The manservant stirred in bed and tried to block out the shrill ring of his direct line to the Master's quarters. Finally, he picked up the receiver. No one spoke. He sighed and replaced it in its cradle. With indecent haste, he pulled on a pair of white socks before wrapping a silk dressing gown around the smooth, bare torso and white satin boxer shorts, all items gifts from the Master for services rendered. Eagerly, he made his way to the Master's private apartments in the East Wing of the house.
No one replied to his insistent knocking at the door. The manservant entered. There was no sign of the Master. He crossed a wide expanse of carpet and knocked discreetly at the doors leading to the master bedroom. No reply. He entered the room. For the most part, it was dimly lit. In one corner, though, a spotlight shone upon a naked male figure admiring himself in a full-length mirror.
"Err, hem," the manservant coughed politely.
"Ah, Richards!" The Master continued to admire his physique.
"You rang my bell sir?"
"Now, Richards, you know better than to presuppose..." The manservant's expression remained impassive. "Tell me, why do they call you "Sticky Ricky?"
"I can only suppose, sir, that it has to do with my being a stickler for procedure. I insist that the staff come and go about their duties according to their station and the requirements of sir's household."
"I've heard you come a lot more than you go," commented the Master with a wicked grin.
"As sir pleases."
"Oh, it pleases me very much Richards." The Master turned. "Now, how do I look?"
"Naked, sir."
"Of. Course I'm naked, dickhead! But how do I come across to you?"
"Presumably, sir, on your two legs," the manservant replied dryly.
"Not across the room, dickhead! How do I strike you? Am I handsome, stunning? Do I knock you out with my charisma?"
"You usually knock me out with a Mickey Finn," observed the manservant who had long since tired of the Master's sex games.
"Drat it, man, you know how I like to enter into the spirit of the thing?"
"I thought you preferred to enter me sir?"
"Honestly, Richards, what has got into you tonight. You're being a pain in the ass."
"That has been my experience sir," the manservant responded evenly.
"Yes, well, I'm in charge, right?"
"Right indeed, sir. I'm sure New Labour would welcome your novel approach as a change from plagiarising the only real alternative party's agenda."
"Yes, well, I'm no political beast as you full well know."
"Indeed, sir, I am well acquainted with your alternative bestiality."
"Oh, I say, Richards! I like that. I'll take it as a compliment."
"And I shall receive it as one sir," the manservant responded with a tight smile.
"Simon says, Richards?"
"Simon Says, sir."
"Okay, well, Simon says...strip!"
"Very well sir." The manservant proceeded to undress.
"Do you think I'm a hard master, Richards?"
"Hard, sir?" The manservant let his wry gaze drop to the master's pepper and salty bush. He sighed. Obviously, it was hide-and-seek time again. As he removed his pyjamas he could almost feel the fleshy already probing his rectum. Oh, it would swell and perform in time. But how much oral coaxing tonight, he wondered? Better surely (quicker, certainly) to simply suck the damn thing than have to keep reciting extracts from the various erotic literati? "Neither hard nor soft, sir, but rather, if I may be so forward, like a banana."
"A banana, eh? Gosh, Richards, I like it."
"Indeed, sir," said the manservant with genuine warmth, "a real 'nana."
"As for being forward, Richards, you know I love it when you're forward. Strictly between ourselves, of course."
"Strictly sir," agreed the manservant, now naked.
"A quickie?" asked the Master with a meaningful nod in the direction of two glasses of whiskey sitting on the dressing table either side of a jar of Vaseline. "Yours is the one on the right."
"I should be so lucky!" murmured the manservant inaudibly.
The Master went to a huge wardrobe and retrieved a pink feather boa and a cowboy hat from an upper shelf. He turned. The manservant was draining his glass. The Master threw him a peeved look. "We're supposed to take our snifters together," he snorted accusingly, "You've jumped the gun, damn it. How dare you change the rules without asking!"
"Indeed, sir? As a post-election leader of The Party, I assumed you would approve my initiative."
"Well you assumed wrong. I'm in charge here, no one else. You know the penalty for subversion."
"Indeed, sir, I do."
"Down, Richards!" The manservant obediently fell on all fours. He felt the Master's fat rump settle on his back, could see bunions out of the corner of each eye. Next, predictably, came a tugging of the boa at his neck. "Giddy-up, giddy-up!!" The manservant bucked violently, tossing his rider to the floor. "Oh, I say, Richards, that's not on. You either play the game or..."
"Change the rules?" enquired the manservant with a deadpan expression.
"I'm in charge!" the Master spluttered, "You're just a punter, a face in the crows, a..."
"Hole in one?"
"Steady on, Richards, there's no need to bring up my golf!"
"No, sir? I have to confess a certain empathy with the golfer, his club invariably swinging both ways before rising to the occasion and directing the round item at its feet where it pleases."
"Very poetic!" snorted the Master yawning, "and it's called a ball. Funny, I didn't have you down for calling a spade a digging implement."
"Nor will you do so again sir," remarked Richards with a queer smile.
The Master yawned again. "Help me to the bed, will you. I need to lie down for a moment. I feel so-ooooo tired all of a sudden."
The manservant did as he was told. "It must be my whiskey sir."
The Master belly-flopped on the bed and closed his eyes. "Don't you mean my whiskey?" he retorted, stifling another yawn.
"No sir, I mean my whiskey," said the manservant.
The Master felt the boa tighten around his neck and the awful truth dawned. In vain he willed himself to pass out but could only remain immobilised, barely conscious but sufficient to be aware that his manservant was bent on penetrating his defences, intruding into that netherworld of class, in a dearly fought-for democracy where all animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others. "Ouch!"
end