PRIDE AND PREJUDICE:

The Passion

Chapter 3

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                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           "Brian, you're going to hurt your eyes trying to read in the dark."

"It's not that dark and I have a lamp."

"Briiaan."

"Fine; stop whining at me. It's late anyway."

"What are you reading?"

"Pride and Prejudice."

"Again? You feeling girly?"

"I am not girly; I happen to like the story. I like the way Austen writes. She was rather passionate for a woman back then. A bit steamy, if you read between the lines."

"Huh, I never thought of her stories that way. Maybe I should read them or better yet, get you to read them to me. You know how much I love the sound of your voice. So soft yet sooo strong."

"I'm never soft."

"If you say so. Bri?"

"Hmm?"

"You enjoying our trip to Yellowstone?"

"Yup, didn't think I'd like this camping shit.

"Why, cause Gucci doesn't make tents?"

"No, brat; the quiet. I didn't think I would like the quiet but it's growing on me."

"That's not all that grew on you."

"Well, I thought you deserved a reward for pitching the tent, building the fire and cooking whatever it was we ate for dinner."

"Hey, I thought you liked it!"

"I did, I just don't know what we ate."

"Beef stew, and don't worry, I made sure everything we have is spoil proof."

"You think of everything, don't you."

"Someone has to."

"And my role in all of this?"

"To do the driving, make sure we get the best camp site, pick out my clothes if we go some place nice, oh, and whip out your credit card, when necessary."

"Uh, huh. Anything else?"

"Yeah, most important, to stand there or lay there and look gorgeous for me, only for me."

"Why Taylor, I never knew you could be so, so..."

"Passionate?"

"Yeah, passionate."

"Well Kinney, how ‘bout I show you just how passionate I can be."

"Go to it, boy!"

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Tis ten years since the young master and I left our mother country to live here on the cliffs of Naples in peace and relative anonymity.

My young Mr.Taylor remains fair in face as well as in countenance. A favorite amongst the grooms for healing any ailing horse. And one is only to ride but within a half a mile from the villa before the scent of his accomplishments in the garden is known.

Mr.Taylor's cousin and our best of friends, Emmettino, has taken to traveling across Europe, free to enjoy the pleasures of our world, now that the villa is well looked after. We celebrate each of his homecomings with music, wine and all manner of delicacy.

Mrs. Novotney continues to run the household with an iron hand. No servant or master dare cross her. She has met and become smitten with the chief constable of our village. I have urged her to spend more time with Carlo but she fears that the nature of our life would be made public and therefore subject to prejudice. She is content to spend Sunday afternoons with her constable in town then returning to the villa.

Michael, her son and my trusted manservant, has found love in the most unlikely of places, the stables. He and the head groom have formed an attachment and while to some this may seem a despicable connection, my response is, did I not fall in love with a groom and gardener. Michael and Benjamin are content.

And I, I have been the happiest of all men. Living in peace and loving the young master.

Mr.Taylor has matured into a learned man with an awareness of many topics from politics to the movement of the tides. He keeps abreast of the current political climate in England as well as in our adoptive land. And while not openly involved, he can and will engage you in debate worthy of any university scholar or orator. And then there is his newer talent or rather a latent talent, one neither he nor I knew he had. Mr.Taylor can draw.

We first discovered this talent during a prolonged storm where we were house bound for many days, Mr.Taylor ached to be outside, among the flowers. I found him sitting in his study that overlooks the gardens. He was preparing a letter of instruction for his solicitor, but what was on the page was no letter. The sheet was covered with small inkings of roses. He was not aware that he had drawn them. When I approached the desk, he arose to embrace me, as I cast my eyes downward I spied the drawings. My look of astonishment must have amused him, he laughed with a child-like quality that only endears him more to me. I retrieved the paper and declared that he must concentrate on his art and less on politics, a much safer diversion especially for men such as us. To my surprise, Mr.Taylor agreed and the very next day we went on an expedition to purchase all manor of artistry supplies and publishings to help him hone his newly discovered craft.

