I was standing, naked, at the open window of my ground floor flat in Middlemarsh Hall, deep in the heart of the English Shires. The flat is quite large with two bedrooms (one en suite), kitchen, reception and sitting room. My lover James, the Duke of Cockbrugh, pronounced in our inimitable English way as "Cobra", has a similar flat but on the opposite side of the Hall.

My flat isn't all that large compared to the overall size of the Hall, known as Middlemarsh for more than three hundred years. The Hall is built in the shape of a capital E but without the central bar. In addition to the two flats there are 9 state bedrooms, six formal reception and sitting rooms, a ballroom - and a Grand Entrance. Plus of course, the usual domestic quarters, including Butler's pantry, boot room, larder, kitchen and various food preparation rooms and the inevitable silver pantry.

I'm telling you this not to boast, but so that you will realize that although James and I lived in the same building, we actually lived several hundred feet apart. Close enough for intimacy but sufficiently far apart to each have our own space - when we want it.

We have been lovers for more than 12 years. I am now 31 years of age and James is 36. It is only recently that we stopped sleeping together regularly. We still make love quite often, but no longer automatically - only when we fancy it. At other times we both have our own separate love lives. I believe in the straight world it is called an "open marriage".

But, to get back to the window. I was standing there with the window wide open - it was August - watching the rain coming straight down in torrents, as it often does in summer, in England. As I said, I was naked, except for a cock ring (do any gays wear clothes in bed? If they do, I don't know any of them) - and idly stroking myself so I was already half-hard, as I smoked my last surreptitious cigarette of the day. In theory I've stopped smoking. In practice, I don't smoke in the house, and never in James's presence.

There was no possibility of anybody seeing me, as the Hall is surrounded by more than eight thousand acres of gardens, parkland, woods and tenanted farms. There are few stately homes in England more isolated than ours.

And then from just round the corner of the building I heard the crunch of gravel. I didn't think it could be a burglar - there was too much noise. The security lights were lit and I leaned out of the low window, with my dong poking over the windowsill to investigate. Nothing in sight, so I relaxed.

Casually flicking my cigarette stub into the Virginia creeper - to hide the tell-tale signs of smoking - I got quite a surprise. There in front of me was not an obvious burglar, but a man wearing a black tie and dinner jacket. He was drenched. His dark hair was plastered over his forehead and I could see his skin, particularly his dark, projecting nipples through the thin silk shirt. There seemed no point in looking for my dressing gown as he must have already had a good look at me, over the last couple of minutes. In any case, I'm not deformed and look presentable. So if he wanted to watch, let him. As you will have gathered, I'm no shy wimp.

And then I recognized him!

My God! It was Bryan, one of the gardeners. In fact he was part-time, mainly mowing the lawns and trimming the rough undergrowth during the long vacation from his red prick (oops, brick) university.

But he was no ordinary gardener. He had been educated at one of the minor public schools, not one of the new co-educational - but a genuine all boys school. You get my drift?

Bryan and his widowed mother lived in a Lodge at one of the gates to the estate. They paid us rent of course. Bryan's mother also acted as housekeeper for James and myself, so she knew the score. Very satisfactory really because honour was satisfied - she was not a charity case - and even after paying us her nominal rent there was some money left over, without delving into her pension.

Without thinking I said to Bryan: "Good God man, you'd better come in and get those soaking clothes off."

He stepped over the low windowsill, without a moments hesitation, and without a word started removing his sodden clothes. First the jacket was dropped on the floor, followed by the bow tie, and now I could see in greater detail, the dark, hard nipples to which the fine cloth of his shirt was sticking. I knew I should rush and fetch a towel but I couldn't tear myself away from the sight that was being revealed. Next came the shoes and socks.

Now I held my breath in anticipation. Bryan was having difficulty with the shirt buttons due to the wet material. I went to help.

