Sir Horace Inchmore

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Sir Horace Inchmore
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Sir Horace Inchmore

by Georg von Rotthausen

Published by neobooks, Neopubli GmbH Berlin

Copyright: ©2020 by Georg von Rotthausen

This work is protected by copyright. In no way it is legal to reproduce, duplicate or transmit any part of this manuscript in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission of the author. All rights reserved. Any violation will lead to civil liability and criminal prosecution, domestic and abroad, without distinction of person or institution.

The characters, locations and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious save for historical individuals and events. Any other similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended in any way whatsoever by the author. Sole exception: Historical individuals, living or dead.

Contact to the author:

georg.v.rotthausen@gmx.net

“What do you think about Sir Horace, Chris?”

“Now I’m curious about the answer!”

“Hush! I might miss his comment.”

Channing had just left the bathroom where he’d taken a long shower and made his way to the kitchen.

Chrisander was amazed being asked for his estimation of Channings most faithful friend out of the blue.

As easy-going as Chris’ housemate was, he didn’t waste much thought on his dress-code at home, and Chris couldn‘t care less since his being in the nude meant no visual offence to him − on the contrary. Since he was gifted with a distinct sense of beauty, Channing’s physical appearance − including his voice − was nothing but pleasing.

Chrisander wasn’t that bad looking himself, due to the mere fact that his dear parents’d gifted him with according fine genes − therefore nothing to brag about or being conceited of. In fact, he was a handsome fellow.

But Channing was a special case. Not that he was a braggert or conceitful, hoity-toity or whatever one could call a person to be guilty of knowing that he or she was good-looking − again on the contrary.

He was a real male beauty and the nicest of persons to be around with, always cheerful, gifted with the best of manners, he didn’t smoke and Chris never saw him being drunk. It wasn’t exactly so that he ever witnessed him spitting to a mug of beer but Channing knew his limits and never crossed the red line.

Being asked a favour, he carried it out most reliably. And very often he sang his most favourite musical songs while doing the chore and gardening Chris’d asked him to attend to. It was most entertaining watching him since he loved to act as if being on stage − at least when he considered himself being unobserved. And, as long as they were only company to each other, he fuss-free and unashamedly walked around in his birthday suit.

“Do you mind my being in the buff?” he’d been asking Chrisander the day he moved in.

“Why would I? Feel free to wear whatever you want as long as we‘re with each other inside the house. And if it’s nothing but your skin, it’s okay with me,” Chris shrugged and smiled. “Good,” said Channing, “since it means the display of freedom to me, as essential a liberty like the freedom of speech.”

Channing, by the way, like Chrisander himself, belonged to those fifty percent of humans enjoying an absolutely flawless skin, honey-coloured, and they both didn’t wear “white briefs”.

Soon after, when his things had been brought in by the moving guys, he provided a specimen of his unceremonious manners off the pool.

Channing took off his clothes, chucked it onto his bed and commenced making himself at home.

Chrisander was about enjoying an hour lying in his deck-chair in the patio thusly in the nude himself. For a few moments he’d interrupted his way out sun-bathing and watched Channing − standing in the doorframe with his large towel around his neck.

Channing noticed it, smiled and blatantly travelled his new house-mate.

“Got yourself a mighty perfect physique, eh? Training or genes?”

“Oh thank you. Both of it, actually. But the same goes for you. Girls must be queuing up for you, don’t they?” Chris cocked his head.

“Well, it keeps within reasonable limits,” he shrugged and distorted his face. “Most of them are afraid of Sir Horace, you know.”

“Sir Horace …?”

“My clingy most faithful friend.” Channing let his dick swing a little bit and smiled, showing his radiantly white teeth.

Chris couldn‘t avoid focussing on Channing’s most impressive shower, and he felt an agreeable tug in his stomach pit and elsewhere.

“A ten-inch cock is much too much for most of them. They are afraid of being speared. Could tell weird stories, you know. But you got a fine Johnny Miller yourself, if I may say so.” Channing’s line of gaze was unmistakable.

Chris automatically looked down at himself and grinned.

“And what’s his name?” Channing enquired, smiling.

“Mister Martin Dangle-Hood. Nice meeting you, Sir Horace!”

