Unexpected Inheritance

"Peter died recently. But I guess just having come from across the pond you wouldn't know that. Ralph. Ralph Barnes isn't in tonight. So, you've come because you've heard about the pub? Decided to do a little cruising, have you? Top or bottom? I could give you leads. Might even be interested myself. Might definitely be interested myself, depending."

"Cruising?"

"You're a poofter, aren't you?"

"A poofter?"

"An Oscar?"

That really threw me and I just looked at him, surprise written all over my face, I'm sure.

"Oscar Wilde," he explained, with a laugh. "Queer . . . gay . . . a fag. Look around, sweet thing. What do you see none of here?"

I looked around. It hit me almost immediately. "No women. I just see men."

"That's because this is a men-only pub. For hook ups and just to be comfortable among our own kind."

Our own kind. I turned to him, "So you are—?"

"A power top. Hoping that you might be a bottom."

"As it happens, I am," I answered.

He gave me a big grin—and took my almost-empty glass and filled it with stout again. "Well, then, hallelujah, have a drink on me. And then remember how nice I was to you if you stay till last call. And if you do stay until last call . . ." He didn't finish that sentence. He just gave me a wink and went off into the pool room to collect empty glasses.

I hung around, watching the operation of the pub, and occasionally talking with the barman, whose name was Sean, until last call. He was speaking so free and easy with me, flittering but not getting aggressive or making direct propositions that I didn't want to leave. The hotel room was pretty Spartan—and would be quite lonely.

He didn't stop me from pulling away from the bar and moving rather unsteadily toward the door other than to call out a "You sure you should be driving? Be careful. You could have company on the drive back, of course. Any number of lads in here. Or you could remember how nice I was to you and be nice back. Maybe on your back." He winked at me again and smiled, leaving me in doubt as to how much of it was just friendly banter. It was a real turn on, whatever it was.

I smiled in return, waved to him, and weaved my way out the door and to the Kia . . . which wouldn't crank over. I tried it several times.

Sean appeared at the door of the car. "Here, leave it. Get out and I'll see what I can do."

I exchanged places with him and he cranked at the ignition, not doing any better with it than I had. "Did you fill it with petrol before leaving Birmingham?" he turned his head to me and asked.

"No. Should I have?"

"They would have given you as little petrol as they could and it's a good drive from there to here. What your problem is is that you are out of petrol."

"Shit."

"No problem, though. I could drive you to your Gloucester hotel. It's not far. Less than twenty minutes."

"I have a meeting tomorrow," I said. "I'd have to figure out how to get back here with gas before that."

"I could drive you back in the morning. We could stop on the way back for petrol. Nothing open at this hour."

"Drive me back?"

"It would cost you, though," he said, with a grin. "Are you understanding what I'm suggesting?" He was gripping one of my knees with a strong hand.

He fucked me doggy style on the bed in my hotel room. He took charge as soon as we'd entered the room, using that low growl to tell me what I would do for him, and half drunk, more than half exhausted, and totally lost to the arousal of the situation, I gave him what he wanted.

Telling me to lose my shirt as soon as we entered the room, he stripped his off as well, pulling me into an embrace and a kiss. Taller than he was, I had to dip my face down for the kiss. As we kissed, he worked both of our belts open, pushed our trousers and briefs down to our knees, and worked our cocks together. We were both uncut and not yet fully hard, and I took my breath in as he docked the cocks, putting them together, bulb to bulb, pushing the foreskin of his over the foreskin of mine, and slowly stroked them together, making the piss slits kiss.

With a moan, I arched my back away from him and he worked my nipples with his teeth.

"Give me some head," he growled, and, as he sat down on the end of the bed, he forced me down between his spread thighs on my knees, and I sucked his cock hard, as he demanded.

Growling again, he moved me in position on the bed, on elbows and knees, cheek to bedspread, left arm stretched out over the bedspread, fist grasping at the bedding, and right hand stroking my cock, as he crouched over my hips, grabbed the sides of my chest and power fucked my ass.

When he was done, he just pushed me over on my side, and landed behind me. Totally exhausted and totally fucked, I zoned out into sleep immediately. I was only half conscious when he took me in a side-split again in the dark of the night, with me only aware enough to respond as he wished to whatever commands he was growling at me. Well, also being aware that I was loving what he was doing to me and spouted great globs of cum on the hotel sheets.

