Blendar Manor - Part 1 -

When the nights draw in, something queer happens...

Oct 18, 2025

Hi! This is an adult gay story if you aren’t an adult, or “gay” isn’t your thing, you’d better look for something else to entertain you. Cheers, Blake. 🔞

Hi Guys, Blake here. Just a quick word before you go ahead. Writing takes time, a lot of time, and it’s something I love doing so I’d like to thank all of those who are supporting me with their paid subscriptions. I know it’s not possible for everyone and I’m certainly not judging. Alternatively, the eBook of my Christmas at White Swallow story is available through at $1.99 (I recommend the Smashwords option). thank you!

This story was supposed to be a single chapter, but it was getting too long, so I decided to split it in two. Consider this an appetizer. I hope you’ll enjoy!

Blake

I wasn’t really looking forward to the weekend, or rather I wasn’t really looking forward to the weekend organized by Brian, the head at the notary’s firm in York, where I work. That’s York in north England to be precise.

I had been at Willsons and Drys for ten years, ever since I moved from Edinburgh straight after university to work for them. Five new members joined our firm that year so, good old Brian, had the idea of organizing a sort of bonding activity before the annual Christmas office shenanigans .

His idea? A spooky weekend in an old -manor cum posh hotel - kind of place near Hadrian’s Wall. Now, my idea of a perfect weekend involves hitting the gym, playing with the apps, getting laid, and repeat. Not a poor re-enactment of a Scooby-Doo adventure. I could have said no, but that wouldn’t have gone down well with the rest of the team. Besides, I’d checked the hotel, and it looked pretty grand, the firm must have been doing really well to be able to afford it. And then there was Lara; smart, beautiful, fun Lara: she was my partner in crime and wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hadn’t gone.

So it was, that on a cold October morning, surrounded by my colleagues who seemed to share my enthusiasm for the trip, I found myself outside the office building waiting for the rental bus that would take us to Blendar Manor.

As the bus undertook its two-hour journey to Hadrian’s Wall, the motorway began to give way to narrower roads that wound through the beautiful melancholy of the hilly landscape. Raindrops were spitting and streaming against the bus windows while a thick fog bled out of the valleys onto the road. We turned into a long driveway that cut through the estate’s manicured lawns until we reached the cobblestone area in front of the magnificent building I’d seen online. Like a small human herd, we followed Brian to the stone steps leading to the hotel entrance. My room was on the first floor of the Ashwell wing. I followed the receptionist’s instructions, and when I opened the door, I found myself in a rather luxurious, if eccentric, space; unlike anything I’d ever slept in before. A large four poster bed wrapped in velvety purple fabric dominated the room, while a pair of similarly upholstered comfy armchairs created a sort of lounge area in a corner. An ornate wardrobe and two dark wood nightstands completed the furnishings, along with a few Victorian-style paintings hung on the walls in their gilded frames. A milky white light was trying and failing, to brighten the room. I flipped the switch and a small crystal chandelier sprung to life. I checked the en-suite bathroom, also ornate and luxurious: the furniture was topped by expensive looking marbles and a floor to ceiling mirror dominated one wall; no tub, but a very large shower enclosed by glass bricks that took over half of the room.

We had arranged to meet at the hotel bar for a quick lunch before the tour of the estate started in the afternoon. Most of our group was already scattered around the high tables or on the large sofas. I saw Lara talking to two ladies, our seniors in the firm, and I pretended to join in the conversation. But really, I positioned myself so I could discretely check out the hot bartender who had served me my drink on the way in, pleasantly surprised that he was also looking in our direction... Brian called our attention to say the food we’d pre-ordered was ready, and we moved into the dining room.

After lunch we met Dana, our tour guide. Now, I’m not a history buff and have a short attention span, but I managed to retain that the land on which the estate was created, and specifically where the manor stood, had been permanently inhabited since the Romans had built a fort near the Wall that ran just to the north. My attention was piqued when Dana casually informed us that a very recent excavation had revealed the presence of a Roman brothel; a male brothel, to be precise. I; always eager to dot the I’s and cross the T’s, decided to ask: “A male brothel for men?” Suddenly, I was more interested .