*

1st day

Chrisander had just turned 29 when Channing crossed his path. He’d seen quite a lot of guys in the buff during his school years and his brief service in the Navy, be it in locker rooms, under the shower, at the sauna, on the occasion of night-time nude swimming in various pools when school-mates had got the run of the place or the unavoidable measuring of their manhood at wanking orgies in either groups of several guys or two by two when they were younger teens.

When he first met Channing his fascinating sight unexpectedly shot electric jolts up and down his spine − something he’d never felt before facing a male human being. And he’d seen quite some handsome guys over the years!

Two weeks ago − it had been a cloudless sunny and fairly warm day − Channing’d entered the shop Chris was running since his grand-aunt had been passing away some two years before. Since that sad day, he owned The Red Lighthouse Book and Stationary Store in a small Southern Californian coast town. He had no competitors and made good money. Chrisander also’d enherited grand-aunt Isabelle’s estate including large premises and an eight-room-house Spanish style with a large patio which was quite convenient − and a hidden from view swimming pool.

He loved to sunbathe in the nude and enjoyed the advantage of being hidden from the eyes of prairie-dogging neighbours.

That magic day encountering Channing he’d just opened up for his daily business.

He again had expected 94-year-old Mrs. Eulalia McGillycuddy to be his first customer of the day, as usual. She never missed to buy her daily stationary, some light blue sheet of writing paper with a sunflower top left and a corresponding envelope. But that very day she didn’t show up.

One normally could correct one’s watch orientating to her. Punctuality was actually her middle name. It wasn’t 10 a.m. when Miss Eula − how everybody addressed her − hadn’t come to a halt before the shop entrance right the moment Chris unlocked the door from inside. But when Chrisander watched out for her, his eye wasn’t caught by the sight of the lovely old lady but by the one of somebody he’d never seen before in town.

It was Channing who just hopped out of a properly kept vintage Volkswagen bus. Chrisander couldn‘t help focussing his attention on him.

The guy who approached him at a smart pace he estimated being about 27 years old. He for sure measured 6 ft 3 and was weighing not more than 188 lb. His physique was athletic and sinewy − but low-key. His curly hair was black as pitch, he wore a three-day beard, embellishing his perfectly chiseled face with cheekbones to die for. Around his neck he wore a chain of golden maple leaves, with a larger one made of red gold, dangling centre.

He was dressed in a snug white belly T-shirt and washed-out blue jeans and wore low blue linen shoes, covering his bare feet.

It was obvious that his pecs and abs were nothing but enviably perfect.

While Chrisander continued travelling the handsome stranger in instinctive stallions’ competition, he noticed that the approaching guy for whatever reason was aroused − at least it seemed so. He definitely wore no briefs and his manhood was distinctly showing.

“Man alive! He’s approaching me with a woody first class and doesn’t even blush! Wonder, why he‘s popping a boner right now! Can‘t be me, could it?”

Chrisander scouted the place whether some bare belly belles were around or his friend Shawna was showing up. She owned the Sports and Swim Wear Shop next to his place − but no beautiful Shawna in her sexy outfit was in sight.

Chrisander just didn’t believe his eyes since not only the shaft was clearly showing but also a glans of some enormous size. And to top all of it, this Adonis called a dense happy trail his own, snaking up to his navel from obvious thick and bushy pubes.

“Hi!” The yet stranger greeted Chrisander with a friendly smile. “According to the signalment I was given at Jenny’s Diner you must be the manager of the store behind you, right?”

“Hi! Can’t deny it. Can I help you?” Chrisander returned the friendly smile.

“I sure hope you can. My name’s Channing Thierry Rambaud du Moulin Noir −”

“Such a long name requires certain inches to cope with …” Chris couldn‘t help thinking.

“− and I’m new in town. Just arrived from San Francisco. And I’m looking for a job. The proprietress of the diner told me you’re looking for a shop assistant. Is that right?”

 

“Sure is. My name’s Chrisander Yewland.”

Extending his hand, he invited Channing to come inside. They exchanged a firm grip. First impression counts.

Chrisander showed Channing around. After a quarter of an hour he was hired by handshake.

By several discreet gazes of control, it’d occured to Chrisander that Channing’s distinct showing of his phallus hadn’t changed a bit while they had been walking around. Could this handsome guy by any chance be a disciple of the god Priapos, he contemplated, or … Nay, he’d seen some dicks of remarkable size, even flaccid, but such a gift by Mother Nature he as yet had considered being impossible. He himself couldn‘t be accused of boasting if saying that he was pretty well-hung but such a dong …! Chrisander decided to equip his new shop assistant with a pinafore in order to prevent distraction of his female customers from his assortment or gaping of especially younger male clients who as well might forget what they wanted to buy whatever at the sight of this king-size manhood, though covered by denim.

