Selected Short Stories

Selected Short Stories

Including

Time Out

Tom and Sean

Autumn Rains

Fire, Fire

Going Away

The Gift of Giving

Ann Somerville

These stories are a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Time Out © 2004 by Ann Somerville

Tom and Sean © 2007 by Ann Somerville

Autumn Rains © 2006 by Ann Somerville

Fire, Fire © 2007 by Ann Somerville

Going Away © 2008 by Ann Somerville

The Gift of Giving © 2008 by Ann Somerville

Cover Image © Andrei Vishnyakov—Fotolia.com\

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For more information please visit my website at http://logophilos.net

Smashwords Edition 1, January 2011

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Published by Ann Somerville

Contents

Time Out

Tom and Sean

Autumn Rains

Fire, Fire

Going Away

The Gift of Giving

Time out

Please note that the characters and situations in this story are fictional and are not intended to represent any real person, living or dead.

Also, please note that while care has been taken to portray certain sexual practices in an accurate manner, this is not intended as a 'how to' and any one contemplating using any of the techniques described for entertainment practices here, should do proper research before attempting to use them on a real person. You could kill or injure someone if you got it wrong.

~~~~~~~~

The train from King's Cross was only ten minutes late, which was good going in my experience. Even in first class, it was pretty crowded with people getting away for the weekend. Of which I was one, thankfully.

There were always plenty of taxis at the rank, and I was in one and on my way in under a minute. It was a lovely autumn afternoon, and it was good to get out in the countryside again. I could already feel my heart rate slowing down. After the week I'd had, I needed that.

Going home to the parents?

I shook myself out of my little meditation on the scenery and the colours of the trees. I'd almost been falling asleep—I'd started work at six that morning. Staying with a friend for a few days.

Oh right. The driver had a Liverpudlian accent so thick you could cut it with a knife and I wondered vaguely how he'd ended up driving a taxi in one of the nicer bits of Cambridgeshire. Up from London then? You work there?

Yeah, I'm a nurse at UCH.

A nurse, eh? Didn't fancy being a doctor then?

I almost sighed. Why did everyone assume being a nurse was somehow less important or interesting than being a doctor, or that because I'm a guy, I shouldn't be a nurse? I could have been a doctor but I didn't have the Latin, I muttered.

The joke went right over his head. Oh, you still need Latin to be a doctor? I didn't know that. Right, mate, here you are. I paid him the fare and gave him a tip, then walked up the drive.

Joyce, Tom's housekeeper, opened the door, smiling broadly. Hello, Sean, I wasn't sure which train you'd be on. How are you, love?

I kissed her cheek. I'm fine. You looking forward to your days off?

Going up to my daughter's in Northumberland. Come in, don't stand out there.

I followed her into the kitchen. Tom's had me order in supper for you two, and there's lunch for tomorrow, and things in the freezer. I don't know if he's planning to take you out for your birthday. She winked. Hope you have a good time, whatever you do.

I'm sure we will.

You can tell me all about it when I see you next. Do you mind if I head off now? I want to pop into Boots before they shut.

No, I'm fine. Thanks for arranging everything.

Tom's the one who did that, as usual. Never knew a man so organised. Good thing you're not all like him, I'd be out of a job. See you soon, love. She gave me a quick hug and grabbed her bag from the counter. I heard the back door shut, and then her little car's engine start up. I hoped she'd have a safe drive up north. The weather forecast was good, I thought. I had to admit I hadn't really been paying a lot of attention when I'd watched the ten o'clock news the night before. I'd registered it was supposed to be fine here for the weekend, but I'd been falling asleep by the time Michael Fish began to drone on, and then I'd had another early shift so I'd missed the weather forecast this morning.

I rubbed my eyes. I was so damn tired. If I hadn't wanted to come up to Tom's so badly, I might have cried off and just slept through my free days. But a few days with Tom was like a fortnight on a beach, only better. It wasn't often our time off coincided, and I hadn't been up for over two months. I'd been so happy when he'd emailed me a couple of weeks ago to say that he had cleared four whole days for me, and I hadn't even felt that tired then.

He wouldn't be back for a couple of hours, but I always arrange to get up here before him if I can, so I can get ready for him, and try and get the job out of my head. I can't ever really do that completely—that's Tom's speciality—but at least I can breathe some fresh air and just relax a little.

