Soldiers and Lovers

Kris Andersson

Description

In the twilight year of the Edwardian age, two young boys, Eddie and Bertie, embark on an erotic adventure at the Great Hall, discovering the pleasures of male love as they explore their emotions and their bodies for the first time. But two acts of sexual betrayal will shatter their sensual idyll and soon the horrors of the Great War will change their lives forever. Only one of the boys will return from the trenches of the Somme to begin a fresh journey that will take him from the hidden gay bars of Soho, to the decadent bohemian world of artistic Chelsea and the pleasurable possibilities of life aboard a luxury liner. Soldiers, servants, businessmen, tycoons, artists and models - it seems like every man is a more than willing willing partner in this lusty, sex-fuelled romp through the early 20th Century.

Sujets

• Erotic literature

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 29 juillet 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781781660874
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
SOLDIERS AND LOVERS

Kris Andersson



Publisher Information
Soldiers and Lovers
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Kris Andersson 2014
The right of Kris Andersson to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.



Chapter One
It was a cold damp November late afternoon, the first traces of fog beginning to fill the air as I walked along Regent Street, trying to look as though I belonged, as if I was part of the crowd that bustled in and out of shops, hailed cabs and jostled against each other, trying not to drops parcels as they hurried for the warmth of home.
I had been out since early morning, wandering the streets of the West End, looking in windows for the cards that suggested there might be work inside then, as the need to succeed became more desperate, finding the courage and the nerve to walk into shops, bars and restaurants and ask if there was work of any kind to be had.
The answer was always the same, a polite no from the kinder ones and a brusque refusal from those who had forgotten what it was like to be cold and hungry in a strange city where you have no friends and no prospects.
So now I was heading towards Piccadilly, wondering yet again why I hadn’t gone back to the Great Hall once I had received my Army discharge, one of the lucky thousands to have survived the trenches more or less intact while the men we had fought alongside remained in the mud of the French killing fields.
The answer was that there were too many memories back at the Great Hall, images that cluttered my mind as I stared without really looking at shop window displays of goods I could not afford, feeling the wet rising through the hole in the sole of my shoe, the damp of the thickening London fog taking hold of the fabric of my thin, shabby jacket.
Eddie would have laughed if he could see me now, tell me that I didn’t belong here, that London wasn’t the city for a country boy like me, that there would be a warm welcome waiting for me if I could only forget the past - a past that he could never return to.
We had arrived at the Hall together, two young men embarking on new lives as footmen, thinking we were about the escape the drudgery of rural life and only too late realising that domestic service was an even greater drudgery.
Every night we would escape to our tiny room up in the attic and collapse onto our thin iron bedsteads, falling straight into a deep sleep, knowing that in just five or six hours the hard daily routine would begin all over again, the austere Jordan, butler and master of the Servants’ Hall, watching out for every little mistake, every failure of protocol.
It was another night like this, the end of a wearying day of domestic chores in the cold and damp that Eddie first came into my bed.
“You don’t mind Bertie, do you?” he asked, as he pressed up against my back. “It’s so cold, I know I’ll never get to sleep – and nobody need ever know.”
I didn’t mind at all – in fact, I even enjoyed the sensation of his chest pressed against me, the feeling of his breath on my neck, his arm casually around me.
It reminded me that we were no alone, that there was a friend who felt just as lonely and far from home as I did.
It continued that way for a few nights, the simple pleasure of no longer feeling cold and alone but then perhaps a week later, I felt a movement against me that I recognised straight away.
Eddie seemed to be asleep but I could feel his cock stirring against the fabric of his nightshirt, pressing against the back of my leg –and I have to confess that, much to my surprise, I enjoyed the sensation and I had to stop myself from simply reaching back to grasp that fledgling boner in my hand and begin to stimulate it.
The following night the same thing happened again, the feeling of his erection pressed against me as Eddie slipped into a deep sleep, his arm around me just as it had been for several innocent nights.