When Channing noticed that Chrisander was smiling to himself and what his line of gaze was, he surprised him.

“It always looks the same. Can’t return it.” While saying so, he shrugged and gave a winning smile. Chrisander could do nothing but implicitly admit to himself that he was impressed.

“By the way. Would you possibly know where I could put my weary head to rest tonight but a motel?”

“Sure do. Stay with me at my place. I can let you two rooms until you find yourself something else. We certainly will agree on the rent. You could help me keeping the house and do some gardening, if that’s convenient to you. And to answer the question I can read in your eyes: No, I’m not married, and no, I’m not gay. At least not yet,” Chrisander smiled. “But with respect to the latter I might change my mind if girls continue driving me crazy as they do.”

Channing returned a bright smile − and the new house-mates clapped “high five” on that.

When those unexpected things had been agreed upon, Miss Eula came back to Chrisander’s mind. He was worried that the old lady hadn’t shown up yet.

So he asked Channing to take over for half an hour. All items were priced by bar code or price sticker, Chris calmed him and explained the cash register. Channing was quite relaxed and told his new employer to easefully do whatever he wanted to do. If the place would be ablaze, he’d call the fire department, he grinned and gently shoved Chrisander − who, besides, had picked Miss Eula‘s daily choice of stationary − through the front door and just couldn‘t marvel enough but also grinned to himself while walking to his car. This Channing fella obviously was quite a character!

Moments later − Chris just pulled out his vehicle from the parking lot − Channing’s sales talent was tested for the first time.

A young lad entered the shop, scouting around. It was evident that he wasn’t looking for something but for somebody.

“Hi! Ain’t Chris around?” he approached Channing.

“Hi! No, he’s not, but can I help you?”

Channing travelled the teenage-boy unobtrusively. He put him at the age of 19, 20 the most. It was a slender but well-trained guy of about 6 ft 1 with shoulder-length blond hair. His eyes were sparkling blue, and he looked quite handsome. He wore an unbuttoned short-sleeved blue shirt partly displaying his perfectly chiseled pecs and a fine washboard, tight denim shorts and light-brown sandals. He was of good appearance. And it wasn’t missable that he enjoyed a whim of Mother Nature. His distinct happy trail was black! And his package, as Channing’s line of gaze transmitted, was remarkable. At a nude beach or at a sauna but also dressed in scarce swim briefs this lad most certainly was an eye-catching sight.

“Don’t get me wrong but I’d rather talk to Chris,” the bonny lad said and got ready to leave.

“My name’s Channing, and how’s yours?” Channing made him stop and face him again.

“Er, Tyler Christian but …”

“Everybody just calls you T.C., right?” Channing shot him a don‘t-run-away smile, and T.C. returned it.

“Now, tell me. What are you looking for? Some good read or fine stationary?”

“Both or either. Depends on what Chris has got on stock, actually,” T.C. replied. “I’ve not made my mind up, yet.”

Channing noticed, that T.C. was focussing on his opposite’s crotch.

“Let’s begin with some good read, okay? What are you interested in? Non-fiction or romantic novels?”

“Love stories,” T.C. admitted spontaneously, and his cheeks went rosy.

“Heterosexual, double-gaited or gay?”

“I’m not gay,” T.C. blushed crimson and paced one step backward.

“Of course not,” Channing eased him. “You’re just interested in certain information and for the rest you’re the walking reason of making all girls in town scream soon they lay eyes upon you as good-looking as you are, right?”

T.C. shot Channing a grateful glance and nodded affirmative.

“A friend of mine is gay, actually,” T.C. stepped closer again, saying that in low voice, looking around as if he was afraid somebody else could overhear him, “and I just wanna know what makes him feel that way.”

“That’s a fine act of friendship, T.C., and now let’s see what we’ve got on stock to entertain and inform you.”

With a friendly pet on T.C’s shoulder he guided Tyler to the well-assorted book-shelves.

Half an hour later T.C. returned with two books to the desk where Channing meanwhile had sold some pencils, felt-tipped pens, writing paper and an eraser.