Even now, as I write these words in my journal, Mr.Taylor is busy in his study, creating another masterpiece. Mrs. Novotney and I must interrupt him regularly to ensure dines and sleeps. I one time found him collapsed on the floor near his easel with brush still in hand, he had not a proper meal in two days. I locked his study and forbade him to re-enter until he was well rested and fed. Mrs. Novotney and I now have a precise schedule of when Mr.Taylor is to be looked in upon. No artistic endeavor is worth illness.

Our life here for the majority of our days together has been full of wonder and delight. The commitment between myself and Mr.Taylor grows with each passing day. Our nights spent physically proving that commitment. But I would be less than an honorable man if I professed that our life has been without difficulty or hardship. We are men and tis only the truly pious among us that have not sought physical comfort or attention from another. My own indiscretion occurred not soon after our arrival here and with the very groom my man now spends his nights.

I was supervising the remodeling of the stables, Emmettino while skilled in running a household and kitchen, has no such skill for the stable. They were in a poor state. My hope was to bring my favorite horses here to breed but it would not be possible until the conditions of the stables improved.

One evening while I was inspecting the reconstruction, Benjamin was calming an old mare that had become nervous with the increased activity around her. Benjamin's voice is soothing and pleasant to one's ears. He is perhaps four or five years older than myself and Michael, with his maturity comes a sense of grace. There is an ease about him from knowing who and what he is; no pretense, no false bravado. He is a tall man, as tall as me. Hair, a soft brown with a broad muscular chest, toned from years of hard work. Strong hands. My attraction made stronger by our mutual love and respect for horses. I made use of his body, seeking his company on many occasions, able to ride him long and hard as I would any great steed.

Our first encounter, he laid himself over bales of straw that were kept dry in the barn for the horses. He stripped off what was necessary then positioned himself for me. Using my own spittle and pre-ejaculate to ease my way, I entered him in one swift thrust. A lesser man would have flinched, cried out, but not this man. He met each of my thrusts with one of his own. I filled him with my seed.

I laid collapsed, draped over his broad back, both of us vying for breath. As I withdrew I realized he had not sought his own release. I made ready to question him but he answered before I could put forth my question. He simply stated that his release could wait until I was satisfied. A shocking statement from a man; most men seek their own gratification and rarely show concern for a partner. Such a display demanded a reward. I made him as comfortable as possible on the soft straw then sucked the seed from his body. If his cries were any indication then I believe I did an admirable job of it.

Benjamin, while very responsive and pleasing to the eye, the folly of our tryst was soon made evident. It ended almost as it had begun. He remains a loyal servant, confidant and lover to my manservant.

Mr.Taylor's reaction to learning of my dalliance was not at all unexpected. Still a naive child in many aspects, he had not learnt how to rein in his emotions. Mr. Taylor and I did not speak for several days and my bed chamber lacked for his presence for twice that.

A good wife will tolerate a husband's mistress as long as the mistress knows her place. A wife can not deny her husband his rights. Mr. Taylor is not my wife, he is a man, a master of his own fortune. The young master made the choice to remain as my companion. We spoke no further of the incident.

Mr.Taylor, young and impetuous, was himself tempted. Twas not but two years ago when the young master and Emmettino went to Venice, ostensibly to visit museums and view the works of the old masters. One evening, as gentlemen were apt to do, they attended a concert and were invited to meet a virtuoso. A young raven haired violinist, whose name escapes me. As fair in face, hair and eyes as is Mr.Taylor, the violinist was dark. Dark hair and eyes.

I had the misfortune of meeting the gentleman when he performed in Naples. The young master was smitten, as was most of Italy. The violinist's prowess with his instrument was widely known. His ability to excite both men and women with his dexterity, renown. What chance had I, nearly twelve years senior to Mr.Taylor, with no other talents other than riding, hunting and being a landlord. No, no talents to compete with a young handsome violinist.

