'All our dildoes are hand-modelled from life,' said the lively little creature who led me into an ante room. She was wearing a loose-fitting smock that was somewhat spattered with evidence of her work at the potter's wheel. Her hair was piled up high on her head but the odd chestnut-tinted wisp had escaped. With a clay-stained hand, she brushed it away from her forehead. I felt a familiar stirring down below as my member began to come to life. 'Madame will be ready to receive you shortly and will take you in hand.' There was a roguish gleam in her eye as she glanced at the telltale bulge of the erection that was now rising uncontrollably inside my trousers. 'I hope you will in turn be ready for her attentions.' She drew a deep breath and I saw the outline of a pair of quite succulent breasts thrusting out against the thin material of her smock. Quickly, mimicking the curtsy of a servant, she drew up the hem of her dress, bowed her head and bent her knee. To my surprise and delight I realised that she was wearing nothing underneath that enveloping garment. For a brief, utterly tantalising instant I saw revealed the dense curls of her pussey hair. 'In summer it becomes far too hot in the pottery workshop for the wearing of more than the minimum of clothing,' she said, responding at once to my unspoken question. 'How many of you are employed here?' I asked. 'There are usually some fifteen young ladies working at the wheels and the benches,' she replied.
'Are there no male potters employed?' I said. 'Two of the senior modellers, and then there is the young lad. An apprentice, but he is presently at home under the care of a doctor,' she answered.
'What is he suffering from?' I asked. 'Exhaustion.'
'The heat?' I asked. 'The fucking,' she replied. 'The what!' I spluttered. 'The fucking. I am sure, Sir, that you are a man of the world and will therefore understand that a dozen or more young ladies have needs that have to be satisfied, even sometimes during the working day.' 'Yours is a somewhat Bohemian attitude,'
I said. 'It is true, Sir, that many of us here do not subscribe unquestioningly to the more repressive morals that society would force upon us.' 'So how will you manage to enjoy yourselves in the unfortunate absence of your apprentice?' I asked carefully, while the thought of so much eager but unsatisfied pussey caused Mr. Pego to protrude ramrod-stiff. For a moment I recalled my recent extraordinary experiences in the studio of the painter uncle of a very good friend of mine. 'I could perhaps offer my services? I am always ready to lend a hand, or in this case, some other part, in the furtherance of the artistic endeavours of our society.' 'A very kind offer, Sir,' she said, 'but Madame would be most put out if you were no longer capable of paying proper attention to her demands when she sees you shortly. Afterwards, perhaps, if you are still so inclined, I would be most happy to accept your advances. I suspect, from the evidence of my eyes, that yours will be a proud addition to our selection. But, in the meantime at least, there is always the stock awaiting collection. Every dildo we produce,' she said proudly, 'is thoroughly tested for fit and for smoothness of finish before delivery to the customer.' As she had been speaking, her hand had unconsciously strayed down and, pulling up her skirt again, she had begun to rub her finger gently along her half-hidden cleft. Then, with a faraway look, she gave a little sigh of enjoyment and slipped first one, then a second finger, inside herself. She shivered. 'Oh, I do beg your pardon, Sir, I had quite forgot myself.' 'I could, er, help,' I stuttered. 'No, Sir, you really must contain yourself,' she said sadly. 'But,' brightening up, 'possibly we might for a moment or two, join hands in a mutual endeavour?' With that, she withdrew her questing fingers, reached out and squeezed my hand. I could feel a tantalising dampness on her as she guided my hand down towards her quim. 'I think I am just about ready to accommodate two fingers along with one of my own. If you were to approach me from behind, we could possibly meet in the middle.' She turned away from me and hitched up her skirt. A mouth-wateringly plump pair of naked buttocks was flaunted in my face as she bent down. 'See,' she said with a giggle, 'I can touch my toes.' As her thighs parted I slid my hand between them, my fingers caressing the luxurious dark jungle of her truly splendid bush. 'Can you find your way?' she giggled again. My exploring finger met hers at the moist portals of her cunney. 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume?' she said, teasingly. Rubbing herself against me, she drew first one and then a second finger inside the entrance to her cave of delights. 'There,' she said. 'Like that.' The tip of one finger touched against a juicy clit. She quivered and then urged me on, using my finger to stimulate herself. I slipped my other hand under her smock and felt my way gradually up the firm flesh of her body until I encountered the soft fullness of her titties. I kissed the back of her neck and clung to her, squeezing the yielding flesh. A nipple rose, engorged, against my palm. Meanwhile her clit also had swelled irresistibly under my touch. She urged me on, sliding back and forth against my now well-lubricated fingers. 'More,' she said. 'More! Faster!'
She began to moan softly. In an instant I plunged my fingers deep into her tunnel of love. 'No,' she said. 'Later. When Madame has completed her business.' I was pressed back to my former position. Now her clit was trapped between my fingers as I squeezed and petted. Her juices were flowing copiously. 'I suppose you had better finish what you have already started,' said a strange voice. I looked up with a startled gasp. Before us stood a small but stout, bombazine-clad woman who bore a striking resemblance to Her Majesty. I froze with embarrassment and alarm. For an awful moment I thought I had been surprised by Queen Victoria herself, by the Grace of God, Defender of the Faith, Empress of India and constitutional monarch of the United Kingdom and her Colonies, with two fingers buried in the cunt of one of her loyal subjects.
'Madame,' gasped my as yet nameless companion, 'this is Mr.
White. He has an appointment for eleven o'clock.' I should perhaps at this point explain to my readers exactly how I came to be present at that time and in that place. The story had started some days before. 'Andrew, you really must come and pay a visit to the dildo manufactory,' said Hannah. I had been unable to reply coherently on the instant since my head was buried between her wide-spread thighs and I was in the act of licking her to a state of ecstasy. 'Oooflll, wufflll, gluppp,' was all I could manage to say. Hannah, as I have explained in an earlier chapter of these memoirs, was the elder of the two daughters of the widow, Mrs. P-, at whose house I had lodgings. She was employed by Messrs Doulton in their art pottery in Lambeth as a painter and an expert in the application of glazes. She was also, on her own account, a student of the erotic decorative arts of the Orient and had a growing reputation in sophisticated circles for her very original urns and vases.
Privately commissioned, these depicted usually in great detail, the more abandoned activities of Antiquity. Readers may remember how she had been banished from the Bristol house of Colonel and Mrs. Moore when surprised trying to recreate, with the help of her friends, a classic Greek frieze. When I had finished my labours between her legs and withdrawn to a more conventional position-one where I could both hear and speak-she explained what she was talking about. It appeared that Hannah, along with a number of her more adventurous fellow artists, had been instrumental in setting up a discreet but now thriving business in the manufacture of dildoes. These were produced both on the potter's wheel and from wood. Many were decorated using the full range of the ceramic artist's or woodcarver's techniques.
'But are such objects in any great demand?' I asked. 'Surely there is a sufficiency of living, breathing male members to satisfy any need?' 'Andrew, you have much yet to learn, Hannah had said.
Although slightly taken aback at the dismissive note in her voice, I had to admit that the construction and use of the dildo was indeed a completely new field of human endeavour to me. 'There are many women,' she had gone on, 'women often of the highest integrity and standing in Society, who have need of such artefacts. Think, Andrew, of the number of married women who cannot count on regular service from their husbands. Many are married to men of business who have to be away from home, often for days on end. There are many Army wives who are separated from their menfolk for months on end. Such is the number and length of the various colonial skirmishes, punitive expeditions and wars these days that many military families see each other but seldom. Whilst of course the lot of the Navy wife is always to be alone for most of her life. 'It happens also,' she went on, 'that all too often, when their men do return, they are, through sickness or the general fatigue of fighting a long campaign, quite unable to resume their marital duties for a considerable while. If you add those women who have been tragically widowed and those who find that their husbands, although present, are sadly inadequate in such matters, you will begin to see, Andrew, that there is indeed a great unsatisfied demand for a discreet but effective substitute for the male member.' 'Is it not interesting,' I said, 'that the very success of the manufacturing interest in this country, itself creates the demand for yet more manufactures. As commerce thrives, demanding more journeyings, more visits to explore and satisfy new markets, so the opportunities increase for such services as you provide. Is this not a fine example of that political economy that we read about so much in the better sort of journal. Are not the workings of our mercantile system, though complex, endowed with a most intellectually satisfying symmetry?' 'Andrew, you are growing wordy again,'
Hannah interrupted, rather brutally I thought. 'What this political economy of yours adds up to is many thousands of women, many thousands of quims, that need a good rogering. So do not pontificate so much but fuck.' At this point, we did indeed fall to fucking but later resumed the discussion. 'Do not think, Andrew, that all these women are content to wait for the return of their lawfully wedded spouses. They are crying out for a handy substitute. 'So you-'
'So we supply them with a great variety of instruments of pleasure with which they can occupy themselves.' 'How do they know of your business?' I asked. 'Word travels fast amongst them.
It is a process that we can help. It happens sometimes that one of our customers will entertain a select number of her women friends in her own home. We willingly supply samples of our art and occasionally, in return for a small fee, a woman will demonstrate to her circle what they are missing.' 'So all those At Homes and embroidery afternoons are but a polite public veneer for quite other activities?'
'Surprisingly often,' Hannah answered. 'Then there are personal introductions. A lady will bring a friend to our premises who is about to be deprived of her husband's attentions for a while.' 'You have some sort of showroom?' I asked, amazed. 'Why, yes. Just like the purveyors of porcelain have always had,' she answered. 'We maintain a substantial stock, all tastefully displayed, from which something suitable can be selected. There are couches in what we call the fitting rooms where they can, so to speak, try one in for size.'
'And their husbands know nothing of this?' I asked. 'In many cases,' she answered. 'But in many cases also, husband and wife will attend together for our additional service where we model a dildo from the husband's own member.' 'This is done by measurement, I suppose,' I said, imagining the strange scene as rules and callipers were employed upon an erect prick. 'If necessary,' she said, 'but in most cases we now take a plaster cast so that an exact likeness can be created.' 'How is that done?' I asked. 'It is a process better demonstrated than described. There are technicalities that are difficult to explain to the outsider. Have you heard of the lost-wax method of moulding?' 'No,' I said. 'This is unknown territory to me.' 'You must come along to the manufactury and I will act as your guide. First I must ask Madame and an appointment must be made.'
'Madame-?' 'Madame Nettleton. She is in charge of the plaster casting.' 'Not Netty Nettleton, the recently retired diva?' I asked. 'She who was the toast of the Opera until her much lamented final season?' 'The same,' said Hannah. 'But Andrew, you must swear to keep secret everything about your visit. Although a thriving business, it is also a very private one. I may add,' she went on, 'that yours is such a splendid fellow when raised up that I feel sure that its sale in replica will represent a popular extension to our range. I can also promise you that on each such sale a small royalty payment will be made.' 'Just as though I were the author of a book!' I exclaimed. 'Imagine! The Andrew Scott Dildo, By Appointment, for Insertion into the Gentry.' But suddenly a thought struck me. 'It will not be a painful process, will it? Whilst I would be more than proud to add to the sum of human happiness by multiplying the likeness of my cock among the ladies of England and indeed those in foreign parts, I am, I must confess, somewhat averse to pain.
Suffering for one's Art has never had any attraction for me.' 'Do not worry, Andrew, Madame Nettleton's technique is not only highly effective but soothing and harmless as well.' Thus it was that an appointment had been made and a little over a week later I had presented myself at the Southwark premises where I now found myself surprised, hand in pussey, by this regal lookalike. At once I realised that this must be Madame herself. 'Ma'am,' I began, 'I am sorry-'
'Mr. White, if you are about to apologise, please don't. By the very nature of our trade, this cannot be a conventional establishment and it is anyway always necessary to put our gentlemen visitors in a proper frame of mind before exposing them to our ministrations. I can honestly say that in this case “We are amused”.' At this I realised that she must be well aware of her uncanny resemblance to the Widow of Windsor and of the effect that this could have, particularly on those surprised in circumstances such as these. 'However, when you are quite finished,' Madame continued, 'I will first of all show you the modelling room and then we will proceed to the substance of your visit.' The interruption having had the effect of stopping our activities in their tracks, I quickly disengaged myself from my delightful companion. As I did so a thought crossed my mind. We had never formally introduced ourselves although she knew who I was.
'I am Andrew Scott,' I said. 'Meg,' she responded. We solemnly, if somewhat stickily shook hands. 'I hope we can resume our acquaintance later,' she went on, 'but for now I must return to my labours at the wheel.' More at ease now, I turned to Madame. She had been sizing me up with a quick, professional glance. 'You appear to be in a nicely upstanding state of readiness,' she said.
'Meg can always be relied upon to manage such matters with great efficiency. A steady hand at the wheel and a warm cunney. Both such essential attributes in our business. But now let me show you around.'
I was led into a largish workshop. A dozen or so young women were seated at their pottery wheels. I looked around in fascination. As they treadled energetically, their wheels spun round and round. I watched as one took a lump of soft clay, slapped it down on to her wheel and centred it between her hands. As she squeezed, a column of pale grey clay rose at the bidding of her fingers. 'Stoneware,' said Madame. 'A much smoother material than earthenware.'
Intrigued, I saw that a veritable plantation of male members was rising up from the clay at one wheel after another. Each cylinder was carefully moulded and pressed into shape with deft, well-practised skills. Each had a burgeoning bulbous head that was rapidly plumped and smoothed into shape. A small cry of distress attracted my attention. One proud beauty had begun to wilt. 'Too much water in the mix,' said Madame. 'Harriet, don't try to revive it. You'd better start all over again.' With a cheese wire, the unfortunate Harriet sliced the collapsed clay from the wheel, then set to work to knead it again into a ball. 'It is most important to ensure that there are no air bubbles in the clay before it is used again,' said Madame. 'Otherwise, however well-shaped, it will probably crack in the firing.' Wetting her hands, Harriet now took the clay and slapped it down again on her wheel. 'Another problem we have,' said Madame, 'is that some of our over-imaginative girls will try to over-extend their handiwork. Too long and thin and it will certainly suffer a premature collapse. Too fat and it will prove too large for comfort except for our more capacious customers. What you are seeing here, of course, is the manufacture of our standard models.' 'They all seem very handsome specimens,' I said. 'On average, they are a fifth over life size. Reality unenhanced is too often a sore disappointment. But then that is true of so many aspects of life, is it not?' With this slightly depressing remark, she took me into a smaller room. 'Let's have a look at you,' she said. As she stood in front of me, I unbuttoned myself. The excitement of my meeting with Meg had died down and so with it had Mr. Pego. A rather crestfallen member flopped into view. 'Don't worry,' said Madame. 'That happens to most of our gentlemen. We'll soon have you back to a proper state of health. 'Hannah,' she called, 'Your friend needs a little attention. Can you deal with him while I prepare the plaster.'
Hannah bustled in. 'Oh, dear, Andrew! That will never do.
Let me see what I can manage.' With that she took my shrunken member in her hand. A gentle squeeze and a gentle stroke and I could feel him begin to stir. 'I am sorry,' I said, 'but the atmosphere is one of such brisk efficiency that I am not sure that I can fully oblige.' 'Andrew,' she said softly, 'just recall what you can do and where you can lodge him in a few minutes time. You are one of my favourite fucks. Just thinking of you inside me makes me feel quite damp and eager. Think also of my sister who has told me in confidence that you have more truly satisfied her than almost anyone that she has met. And Rosie. And Catherine.' As she talked so sweetly to me, a vision of their pusseys floated into my mind. I closed my eyes and a tantalising picture of quim upon quim, of sighs and cries of pleasure quite overwhelmed me. Tentatively I reached down. My hand met hers. A reassuring surge of excitement flooded through me. Mr. Pego extended and thrust forward. 'What exactly are you going to do?' I asked.
'First we will oil you,' said Hannah. 'So that the plaster doesn't stick when we come to remove it. Don't worry, Andrew, we are very experienced at this. No harm will come to you. In fact you will find that it is all rather fun.' Madame came forward with a small jar of ointment. Hannah dipped her fingers in it and then carefully rubbed a sweet smelling unguent along the full length of my prick.
Carefully she spread it over the distended head and then reached between my thighs to smooth more of the mixture over my balls.
'Our secret potion,' she said. 'It is made up specially to our own recipe.' 'Is he ready?' asked Madame. Then she looked at me.
'Splendid,' she murmured to Hannah. 'You are very lucky to have such a fine fellow at your beck and call.' Hannah stroked me, massaging the oil into my now flourishing staff. Her fingers rubbed delicately at its head. 'Oh, Andrew, I have never seen you in such an enticing state. Madame is indeed right in saying that I am very lucky.' Suddenly a surge of pride ran though me. To think that I had the means at my disposal to reduce such connoisseurs of the male member to such wide-eyed admiration. I drew myself up to my full height. 'Now!' said Madame and I was all of a sudden plunged into a container of liquid plaster. 'How does that feel?' asked Hannah.
'Cool, and wet, and rather pleasant,' I answered. 'Stay still for a minute or two and think of my cunt,' said Hannah. 'Think of it taking you in and holding you. Think of it opening eagerly to your entry and of my love juices beginning to mix with yours.'
Eyes still half-closed, I thought hard. Mr. Pego held by the soft plaster, stayed rigid with rising excitement. 'Fucking is about imagination and memory and anticipation,' said Hannah. 'Not just about fucking. That is why you are so good at it.' 'Careful,' said Madame, 'Don't get him too excited. He's beginning to move about a bit. We don't want to spoil the impression he has made.' I took a deep breath and thought of the care and control with which I had first entered Rosie, not wanting to cause her inexperienced pussey any discomfort. I thought of the lessons in self-control that I had had at the hands of Tessa on the Great Western train to Paddington and of the cool Catherine as she impaled herself upon me at the after dinner entertainment we had all enjoyed when the Scottish contingent was in Town. I stayed calm. 'That should be enough,' said Madame. I returned to the present. With a firm hand she pulled me out of the now hardening plaster. I looked down and saw the deep entry and the indentation of my balls captured in the moist material. 'That's all you have to do,' said Hannah. 'The rest is up to us.' 'What happens now?' I asked. 'Let's get you cleaned up,' said Hannah, 'while I explain the process.' Taking a soft towel, she rubbed me down and inspected me carefully. I could still catch the intriguing scent of the ointment she had anointed me with. My prick was still unbendingly rigid. I felt much relieved that I had come through my test with such outstanding success. 'That was all right?' I said with growing confidence. 'That was absolutely splendid,' Hannah said. 'I knew that you had it in you. And soon I hope to have it in me,' she went on with a provocative little giggle. 'When can I see the final result?' I asked. 'Not for some days yet,' she answered. 'First we have to wait till the plaster is completely hardened and then we have to fill the mould with liquid wax. When that is set we break open the cast and we should have an almost perfect replica of your prick. There may have to be a little smoothing and rubbing away of the ridges where the mould was broken open.' 'But a simple wax model of my private parts will not survive any repeated use,' I said. 'Of course not. We then make a second cast. We cover the wax with clay, let it set and then place it in the kiln.'
I winced a little at the idea of my member being thrust into a kiln. 'The wax of course melts in the process and we pour it away,' she went on. 'Then we have the final mould. 'When ever we need a copy or copies, we just fill it with liquid clay after oiling the mould so that the final result can be easily withdrawn. We use a type of Parian clay. You have seen models of nymphs and head-and-shoulders busts in many a drawing room I imagine. Parian ware has been the height of fashion for a good number of years. Most of the major potteries manufacture it. It is a technique that can produce the most detailed and cleanly modelled reproductions time after time.
There is a touchingly modest Parian maiden of a vaguely classical air, made by Minton, in Mother's dressing room. I will show it to you this evening.' 'But what do you then do with these Parian pricks?' I asked. 'They are fired of course,' said Hannah, 'in one of our new gas-fired kilns where we can maintain a very precise control over the temperature. When removed, they are in a state we call “biscuit", and are ready for glazing. The glazes can be coloured or plain.
Painted decoration can be added either before or after glazing. A second firing follows at a much higher temperature, and the finished object is ready for display and use.' I was still feeling curiously uneasy at the idea of my member being shoved into a high-temperature kiln and baked. 'We also from time to time use a salt-glazing process,' Hannah went on unstoppably with the true enthusiasm of an expert. 'It produces an attractive surface texture rather like orange peel. Some of our customers claim that it acts as an additional stimulus when the dildo is in situ.' As she talked, I had been tucked back inside my trousers. We went back into the main room where the girls were bent over their labours. Meg caught my eye and wriggled her bottom provocatively. Two of the other girls spotted her gesture. Knowing glances were directed in my direction.
Paint-covered hands were, as though by accident, rubbed upon smocks so that the contours of hips and titties were suddenly apparent. One member of the workforce was leaning forward and it seemed concentrating so hard on the final modelling of her creation that she had quite failed to notice that the hem of her skirt had ridden up to reveal her well-proportioned thighs. As we passed her, Hannah licked her forefinger and rubbed it lightly against the cleft of her friend's well-rounded buttocks. The object of her passing attentions raised herself slightly from her seat and for an instant the finger slipped enticingly out of sight between her cheeks. Without pausing in her efforts, she settled down again, trapping Hannah. She wriggled, looked back over her shoulder, staring me full in the face, round-eyed and innocent, and smiled so teasingly that Mr. Pego fairly leaped up again in response. 'This must be your friend Andrew,' she said to Hannah. 'The one with the truly enormous instrument.' 'We have few secrets here,' said Hannah to me. 'Polly, here, is only one of several who are anxious to make your acquaintance. But we must move on and complete our tour of the premises.' With that, she withdrew her questing finger, took me by the hand and led me out into a well-furnished show room. 'These,' said Hannah, 'are some examples of our recent work. Commissioned dildoes, The Gift to Leave Behind. That's the slogan that Becky thought up. They're all waiting to be collected.' A wonderful array of finely modelled members met my gaze. Each was nestling on a small, plump velvet cushion with a button in the middle. Some were thrusting boldly upwards, others measured their full length as though resting and awaiting their call to action. Most had been glazed with remarkably true-to-life flesh tints but others had under-or over-glaze, painted decorations, usually blue on white. One was willow pattern printed. 'Part of a matching set,' said Hannah. 'Dildo, ewer, basin, chamber pot and soap dish. A quite original addition to a lady's boudoir.' There were also two or three that had delightfully fanciful decorations: blue spots on white for one, a complicated design of diamonds and hoops, red and yellow on pale blue for another. 'Lord M-'s racing colours,' explained Hannah. 'A difficult commission. It was particularly hard to get the red glaze to fire to the correct shade.'
I recalled that I had seen those selfsame colours before, being carried to victory at a spring meeting at Newmarket. Dr White, my old headmaster, had taken a party of the senior boys for a day at the races. It was of course part of his philosophy of education that his pupils should be introduced to adult pleasures whilst still under his wise and understanding eye, rather than be left to find out about such things after they had left school. 'There is more to life, Andrew, then Latin Irregular Verbs,' I remember him saying. 'Not that a sound grounding in the Classics is unimportant.' That day had indeed been memorable. Not only had I backed two winners, one a promising two-year-old owned by that same Lord M-whose colours now adorned what I assumed was a replica of his thoroughbred prick-surely this must be the only dildo registered with the Jockey Club-but also because I had had the opportunity to mount a lively young filly alongside one of the Newmarket Heath gallops shortly after the last race. 'However,'
Hannah went on, 'now that we have got it just about right we have every hope of further orders, since Lord M-is well known for distributing his favours widely.' 'But what is that?' I asked, pointing to a fine specimen that appeared to have a signature running along its full length. Hannah lifted it from its velvet nest. 'A present,' she said, 'from a foreign gentleman recently in these parts who has had to return to the Continent. He ordered it as a memento of his visit, to be delivered to a Lady of Quality with whom he has spent a most satisfying two weeks. See -' She handed it to me. 'Count Johann Gewirtz,' I said slowly, finding it somewhat difficult to decipher the writing. 'A facsimile of his signature,' said Hannah.
'Look, on the other side-' 'The Gobbling Galician,' I read. 'I have a feeling that I have heard that name before. May I ask who is to be the recipient of this unusual device?' 'No,' said Hannah. 'As I have said, discretion is all if we are to continue to enjoy the trust of our customers. I shouldn't really have shown you in here.'
'I do promise very sincerely, Hannah, that I shall never mention anything of what I have seen here to anyone.' 'If you do,' said Hannah, 'One thing I can promise you is that I will never ever again let you into my confidence or my quim.' 'I solemnly swear, on the Honour of my Old School, that I shall never breathe a word to a soul.'
'I trust you,' said Hannah. 'I would not like to have to deny myself the pleasure of your cock, but just remember that there are other fish in the sea and other pricks in the pool.' At the thought of never again being able to slip my member into her wonderfully welcoming cunney, I made a mental vow to be utterly silent on the matter. 'But now,' she said, 'let us seal our sworn agreement with a quick fuck. I hope that you have recovered from the rigours of the casting couch.' With that, she knelt before me and unbuttoned me. Mr. Pego eagerly leaped out from his hiding place.
Cupping my balls in her hand, without more ado she took the whole length of my staff in her mouth. Her tongue played lightly at the swollen head of my prick as she gently but insistently squeezed my throbbing balls. Her lips sucked hungrily up and down my staff. Then she pulled back. 'You are ready,' she said. 'I can taste the oil still on your prick. Madame has been using the orange-flavoured ointment that we have sent over from France. It is quite my favourite flavour.' 'So this is a regular part of the service,' I asked.
'Of course,' she said. 'It would be most unkind to leave our customers unsatisfied, when they have so kindly donated their likeness to posterity.' 'Now you must taste me. Meg helped anoint me with another citrus flavour.' 'Oranges and lemons?' I said. 'That is for you to find out,' she said, lifting her smock. Although I had by now enjoyed her ever-generous quim many, many times, I was still quite carried away at the prospect that opened up before me. As she lay back on the carpet, I parted her thighs and in an instant was lapping at her cave of delights. My tongue slipped deep inside her, I could feel her clit swell against me as I probed ever further. There was indeed a refreshing tang to her. Lemon combined with her own natural juices. Truly here was a recipe for ecstasy. My lips sucked hungrily at hers, which seemed in turn to suck back. With a soft moan of pleasure, she parted her legs yet further, forcing her splendid bush into my face. 'Andrew,' she said urgently, 'I need to feel you inside me.' I drew back and without pause thrust my prick straight into her. She whimpered, closed her legs a little to hold me tight and began that rapid rippling contraction of her muscles that I knew so well. This was to be no slow, lingering fuck. We were both urgent in our need to spend ourselves. As I thrust into her again and again, she rose to meet me with equal vigour. Great gasps shuddered through our bodies. 'Andrew, Andrew,' she cried out, 'I am coming.
