Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (5 page)

We got naked. I worked on his body, stroking, kissing and licking his chest and belly, moving down to his groin. Gripping the base of his elegant cock I guided it into my mouth, using my lips to push back the skin. He rewarded me with a low growl of approval. I took my time, closing my eyes, concentrating on pleasuring him. He put a hand on my head as if giving benediction, emitting murmurs of enjoyment along with porno scene speech.

“Yeah, baby, suck it good, make Daddy proud.”

After a while my jaw began to ache and there was still no sign of him being ready to unload his balls. He can postpone orgasm forever can Dick. He’d make an epic porn star. He’d fuck everyone off the set and into oblivion. It was a relief when he stopped me.

Pushing me onto my back, he wriggled down the bed, raising my knees and pushing them apart. It was my turn to moan as he bent his head, dipping his tongue into my crack, his hair tickling my inner thighs. Reaching my hands above my head, I gripped the bed frame, opening my legs wider to give him better access to my arse. I tipped back my head, giving a long moan of pleasure as he began rimming my anus. I adore being kissed at the rear gate. I gripped the bed frame tighter as his tongue jabbed my hole, pushing the gate open. The boxer pup jumped and begged. I moved my right hand to stroke it. Dick immediately stopped tongue fucking my arse. I yelped as he slapped my hand away from my cock.

“I’ll let you know if and when you can touch.”

Kissing at the back gate ceased. Straightening my legs, he lay on top of me, holding his weight on his forearms so he didn’t squash me. His hard shaft slipped between my thighs, nudging my balls and making the pup salivate. He kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him, pushing my pelvis up into his, slyly trying to make his cock rub against mine and pleasure me. He broke the kiss. Kneeling up, he flipped me over onto my belly before gripping my waist and hauling me onto all fours.

“OW!” I yelped as he landed a stinging open-handed blow to my right buttock. He matched it with a slap to my left. It didn’t feel playful or sensual. I shouted a protest, twisting my head back to look at him. “Dick, please! You know I don’t like it when you play too rough with me.”

“We’re past playing, especially your sneaky game of defiance.” He spanked my bottom again, landing a shattering slap to each cheek. “That’s for nipping my ear.” He landed another pair of slaps, “and that’s for trying to hickey me.”

I tried to escape by crawling forwards, but he grasped my hips and dragged me back into position. Another pair of painful smacks cracked across my arse. “That’s for touching without my permission, and this is for trying to control sex for your own pleasure.”

I yelled as yet another dual set of spanks lit up my rear. I managed to drop flat onto my stomach, but didn’t get a chance to turn over onto my back.

Clasping my waist, he hoisted me into a doggy position once again and delivered another set of powerful stingers to my bottom, followed by a squeal-inducing slap to the top of each thigh before releasing his hold on me.

I scrambled off the bed. “Why did you do that?” I rubbed my backside and the tops of my legs. “Fucking hurt.”

“You’re a bad boy and bad boys get spanked.” He too got off the bed. His erection, like mine, had diminished, proof if proof were needed that the slaps had not been sexually motivated.

“There was no need to be so harsh. I was only funning with you.”

“You were pushing the envelope by way of venting spleen over the booze rule again. I’m bloody tired of it.”

We observed each other in silence for a few moments. I dropped my gaze first, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re getting as bad as Shane for being a brute.”

“Yes, well, Shane is right. I’ve spoilt and indulged you for too long. You need hard handling to put you in your place and keep you there. I’ve never met anyone as wilful as you are. You, my chicken, are too fond of trying to rule the roost in this house.”

I risked a peep at his face. The look on his face reminded me of the one Shane often wore around me. I lowered my eyes again. “I’m getting on your nerves aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are rather.”

“Shame we’re not legal. You could divorce me on the grounds of my unreasonable behaviour. When do you want me to move out?”

“There you go again, pushing.”

“Sorry, bad habit.” I stooped to pick my pyjama shorts up off the floor.

“You need to keep your mouth under control.” His mobile rang from the bedside cabinet and he moved to pick it up. Before taking the call he issued a sharp instruction for me to go make a start on breakfast.

