The Trefoil is installed
The dismantling, even with Dave’s help, took longer than I’d expected, but, once in the van, I could relax and let Dave drive us to Tristan’s estate in Dorsetshire. I’d been told we were to spend the weekend there so we’d packed the—according to Dave—clothing we’d need, including a dinner jacket, and a separate bag packed by Dave, of our rubber gear.
As we drove, Dave explained his relationship with Tristan and who Tristan was. They’d been in the same class at a very expensive private boarding school as juniors, and ‘looked out for each other’, both having realised early on that they were not like their classmates, and were often punished for their ‘deviant’ sexual behaviour.
“We were in the same dorm at ISC … and our reputation meant we got a lot of attention from prefects and other bullies.” The laugh was not a nice one. “I got a bloody good caning after causing one of the shits some serious damage with my teeth, and was ‘sent down’. Got another caning from my father for being a ‘shirt lifter’ and ‘bringing the family into disgrace’—so I ran away.” Shrugging, he continued. “Found my way to my aunt and told her what had happened. She called my father and you should have heard the dressing down she gave him. Only time I’ve ever heard my father rendered absolutely speechless.”
This time the laugh was infectious. “Yes. I stayed with her. The old girl was absolutely fabulous and taught me how to be myself and deal with the likes of that bastard Jonesy!”
“What did she …? I mean how did you deal with him?”
“Hah! Turned him into my sub. Gave him all the sex I wanted, when I wanted …” Laughing, he explained. “I just let him know that if he didn’t like my terms, I’d got the support and the means to ruin him. He didn’t believe me at first, but soon learned I wasn’t bluffing. Maybe I should have, but I was enjoying having control of the bastard by my A-Levels.”
I did understand him on that, I’d have done the same.
“Funny thing, I actually developed my taste for bondage and rubber thanks to him.”
We were still laughing and swopping experiences when he turned the van into the tree lined drive of our destination. It was around one o’clock, the drive had taken longer than I’d expected, the motorways being very busy. Typical ‘Friday traffic’ as Dave called it.
The house wasn’t large, but it was old. Dave had explained that it had been in Tristan’s family since the 17th Century. It had it’s own sort of grandeur, the kind that comes with simplicity of decoration and architecture and age. From what I could see it was two storeys with some servant quarters in the loft under the tiled roof. As I would later discover there was an even older ‘undercroft’ beneath it.
“The family were a bit like mine—full of pride, overloaded with assets, none in a great condition after two world wars and the rather disastrous financial upheavals of the 1920s and 30s … Tris is a younger son, like me, but here’s the funny bit—Tris is the brains behind his family’s fortune. They can’t do without him, can’t stand him—and that’s mutual—but dare not try to cut him off.” His laugh was bitter as he drew to a stop. “The family signed this house over to him for life.” Opening his door, he grinned. “He’s rebuilt the family fortunes, done a magnificent restoration of this house—you’ve done some of the furniture—and is a very successful ‘trader’ in the City. And he looks after my investments. Thanks to him, I—and therefore you—are secure.”
Before I could reply he was out of the van and greeting the smart young man in the classic ‘butler’ suit who emerged from the front door to meet us.
I found myself being ushered into the grand wood panelled entrance of the house. It was the sort of place that features in magazines like ‘Country House’ and draws gushing reviews with glossy photos of the ‘Queen Anne’ furnishings, inglenook fireplaces, priests holes, linenfold panelling and so on. And the love someone had lavished on it was obvious. Pierre stood as we were ushered into the drawing room.
“Wonderful, you’ve arrived. First we eat the luncheon our Chef has prepared, then we go to the Grotto and we erect that wonderful creation.” His arms went round our shoulders. “Jaques will have the van moved to the Grotto while we eat. You are staying with us for the weekend?”
As Dave confirmed this, I looked around. This was clearly ‘how the other half lived’ and a hell of a long way from the little terrace house I’d grown up in. As we followed Pierre to the dining room for what he called a ‘light lunch’, he pointed out a bureau and a sideboard I recognised.
“Excellent restoration,” he teased, grinning, “You are an artist, mon ami!”
The lunch was amazing, and served by another young man with a bulge in his tailored trousers and a nice personality Pierre introduced as Anton.
“Jaques and Anton look after the house and guests,” Pierre explained. “They keep the house properly along with M’suie Bertrand our chef and his partner M’suie Walter who is our Housekeeper. Our guests bags are in their suite, Anton?”
“Yes, Mr Pierre.” Smiling he continued, “Michael has prepared the Blue Suite for them.”
“Excellent.”
The lunch was astonishing. Expertly served, and absolutely fabulous. Once we’d eaten, Pierre led us out to the gardens and a walk through a maze at the centre of which stood an ornate fountain and folly.
“Behold, the ‘secret’ entrance to the infamous grotto of the Hellfire Club, my friends.” Pierre laughed. “Shall we enter and rebuild your marvellous creation, Tom?”