Come with me.' I needed no urging. Already I could feel that first gush of my spending forcing its way along my huge member. One wave followed another as my cum jetted out into her. Her own juices were flowing liberally in response. She seized tight hold of me and we fucked and fucked quite uncontrollably, writhing and twisting on the carpet. All too soon we were both drained. We lay entwined, exhausted, sucking in great gulps of air. Neither could speak so overcome were we. She smiled up at me and puckered up her lips in a little kiss.
Still inside her, I felt her relax. As we shared our fatigue for a few moments longer I saw the flush that had suffused her whole body begin to subside. At that moment there came a soft knocking on the door. 'Who is it?' Hannah said sleepily. 'Meg,' came the whispered reply. 'May I come in?' I looked questioningly at Hannah. 'Hadn't we better make ourselves decent?' 'There is no need,' she said. 'Come in Meg,' she called out. Then to me she said: 'It is not the first time, nor indeed the twentieth, that I have been discovered in this position. Meg is a good friend of mine. I know what it is that she wants.' The door opened and there entered the lovely little creature who had first welcomed me into Madame's salon.
'Meg, this is Andrew. I know that you have already met,' said Hannah. 'Pray, Sir, do not get up,' said our visitor. 'I know that it has been a tiring day.' Remembering the events that had taken place when Meg and I had first met, to be followed so soon by the efforts that had attended the making of my plaster cast, I could not disagree. None the less, good manners dictated that I withdrew from Hannah's still welcoming cunt. As I half rose, Meg looked down at my no longer rigid but still swollen prick. 'You are so lucky, Hannah,' she said. 'Is that not a most magnificent instrument of Mister Andrew's? I had earlier offered my services but of course, until he had been modelled, I could not accept him.' 'Meg,' said Hannah. 'I know from repeated experience that he will be capable of rising to the occasion again in a little while. In the meantime, you and the others are more than welcome to come in and enjoy your after-work sampling of our wares.' 'What is this?' I asked.
'I think you already know, Andrew, that the employees are allowed, indeed encouraged to make use of our finished models before they are made ready for dispatch or collection. Two purposes are served. It is not reasonable to expect the staff to spend all our working hours in the creation of so fine an array of dildoes without our being able to relieve the tensions of the day by experiencing the pleasures of our handiwork. There is also the point that, however dedicated and skilled our efforts, it may be that an imperfection or two slips through. Finally, they must be delivered ready for use. Tell me Andrew, did you not play cricket when at school?' 'Of course,'
I answered, not fully understanding what she meant. 'And were you not taught that a cricket bat must be regularly oiled if you wish it to be kept in tip top condition. Linseed oil, is it not?' 'Why, yes,' I answered, understanding beginning to dawn. 'Well here we use the natural oils that are most appropriate to our product.'
As she explained this, the door opened fully and in trooped all the girls that I had earlier seen engrossed in their labours at the wheel and the painting and woodworking benches. 'Good evening, Sir,' they said brightly, one after another. For a moment embarrassment coursed through me. Hannah was still lying in an abandoned position on the carpet, carelessly revealing all her intimate parts, while I was kneeling before her with my prick hanging loose from my undergarments. However all our visitors behaved as though the sight spread out before them was the most natural thing in the world. Paying me scant attention, they hurried over to the display and one by one began to pick up the samples. There was a sudden outburst of chatter as they fell upon them, inspected them and fondled them. 'Oh please, Polly, let me try that one. I spent many long hours adding the finishing touches to it. Mr. Arbuthnot, is it not?'
'Then I must have that one. As soon as I saw it emerge from the mould I knew that I would have to sample such a tremendous thing.'
'A Member of Parliament, if I recall,' said a third. 'From one of the West Country constituencies.' 'Oooh, Harriet!' exclaimed another. 'The Rural Dean of Cleethorpes. I was amazed to see what a Man of the Cloth could have concealed beneath his clerical garb.'
'But there are three or four identical ones here,' said a slender little redhead. 'A military gentleman, posted abroad to Egypt. I understand that he is to take part in an expedition against the Mahdi in the Southern Sudan. Since he will be risking life and limb, he thought it would be prudent to leave a keepsake behind for his wife,' said Hannah. 'But four keepsakes?' I asked. 'Surely they do not wear out?' 'Well in fact,' said Hannah, 'shortly after he had paid us a visit, both the parlour maid and the cook asked, in all confidence, if they too might have copies.' 'To be followed shortly,' interposed Harriet, 'by the arrival of a message from Lady X-ordering another for herself.' 'He will be leaving a gap in several lives when he embarks for the wars,' I said. 'We were indeed a little surprised,' said Hannah, 'since in our experience, military men do not always live up to their boasts or the expectations of the ladies. They may strut and brag at their clubs and in the mess, but it seems that all too often they cannot match their words with their deeds.' 'We suspect that the tightness of their uniforms may have something to do with the matter,' said yet another of the eager workers. 'Cavalry officers are the most disappointing,' said another. 'I was most surprised, for in my experience, riding greatly stimulates the muscles.' 'That is because you do not ride side saddle as is the custom in this country,' said Hannah. 'Deirdre is from Limerick. It seems that over there women sometimes ride to hounds in a most unladylike fashion.' 'If you had once felt a well-conditioned stallion moving between your thighs,' said Deirdre, 'You would never again settle for the unnatural decorum of the position polite society decrees for the fair sex. There is nothing like a good gallop over rough country, followed by a good fuck while the blood is still flowing.' 'I have found that after a ride, I become quite sore and stiff,' said Harriet. 'That is because you wait too long. You must dismount and remount almost at once. You have no idea how exciting it is to have a vigorous tumble in the hay with a man still hot from his exertions. How I wish, sometimes, that I was back in Ireland.' 'But do you not fuck in bed in your home country?' I asked. 'Don't be so pretentious,' said Hannah.
'We fuck in bed, in the stables, out on the sweet green grass, even sometimes on the stairs,' said Deirdre. 'I have even done it in a fishing boat and whilst riding in a gig. Although there was a certain danger on that occasion.' 'What happened?' I asked. 'The pony bolted,' said Deirdre. 'We were so taken up in our exercise that we did not notice until too late. We went careering through the village street with people jumping frantically out of the way. We completely upset the local carter, totally scandalised the priest and I finally came just as we crashed into a stout blackthorn hedge.'
'You are sure that you are not indulging in that well-known Irish gift for telling tall stories?' I said. 'Look at you, kneeling there with such a solemn face on you, behaving like a Sunday School teacher, accusing me of telling tall tales. And all the time, you with your Thing hanging out like a lamb's tail at shearing time,' said Deirdre in most animated fashion. 'If we are talking of displays,' said another, Polly I believe it was, 'I suggest that Deirdre shows you some evidence of her open-air escapades.' 'That I will,' said Deirdre. She flounced round and whipped up her skirt.
Staring me in the face were a pair of the neatest, most sun-kissed buttocks that I had ever seen. 'Now you know why I am called the nut brown 'maid,' she said. 'Alas, I have been too long in London and the colour is fast fading from my cheeks. But while it lasts it is sign enough of many happy fucks in the open countryside.' 'I am sorry I doubted your word,' I said apologetically. 'Your apology is accepted,' said Deirdre, 'But to make amends fully, I challenge you to a fuck in the Park. Both of us, naked as Nature herself intended.'
'I am not sure that Nature ever intended anyone to be naked in the English climate,' I replied. 'You will not get out of it so easily,' said Deirdre. 'For doubting a lady's word, I consider the penalty is very fair. And believe me, when I get going with you, you'll not notice the weather. Why I remember one time in Killarney, I was fucking with a fine big lad, Michael his name was, and the most terrible storm broke out. But we were too far gone in our coming to notice a thing until I happened to look over his shoulder and there were hail stones, big as pigeon's eggs, fairly bouncing and leaping off his bum. A terrible bombardment, like the Siege of Derry, but he never felt a thing. And another time, dawn was breaking and we were lying, quite exhausted on the dew-soaked lawn in front of the priest's house, when this great cockerel leaped up onto his bum and started crowing its head off, fit to wake the dead. And as it stamped up and down Michael just lifted his head from between my breasts and said “Would you do that again, Deirdre!” Then there was the time with a great gale sweeping in from the Atlantic and didn't it just tear the very clothes from our backs, and us not realising a thing. That was a great wind. Pulled the boots clean off his feet -' 'All right, all right,' I said. 'I believe you. I believe you. An outdoor fuck it shall be. But is not the Park a little too public a place?' 'You must learn to live more daringly,' she said. 'Deirdre, you are perhaps being a trifle unfair,' said Hannah. 'Andrew has come a long way since we first met and has learned to cope with many new experiences.' I was considerably relieved to have someone come to my defence against the wild Deirdre. I remembered some of those recent new experiences. How I had been taken by surprise by Rosie the errant schoolgirl in the camera obscura on Clifton Downs. I recalled the strange encounter under the dinner table and our energetic blindfold games of Pursue the Pussey. But while Hannah and I had been distracted by Deirdre with her tales of Irish life, strange events had begun to unfold across the room. One after another, the girls had begun to embark upon a veritable orgy of dildo sampling. As I looked around, I spotted the relic of the Rural Dean of Cleethorpes being grasped firmly in the hands of a well-endowed beauty. In an instant the Venerable gentleman had been processed forward with clerical deliberation through the porch and up the aisle of her cunney. Now he was moving at ever quickening pace towards the very sanctuary and altar of her desire. Next my eye lit upon Mr.
Arbuthnot slipping rapidly out of sight up Polly's cavern. 'She comes from the Mendips, in Somerset,' said Hannah. 'We call her “The Wookey Hole” when we wish to tease her.' The willow-patterned monster was to-ing and fro-ing with great vigour in the hands of another unknown beauty. The quartet of identical military machines had been shared out between four others who were wheeling them into the firing position with the precision of a well-drilled artillery battery. The member of Parliament, standing unflinchingly for continual erection, was being greeted with cries of popular acclaim from two parties who were taking it in turns to introduce him into their chambers. Meg was plying Count Johann with such vigour that I feared that his signature would soon be rubbed clean away. A chorus of squeals and sighs rose up on all sides.
Pussies of all shades and capacities were spread out before me. Thighs were parted, buttocks heaved. Garments were being discarded and duties shared. As cries of abandoned delight rang out, I was the barely noticed observer of a positive riot of frigging. 'Does this happen every evening?' I asked Hannah. 'More often than not,' she replied. 'Many of those employed here are living with their families and will shortly have to pass evenings of complete tedium, sitting demurely at the dinner table, making polite conversation and then withdrawing dutifully at the meal's end so that the men can settle down to the drinking of port and brandy. It is not easy when one has spent the working day creating, shaping and finishing off the likenesses of the male member, immediately to resume the attitudes of modesty.' 'Nor is it an occupation that can be openly discussed at table,' I said. 'How true,' said Hannah. 'When asked how one has spent the day, it is not advisable to reply “In the modelling of pricks”.' 'How long will this activity continue?' I asked. 'Most of them will be happily satisfied in a short while,' Hannah replied.
'Do you not join in?' I asked. 'Sometimes,' she said. 'But of course my need is not so great as theirs since I know that the real thing is waiting for me when I get home. But I do get involved. For instance, help may be needed.' 'What sort of help?' I asked.
'Look, over there,' she responded. 'See, that is Annette. She gets so overwhelmed in her need that often she can hardly hold on to the instrument of her pleasure.' As I turned to follow her gaze I saw a golden-haired creature who was indeed twisting and bucking with such abandon that her dildo kept slipping from her grasp. Her eyes were wide open, staring into space and her cries, though soft, had an urgency that betokened one who was completely unconscious of anything but the need to bring herself to the point of her coming. Hannah leading, we crawled across to her. Annette's back was arched and her hands clawing at the carpet. The dildo she was using was protruding from her quim, locked into place as she ground her hips and twisted her head from side to side. Suddenly it slipped out and she gave a moan of distress. 'Take her arms and hold her down,' said Hannah.
'Ssshhh,' she said soothingly. 'It's all right, Annette. We're here to help you.' Rapidly she retrieved the missing dildo, brushed some fluff off it and slid it easily back into her friend's desperate cunt.
I was sitting, holding Annette under the arms, her head in my lap.
Hannah was between her legs, sliding the dildo, one of the polka-dotted specimens, in and out, taking care that it rubbed firmly against her clit at every stroke. Annette had surrendered herself to our control, responding hungrily to every thrust. Hannah at first slowed her pace, then increased it. Annette's pussey lips were gaping and flushed. Her cries became more regular in time with the plunging of the instrument. She lifted her legs, bringing them back so that her quim was offered up to Hannah's loving touch. A series of short rapid strokes alternated with slower, deep ones. Now I noticed that Annette's own body was dictating the pace, Hannah responding with only slight movements as the shaft sank out of sight, then reappeared, glistening with her juices. The tension had gone from her arms and shoulders. She was drawing great heaving breaths. All her energy was concentrated on the clasping and unclasping of the muscles of her channel of desire. The outside world had long since ceased to exist for her. There was a change of pace and suddenly I could feel the waves of her coming trembling through all her body. She cried out 'Love, Love, Love' and gave one last heave. 'Annette, Annette,'
Hannah cried out. 'That's it. You've done it. Wonderful, wonderful.'
All the tension drained out of her as though some great tide had been undammed. Her hands reached down to fondle the shaft. Hannah half fell forward, kissing her pussey and navel, taking her into her arms, cradling her now. The weight of the two of them was on me and I found myself cuddling her and Hannah at the same time. We lay entwined until Annette's breathing slowly subsided to normal. She was still barely aware of her surroundings but managed a weak little smile. Then she stirred and half curled up, her eyes closed as though she was going to sleep. She didn't say anything but from time to time she murmured something I couldn't quite catch. I eased myself from under her as I became aware of a sharp stab of cramp. She lay on her side while Hannah and I sat beside her, Hannah holding her hand. 'How long is it since you came like that?' asked Hannah gently. 'Weeks isn't it?
Just lie still for a while. 'Annette has been missing her dearest friend. They are engaged unofficially to be married but he has been sent abroad by his family who do not approve of the match. They have to stay apart for a year on pain of his losing his inheritance. The family own a large estate in Yorkshire and they believe that Arthur, who is their oldest son, has been entrapped by an adventuress. Annette is half Danish and they cannot accept the idea that she might one day be Mistress of much of the land between Thirsk and Northallerton, and that they will have to move out of the big house. 'It is so unfair. Annette is so sweet and so talented. She is determined to stay faithful so this is the only release that she has. I want to invite her to dinner, maybe even for a weekend, so you need to know this Andrew. She must be treated with respect. You will have to keep your prick under control as far as she is concerned.' 'I promise,' I said, 'although she is a most enticing creature.' 'Don't worry too much,' she went on. 'Between Becky and myself, not to mention Rosie, we should be able to keep you well drained of any excess energy.' 'You don't trust me?' I asked. 'Not altogether,' she said. 'I swear that that Thing of yours has a life of its own.'
'Colonel Moore told me in Bristol that the holy men out East are adept at practising complete self-control, often for years on end.'
'All you'll have to manage is a couple of days, and then only as far as Annette is concerned.' 'As long as I don't have to sit on a bed of nails in some complicated position.' 'Not during dinner anyway,' said Hannah. 'It would be most distracting for the rest of us.' By now all the frenzied activity across the room had died down. The sighs and groans had been replaced with the normal hum of conversation as smocks were removed and day dresses fetched from a cloakroom. The furniture was being restored to its correct position and everyone prepared to go home. Shortly Madame Nettleton entered. 'Time to finish,' she said. 'Be sure that all the stock is replaced and all made neat.' 'She counts the dildoes every evening before she goes home,' whispered Hannah. 'There was something of a scandal two months ago when it was discovered that the Marquis of H-was missing. He had, by mischance, drooped slightly while rising on the wheel and his glaze had cracked in the oven. One of the staff had made the discovery that the resulting object was especially suitable for stimulating her rather blase clit and had taken him home. He was due to be collected two days later and a great fuss ensued. We could hardly call in the police so we had to undertake the interrogation ourselves. The culprit was soon discovered and the Marquis' facsimile was returned safe and sound. Unfortunately we had not noticed that he had sustained a crack in the course of his adventures.' 'What happened?' I asked. 'He fractured while in use,' Hannah replied.
'And was brought back in two parts by a most irate wife who threatened to spread the word that our wares were unsafe. In the meantime the Marquis had left the country to take part in some delicate diplomatic negotiations with one of the Rhineland Principalities.' 'What did you do?' I asked. 'Being unable to replace his likeness with another, we had to ask the Marchioness to take her pick of one of a series that had been commissioned by the widow of a Man of Business from one of the cotton towns of Lancashire. The Marchioness selected a huge example, moulded if I recall aright from one of the mill hands.'
'And she was satisfied?' I asked. 'Very much so. She admitted later that she had actually been thoroughly satisfied for the first time in her life and asked if we could disclose the name of the originator of the truly enormous engine of pleasure. It was then discovered that the man had recently emigrated to the United States of America.' 'How sad for her,' I said. 'In fact all ended well,' said Hannah. 'A substantial sum was telegraphed to Boston and the man returned First Class on the next Cunard sailing. He was met at the dockside by the Marchioness' carriage and delivered safe, sound and in full vigour to the family seat where he is proving a great success in his new position.' 'A happy ending, indeed,' I said.
'And your reputation as purveyors of high quality goods is intact.'
'But it was touch and go,' said Hannah. 'In matters of commerce one has to be so careful.' 'And in fucking,' I added. 'And in fucking,' she agreed. 'But now it is time to go home. I hope that you have enjoyed your day.' 'Very much so,' I replied. 'There is one piece of unfinished business, though,' said Hannah. 'What is that?' I asked. 'Meg,' Hannah replied. 'You did not fuck Meg. I do not like to have my friends disappointed.' 'What should I do about it?' I asked. 'There is no time now. Everyone is going home and I know that your mother wanted dinner to be prompt tonight since Colonel Moore is in town again and is coming to dine with us.'
'You will have to come back later in the week.' 'Should I make an appointment?' I asked. 'No,' said Hannah. 'I know Meg well enough to be sure that she will be very happy to be fucked at any time. Indeed, if you do not return within the next two or three days, she will begin to pester me to bring you back. One word of advice, she particularly loves to be entered from behind. Be careful though that she does not take you into her mouth when she is well aroused.'
'Why not?' I asked. 'She bites. She does not intend any harm but she can get so carried away that what she intends as a slight nip can turn out to be more of an all-out crunch.' 'Oooh!' I flinched at the idea of sustaining such an injury. 'There have been a couple of unfortunate incidents, one taking place on the premises, where a doctor has had to be called out. So stick to her quim. It is an enticingly juicy receptacle and I can promise you a thoroughly enjoyable experience.' 'You speak from experience?' I asked.
She said nothing, but by way of an answer, stuck out her tongue to its full extent, letting my imagination run riot.
It was as the port began to circulate after dinner that the first piercing screams started to resound from below stairs.
'Mary!' said Colonel Moore. 'Once heard, never forgotten. Does she still have the same Gentleman friend?' 'Tom-' said Hannah.
'-the Tool,' Becky went on. 'The very same. She especially requested permission to entertain him this evening since he will be absent from Town for at least two weeks, visiting his family in the provinces.' Rosie was the only person at the table who had not previously heard the eardrum-shattering sound of Mary being fucked. As she listened open-mouthed to the rising crescendo of ecstasy that rang through the house, Hannah and Becky explained to her that Mary was quite incapable of enjoying any sexual encounter in silence. 'She simply can't help it,' said Becky. 'She's barely aware of the noise she is making so we have had to insist that she only fucks when there are no visitors in the house. It is completely impossible for anyone to carry on a normal conversation and pretend that nothing untoward is going on. We make the occasional exception where old friends such as the Colonel are concerned.' 'Nothing that I haven't heard before,' said the Colonel. 'Not the first screamer that I have come across in my time, although probably the noisiest.' 'Of course I know that I still have much to learn in these matters,' said Rosie, 'and I can see that it is a socially unfortunate habit, but still it is somewhat exciting, is it not?' We could all see that she was becoming quite agitated and a little flushed about the cheeks. Truth to tell, I was aware of a stirring response on the part of Mr. Pego to that call of the wild from the basement. 'Do not worry,' said Becky. 'Yours is a perfectly normal reaction. The sound of fucking, like the sight of fucking, is always exciting.' 'I suppose,' said Rosie a little hesitantly, 'that it would be most improper if we, er, went down to have a look?' 'Mary will be far too carried away to notice if anyone else is there,' said Hannah. 'But Tom is a shy young man. We would have to be very discreet, but if you keep out of sight on the stairs -' 'Oh, yes,' said Rosie, rising eagerly to her feet. 'I'll be as quiet as a mouse.' 'I'd better lead the way,' said Becky. 'Remember there is no carpet on the servants' stairs.
Andrew, if you are coming with us, you'd better take off your shoes.
You do rather clump about.' Although I thought this was a rather unfair remark since I consider myself quite light on my feet, I none the less bent down to unlace my boots. 'Here, Andrew, I'll do that for you,' said Rosie and she bent down before me. Deftly she removed first one boot and then the other. With a naughty glint in her eye she buried her head for an instant between my legs and rubbed her forehead against the rather obvious bulge that had appeared at my crutch. 'Come along Rosie,' said Becky. 'This expedition has been organised at your request. You can do that later.' 'Don't be so schoolmistressy,' said Rosie. 'I'm ready.' Hannah and Becky led the way, Rosie on tip toe immediately behind them. I followed Rosie closely. Colonel Moore however remained seated. 'Not as agile on the feet as I used to be,' he said. 'I'll take my time.' He poured himself another glass from the decanter. 'I might follow later.'
'Come on,' said Rosie, 'Ssshhh!' This last injunction was addressed to me as I had inadvertently kicked over a small stool. As I paused to right it, the others disappeared in single file through the green baize door that led down to the kitchen. As it opened, so the volume of screams was suddenly twice as loud. We trooped down, turning a corner. At the foot of the stairs was a second door, half open.
Hannah stopped. Becky stopped. Rosie stopped, peering over their shoulders. I stopped one stair up so that I had a clear view.
Mary, still in her maid's uniform, was spread-eagled over a large, well-scrubbed table. The remains of the dinner still on the serving dishes had been pushed to one end. Mary's legs were raised and widely parted. Although I of course had seen and heard this performance once before, I was enthralled to see a repeat performance.
Tom the Tool had just withdrawn in order to gather himself for another mighty thrust. Once again I was amazed at the immense size of his cock. It gleamed for an instant, glistening white in the gas light, before he launched himself forward and the entire length disappeared into Mary's welcoming cunt. Truly they were a splendidly matched pair.
Rosie to whom this was all quite new, gave a stifled gasp as she saw his tremendous engine. Inadvertently I bumped into her from behind and she reached back to grab me and steady herself. Her bum was nestling against me and I clutched at her, my hands closing over the swell of her round little titties. In silence we watched as Tom applied himself to the task in hand. He was thrusting now with an even-paced rhythm, Mary rising to meet him and take his entire length deep down into the very furthest reaches of her quim. Her shrieks of pleasure as he forced his way in were alternating with great moans as he pulled back. As they continued Rosie began to rotate her firm little bum against me to the rhythm so that my prick was immediately provoked to its fullest extension. Unable to stand the discomfort of its imprisonment, I used one hand to unbutton myself while I squeezed her titty with the other. As she realised what I was doing, without taking her eyes for a moment from the mighty coupling that was taking place on the table, she unbuttoned her dress so that I could slip my hand inside and feel first the softness of her titty and then the hardening of a nipple through the thin material of her chemise. I was by now rubbing the shaft of my exposed prick against the silk of her dress as it was stretched tight over her cheeks. As I reached down to lift the hem of her dress, I realised that she had had the same thought. Our hands met. For a moment she tickled my palm and then pulled her dress up. As my hand touched bare flesh, I realised that under her skirt and petticoat, she was naked. I slid my prick between her legs, rubbing it against the soft down of her pussey hair.
All the while we were quite transfixed by the relentless fucking that was going on in the kitchen. Again and again, Tom thrust forward.
Again and again Mary squealed and yelled out as he plunged and pulled back. Unconsciously Rosie and I were rubbing against each other at the same pace, the tip of my prick gently parting but not quite entering her tight little lips. Suddenly I realised that we were not the only spectators engrossed in the sport in front of us. At the far side of the kitchen, the scullery door was open and I saw little Emily, the other maid, watching with open-mouthed intensity. She also had raised her skirt and I saw her thin hand playing with her exposed blond pussey. A look of rapt excitement was on her face. Her maid's cap was awry and a couple of golden wisps of hair had escaped from their confinement. They hung down, damp with perspiration, as she played with herself. Her fingers were obviously rubbing her clit. I could not see it properly but I remembered from an earlier encounter that it was quite the longest that I had ever encountered in one of her slight build. Tom's thrusting was now speeding up and reaching a crescendo. Mary was meeting him and more than matching him in her eagerness. She was beginning to mouth cries of encouragement. Rosie, pressed tight against me, was beginning to make intense little sighs of pleasure. Hannah and Becky, becoming aware of what was taking place behind them, stood firm so that Rosie should have something to lean against. Without a word being spoken, each put an arm round her waist. I withdrew my hand from her titty and held her by the hips, cupping her in each palm. She reached down in front and the head of my prick was all at once met by her fingers as she bent further forward and opened her pussey lips so that I could begin to penetrate her. In the half darkness there was such a press of bodies that my hands were squeezed between the three of them as the two sisters began to rub themselves against Rosie. Across the far side of the room, Emily was leaning against the doorway. She was now rubbing her palm against her opened pussey, her fingers sliding deep inside her. Her eyes were still fixed on Tom and Mary and I could half hear, half feel, that she also was beginning to moan with excitement. Mary was now clutching desperately at the table's edge as Tom banged his way in and out. He was now ramming his way into her with such force that the whole table was beginning to shudder. The pots and pans hanging in rows on the wall were starting to jangle as they picked up the vibrations of the fucking. Mary suddenly drew in a great breath and there was a moment's breathless silence before she let it out again with a shattering cry. 'I'm coming, Tom! I'm coming!' she yelled and her whole body contorted. Tom's gasps had reached an answering climax and I think that all the watchers must have sensed together that the first spurts of his cum were beginning to force their way uncontrollably up his mighty member. Mary locked her thighs around him. Her eyes were bulging and again we could all instinctively feel the love juice flooding into her cunney. Then she lost her grip on the table's edge and, locked together, they fell on to the floor.