“Well…” Dana was looking for the right words “Since the fort that stood here was occupied by soldiers and the few women were mostly wives, or sex workers, it’s safe to say the brothel catered to men seeking men.” Good old Romans, I thought, but Dana hadn’t finished. “And the fact that a small fragment of wall mosaic shows male on male fellatio really nails the argument,” she concluded before moving on with the tour.

But the queer history of the estate wasn’t over: we reached a long corridor lined with gilded-framed portraits and stopped in front of one depicting a fair hair gentleman, maybe in his late thirties, whose forlorn and melancholic expression matched the gloomy landscape in the background.

“And this is Lord Blendar who built the current manor in the early 19th century. The Lord had a very open relationship with a local gentleman, Stewart Ashwell.” Dana looked at me and before I could say anything, added, “And by open, I mean public, well-known, not open in the modern sense.” I felt judged. “The two adored each other. Unfortunately, shortly after the building was completed, Stewart Ashwell fell ill and died. Heartbroken, Lord Blendar became a recluse alcoholic. This is the only portrait of him painted after losing Ashwell, just before his own death by liver failure.”

This story touched even my stone cold heart and I kept thinking about it, losing track of what Dana went on saying.

It got dark early. We headed to the bar for a few drinks, my heart sung when I noticed that the hot bartender was still there. Lara and I stuck together, someone handed us a couple of drinks, and we joined a small group by the fireplace. Once again, I made sure I could keep an eye on the man behind the bar. Lara, who never misses a thing, whispered in my ear, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“So fucking hot! What do you think?” I whispered back, pretending to follow what Charles from HR had to say.

“I just told you, he’s hot!” She was getting impatient with me.

“No, I meant, what do you think?” I emphasized—think—

“Oh, that! Gay, definitely, 100% gay vibe.”

As if he knew we were talking about him, we caught the bartender look our way. More drinks arrived, but I declined, saying I wanted to try something different, and went to the bar.

“Good luck.” Lara smiled with her eyes as she sipped from a fresh glass of white wine.

I sat on a high stool.

“Hello, same again? G&T?” He remembered what I’d ordered that morning!

“Yes, please...” I checked the gold pin on his white shirt. “...Darren, it’s impressive you remember.”

“I’m good at putting drinks and faces together,” he added modestly. “You’re from Edinburgh? I love the accent!” It was a remark I heard often.

“Yes, but I’ve been living in York for a while. By the way, I’m Scott.” I saw his expression. “Yes, I know Scott the Scottish; my parents were quite the patriotic kind!”

While Darren was busy mixing my drink, I had a chance to check him out better. His body was compact, shorter than mine, but not by much. His dark hair, cropped at the side, turned curly at the top crowning the kind of face a boxer who’d never had a professional accident might have. Hazel eyes were framed by thick eyebrows and long lashes, while a fuzzy beard covered his square jaws. He sported a black stud in each ear and a small silver nose ring. I bet he had a Prince Albert, and felt a tension in my briefs. The overall impression was somewhat rebellious. Lara keeps saying I’m too square, and that’s probably true, but I’ve always liked being challenged in bed, as long as I come out on top.

He sat the drink in front of me.

“Thanks Darren. Listen, can you tell me where the gym is, please?” I knew exactly where it was, but I wanted to keep his attention on me while he was serving the few customers who had opted for the bar instead of the drinks buffet.

Darren pointed at one corridor and told me I had to turn left at the end,

“So you work out? It shows.” He looked at my chest, wrapped in the tight black sweater I was wearing. I think I blushed, but I was happy he’d noticed.

“I do my bit” I replied trying to downplay my regular attendance to my local gym. There’s no need to be modest; I’m fit, but in a rather restrained way: I alternate weight lifting with endurance training and yoga. I’d say I have the build of a footballer, and I’m talking about soccer, not American football. “You?” If the muscles I could see flexing under his shirt were anything to go by, I’d have bet he did too.

“Swimming and running. It’s great here; we can use the pool during off-peak hours, and the grounds are fantastic for uphill running.” The thought of Darren in his Speedos caused another stir between my legs and I had to use my free hand to discretely rearrange my cock.

We went on chatting for a while. Darren asked me about our group, and I explained why we were at the manor. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and before I knew it, Lara was giving me a peck on the mouth.

“How’s it going, darling?” she asked with that air of excitement straight women sometimes have around their gay friends, especially after a couple of drinks.

I noticed a shadow of disappointment fall on Darren’s face, but he recovered quickly.