Slowly the chest was exposed. Not the six-pack, pumped-up landscape we see flaunted in magazines. No, just nice, ordinary, drool making, perfection. Broad tanned shoulders tapering to a slim, narrow waist. And the icing on the cake was the chest hair in the pattern of a tree with the still erect tits appearing to be blooms like those on a horse-chestnut tree. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned horse (that was only wishful thinking) but the "trunk" of my imaginary tree had grown from the waistband of his dress trousers. I wondered what the root would be like.

Then it dawned on me that if I continued to play my cards right, I would very shortly find out. Bryan seemed to have surrendered the job of disrobing and was leaving the practicalities to me. I certainly wasn't complaining and carefully peeled off the wet shirt, dropping it on the floor on top of the jacket etc.

It occurred to me that perhaps now would be a good time to fetch a towel. I did, but only a small hand towel. I wasn't going to have this body enveloped in an enormous bath towel. I handed Bryan the towel and he started to wipe his face. That was good. It meant that his body remained bare, apart from the "tree".

I went up to him, my cock pressing into the wet material of his trousers, as I encircled his waist in order to reach the back clip of his cummerbund. I unfastened the black material from around his waist and with all the control I could muster, unbuckled his leather belt and slipped it through the loops of his trousers. We might need that later. Next I knelt down on the floor and unhooked the clip on his waistband and then slowly pulled down the zip.

A pair of sodden semi-transparent bikini briefs - very brief - confronted me. He was obviously uncut. I prefer that. When the natural foreskin is peeled back, the glans is so much more sensitive than that of a circumcised penis. I licked my lips as I brought the trousers down to Bryan's ankles, which left me with my mouth almost touching his not inconsiderable package. He stepped out of the trousers. They too joined the discarded pile of clothes.

Bryan was half-hard and would obviously be bigger than average when fully roused. I bravely refrained from ripping off his briefs, or sucking him off through the thin Lycra, and suddenly remembered that I was the host of this (you've got to admit) rather unusual tete-a-tete.

"Would you like a drink? A stiff whisky perhaps?"

"Most definitely, very stiff."

"I am," I said, "- also going to have one."

"The car broke down at the far side of the park," he continued, "so I cut across to get to the Lodge, and I can tell you it's a hell of a walk in the pissing rain."

"Never mind, you're warm and dry now. At least I hope you're warm. Shall I fetch you a toweling robe, or close the window perhaps?"

"No, I'm fine just as I am - for the moment."

I began to feel slightly at a disadvantage. After all, he was still wearing a pair of briefs, even though they were transparent due to the wet, whereas I was starkers, apart from the cock-ring, with a raging hardon which refused to go down. He didn't seem to be at all disconcerted, so I lit another cigarette and offered him one.

"No thank you," he said "I don't have any vices."

"Pity," I said, raising an eyebrow in a very good imitation of James Bond.

"Everything is relative. Depends what you call a vice," he responded.

By this time I had handed him a half tumbler of single malt, which he downed in one. I fetched the decanter and replenished his glass.

I bent to pick up his bundle of dripping clothes. As I did, he lightly brushed his fingers up the crack of my arse. Of course, that made my hard-on even harder. After I'd dumped his abandoned clothes in the bath, I returned to re-fill my glass. He was ready for his third, which I poured, half filling the crystal tumbler.

Having done the hostess bit, I threw myself into a club armchair with my right leg over one arm of the chair, and settled my glass of whisky on the opposite arm. "Where had you been, togged up like that?" I enquired.

"I met my cousin in town and we went for dinner at Claridges. Then I dropped her off, and drove back to Middlemarsh. Except that I didn't quite make it because one of the roads was flooded and the water was too deep for the MG."

He must have driven like a bat out of hell. London is exactly 139 miles from here, and even now it was only half past midnight.

Bryan sauntered over and crouched down in front of me. He brought his glass close and then grasping my cock dunked it into his whisky. Thank heavens I had served it neat and not "on the rocks". Because of the size of my erection, the whisky overflowed into my pubic hairs. Bryan then gently began to lick my shaft like an alcohol lollipop.