They carried on their coupling without a pause. However at the thump, two large baking dishes, a bain-marie and a fish kettle were dislodged and came crashing down on to the stone flagged floor. In response, Rosie jumped with surprise and opened up so quickly that I sank into her up to the hilt. She grabbed at Hannah and Becky for support but they in turn were so taken unawares that they stumbled and we all four fell forward through the doorway. As we landed in a heap, Rosie on top of Becky and Hannah and me on top of Rosie, I tried manfully to regain my balance but my prick was embedded so far into Rosie that I was unable to struggle free. Not that she had any intention of letting me go. Quite unhurt, she raised herself up on her forearms so that, as I tried to stand up, she remained impaled on me. As I held on to her thighs, it was for all the world as though I were clutching a wheelbarrow. Tom and Mary had by now subsided into a tangled, thrashing heap of limb and quim. Meanwhile, Emily, abruptly made aware of our presence, had jumped back violently in embarrassed surprise.
Her hand left her pussey and she began frantically to smooth down her dress. As she stood in the scullery doorway, obviously torn between her instinct to run back out of sight, and concern in case any of us had been hurt in the fall, Becky burst out into peals of laughter.
Still lying on the floor, she reached out a hand. Emily hurriedly ran forward in order to help her mistress to her feet. Instead, Becky pulled her down on top of her and hugged her. For a moment Emily struggled to escape but then as Becky seized her and pushed up her dress, she allowed her legs to be parted so that Becky could bury her mouth in her golden pussey. So near had she been to her own coming before the fall that she at once surrendered, stopped struggling and lay back. Becky's tongue was now lapping at the little maid's clit while I fucked Rosie, doggy style, as she in turn cradled her head on the recumbent body of Hannah. All around me, bodies were heaving and wrestling. Tom, his tremendous spending now more or less complete, was looking about him in bewilderment at this sudden eruption of fucking and frigging. He made some feeble effort to disengage himself from Mary but she held him tight inside her, obviously determined to squeeze the last drop of pleasure from him. Rosie's tight but slippery cunt was fairly clamped around my prick and I in my turn knew that I was about to come. All the efforts and fatigue of the day were forgotten as I pumped jet upon jet into her welcoming quim. Rosie was writhing with pleasure and I sensed our juices mingling deliciously in her young but eager cunt. Emily too had opened up completely to the probing of Becky's experienced tongue and was twisting like an eel, this way and that, as she gave way to her own, surprisingly vocal coming. Only Hannah had had no real part to play other than as Rosie's cushion in our multiple coupling, but so carried away was I by the delightful feel of Rosie, still clinging to my emptied but yet swollen member, that I must admit that I did not spare her too much thought at the time. Of course, as my old headmaster used to say, all good things must come to an end and soon we had all subsided, exhausted, on the kitchen floor among the debris of plates and cooking utensils.
Mary's cries had died away to a satisfied sighing. Tom, a nice young man who, as Becky had earlier pointed out, knew his place, was clearly ill at ease at having fallen among the gentry or, more accurately at the gentry having fallen in on him. Mrs. P-who was, among other things, an avid if not uncritical reader of Mr. Engels and Mr. Marx, had long ago decided, according to Hannah, that any proletarian uprising that involved Tom would be restricted to his enormous prick and that his state at least was not one that was ever likely to wither away. Emily was lying on the floor, her skirt bunched up around her waist while her hand gently stroked Becky's which in turn was resting lightly on Emily's lightly furred pussey. Rosie was sitting cross-legged in front of me, running her finger nails teasingly along the upper side of my now relaxed prick while our combined juices had made a small damp patch on the floor under her carelessly displayed brown-haired bush. Footsteps were heard on the stairs. Before I or anyone else had a chance to do anything, Mrs. P- and Colonel Moore were in the doorway. 'What was that terrible crash?' she asked.
'I hope nothing expensive has been broken.' Tom was the first to react. Red with embarrassment, he struggled to his feet. I watched the unusual spectacle of a man tugging at his forelock with one hand while trying to stuff his great dangling prick back into his trousers with the other. 'Beg pardon, Ma'am,' he said. 'Me and Mary got a bit carried away. I hope no damage has been done.' More and more flustered, he realised that he needed both hands to hide away the object of his confusion. Brought up to know that it was bad manners to turn his back on a lady, this left him fumbling with himself in full view of Mrs. P-. He stepped back a pace, put his foot into a large silver soup tureen and fell over with a clatter into the assorted kitchen ware that had descended from the shelves when he and Mary had descended from the table. 'You're all fingers, thumbs, feet and Thing,' said Mrs. P -. 'Mary, you'd better help him up before he breaks something.' Mary, still very much dishevelled by her activities, struggled to her feet. For an instant, she looked anxious.
Then relief flooded over her face as she saw the expression on Mrs.
P-'s face. 'A disgraceful exhibition,' Mrs. P- chuckled, a broad smile suddenly appearing. 'You've left your young man quite unable to stand. Pick him up, dust him down, straighten his clothing and make sure he puts that Thing away. You can't have him going out into the street like that.' Emily meanwhile had staggered to her feet with a cry of distress and fled into the scullery. She had blushed bright pink and looked close to tears. 'Emily,' said Mrs. P-, 'There's no harm done and no need to hide yourself away. But there is a lot of tidying to be done. Cook will not be happy if she walks into the kitchen while it is still in this state. Becky! Hannah! Don't leave it all to the servants. Give them a hand. Andrew! Give Tom a hand also.
The table needs to be lifted back into place and all those things need to be put up on their shelves again. Also there is a large sticky patch on the floor where you and Rosie have been. In fact, now I look at it, there are a number of sticky patches on the floor. I think it needs a good scrub down. As do you, Rosie. There's none of you half-way presentable in even the most casual drawing room.' There was a great bustle as pussies, titties and pricks were hidden away, buttons done up, dresses adjusted and the work of restoring the kitchen to some semblance of order was started. At this point, however, Colonel Moore took a hand in matters. He had been standing, leaning on his stick, watching with considerable appreciation the scene that had met their eyes on coming down into the kitchen.
'May I suggest that we could all do with a restorative drink before the hard work gets under way,' he said. 'With your permission, Ma'am, I can remember where the pantry is. I know that there are a couple of bottles of claret and some madeira already decanted.'
'I seem to recall that I left most of you at the dinner table intent on port and conversation some time ago,' said Mrs. P-. 'But I suppose that as you appear to have decided to move below stairs en masse, you had better do your drinking down here as well.'
'Andrew,' she went on, 'You might like to help the Colonel. There are glasses in the pantry also.' 'I'll pour. You carry,' said the Colonel, seizing hold of a bottle and slopping the wine into the largest glasses he could find. 'One for Hannah. One for Becky. A large measure for our Hostess. Better give the maids something as well,' he said to me with a glint in his eye. 'And that young man. I should think he needs a bit of a pick-me-up after all he's been through.'
I caught Mrs. P-'s eye. Her lips twitched and she nodded her assent. I took the drinks round on a large salver that I had retrieved from the floor. The two maids took theirs with decorous little curtseys. Tom the Tool still looked rather shame-faced. 'Drink up, man,' said the Colonel firmly. 'Restores the vigour.' He was now leaning back on the self-same table that had so recently supported Tom and Mary in their conversation-stopping activities. 'Ever tried it underwater?' he asked. 'Underwater?' queried Becky. 'One would have to be pretty quick about it if one wished to avoid death by drowning.' 'Well, not totally submerged,' he admitted, 'but in the water at least.' 'I have fucked in the bath,' volunteered Hannah. 'Great fun but very splashy. In fact most of the water ended up on the floor. Also I slipped on the soap when trying to get out of the bath afterwards.' 'Really, Hannah!' said her mother. 'You two girls get worse and worse.' I recalled that on my first night in the house, I had discovered Becky in the bath being attended to in a most intimate way by Emily, but since I had been unobserved by them, I decided to say nothing on the subject. 'I was thinking more of the sea,' the Colonel continued. 'At Brighton to be precise. It was some years ago now but I was enjoying a week's holiday with a close friend. I must not name names,' he said, 'particularly since she subsequently married a curate attached to a living in Dorking. We had not intended any such adventure but the tide swept us together and my friend lost her footing. She clutched at me for support and as luck would have it, the first thing she grabbed was my member which was handily sticking out beneath my bathing costume. Striped, it was. The bathing costume that is, not my member.' I settled back, pouring myself a second glass. I had of course experienced the Colonel's tale-telling abilities while on the train with him on our Bristol expedition. I knew that he had a large fund of stories which, even if one suspected a certain amount of dramatic licence, were always worth listening to. Rosie and the family had also been exposed to his reminiscences in the past but all this was quite new to the two maids and to Tom the Tool. The latter in particular was all ears, listening to his every word and quite forgetting his unease at finding himself in such company. 'I could hardly disengage myself,' the Colonel went on, now well embarked on his story, 'And leave her at the mercy of the current. A certain look came into her eye and she led me into deeper waters, under the pier. We floated for a time while I began to investigate her rather luscious body through the stuff of her costume.
We both soon came to realise that it was quite impossible to get the wretched thing off. I was getting thoroughly excited by the possibilities that were opening up when all of a sudden I felt a smart stinging sensation in my bottom.' 'Oh dear! What had happened?' said Becky with a solemn face. 'I had been snagged by an angler's hook and line from the pier above,' said the Colonel. 'So that is what they catch,' said Becky. 'I have often watched the fishermen dangling their tackle into the water but I have never actually seen any one of them land anything.' 'Cod is the more usual catch, I understand,' said the Colonel. 'Or mackerel possibly. I suspect that that is the only recorded instance of an officer in the Punjab Rifles being caught in the English Channel.' 'A painful experience,' I suggested. 'A little so,' he conceded. 'But by then I was so intrigued by the possibilities of a waterborne entanglement that I hardly noticed. I pulled the hook out of my bum, gave it a quick couple of tugs and we paddled out of sight under the pier. We both quickly realised that there was little more we could achieve, particularly as my companion was beginning to complain about the amount of seaweed that was interfering with her enjoyment. We waded ashore. While she waited, crouched in the waves, I slipped the attendant a few pence to look the other way and I smuggled her into my bathing machine. 'We had an absolutely splendid fuck. So much so that the damn thing began to rock rather alarmingly on its wheels at one point and edge down the shingle, deeper into the water.' 'The beach at Brighton does slope rather steeply,' I said. 'When we had finished,' the Colonel continued, 'I realised that I could hardly let her out into what was now quite a rough sea, so I lowered myself into the water and swam round to the other machine we had hired.'
'I begin to see a problem,' said Becky. 'You were now in her bathing machine, and she in yours.' 'Precisely,' said the Colonel. 'What ever did you do?' asked Emily, forgetting her embarrassment in the excitement of the story. 'Nothing else to do,' said the Colonel. 'I had to put on her clothes and she had to put on mine.' 'AH of them?' asked Emily. 'Only the outer garments,' said the Colonel. 'Bundled up all the underwear and popped it into the picnic hamper we had with us.' 'Did no-one notice anything?' she said. 'We did attract the odd couple of stares but I didn't have a moustache in those days. She had a large sailor's hat with a bow that tied under the chin while I had been sporting a new panama. The only problem was the shoes. There was no way I could cram my feet into her button-up bootees and mine were far too large for her. Had to leave them behind and make it barefoot back to our hotel.
Luckily it was close to the beach. Anyway, we managed to get back to our rooms.' 'Did you enjoy wearing women's clothing?' I asked.
'Not the first time,' he said. 'Had to escape once from Baluchi tribesmen on camel back, disguised as a native woman. Didn't want to lose my private parts. They cut them off if they capture you, y'know.'
'Oh! How awful,' said Emily, breathlessly. 'Made it back to the cantonment, safe and sound. Just outside Quetta. Reported to the Colonel and had the devil of a row with the Adjutant.' 'Why?' asked Emily. 'Women not allowed in the mess except on Ladies Nights. He'd only recently been posted to the regiment. Didn't recognise me. Had to pull up my dress to convince the fellah that I was a man. Felt a complete fool, standing there in a sort of sari thing, waving my virile member in the Adjutant's face. “What's all this,” he said. “What the hell do you think it is?” I said. “A prick.
A British officer's prick. Attached to a British officer. I have urgent despatches for the Colonel.” At that moment a sepoy came rushing in to say that there was a camel loose on the parade ground and that it had left a large steaming pile of droppings right in front of the CO's verandah.' At this point in the story I couldn't help but notice that Becky and Hannah were choking back laughter and that Mrs. P-had an odd look in her eye. 'I didn't realise that the Punjab Rifles had ever been stationed in Baluchistan,' she said.
'Although of course my late husband and I spent most of our time in Bengal and the Deccan so I am no expert on the North West.'
Colonel Moore gave her a quizzical look, but she said nothing more. I also had begun to have some suspicions about the absolute veracity of some parts of the Colonel's account but it had long ago been firmly dinned into me by Dr White at Nottsgrove that it is the height of bad manners to question the accuracy of another person's story, especially if it is entertaining. Looking round the kitchen I could see that he had the full attention of his audience.
'Meanwhile, you were in a Brighton hotel bedroom, wearing your lady friend's clothes,' prompted Becky. 'Did you continue in this mode or did you change back?' 'Couldn't wait to get the wretched things off,' said Colonel Moore. 'Nor could she. Trouble was, she was quicker about it than I was. I was worried about splitting a seam or pulling a button off. She just unbuttoned herself and dropped my trousers. I was so excited at what was revealed that my member shot to attention and rather than fiddle about with the fastenings, I tried to pull her dress off over my head. Of course, I got completely caught up in the folds of the thing. Trapped helplessly. Couldn't see a thing.
She offered to help but instead of helping me out, she seized hold of my prick, began to rub it all over her titties. Very big they were. I could tell, though I'd not had the privilege of seeing them before.
'Next thing I knew, I was being guided into her orifice. A bit salty but very welcoming. Couldn't do a thing to help but I know that I fucked her from the front and then from behind. She was quite noisy, too. Remember I lost my balance at one point but she was all over me.
Just had to go where I was put. I kept asking to be helped out of her dress and into the daylight but she kept at it, ignoring me completely. “What you don't see, you don't miss,” she said, and she made sure that I didn't miss. Finally came all over her. I could feel her rubbing it all over her body. Made me help. Must say it was an amazing feeling, rubbing my cum over her titties and feeling them all swollen up under my hands.' 'What happened after you had finished?' I asked. 'She made me wait. I was trussed up like a turkey.
Her skirt had got twisted round my head. Tried to bite a couple of buttons off at one point but she realised what I was doing and told me to stop in no uncertain terms. Said that her dressmaker had only just finished it for her and she didn't want it ruined. Nothing I could do.
Remember her kissing my Thing. Could feel her tongue licking round the end. Then she went off and fished out another dress from the wardrobe.
I asked what was happening and she said that it would not be proper for me to see her without any clothes on since she was engaged to be married.' 'The curate that you mentioned earlier?' I asked.
'The same. Hadn't known about the chap before. She said that from now on she would have to live a life of complete respectability as a loyal wife, helping her husband in his duties in the parish in where ever it was.' 'Dorking,' I reminded him. 'That's it. Dorking instead of fucking.' 'I don't know Dorking,' said Becky. 'But I'm sure I'd prefer fucking.' 'Becky!' said her mother. 'There are some very pleasant places in Surrey. Take Woking for example.'
The maids and Tom the Tool were looking somewhat bewildered at these exchanges. 'I was in a situation in Bagshot once,' said Mary. 'But I didn't like it very much.' 'Isn't that in Hampshire?' I said. 'Enough of this geographical chit chat,' said Hannah. 'What happened next?' 'By the time she was good enough to release me from her clothing, she had dressed herself in a completely new outfit. What I saw before me was a picture of propriety. Her hair up, a high-collared dress with a cameo broach at her throat. Even gloves. Looked at me as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, let alone anywhere else. I was looking at her and imagining what she looked like with her clothes off. Mr. Pego began to rise again but she was quite adamant.' 'How unfair,' said Emily. 'Not to let you see what you had been enjoying only a few minutes before. I hope that I would never be so hard-hearted.* 'That's very kind of you, my dear,' said the Colonel. 'Of course where you are concerned, the opposite is true. I've seen but I've not touched.' 'That is quite different, Sir,' said Emily with a suddenly spirited air. 'What you saw, you saw not by invitation but by accident.' 'Well said,' interrupted Mrs. P-. 'You're right,' said the Colonel. 'I shouldn't have said that.' 'Not that I do not issue invitations,' said Emily, looking, I rather thought, in my direction. 'But just to finish the story,' said Becky. 'Did you never see her again in anything other than the most correct of circumstances?' 'Alas, no. Only fully clothed. Although,' he went on, 'It must be said that she allowed me to fuck her on the train back to Victoria. A farewell fuck. But she insisted that we kept the blinds down the whole time.
Shortly after that she was married and the last that I heard, her husband had been made personal chaplain to one of the northern bishops and they live in some comfort in the cathedral close. She makes it her business to help Fallen Women.' 'So in fact you never have actually fucked in the water, only close to it?' said Rosie. 'Ah, well,' said the Colonel. 'That's another story. Have I ever told you about my visit to the Roman Baths in Bath?' 'Enough,' said Mrs.
P-firmly. 'There is work to be done and a kitchen to be cleaned up.'
'A bicycling expedition?' I said. 'Where?'
'Northamptonshire,' said Donald. 'It's splendid fun. You must all come. Our cousins can fit us all in. They have a large house and the surrounding countryside is quite flat so no untoward exertion is required,' The Ferguson brothers were in town again for a few days, escaping the rigours of the Inverness climate and society.
Of course they had been invited, along with their cousin Catherine, to dine at Mrs. P--s. As before, we had a memorable evening of Highland Games and we were lying about the drawing room in a state of considerable fatigue and undress. Becky was stretched full length on the chaise longue, wafting her skirt up and down, 'To let some cooling air reach my over-heated pussey, as she said. Catherine was applying a soothing lotion to my member which had become quite sore with repeated use. Rosie was endeavouring to photograph Ian and Donald's Loch Ness monsters, but with limited success since they also were so tired that they could not sustain a satisfactorily erect position for the full duration of the exposure time. 'Yours is drooping again,' she said accusingly to Ian. 'I shall have to clamp it in position.'
'We should have attempted this before rather than after our evening antics,' said Ian. 'Try it one more time.' Rosie, stationed behind her camera, gallantly wriggled her hips so that her pertly naked little titties shook enticingly. Both Scottish members rose as one but alas they could no longer stand long enough. 'I must have them up, not down,' insisted Rosie. 'That's how we all want them,' interjected Hannah who was sitting on the Persian rug in front of the fireplace, sketching from memory the events in the kitchen of a few days ago. 'I think we have to face the fact,' said Becky, 'that we are all simply worn out with fucking.' Then it was that Donald, allowed to escape from Rosie's photographic demands, had made the suggestion of some country exercise. It transpired that the Fergusons' cousins, who lived near Blisworth in the county of Northampton, had gone north for the shooting season and had suggested that the two of them might like to take the house over in their absence, 'And entertain some of your nice young London friends'. This suggestion had been taken up by them with great eagerness. 'We know only a limited number of people in the south,' said Donald, 'And we see quite enough of our local friends as it is. In addition, of course, Northampton is rather too far for most of them to travel at such short notice.' 'But what can one actually do in the country?' Becky had asked. 'I'm not terribly keen on horses and am quite indifferent to agricultural processes. In addition, my admittedly slight acquaintance with country Society suggests that it is very, very dull.' Rosie, having only recently escaped from her schooling in Somerset, was inclined to agree. 'All cows and damp vegetation,' she said firmly. I, however, remembering the wild Deirdre at the dildo works, was inclined to think that life in the country might be rather fun if the company was right.
Of course I also had pleasant memories of events in the woods and on the playing fields surrounding my old school in Hertfordshire.
'Suppose we all went down together?' I suggested. 'We might invite one or two more to make up the party.' 'Gwendolen and her friend Cecily,' said Hannah. 'It would be lovely to see them again.
I'm sure they would come. Andrew, surely you'd like to resume your acquaintance with Gwendolen.' 'As long as I'm not eating at the time,' I said, remembering the uncomfortable, not to say positively painful circumstances of our first meeting. 'Come on Becky,' said Hannah to her sister, 'Think what fun we could have. I am sure that we can think of one or two others who would join a party.' 'But what would we do?' asked Becky again. 'We could fuck,' said Donald.
'But we can do that here,' said Becky. 'How would we get there?' asked Rosie. 'By train,' said Donald. 'Northampton is on the London and North Western line from Euston.' 'A mass expedition by train,' said Rosie, suddenly looking more interested in the idea. 'There might well be time for what Colonel Moore calls “railway rogering”. How long does it take?' 'Not much more than an hour, I would imagine,' said Ian. 'What's this about railway, rogering?' 'Andrew knows all about it,' said Rosie mischievously.
I realised that those present knew nothing of what had transpired between me and Rosie on the journey up from Bristol. I had been a little wary at describing the events of that memorable ride since Rosie had been in my charge and I had promised faithfully to deliver her safe and sound to Mrs. P-. 'We'll show you,' said Rosie.
'Between us we can completely fill a compartment so there will be no interruptions from strangers.' At this point, seeing the need to win Becky over to the idea, Donald had described how his cousins had a collection of bicycles and tricycles which we could use. He gave an enthusiastic description of the pleasures of bicycling through the countryside, possibly with a picnic, and of visiting the local sights of interest. He waxed quite lyrical about the feel of the fresh air in one's face, the thrill of speeding down the open road and the healthy appetite that a day on the saddle gave one. Becky began to look quite interested in the idea. 'Hannah can bring her sketching materials and Rosie her photographic equipment,' she said. Rosie by now was full of enthusiasm for the railway journey at least, but was concerned that the weather would be wet.. 'Northamptonshire is a dry county,' said Donald. 'Not at all like Somerset. Hardly any cows but fields of waving corn.' 'Where we could play hide-and-seek?' said Rosie. 'And we could follow Colonel Moore's suggestion and sample the pleasures of waterborne frolics.' 'There is a canal,' said Ian, 'though we would be in grave danger of being run down by a barge.'
'But there is an ornamental pond close to the house, if I recall, aright,' said his brother. 'Quite shallow, with a Chinese bridge and a gazebo nearby.' 'What's that?' asked Rosie. 'Like a summerhouse,' said Catherine. 'A place for assignations and intimate exchanges.' By now the idea had won more or less general approval. It was agreed that every effort would be made to persuade Gwendolen and Cecily at least to join us. Ten days later an excited party gathered at Euston station. The expedition had been made the excuse for an energetic round of clothes buying. We were surrounded by trunks, hampers and hat boxes. Rosie, responding to the hustle and bustle of a great main line station, was jumping up and down with glee. I had been put in charge of the buying and distribution of tickets. Donald and Ian were supervising the porters in the stowing of our luggage in the van. Locomotives hissed and snorted. Becky managed to stand in the way as a great squirt of steam shot across the platform, threatening to lift her skirt. Doors banged and whistles blew. Rosie spotted the Glasgow express on an adjacent platform. 'Let's go to Scotland instead,' she said.
'Think how long it would take and what we could do on the way.' She began to read off the stops shown on a board. 'Rugby, Nuneaton, Stafford, Crewe, Preston-We could fuck for hours and hours.'
'You'll have to be satisfied with Watford, Berkhamsted, Tring and Wolverton,' I said. 'Do you like my new dress, Andrew?' she said.
'It's made of French poplin. It was bought especially for the occasion. I thought it might be rather hot on the journey so I'm wearing nothing whatsoever underneath it.' 'Yes, very nice indeed, but don't bother me for the moment. I've got to make sure everyone is here.' She looked a little disappointed and made a face at me. 'Don't take your duties so seriously, Andrew. Here -'
With that she snatched the tickets from my hand and began to count them off against the members of our party. 'Becky, Hannah, Catherine, Ian, Donald, Cecily from school. Where's Gwendolen? And who's that dark girl. Is she with us?' 'I think she's a friend of Hannah's. I don't know her name.' 'And that man over there? The clergyman.' 'Most unlikely to be with us,' I said. 'I'll find out,' she said and before I could stop her, she went over to the clerical gentleman. I couldn't hear what she said but at once I feared the worst. I saw him turn an apoplectic shade of purple, swallow convulsively and run a finger round the inside of his clerical collar.
Rosie skipped back, trying to stifle a giggle. 'What did you say?' I asked, resigned to the fact that she was determined to misbehave. 'I just asked him if he was part of the Northampton pussey-hunting party,' she said. 'Rosie, do try to conduct yourself properly,' I said wearily. 'You'll get us all in trouble.
Look, he's talking to an official of the railway company.' 'Shall I go and say I'm sorry,' Rosie asked. 'He might well want to chastise me.' 'You're to stay here,' I said sternly. 'Do you want to chastise me?' said Rosie with a look of artfully contrived innocence.
'I shall pack you into a cab and have you sent straight home if you're not careful,' I said. 'We're still missing some of our party.
Where is Gwendolen! She was told what time the train left.' By now I was feeling more than a little flustered. I was holding twelve tickets and could only account for about eight people, assuming that the dark girl was in fact one of us. 'Cecily?' I called out with a growing sense of desperation, 'Do you know who all the others are and can you see them?' 'George is one,' Cecily shouted back above the increasing din of the station. 'Who on earth is he?' I asked.
