.

“On your knees, boy!”

“Yessir!”

The willingness with which Oscar complied made Richard chuckle. One moment he was towering above the armchair, the next, kneeling on the Aubusson rug, all hungry eyes and quivering limbs. Richard watched as that ravenous gaze settled, coming to rest on his shoes. Oh yes, Richard knew just what the lad was thinking, but he would have to wait. Richard cleared his throat and Oscar twitched as if an electrical charge had passed through him.

“My tea, boy.”

“Yes, of course sir. Sorry sir.”

Richard wondered if any of his tea would actually end up in his cup, Oscar’s hands were shaking so. Eventually he was passed a cup that came surrounded by its very own moat in the saucer. Most displeasing. Richard took a sip and grimaced.

“Has this been sugared, boy?” he demanded, knowing full well that it hadn’t. Clearly, Oscar was distracted from his duties. The boy was positively courting punishment.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Oscar whispered, leaning forward with a lump of sugar held in the tongs. They both watched as the glittering block fell into the cup, displacing tea in a splash so dramatic some of it flew clean over the edge of the saucer and down onto Richard’s lap.

The tea rested on the cloth of Richard’s trousers, momentarily holding together as a droplet, repelled by the imperviousness of the fine-woven wool. Richard looked down into Oscar’s imploring eyes and gave a small nod.

Oscar needed no further instruction. Richard obligingly spread his legs wide to allow his boy to shuffle forwards into the gap created. Richard was mesmerised by the way Oscar’s blue eyes now seemed entirely transmuted to glittering jet, and then he could see them no more as Oscar dropped his head and commenced lapping up the spilt tea.

His own hands now shaking, Richard set his flooded cup and saucer down on the side table and threaded his hands through Oscar’s silken hair. He luxuriated in the sensation of it flossing against the sensitive webs of his fingers.

Oscar seemed determined to give Richard’s trousers a thorough wash with his tongue, moaning with pleasure whilst doing so. Although Richard couldn’t understand quite how anyone could derive such enjoyment from an activity he would find demeaning, it was a joy to observe Oscar’s ardent ministrations. Such a joy, in fact, that Richard felt an uncomfortable tightening in his drawers.

Oscar seemed to notice Richard’s excited state, beginning to lap a path up from the site of the spill to where the hardening shaft was beginning to swell. Richard halted him by applying a slight pressure to Oscar’s skull with his fingertips. Oscar immediately lifted his head, settling his gaze somewhere around Richard’s sternum.

That was good. Oscar might have made a veritable pig’s ear out of the tea, but he was definitely learning something from their little sessions. As Oscar knelt there, his breath coming fast and shallow, Richard was overtaken with a surge of tender sentiment for the young man. It took him by surprise like this at times, at the most inappropriate moments such as when their eyes met during breakfast, with the maid bustling about in attendance. Dangerous times.

But this was their time, and it was safe. The door was locked and they were alone in the house. The outside world couldn’t touch them here.

“Good boy,” Richard said, cradling Oscar’s head in his hands. It made him absurdly happy when Oscar rubbed against his palm, purring in contentment. He was tempted to cut the next part of their ritual and go straight to the finale, but he really did feel peckish. “I’m still waiting for my crumpet.”

Within moments a lavishly buttered crumpet was offered to him on a plate. Richard took his time inhaling the rich fragrance before biting into the warm treat. Oh, Mrs Higgins certainly knew how to make a crumpet! Richard purposefully avoided Oscar’s eyes and hummed in contentment as he masticated while pondering his next move. Did Oscar deserve to be punished for the spillage, or rewarded for the way he’d cleaned up? Which would he desire the most?

In the end, Richard decided on a course that should satisfy both of Oscar’s conflicting desires.

“I need a footrest. No! Not the stool. Your back, boy. Give me your back.”

Oscar gasped and Richard wondered if he was asking too much, but then the lad dropped onto his hands and knees before him, arching his back in an obscene pose that only accentuated the plump mounds of his buttocks.

“Oh yes, good boy,” Richard murmured, settling his ankles down on the small of Oscar’s back. In this fashion he finished his crumpet. He was about to lick his fingers clean, when he looked down to see such naked hunger in Oscar’s eyes that he reconsidered.

“Here, clean me.” Richard leant forward so that he wouldn’t need to remove his feet from his human footrest.

Oscar willingly obliged, sucking Richard’s fingers down with an alacrity that did him credit. Richard revelled in the warm sweeps of Oscar’s tongue, the soft haven of his mouth. Richard’s trousers were definitely feeling like they needed to be let out right now.

“Mmmm, enough!” Richard pulled his fingers back with as much strength as he could command. It wouldn’t do them any good for him to capitulate now. Oscar appreciated firm handling and Richard knew it. He also knew what the young man was after; had known from the moment Oscar first let his ravenous gaze fall on Richard’s feet.

“Take my shoes off,” Richard demanded, thrilled to see the enthusiasm with which Oscar applied himself to his task. The laces undone and the shoes reverently removed, Oscar waited for further instructions.

“Dear God!” Richard’s voice surprised him, coming out hoarse, but he just couldn’t resist that look: the one where Oscar looked poised to devour him as if he were the tastiest morsel on God’s green Earth. “Please, do what you wish.”