Imagine my surprise the next afternoon when, sitting across from the other two owners of the pub and the house in the solicitor's offices, I saw not only the unfamiliar face of a tall, almost gaunt dark-haired man several years older than I was, but also . . . Sean, who was introduced to me as Sean Anderson. The other man I'd already had a name for, Ralph Barnes.

That still didn't mean much to me and I was showing my confusion to the solicitors while trying not to look at the grinning Sean Anderson until Barnes asked the solicitor to step out of the office for a moment.

When he had, Barnes spoke, "You know me by another name, just as I know you by another name. I know you as Todd. You know me as Rigger. The man who died and left you his share of the pub and house you knew as Phil."

"Oh," I said. So much clearer now. My English pen pals. The men I'd fantasized about concerning sex—rough and kinky sex. And threesomes. And then it sank in. These were men I had fantasized with concerning what my secret desires were—things I'd never actually done, though.

"And Sean here," Barnes continued. "We never included him in our on-line chats, but he's been with Peter and me for a while. We enjoyed our threesomes with you so much that we brought him in to help us act on what we chatted about."

They'd actually done what we chatted about over the Internet. I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate, but Barnes called the solicitor back in before I could melt down and then we became busy discussing the terms of Peter's will and the implications of triple ownership.

"We can discuss that," the solicitor said when I noted that I wanted to sell my third immediately.

"You haven't seen the properties yet," Barnes said.

"He's seen the pub," Sean chipped in.

Barnes turned to me. "Yes, I've already visited the Laughing Lion," I said.

"But you haven't seen the house."

"No, he hasn't," Sean answered for me, with a smile on his face. "He's staying at The Station Hotel in Gloucester."

"Ah, so, you've already—" Barnes turned to a grinning Sean with this comment.

"Yes, I have, as a matter of fact," Sean answered, the grin plastered on his face. "I sussed him out within minutes of coming into the pub. An American just arrived, staying at a Gloucester hotel but just happening to come to our pub—and asking for the owner."

"And so, you didn't come home last night because—"

"Yes, he was very nice. Very nice indeed."

As they bantered back and forth, both the solicitor and I followed the exchange like the volleying of a yellow ball in a tennis match. The solicitor was just confused. I was getting red as a beet. Discussing like that right in front of me. And all of what we'd already laid out in months and months of dirty e-mail exchanges. What could they be thinking I was into sexually? Well, I knew what they were thinking, now didn't I? It was both frightening and arousing at the same time.

The e-mail chats, after all, had represented fantasies of what I really would like to do.

Barnes turned to me. "You can't possibly make a decision on what you want to do with the properties if you haven't seen them all. The house is large—there are Peter's rooms just sitting there unused. They are far better than that hotel you're staying in."

"The Station Hotel," Sean interjected. "The beds are lumpy; the box springs screech; the brass headboards thump against the wall." He was grinning from ear to ear.

"I got that," Barnes said. He turned back to me. "You must see the house before you decide what you want to do. We'll move you from the hotel right after this meeting."

It wasn't a request. If Sean had said it, I guess it would be with a little growl, and I would have given in immediately. Barnes didn't growl, but I still gave in immediately. It was, after all, a reasonable point. At least that's what I kept telling myself on why I'd agreed to the move.

* * * *

We were slouched there, three across, on a sofa in the sitting room on the second floor of the ancient main section of the Forest of Dean house. We still had our trousers on, but all three of us were shirtless. I was in the middle. We were watching a male-on-male porn DVD on a big screen TV opposite the sofa. Barnes said the elderly woman who had served us a dinner in the formal dining room next to this room was from the nearby village and would go home after serving, cleaning up after the dinner the next day. So, by the time we were finished with dessert and coffee, the three of us were alone in the house.

All three of us had our cocks out and were hand stroking them as we watched the DVD. Barnes was tall and slim and hirsute and dark to Sean's ruddy reddish-blondness, short and solid build, and near-smooth skin. And where Sean's cock was thick and short until hard, Ralph Barnes' was a snake—long and thin. Sean was uncut; Barnes cut.

