The conductor

Lucy looked through the compartment door on the unlikely scene of Old Netherwood's underbutler Hawkins sitting on the bench with his trousers open. By itself, that was not the unlikeliest of events. Lucy had seen male servants exposed upon occasion. The unlikely part was that Hawkins was sitting on the bench with the stout, muscular form of their train conductor on his lap.

The conductor was properly dressed above the waist, his regulation cap, shirt, and vest in place. The gold chain of his railway pocket watch looped round the button of his waistcoat. His trousers and necessaries were neatly folded on the other seat with shoes underneath, leaving his lower half clad in gartered knee socks and his erect male member pointing up and out into the compartment. The conductor's manhood was not fully exposed, however, as he held a pocket-handkerchief over the prick-head while Hawkins cupped a hand over his balls, tugging and squeezing. Underneath the conductor's large balls were the base of Hawkins' own member, whose bulk was socketed deeply in the conductor's arse.

Chop-Chop was frozen, mouth agape. Lucy locked eyes with Hawkins. The men held still. For a long breath, there was only the rhythmic clatter of the train on the rails and the gentle shiver and rocking of the floor.

Lucy swallowed and collected herself. "I apologise for interrupting you. Hawkins, please find us in Compartment Three in the next car when you are able. Cook and I are on our way to Old Netherwood."

"Y-yes, Miss Lucy," Hawkins said. He released his hold on the conductor's balls to touch his forelock in respect.

Hawkins' small motion was all it took to overcome the conductor. The beefy fellow closed his eyes, shuddered and turned his face up to the heavens. His cheeks flushed red, he pressed back into Hawkins and groaned with his release. The conductor's prick bucked and swelled and his pocket-handkerchief overflowed milky threads down his thick, veined shaft. Hawkins looked helplessly at Lucy. He closed his eyes and rammed his prick reflexively up into the other man. Once! twice! thrice! and he was done for. He whimpered and a drop of silver liquid traced a line down his tight-clenched ball sack.

"Thank you, Hawkins," Lucy said. She took the door handle from Chop-Chop and pulled it to. She led the way back toward their own car and compartment.

Chop-Chop's face was red. "Well I never," she hissed. Then she laughed. "I hope that keeps Hawkins off the maids, anyway. Why did you apologise?"

Lucy said, "Because we intruded. Even if I'm his mistress now, he's clearly not on duty. Would you feel it was right if I barged in while you were pissing or touching up your parts to order you about, Cook?"

"Happens all the time, Miss Lucy," Chop-Chop said. "Why, Lady Catherine... oh, but that would be disrespecting her, and I wouldn't have that, especially the way she remembered me in her legacies."

Lucy's ears warmed. Lady Catherine had involved Lucy as an intimate assistant in her Sapphic practices, but she had no idea that Cook might have a similar connection with her late mistress.

Lucy paused with her hand on the compartment door, wishing to complete the conversation away from their compartment-mate, Mister Fitch.

Lucy looked directly at Cook. "I had a legacy from Lady Catherine as well. For certain intimate services. You may feel free to speak without disrespecting her memory. What was your special connection to Lady Catherine?"