I strode out of the room, slipping into the main bathroom to inspect my bottom using the shaving mirror in there. It was marked, my bum that is. He’d smacked hard enough to break capillaries under the skin in one or two places, leaving small hickey like bruises. I felt dreadful, but not on their account. They were superficial and would fade before the end of the day. I was embarrassed because I’d annoyed him. He lost patience with me far more often than he used to.

Pulling on my sleep shorts I went downstairs. I splashed water on my face at the kitchen sink. I dried myself using a tea towel, pressing it to my eyes to soak up the tears of self-pity that insisted on leaking out. Feeling vulnerable in only my pyjama bottoms I decided to get dressed. Going into the utility room, I pulled clean underpants, socks, jeans and a top from the clean laundry basket. Bugger ironing. The creases would soon drop out.

I made a pot of tea and put it on the kitchen table ready for when Dick came down. It wouldn’t matter if it brewed a while. He liked it strong. There was cereal on the table for him to help himself to. I made some toast and racked it. I ate half a slice and gulped down a small glass of milk by way of my own breakfast.

I had no intention of sticking round to eat with Dick, or in fact sticking around at all. The house was still a tip from the night before, but it could wait. I’d do it later, and the same with showering and shaving. Stuff it. I didn’t exactly get Desperate Dan style beard growth. I could neglect shaving for a week and still not have anything other than stubble, unlike Shane. He can grow a moustache and beard in his lunch hour. It’s probably an age related thing. Dick can also grow a fair beard in a matter of days. When I hit my thirties I’ll probably start sprouting facial hair like a lycanthrope under a full moon. I’ll have to shave with a lawnmower.

Dick and I met on the stairs. He was wearing a bathrobe and looked surprised to see me dressed.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. I’ve got presents to drop off. Breakfast is on the table. I’ve had mine. Go get your tea before it goes cold.” I ran up the rest of the stairs without looking back at him. In the bedroom I shoved on my trainers and gathered up my wallet, phone and house keys. I grabbed a jacket from my rail in the walk-in closet and put it on. I then picked up the carrier bag of Christmas gifts I’d wrapped a few days earlier.

Dick had followed me up. He took hold of my hand as I emerged into the bedroom again. “I want to talk to you, honey.”

“Look, Dick. I am truly sorry for irritating you this morning.” I tried to free my hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get a move on. I want to spend some time with my mother today. You can’t deny me that.”

“I would never want to,” he said in a gentle voice. “You do understand why I punished you, don’t you, Gilli?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Sir?” He raised his eyebrows a little. “It’s rare for that word to voluntarily fall from your lips, especially outside of a play situation. I suspect it’s a general lower case sir rather than a title. Is it your way of distancing yourself from the situation, from me?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t think we’re in any kind of a ‘sir’ situation. Daddy will do on this occasion and you haven’t answered my question. Why did I discipline you?”

“Because I was getting on your tits by being a stupid boring little bitch. I need to stop being a dipshit and get over things faster than I do.”

“No.” He gave my hand a shake. “Tell me again, without all the pejorative language.”

“What does pejorative mean?”

His voice sharpened. “Stop playing games, Gilli. Even if you don’t know the literal meaning of the word you’re intelligent enough to work out the context. Why were you punished?”

“For pushing boundaries and challenging your authority with aggressive play because I’m resentful about a ruling.”

“That’s it.”

“May I go now please?”

“I’d prefer you to breakfast with me, and then maybe we can return to bed, and finish on a sweeter note.”

“I need to get going. I have to call on Eileen, Dot and Alma before going to see my mother.”

“All right, honey. Go if you must.” He patted my hand and released it. “At least give me a kiss before you go running off.”

I obeyed, pecking a kiss onto his lips before hurrying out of the bedroom and sprinting down the stairs. I wanted to be out of the house.

Chapter Two - Intersections

It was cold outside, and dull. The sun had risen, but was struggling to shine with conviction. It had obviously been to a party the night before and gotten shitfaced. It would take a while for it to shake off the hangover and do its duty. Ground frost lingered in dense white patches on the lawn. With no sunshine to make it sparkle, it had the appearance of a fungus infection.

