Soldiers and Lovers Read online

  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, mu
tual 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 twitched just a little as I teased it.

  “Leave it out Bertie,” Eddie whispered. “You’ll wear it out if you carry on like that.”

  “Not a chance,” I laughed. “This one was made for action and I’m going to get all I can from it.”

  But the only response was the sound of his steady breathing as he slipped into deep sleep and I wrapped myself as close as I could around him, enjoying the sensation of deep pleasure that always follows a rewarding fuck.

  It was one a similar night a few weeks later, as we rested, our arms and legs twined around each other, that Eddie asked me a question.

  “The Young Master. Has he ever tried anything on with you Bertie?”

  “Are you having a laugh? Of course he hasn’t.” But then I couldn’t resist asking the obvious question. “Why? Has he done anything with you?”

  “Sort of,” Eddie whispered. “You remember the other week when his valet was away and I had to help out with the bath and dressing him?

  “It was the second night. He was lying there in his bath as I got his evening clothes together for him when he pipes up with: ‘I say Harris – where’s the soap?’

  “I replies: ‘I think you dropped it into the water sir,’ which was the truth Bertie – I saw him do it.

  “But then he comes back with: ‘Be a good sport and fish it out for me will you?’

  “So I rolls up my sleeves and puts my hand in the water, trying not to notice that his Johnson is hard and poking out of the bubbles. Not a bit like yours it wasn’t Bertie. It was long and thin and I suppose pale pink – but it was hard, rock hard.

  “But then the temptation got the better of me Bertie. I brushed my hand against it, just to see what would happen like, and he simply lay back and smiled like he knew what was going to come next.

  “And that’s when I took hold – my hands were all soapy – and gave him the best wank he’s ever had. It was all pretty quick and he almost seemed to hold his breath, like he was afraid somebody would hear him panting and catch us at it, but I swear that when he came I thought the spunk would never stop pumping out. Honest Bertie - I’ve never seen so much jizz. It was all over my hand and up my arm.”

  “And then?” Again I was trying to sound like none of this mattered, that I didn’t care that my lover had just told me about jerking off the Young Master.

  “Oh, I just washed the cum off and went back to getting his dinner suit ready and he just lay there in the water, with a smile on his face. Then he said: ‘That’s all Harris. You can go now. I’ll dress myself.’”

  “And has he mentioned it all since.”

  “Course not. His valet was back the next day and he’s never spoken to me since – doesn’t even seem to notice when we pass in the corridor. You know what it’s like being a servant.”

  After that there was silence and I eventually got to sleep trying to convince myself that a solitary hand job wasn’t an act of betrayal, little knowing the real betrayal would come just a few weeks later.

  It was the early summer of 1914 and we had slept together and had sex almost every night since winter, each glorying in the other’s erections and I for one never imagining that Eddie would need to go anywhere else for sexual gratification.

  One night when it was particularly hot and stuffy up in the attic we had even crept down the servants’ stairs, carefully unlocked the outer door and run out across the great lawn towards the ornamental lake where we had stripped off and plunged into the cooling water, eventually emerging to fuck on his lordship’s lawn.

  This was the happiest time I had ever known, a time of sexual freedom and gratification that I thought would never come to an end.

  But one afternoon I saw Eddie walking across the yard with Daisy the Under House Parlour Maid and then cut through the kitchen garden to the doorway in the wall beyond that led to the outhouses.

  I don’t know why I followed and in the minutes that followed I wished I hadn’t.

  From a safe distance, I saw Eddie and Daisy go into one of the buildings, a storeroom for junk from the big house, and I crept up to look through the window.

  Eddie was kissing Daisy as he unbuttoned her tight black uniform blouse, which he then pulled off, his hands expertly pulling down the top of her chemise to reveal a pair of massive quivering tits that were thrust upwards towards him by her tight corset.

  “Go on Eddie!” she squealed. “Have a good suck, they’re all yours!”

  I watched in silence as he took her right breast in his mouth, suckling noisily and enthusiastically as she cried out: “Ooh Eddie, your moustache does tickle.”

  He transferred his attention to the left tit, licking the erect nipple, making it wet with saliva before taking as much of it as he could in his mouth, at the same time squeezing and kneading both breasts with almost brutal vigour.

  Daisy fumbled with Eddie’s trousers, reaching into the flies to pull out the cock I loved so much, rock hard and ready action.

  Even though he looked primed to fuck already, Eddie went down on his knees and pulled down Daisy’s skirts and drawers exposing a cunt surrounded by a carefully trimmed bush.

  I almost gasped out loud as I saw him place his lips on her vagina, watched in horror as his tongue darted in and out, lubricating her clitoris as she grabbed his head, thrust it hard into her groin and cried out: Yes Eddie, more Eddie, oh fuck me now Eddie... ”

  He didn’t need a second invitation and throwing her back onto a pile of old sacks, he spread her legs wide open and pierced her wet and welcoming vagina while she pulled his jacket open, ripped open his shirt and exposed his gorgeous chest, stroking the hair just as I liked to do, tweaking one nipple and sucking on the other as he continued to thrust with increasing intensity until at last and with a great roar – the sort of sound he could never make when we reached climax in our tiny attic bed – he shot his load, pulling out just in time for me to see his ejaculate spurting across her genitalia.

  I didn’t wait to see how quickly they dressed
themselves or if they even stopped to chat.

  I simply went back to the Great House and continued with the day’s chores, trying to block the image of his rod pumping into Daisy’s pussy from my mind.

  Late that night, I made sure I was the last person into our tiny attic room, ensuring that Eddie was already in his bed and snoring lightly before I stripped down to my vest and shorts and slipped into my own bed, sleeping alone for the first time in six months.

  The following morning Eddie looked surprised to find himself in a bed alone and seemed almost hurt when he same thing happened the next night too.

  But I had been betrayed, not by the Young Master or even by Daisy but by Eddie and the pain was too great.

  We remained as friendly as ever on the surface but there was to be no more sex and when, that August, the whole of Europe was plunged into war and, filled with fear, I longed to feel his reassuring arms around me, I said and did nothing to encourage him.

  And when the Duke announced that he was establishing his own regiment of men from the estate and both Eddie and I joined up, we did nothing to mark the end of our days of innocent lust, not even sharing a farewell kiss on that final night in the attic when we were both so afraid and needed to be together, even if it was for the last time.

  I regret that now. Eddie is gone, his body lying in an unmarked grave somewhere in a French field and I wish I could have told him how much I loved him, that his infidelity didn’t matter to me, that he could fuck as many Daisies as he liked so long as he came home to my bed every night... but the pain of that betrayal would never have gone away.

  Chapter Two

  The fog, a real London Pea Souper, was thickening and even the bright lights in the window of Swan and Edgar seemed heavily veiled as I approached Piccadilly Circus.

  Feeling cold and hungry, I turned off Regent Street and headed towards Soho and the one place I know I might find a job of sorts for the evening – and be guaranteed some hard cash in my hand.