+++It sounds like an innocent nursery rhyme...NOT! This is a story for bad boys of over eighteen. I know you are a good boy, so please hang up now.
George Mayberry Kenton'S name was impressive in sound, but more impressive in his bank account, inheritance and style of living.
I came to know Georgie when he was eleven and I twenty one. I was hired to be a combination tutor, body guard and companion for the poor little rich boy.
He had, even at that age, at sense of his own specialness and he expressed it with boyish arrogance. I remember that first time I met him. I arrived for my interview with his mother, Lydia Kenton. As I waited in the entry foyer, I glanced up the winding marble stairs that boasted Roman statues at each landing. He was looking down at me, a faint smile wreathing his...I have to say gorgeous face. His honey blond hair was worn long and cascaded in a long bob sweeping past his pink-blushed cheeks.
I waved at him. He frown as though I had taken a liberty. Later on, I found that he was ambiguous about expressing affection for me. At times he was aloof and imperious; other times he begged for an embrace and affection. That part of his personality kept me on edge, never knowing how to handle my time with him.
The butler, Walker returned and bade me go into the library where I found Mrs. Kenton waiting for me, seated in an ornate wheel chair with cane back and ormolu carving. I had never seen such a chair, it must have been specially made.
She was peering at my resume through hand held reading glasses. "Thomas Grady," she said with a family frown. "Catholic?"
"No, my grandfather was from Ulster."
She seemed to relax and settled deeper into her chair. "I've interviewed four applicants. You are the only male. A male might be a good choice. Are you athletic? Do you throw balls and such?"
"I am not a jock, but I do like being active. I jog and ride horses and..."
She cut me off. "That's sufficient, I do think that an excess of muscles on men's bodies is obscene." Then reading further she nodded and said, "Your education is excellent. Was your family wealthy to have afforded Wellington Preparatory and then Harvard?"
I took a deep breath, "Well, that's a bit of a story. We were comfortable, my father and mother both were college professors. That helped my admission, but in addition, there were several funds that helped pay my way."
"I see," she said neutrally, but I think it mean that I was not upper class. Then abruptly she let her eyes roam up and down my person. "You dress well, neat, but not self-conscious. You're not an invert are you?"
I struggled to understand her reference, then I realized that it was a word from Oscar Wilde. It was easy to deny it, and I did.
She outlined my duties and nodded firmly. "We'll try you out for a month, before making it permanent."
I guess I became permanent, for now I am thirty one and Georgie's twenty one. It's been a difficult, yet absorbing ten years, witnessing the changes in my charge and the changes in the estate and fortunes of the family. Mrs. Denton, already sickly, died a year after I was hired. Mr. Walker grew old in service and was replaced by an younger butler, James (more about him later) however he stayed on as estate accountant.
Teaching Georgie was easy. The boy was brilliant. He learned difficult material almost instantly and had a prodigious memory.
We had good times. We ran five miles each day and we both loved the exhilaration in all kinds of weather, even pouring rain.
I had a special place in the life of the estate. Walker considered me above him. Georgie was now taking control of his fortune and his life. He consulted frequently with his lawyer and financial consultants. All this was done without my presence. What he thought about me was hard to determine. I know he looked to me for comfort and many a time I hugged him while he cried. He also...and I must whisper this...at these times he would call me his "body servant" and ask for sexual favors. He did it so prettily that I always obeyed. He loved his suck fests and his cum was sweet as honey. Later, he would turn and stick his perfectly shaped buttocks at me and plead, with his eyes, for some attention to that area.
I had a willing tongue and licked his hole and pushed my tongue in and massaged his prostate. That action never failed to bring him to orgasm.
As for tending to me, it was made clear that he was not "queer" and there would be no reciprocity. I didn't go to bed with a hard on. Just working on him would get me off with violent blasts from my large organ. A few times, Georgie asked me to masturbate in front of him. He would make remarks that taunted my passion but I noticed that he would be wanking himself all during those sessions. I believe that he really longed to touch me, but his station in life precluded it...in his view.
James, the new younger butler was not interested in man to man sex and he let me know this as soon as he was ensconced in his position. He was a good looking fellow of Scotch background. Once he took me aside and said that Georgie was a latent homosexual and that if I was interested, I could command him to offer me sexual favors. "You, Thomas, are the handsomer, with your height and fine wavy hair. Your master is a pip squeak."
As George (as he insisted on being called now) grew towards his majority, he began a bad habit: brandy. Most evenings, we sat together having dinner served unhappily by James. By the end of the meal, George was quite drunk and no able to manage the stairs to his room.
I would sling him over my shoulder and carry him up, undress him and tuck him into bed. Those were exciting times for me. I was able to see all of his sweet body and admire his cheeky cock, then kiss him goodnight, on the lips.
James mentioned to me that it might be the brandy, or something in George's nature that was beginning to be evinced. George began withdrawing his affection for me. He said one evening at dinner, slurringly "Thomas, as a servant, you ought to consider ceasing the custom of eating with me. After all, I don't need a tutor, certainly not a nanny and for companions, I have, of late been cultivating the fair sex."
It was true. He had enlisted James in contacting young ladies of indifferent morals to come to the estate for a bed tossing with the half drunk George. While I do not wish to make myself too important, I often felt that he was doing this to break away from me and to separate himself from the intimacies were shared.
This period marked the beginning of his outrageously insulting comportment toward me. I now helped serve the dinner and ate mine in the kitchen. One occasion, he invited some ne'er do well young guys and harlots to dinner. He insisted that I help serve the meal along with James and were a butler's uniform.
All during the meal he hurled insults at me. "Thomas, don't be so clumsy. Thomas, Tom, Tom did you bathe before serving?" Turning to an overly made up woman next to him, he said, "Too bad you can't see him in the bath. He has hair on the center of his chest, quite low class, and a disgusting penis." Then he ramped up his insults. "Tom, Tom, Tommy, Tommykins, the pumpkin eater. You like to eat my pumpkin."
Then the final insult, he kept spanking my backside whenever I was close.
I owned a small pistol, his mother had gotten a permit for me as protection for little Georgie. I kept it all these years. I had that gun with me, in my tight trousers.
As the pitch of his insults increased, I was hot and red of face and breathing with difficulty. Finally, unable to stand the verbal abuse, I took out the pistol and meant to fire at the wall to frighten him. Somehow my hand shook so hard that my bullet landed on a path through his heart. Within an instant, his dress shirt was soaked with blood and he slumped in his chair. He couldn't speak, but his eyes were fixed on me in with a plaintive look I shall never forget. With a gurgling sound, he slipped to the floor.
A young man was dialing 911 and another boy listened to George's chest. "He's dead. Hold that servant."
End Part One