For many months I kept my dark thoughts to myself. Surely the young master would tire of me and choose youth, exuberance and acclaimed talent over dullness, age and my quiet existence. I feared we would not see ten years together.

As the fear and anxiety was about to claim my life, the young master came to my bed chamber. He gently knocked on my door then entered as I was about to extinguish my candle, clad only in his dressing gown, bathed in the glow of the candlelight. His eyes shining with unshed tears, fear and shame awash his beautiful face. He later admitted to me that he fully expected to be turned from the house. I could never do such a deed. It would be as if I would to loose a part of myself. No, I could not turn my love from our home.

He shed his gown as I folded back the blankets. We lay next to each other not touching. Slowly I raised my arm and he began to inch his way closer until his head lay resting upon my chest, his arm about my waist. In an act of what I call possession, he threw his leg over mine. Still no words were spoken. My arms encircled him but not before I blew out the candle. We then allowed sleep to claim us.

I never became fully cognizant of the details of their parting. Twas Emmettino's understanding that a woman of means was involved. The violinist and a wealthy baroness formed an attachment, posting their bands. After a year's betrothal the baroness found a young pianist she fancied more. The violinist had the misfortune to die shortly after their parting after eating ill prepared shellfish.

If the news of the gentleman's death effected Mr.Taylor in any way, it was not revealed. He spent the day of the funeral in our gardens, tending his roses. And the evening in my bed tending to me.

We did see ten years together. Our bond closer, stronger, more committed, if that is at all possible. His love unwavering, my passion for him unfailing.

As I set these words to paper my thoughts drift to him, to his body, his smile, igniting my passion for him. My mind straying to the nights we have shared, my britches painfully tight. Were it not that the young master is so close to completion of his latest work, I would disturb him, know him, there, in his study. But I will wait. I have learnt in my dealings with the young master, my young stallion, that patience is a virtue. To break a young stallion properly one must gain his trust and use a crop when a firm hand is required.

One day, several years ago, I had business to attend to in town, financial matters that required my personal attention. The young master remained asleep as it was his habit after fierce early morning passion. I left midmorning hoping to conclude my business and return home for afternoon tea. The day sunny with a calm breeze and the first part of my journey through our gardens made fragrant by the thousands blossoms. My pace was leisurely with no need to rush or risk throwing a shoe.

With my business concluded efficiently I returned home well before tea time. Greeted by a groom in our drive who took my horse, I bounded up the stairs and entered the villa hoping to see my fair blond boy. What greeted me was silence. I ran to his study fully expecting to see him hard at work covered in paint; I found it empty.

Of course Mrs. Novotney had chosen that afternoon to spend with her constable. Emmettino was from home on another of his journeys. The villa quiet and foreboding, I ran to the stables where I was met by Michael and Benjamin. I was informed that the young master had decided to go riding choosing the cliff path down to the rocky shore below. The path was at best tricky for an experienced rider, for a novice, the path could be injurious. I shouted for a fresh horse. None were saddled and the poor beast I had ridden to and from town too tired to safely take. Benjamin brought me a gelding preparing it's saddle but my anxiety mounted and I could not wait. I leapt upon the beast and rode him bareback to the path holding tightly to his mane, squeezing his flanks with my legs. Slowly we traversed the path down to shore.

At the base of the path lay the young master.

How long he lay there I knew not. There were no visible injuries but he lay still and pale; his horse limping close by, a shoe missing. I cried out his name and foolishly gathered him to my breast risking further injury but my grief dispelled me of any sense. My shouts alerted Michael, Benjamin and the grooms. Benjamin, the only other skilled rider, was first by our side. He called to Michael who fashioned a pallet to carry Mr.Taylor via the longer but safer path back to the villa. The grooms took care of the injured horse.

It was hours before we had my foolish young master safely ensconced in his rooms with a physician examining him. The doctor diagnosed shock and concussion, prescribing brandy, quiet and rest. He was to be alerted if fever developed and of course blood letting. I thanked and paid the gentlemen ushering him out of the room. The thought of taking a blade to that sweet tender flesh nauseated me. I would stand vigil until Justin awakened.