T.C. waited until no other customer was around before he approached to pay.

“Would you say I picked me the right stuff?” T.C. asked with still rosy cheeks.

Channing checked Tyler’s choice and nodded his head positive.

“You sure did. You’ll unterstand your friend much better after you read it,” he smiled at the lad who slipped Channing an “Andrew Jackson” and got two cents back.

After T.C. had asked for a bag to conceal his purchase and gratefully looked at Channing, he said in low voice:

“I’m glad that you are working here. Welcome in our town.” With a shy wave of his right hand he left the shop. Channing’d made his first friend. That was obvious since T.C. looked back once when leaving. And Channing answered it with a cheerful wave of his right hand. That very moment he knew he hadn’t seen T.C. for the last time.

“Sexual problems are the same everywhere. Be it in a metropolis or in the countryside. Wonder how T.C.’s dealing with it and how he is dealt with,” Channing thought to himself, only to be distracted the next moment. And what a distraction that was! This Californian coastal town obviously had to offer not only handsome chaps but beautiful women, too.

“Hi! Is Chris around?”

A young woman quizzically looked at him, seeking his eye.

Channing was stunned. He was facing an exciting beauty of about 26 years of age, measuring 5 ft 7 at his estimation, with butt-length black hair, a pair of sparkling brown eyes, her flawless skin just perfectly tanned, the fingernails of her slim hands polished with white enamel. She just wore a scrimpy white bikini top rather displaying than covering her beautiful apple twins and a red wrap skirt. Her bare feet were dressed in narrow thonged white sandals. And around her hips she wore a belly chain made of golden starfish.

Channing had to clear his throat before he was able to compose himself and answer.

“Hi! Er, Chris isn’t around for a short while. He might be back in a moment, but can I help you?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know. Did he tell you whether my order of special writing paper has yet arrived?”

“Er, no. He just hired me as his new shop assistant this morning. But I’ll be glad asking him soon he returns and will inform you then. May I note down your name?”

“Sure. I’m Shawna Lynn FitzGordon, and I own the Sports and Swim Wear Shop next door.”

“Oh, that’s why …”

“Yeah, that’s why I wear pieces of my own assortment as true-to-life advertisement. Changed daily!” she smiled.

“Oh! If that’s not making me curious what you’re gonna wear tomorrow, what else would!” Channing showed his two rows of white teeth.

“Well, you may be anxious to see!” Shawna returned his smile. And, before she made a move to leave, she commented her line of gaze.

“Do you always parade your manhood qualities like you do today or is it just a first-day present to Chris’ female clients − or male customers who might be interested in as well? I mustn‘t drop a curtsey to that, must I?”

Channing blushed and cleared his throat. He was quite flabbergasted because of Shawna’s straightforwardness.

“Would it please you more if I wore a kilt? And a curtsey isn‘t necessary at all. Your sparkling glance is rewarding enough!”

“Good answer! What’s your name?”

“Oh, I was absent-minded. And don’t you dare asking me for what reason! The name is Channing Thierry Rambaud du Moulin Noir. Nice meeting you!”

“Oh my! You really need a long name to cope with inches like yours!” Shawna thought to herself, eyeing Channing’s “offer” once again in a way as if she wanted to never forget this sight. “Nice meeting you two, too!” With greetings from Sigmund Freud! When she noticed that one word too much had slipped her tongue, it was Shawna’s turn to blush. “We’ll be seeing us!” she waved Channing goodbye and returned to her own shop particularly since she’d noticed a young girl who was studying her window display.

She left a slightly startled shop assistant behind. But the next moment he had to deal with another customer himself.

“Good morning, sir. Can I help you?”

*

When Chrisander returned, he was still shaking his head in amusement. Miss Eula was always good for a surprise. Chris’ grand-aunt already had a drawerful of funny stories with respect to her old friend. And that day she’d added a new one.

“How was your debut? Any problems?” Chrisander asked.

“Just great. No problems at all. Sold two books and a little stationary stuff. And a stunning beauty from next door −”

“Shawna?”

“− that’s her name indeed. She came in asking for you, inquiring whether her order of special writing paper has yet arrived. Or have you, by any chance, ordered new sexy scrimpy swim briefs, and she wouldn‘t tell?” Channing smiled.