Setting down my bag of gifts I fastened my jacket and turned up the collar, debating on whether to go back inside and get a scarf and gloves. I decided against it. I’d use motion to keep warm.

Picking up the bag I walked up the drive at a brisk pace, pausing at the gates to allow our neighbour, Mr Elders, to fly past, his heels almost striking sparks off the pavement. His Red Setter dog, Milly, was taking him for his first walk of the day. He managed to blurt out a morning greeting as the creature dragged him down the avenue at speed, totally ignoring his pleas to: ‘slow down, Milly, heel, Milly, heel!’ The animal was a menace. It had to have some form of canine ADHD. I’ve never really forgiven it for killing Clarice, Eileen’s gorgeous pet kitten. It still makes me sad, and guilty, to think of it. She was running after me when the dog got her.

I walked up Eileen’s path, pausing for a moment to admire the fresh holly wreath adorning the front door of her house. It looked rich and festive, glowing red and green against the white paint. I didn’t disturb it. I seldom use the front door. I walked around to the back of the house, knowing Eileen was likely to be in her kitchen or conservatory. The back door was also dressed with a Christmas wreath fashioned by Eileen herself. It was an artificial one comprising of silk poinsettia interspersed with glitter dusted fir cones and little gold baubles. It looked pretty, as did the small potted fir tree decorating the broad doorstep. It was lit with a multitude of tiny coloured lights. I experienced a pang of festive envy. The quasi mansion was barren of outside ornamentation. I’d put all my efforts into decorating the summerhouse, and look how that had ended. I scowled. It was turning out to be a joyless Christmas on several fronts.

Opening the door I walked into the scullery leading into the main kitchen, shouting Eileen’s name as I closed the back door behind me. There was no response. She wasn’t in the kitchen. The radio was playing, tuned to BBC Radio Two, the housewife and retiree channel of choice. I put my bag on the table and walked into the hall, calling her name again. She shouted from upstairs, telling me she was making the bed and wouldn’t be long, instructing me to put the kettle on.

I filled the kettle and switched it on. I know my way around Eileen’s kitchen. I got a couple of china mugs out of the cupboard and spooned in Kenco coffee granules, putting half a spoonful of sugar into Eileen’s mug. I turned up the volume on the radio as the DJ introduced Gene Pitney singing
‘Something’s Gotten Hold of my Heart.’
I like Gene Pitney. He was a great singer. I acquired my taste for his unique vocals from Lee’s dad, who’s a massive fan of American artists of the fifties and Sixties. He used to scour flea markets, junk shops and charity shops, picking up original vinyl recordings for a few quid or less. He had a particular soft spot for Gene Pitney, whom he fancied he looked like a younger version of. We all need a fantasy.

When I was a kid, Saturday nights were often party nights at Lee’s house, his dad’s work shifts permitting. Current music wasn’t on the play list. There was no Britney or Britpop. His dad would bring out his collection of old vinyl records and rattle the rafters with the likes of Elvis Presley, Gene Pitney, Del Shannon and The Everly Brothers. Fortunately, their neighbours were usually part of the fray.

Lee’s dad was hilarious when he had a few drinks in him. Using a French booze cruise lager bottle as a mike he’d improvise his own version of karaoke, belting out the lyrics along with his idols, while gyrating his hips in a way that made Cass, Lee’s older sister, squirm with embarrassment.

On one memorable occasion he was so carried away with singing along to Gene’s
‘Twenty-four Hours From Tulsa’
that he forgot his lager bottle mike was half full. He ended up showering in the contents when he tipped back his head and raised the ‘mike’ to sing the chorus. Lee and I thought it was hysterical. We clutched at each other with tears of laughter just about running down our legs, while his dad stood there coughing and spluttering with a look of astonishment on his face. It was too much for Cass. She fled yelling: ‘aw, mam, can’t you stop our dad. He’s showing us up.’