'You met him at the studio,' she shouted back. 'No, of course you didn't. You weren't there.' 'What studio?' I fairly yelled as a locomotive suddenly blew off a great gout of steam. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, is he here?' 'I think I saw him a minute ago. He was going to buy a ticket.' 'But I've got the tickets. Didn't he know that?' 'Well maybe he was going to buy something else. I don't know. Oh no! There he is, over there, talking to that clergyman.' 'What!' I almost shrieked. 'This is getting impossible!' I looked wildly round. A tall elegant young man wearing a fur coat and sporting a green carnation in his buttonhole was talking with great animation to a similarly languid young man in a pale grey velvet suit and wearing a clerical collar. At least it wasn't the same clergyman that Rosie had scandalised. 'Why on earth have we got a minister of religion with us?' I asked. 'It hardly seems an appropriate addition to our party.' 'Possibly he's a keen bicyclist,' said Cecily, not very helpfully. 'And anyway,' I went on, 'If that's George, I've certainly never seen him before in my life.' 'You're right,' she said. 'I was getting confused.'
'You're not the only one,' I said bitterly. 'Look, Andrew, it's quite simple, George is a friend of Gwendolen. You do know Gwendolen, don't you? And I'm Cecily. I'm the one who sucked you off under the table. You remember that, don't you. And afterwards you complimented me on the size of my breasts.' 'Don't be sarcastic,'
I said. 'Of course I remember you.' 'Well,' she went on, 'George also knows your friend Donald. They were at Oxford together. And we're expecting Jack.' At this moment we were almost run down by a railway porter struggling with the weight of a trolley laden down with luggage. As he pushed his way between us, I had to step back sharply so that I slipped and almost fell in a pool of oily water that smelled strongly of fish. By the time I had recovered my balance, I realised that I had missed some part of Cecily's explanation of who was who on our expedition. '-the cousin, I think, of Becky's friend Charlotte. He studies the piano in Paris -' 'Well, what's happened to him and does anyone know what he looks like?' I asked.
Railway officials were beginning to shut the doors. The locomotive at the head of our train gave a short sharp blast on its whistle. An inspector or a guard fished out his watch and peered at it solemnly. The hands on the station clock stood at one minute to the hour. We were due off and I was beginning to perspire. 'I think I've found him,' said Rosie, suddenly appearing at my elbow. 'He's in that compartment there, talking to Gwendolen.' 'I never saw her arrive,' I shouted. 'That's because you were too busy talking about clergymen with Cecily,' said Rosie. 'This is surely no time to enter into theological conversations.' I suddenly realised something was terribly amiss. 'They're sitting in the wrong train! That's the Glasgow express. Get them out of there at once and across the platform into ours. For Heaven's sake!' Rosie, to do her justice, moved quickly. She ran over and almost dragged a startled-looking Gwendolen and her companion from their compartment, pushed them across to the Northampton train, bundled them in, ran back, brought out their luggage, thrust that in through the door after them. A moment later an elderly gentleman erupted from the Glasgow carriage, bolted across the platform to the Northampton train, threw open the door, almost fell inside and then backed out holding a leather hatbox. As he scrambled back into his compartment I realised that Rosie must have been over-enthusiastic in collecting up Gwendolen's luggage, although why an elderly gentleman should be accompanied by a ladies' large hatbox, I couldn't imagine. This scene had been played out before my eyes like a charade, since I could not hear a word of what had been spoken above the hubbub of steam escaping from a locomotive which was obviously preparing to help push the Glasgow train out of the station and up the slope that lay beyond.
Frantically, I tried to count our party. Hannah. I knew she was there although I had lost sight of her for the moment. Becky. She was sitting decorously at a window seat, not unaware that she looked pretty as a picture, neatly framed and wearing her new bonnet. Rosie, Ian and Donald, Catherine, the dark girl, the two aesthetes, Cecily, Gwendolen, Becky's friend's cousin Jack from Paris. If everyone was who I thought they were, the numbers added up. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I realised that they didn't. I'd forgotten to count myself. 'Deirdre's coming as well,' said Rosie suddenly. 'Hannah told me.' This was too much to bear. The signal at the end of the platform dropped. The guard whistled and waved his flag. The locomotive gave a great Whuff! and a cloud of black smoke shot up into the station roof. I gave up, dived for a compartment and scrambled in, pulling Rosie with me. I banged the door shut behind me, barked my shins on a wicker hamper that was on the floor and, as the train jolted forward, sat down abruptly. 'Ow!' said Becky. 'You're heavy,' and pushed me off her lap. And so we set off on the great Northampton adventure, although who was there and if they were the right people, I had no idea. Nor in truth did I much care. I pulled out a handkerchief and mopped my brow. The train was labouring and lurching as the locomotive made heavy weather of the steep gradient out of the station. There came a sudden jolt and I dropped the tickets which I had managed to retrieve from Rosie all over the floor of the compartment. As I scrabbled around frantically on all fours, reaching under seats and people's feet, the wicker basket by the door over which I had tripped on getting in, creaked and moved.
'What the devil is that!' I exclaimed. 'It moved. There's something alive in it!' 'It's all right,' said someone. 'It's only George.' 'I thought George was Gwendolen's friend. Cecily, you pointed him out to me. The tall man in the fur coat and green carnation. Now you claim he's shut up in a hamper! I think I'm going insane!' 'That's the other George,' said Cecily. 'This George is the other George's friend Monty's pet mongoose. He called it after George. At least that's what Gwendolen told me.' 'A mongoose!' I cried out. 'Why in God's name have we brought a mongoose with us.
Northamptonshire is not particularly known for its snakes is it?'
'Monty always travels with George, or so I have been given to understand,' said Cecily. 'He takes him for walks on a lead.'
'This is a mad house!' I exclaimed. 'And that is Camden Town,' said Rosie. Everything went dark. 'Primrose Hill tunnel,' said Rosie in my ear. 'Quick!' She seized my hand, causing my to drop the tickets again and thrust it under her skirt. I felt the warmth of her pussey beneath my fingers. 'Like that,' she said, and began to rub herself gently against me. First one finger and then a second slipped into her. I felt her hand as in turn she felt for me, unbuttoned me and drew my prick out. In spite of my confusion and worry, I felt it begin to stiffen in the smoky darkness.
She licked my ear with her pointed little tongue. 'Don't you just love travelling by train?' she said. Before I could do anything more, the train shot out into the daylight again. To my horror I realised that sitting opposite me was the pale young clergyman I had seen talking to the other aesthete on the platform. Rosie's skirt was up around her waist. My hand was clamped in her pussey and my member was standing up in full view. 'Bless you, my children,' said the cleric. 'Pray, continue. Such a pretty sight.' Even Rosie looked startled. 'I am Montmorency Willowherb,' he went on. 'What a charming bush your young companion has.', 'What-' I exclaimed, jumping as though I had been bitten and withdrawing my hand from Rosie's pussey as though it was on fire. 'Although for myself,' he went on, 'I find that the completely naked, hairless quim has a great attraction.
There is an innocence about it that I find delightfully prelapsarian.'
'What -' I spluttered again. 'I am sorry,' he went serenely on. 'A technical term in my calling. Before the Fall. That state of unashamed innocence that existed in the Garden of Eden before that unfortunate incident with a snake and an apple. I have a friend who swears by the exquisite pleasure to be had from a hairless cunney. I don't know whether you have any strong opinions on the subject?'
I had become completely speechless but Rosie, intrigued possibly by meeting someone even more outrageous than herself, was beginning to look interested in the conversation. 'The Art Master at school once told me that he had always preferred the pussey to be naked and unadorned until he met my friend Henrietta. She was of Italian extraction and had the most luxurious dark-haired pussey in the whole school. She tied little pink and pale blue bows in it before he photographed it. Every time he fucked her, she used to take one of the bows out of her hair and give it to him. He was most taken with the sight. He said he didn't know if it was Art but he knew that he liked it. Unfortunately my pussey hair is not long enough for me to decorate it in such a fashion.' 'It looks very sweet as it is,' said the young clergyman. 'Thank you, Sir,' Rosie said, smiling sweetly.
'Andrew, where is your hand? Put it back at once.' She grabbed for me but I resisted, completely taken aback by this conversation and display before a complete stranger. Rosie looked a little cross.
'Andrew,' she said, 'You are being difficult. Oh, look! There is a smut on the end of your prick.' She fished out a small cambric handkerchief, wetted it with her tongue and then rubbed delicately at the tip of my half-awakened member. At her touch it stiffened somewhat. 'There,' she said. 'That's better.' She bent down and kissed it lightly, at the same time pulling my hand on to her pussey. I was too taken by surprise to resist in time. She began to rub my finger up and down the entry to her hidey-hole. 'Tell me,' she said, redirecting her attention to the cleric opposite us, 'Do you enjoy travelling by train?' 'As a general rule, yes,' he said.
'There is often something of interest to be seen. Usually this is outside the carriage window but, on occasion, within as well.'
'Shortly you will have the choice,' said Rosie, 'between watching Watford outside the window, or my pussey inside.' 'While I have nothing against Watford,' said the cleric, 'I think that the nearer view is the more enchanting by far.' 'Without wishing to seem in any way forward,' said Rosie, 'I feel that I must ensure your undivided attention.' With that, she began to unbutton her bodice. As her fingers busied themselves, the upper slopes of her lovely rounded little breasts were revealed. Between them a small locket nestled. With the swaying of the train, it swung forward.
'Seed pearls and gold, if I am not mistaken,' said our companion.
'Is there some picture of sentimental value inside?' 'Not exactly a picture,' said Rosie. 'See.' She pulled it free, ran a thumb nail along the side and it opened easily. 'A souvenir of schooldays,' she said. Inside was a small coil of hair. I looked closely at it and realised that there was both light brown hair and dark hair carefully entwined. 'Henrietta and I,' Rosie said with a grammatical precision that made me realise that at least some orthodox teaching had gone on at her school. 'Just before I left, we swore eternal friendship and each of us snipped off a tuft of her pussey hair which we plaited together so that we should never forget one another. We gave another similar memento to the Art Master after he had fucked us both for one last time. We made him swear that he would wear it next to his heart.' 'How delightfully sentimental,' said the clergyman. All went suddenly dark again. 'Watford tunnel,' said Rosie. 'You appear to have the entire map of the railway system committed to memory,' came another female voice out of the darkness. 'I used to study the map at nights in the dormitory while I was planning my escape from school,' said Rosie. 'Who's that?' I asked. Rosie meanwhile was pressing my fingers against her and I felt her open up to my touch. Inside she was warm and mouthwateringly wet. 'A friend,' said the second voice.
Rosie's small hand closed over my prick and began to rub up and down the now firmly erect shaft. Her hand was joined by a second. For a moment I couldn't quite understand how she had managed such a contortion, but then realised with a start of surprise that the second hand belonged to a second person. Next there was a rustle and flurry of clothing as a body forced its way between my legs and a soft mouth took the straining head of my prick hungrily inside. A tongue flicked and teased at it. I sensed a general commotion in the carriage. The second hand was withdrawn, although not the eager mouth. I had no idea what was going on but what with my hand buried deep in Rosie's quim and my prick being sucked and lapped to bursting point, I no longer cared. Now there was even more general movement. I heard first a giggle and then a sigh of pleasure. Someone cried out 'There! There, in there!' More upheaval followed and there was a soft thump and a creaking sound. 'Mind the mongoose,' someone called out. 'Don't squash it. It bites.' The entire compartment was heaving in the darkness.
We shot out into broad daylight again, the smoke clearing rapidly outside the windows. I looked round bewildered. Between my legs was someone I realised must be Cecily, fastened on my engorged cock. Her rear end was raised up and the so far unknown cleric was buried in her up to the hilt of his clerical staff. He had risen from his seat as far as he could, given the extremely cramped nature of our surroundings. One of the Scottish contingent was trying to lift himself clear of the wicker basket on which he had obviously fallen.
The lid had sprung open and a small, sleek head was peering out. Rosie was twisted round, so that her head and shoulders were resting on the laps of two of our travelling companions. Her titties were fully exposed and were being rubbed and squeezed by one of the trapped parties. She was clutching my hand and riding up and down on it, crying out softly. The train rattled over a set of points, swaying from side to side. A prick was dislodged from a cunt. A cry of distress was drowned by a vehement oath. A jet of cum arced though the air, landing on Rosie's tits. The helping hands gleefully massaged it over her. Another hand joined mine at Rosie's entrance. A nearly naked woman was writhing and crying out, backed up against the upholstery, her thighs pulled tight up against her bosom as a man rammed himself repeatedly deep inside her. Against the door, the window having been let down, someone else was gasping for air. So intertwined were we that when someone cried out, 'I'm coming! I'm coming!' the whole mass of bodies heaved. My cum was gushing out into Cecily's eager mouth as she swallowed and sucked at me. Rosie wriggled and yelled out. I couldn't hear what she was saying. She cried out again.
'Tring!' 'What?' I gasped. 'Tring,' repeated Rosie. 'I think we're coming to Tring.' 'I think we're coming as well,' said someone else from the far end of the compartment. 'We are definitely slowing down,' said Becky, who seemed to be the only one in a position to look out of the window. Rosie was struggling to sit upright while holding my hand in position. Cecily was carefully draining the last drop from my prick and in any case could not regain her seat as the elegant young cleric was still embedded in her from behind. Only now did I begin to realise exactly who was in our compartment. Becky was still sitting demurely in the corner seat, facing the locomotive. She was quite unruffled and, surprisingly for her, did not appear to have taken part in the general outbreak of frigging and fucking. Then I noticed her carefully slide something out from beneath her skirt. She caught my eye and held an object up for my inspection. 'It's you,' she said. 'Hannah borrowed it from the display room at the dildo place.' There was the likeness of my member, looking as far as I could tell remarkably true to life except for a high gloss glaze. It had been painted with great attention to detail with a purplish blush to the head and a blue vein running along the top. 'I couldn't resist the temptation to find out whether it felt like the real thing,' said Becky. 'And does it?' I asked, a little worried in case I was about to be replaced in her affections by my replica. 'The fit is perfect,' she answered. 'It is always ready, does exactly what I want and can be kept handy at all times,' she said. 'Also it doesn't talk.' I was a little taken aback by this and I suppose something must have shown on my face. 'I'm sorry, Andrew. I was just teasing. Of course I'd rather have a whole, live body to hold me and undress me and do things to me rather than a china Thing. Still, it does come in useful. See, here we are about to stop at a station and I am the only one in the compartment in a fit state to face the outside world.' 'Not if you leave it lying beside you on the seat,' I pointed out. 'Silly me!' said Becky, picking it up and sticking it in her picnic basket. 'Oh! Let me see,' said Rosie, reaching out for it. 'Do yourself up and make yourself decent first,' said Becky. 'We may be joined by more people at the station.' 'I hardly think there's room for anyone else,' said the cleric. None the less, he had uncoupled himself from Cecily and produced what at first sight appeared to be a prayer book, but on closer inspection turned out to be a privately printed volume of erotic poems. As for the others, Donald was sucking an injured finger while trying to strap down the wicker basket with his other hand. I deduced that he had been bitten by George the mongoose.
The unknown, nearly naked woman who had been so comprehensively rogered by someone who I now realised was Donald's brother, Ian, was the only one who had made no attempt to make herself presentable. She was still perched up on the seat at the far end of the compartment, her hands clutching at her updrawn knees so that her still gaping quim was displayed to all and sundry. She was trembling and completely unaware of her surroundings. I raised a questioning eyebrow at Ian who shook his head. Obviously now was not the time for introductions. As the train drew to a halt, both Ian and I had the same idea at the same time. We grabbed a couple of travelling rugs and threw them over her, completely covering her so that at a casual glance she appeared to be a pile of luggage in the corner. Ian sat down beside her, making soothing noises to her plaid-shrouded form. The station signs flashed by. Not Tring but Bletchley. We had travelled further than we had realised during our impromptu bout. I hoped that the missing members of our party must be in the adjoining compartment but, frankly, still had no clear idea as to whether everyone had caught the train or indeed who everyone was. 'Change for the Oxford and Cambridge lines,' called out the porter. 'Any passengers for Rugby, Birmingham and the North change also. Northampton only. Northampton train.' Becky looked out on to the platform. 'There's a bishop,' she said. 'In fact the whole station is alive with clergymen.
Something must be going on.' 'They'll be going to Oxford,' said our own cleric, the surprising Mr. Willowherb. 'There's a gathering of Anglo Catholics at Keble to discuss a riposte to some evangelical initiative at Convocation. I really should be there.'' 'Why aren't you?' asked Rosie. 'Well, my child,' he said with a beatific smile. 'There are two reasons. The first is that as soon as my friend George told me of your bicycling holiday, I felt it incumbent upon myself to offer my services in case any of your party was in need of spiritual guidance. The second reason is that I am not in fact a clergyman.' 'What?' I said. 'I merely adopt the dress of a clergyman,' he said. 'I like dressing up. High Church of course. Lots of frills, flounces and embroidered vestments, the smell of incense and bags of ritual.' 'Isn't, um, isn't dressing up as a clergyman illegal?' I asked. 'Without a doubt, dear boy,' he answered sonorously. 'But then so many of the pleasures of life are, if not actually illegal, at least frowned upon by society today. Ours is a drab, conformist world for the most part, is it not?' Such a philosophy of life had a familiar ring to it. I knew that my old headmaster would have endorsed such sentiments heartily. His only objection to complete freedom of expression was that no harm should be occasioned to anyone by one's behaviour. 'It is a harmless habit,' he went on as though he had read my thoughts. 'I steer clear of offering any form of moral leadership. Indeed I suspect that I do far less damage than many in Holy Orders. Besides, it is often useful.' 'Useful?' I asked. 'Take, for instance, railway travel. I find that many people will go to great lengths to avoid sharing a compartment with a cleric. Thus more often than not, I can stretch out at my ease, uninterrupted.' 'He was certainly useful to me,' said Cecily. 'As soon as I realised what you and Rosie were doing in the tunnel, I felt a great need to feel a male member penetrating my inner recesses.' 'As soon as I felt your absolutely splendid bum pressed up against me as you crouched down in front of your friend, I knew also that here was a fellow spirit in need of help.' 'So you lifted up her skirt and forced your way between her cheeks,' said Rosie, a trifle crudely I thought. 'Not forced,' said our fake reverend. 'Eased would be my preferred choice of words. I merely placed my hands lightly on her buttocks and felt her open gently under my pressure.' 'Like the Red Sea parting before Moses,' said Rosie, who had an instinctive feel for biblical metaphor. 'How well put,' he said. 'That was very perceptive of you,' said Cecily. 'Since I had my mouth full, I could hardly say “Yes, please”.' 'You seem something of a connoisseur of the Sins of the Flesh,' I said.
'Humani nil a me alienum puto,' he replied.
'What?' I said. 'Latin,' said Rosie. 'I count nothing that is human indifferent to me,' he said. 'How can it be a sin to slip into such a welcoming cunney.' 'It occurs to me,' I said, 'that we have not all introduced ourselves. I am Andrew Scott.'
'Cecily Cardew,' said Cecily. 'Donald Ferguson,' said Donald who by now had succeeded in strapping George the mongoose back into his basket. 'And Ian Ferguson his brother,' said Ian who was still sitting beside the bundled up stranger. 'Montmorency Willowherb,' repeated the exquisite young dissembler. 'Rosalind Murphy,' said Rosie. 'Spinster of this and every other parish.'
'Which parish do you think we're in now,' I asked, since we had now set off again from Bletchley. 'The Northampton line branches off shortly,' said Rosie. 'We shall in fact pass very close to Blisworth but the train does not stop there.' 'Who is left to be introduced?' said Becky. 'You,' I said. 'I'm Becky,' said Becky. 'My sister is of the party also.' 'Is that her under the rugs?' asked Monty. 'No,' said Becky. 'Who else is with us?'
'Your cousin Charlotte. The one who invented that unusual version of Musical Chairs that you told us of some time ago.' 'No, it's not her, although they have certain habits in common.' 'They fuck a lot?' said Rosie. 'They enjoy it,' conceded Becky. 'I know that there was a friend of Hannah's coming with us but I don't know her name.' 'Must be her,' said Donald. 'She's certainly been coming with my brother. Ask her her name, Ian.' Ian bent solicitously over the rug bundle. 'Can you hear me?' he said. 'It's all right.
You can come out. We've left the station but you'd better get dressed as we'll be coming into Northampton soon.' There was a movement under the rugs. A hand appeared, then a head. It was indeed the dark-haired creature that I had spotted on the platform at Euston.
'We've worked out that you must be Hannah's friend,' said Becky.
The unknown woman's eyes widened. 'We've just been introducing ourselves,' Becky went on. 'You probably heard us. We had to keep you hidden at the station since you were a little lacking in clothing.' 'Who's Hannah?' she asked in a low but melodious voice. 'My sister,' said Becky. 'She's in the next compartment.
At least I assume she is,' she added, looking at me questioningly.
'I hope so,' I said. 'But I wasn't able to check in the hurry.'
'I don't know anyone called Hannah,' said the unknown woman. A look of alarm spread over her face. 'Where-where are my clothes?'
'Under your bum,' said Rosie. 'You must have taken them off in a great hurry.' 'Well, it's a short tunnel,' she said. 'I knew there wasn't much time.' She was looking round the compartment with growing alarm. 'I'm sorry, but-but I don't seem to recognise anyone here. This is the Glasgow train?' 'Oh dear,' said Monty. 'No, it stops at Northampton. Are you not coming to Blisworth on the bicycling expedition?' 'No! I am en route to the Scottish Highlands. I didn't know my travelling companions very well but I thought you were they. We were to be met by two Scottish friends in Glasgow. We have this sort of holiday every summer.' 'What sort of holiday?' I asked. 'We all, er, fuck a lot,' she said, blushing most becomingly. 'Oh dear! What shall I do. As soon as I realised what you and your friends were doing,' she said looking at Rosie, 'I simply assumed that I must be in the right party. And when we went into the tunnel at Watford, this gentleman here,' she looked at Ian, 'was so attentive and I was in so much need that I just let him in without more ado. This is awful!' 'It was not awful,' said Ian gallantly.
'It was the most generous, most open-hearted fuck that I have enjoyed in a long time.' She blushed again. 'Thank you,' she said.
'I didn't mean that the fuck was awful. It was wonderful and just what I wanted. It is just the whole situation that is so awful. Whatever shall I do?' 'For the time being, you must come with us,' said Ian. 'We can send a message to your friends in Glasgow as soon as we arrive at Northampton. But now you really must get dressed.' 'All my luggage must be on the Glasgow train. I had a porter put it all aboard in the van,' she said. 'I have nothing except the clothes I'm standing up in.' 'Sitting down on,' corrected Rosie, ever the realist. 'I will hold one of the rugs up so that you can get dressed in some privacy,' said Monty. 'Oh, Father!' she said in a startled voice. 'No,' said Monty. 'You missed all the explanations.' 'I would prefer it if this gentleman here held the rug,' she said. 'We are already acquainted but I still do not know your name.' 'Ian Ferguson,' said Ian. 'Ferguson-Ferguson-Are you any kin of the Fergusons of Fort Augustus?' 'Cousins,' Ian answered. 'Distant cousins, but we meet from time to time. They are at the other end of Loch Ness. How do you know them?' 'It's a long story,' she said. 'Tell us while you get dressed,' said Donald.
Ian held up the rug. I saw a quick tantalising glimpse of white limbs and dark hair as she vanished behind her screen of decency. Ian, his arms stretched out, holding the corners of the rug, had a most appreciative look at her. 'I was lost,' she went on. 'It seems to be a habit,' said Rosie. 'I was on holiday and had gone out on my own to do some sketching, it being a fine day. I was so engrossed in getting the right tones for the heather and the bracken, that I didn't notice that a big, black cloud was looming up from the west. It started to rain. The clouds were right down on the moor and I couldn't see where the path was. I got absolutely soaking wet and struggled around looking for the way back. I must have walked in complete circles but eventually I found a ruined stone hut and I crept inside. I was so exhausted that I curled up in a corner and went to sleep. When I woke up, the storm had passed and the sun was shining brightly again. I was so cold and damp in my wet things that I took them off and spread them out on the heather to dry. Some time later I heard voices and saw two men striding across the moor. I didn't have time to gather up my things so I slipped back inside and hoped that they would pass by.' 'But they had spotted you?' I said.
'They spotted my clothes. I heard them come over and talk among themselves. They were obviously puzzled to find a complete set of women's clothes. “Not a local lassie,” I heard one say. “This dress is of a style all the rage in London. My cousin Catherine was wearing such a thing when she came home last.” I was getting more and more anxious. “I wonder where the puir wee thing is,” said one. 'Well, of course, you can guess what happened next. They decided to have a look in the bothy as they called it. I was crouched in the corner, trying to protect my modesty with nothing but a sketch book. I was terrified but they were most gallant. They suggested that they should bring my clothes in while they waited outside, but the bothy was so dirty that in the end it was decided that they would wait inside while I went out, collected my things and got dressed. 'Of course I discovered later that they had not been able to resist the temptation to have a peek at me, but they were thoroughly gentlemanly. They escorted me back to the hotel I was staying in with my family and later called on me, offering to show me the sights, including the Loch, Ness Monster. We went out in a little boat and there the inevitable happened.' 'You saw the monster,' I said. 'Not that monster,' she said. 'We became very friendly and nearly overturned the boat. It was the beginning of a memorable two weeks. I developed a great taste for the Scottish way of life and particularly for fucking in the open.' I remembered that Deirdre from Ireland was supposed to be with us and that she had challenged me to a ride in the Park. These two would have something in common. 'But, if I may ask a personal question, is it not somewhat prickly among the heather?' I said. 'Yes,' she said. 'But as I have said, they were both perfect gentlemen. They would lie down and I would lift their kilts and impale myself on them, one after the other.' I realised then the function of the kilt. Were I in that position, I would have to lower my trousers and would be in great danger of suffering from a badly scratched bum if I was being ridden by an energetic partner. From what I had seen earlier in the carriage, and from Deirdre's descriptions, both were quite abandoned in their fucking. Yet I felt a familiar stirring as Mr. Pego declared his interest. 'We still don't know your name,' said Becky.
'Perdita,' she said from behind her screen. 'Well, Perdita,' said Ian. 'I hope I can speak for the whole party when I say that we are delighted to meet you. I suggest that you stay with us in Blisworth for the night until we can get word to your friends in Glasgow and it can be decided when you should continue your journey north.' 'I think I should enjoy that very much,' she answered.