“No, her writing paper hasn’t been delivered yet, and why would I need swim briefs of any size?” Chris wondered. “I use to swim in the buff in my pool, what else? And so can you, if you wish. But I’ll leave you for another few minutes to ask her what she actually wanted. Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

Seconds later he rushed through the door again.

“Now you may give proof of your ability of patience and sales talent, Channing. Mrs. Bernice Burlington “Squeaky Wheel” Roy is ante portas. Man, am I glad you don’t wear spectacles. Her voice is able to shatter all kind of glasses. I always attend a thanksgiving service when my windows had survived her weekly shopping. Gee whiz! Am I lucky to have hired you!”

Having said that, he quickly retired.

“Good morning, Mrs. Burlington Roy! What a nice day for shopping today, isn’t it?”

“Er, good morning, Mr. Yewland. May I have a word with you?” she tried to stop him but in vain.

“Alas, Mrs. Burlington Roy,” he shrugged. “My presence is needed elsewhere, but my new shop assistant Mr. Rambaud du Moulin Noir will be glad to helping you. Have a nice day, Mrs. Burlington Roy. We’ll have a nice little chat next time!”

His heartbeat palpably composed itself with every yard of increasing distance between him and this walking screeching voice. And Channing awaited nothing but the worst hour in his so far life. He was convinced that Chrisander wouldn’t return until he’d seen Mrs. Burlington Roy leave for good − before she’d come back to really let his or their ears have it again next week!

“Good morning, Ma’am! May I help you?”

His face might have given the expression of somebody standing in front of a firing squad the moment guns were cocked − but nothing happened! Not a sound was to be heard, save for the traffic outside.

“Ma’am, may I help you?” he tried to catch her attention.

 

Mrs. Burlington Roy acted like having turned into a pillar of salt, slack-jawed. But her line of gaze was unmistakable. Channing’s cock impression did its job.

“Er, where am I?”, Mrs. Burlington Roy stumbled. “Can you tell me on what purpose I came?”

“My assumption is clear, Ma’am. You need some good read for sitting in the sun in your deck-chair since it‘s such a lovely day today. May I offer you my choice for you from our richly assorted stock of love stories?”

“Er, I don’t mind if you do,” Mrs. Burlington Roy answered low-voiced and followed him like a horse which had just been broken.

*

After his late shift shop assistant had taken over, Chrisander invited Channing to follow him to his home.

There he showed him around in order to making him familiar with the place. Channing was mighty impressed. No comparison to his nice but humble flat in San Francisco which he couldn‘t afford any longer.

“Shall we have something for dinner first or would you love staying by the pool with some fruit and refreshing juice?”

“Being by the pool I’d actually prefer, if you don’t mind,” Channing replied. He definitely needed some cool water for a slow-down, be it under the shower or plunging into a pool.

“Okay. I’ll prepare something and you meanwhile proceed to the pool. It’s right behind that French door over there,” Chris pointed at the egress.

Channing found it a beautiful private resort, partly colourfully tiled, planted leafy and with lots of beautiful flowers. He looked around and took a deep breath. It was an undefinable something, but intuitively he felt at home. A feeling he’d been missing for quite a while.

The pool area was definitely hidden from view. So he easefully took off his few clothes, had a stretch − and somebody else stretched, too.

“Finally! I already thought, I’d have to remain incarcerated behind your fly for the rest of the day, mon ami! James I and James II feel overheated, too.”

“Poor you! You couldn‘t possibly have expected me to let you and the boys dangle in the public prior to my being at a pool now, could you?”

“Why not? Just for the heck of it!”

“And be arrested for public offence, you fool! Not only I would find out what it feels being incarcerated but you and the servants as well! Gimme a break, Sir Horace!”

“Wow! At least you haven’t forgotten my name!”

“Why would I? You are my most faithful friend, are you not?”

“So nice of you to say that!”

“And didn’t I wonderfully rub your neck this morning for a chill-out before we left Frisco? And didn’t I ease your and the boys’ tension on the road a second time? Cream fountains twice a day! That’s what I call a perfect service, itchy-inchy boy!”

“It depends on one’s needs, old chum, doesn’t it? I vividly remember days when we enjoyed creamy fountains up to six times − be it two by two or in company with able horny partners. Don’t you remember?”

“Sure do, how could I ever forget since I enjoyed it very much myself, but let bygones be bygones at least for today, okay?”