And awaken he did, later that evening, complaining of hunger, thirst and headache. My shouts of joy awakened the whole household and Mrs. Novotney busied herself in the kitchen by preparing all of the young master's favorite dishes.

The next few weeks were spent ensuring Justin's recovery. When the physician could find no permanent injury I made my relief and anger known to the foolish boy.

"Justin would you join me in my study."

"Of course, Mr. Kinney."

"Justin you know that I care for you, love you, my feelings have only deepened since I first lay eyes upon you. When I saw you lying there, thought you dead, I feared my life would end."

"But Mr. Kinney, Brian, I did not die, I am well and the doctor pronounced me fit."

"Yes, I am aware of it and very grateful to our maker for it but you must be punished. You were instructed many times not to take that path, certainly not alone and not on horseback. Twas foolhardy; why ever did you do it?"

"I am sorry, I did not consider that I could be injured or that the horse would be hurt."

"No you did not. Come here."

"Aye sir."

At that moment my rage overtook me. I grabbed the boy and threw him across my desk. With my crop I took out my anger on his backside. There would be no more rides down steep shore paths. My crop met with his britches six times before I threw it across the room. My anger spent, I was left saddened with regret. I knew not how to keep him safe and feared for what I could become without him. I cried, falling into my chair, ashamed of my behavior. After some time I arose to leave.

"Michael will tend to you. I will leave, treat him with kindness."

"Mr. Kinney, would you not tend me yourself."

"I can not, my behavior is unforgivable, I treated you as a child. You are not a child, you are a grown man."

"But my actions were not of a responsible man, they were as of a child. A spoiled child who did not think of the consequences of his actions. My only thought, my own pleasure. I am truly sorry I distressed you. I will never do it again. Please Mr. Kinney do not leave me, I would be nothing without you."

I gazed into the blue pools of his eyes expecting anger but seeing only love.

"Master?"

"Yes boy."

"I am yours, use me."

The heat of my passion rose. I saw nothing but him, heard nothing but for his breathing and my own quickened heart. I tore at his clothes, stripping him bare and laid him again across my desk, facing me. I then kissed every inch of his skin. Not any part of him untouched; I took what was mine.

When we both were spent, I once again gathered my sweet naked boy into my arms close to my breast, sitting upon my lap in my chair. He declared his love and I vowed never to leave him. I held him tight, burying my head into his chest and cried.

"Brian, I love you. Please forgive me for frightening you. I promise never to do it again. Know this Mr. Kinney, I will do the utmost to uphold my promise but if I fail you, you have my consent to take your crop to me, to remind me of my folly, the pain I inflicted upon you and of my vow."

In a voice dripping with lust, my boy purred into my ear,"Do you hear me my Master?"

"Aye boy, I hear you quite clearly," I growled back at him, feeling my passion arise. Seeing the remnants of his clothes scattered about the room I removed my shirt and covered him. Still not willing to release him from my arms I carried him from my study and to my bed chamber.

I rode my young stallion many more times, entering the heat of his tunnel, sucking his manhood, spilling his seed as I pawed at his sensitive posterior. His britches had spared him from the tell tail signs of his punishment but not the sting. His moans were not from pain but of pleasure as I roughly handled the firm globes of his heated seat.

My crop has an honored place in my study. A constant reminder of a promise bestowed.

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"Kinney."

"Yes, my dear Justin."

"The painting is finished, would you care to view it?"

"By all means."

"Then please accompany me to my study."

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"Mr. Kinney, do you recognize the scene?"

"I do, tis our first anniversary here. You and I standing before the roses."

"The roses I could not bear to cut."

"The roses that have blossomed as our love. Tis beautiful Justin, almost as beautiful as you."