'But there are more in your party?' 'In the next compartment,' I answered. 'Unless they have made the same mistake as you, but in reverse, in which case they are speeding through Cheshire at this very moment.' 'I need a helping hand,' said Perdita. 'There are buttons at the back that I cannot easily reach.' 'I'll do it,' said Rosie, and ducked quickly under the rug. There was the sound of giggling. 'What lovely clear skin you have,' said Rosie. I noticed that Ian, still holding up the modesty screen, was becoming noticeably agitated since he alone had any inkling of what was going on. 'Shut your eyes!' came Rosie's voice. 'Oh no, let him be,' said Perdita. 'He has after all seen all this before.' 'I do hope it will take simply ages for your friends in Scotland to make arrangements for your journey up there,' said Rosie. 'Then you will have to stay with us. You have such blue, blue eyes and black hair and white skin. You are simply lovely, Perdita.' One of Rosie's good points, annoying though she could be at times, was that she was so open and honest in her appreciation of other women's attributes.
'I would love to photograph you,' she went on. 'But Hannah is better equipped to do justice to you. She paints and draws most beautifully. But then she is a trained artist. But you paint as well, do you not?' 'I am only a very amateur watercolourist,' replied Perdita. 'And of landscapes only. We were taught at school. The ability to turn out a pretty pastel view was regarded as a proper accomplishment for a young lady. Of course we were never allowed to try our hands at-painting the likeness of the human body.' 'You must try,' said Rosie enthusiastically. 'Hannah can draw you and you can draw Hannah. You are both dark-haired but, that apart, you have very different complexions. You will make a wonderful contrast.'
'Hurry up!' said Becky. 'We are about to arrive at our destination.' 'And stop teasing Ian,' said Donald. 'We all saw that.' What we had all seen was a bulge in the rug where what was obviously a hand had reached out and grabbed another bulge which had appeared in Ian's trousers, engrossed as he was in his vigil over Perdita and her assistant dresser, Rosie. Poor Ian, his hands fully occupied with holding up the rug, could neither defend himself nor take avoiding action. A second bulge reached out like a glove puppet.
'Stop it, Rosie!' I said. 'Not me,' said Rosie, waving both her hands in the air as though in greeting to a waiting crowd.
'Sorry,' said Perdita. 'I couldn't help it. It was so tempting.'
'The best way to deal with a temptation,' said Monty the pretend cleric, 'Is to yield to it. Not my own aphorism,' he went on, 'but that of a close friend at university.' The train drew to a halt.
'Now,' I said. 'We must be more organised this time. At least we have plenty of time since this is the terminus. Ian and Donald, will you get hold of a couple of porters. Perdita, we must make sure that your luggage is not by some lucky chance on the train. You'd better go with them. Mr. Willowherb-' 'Please,' he said, 'Monty-'
'Monty, I assume you'll take responsibility for George the mongoose?' 'For both Georges,' he replied. 'The other George can be remarkably vague at times. But then he comes from a vague family. I only met him because he was sent off to the wrong university.' 'I don't understand,' I said. 'He should have been at Trinity, Cambridge but he actually turned up at Trinity, Oxford in error and was several weeks into his first term before it was realised that some mistake had been made. By that time, he'd decided he liked it where he was. He did make one attempt to go to Cambridge, but he got on completely the wrong train and ended up somewhere in the vicinity of Birmingham. He was terribly upset and took some weeks to recover. He's very much a hot house plant, you know.' I pulled myself together with a start. Trying to organise this party was quite impossible.
Digressions and irrelevancies, reminiscences and odd allusions followed hard on each others' heels. No one had any sense of discipline. Enticing though Perdita was, her accidental addition to the party was somehow typical of events. Her ability to lose both herself and her clothes could only add to the confusion. 'Andrew, I think you'd better stand here by the pile of luggage,' said Hannah, appearing from the adjoining compartment. At least one uncertainty was cleared up. She had caught the train after all. 'Since you don't know some of the party, Becky and I had better find them all. You are the rendezvous point, so don't move.' 'There go Monty and the mongoose!' I cried out. The animal was moving with a great sense of purpose. Monty was following on the other end of the lead and the pair of them were rapidly disappearing out of the station. 'Don't worry so,' said Becky. 'They'll come back. Meanwhile, where's Charlotte? She must have been in the other compartment. Hannah? Was she with you? And Jack? And-' Chaos reigned. I resigned. I had had enough. Someone else could cope. 'It's called a Sociable Tricycle,' said Donald. 'You sit side by side instead of one in front of the other. That is called a Tandem tricycle. You steer the little wheel at the front, using this tall handle. Either of you can steer.
Or indeed you can steer together with one hand clasped over the other.
It's rather slow and cumbersome but it's a friendly way of travelling.
'This is called the Invincible tandem tricycle. The person at the back steers. It's faster and easier to control. This is a Tandem bicycle. It's hard to balance and because it's so high off the ground, it can be very painful if either of you should lose your balance.'
We were choosing our machines. The owners of the place we were staying in had a considerable collection of both bi-and tricycles of several different designs. Donald turned out to be the expert. Almost all the party had decided to make a mass expedition. Since the degree of experience varied from the expert to the complete novice, it had been decided that our objective would be a largish wood that lay only some four miles from the house. There we would have a picnic in a suitable glade. Everything for the repast had been sent ahead in a couple of gigs driven by two of the estate servants. Ian and Perdita took one of the Sociables. They had become inseparable. She had managed, possibly by design, to make such a muddle of her arrangements to resume her journey to Scotland that a full week had gone by and she was still with us. Becky and Hannah both decided on Safety bicycles, not wishing to commit themselves to any one partner from the outset. Catherine and Jack, both of whom had a good sense of balance, took a chance on the dangerous tandem bicycle. I had persuaded Cecily to join me on the Invincible. She would sit in front.
This had a number of advantages. It was a stable machine, I would be in charge of the steering and I would have the tantalising sight of Cecily's bottom moving rhythmically just a few inches in front of my nose. The rest of the party made their various selections, except for Rosie who was nowhere to be found. 'We can't wait for her,'
Hannah said. 'She knows where we're going and there is quite a selection of mounts left for her to choose from.' It was a fine day. Northamptonshire was, as promised, flat, so with much laughter and not a little wobbling we set off. 'Put your hand back where it was!' Perdita cried out as she and Ian veered wildly across our path. 'Someone has to steer.' 'Well, you put my member back where it was,' I heard him answer. 'It'll get sun burnt if it is left out exposed to the elements.' 'Is that better,' she said. 'I can keep him covered up with my hand.' The party was in good spirits. I had made the right decision. Cecily's delicious bum was moving seductively from side to side in front of me. Instinctively I peddled faster in order to catch it up while Mr. Pego jutted out like the figurehead of a China clipper ahead of me. Cecily lifted herself from her seat for a moment while she glanced back at me over her shoulder with an enticing smile. 'Andrew, look out where we're going,' she cried out in alarm. So intent had I been on watching her bottom that I had forgotten to steer properly and we were careering across the road towards the ditch. With an effort I redirected my eyes to the road ahead. Yet I could not remain unaware of my companion's rear view.
We overtook Gwendolen and Monty on another Sociable. They were deep in conversation, apparently on the subject of Sin; a subject that had greatly engaged both their intellects and their bodies for the last few days. I could not but notice that a number of her bodice buttons were undone. She had become increasingly careless in matters of dress recently. I took it to be the influence of Perdita who, with her luggage long since delivered to Scotland, had been reduced to borrowing items of clothing from the rest of the party. This had resulted in several unusual ensembles. Only last night she had appeared for dinner dressed in one of Jack's frilled French shirts and nothing else. We had all agreed that the result was absolutely charming. Catherine and Jack, moving as one with balletic grace, were speeding elegantly along. So good was their balance that they could ride hands off like something out of a circus act. Hannah and Becky were weaving in and out of the clustered party. Charlotte, who I had not yet had the chance to do more than talk to, was tandeming with George but each was accusing the other of not putting in their fair share of the pedalling. I suspected that George was not all that well suited to outdoor activities, since they tended to disarrange the perfection of his dress. Suddenly there was a crunching of gravel and a whirring of wheels. Rosie appeared from nowhere at high speed, a blur of activity, peddling an Invincible penny-farthing like a creature demented. Perched up above the huge wheel, she shot passed us. I gasped. Cecily let out a yelp of surprise and we swerved violently into an equally amazed Perdita and Ian. Rosie was riding her mount stark naked! She zigzagged through the party, leaving a trail of chaos behind her. Even Catherine and Jack nearly came to grief. 'Rosie, come back at once,' I called out. 'You're making an exhibition of yourself.' 'But rather a charming exhibition,' said Perdita. 'Don't be too censorious. I know from personal experience how easy it is to lose one's clothes. Anyway, you're too late. She's almost out of earshot already.' True enough. Rosie was dwindling in the distance, her bare bum catching the light as she jounced up and down on her high saddle, her round little titties bobbing and quivering with her efforts. 'Nothing we can do about it,' said Ian. 'Though I fancy she could cause an upset or two out on the public highway.' So we peddled on, all agog to find out what would happen to her. Sure enough, a mile or so later, we found a dog cart half on its side in a ditch with an apoplectic couple scrambling out. 'Did you see that!' the portly driver said. 'A naked woman on a bicycle!' He was staring after her down the road while his wife was hiding her eyes in horror. He looked at us more closely. 'One of your party, I'll be bound. You're the people staying at The Grange. I shall complain to the Authorities.' At this point Monty, who as luck would have it, was wearing his clerical garb, showed commendable presence of mind. 'Poor child. Such a sad case. She is indeed staying with us,' he said to the purple-faced man.
'She has a rare skin complaint and her doctor has recommended the maximum possible exposure to the sun as the only cure. We told her to stay within the confines of the estate but I fear that not knowing the area, she has taken a wrong turning. As soon as we realised what had occurred, we set off in hot pursuit. This lady,' he said indicating Gwendolen, 'is a trained nurse, hired especially to attend to her needs. Please be so good, Sir, as to indicate in which direction she went.' 'Down there,' said the woman, uncovering her eyes.
For a moment doubt was written large on her husband's face, but then he deferred to the authority of a Man of the Cloth. 'I hope you catch her before she does any more harm,' he said. 'My good lady wife has sustained a nasty shock and she is not in the best of health.' Gwendolen pulled herself together and played her part with exemplary self-control. 'My friends will help you out of the ditch,' she said. Then, taking the woman's wrist in her hand, she felt for a pulse. 'Just as I thought,' she went on. 'She needs to be put to bed in a darkened room for at least a day. I doubt that she has come to any lasting harm but if she is not fully recovered by tomorrow evening, you should think of sending for your doctor.' 'The pony has come to no harm either,' volunteered Donald, 'but it also should be put to bed in a darkened stable as a precaution. My father,' he went on, 'is a breeder of Shetland ponies and has some experience in these matters.' There was a choking noise. Cecily was doubled up, fighting back an attack of hysterical laughter. 'A chest condition,' said Monty hurriedly as Cecily wheezed and heaved. 'We are hoping that the dry atmosphere of this pleasant part of the countryside will alleviate the symptoms, otherwise she may have to attend a sanatorium.' 'Yours is not a healthy party,' said the man. 'From London are you?' 'For the most part,' I said.
'Although my friends here are from Scotland.' 'Well I hope you catch your errant friend soon,' he said. 'We don't take kindly to having unclothed women running amok on our country roads, whatever may be the fashion in London.' 'I say that's a bit unfair,' I said.
'And anyway she's from Somerset.' 'You should send her back there, if you want my advice,' he said. 'Please, please,' interjected Monty. 'Let us be charitable. We all partake of the fallen nature of Mankind. And she is not a well woman,' he added hurriedly, remembering his own story. 'You have my Word for it, as a man of God, that if she makes such an error in her navigation again, she will be severely chastised.' 'Chastisement! I like the sound of that word. Chastisement, Sir, is a matter on which we might both agree.
Behaviour such as your friend's, no matter what her medical condition, deserves chastisement. A sound thrashing! That is what she needs. That will drive the Devil out of her.' A curious glint had appeared in his eyes. His manner of speech was becoming increasingly agitated while the palms of his hands and his forehead had become visibly moist. 'Mark my words,' he went on. 'There is no other way.
Chastise the Sinner and the Backslider! I have lived all my life according to that creed. Why, only recently one of the more wayward girls of the village was made to feel the full force of my hand upon the seat of her Corruption. If the Lord had not intended the Godfearing man to administer manual correction to the parts of the Sinner, he would not have invented the backside to be the object of such attentions. 'Depravity and Filth! They are all about us. We live in the midst of great bubbling cess pits of Wickedness and Lewd behaviour. Naked Sin comes flooding in-or in this case pedalling in-on us. These Evils must be withstood. The Sinner must be beaten down, driven to her knees in penitence. I at least know my duty. My wife here will bear witness to the fact that I have been ever untiring in seeking out and chastising the Wrongdoer, fearless in my corrective efforts upon the flaunted fundaments of vileness!' 'Yes dear,' said his wife, handing him a handkerchief to wipe away the flecks of spittle that were flying from his lips and running down his chin.
'Depravity and Filth! Filth and Depravity! They must be driven out. The blows of our retribution must rain down on the rumps of the Ungodly!' Becoming dangerously choleric, he raised his right hand high and brought it down with a stinging slap on the hindquarters of his pony. The startled beast snorted, reared up and then bolted down the road. The stout gentleman's wife who was back on board the gig, tumbled backwards off her seat, her legs waving frantically.
'Come back, Dammit!' shouted the Hammer of the Evildoer, but to no avail. Pony, wife and equipage were fast disappearing out of sight down the lane. 'Quick,' said Monty. 'We must catch them before they come to harm. Gwendolen you stay here. Jump on, Sir, and pedal.'
The apoplectic man scrambled up beside Monty on the Sociable.
Swerving from side to side they tore off down the road, their legs pumping in unison. Monty was desperately trying to steer a straight course while the man waved his fists in the air. 'Filth and depravity!' came the repeated cry as they left us, 'Filth and depravity!' We were left stunned into silence. The only sound was of Cecily, gasping for air and slumped forward on her seat. I looked round. 'We had better follow them,' I said. 'That is our direction in any case.' 'But Gwendolen is without a mount,' said Perdita. Possibly we can accommodate her on our machine if we are careful.' I could think of no other solution unless one of the men were to give up his place and walk behind. 'We'll try it,' I said. 'But who is to sit on whose lap?' 'I shall sit on Ian and Gwendolen can take my place,' said Perdita. 'I hope I will not be too great a burden on you,' she said to Ian. She left her seat and lowered herself carefully on to Ian. 'I don't feel very safe,' she said.
'I hope I do not fall off. What should I hold on to?' 'I have an idea,' said Ian, lifting his kilt. Once again the practical advantages of Highland dress were revealed. His uncovered member lifted up.
'Of course! What a good idea,' said Perdita and, in turn,. she lifted her skirt. Inch by inch, she wriggled her way backwards until she was safely impaled on his prick. 'Gwendolen, you must hold my hand. Can you pedal in this position, Ian?' she asked, settling herself firmly. Ian gave a tentative turn or two on the pedals and his prick began to ride up and down with the motion. Perdita gave a little squeal of pleasure at each rotation. 'Now I understand why it is called a Sociable,' said Becky with interest. 'We will escort you, one to either side, in case some mishap befalls you.'
Hannah took up her position on the other flank and slowly we all set off. 'Not too fast,' said Perdita, 'or we will become unstable.' Of course the sight of such wheeled motion had an effect on the other members of the party. Round and round went Ian's legs. Up and down went his sturdy prick. Gwendolen reached across and placed a restraining hand on Perdita's lovely black-haired pussey.
'Whatever you do, Ian,' said Donald, with Hibernian practicality, 'Don't come, or Perdita will lose her support.' Ian gritted his teeth and peering over Perdita's shoulder, concentrated on steering a straight course. 'I'm getting too slippery!' said Perdita.
'Hold on tight,' said Becky. 'Use your muscles.' 'I've never been very good at that,' said Perdita. 'I just go all helpless.'
'Think of something else,' I suggested. 'What?' she asked with a note of desperation creeping into her voice. 'The Queen?'
I said. 'I saw her once,' said Perdita. 'Outside Windsor Castle.
She was all in black.' 'Do you not think that the period of Royal mourning has continued too long?' I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. 'Slow down!' said Perdita. 'What were you doing in Windsor?' asked Becky. 'I was lost,' said Perdita.
'Again?' I interjected. 'I was supposed to be in Eton. My brother was appearing in his House play.' 'What was it?' I asked.
'I don't know,' she wailed. 'It's no good. This isn't working. I remember what happened later. I had a fuck in Windsor Great Park. That was why I missed the play. Oh dear, I think I'm coming.' 'You'd better stop,' Becky said to Ian. 'Perdita get off for a moment and collect yourself.' 'No, I'll be all right if we just rest for a moment.' She sat there breathing deeply, her Head bowed. Ian held her round the waist. We all waited. I looked round. Mine was not the only aroused member. Tell-tale bulges rose on all sides. Becky was sliding backwards and forwards on her saddle. 'We must all practise self-control,' said Hannah, 'like the Indian fakirs.'
'You're sure you don't want to dismount and have a rest?' said Becky. 'No, my legs have gone all weak. I'm not sure I could even stand up.' 'We could change places,' said Gwendolen. 'That is unless either of you has an objection.' 'I suppose we'd better,' said Perdita. 'Just as long as Ian and I can finish what we've started when we get to the picnic site.' 'I shall just carry on considering the problems of the crafting community back home,' said Ian. They took up their new positions. Perdita settled down in the adjacent seat. Gwendolen slipped onto Ian's prick as to the manner born. We set off again. Ian stayed rigid but under careful control. He pedalled on. Soon afterwards Catherine and Jack who had gone ahead, appeared riding back towards us. 'We've found Monty,' Jack said. 'He's by the roadside about half a mile ahead with the Sociable.
They caught up with the runaway dog cart. The fat gentleman has been loaded aboard. He's quite exhausted. His wife is driving him home. I advised a cold compress and a good rest. Actually I suspect that two cold compresses will be needed. He had become visibly over-excited, but I leave that for his wife to sort out.' 'No sign of Rosie?' I asked. 'A trail of devastation,' said Catherine. 'Two more of the local population have driven off the road and there is an extremely animated group of people at the next crossroads. I suspect the incident will be a staple of conversation in the vicinity for quite some time. The sudden appearance of the naked bicyclist will be raised at many a dinner party.' 'There is a more immediate problem,' I pointed out. 'If the road ahead is lined with outraged and overturned locals, we can hardly pedal past them with Gwendolen still impaled on Ian's mighty member.' 'That would indeed be the final straw,' said Cecily. 'I hardly think straw is the right word in Ian's case,' said Jack. 'Rod, pole or, especially in the present circumstances, perch, would seem appropriate.' 'None the less, the problem remains,' I said. 'Just when we were so happily embedded,' said Ian sadly. 'However I accept that we must dismount.'
'We could go behind the hedge,' said Gwendolen, 'and complete the exercise. But Perdita, you must come as well.' 'And in the meantime,' suggested Donald, 'One of us could ride ahead and bring Monty back with the other Sociable.' All agreed that this was the most satisfactory solution to our problem. Gwendolen slipped off Ian's safe anchorage and reached out her hand to Perdita. 'Come, Perdita,' she said, 'we shall have to take him in turns. Would you rather be fucked first or second?' 'I shall come with you to keep guard,' said Cecily. 'And watch,' said Gwendolen. 'I know you too well to think that you will be content with merely standing as a lookout at the gate.' 'That may indeed be true,' said Cecily.
'Already my bodice feels uncomfortably full.' 'But delightfully so,' I said. 'Thank you Andrew, you are most complementary. Would you like to help release me from my bondage?' I realised that our organisation was in danger of falling into disarray and that a lot of to-ing and fro-ing was necessary if we were not to be very late at the picnic place. Also we had to find the missing Rosie, our pedalling nymph. Yet the prospect of once again seeing Cecily's gloriously plump breasts spilling out of her clothing was most alluring. In fact she made up my mind by coming up to me with her hands cupped under her swelling bosom. 'It would be the work of an instant, Andrew, and there are but six small buttons to be undone,' she said. 'I will go ahead as we had decided,' said Donald, and set things in motion.
The Sociable can be steered, although not easily, with only one aboard. If Monty finds that he cannot control it, I have some experience in such things. He can ride my Safety back.' Gallantly he set off. The rest of the party would have to remain on the road with the assorted cycles. 'Quick,' said Cecily. 'I can see that duty demands that you remain with the roadside party, but unbutton me before I go behind the hedge to chaperone the others.' Perdita, Gwendolen and Ian had already disappeared behind the hedge and were safely out of sight. However, a sudden gasp of pleasure and a quiet Gaelic cry of satisfaction suggested that they had already set about their business. Distracted by the sounds and what they signified, I had turned away from Cecily. 'Andrew,' she said, approaching me from the rear and rubbing her still clothed titties tantalisingly against me, 'Pay attention to me or I shall have to seek help elsewhere.' I let her breasts loose. Truly they were magnificent. The creamy fullness of them came tumbling out of her dress. I stood back for a moment to drink in the sight. 'Cecily, they are lovely,' I said simply. 'Just rub them for a moment,' she said sweetly. She guided my hands so that I took their succulent weight in my hands. Her hands clasped mine as I began gently to fondle them. Untouched, her twin nipples rose in excitement like two sap-filled buds. 'We must not get too carried away,' she said with a provoking note of regret in her voice. 'I have to go and take up my post and keep watch.' I became aware that from beyond the hedge, cries of feminine delight were rising up. Either Gwendolen or Perdita, for I did not have sufficient experience yet of either to be able to distinguish between their cries of coming, was being most comprehensively fucked and was enjoying every minute of it.
Reluctantly I released my twin burdens. Cecily leant forward to kiss me sweetly. 'I promise that they will be yours again once we get to the picnic. We have a large jug of clotted cream among the food that cook packed. It was intended to accompany the strawberries, but I am sure that some can be spared. I love having cream sucked off my nipples.' I looked at her. Indeed, her engorged nipples were the size of strawberries, and equally as juicy to the eye. Mr. Pego thrust uncomfortably forward at the sight and the suggestion. 'Sorry,' said Cecily, realising that her generous promise had made my present position worse rather than better. 'I must go, but we both have something to look forward to.' 'There's a thin bit in the hedge here,' said Jack. 'I think I can see something pale moving about just behind it.' We all joined him. If indeed the activities of the three of them were visible from the verge of the road, then it would be only prudent if we stood protectively in front of the thin patch to avoid upsetting any more passers-by. 'It would be wrong to watch uninvited,' I said. 'Judging by the sounds, I doubt if they will notice,' said Catherine. 'Anyway, you can't see properly. One of them seems to have taken all her clothes off.' 'That will be Perdita,'
I said. 'She makes a habit of losing everything she has on. Gwendolen is more used to being fucked and remaining apparently more or less fully clothed. She knows how to behave in Society. Perdita I suspect moves in more artistic and abandoned circles.' As I spoke there came the unmistakable sounds of a woman coming. The cries rose to a crescendo followed by a long-drawn-out moan of ecstasy. From Ian, though, nothing was heard. We all realised that he had to keep himself in check in order to satisfy his second Sociable cunney.
'Gwendolen can be relied on to help Perdita afterwards, if she has indeed mislaid anything,' said George. 'I have noticed that she has a practical streak. I have escorted her to several formal balls and she has always managed to remain a model of seeming modesty and decorum even when, if I may speak bluntly, we have only moments before fucked ourselves silly.' 'Such social graces,' I said. 'To think that she attended the same school as Rosie.' 'She was taken in hand by her aunt, the Dowager Duchess when she came to London for the Season,' said George. 'The Duchess is famous for her exploits among the hunting set in Gloucestershire yet always insists on the strictest attention to propriety when in Town. Although in the Country she is known as the Dowager Quim of Quorn.' 'I thought the Quorn is hunted in Leicestershire?' I said. 'Her Grace spreads her presence widely,' said George. 'She has ridden with most of the more prestigious hunts in England. She has even engaged in following the beagles on foot. She is a formidable woman, especially when laying about her with her crop.' 'I wonder if she has ever been introduced to the chaplain at her niece's school?' I said. 'Rosie tells me that he was known as “Spanker” Paddlebottom. A Cambridge man.' 'I suspect that Her Grace's vigour in these matters would prove altogether too overwhelming for the average school chaplain,' said George. 'His experience must of necessity be restricted to the tender bottoms of his young charges. Her Grace is a dominating figure, well hardened in the saddle and accustomed to command.' Suddenly, up the road, there came a faint cry of 'Halfooo!' In the distance we could see a bicycling Monty, swerving slightly while gravely doffing his panama hat as though in greeting to an imaginary audience. Behind him, Donald was briskly pedalling away on the Sociable with an empty seat beside him. 'We have been making our peace with the local inhabitants,' said Monty when he reached us. 'I actually think they are completely bemused,' said Donald as he joined him. 'First they will have been presented with the sight of a young woman, stark naked, flashing past them on a man's bicycle, perched above the huge wheel like a demented wood sprite. Shortly afterwards they will have seen a runaway gig with no driver but an upturned woman struggling in the back. This will have been followed by a Sociable tricycle with a clergyman pedalling for all he was worth, while his fellow traveller waved his arms in the air and cried out “Filth and Depravity!” No wonder that our return, though puzzling, was quite unremarkable after all they had witnessed earlier.' 'We must gather up our party and set off as soon as the group behind the hedge have finished,' I said.
'I wonder how things are going?' We listened. All we could hear were the sounds of a warm summer's afternoon. Bees buzzed. There was a general hum of insect life. Birds were twittering. 'A sky lark,' said George. 'Bastard toadflax!' said Hannah. 'What?' I said, startled. 'It's a flower,' said Hannah. 'Look, it's growing along the verge.' Suddenly there was a yelp followed by something crashing against the hedge and a bellow. 'Ian and Gwendolen?' said Becky. 'I think not,' said Ian. 'At least I have never heard my brother make such an extraordinary noise.' 'Look!' said Monty.