I sank back into the chair savouring his warm lips around my eight-inch lance as he started to suck. He peeled my foreskin back with his lips and circled the glans with his tongue, before prodding the end of my urethra (piss slit to you) with the tip of his tongue. I was in heaven.

Bryan then took my cock all the way down his throat until his nose was nestling in my wet pubic hair. Up and down he went until I thought I would cry out with the painful pleasure. But I settled for a few moans.

I didn't want to come yet. Both of us, I thought, should come together. I pushed him off my cock until he sat back on his heels. Without a pause, I emptied my half glass of whisky down his chest, from where the liquid ran down the trunk of his "tree" and again soaked his stretched briefs that had just started to dry.

I pushed again until he was lying on his back on the thickly carpeted floor. Grasping the waistband of his briefs I ripped them off and buried my nose into his whisky soaked pubes. I was glad that it was a good brand of whisky. And sucked, and sucked, and sucked, on his wet, tasty hairs.

I pulled one of his balls into my mouth and massaged it with my tongue, whilst at the same time manually pulling his foreskin down his splendid shaft until there was no more to be pulled. Then I sank my open mouth over the tight cock, whilst roughly massaging and squeezing his balls. My teeth scraped over his extremely tender shaft before I again went down to his pubic hair and squeezed his rampant organ with my throat muscles.

We were in a 69 and Bryan had me deep in his throat again, and we were both sucking like maniacs. I carefully explored the area between his balls and anus before plunging my middle finger brutally into the waiting hole. A gasp told me that the "hole in one" had been appreciated.

He reciprocated, but he either had a very thick finger, or he was using two. We continued plunging down on our blood-engorged rods, whilst finger-raping twitching, yet welcoming, holes.

Quite soon I could feel the sap rising in my tool, and I knew I wouldn't be able to avoid cumming unless the frenetic energy was reduced. We should slow down, to extend the pleasure. We were both thoroughly enjoying ourselves. And whilst I was considering future adventures, several great dollops of cum shot down my throat. I slowly swallowed most of it, but kept back a mouthful. I pulled my cock out of his accommodating mouth. He had something else that would soon accommodate me!

I swiveled round to kiss Bryan and passed his own cum into his mouth. We transferred it backwards and forwards for several minutes before we each swallowed a share.

Bryan's cock was still dribbling some cum so I gave it a quick suck, and flipped him over on to his back. I lifted his long legs up to my shoulders and stretched them wide, noticing for the first time that he didn't have a tan line - which told me a lot.

Mixing the remainder of his cum with my saliva, I put my mouth at the twitching entrance of his puckered hole. I reamed it thoroughly, manipulating my tongue lasciviously in and out until his anus was contracting and expanding in time with my invading tongue. Already it was running with my saliva and his anal juices.

I could have used some KY but what the hell! Let him have it straight! My foreskin had returned to the job of protecting my purple helmet, and I rammed my cock straight up his backside, so that my hairs were flattened against the cheeks of his arse.

No screams, no yells - only contented moans from Bryan. Why did I think that he was no novice at this game?

I rested my cock deep inside him for a short time before partly withdrawing and then plunging in again repeatedly, moving faster and faster like a copulating cur.

Bryan had a film of sweat covering his torso, and sweat was streaming from my body and dripping off my nose and chin onto his chest. I rubbed the secreted mixture all over his nipples and face, and then he sucked my fingers. All this time, I was pounding away in a mad frenzy. I could feel my climax approaching and shot several hot bullets of cum deep inside his receptive gut.

Having ejaculated copiously, I collapsed on top of Bryan with my prick still inside him. Several minutes elapsed before my hard-on started to subside and make its slippery exit from the grateful hole.

I know Bryan wanted to fuck me, but that wasn't in the cards. I had to be the dominant one - after all, he was only an employee, and I had a position to maintain. We showered, which took some considerable time and two more drinks, and dried each other off - slowly. More cock-dunked whisky, stirred not shaken, and we drank a toast: "To us -and these" we said, each holding the other's cock.