“Alright, alright! But your visual signals to my system during the day were quite interesting, you know. We most certainly will have a word with each other on that …”

“Ah, shut up! I wanna cool down now. Let’s trigger your volcanic senses some other time!”

“But didn’t you notice my drooling?”

“I did, old boy, but hold your breath now!”

Channing plunged into the pool and dived through it at full length− and Sir Horace’s reply became imperceptible.

When Channing emerged again, elbowing onto the pool edge, he saw Chrisander step out through the French door. He’d wound a large towel around his hips and carried a tray with two glasses and a carafe of orange juice, and when he put it down on the edge of the pool, Channing also saw a bowl filled with apples, sliced oranges and bananas. Chris took the towel off, spread it out, settled down and let his feet dangle in the cool water. And before that, something else dangled right before Channing’s utterly amazed eyes. Chris had changed to being in the nude and unashamedly introduced his clingy friend of handsome appearance to him.

“Wanna see his friend, too!” Sir Horace transmitted by inner system radio.

“And blab our being well-disposed towards him by stiffening your neck hastily! You need your head examined!”

“That’s exactly what I want!”

“Give it a bone!”

“Yeah, right! A boner! How wonderful!”

“Quit bothering me, or I let you wait for triggering the next fountains longer than you can bear it!”

“And you?”

“---”

Meanwhile Chrisander poured them the first glass of orange juice each and proposed a toast.

“Welcome to my house! May all the hours you’re gonna spend inside these walls be happy ones!”

They clicked glasses. And Channing answered to it.

“It most certainly was a lucky hour meeting you! I’m happy to be your new shop assistant and your house-mate! May all the hours we’re gonna spend together be happy ones! Thank you so much for having me here!”

“Welcome! Cheers!”

They clicked glasses again, and then Chris let himself slide into the cool water. It actually was just in time.

“By golly! That wasn’t an instant too late, Chris, old boy. The moment your visual system transmitted the sight of his king-size cock under water, I was about ready to instantly popping a boner!”

“Don’t you dare, Martin!”

“By what means could I ever have prevented a stiff neck being offered such a visual temptation, buddy, save for Shawna’s, huh?”

“That’s why I plunged to the pool, clingy!”

“Good!”

That was the hour when Chrisander first visibly encountered Sir Horace uncovered, Channing’s most impressive most faithful friend − and vice versa. A magic hour indeed.

*

During their mutual recovery phase, Chrisander and Channing stretched out on the lawn and soaked in the last sunbeams of the day. They felt completely at ease. A rare but special situation among two humans who’d met just a few hours before.

Channing was lying next to Chris, contemplating what a lucky duck he actually was.

His last fling back in San Francisco had been a complete failure. His job in a book store was a disaster, and his first three books hadn’t been a big hit, whyever. Just paid the rent but not more. He actually had expected more of it.

Then he’d made the decision to turn his back on the big city and try a new beginning in a well-structured and not so crowded place.

If somebody would’ve predicted him at the hour he left San Francisco he’d find himself a nice job and such a wonderful accomodation in a small coastal town in Southern California the day of his arrival, he possibly would’ve flipped the one the bird. And he’d done it again if being told he’d meet three interesting if not fascinating people the very same day.

“And you encountered two fascinating new fellow phalli, didn’t you?”

“Sure did, but why do you mention that agreeable fact right now, Sir Horace?”

“Eye me, and then cast a glance at your neighbours’s most faithful. You’ll be mighty surprised.”

Channing couldn’t resist − and he was in a for a surprise indeed.

“Well, why would that occur because of me? Perhaps he’s dreaming of Shawna or some other hot girl. Why me, I ask you?

“And why did you allow me to towering? Just for the heck of it?”

“Well, if you don’t know what happens when I feel so relaxed and at ease like right now, who else would, huh? Let‘s file it to the record ,Just for the fun of it‘.”

“Alright, alright, if you say so. Performing steeple, by the way, gives me a nice opportunity of scouting the place. It’s really nice out here!”

“I’m mighty glad that you’re satisfied, Sir Horace.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say. Is that the reason why you allow me drooling precum in a revulet, you darling rascal?”

“Oh!”

*

A little later, the excitement of both phalli had abated, Chrisander semi-erected and supported himself on his elbows. He travelled easefully breathing Channing, who still was lying next to him with his eyes closed and his arms folded under his head.