Something was on the point of bursting through the thin patch. A large face was looming through the sparse twigs. 'A bull!' shrieked Becky. 'It must have trampled them to death.' 'A cow,'
George corrected her. 'But we'd better see what has happened.' We rushed over to the gate and spilled out on to the meadow beyond. We looked around. 'There's Cecily,' said Becky. 'She is all doubled up. Something dreadful must have happened.' Cecily, her bodice still undone, was indeed crouched in the grass. Her shoulders were heaving but the cries she was making were not of distress but of helpless laughter. 'What's happened? Where are the others?' we asked. Unable to speak, she extended a shaking arm and pointed. A few yards away Gwendolen and Ian were frantically adjusting their dress while Perdita was gathering up scattered articles of clothing.
'Ian had his bum licked,' said Cecily, still choking with laughter. 'He was having his wicked way with Gwendolen with his kilt flipped up so that his bottom was exposed and raised up. This cow which had been watching with interest, came ambling over and stood over them. Ian of course never noticed it until too late. It bent its head down and gave him a great slapping lick. He just carried on but when it did it again, he said, “Cecily or Perdita stop it!” He reached an arm round behind him to push away the interruption and inadvertently stuck a finger up the cow's nostril. The cow bellowed and ran into the hedge. Gwendolen yelped. Perdita dropped some Of her clothing in surprise and I fell about laughing. If you could have seen the look on his face!' 'It's the salt,' said Donald. 'Cows always lick anything that is salty. A perspiring bum in a field is something that no cow could resist.' 'They hadn't actually quite come,'
Cecily went on, 'Although they were very close. However I doubt if they would want to carry on for the moment, particularly as the cow is still close at hand.' Together we picked everything up. Gwendolen and Ian picked the grass off themselves. Perdita, assisted by Cecily was made to look presentable if still somewhat dishevelled. I buttoned Cecily up remembering with lively anticipation on the part of Mr. Pego the promise of strawberries and cream. Gwendolen and Cecily decided to take one Sociable together while Monty joined me. Perdita stayed with Ian. Everyone else remounted and we pedalled off in a stately convoy up the road. Most of the reported excitement that had been lining the road had disappeared. We had one or two questioning looks but we rode decorously on. After not much more than a mile, Donald, who knew where we were going, turned right up a rough track into a wood. This in turn soon opened out into a large glade, well grassed and sun-dappled. There, spread out before us, was a truly splendid picnic.
Cook and the housekeeper had done us proud. Game pie, a large ham, cold cutlets, tomatoes from the greenhouse and an array of salads, cheese, fresh fruit and bread. Several bottles of a white wine had been wrapped in damp cloths and set down in the shade to keep them cool. A hamper contained the plates and silver. Finally, propped up against a tree, was a gentleman's bicycle. 'Wonderful,' came a chorus of voices as we looked at our feast. 'But where's Rosie?' said Cecily. 'There's her bicycle but I can't see her.' 'She can't be far,' said Donald. 'She's probably in the woods.'
'Keeping out of the way,' I suggested. 'And rightly so. She will have to be severely spoken to. She nearly caused a bad accident with her waywardness. I suppose we'd better go and find her.' 'Let's eat first,' said Gwendolen. 'I'm starving after all my exercise, even if I didn't quite finish it.' Everyone agreed that this was the correct order of priorities and we fell upon the food.
'I'm ready for my next course,' said Cecily some while later. We were surrounded by the remains of our meal. Obviously the country air had had a great effect on our appetites. Almost everything had been finished. Cecily and Gwendolen had been engaged in a low conversation for the last few minutes. 'I want all the men to go for a short walk in the woods. We will get everything properly laid out and we'll call you back when we're ready.' We did as we were told, taking the opportunity to answer the calls of nature. All at once I heard a very odd call of nature. There came a high-pitched squeal, a rustling* a crash of branches and a thump. Rosie had fallen out of a tree.
George and Monty were closest. Indeed Monty only just avoided being dropped on by her naked falling form. They hurried to pick her up. She was covered with twigs and leaves but did not seem to have come to any great harm. As they brushed the foliage off her, she gave a little cry of distress. 'My bum is all scratched! Horrid Nature!' She turned her neat little bottom towards us. Sure enough, there were a couple of scratch marks as well as an angry red patch where she must have made contact with the ground. We crowded round in interest. 'Soothe it someone, please,' said Rosie. 'It stings.' 'You've got the most experience in handling Rosie,' said Donald to me. As so often with Rosie, I was torn between being very annoyed with her and with the enticing sight of her unclothed body. However I decided that I really must reprimand her first for all the trouble she had caused. 'Rosalind,' I began sternly, 'You have behaved very badly indeed -' She burst into tears.
'Don't be unkind to me, Andrew. I have a hurt bum. Make it better.' She snuggled up against me. I struggled to continue my reproving speech on the nature of responsibility and the need for order in society but to no avail. 'Of course,' said George later, 'we all realised that you would not be able to hold out long against her wiles. She was the picture of contrition and her poor little bum was staring you in the face. You kissed her most solicitously and lingeringly. You also licked her most soothingly. I must admit though that I had not noticed she had sustained that injury between her legs that had to be so carefully attended to.' 'It was an oakapple that had become lodged between her cheeks,' I said a mite gruffly. I had a strong feeling that Rosie had managed to get the better of me. 'We were very impressed by your skill in aiding and comforting the sick. You have a healing touch. Florence Nightingale could hardly have done better,' said Monty. I couldn't help feeling that Florence Nightingale would have acted very differently in the circumstances. However I was pleased to be so complimented.
'We're wanted back!' said Ian who was a few yards away. 'I can hear them calling.' Rosie insisted on being carried since the twigs and acorns on the ground hurt her feet. I picked her up carefully and she put her arms round my neck, tucking her head into my shoulder. My hands linked under her tender bum, I followed the others.
As we reached the edge of the clearing I dropped Rosie in surprise. She yelped but I regret to say, I failed to pay her any attention. Spread out on the tablecloth was the most delicious display of strawberries and cream. Mouth-wateringly naked, Cecily was stretched out on a large table cloth. Her legs were parted and her clothes were pillowed under her head. On the crest of each luscious titty was a generously heaped mound of whipped cream. On top of each mound was a neatly placed strawberry. My eye ran down her sumptuously displayed body. Her navel had been delicately filled and her entire pussey was completely hidden by another great confection of cream and strawberries. For an instant I could only stop and stare. Nothing like this appeared in the pages of Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management as far as I could recall from my admittedly cursory reading of the text. 'Andrew,' said Becky, 'This is what you were promised. It's all for you but you must promise to finish up every last mouthful.' 'What about everyone else?' I asked. 'Hannah and I have devised an apres dejeuner entertainment for the rest of us.
You can join in later if you wish but in the meantime you'd better take your things off, otherwise I can see you getting very messy indeed.' With the two sisters' help, I made myself ready. At the sight of my released prick thrusting hungrily upwards, Becky could not resist dabbing a big lump of cream on the end. 'That is for Cecily,' she said. The problem of Rosie quite forgotten, I bent down beside Cecily. She smiled up at me and reached out to pull my face down to hers. She kissed me warmly, nibbling softly at my lips.
'Time to eat,' she said. Breathing in deeply so that her breasts rose up like twin meringues, she guided me down to her body.
At first I licked delicately at a trickle of cream that had run down the side of one breast on to her ribs. Carefully, slowly, I worked my way around the lower slopes, sucking gently and tasting the warm flesh under the cool cream. I paused to swallow, then resumed my feasting, working my way around and up first one breast and then the other. More and more delicious flesh was revealed and licked clean.
'Strawberry time,' said Cecily with an excited sigh. I bent over her and nipped the strawberry that sat, firmly embedded in cream, on top of one nipple. I bit carefully into its peak. Then, holding it in my teeth, I rubbed it gently against the true nipple that was now revealed, peeking up through its concealing confection. A spurt of juice ran down my chin and mingled with the cream. Still holding the fruit in my mouth, I lowered myself so that she could reach up and take the full roundness of the strawberry between her teeth. Biting it in half, we chewed and swallowed it between us. We kissed, warm juice staining our lips. Now I fastened hungrily on the exposed nipple, sucking it and teasing it with my tongue. It stiffened and fattened, a ripe fruit under my touch. Cecily began to moan. I turned my attentions to the other strawberry mock nipple, picking it cleanly off and sucking it clean before transferring it in its entirety to her, mouth to mouth. As I returned to the second exposed nipple, I nibbled gently at it while she chewed the berry. As she swallowed, I drew her nipple into my mouth, pulling at with my lips. She moaned again, louder this time. Burying my head between her breasts, I lapped and nuzzled my way down the valley that had filled with juice and melted cream. The salty tang of fresh sweat mixed with the sharpness of the fruit and the sweetness of the cream. Her hands met mine as I squeezed and stroked the firm flesh. She was beginning to heave up and down. 'Go further down,' she gasped. Becky and Hannah appeared on either side of her like two acolytes. As I moved down her body, they took my place, rubbing and kissing her breasts. Arriving at her navel, I ate the next proffered strawberry, my tongue probing and cleaning out her puckered, cream-filled belly button. She giggled, rolling her stomach. 'That tickles,' she said. 'Now for the main course,' said Becky. Again I paused for a moment. Cecily's legs were well parted and she had instinctively begun to draw her knees up.
Confronted by this huge mound of fruit and cream, I knew that the time for delicacy was past. I drew a deep breath and fairly buried my face in her. Cream oozed and clung to me. Like a starving man I swallowed and sucked, straining whole fruit through my teeth, diving down to find the tangle of her pussey hair that had been so thoroughly hidden under its whipped-up topping. Such was the vigour of my movements that cream was squirting up the inside of her thighs. More cream was in my hair and in my eyes. I gulped convulsively, then swallowed again. Suddenly, as she spread her legs wider still, my tongue encountered the smoothness of her pussey lips. They parted and I slipped easily inside. I touched her already erect clit and she gave a gasp. Tucked in beneath it, hidden inside her, the stroke of a master chef, was one last strawberry. I sucked it out and swallowed it whole. Other juices, warmer and more animal than vegetable were flowing now. Hannah and Becky, their own titties now exposed, were rubbing themselves against her body, nipple to nipple, stifling her rising cries with their mouths. She sat up and I felt myself being turned over by unseen hands before she lowered herself on to my face, enveloping me in the sticky warmth of her pussey hair. I was questing and plunging my tongue deep, deep into her, her clit rubbing against my taste buds. She leaned right forward and her mouth closed round the tip of my hugely swollen cock. Her breasts were pressed tight against me. I was struggling for air and it crossed my mind that if death by suffocation was to be my destiny, it was a blissful way to go. But how I felt the first unmistakable tremors of her coming.
Shudder upon shudder ran through her as she half sat back again so that I could cup her plump pendant breasts in my hands. Eyes, mouth and cunney were opening wider. It was as if she had been taken by surprise at the strength of her reactions. She gave a choking cry and began to ride up and down on me, forcing herself down on my face as though urging my tongue to penetrate further and further inside her.
Manfully I kept going as the sweat and cream filled my eyes.
Then, as Cecily cried out loud, the first taste of her coming trickled into my mouth. Thirstily I drank it in, my lips clamped on hers. Now she was flooding me. Soft and yielding, the delicate inside flesh of her cunney was slippery against my intruding tongue. Again and again uncontrollable spasms coursed their way down her tunnel of love. Meanwhile I was dimly aware that my now untenanted prick was reaching desperately up as it sought a relief of its own.
Cecily's cries and convulsions reached a peak. I felt as though I was being engulfed by a series of mighty ocean waves and that I was drowning in the undertow. She gave one last near scream, subsided and collapsed forward on me. Her fine, dense pussey hair and the delicious smell of her filled my nostrils. Suddenly, overcome by the tickling sensation, I sneezed. Cecily twitched. I was aware of peals of laughter. The weight was lifted from my face. 'Andrew,' came Becky's voice, 'it is very rude to sneeze into a lady's cunt.'
Cecily and I lay panting slightly, like two large beached fish on the now badly stained cloth. A dull throbbing in my balls reminded me that I had not yet made my personal contribution to the commingled fluids that covered us. There was something squashy under my shoulder blades. Another strawberry. Hannah was the first to realise that all was not yet at an end. She knelt down beside me, reached between my legs and cradled my swollen balls in her hands. My senses of taste, touch and smell had been overwhelmed by what had gone before and I was exhausted. Yet still my unsatisfied prick stood defiantly erect like a regimental colour flying proudly over the carnage of a battlefield.
'Relief is at hand,' said Hannah, and began to stroke me, running her hand up from my bursting testicles, along the under side of my prick. At once I felt a familiar churning response. 'It's gone all wet,' said Hannah. 'Quick, Cecily, I think he's coming!'
Cecily dragged herself to her knees and looked down at me. Her breasts dangled seductively over me but before she could assist Hannah in any way, the first wave of my coming forced its way up the length of my prick and shot into the air, white and sticky as the cream I had supped on so delightfully from Cecily's body. As jet followed jet, spurting upwards, Cecily's breasts were copiously splashed.
Hungrily she rubbed my cum into them before ducking down as though at a drinking fountain to catch some in her mouth. Hannah joined her, helping her to anoint her body with my offering. Her nipples were still engorged and her body flushed. Twisting and turning, she massaged herself all over, squeezing the last dying gushes and dribbles from my prick with her hands. Becky appeared suddenly at her side. She had found one last small basket-a punnet I believe it is called-of strawberries. Crushing the fruit between her fingers, she began to smear it all over Cecily's titties and her stomach. As she raised her arms, more crushed fruit was applied to the soft, delicate hair thus revealed. Then she reverted to holding her magnificent breasts out so that Hannah and Becky could continue to anoint them with a happy mixture of strawberry, cum and cream. By now, spent and fatigued but still drinking in the scents and sights of our summer entertainment, I became aware of two things. I was very sticky and I was beginning to attract the insects. Both of us needed a good wash.
'There is a small pond over there,' said Becky. 'Donald told me about it. He thought you might need to be cleaned up before the afternoon was over.' 'Where is Donald?' I asked. 'Indeed, where is everyone else? They've all vanished except for you and Hannah.'
'They're taking part in the apres dejeuner entertainment,' she said. 'What's that?' I asked. 'A game loosely based on hide-and-seek,' said Becky. 'So we have missed it? It was very good of the two of you to stay behind and assist Cecily and me.'
'It will go on for some time yet,' said Becky. 'If you have a quick splash about in cold water, apart from getting clean, you might feel sufficiently revived to take part in it yourself. Take this rug.
You can rub yourself dry afterwards with it.' 'I am very fatigued, Becky. I suppose you wouldn't consider helping me?' I said.
'No,' said Becky firmly. 'Hannah and I are going to have our hands full getting Cecily sluiced down and made presentable. She's in a far messier state than you, except for her hair. You've got bits of strawberry and God knows what in yours, Andrew, so make sure you submerge yourself properly and wash it all out.' I was despatched pondwards, but before I went I turned back to Cecily and gave her a fond kiss. 'That was a lovely meal,' I said. 'Thank you for inviting me.' 'Thank you for coming,' she said sweetly.
Half an hour later found me clean, dried and dressed. 'What about this game?' I asked. 'It's quite simple,' said Becky. 'All you have to do is to go into the wood, hide yourself and wait.'
'Then what happens?' 'If you're lucky, you get found.' “Who by?' 'All the men are hiding and all the women are seeking.' 'So it's up to me to tuck myself away in some really obscure place?' 'If you are quite sure you want to remain undiscovered,' said Becky. 'At least you'd get some rest. On the other hand you might get bored with only the flora and fauna of the wood to look at.
Anyway, that's up to you.' 'Won't everyone have been discovered by now?' I asked. 'The game must have been underway for some time.'
'Remember that Hannah and I had to stay behind to help Cecily,' she said. 'That means that there are more hiding men than seeking women out there. Also that some of them may be ready for a second finding, and a second coming.' Entering into the spirit of the occasion, I set off into the woods. After a few hundred yards I heard a crashing sound and an excited feminine cry of triumph. Someone had been found by someone. I couldn't see who they were since they were on the far side of a particularly thick thicket. I edged my way between some saplings. I could move quite quietly now because there was a carpet of moss under my feet. Again I heard voices. Two people coming my way. I slipped behind a large tree. Remembering schoolboy games, I backed slowly round to the far side of the tree and waited. I heard them walk past and thought I caught Catherine's voice but they soon disappeared and all was quiet again. A movement caught my eye again. There was something up in one of the trees. I peered up. A squirrel. I watched it as it came out onto a low branch, ears pricked and tail erect. 'Got you!' said a voice in my ear. At the same time two arms were clasped round me from behind. I glanced down. Two very white arms held me. Two slim white hands, the fingers interlaced in front of me. 'Perdita!' I said. Her grip relaxed and I turned round. 'I'm glad it's you,' she said. 'Andrew, I know that I have passed most of my time with Ian since I have been here. But I would like to have one fuck with you before I set off for Scotland tomorrow.' A note of solicitude entered her voice. 'I hope that you can manage it again so soon after your Cecily and cream meal.' I looked at her. Perdita was almost my height. Her dark hair was in considerable disarray and her dress half-unbuttoned and already torn at the hem. She had a wide, generous mouth. Her lips were slightly parted and she was breathing quite heavily. I watched her bosom rise and fall. White flesh showed under her unloosed bodice. Her deep blue eyes were opened wide and she held me in a steady gaze. I poked a finger between two undone buttons and touched her. She smiled and clasped her hands over mine. My trapped fingers felt the smoothness of breast. Mr. Pego came to life. 'Something tells me that all will be well,' I said. She reached one hand down and fondled my balls.
She squeezed gently. My cock thrust out slowly but determinedly. She took note of what she had achieved. 'All's well that ends well,' she said and pinched the head of my member. She started to undo my buttons. 'We must undress each other,' she said. 'Except for the shoes.' 'You want us to keep our shoes on?' I asked with surprise. 'I want you to take your own shoes off,' she said. 'I can never manage men's shoes when I'm excited. I go all clumsy. And when you do get them off, there's only a pair of feet revealed. Men's feet are not their best part.' 'There are better,' I agreed. As I spoke she completed her release of Mr. Pego. He protruded in a thoroughly satisfactory manner. 'Over here!' and I led her back to the mossy patch. 'It's softer here. No nettles, just some leaves.'
'How thoughtful of you,' she said. She bounced up and down on the thick moss carpet. 'Almost like a bed.' More and more hurriedly we unhooked, unlaced and unbuttoned each other. We looked at each other, still largely clothed but already revealing most of the things that clothes are supposed to hide. 'The shoes,' she said. I bent down to undo them but, as I did so, my unbuttoned trousers slipped down to my knees. Unbalanced, I sat down backwards with a thump. Kicking my legs up in the air, I tried to take off my shoes.
One slipped off easily. The second resisted. I gave a sharp tug and it flew off, landing some feet away in some undergrowth. In reaction to the sudden jerk, I fell over on my back. My legs were waving in the air as I tried to ease my trousers off which had got thoroughly entangled round my ankles. 'Help,' I said, trapped like a sheep on its back. Perdita knelt down and tugged my socks off, tossing first one and then the other impatiently over her shoulder. Then, as she reached forward to pull my trousers off as well, she paused as though an idea had struck her. Instead she shook her shoulders so that her bared bosom escaped fully from the clinging stuff of her dress.
With a hand on each ankle, she pressed my bare soles against her breasts. She began to rub herself against them. 'Just an idea I had,' she said. 'There must be something you can do with feet.' I felt her nipples harden. Then she drew back a little so that the tips were just brushing against me. They hardened even more. She manipulated one so that it was between two of my toes. It felt like a delicious small berry. 'Can you clench your toes?' she asked.
I tried and managed to give each nipple a squeeze. 'Powerful feet,' she said. 'Like one of the big apes I saw in the zoological gardens.' I wasn't sure I liked being compared to a great ape although I was enjoying this novel situation. 'But not nearly so hairy,' she went on hurriedly. She began to suck my toes. A delicious sensation shot through me. Mr. Pego was bolt upright. She raised her eyes and noticed. Her teeth bit delicately at a big toe.
'A moment more,' she said, taking the toe out of her mouth. She pressed her breasts again against my soles and began to rub harder than ever, swaying like a snake charmer in front of a cobra-or is it the other way round? A detached part of my mind made a note to ask Colonel Moore as an expert in all things Eastern. Perdita was becoming more and more carried away. 'You like that?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said, for it was true. 'Although I do feel somewhat pinned down.' 'Time to move on,' she said, letting me go.
She stood up and pulled her dress off her shoulders and down to her waist. Then she let it drop and stepped out of it. Bending down, she grabbed one sleeve and made as though to throw it with careless abandon behind her. There was a ripping noise. She had had one foot on the hem. 'Damn,' she said. 'This always seems to happen.'
Crouching down, she bundled the increasingly sorry rags of her dress together and re-enacted her casual tossing away motion. The dress flew through the air and caught on a projecting bough. 'Now for your things, Andrew,' she said, removing my trousers, helping me to my feet and then stripping my shirt off, followed by my underwear.
There was a brief struggle as Mr. Pego had to be negotiated. Item by item, my clothes were flung away. I tried to keep an eye on where each article fell. We had had enough missing clothing for one day.
Finally we were both completely naked, facing one another. As I have said, Perdita had that very clear, almost translucent skin that some dark-haired women have. Her hair was very black with a bluish tinge to it where it caught the light. Her nipples were a dark red and the area round them again very dark. Her breasts were clearly separated by the channel between them. Her breastbone showed up plainly. Her titties did not have the rippling abundance of a Cecily nor the round plumpness of a Rosie. Instead they were pointed and vulnerable. I could see tiny blue veins around the nipples, each of which, because of a slight concavity of the upper surface of her titties, stood boldly upwards. As she sucked in her breath, I could see her ribcage. There was not an ounce of spare flesh on her. Waist and hips were sharply defined. Below a large navel, her stomach was flat before swelling out to a generous Mound of Venus. Her pussey hair was also very black as well as long and profuse. Stray black hairs curled invitingly against the white of her thighs. I became very eager to discover what was hidden away beneath that dense bush.
'Perdita,' I said, 'I am glad that I've found you.' 'What are you going to do with me?' she said with a teasing glint in her eye. I said nothing but held her tightly in my arms. Her arms went round me and we stood locked together for a silent minute. Then she hugged me and began to rub herself against me. Her mouth was biting at my shoulder and the top of her head was against my mouth.
Her nipples were tracing little circles against my chest. As she ground herself against me, I felt the warm friction of our pubic hair deliciously entangled. Unlike many women, her pussey hair was almost as silky as that of the rest of her and it had a similar sheen to it.
My prick had found its way unerringly between her legs and her pussey was brushing the top of it. She moved backwards and forwards, stroking it to a state of almost painful arousal. 'Let's lie down,' I said, becoming weak with my desire to enter her. We collapsed on to the moss, she on top. She levered herself up on her arms and looked me anxiously in the face. 'Andrew,' she said, 'I must warn you that I am going to be what I know you men sometimes call a Sloppy Fuck. A very sloppy fuck. You already know that Ian and I fucked on the way here, both on the Sociable and behind the hedge. I also fucked George here in the woods a short while ago. 'I am also,' she went on, 'One of those women who cannot exercise any great control over their hidden muscles when a man is inside them. I just give way completely and get very wide and very wet.' 'I don't mind,' I said. 'Let's fuck.' Without more ado, she lowered herself on me, effortlessly encompassing my member in its engorged entirety. We both stayed still for a moment as I enjoyed the feel of her. Then she settled so that the cheeks of her bum pressed hard on the tops of my thighs. She twitched her shoulders and I watched her breasts swing unencumbered and free above me. With one finger I traced the outline of a nipple before running my hand lightly down the channel between her breasts, parting them carefully, feeling the hardness of bone under the thin flesh. She lifted herself a fraction and leaned forward so that now her breasts were brushing against my chest. I breathed in so that their soft weight lay on me. With both hands I began to squeeze and fondle them. Under the soft skin they were surprisingly firm. As I played with them, the nipples rose like twin projectiles, hard with desire. She leaned further forward and stuck out her tongue, thrusting it deep into my mouth. As I began slowly to force my prick up and down inside her, so her tongue moved in unison, exploring and probing. The wetness in my mouth was matched by the wetness of her cunney. By dint of careful experiment, I was able to adjust myself so that I could feel her pussey hair and clit rubbing along the upper side of my member. She responded to my movements, sliding backwards and forwards so that her thick bush, already well dampened, rode up and down, pressed tight against my own pubic hair. Suddenly she moved up too much and my prick dropped out, remaining in slippery contact with her cunney lips. 'Sorry!' she said. 'I knew that was going to happen.' 'Don't worry,' I said. 'It's a lovely feel.' Reassured, she began to rub her pussey along my body, over my stomach and up as far as my chest. I could feel her opened lips sliding warmly over me. Her pussey hair seemed to ease rather than impede that long, slow advance and retreat.
I stretched out my arms to clutch the cheeks of her bum, pressing them and taking control, moving her at an easy pace to and fro.
Without any increase in the pace, I pulled her back down. Then I urged her back up so that, as easily as it had fallen out, Mr. Pego slipped back inside her. 'Easy go, easy come,' I said softly to her. We began to match thrust with counter thrust. 'Can I do it from behind?' I suddenly asked her. 'Yes, yes,' she said breathlessly. In an instant she had turned herself over on to elbows and knees, raising her bum up into the air. Cradling her head on her arm, she looked backwards at me through the tunnel of her parted thighs. She raised herself still further. Like her breasts, her bum was well divided. I saw the dark eye of her back passage held up towards me. Below, the soft, sopping hair of her pussey hung like an inviting tropical forest. 'Which hole?' I asked. 'Either! Or both!' she replied urgently. Parting the cheeks of her bum, I placed the tip of my prick at the-entrance to her tight little hole.