But then, on the next night, as I felt the stiffening of his member once more, I also felt his hand tug at the buttons of my nightshirt, pulling it open so he could slip a hand inside the woolen vest beneath, his fingers seeking out my left nipple, which I could feel responding to his light touch.
I lay there in silence, not wanting to move in case he stopped, but there was no need to worry about that as his hand now moved down and, unbuttoning the flies of my long johns, took hold of my stiff member, lightly and expertly masturbating me until I finally shot my load, an orgasm that made the creaky bedstead rattle in the darkness and silence.
After a few moments, as my cock became flaccid once more, just a few drips of semen clinging to the bell end, Eddie removed his hand and very soon I could hear nothing but his soft breathing.
The following morning we sprang from bed as usual, neither of us mentioning the events of the night before as we splashed in the refreshingly cold water from the pitcher on the night stand, dressed in our uniforms and headed down to the kitchens and the first of the day’s chores - but all day I could still feel his hand stimulating my chest and then slipping down to relieve my aching tool.
Even at the end of the day, as we stripped off our evening uniforms and, after a quick wash in cold water, pulled on our nightshirts again, nothing was said but then, after blowing out the candle, Eddie slipped into my bed and, instead of lying still, I turned to face him, taking his face in my hands and pulling him towards me for our first gentle kiss.
I could feel his neatly trimmed moustache brushing against my lips as he murmured: “So you didn’t mind then? What’s the harm in it when there’s nobody around? What old Jordan don’t know won’t hurt him.”
I didn’t need to answer – my tongue firmly forcing its way between his teeth, probing into the moist darkness of his welcoming mouth, prompting his tongue to respond, was all the encouragement he needed.
We kissed with increasing urgency, our hands tugging at nightshirts which we pulled over each other’s heads and then struggled out of vests and long johns, no longer feeling the cold that Eddie claimed had brought him to my bed in the first place.
I gasped with pleasure as I saw him naked for the first time, slim and well defined, his muscular chest enhanced by a cloud of black curly hair that nestled in the valley between his hard pecs and which I had to touch, enjoying the wiry texture between my fingers as I took first one pink, proud nipple and then the other between my teeth, nipping and then sucking as he groaned with pleasure.
But that pleasure only deepened as I took his proud member in my hand and rubbed firmly but gently before taking it between my lips, enjoying the slightly salty taste of his glans on my tongue and then letting him force the whole shaft as deep as he could into my mouth, urging me to find a regular sucking rhythm until the first taste of pre-cum leaking from the engorged tip told me what had to be done next.
Lying on my back, I opened my legs wide for him, displaying a virgin anus that longed to be filled by his cock.
There had been fumbling with a village boy a couple of summers ago, mutual wanks behind the cow sheds at Lane End Farm, teasing moments of excitement that left me feeling so frustrated with desire that I had willingly taken up barmaid Dulcie’s offer of a warm, welcoming cunt to fill and a nice pair of tits to play with.
But I had been waiting for the moment when I would lose my true virginity for so long and I new, in this creaking old narrow iron bed that the wait was now over.
“Come on Eddie,” I whispered. “Fuck me like you’ve never fucked anybody before. Fill me with your spunk.”
Taking his stiff, straight tool in his hand and lubricating it with his own spit, he started to enter, forcing his way into me, not stopping as the muscles of my sphincter tensed and then he groaned with renewed pleasure as, with one great thrust, he plunged through to the heart of me.
On he pushed, pounding me with his meat, leaning forward to kiss me with a fierce intensity until with a cry that he could not stifle, he filled me with a spurting, glorious wave of cum that pumped on until, with one last shuddering orgasmic gasp, he was finished and he slumped against me, his cock slipping out of my passage as it returned to its normal state.
We lay in silence for a few moments but, sensing that I too needed to be satisfied, he then descended between my legs, taking my still full, pulsing rod in his mouth, swallowing it so deep that I seemed to fill his throat as he ate me whole, devouring my manhood, making a feast of my penis until I too ejaculated and he greedily swallowed every emission, not stopping until the last drop of jizz had been licked from the still leaking slit in my bell end.
Then he flopped back on the bed and I rested my head against his hairy chest, toying with his nipples as he drifted into sleep, simply enjoying the pleasure of the texture of flesh and tiny curls of hair, just occasionally reaching down to lightly stroke the now slumbering cock that so recently, hard and proud, had ripped into me and which now twitch