Richard soon discovered what Oscar wished, lying back in the chair and giving himself up to the loving attentions of his boy.

Oscar began by rolling up Richard’s trouser leg, every breath penetrating Richard’s socks and warming his skin. When his trousers were pushed up so high that the sock suspenders were exposed, Oscar halted and began to pay homage to Richard’s legs. That talented tongue insinuated itself into the gap between leather suspender and woollen sock, teasing Richard’s calf in a way that made him squirm in his chair. Who would have thought that such a humble strip of skin could be so responsive? Yet with Oscar worshipping him there, it felt as if every nerve were connected straight to Richard’s groin, every lap of Oscar’s tongue calling forth a corresponding answer in Richard’s cock. Richard groaned and abandoned himself to the sweet agony.

“You’d better stop that right now,” Richard warned, feeling his manhood grow so stiff it was almost painful.

This time it took young Oscar a little longer to comply with Richard’s will. The disobedience both frustrated and excited Richard.

“Stop!” Richard wrenched his leg away from Oscar’s eager mouth. As Oscar straightened his back and resumed his position, Richard couldn’t help but notice the tent in his trousers, corresponding to Richard’s own.

“Not fast enough,” Richard said, his breath coming hard and fast. “How do you think you should be punished, boy?”

Oscar’s lips curved into a sinful smile for a brief moment. “I think I should be bent over and sodomised, sir.”

Richard’s breath left him in a rush. Dear God, he thought that too! But it wouldn’t do to betray just how closely his desires melded with his boy’s, so he held himself back as if considering, yet unable to think of anything but the prospect of Oscar kneeling prone with his delectable buttocks thrust high into the air.

“Very well,” Richard said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I’ll take you over the table.”

“Yessir! Jolly good, sir!”

Richard had to smile at Oscar’s youthful enthusiasm. There might only be five years between them, but sometimes it felt like a lifetime, such were their differences in experience and station. Yet here, despite Richard being ostensibly in charge, there was equality, in that each man was completely focused on the needs of the other.

Oscar scrambled to push the tea tray down to the far end of the table, then unbuttoned his trousers with trembling fingers, several times cursing and having to slow down.

“Less haste, more speed, boy.”

“Sorry sir. I’m still not used to these buttons sir.” Oscar grinned mischievously, then deliberately slowed his undressing to a teasing slowness, sliding each button through the hole, then pausing before the next.

Richard groaned, unsure how long he would be able to hold his primitive carnality at bay. At times like this, it felt as if a wild man dwelt under his skin, intent on throwing off the shackles of decorum and revelling in the joys of the flesh. He rose and began to disrobe, discovering that his fingers were every bit as clumsy as Oscar’s.

Or perhaps not, because then Oscar stepped forward and Richard was treated to the sight of him naked, that sleek body glowing in the soft light that filtered through the lace curtains. Oscar’s slim hands took over, unbuttoning Richard’s trousers and reaching in to free his aching hardness.

Feeling those smooth hands cup his sac elicited a gasp from Richard. The softness of Oscar’s skin always surprised him, and then the nimble dance of those fingers erased all further thought until Richard was almost incoherent with lust. “Enough!” he managed to force out, grasping hold of Oscar’s wrist and twisting it until those wanton fingers were extracted from his trousers. Oscar gave a lascivious grin, no longer quite so meek now that he was naked. For some reason it always made him bolder; although perhaps that was only because he knew how much Richard appreciated that as their games progressed.

“Over the table, boy. I want to see that beautiful arse displayed for me.”

Oscar’s eyes glittered as he arranged himself, kneeling on the rug, his buttocks thrust high and his hands braced on either side of the low table. Richard stepped closer and kicked Oscar’s legs further apart. The debauched moan Oscar gave quickened Richard’s blood, turning his heart into a Conga drum, beating wild and fast. Richard knelt down, not willing to take the time to undress any further. He had to have this, had to have all that Oscar was offering him. The lad was like opium, and Richard was hopelessly addicted to the sweet oblivion they could reach together.

He began with his tongue, sweeping up the valley between those two delectable mounds and feeling the shudders pass through Oscar’s body. Richard’s hands were rough when they parted Oscar’s cheeks, but he knew the lad liked it that way and he aimed to please. Often he would tease at this point, lapping around and around Oscar’s hole until he’d reduced him to begging, but this time he want straight for his target.

Oscar whimpered as he was breached, and Richard felt him pushing back against the invading tongue. He concentrated on getting Oscar ready: slick, open and writhing with need. When Oscar began thrusting back, Richard knew the time was nigh and reached for the butter dish.

“No!” Oscar’s hand shot out to grab his, and Richard stilled in shock. “No, please sir, please. I want to feel you. I want it rough.”

“But . . . but that will hurt you.”

“Only in a good way.” Oscar twisted his head around so that Richard could see into those hypnotic blue eyes. “Please sir,” he whispered. “I want this.”