"Oh, Mr. Kinney. If I appear beautiful tis because you have made me such. Twas your household that took me in as a babe; twas your generosity that helped me to find my true station. And tis your love for me that allows me to indulge in this passion, my art. I have visited many stately homes and inwardly ached. We have no portraits here to adorn our halls. At Pemberly, I recall your gallery, all your forebears. On our walls, only roses, olive trees and your prized horses. This is my gift to you, Mr. Kinney, to mark our tenth year."

"My dear boy, I have nothing to give you that compares with your gift."

"You have already given me everything I could ask, you have given me yourself. I could not ask for anything more."

"Then I give you myself, now, here, before your portrait."

"Our portrait."

Justin, clad only in an old shirt of Kinney's and worn britches, splattered with paint, began to carefully remove the clothing from his lover. Kinney, now naked, stood before the painting and embraced the artist. He deeply inhaled Justin's scent, the scent of his skin, the scent of hard work. The older gentleman mimicked the younger, relieving Justin of his britches, unfastening the buttons of the shirt so that his hands might reign freely over the boy's skin.

"Leave on my shirt, it moves me seeing you wear it."

The boy moved closer into his master's arms. They embraced, exploring each other's mouths with their tongues. Kinney felt himself grow harder as Justin knelt engulfing Kinney's shaft into his mouth. After many minutes of sweet torture, Justin released Kinney and arose.

"Mr. Kinney, I wish a gift."

"If it is mine to give, then you shall have it."

"I wish, to know you. It has been many months since I was permitted entry."

Kinney thought for a moment only to realize the whole truth of the boy's statement. Twas not months but years. Before the incident with the unfortunate violinist. Kinney had forgiven the young master but his body had not.

Kinney drew Justin closer then lead him to a settee near the window. As they kissed Kinney's hand followed the path of fine golden hairs on Justin's abdomen to the dark curls between his legs. Kinney stroked Justin's penis till his essence freely leaked then turning to lay face down on the settee. Opening himself, the elder master patiently waited for the young master to take him.

Justin positioned himself astride his lover at his entrance, lubricating the portal with his fluids, he carefully eased his way in. The heat and the tightness of Kinney almost got the better of Justin but able to maintain his control. Kinney's body shuddered with pleasure as Justin filled him.

When Justin could hold back his seed no longer, he screamed as it was released. Kinney's release was forthcoming as Justin found the strength to get up and turn his lover over. Somehow capturing some his own seed, Justin lubricated himself then squatted over Kinney, impaling himself on his lover's still hard organ. Justin bounced till Kinney's hot seed filled him.

The lovers lay together, sated.

"Thank you Mr. Kinney."

"I am truly sorry that I have denied you and myself of this pleasure for so long. I promise not to deny you at length in the future. And I too consent to have you remind me of this vow."

"How shall I remind you, Mr. Kinney?"

"With my crop, my dear young master, with my crop."

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I am at peace, a peace I thought would be denied me. Mr.Taylor's fortune grows as does my own. We are able to assist our tenants in England as well as the few we have acquired here.

I have persuaded Mrs. Novotney to avail herself of a small cottage at the outskirts of our estate so that she may have privacy with her constable. Not an easy task because she fears that if she remains from the villa for more than a day the walls would come crashing down. Twas the young master who finally convinced her that a day or two from home would not lead to disaster. He gave his solemn oath that he would behave. Not ride off unaccompanied and keep to our schedule of rest intervals while in his study. I reminded the good woman that she was not but two miles from the main house and could be retrieved at any time. She left to spend time with her gentleman.

Emmettino too, has found companionship. While traveling in England he met a gentleman of good fortune and pleasing countenance. He is a widower with grown children who tolerate him only so they may inherit his estate when he has passed on. Em, as we affectionately call him, brought the gentleman home to us. His age may be described as fatherly. But this does not deter his passion for Em. The noises that drift from their end of the villa have cost me many a nights sleep. I recall sleeping with a pillow covering my head in hopes to dampen their noise as well as the young master's giggles.

As for my young master. The beautiful boy who opened my heart, filled my soul with love. Who has touched me in ways no other has or can.

He remains, my passion.