I never need to pack to come up—Tom keeps all the clothes I need, my favourite toiletries, even the brand of razor I like. I ran a bath, and poured in some scented oil. He always leaves the one he wants me to use on the side of the bath. Did all the usual things, then sat on a stool and made sure my fingernails weren't jagged and that they were clean. I rubbed oil into them, because they get dry from washing them all the time at work. Then I trimmed my toenails and made them smooth, and put more oil on my feet, rubbing it into the heels to keep them soft. I try to look after my feet for him, because he dislikes calluses or cracks, and being on my feet all day is hard on them. Tom likes my feet—he says they're rather shapely for a man's. A few patients have told me I have lovely hands too. I'm nothing special in looks, so I try to make the most of what I have for Tom.

I showered then, using the shower head to really get myself clean and to wash my hair. Showers are for hygiene, I always think, baths are for pure pleasure. I only got to have a bath at Tom's and I was going to make the most of this. We only had a shower in the house—well, there was a bath but it looked like a breeding ground of MRSA, no matter how much we cleaned it. The others used it sometimes—I never dared. I showered at work a lot of the time since the bathroom could get pretty manky with four guys sharing it.

Once I'd rinsed off, I got into the bath, relishing the heat and the scented steam rising from the water. The oil was something new. Hint of floral, slightly woody...I liked it a lot. It was spicy, yet soothing. He's always picking up new smells to try on me. Funny, because he always uses the same cologne, a blend specially made for him. No shopping in Superdrug for our Tom's aftershave. I lay back on the bath pillow, and ran my hand down my body. I was already getting hard, thinking about being with Tom, what we'd be doing together. Thinking about his body, tasting him... being used by him.

My hand was drifting towards my cock so I stopped myself. I'm not allowed to touch my cock for pleasure, because it belongs to him, and so do I. That's all he asks of me. No wanking, and no other partners—all taken entirely on trust. It's not like he makes me wear a chastity belt, but that's why it's so important to me to obey him. I belong to him, I want to give him that, be worthy of the trust he gives me, show how much I trust him to look after my needs. It's not easy sometimes. The no partners thing isn't too tough, but I really miss being with him and getting off thinking about him. I'm allowed to touch myself if he can tell me what to do, though. He tries to find time to call me when we're not able to meet up for a while, just so he can give me instructions while I watch videos of some of our nights together. Phone sex with him can be a lot of fun, I have to admit—he has an astonishingly vivid line in erotic dialogue and the most gorgeous voice to deliver it with. Just the sound of my mobile is enough to give me an erection sometimes. Pavlov would have been so proud.

The 'no touching' rule doesn't mean I can't play with the rest of my body. I can stroke my own nipples, which I did for a bit, imagining it was Tom's hands on me, making the brown nubs peak as I twisted them, pulling them away from my body, little bursts of delicious pain, a foretaste of what I would be getting later. I slipped a hand underneath myself, parting my cheeks, imagining it was his hand spreading me, his finger probing carefully, slipping inside, stretching me, sliding in and out a little. I pushed my thumb in, pretending it was his cock, his thick, beautiful cock filling me up, taking me while I was helpless and open to his whims. Tom had asked me not all that long ago, one night when we were talking on the phone and he'd just guided me to a pretty fine climax, if I'd ever fantasised about being raped. I had to admit I did, so long as it was just that—a fantasy, a game. I love the loss of control I get from a scene, of being forced to feel pleasure while being unable to stop him doing whatever takes his fancy. Just fighting against the ropes gets me excited and hard, even before he does anything else to me.

I sighed, already turned on, and starting to unwind a bit. I couldn't wait to see Tom again—it had been over two months since I'd been to the house, which was a long time for us. He's away so often, that's the problem, and though he's offered to take me with him any number of times, I either can't get away or can't get away long enough, Even if I could, I'd be embarrassed about what his clients would think of him travelling with me. Most of them know he's gay, most don't care or don't say if they do, but it's different if you turn up with the boyfriend who's twelve years younger and looks eighteen when he's nearly twenty-eight. Tom doesn't look his age either, but still. I usually come up every month or so, sometimes less if he's away, once or twice more often when we've been lucky with my shifts. He comes to London more than that but I work nights so often that we don't usually even manage dinner together, let alone a night in his hotel. I'm still always glad to see him, even if he's only down because he has an early flight from Heathrow the next morning. Those are always vanilla nights. Tom likes his privacy, so do I. There'd be nothing more embarrassing than someone calling the police because