Almost on signal, the two of them let loose of their own cocks; turned to me, each putting an arm around my neck, Barnes slapping my hand away from my cock, and each fisting it, Barnes' hand over Sean's. The two and began kissing me, from my face down to my nipples. The grip on my cock loosened, and, as they worked my head and torso with their lips, I stroked my cock up into the sheath they'd made with their hands until I had shot my load in an arc onto the coffee table our legs were stretched out on.

Here it comes, both of them together, I thought. Barnes hadn't bothered to ask me if I took cock—Sean had already made that obvious to him. And my fantasy chats would have given him the impression that I was easy and hot for it. But it wasn't both of them together and it didn't go to the lengths I thought it would. They just bent my torso over, first to the right to Sean and then to the left to Ralph, and I gave them both head to their ejaculations in my throat.

Nothing of the kinky nature we'd exchanged e-mails about. Well, at least not yet.

After they'd both ejaculated, Ralph switched off the TV and we all went downstairs, to the long kitchen in a "modern" wing, dating only to the eighteenth century, that ran off the back of the house. This obviously was where they did most of their living. Descending three steps from the hall running across the back of the ancient house and down into a stone-walled room, one first encountered a comfortable-looking sitting area facing a fireplace. Then a dining area, and only then the restaurant-sized kitchen, beyond which there was a laundry room.

We sat at the dining table, drank beer, and Barnes told me about the house and grounds. We had driven past the pub and into Newnham, three vehicles in tandem, mine in the middle, behind Barnes' and ahead of Sean's, before turning right, away from the river and, via a narrow, hedge-row lined road, up into the Forest of Dean.

The main section of the house went back to Norman days. It had been a manor house built in the twelfth century. Three stories, two rooms per floor. A stair hall along the back had been added a few centuries later and then the two-and-a-half story kitchen wing off the back in the eighteenth century. The history of the grounds was even older than the house, the foundations of the house having been set on the ruins of a Roman temple.

The house had been conveniently split up for the use of the three men. The first two stories and the kitchen floor were common rooms. The first floor of the old house made up a reception hall and an office. The living and dining rooms were on the second floor. Peter's rooms had been on the third floor. Ralph's apartment ran across the kitchen wing and had an entrance into the old house in the hall at the back. Sean lived in attic rooms about Ralph's apartment and could access the main house via a circular staircase in a narrow tower rising between the main house and the kitchen wing.

"Time to turn in," Ralph said after telling me of a very interesting history of the house over the centuries. All of what he said clawed at my determination to sell my interest in it and the pub and run right back to the safety of the States. I had loved the house at first sight. "I'll show you up to your rooms."

"I'm sure I can find them my—" I started to say, as I rose from the table.

"I'll show you to your rooms," Ralph said, his voice commanding.

And so it began.

He followed close behind me up the staircase. On the second floor, he grabbed me and spun me around, embracing me and giving me a hard kiss on the lips.

"You know why I'm coming upstairs with you, don't you?" he asked in a guttural voice.

"Yes, of course."

"I could fuck you right here on the staircase, you know. You included that in a chat once. You made it sound so sexy. Peter was very much taken with the scene you wrote for us. I fucked him just half way up this staircase after we'd read that chat, just like you described."

Yes, I'd remembered writing that. I was extra randy that night. No, I hadn't ever actually done it, but I was here, now, steeped in fantasies of my own devising. I saw no reason not to give in to them, if just for tonight.

"You can fuck me anywhere you want, any way you want," I heard myself saying. "you want me to go down on my belly here on the staircase? Or do you want me to sit on a stair tread and open my legs to you?"

"I want you to come upstairs," he said, with a hiss, grabbing one of my wrists, bending my arm painfully behind my back, and propelling me up the stairs to the third floor.

He pushed me up to the wall beside the door into what was to be my bedroom—my belly to the wall, my trousers and briefs hitting the floor, my chin cupped and pulled back to the hollow of his shoulder with one of his hands. His other hand palmed my belly, his hard cock snaking up into my ass channel, and working my channel, kissing every surface of the shimmering muscles of my passageway with the bulb of his cock, as I moaned and moved my buttocks in coordinated movement with the cock.