“Darren, this is Lara, my colleague and best friend. Lara; Darren.” I wanted to make things clear before he started thinking we were a couple.

“Hi Darren, nice to meet you.” She gave him her best smile.

“Hi Lara, same here. I have to tell you, and sorry if I’m a little cheeky, but you’re very beautiful. I’ve been watching you ever since you got here. I hope I’m not offending you”

Suddenly, the conversation had taken an unexpected turn.

Those words might have sounded like a cheesy pick-up line or even creepy if they’d come from an older man. But the way he’d said them, and the way he’d blushed afterward, made the whole moment feel rather genuine, even if not how I’d hoped the evening would turn out.

Lara looked at me apologetically and a little flustered, then looking back at Darren replied: “No offense taken. Actually, thank you... you too.”

Suddenly, I felt like the infamous third wheel, even my my dick beat a retreat. I downed the rest of my G&T and told the two lovebirds I was going up to my room for a bit of rest before dinner. I kissed Lara on the cheek and quickly managed to whisper, “100% gay vibes, huh?”

“Sorry…”

“ Bye Darren, Nice to meet you” which wasn’t a lie. He told me the same, but even before I left, the two of them had already moved on to more interesting topics.

Sitting on the large bed I stretched my back and yawned feeling sorry for myself. Eventually deciding to take a shower to shake off some of the alcohol-induced fog that was making me tired. I took off my sweater and T-shirt in one go, then my socks and unzipped my jeans letting them fall on the carpet. A movement in the lounge area in the corner of the room got my attention. For a moment, I felt watched, I looked in that direction only to realize that what I was seeing were the faint shadows of some branches swaying in the wind. I drew in the heavy curtains and looked down at my dick, which until a few minutes earlier held so many expectations, now flaccid in the tight warmth of my white briefs. I walked into the bathroom, slipped off my underwear and went into the large shower. The hot water began running down my body. I raised my head toward the jet, closed my eyes, and let it rain on my face. Still that feeling of being watched. I turned and saw my reflection in the enormous mirror.

How vain! I was already responding to what I was seeing: a clean shaven man in his thirties, fit, blond with blue eyes. Under the water jet, the fair hair on my arms and chest seemed darker, plastered to my skin. The thicker treasure trail ended in a curly spongy bush that crowned the base of my hardening dick.

I kept looking at my reflexion, leaned my back against the warm wall, and grabbed my cock. Its girth filled my palm, heavy and alive. I began to stroke it; up and down, slowly, the foreskin following my movements with delayed precision. I squeezed a little shower gel onto its hardness, knowing I’d pay for it later, but I never really minded the burning sensation in my piss slit, quite the opposite actually. The gel, mixing with the water, perfectly lubricated my shaft, my hand sliding along its length with ease. With the other hand, I cupped my balls, touching, pinching, pulling.

I closed my eyes willing to lose myself in the images that flashed behind my eyelids: Darren was in a locker room, his tight blue Speedos unable to contain his cock. The Prince Albert peeking out at the top almost touching his navel. I went over to him, naked and hard. Our bodies pressed against each other. Then we were in the pool, me sitting on the edge, him immersed up to his chest, the movement of the water deforming his submerged body into an abstract work of art. He leaned over and took me in his mouth. The heat of his lips eating me all the way down to the hilt. Then he lay on a bench, his hairy, muscular legs wrapped around my back while I thrust into him, his cock bouncing as he stared at me with a challenging look, the nose ring catching the light. His body held me in and let me out. His expression ecstatic as I made him mine, shooting my cum deep inside him in the splendid release of a thousand sparks. I left my cock there in his clenching hole. When I pulled out, I waited for the flow of cum to leave his body, collecting it with the head of my dick and my fingers. I spread it as best I could along my still-hard shaft and moved closer to his face. He was waiting with his beautiful mouth wide open. I put my fingers inside it, sticky; he licked them clean, tasting his body as well as my cum. Then it was my cock he sucked, milking and licking until I had nothing left to give him. His arm worked harder on his thick cock, he trembled and came, over his stomach, his chest and even his face. With the image of his handsome face covered in sperm I came in my hand, heavy drops of cum splashing against the glass bricks, falling onto the shower floor and on my feet. It was only a wank, but with the rush of pleasure coursing through my body I felt all the weight lift from my shoulder.

-to be continued-