'No one's been there today,' she said. 'In fact, I don't think I've been bum fucked for the whole of this holiday.' Carefully, anxious not to hurt her, I began to inch my way into her. She caught her breath. 'It's all right,' she said. 'It'll get easier in a minute.' Slowly, withdrawing a little and then pushing on, I eased my way further and further into her. I could sense her straining to widen her legs and help my passage. I paused, not wanting to distress her. Then all at once, I felt her relax and I slid well into her. 'All right?' I asked. 'Yes,' she said. 'I was a little tight at first. Sometimes it hurts but it's lovely now.' So well lubricated had I been before forcing my way into her that now, although her muscles were holding me in a firm grip, I could ride easily along her. I looked down and watched the white shaft of my prick appearing and disappearing into her like a gleaming piston of one of Mr. Brunei's steam ships. 'Andrew,' she said quietly, catching her breath, 'Will you promise me something, before we get too carried away. When you come, will you come in my cunt?' 'If I can,' I replied. 'Although sometimes things happen too fast to control. But I will try.' Deeper and deeper but still with deliberate speed, I thrust back and forth in her. She began to moan and tremble. I moved inexorably on, kneeling up, my hands holding her firmly just below her breasts as they swayed, the nipples rubbing against the moss as she lowered herself further. I felt the walls of her passage widen. She had become very hot and all her body had the sheen of perspiration on it. It was as though I was being drawn in, into some dark secret cave. Faster and faster I pumped, and now she was responding to me, meeting thrust with counterthrust. I kept tight control on myself. I was determined to make this fuck last as long as possible and savour every last drop of enjoyment. Not only was this my first fuck with Perdita, but it would in all probability be my last. Tomorrow she would be on her way to Scotland and there was no telling when, or indeed if, I should ever see her again. All I had to do was to remember my promise and move down to her cunt when the time came for my coming. Once again I thanked the blessed providence that had ensured that every woman and every cunt I had encountered had been in some way new and different. I recalled one of those chats that my old headmaster liked to have with his senior boys from time to time in his study. 'Andrew,' he had said, 'A word of warning. Fucking is the finest sport that a young man can engage in, but if you ever reach the stage where one fuck is much like another, where afterwards you cannot picture who it was you fucked and the particular feel and smell and taste of her, then you should give it up for the time being and practice the art of self-control until you are able to resume in full enjoyment of the variety of the wonderful world of pussey, and of the ever-altering feel of one pussey from occasion to occasion. Every fuck should be different.' 'What wise counsel,' I said to myself. I was indeed lucky that I had been taught by a man with such a deep and scholarly understanding of the more esoteric Greek philosophers. Was it not a follower of Epicurus who said, 'No man slips twice into the same Quim?' Or was it one of the Chinese thinkers? Steadily I rode on, taking notice of every last sensation, feeling how her bum was now spread wide, letting me move as powerfully but smoothly as a ramrod up the barrel of a gun. Now though, try though I might, I could not withstand the first familiar sensations of my coming. My balls felt full to bursting. I could see them, swollen with their load, as they banged against her buttocks while I thrust ever more vigorously into her. A tingle announced that the first surge of my coming was beginning its journey up my rock-hard prick. 'Careful,' I said, 'I think I'm coming.' 'Quick!' she said, holding still so that I could ease my prick out of her without precipitating the final release. Concentrating hard, I pulled free, although the last clinging touch of her outer muscles around the tip of my prick was nearly my undoing. I drew in a deep breath and waited, trying to distract myself by looking round and spotting where all my clothing was. Only one sock in sight, I realised, trying desperately to keep my attention from the churning sensation inside me. Perdita, as eager to take me into her cunt as I was to enter it, turned over onto her back, tucked her heels against her bottom and exposed the full moist extent of her hungry pussey to view. Her knees were so widely parted that it seemed she must be double jointed at the hip. Never before had I seen a pussey so almost frantically displayed for fucking. I sank into her. There was no pause, no precision, no care. I just immersed myself in one long movement far, far into her. Instead of closing her legs to hold me, she instinctively opened ever wider. I moved around inside her, feeling out the full extent of her cunney, plumbing her hidden depths. Perdita was a very wet fuck indeed. Her love juices were trickling down, dampening her thighs and soaking her pussey hair. As I drove in and out, the juices were transferred onto me and from me onto her stomach so that our bodies were oiled and bathed in her wetness.
I realised that what I was missing through the absence of a tight fit and the sensations of being held in and manipulated was more than made up for by the tremendous excitement of being immersed in her copious cum. It was as though Perdita's entire being was dissolving into a warm welcoming sea. When fucking she let go completely. She became quite incapable of any artifice or calculation. Her body took over and she became a woman utterly abandoned to her sexual appetites and her outpourings. Perdita would never be a neat fuck, one that could manage to fuck discreetly. The urgency with which she threw off all her clothing, inconvenient though it might prove later, was all part and parcel of her need to offer herself up without delay and without reserve. All her body became one sexual instrument.
Perdita was an all-over fuck. No part of her was unaffected. Yet in the end all her hunger became centred in her wide-open pussey as it filled and flooded with her juices. I was very happy that I had not missed her. I suspected that anyone who lived with her or passed much time with her would find that they were spending a disproportionate amount of that time looking after or looking for Perdita. What she needed was some sort of chaperone. Not-Heavens Forbid!-to prevent her from fucking, but to look after her when she was fucking: someone to ensure that Perdita, her belongings and her clothing were gathered together roughly in one place-and the right place at that. Our fuck could not last much longer. I had already been on the verge of my coming while I had been still ensheathed in her bum. I quickly felt the first unstoppable surge of my cum coursing its way up my cock, eager to discharge into the sea of her secretions. Perdita was beginning to be wracked by great shudders that rippled through her body so that each time, however impossible that might be, she seemed to open a little wider. She didn't cry out loudly, but, half under her breath, as each shudder jolted through her she was saying 'Yes! Yes!
Yes!' as though she was willing herself on, driving all the tensions from her, draining them from her body and her mind. She rose up to meet me as I plunged into her. Time and time again I rammed into her, trying to fill her to overflowing. Jet upon jet gushed up and spurted into her. My balls banging unmercifully against her and sticky with her cum, throbbed with the power of their emptying ejaculations.
Her hands were clenching and unclenching, her breathing harsh. I in turn felt a tide of relief ebb through me. Everything that was in me was now in her. My pace slowed. The last irregular spasms of my coming shook me but soon I had nothing left. She gave one final convulsive heave and then lay very still, legs and arms splayed out, only her breasts still quivering with the energy she had expended.
Quite quickly I slid out of her. Our combined juices were dripping out of her and soaking into the damp moss on which she lay. I pressed my face into the wet warmth of her pussey, breathing in deeply and tasting the pussey hair, smooth as silk against my cheek. Lazily, I licked the inside of her thighs. One last, belated drop of cum hung on the end of my prick before dropping to the ground. We were both spent and exhausted. All seemed very still around us. Little by little life resumed. I became aware of a chaffinch or some such bird singing in the tree above me. Some small animal rustled through the leaves and I watched a glossy black beetle feeling its way across the moss only inches from my nose. Two Red Admiral butterflies were dancing and twisting in a shaft of sunlight above our heads until one fluttered down and settled on Perdita's left breast. As she felt the light touch she squinted down her nose to see what was happening. She lay still and the butterfly opened and closed its wings. No doubt it had been attracted by the fresh sweat that glistened on her. As it drank-for that was what I assumed it was doing-I thought it a great improvement on the slapping tongue of the cow that had been similarly attracted to Ian's bared bum earlier. 'Have you seen my clothes?' said Perdita about a quarter of an hour later. 'They're over there,' I said, 'And over there, and over there.' We staggered to our feet. Perdita stretched like a cat. There was a dazed just-fucked look to her that was most beguiling. For a moment I felt Mr. Pego shift and stir but in reality I was both too fatigued and beginning to get concerned about collecting the party together again.
There remained the Rosie problem. As far as I was concerned she had indulged in her last naked bicycle ride. We would have to find something for her to wear. Perdita was retrieving her clothing item by item, pulling something frilly off a bush here, unearthing a shoe there. As she hopped about, clutching at a foot where she had stepped on something sharp, her hair had fallen over her eyes and her naked breasts swayed. Again there was a twitching hint of interest from Mr. Pego. The damp blackness of her pussey showed up in stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin. Sadly I resigned myself to the fact that I might never see it again. 'Oh, there it is!' she said. 'My dress. I thought I'd lost it.' I was conducting an inventory of my clothing. One sock short. I shut my eyes, trying to picture where Perdita had thrown it. 'To the left of that tree over there,' I said to myself, deciding to dress myself as fully as possible before searching for it. I did not want to risk an unprotected Mr. Pego among the thorns. Perdita and I began to dress.
We both heard the sniffling noise at the same time. 'Who is it?' I called out. There was no answer except more sniffling, then the sound of someone blowing their nose. 'I can see her,' said Perdita, trying to untangle her dress from a broken bough on which it must have got caught earlier when she tossed it away in her cavalier fashion. 'She?' I queried. 'Rosie,' said Perdita.
'Bother, I've ripped it.' Sure enough she had torn her dress so badly that short of a prolonged session with needle and thread it was clearly unwearable. 'Where?' 'Over there, under that beech tree.' 'I don't know what a beech tree looks like,' I said.
'That tree, over there,' said Perdita, mournfully peering at the ruin of her dress. I scrutinised the shrubbery. Sure enough, there was Rosie, tightly bundled up from throat to ankle in what looked like a tablecloth. 'Becky and George did it,' she said. 'They said that I couldn't go on flitting around the countryside without any clothes on. And in particular, I had to be properly wrapped up before we all cycled home. They wound me round in this spare cloth like some horrid Egyptian mummy and put me under strict orders not to take it off again under any circumstances.' 'Very sensible of them,' I said.
'But it's completely spoilt the game for me,' she said. 'I can hardly walk, I'm so hobbled up. I'm so afraid of some mishap that I daren't try to get through the prickly bits and I keep having to clutch hold of the trees to avoid falling over. I didn't catch anyone.
They'd all gone much deeper into the woods or else could get away from me if I did spot them. I nearly got Monty but Gwendolen saw him at the same time and caught him first. And I did so want a fuck with Monty.
Ever since I saw him doing it doggy style on the train here. And he's funny. And besides, I want to broaden my clerical experience.'
'He's not a proper clergyman,' I reminded her. 'I know,' she said, 'But he dresses like one and he talks like one when he wants to.
And he smells like one. Do you not detect an odour of sanctity hanging over him sometimes?' 'I think you will find it is more the result of the occasional over-liberal application of pomade,' I said. 'Or those carnations he seems to have an endless supply of.'
'Anyway,' she said. 'I've had a rotten afternoon.' With that she started to sniffle again. 'There, there,' said Perdita. 'You can dry your eyes on the remains of my dress. I'm sure I'll never be able to wear it again.' She mopped down poor Rosie. Bad though her behaviour had been, I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
'Come back with us,' I said. 'We really do have to go back to the others and then go home. But I promise you, I'll have a word with Monty this evening. I know he likes you. You'll get your fuck, believe me.' 'On a train?' she sniffed, obviously trying to drive a hard bargain. 'Hardly this evening,' I said. 'You'll have to make do with the house or the garden. No travelling and no wheels.' 'Not even one of the tricycles,' she said. 'No,' I said. 'Rosie, you know perfectly well that you cannot always be in motion when you fuck.
Anyway, you were quite happy at the prospect of fucking Monty behind a tree.' 'All right,' she said. Then she brightened up. 'Maybe we can go on an excursion somewhere next week. We can get a train from Northampton to Leicester I think, and then we could go on one of the Midland expresses to, maybe, Derby.' 'We'll try something, although I would prefer an outing to somewhere more interesting.'
And so we retraced our steps to the picnic glade, Rosie hobbling along in her tablecloth wrapping, me fully dressed except for one missing sock and Perdita with the remains of her dress thrown round her shoulders like a shawl and carrying the rest of her things in a bundle. Most of the others were already there when we eventually stumbled out of the trees. They were sitting about in various states of dishevelment and fatigue. Cecily was looking thoroughly presentable as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Monty and Gwendolen were fully dressed but in each other's clothes. 'If women were ordained,' said Donald, 'I for one would become a regular attender at any service taken by Gwendolen.' She did in fact look most fetching, her generous bosom barely contained in Monty's white shirt, his clerical collar sitting demurely at her throat while his frock coat and trousers accentuated the neatness of her waist and hips.
Monty, an actor to his fingertips, was thoroughly enjoying flaunting himself in Gwendolen's dress, strutting and hip-swinging.
Hannah and Becky were engaged in animated discussion. Donald and Ian were standing shoulder to shoulder, each with his kilt lifted high in front, like a pair of French Can Can dancers. Their stout Scottish staffs were being paraded under orders from the two sisters.
'They are so alike,' said Hannah, lifting up Donald's prick and displaying it to Becky. 'Are you sure you can tell which is which?'
'That's the one that I had,' said Becky firmly, pointing to Ian's member. 'But you said he came at you from behind,' said Hannah.
'I'm sure it was Donald because I know for a fact that Ian was well lodged in me at just the same time that you say your encounter took place. Although, I must admit that he entered me from the rear as well.' 'Who fucked who?' asked Becky to Ian and Donald. 'We must clear up this confusion.' They both looked rather smug. 'I was always brought up not to talk about amorous exploits in front of other people,' said Ian. 'I also,' said Donald. 'But it's most provoking not to know who one has been fucked by,' said Hannah.
'Especially when it was such a pleasurable fuck.' 'The solution must be,' said Donald, 'that when we get back, you should try us both in order to make up your mind which is which.' 'I suppose we will have to do that,' said Becky brightly. 'Don't forget what you promised,' said Rosie to me. 'About asking Monty.' 'I think it had better wait until we're home. Anyway, you'd hardly want to fuck him when he's in the guise of Gwendolen,' I said. 'Besides, you've got to be as good as gold on the return journey in order to make up for all the trouble you've caused today.' 'It might be an interesting surprise,' said Rosie, with a gleam in her eye. 'Imagine the fun of going out together with Monty dressed like that. Everyone would think he was my big sister and we could sit innocently side by side in public and only I would know that under that rather stylish dress there was that enormous prick just waiting to shove its way into me.
But we'd have to fit him out with a big hat,' she went on, 'Otherwise it doesn't look quite right.' I could see that Rosie, with her taste for the unusual in life, was getting thoroughly interested in the proposition and I had a feeling that Monty, to whom all life seemed to be a charade, would be equally interested in the idea.
'Of course, the fun would be in doing it in some public place,' said Rosie. 'We could go to the Opera together. You would have to chaperone us.' 'Where would be the fun for me?' I asked.
'Gwendolen could come as our other male escort,' said Rosie. 'You two could talk about the things that men talk about at the Opera. Like the Funds. Or the state of our North American markets. Gwendolen would have to wear a weskit and a watch on a chain.' As I thought about the scheme it began to have distinct possibilities. 'When we get back to London,' I said. The idea of Gwendolen's lovely titties concealed in Monty's shirt attracted me. Mr. Pego again gave a first warning twitch. I looked at her. We would have to do something about her nipples. They stood out too obviously through the thin cotton. Rosie was right, a waistcoat would be the answer. 'But what about tonight?' said Rosie. 'I can't wait till we get back to London.'
'How about an assignation in the summer house,' I suggested.
'Or the maze,' said Rosie. 'That would be an adventure. We could all try it after dinner.' 'Except Perdita,' I said. 'She would get completely lost and we'd have to spend half the night looking for her. And we have to put her on the train for Scotland tomorrow. I suspect that the whole household is going to have to help her pack in any case.' 'I am going to provide her with a map,' said Rosie.
'She has to change at least twice. I'm sure she is going to end up somewhere like Great Yarmouth if we are not careful.' Rosie's practical side in matters of public transport had come to the fore again. 'That's a good idea,' I said approvingly. 'But now we must get everything organised for our bicycle ride back to the Grange.'
A couple of servants arrived with a gig. The remains of the picnic were loaded into it. 'We'll bring the other tablecloth back with us,' said Becky, indicating the swaddled Rosie. Perdita was the only remaining problem. She was sitting down on a handy tree stump on the other side of the clearing, holding on to the bundle of her belongings, a far away look in her eyes and quite oblivious to the fact that her white titties were highlighted by the setting sun. She could not travel like that. Becky and George solved the problem. She was to depart just as she had arrived, bundled up in a travelling rug like a large parcel beside Ian. I carefully mounted myself on the tandem tricycle behind Cecily. 'I hope you are still strong enough to pedal,' she said, with a provoking smile. 'I am just going to sit here and think of strawberries and cream.' Mr. Pego, as though sensing her bum just inches ahead, did rather more than twitch this time. It was going to be a difficult ride home. I could hardly let him out into the late afternoon air. We had caused sufficient consternation among the local population already that day. At least Rosie was safe. I hoped that there would not be too many people on the road. Although superficially decent, any closer inspection would reveal some distinct oddities about the party. A girl wrapped in a tablecloth, pinned firmly at hem and neck, a clergyman with very obvious nipples riding with a woman with close cropped hair, a large bundle with a tendency to giggle and me, bent double in order to relieve my straining member. Suffice to say that we did arrive with no further adventures. The picnic had been a success and several of the party had developed a taste for the country life. I hoped though that I would encounter Perdita again although I recognised that this was more likely to be by chance than design. 'Who knows,' I thought wistfully, 'by tomorrow evening she will either be enjoying a Highland fling with her friends, or will be having a thoroughly sloppy fuck anywhere between Llandudno and Scarborough, depending on where she got on the wrong train.' At dinner that night, we had dildo surprise. Becky and Hannah were responsible. As we sat round the table, small bowls of salad were brought in after the soup.
Nestling among the lettuce in four instances, were copies of the Scott Dildo, as Hannah called it professionally. My prick, proudly erect among the greenery, set about with radishes and spring onions. Cries of surprise and, I am glad to say, delight, greeted them. 'It is becoming a standard line,' said Hannah. 'Your likeness is entering an amazingly wide variety of cunnies on a regular basis all over London and the Home Counties. Andrew, you will receive quite a substantial sum in royalties at the end of the six months accounting period. But you may have to come back to the pottery in the near future.'
'Why?' I asked, 'Is there something wrong. Without having scrutinised any of them in detail, they seem to be remarkably true-to-life reproductions.' 'At least three of the girls,' said Hannah, 'Have expressed a very strong interest in being fucked by the original.' 'Will that be acceptable to Madame Nettleton?' I asked. 'Madame Nettleton is thoroughly accommodating about such things, as long as the work is not held up too much.' 'But in the meantime,' said Becky, 'I for one intend to make use of one of these splendid Things as soon as the meal is finished. 'And me,' said Rosie, although whether she intended to sample my likeness before or after her assignation in the gazebo with Monty, I did not know.
'And me,' said Cecily. 'I want to compare it with the real thing.' 'I want the original,' said Catherine suddenly, breaking her silence. 'I have been here for five days and I haven't fucked you once.' 'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but you have been much occupied with George.' 'That was not a reprimand, Andrew,' she said, 'But art expression of interest.' The prospect of a bout of after-dinner fucking was looming deliciously before us. I ate heartily, knowing that I would need all my energy in the evening ahead.
Sir, This little report may reassure your readers who took issue with the recent judgement of a correspondent in the Manchester Guardian who opined that the age of chivalry has forever passed. Last Wednesday I had the pleasure of attending a gala charity performance of Mr. Henry Irving's Macbeth at the Lyceum Theatre. As your readers will know, this event has been the talk of London for many weeks well before the opening night. The tongue of rumour had been well primed with comment upon the huge costs of the costumes and scenery, the golden dinner service to be used for the banqueting scene, Sir Arthur Sullivan's music, the scenic effects for the appearance of the witches-for artistic Society it was 'the play's the thing'. And assuredly, however fierce the wordy war raised over its merits in the press, there was but one voice of praise for the beauty of Miss Ellen Terry whose enchanting presence added yet further lustre to this magnificent production. I was honoured to meet this delightful lady after the performance. But I must start this tale from the beginning; I was escorted to the theatre by a relatively new acquaintance, Lieutenant John Lynch of the 69th East Kent Mounted Rifles-certainly the appropriately numbered regiment for this young rogue whose luxuriant moustache was grown solely at the wish of Mrs. Dunton-Green, who in turn shaved her pussey hair for the Lieutenant's delectation. His strange desires, I am sure, will come as no surprise to your readers who have met the randy Lieutenant, for his prowess as a cocksman cannot be denied. I would take this opportunity, though, of stating as fact that despite his claims to the contrary, his penis is not the equal in length to that of Mr. Peter Stockman, though that in itself is no shame for who indeed can hold a candle (please forgive the analogy) to Mr. Stockman when these vital statistics are compared?
Incidentally, I am reliably informed that Mr. Stockman's extraordinary member has even been awarded a royal seal of approval after its penetration of Her Royal Highness Princess Helene of The Netherlands. You would agree, Sir, I am sure, that his tryst with Princess Helene could form a most interesting essay in its own right in the unlikely event of his finding spare time from fucking to compose a dissertation about the affair for our vicarious enjoyment.
However, I digress; John and I were invited to a select reception for the principal players after the performance of the play given by Sir James Salter, Chairman of the good cause (The Society for the Propagation of Useful Knowledge To The Deserving Poor) which benefited from the funds raised that evening. I found myself standing next to Mr. Irving when the great man suddenly turned round and asked which scenes in the play I had most enjoyed. 'The acting throughout was of the highest quality,' I said carefully, and I could see from Sir James's approving nod that my thoughtfulness was much appreciated. 'I was most impressed with the staging. I heard one gentleman sitting near me remark that no finer piece of stagecraft has been effected, even by yourself, than in the scene in which the murder of Duncan is discovered. The rush in of Macduff and his followers, the terrible roar of fear and thirst for vengeance, the glare of the torches and, above all, the white-faced figure of Lady Macbeth expressing her unutterable agony whilst her husband stalks amid the angry soldiers-an embodiment of disguised guilt-all this was marvellously conveyed to the audience.' Mr. Irving smiled and said: 'Miss Everleigh, you should take up the profession of a dramatic critic. Your little earhole (at least I think that is what he said, though by this time we had quaffed a bumper of champagne and had partaken of a sea-food buffet) knows more about the theatre than Mr. George Bernard Shaw and the rest of those bounders who turn a dishonest penny scribbling for the newspapers. Take my word for it, as far as theatrical, criticism is concerned, Mr. Shaw does not know his arse from his elbow!'
The party broke up soon afterwards, but not before Johnny rather unwisely told the story of the vicar who was enjoying a cup of tea at Mrs. Fairweather's, when young Miss Fairweather dropped her chocolate onto the rug. 'Oh dear,' said the vicar. 'You've got hairs on your sweetie.' 'Yes,' she said. 'And I'm only fifteen!' 'Ha, ha, ha!' said John to a most embarrassed and deafening silence. 'Jenny, I think it is time for us to be off.' 'I think we are about three minutes too late.' I muttered to Sir James who noted my remark with a wry smile. In the handsome cab on our way back to Johnny's rooms in Albemarle Street, I ticked him off about the recounting of an improper story. 'It was appreciated as much as a pork pie at Lady Cohen's soiree next Thursday,' I remonstrated, as the handsome boy snuggled up to me and began to play with my breasts, cupping them in his hands and squeezing gently as we exchanged kisses and cuddles which raised my sensual appetite enormously. I moved my hand to the front of his trousers and felt a hard rod that threatened to tear the material that covered it. His thighs moved as he tried to ease his erection, but I had already decided to offer a helping hand! I could already feel the desire emanating from that throbbing tool, so great was my desire to hold and play with that rampant thumper. So I unbuttoned his fly and grasped his thick penis that showed out of his trousers, quivering like an arrow. He had a long foreskin that I gently peeled back, leaving the purple knob completely uncovered.
Nothing loath, Johnny unbuttoned my blouse and fondled my naked titties as I rubbed his ivory shaft up to peak hardness. When I felt that he might spend too soon, I took my hand away and we locked ourselves into a lingering, erotic kiss with our tongues probing inside each others' mouths. I then kissed him all over until my lips found my way to the top of his lovely long shaft which must have measured at least seven and a half inches (well below the dimensions of Mr. Stockman, of course, though I suppose that is neither here nor there in this context). I took the pulsating knob between my lips, jamming down his foreskin and lashing my tongue around the rigid shaft. I sucked hard, taking at least a third of this extraordinarily long tool into my mouth whilst I played with his hairy balls. Then I began to lick this monster member, drawing my hot, wet tongue from his balls right up his shaft, flicking briefly at the gleaming red dome.
He clutched at my hair and shuddered as I circled my tongue all around the smooth flesh of Johnny's uncapped helmet, paying particular attention to the sensitive ridge. Then I decided to perform my party piece, which leads every man I have ever known to spend within thirty seconds! I removed my hands and, clasping them back, I sucked up almost the entire length of his long shaft, bobbing my head up and down as I slurped greedily on the hot, velvet sweetmeat which, true to form, jerked wildly before shooting jets of frothy spunk into my throat. I greedily swallowed every tangy drop of his copious libation but to my astonishment, his pego began to shrink limply in my mouth.
Goodness gracious, I thought, surely this could not be the prick of Lieutenant Johnny Lynch who often boasted that he could fuck like a rattlesnake (though whether this small reptile, indigenous to the area of North and Central America, has extraordinary stamina and prowess in l'art de faire l'amour is at best debatable). Where had I gone wrong?
My own love button was now sopping wet and I could feel the juices trickling down my thighs, but Johnny lay panting, his limp penis hanging loosely out of his trousers. I looked out of the window and saw that we had almost arrived at his apartment, so I stuffed his sorry sausage back into his trousers and we quickly buttoned up and composed ourselves as the cab turned off Piccadilly into Albemarle Street. Johnny paid off the cabman and, in the hallway of the small block, who should we meet but Ellen Terry and young Mr. David Haines, one of Mr. Irving's company who played some of the minor roles, the Bleeding Sergeant, a Messenger, Young Siward etc. in the play we had just seen. We greeted them cordially as we crowded in the elevator which deposited us on the second floor. Miss Terry and Mr.
Haines made their way to Flat Three whilst we went next door to Flat Four. We soon found ourselves on the Chesterfield sofa engaged in a most passionate embrace, and I was pleased to feel Johnny's hands move downwards, stroking my thigh from my knee to my bum. I felt him slip his hand under my skirt and shivered with anticipation as I felt his fingers on the bare skin above my stockings. His hand inserted itself between my thighs and then his fingers worked themselves into the leg of my knickers and began to torment the wet lips of my cunney.
I endeavoured to assist him find the quickest way home, so I wriggled my little bottom and was delighted to feel his fingers penetrate me.