The entrance was interestingly disguised, located in an alcove in the pedestal of a statue of a huge satyr. Once through the door we descended some stairs into a small natural looking cave. More stairs, again hidden behind an elaborate, and solid looking, bit of statuary which sank into the floor when our host used what looked like a remote. This took us down into a large chamber. The white stone and the brick and plaster infilling created a circular chamber. The ‘walls’ carried a frieze of satyrs, devils, and naked men engaged in a variety of sexual activities, games and what appeared to be a feast. Overhead the shallow dome was decorated with a painting depicting devils looking down at the ‘floor’ which was covered by a thick grey rubber substance. Openings around the cavern gave onto private spaces and there were couches and tables and what seemed to be a bar and a buffet on either side of the entrance. Light sconces resembling burning torches evidently provided an ambience, but for the moment the space was brightly lit by plain uplighting.
“Built by one of Tris’s ancestors in the 18th Century. The old boy was at odds with the local Rector—so he built this place and held parties in it just to cause offence.” Pierre laughed. “Runs in the family I think. Tristan has followed his example. Welcome to the Hellfire Club premises.” Nodding to the four burly men in dungarees standing next to everything from my van, he said, “This is Ben, Paul, Jethro, and Colin. “They are the gardeners and maintenance team for the estate. Shall we begin?” Patting me on the back, he added, “This is Tom, the creator of this masterpiece for our fun, gentlemen!”
The four all greeted me with wide grins. The all wore ‘bib’ type overalls with teeshirts, the overalls looking comfortable and workmanlike, but at the same time giving the wearers a very sexy appearance. The oldest of the team, introducing himself as Jethro shook hands with me.
“Can’t wait to see this thing set up and give it a whirl.” The others laughed as he continued, “Like the way you’ve labeled the parts. Want us to get it all in and you can tell us how you want it assembled.”
“Yes, I labelled everything so I didn’t have to try and remember,” I grinned. “I’ll help you bring it all in. Where’s the van parked?”
“No problem, guv’nor. The van's in the garage next door. We’ll have it all in here in no time.”
The four walked off through an opening I’d assumed was another ‘private’ alcove while Pierre explained how he wanted the trefoil oriented.
“Jethro’s rigged some special lighting for it, so once it’s assembled and in place, he’ll try the lights and adjust them accordingly.” Pausing he smiled. “I’m hoping you’ll have it all set up by the time Tristan gets home this evening. Oh, and Jethro and the lads are all ‘players’ as well. All ‘subs’ like you and me, mon ami.”
With the enthusiastic ‘team’, the trefoil was assembled and my safety checks done in less time than it had taken me and Dave to dismantle it. Now installed in the centre of the domed chamber, the trefoil did look quite awesome. The lights, once adjusted, would highlight the butt or genitals of the victims, and the soft red and yellow lighting of the chamber itself produced a stunning effect.
“Wow.” Ben said as he admired it. “I’m leaking precum just thinking about being in it …”
“Makes four of us, I think,” Colin declared, wrapping Paul in a hug from behind. “You want us to polish it now?”
“Yes, please.” I replied installing one of the electro-stim units. “The special cloths I use and the silicon rubber polish should be in a separate box in the van.”
“Yes, we found it.” Ben brought it in as Jethro switched on the spotlights he’d rigged. The whole thing now gleamed, the red rubber of the ‘beds’, restraints and seats now in sharp contrast to the black rubber separation divisions. “Damn, it’s bloody awesome!”
Handing out cloths and polish flasks to his companions, they set to work while Pierre suggested that Dave and I have a tour of the ‘dungeon’ chambers. There were three smaller chambers beyond the private alcoves, accessed through three of these. Smaller versions of the main chamber, they were also decorated with friezes of demons pursuing and fucking men, but each had some different dungeon style furnishings. The decor was heavy on restraint in all of them!
We returned to the main chamber to find that Tristan had returned early and was admiring our new installation. He walked to meet us as we approached and embraced Pierre kissing him possessively.
“It looks even better here than it did in your workshop, Tom,” he declared embracing me and planting kisses on both cheeks. His grin wicked, he asked, “Have you decided which of you is going to be the inaugural offering, and who the priest of offering?” He asked as he greeted Dave with a hug and the same kisses. “Pierre insists on being our offering so naturally I will be the one doing the offertory.”
“We haven’t, um, discussed it,” Dave offered.
“Do we need to?” Taking his hand, I kissed his cheek. Pierre had been hinting at a ceremonial ‘opening’ for the new piece while we assembled it, and I wasn’t going to miss being a party to something special. “You can ‘offer’ me, my love. You know how to do it so beautifully?” Grinning I looked at the laughing ‘team’ polishing the trefoil. “Wasn’t there an ancient custom that the guy who built a ship had to be in the crew on it’s first voyage?”
They all laughed as Dave, exclaimed, “You ..?” Grinning he laughed. “Damn, okay, but on condition that you ‘offer’ me on the next round!”
“Have you fellows decided who is filling the third slot yet?” Tristan asked, looking at Jethro.
“Yes, Mr Tristan.” Jethro glanced at his companions. “We tossed for it.” His companions laughed. Colin and Ben lost, so Ben gets to be offered, and Paul will offer him up.” Grinning, he added, "Lucky bastards, but I get to offer Colin on the second round ..."
“Congratulations to you both,” Tristan replied. “We’ll draw lots tomorrow to decide who starts out where.” His arm round Pierre’s waist, he continued, “A test of endurance for everyone I think!” To Dave and I he said, “Time for a drink, and then to get dressed for dinner.”