Richard couldn’t ever resist that look, but he made a show of contemplating the request for a moment. “Very well,” he said, wondering if his croaking voice gave away the strength of his desire. Oscar smiled, and right then Richard knew that he would give up the world for him: his position, his respectability, his life; they all belonged to Oscar to do with as he would. Fortunately, all that Oscar seemed to ask from him was rough treatment, and if that’s what the lad enjoyed, then Richard could derive pleasure from dishing it out.

He didn’t want to damage Oscar in any way, though, so Richard spat into his hand and worked his saliva over his throbbing shaft, before pushing against Oscar’s puckered entrance and surging forwards. He tried to hold back, tried to go slowly, but it felt as if Oscar’s muscles were working to pull him in, and despite the friction and the initial tightness he was soon buried to the hilt in that sinful heat. Richard groaned, Oscar whimpered, and before he could think too hard about what he was doing, Richard pulled back, gripping hard on Oscar’s hips to prevent him thrusting back with him. If Oscar had his way, Richard would stay deep every time, but he needed some relief from the rippling pressure of that passage or he wouldn’t last.

And so Richard set up a slow rhythm, keeping Oscar pinned against the table where he began to beg, pleading for harder and faster and forgetting to call Richard sir. Richard couldn’t resist for long, however, and soon he was giving Oscar a fucking just as hard and fast as he wanted. Oscar could no longer form words, simply grunting with each thrust, and Richard was no better off. Even the tea things joined in, clinking and rattling wantonly as the table rocked with them.

This couldn’t be wrong. Not when it felt so right. Not when it felt as if every part of Richard’s body were singing in triumphant celebration of life. Richard wanted Oscar to feel it too, to join with him in the moment, and so he reached underneath them and took hold of Oscar’s slim prick, pumping in time to the shout of his blood until his grip turned slippery. Ecstasy surged up through him like a geyser, spurting out in endless, mind-shattering joy. The song of his body broke free on a wave of sensation, a primal roar that shook the table, the room, the world, every barrier crumbling in its path.

And then they were one. One being, joined in heat and passion and love. One being, panting and trembling and kissing. Richard pulled Oscar up and back against him, reaching for his lips and trying to make that moment last forever before their roles reverted back to how the world saw fit.

But it would never last, and with an apologetic grimace Oscar pulled himself free, before turning so that they fell back against the armchair, Oscar cradled in Richard’s arms. When Oscar began hungrily licking the seed from his fingers, Richard remembered the tea things. They were on the floor, the rug flooded with milk and tea, butter no doubt mashed into its pile. His temporary stint as the Master now over, he pulled back on his valet’s persona like a cape, concealing the man he was when it was just the two of them together.

“Bugger!” Richard cursed. “How the hell am I going to explain that to Lizzie?”

Oscar gave a lazy laugh, born of wealth and privilege. “Don’t worry, I’ll say it was me. She thinks I’m a hopeless case already, doesn’t she?”

Richard wasn’t going to argue, although he didn’t want to tell Oscar the full extent of the tongue wagging that went on below stairs in case his master took it into his head to end their little arrangement. He shifted awkwardly, reminded of how Oscar’s clothing didn’t really fit him properly. “I suppose you’ll be wanting these clothes back soon, and I’d better get cleaning that lot up before it stains or Lizzie will tan my hide next time she sees me.”

Oscar resisted when Richard tried to rise, however, pinning him back against the armchair and gazing at him with an expression that made Richard’s heart stutter.

“I just want you to know . . .” Oscar began, then flushed and swiped his hair out of the way impatiently. “I trust you with everything. You know that, don’t you?” Oscar took Richard’s calloused hand and pulled it flat against his bare chest.

Richard felt Oscar’s heart pounding away, felt the sweat on his skin and remembered just how scared he’d been when his master had first revealed this desire to be dominated. Of how he’d almost run, seeking new employment, and of how Oscar had kissed him hard and deep, stealing away his resistance as surely as he had now stolen his heart.

He nodded, cleared his throat and tried to speak. It was hard to know how to act in this between space: no longer the dominant, but not yet the servant again. But the look in Oscar’s eyes gave him courage. “I know. I—I trust you too.”

Richard looked at his uniform, scattered on the floor. He wished he could leave it there forever and find some way to be Oscar’s equal. But maybe that’s what this time was. This between space. Maybe that’s what Oscar was trying to give him. Richard squeezed Oscar’s hand before disentangling their limbs and rising. There were duties to be done.

“We’ve still got an hour, you know,” Oscar said. “What about if I help you with the cleaning, and then we go to my room. To bed.”

Richard looked up sharply. This was a first—they hadn’t yet enacted any of Oscar’s fantasies in his bed. Somehow, it had never seemed appropriate, and Richard hadn’t liked to be the one to suggest it.

“Please?” Oscar asked, his voice hesitant, almost submissive again.

Richard looked into those clear blue eyes, and knew he could never resist.

Oscar smiled.

 

Finis.

6 thoughts on “Tea for Two

    • Hi HeresJay – I’m so glad you enjoyed it! I keep meaning to revisit these characters as they were great fun to write. If only there were an extra five hours in the day…

      Jo x

  1. The twist was surprising but enjoyable. I really like Richard and Oscar. I would love to see more of them and hopefully have a good HEA. :-)

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