"Do you remember writing this in a chat?" he muttered.

Yes, I did. Writing it, not actually doing it. But at the time I had been aching for someone to rough fuck me that way. Here, now, I was aching for Ralph to rough fuck me that way. My answer to him was to push my buttocks back into his groin and to roll them up to give him deeper penetration, I arched my back and raised my arms, locking my fists behind his neck.

"Can you do it as well for me as the black bull in my chat did it for me?" I challenged. "If so, do your worst."

With a roar he gave me a cruel upward thrust of his dick that nearly lifted me off my feet and made me yelp in surprise and pain.

"Yes, yes, fuck me. Drill me. Harder, deeper," I murmured in a low, hoarse voice, moaning for him. He sucked in his breath, no doubt surprised at my total surrender to him—and then, spurred on by my tease, complied with the harder and deeper plea.

"Very nice, very nice indeed," he whispered after I'd come and had sunk to the floor when he released me. He hadn't come yet, and instead of leaving me there, he pulled me up from the floor and pushed me into the bedroom and onto Peter's huge four-poster bed.

I recognized the position he put me in. I'd e-mailed Ralph and Peter—as Rigger and Phil—about it quite recently, even though I hadn't done it then.

I certainly did it now.

My hands were handcuffed behind my back. I was on my spread knees on the bed, cheek to bedspread—at least until Ralph started pulling on the leather strap attached to the choke collar around my throat, pulling my torso up off the bedspread as, crouched over my hips, he fucked my passage in long, hard, fast thrusts, working up to his own ejaculation.

Sean came onto the bed, knelt in front of me, grabbing my ears in his hands, forcing my face down to his cock, with Ralph easing the pull on the choke collar just enough to accommodate Sean's needs.

After Sean had creamed my tonsils—with Ralph still fucking away in my channel—he lowered his own face to my cock and blew me.

They stayed with me a few hours, holding me between them, working my body with their hands, lips, and teeth until I'd had another ejaculation. And then, arm in arm, they silently withdrew into the darkness.

It was almost exactly what I was going for in my fantasized e-mail to Phil and Rigger. I went to sleep both moaning and humming.

* * * *

Nothing was said about the previous night during breakfast. Perhaps that was because the housekeeper was there, puttering around in the kitchen beside the informal dining table while we ate. She had prepared a full country breakfast, though, apparently realizing we had worked up a good appetite. I doubted she didn't know what three men had been up to living here together—or what I had brought to the table here.

Ralph was working on a laptop to the side of his place setting as he ate.

"You need to come to the pub today to go over the books with us," he said, looking at me. "And to watch the operation more closely. It's a going business, but neither Sean nor I can afford to buy your third out. For obvious reasons we don't want to be looking for an investor here."

"We want you to stay," Sean said. "I would think that this is fairly obvious to you."

"And to take Peter's place in all ways?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," Ralph answered.

"What did Peter die of?" I asked.

"Not from what you might think," Ralph answered. "At no time do we go too far. We've done nothing you haven't done before. You've gone much further. It was an auto accident, if you must know. He was in glowing health. He was enjoying life immensely—and all that life brought to him."

What could I say? How could I tell them that I'd written my chats with them in fantasy terms? That I had assumed they were doing so too. But it seems they were not—and that they believed I'd done so much more. So much that I had fantasized doing. Like what had been done the previous night. No, I hadn't been hurt, really. I'd been taken to heaven. Aroused and satisfied as never before. My thoughts went back to what was waiting for me in the States—Simon pawing at me and fucking me ineffectually. Hal beyond my grasp.

Ralph turned the monitor and keyboard of the laptop to where it was facing me. "Here, I've called up the files on your e-mail chats to us."

"You saved the e-mails?" I asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes, of course. Tonight we are going to double you."

"Double me?"

"Yes, just like this last chat from you—two inside you at once. You obviously loved that. You wrote that it was your favorite way to be taken."

I started to hyperventilate. Fantasizing it was one thing. Doing it was another. But, of course I'd only written of it because I dreamed of doing it.

"I want you to go through the chats in which you've told us of your double penetration experiences. Pick one out. Peter always wanted to do that with you. He loved it when Sean came into the picture and we could do it for him."