But then, to my alarm, J felt the dear lad's body stiffen and, though still keeping his fingers in my fanny, he suddenly groaned: 'Oh, Jenny, I feel rather unwell, I really do.' 'What is the matter with you?' I asked anxiously. 'Where does it hurt?' 'It's my belly,' he replied between clenched teeth. 'I really do have a most piercing ache in the pit of my stomach.' And then he withdrew his hand from its nesting-place between my legs, rolled off the sofa and doubled up in obvious pain upon the carpet. I cried out: 'Poor Johnny, we must get you a doctor. Have you a telephone installed in the apartment? You have one? Good. Now, is your doctor on the phone?
Yes? I will ring him straightaway.' Johnny was a patient of Doctor Tong of Welbeck Street who I had met socially at dinner parties, so at least the learned gentleman would know who was speaking at the other end of the apparatus. Fortunately the good doctor was at home-I was later to find out that he was in the middle of fucking the beautiful young daughter of Lady Bracknell, which made his decision to come round immediately even more meritorious. I made Johnny lie down on the sofa and tried to make him as comfortable as possible when there was a loud knock on the front door. 'Who is there?' I called out,* for Doctor Tong could not possibly have arrived so quickly.
'It's David Haines here,' said an equally anxious voice from the hallway. 'I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm worried about Miss Terry.
She has been violently sick and is in great pain.' I opened the door and saw the handsome young actor was in a state of some distress.
'That's strange,' I said, 'for my friend Lieutenant Lynch has been similarly affected. But look, I've sent for his doctor who I am sure will be pleased to treat Miss Terry as well.' 'Oh, how clever of you,' he said. 'I will tell Miss Terry and await the visit of the doctor. I don't know much about these matters, but I would guess that they are suffering from food poisoning.' 'You could be right as they both partook of a lobster salad at Sir James Salter's reception at the theatre.' 'Yes, of course, I thought I saw you there, Miss Everleigh. Well, I didn't have anything to eat except a few nuts as Ellen, that is, Miss Terry and I had eaten a light supper before the play. But she cannot resist lobster so she accepted a small portion.'
'So did Johnny, although we too had taken a light supper at Ajao's smart little cafe in Covent Garden,' I sighed. 'I suppose it serves them right really for being greedy. But I do hope your doctor arrives soon as Miss Terry is feeling very unwell. I had better go back and comfort her,' said the good-looking young man. 'Perhaps you would call me when the doctor is free to examine Miss Terry.'
Doctor Tong arrived about five minutes later and examined the two patients. 'They are both suffering from a bad case of lobster poisoning,' he commented, 'and although there is no danger to life, I would suggest that both Lieutenant Lynch and Miss Terry rest as peacefully as they can until the offending food has passed through their systems. 'I have given both of them sleeping draughts and they should now sleep soundly for at least three hours. Whenever either of the patients wakes up, give them some weak tea or barley water, but on no account give them anything to eat,' he told Mr.
Haines and myself, for we both volunteered to nurse our respective patients back to health. 'Very well, then, now may I present you with my bill for five guineas,' said Doctor Tong calmly. 'I presume Lieutenant Lynch, as primary patient, will settle the account?' I thought to myself that poor Johnny, who was almost always broke, would be quite distraught at having to find such a large sum from his already strained bank account. Then a thought struck me and I put my hand on the Doctor's arm and whispered: 'Couldn't we settle the account in kind?' 'Whatever do you mean?' he said. I let my hand fall suggestively to the front of his trousers and rubbed my palm on the rubbery rod that I felt twitch noticeably under my touch.
'I do not fuck for money,' I hastened to add. 'But I would be pleased to let you view my superb feminine charms in all their glorious nudity, and if you like, I will relieve any tensions by a special French massage.' Doctor Tong's eyes brightened as he said: 'In the name of medical science I will accept your offer, as I have never been given a French massage and I think it best that I try one for myself as it might prove a valuable tool in the alleviation of certain mental and physical troubles.' 'Will you excuse us for a few minutes, David?' I said to Mr. Haines. 'Of course, Jenny, I will be in Miss Terry's rooms and I will make you a cup of tea if you will join me there later,' said the considerate young man, taking his leave of us. I turned to Doctor Tong and said: 'Just sit down on the Chesterfield, Doctor, and relax. To entertain you I shall give my impression of the pose plastique as performed by Miss Norma Blakeley at the Jim Jam Club, Great Windmill Street every night at nine o'clock.' 'I have an even better idea,' said Doctor Tong. 'I will play the piano to accompany your performance.' He sat down at the piano and began to play softly a lovely Chopin Polonaise. I undressed to the sound of music until I was nude except for my chemise. Doctor Tong quickened the tempo as I shrugged off the chemise to stand quite naked in front of the mirror. At this juncture, I must confess that I could not help but admire my body. Well, why not, Mr. Editor? I make no apologies for my behaviour, for have I not always held that false modesty is as foolish as overweening pride? Surely there cannot be any readers who would disagree with my philosophy? Therefore I shall not disguise in the slightest my approval of my own unblemished skin or my swelling, firm breasts, each looking a little away from the other, each perfectly round and tapering in luscious curves until they came to two ruby points set in pink aureoles. My belly, too, was as white as snow and gleamed under the electric light-Johnny Lynch believed in obtaining all the conveniences of modern life-and I smoothed my hands over its broad yet flat expanse, dimpled as it was with a sweet little navel, like a perfect plain of snow which appeared the more dazzling from the curly locks of silky blonde hair which formed a golden triangle around my pussey. I stood on tip-toe and swivelled round to face Doctor Tong, opening my legs a little to give him fair view of my demure little crack, complete with its pouting lips. I moved towards him and slid my hand down to the lump in his crotch and closed my fingers around the solid stiffness of his erection. To protect the material of his trousers, I opened his fly buttons and out sprang his bursting stalk which was quite small, being only some five inches long, but beautifully formed and well ornamented by a pair of tight-looking little balls. As I have written in previous missives, a small prick poses no problems for me. Indeed, I think that I prefer them to monster weapons, for smaller pegos are more manoeuvrable when thrusting into a hot, slippery cunney. As my Australian cousin, Joanna Clarke, says: 'It's not the size of the waves that count, but the motion of the ocean!' By now the randy doctor was breathing heavily, so I reached out and stroked his throbbing rod. I giggled as it twitched violently in my hand and I said: 'I know you would like to spend though we haven't too much time for preliminaries. However, if you like the idea, I will let you spend over my titties.' Doctor Tong nodded his approval as I gently took hold of his blue-veined shaft and briskly rubbed my hand up and down from his balls to his knob. I knelt down and with the other hand took my already erect nipples between my fingers and coaxed them up further so they began to resemble two miniature red stalks. 'Come on now, doctor, I want you to soak my bubbies with your love juice,' I urged him as I wrapped my hand tightly around his prick and felt his ultimate pleasure approaching fast. He gasped with delight as he let fly great fountains of frothy spunk which sprayed a white necklace across my globes. I leaned further forward to rub his jerking cock between the valley of my breasts, smearing the sperm all round my saucer-shaped aureoles. I squeezed my breasts together and stuffed his still stiff shaft into my cleavage, and he cried out in ecstasy as he spurted the remnants of his spunk onto my chin. 'Thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor,' I muttered as he lay back on the Chesterfield, quite exhausted from this somewhat hurried sexual exercise. 'What a splendid little how-do-you-do,' he said, heaving himself up as he adjusted his clothing. 'I must thank you most sincerely for a most invigorating tonic, which I only wish I could prescribe for my patients.' I slipped on Johnny's bathrobe and replied: 'It was my pleasure to administer the treatment, Doctor Tong, though I trust you will be as discreet as I about the elixir involved.' 'Dear Jenny, my Hippocratic oath assures you of my total discretion,' he promised, tearing up the bill he had previously made out. Stuffing the pieces of paper into his pocket, he made his way to the door. 'May I wish you a very good night and express the hope that we may soon meet again.' After he had left the apartment I popped in to check that Johnny was still safe in the arms of Morpheus. He looked so sweet, lying there with his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, that I was tempted to wake my sleeping beauty with a kiss. But it would be foolish not to follow the strict instructions of Doctor Tong and so, without disturbing him further, I left John sleeping soundly as I closed the door quietly behind me.
I was about to cross the hallway to take up my neighbour's kind offer of a cup of tea, when I heard someone knocking gently on the front door. I opened it only to find David Haines standing there holding a silver tray complete with a pot of tea, a milk jug, a fruit cake and two cups and saucers. 'If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, then Mahomet must come to the mountain,' he grinned. 'May I come in, please, Miss Everleigh?' 'Of course you can, Mr.
Haines,' I said, welcoming him in. 'You have saved me a journey. Tell me, how is Miss Terry feeling?' 'Oh, she is deep in the land of Nod,' he said. 'Now, shall I pour the tea or would you prefer to do so?' We sipped our tea, which I found most refreshing, and we chatted away in a most amiable fashion. We were soon on forename terms and David told me how he entered the theatrical profession. His parents had owned a small hotel in the Midlands which was frequented by many players en route or returning from the capital city. David had been in charge of the restaurant and earned a high wage, 'but I had always wanted to act on the professional stage,' he explained. 'One evening I auditioned for a role in Mr. Peter Webb's travelling troupe of Shakespearean artistes. I was engaged to play minor roles at first, but I progressed until I won some fame in provincial theatres. My Laertes in Sevenoaks was much admired, whilst my Pistol was commented upon most favourably in Littlehampton and Penistone.' 'How appropriate,' I laughed gaily, 'and was Pistol's cock up?' 'Oh, yes, and flashing fire did follow,' he replied, remembering his lines from the Bard of Avon's Henry V. Yes, Mr. Editor, before you and the readers of your splendid magazine ask the question, I will admit to enjoying intercourse with the handsome young actor. We were attracted to each other, of course, and we had both been fired earlier that evening by the anticipation of a night of connubial bliss with our partners, joys that had apparently been dashed by Sir James Salter's noxious lobsters. However, I did try (though not overmuch!) to dissuade the dear lad as he slipped his arm around my waist and drew me close to him so that he could nibble my ear. 'We shouldn't really do this,' I said as he tenderly took me in his arms.
'Is this fair to Johnny Lynch or to Miss Terry?' 'Ah, Jenny, if you do give me a kiss, what will Lieutenant Lynch lose?' he whispered, inserting his hand between the folds of my robe and letting it rove up to caress my breasts. 'After all, a slice from a cut loaf is never missed as Ellen herself often tells me, for she does not live the life of a nun when we are working in different cities.' I could not help but giggle as our lips met and we eased ourselves down onto the rich pink Persian carpet which was almost as comfortable as a mattress. Slipping off his jacket, I began to unbutton his trousers.
Turning them down, my eager hands wandered under his shirt, feeling the firmness of the rounded contours of his buttocks whilst I did not fail to see his linen stand out in front. I lifted up the shirt to reveal a truly massive truncheon that stood up magnificently from the morass of dark hair around his pubic area. This was a truly prizewinning sapling at least three inches longer than Johnny's and far thicker than that of Doctor Tong's. I put out my hand to grasp this monster tool when I suddenly realised there was something else different about it. As I pulled my hand up and down the hot, smooth-skinned shaft, I realised that the fiery purple helmet was totally uncovered, yet there was no foreskin to pull back. My surprise must have registered on my face as David murmured: 'Dearest love, I hope my prick does not disturb you.' 'Oh, no,' I said reassuringly. 'I have seen several circumcised cocks in my time. They are quite pleasing to the eye and even more pleasant to the taste as there are no smelly parts with which to be concerned. Several high-ranking gentlemen have had their foreskins removed for one reason or another whilst, of course, Sir Moses Abrahams had his whisked off in early infancy.' 'Ah, yes, the Jews perform the operation eight days after birth. And in my case, the cut was made when I was but two and a half when I was diagnosed as suffering from a tight foreskin which caused me problems whilst relieving myself. The only bother since then is assuring ignorant girls that my skinless shaft is still in perfect working order! We kissed again and I shed the cotton robe to lay naked in his arms. He, too, removed the rest of his clothing to be as nude as I as our bodies threshed wildly away on the carpet. Now he laid me down and opened my legs to expose my already dampening pussey. His head shot between my legs and I clamped my thighs around it as his mouth glued itself to my cunt. His trembling fingers parted my cunney lips and he licked my juicy crack from bottom to top. I writhed with ecstasy as his fingers now penetrated my soaking quim and he sucked the engorged clitty between his full lips.
He mashed it hard as his fingers darted in and out to be followed by the most lascivious licking and lapping of his clever tongue. I soon felt my cunt spasm and I scrunched my thighs tightly against his head as he tasted my oozing juices, lapping up my spend, savouring its salty taste. It was my pleasure to repay the compliment so I settled David Haines nicely on his back which let his cock stick up like a flagpole. I knelt down beside him and thoroughly wet his smooth mushroomed-shaped dome with my tongue. Then opening my mouth as wide as possible, I slipped the huge knob inside. His taste was quite delicious and I closed my lips around it as firmly as I could and worked on the bulbous knob with my tongue, easing my lips forward to take in as much of his enormous staff as I could. I circled the base of this gigantic cock with my hand and sucked lustily until it almost touched the back of my throat. David was now really excited and his hips lifted off the carpet as my licking and sucking increased in tempo. I cupped his hairy bollocks, feeling them harden as the sperm boiled up to shoot up his shaft. His rigid staff jerked convulsively and then, whoosh! A veritable jet of juicy spunk hit the back of my throat and, as even the most dexterous fellatrix will tell you, when a big-cocked boy spends in your mouth, it is hard to swallow with your mouth full of gushing love juice. But practice makes perfect and I swallowed the wonderful flood of tangy spunk until the fountain eased to a dribble. Now the important question was whether I was to be disappointed a second time after the failure of Johnny Lynch to stay erect when my sucking had emptied his balls. Gladly, I can report that after a few rubs up and down his thick shaft, my handsome young actor was ready to tread the boards again! I coaxed his rock-hard stiffness into my dripping pussey and he gently eased his great cock between the soft folds of my cunney. At first we lay motionless, billing and cooing with our lips until I began a slight motion with my buttocks to which he was not slow to respond. He slowly started to pump his rod in and out of my squelchy pussey, and it took only seven or eight strokes before I was twisting away like crazy, clawing his back with my fingernails, as he raised the tempo of his thrusts. What ecstasy I enjoyed as his smooth circumcised cock worked in and out of my welcoming pussey! How it seemed to swell inside the luscious sheath which received it so lovingly! How expertly he fucked me, pushing his massive weapon in time to my own thrusts upward so that in no time at all I screamed with joy as I spent copiously, coating his cock with my juices. This brought dear David onwards to his zenith and now, frantically, we pushed towards each other and our lips fastened together as I felt his entire frame shiver with expectancy as a streaming, molten flood washed the walls of my cunt and my pussey exploded into yet another delightful orgasm. Our mouths came together in a more leisurely kiss as we rested our warm bodies tenderly together. Alas, I had spent so liberally that there were two large damp patches on Johnny's expensive Persian carpet. 'Oh my goodness, David, I do feel somewhat guilty about what I've just done.
Not only have I fucked another man in my boyfriend's apartment, but I have stained his precious carpet with my spendings!' I said.
'Don't worry about it, I have the solution at hand,' cried David, scrambling to his feet and putting on his trousers. 'I will be back in a moment.' He ran lightly to the front door and out into the hallway and I heard him open the door of Miss Terry's apartment. He returned a few moments later carrying a small bottle of silvery liquid and a soft cloth. 'This is Professor Kenneth Watkins' famous stain remover, Jennifer. We use it all the time in the theatre for, as you may well imagine, our costumes are often dirtied with make-up, powder and goodness knows what else. 'Look, I'm dabbing some on to a clean soft cloth and the offending marks will simply vanish within a few minutes,' he added. 'What a useful product for all households,' I said, pleased indeed that the evidence of fucking would be irrevocably erased. 'Yes, it's hats off to Professor Watkins, who I understand has made a mint of money from his cleaning fluid. He also claims it has a valuable secondary use as a fertiliser for growing marrows! Actually, that reminds me of a rhyme Mr. Lear is supposed to have composed, though I am sure that Dr Lezaine of Brussels is the true author: 'There was a young lady from Harrow, Who complained that her crack was too narrow, For times without number She would use a cucumber, But could never accomplish a marrow.' We laughed gaily and David slipped off his trousers to reveal that his prick was already swelling up again, despite our previous exertions. I took hold of it and, leading him by the shaft, sat him down on the Chesterfield. I lifted myself across him and eased his now hard cock into my cunney. I bounced merrily up and down on his amazingly powerful joystick and he looked on happily as he saw his staff slipping in and out of me, watching my juices running onto his belly. As I rocked to and fro, lifting myself up and down onto his mighty rod, we worked ourselves into a frenzy. We spent together in perfect accord though, this time, David withdrew a now shrunken cock after drenching my cunney with his copious emission of love juice. What a fabulous man! What a delightful prick! We lay naked on the floor, absolutely exhausted from this additional bout of fucking. David was actually asleep and my eyes were half closed when I wriggled into a more comfortable position, only to make out the outlines of a figure above me. I opened my eyes fully and brought my hand to my mouth as I gasped with embarrassment. For above me stood a pretty girl of some twenty years of age, looking down on us with a mixture of surprise and amusement. I pushed my palms on the floor to lever myself up, but this attractive young redheaded miss said: 'Oh no, please don't get up. You both look most fatigued. Allow me to refresh you with some champagne from the icebox.' I nudged David awake and at first he, too, wondered what on earth we could say to this delightful creature who appeared to be anything but nonplussed at finding a naked couple on the floor of her apartment. Wait a moment, I thought to myself, these rooms belong to Johnny Lynch, so how on earth did she get in? Who had given her the key? She must have been reading my mind, for as she came back with glasses of champagne she said: 'I feel I should introduce myself. My name is Eliza Doolittle and I am a close friend of Lieutenant Lynch. Whenever he has spare time from his military manoeuvres, he calls me and I come down to Albermarle Street from my family's house in St John's Wood for a good fucking.' 'You and me both, Eliza,' I said, attempting to disguise a little pang of bitterness. 'My name is Jennifer Everleigh.
I do hope you were not of the belief that Johnny Lynch reserved his prick for your sole usage.' 'Oh, no, not at all, Jennifer. It was not difficult to divine that there were other girls who were testing his tool,' she said cheerfully. 'I must compliment him upon his taste if you are one of his bedmates. And you, sir, although we have not been formally introduced, may I compliment you on a most well-formed circumcised penis. I hope you will be able to show it to me at its fullest extent after we have drunk our champagne.' I completed the introductions and David suggested that Eliza divested herself of her clothes and sat down on the floor beside us, an action that she found most acceptable. He pulled down some soft cushions from the sofa as the lovely lass unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, together with her skirt, to reveal that she wore no chemise nor indeed any underclothes of any kind. Again she sensed my curiosity: 'You may wonder why I am so lightly dressed. The fact of the matter is that it is so warm tonight and, as I know I will be staying here till breakfast as my parents are away in the country this week, there seemed little point in putting on anything but the minimum of clothing. I always keep some spare knickers in Johnny's bedroom.'
If David had not been so tired from our previous lovemaking, I am sure that his big prick would have already been standing smartly to attention, but all he could manage at the sight of this beautiful nuda Veritas was a slight erection to half mast. I admired Eliza's sparkling reddish hair, her large blue eyes and her alabaster white breasts which were almost as large as mine. They had deliciously rounded aureoles upon which sat two delectable little nipples that simply ached to be sucked. Her tummy, too, was chalky white, setting off so well the luxuriant covering of silky red hair which surrounded, yet did not hide, the pouting cunney lips between which the glowing red chink looked so voluptuous and enticing. After we consumed the champagne Eliza had opened, we drank a second bottle that the lovely girl had thoughtfully extracted from the icebox. By now, despite the champagne, David's fine cock had climbed up to its full height, standing up high against his flat belly. Eliza took hold of it and kissed the pulsating knob. She then lay back with her head on the pillow as David lifted his body over her to kneel astride her gorgeous body. She opened her mouth and began to suck his sinewy shaft with uninhibited joy. Meanwhile, she took a hand from his pumping prick to place my hand on her already damp mons veneris. I wriggled until I was in front of her and inspected her exciting pussey at close quarters. Her splendid mount was liberally covered with silky red hair, and from the serrated vermilion lips of her cunney projected quite three inches a stiff, fleshy clitty as big as my thumb. I opened her lips even further with my fingers and passed my tongue lasciviously about the most sensitive parts, taking that glorious clitty in my mouth, rolling my tongue around it and playfully biting it. 'Oh, Oh, Oh, I am coming, I am coming!' she wailed as she built up to her sublime culmination in fine style, frantically sucking David's huge shaft whilst I continued to flick my tongue dotingly against her salivating cunney. She spent profusely over my face as I tongued her clitty to its ultimate excitement, whilst David jetted his torrent of spunk into her mouth and she gulped it down, smacking her lips as she tasted his manly essence. The three of us were cooling down when who should come staggering out of the bedroom but Johnny Lynch himself! 'Sod me! What the hell is going on here?' he cried out, holding onto a chair for support. 'I should have thought that was obvious,' replied Eliza cheekily. 'We have been partaking of a heavenly three-way fuck. I can only speak for myself of course, but I am sure that David and Jenny would be pleased to enlarge the trio into a quartet.' His eyes gleamed and he pulled his nightshirt over his head. 'Well now, I take pleasure in accepting your kind invitation, although as Jenny may have informed you, I have been feeling rather unwell this evening and am not on my best form. So if you need a second stiff prick I think that you girls will have to help it rise to the occasion. Mind, at best I don't think I can match that monster tool,' he added, looking enviously at David's enormous whopper. 'Oh, Johnny, don't be so silly. Why do these men have such a fixation about their equipment?' asked Eliza. I laughed and said: 'I don't know, Eliza, I am always telling Johnny that it is quality not quantity that counts, although I must say that Mr. Haines here possesses one of the largest pricks in London.' 'Thank you very much,' said David modestly. 'Although I do know where the biggest may be seen.' 'Where's that?' asked Johnny, fondling his shaft back into life. 'On Jumbo the elephant in Regent's Park Zoo!' retorted the charming thespian. We all laughed at his witticism as we leaped up to follow Johnny into his bedroom for, by now, even the richness of his carpet could not prevent further fucking on the floor becoming rather uncomfortable, and a nice soft mattress would enable us to continue our orgy for another grand session of sucking and fucking. The two cheeky young men lay down together on the bed and waited for Eliza and I to begin the proceedings by sucking their pricks which were raised in fine states of erection. 'Shall I begin?' asked Eliza. 'I do so enjoy the taste of salty spunk. It is so invigorating and I am convinced it has excellent medical qualities, as well as getting bellies up.' They chorused their agreement as Eliza took David Haines' thick prick in her right hand and Lieutenant Lynch's lesser, yet still sizeable, weapon in her left hand and gave the two shafts a thorough rubbing so that they stood up like two flagpoles in her grasp. Then, getting down on her knees, she pulled them gently together and took both gleaming red helmets in her mouth, washing them with her tongue, causing them both to moan with unalloyed delight. The two pricks bounded and swelled in her hand as she jerked her wrist up and down the swollen shafts. It was so exciting to be sucked off at the same time by this pretty minx, that very quickly they spent almost together and spurted great globules of frothy sperm into Eliza's willing mouth. She took every last drop until both cocks shrunk down to half mast. Eliza then snuggled down between the two men and I knelt in front of her to give her saturated clitty another licking out. But David gently pushed me away, saying that it was his turn to pay his respects to the delicately sculpted pussey that pouted so provocatively from the mass of fiery red hair spread so profusely around Eliza's mound. Not to be denied, I slid on my back between David's knees to hold his swelling truncheon as he sucked happily away on Eliza's muff. Naturally, Johnny had no wish to be left out of our line-up and brandishing his stiffening cock, he pulled himself across me to fit his knob against my cunney lips. I took the head of David's cock in my mouth as I released my hands to guide Johnny's cock to its desired haven. The double sensation of being fucked whilst sucking another prick was most exciting, and my whole body tingled with excitement and I was soon coming off in a series of delicious spendings. Johnny too began to shudder and he held me in a tight grip as we rocked together to a glorious mutual climax. Moments later, David spilled his spunk into my mouth and I felt completely sated. Eliza now turned over onto her tummy and, slipping a pillow underneath her, stuck out her glorious bum cheeks, opening her legs slightly so we could see the wrinkled little brown rosette winking away at us. The boys tried to flog their pegos up to a good stiffness and, not unexpectedly, David was the first to position his hard, throbbing shaft between the glorious rondeurs of Eliza's bum.
Carefully I took hold of his warm, velvety cock and directed its head to Eliza's bottom crack. I stroked the pretty girl's pulsating nipples whilst, alongside her, Johnny dipped two long fingers inside her dripping cunney. Eliza's hips jerked at the first nosing of David's huge cock into her bum-hole. Her startled cry and the febrile twitching of her delicious bottom cheeks led him to temporarily withdraw and anoint his prick with pomade. This time his cock slid freely in, forcing its way through the sphincter muscle as Eliza cried out: 'Aaaah! Ooooh! Your prick is too big, David Haines! Yes, no, don't stop! Aaah!' He was now ensconced in her bum, and from the excited wrigglings of her backside and her flushed face and sparkling eyes, I could see how much she actually enjoyed being cornholed in this fashion, especially as I continued to play with her erect nipples and Johnny continued to diddle her juicy pussey. David's excited cock revelled in the tight-fitting fundament of the exquisite girl, and we rocked and plunged to such an extent that it was a miracle we did not all fall out of the bed! 'This is simply exquisite, oh, keep rotating your bum, Eliza and I shall soon spend,' groaned David who delighted in the manner the clever girl mashed her bumcheeks against his belly. The sperm was already bubbling in his balls but by great mental effort he made to delay the moment of truth. Eliza began pushing her bum cheeks to and fro as she called out: 'Oh, David, yes, you are coming! Oooh, what a lot! What delightful spurtings! Fill me!
Flood my bum!' We rode on whilst David expelled his balsam of creamy white juice inside Eliza's bottom. He withdrew his prick with a 'pop' from her arse and Johnny and I slowed our manual ministrations to Eliza's titties and pussey to a gradual stop. Sir, I have previously read in your columns a letter from a Lady of Quality on the poor performance Of the male when it comes to matters of sexual stamina. Certainly, I must agree that in this case Eliza and I remained disappointed that whilst our appetites had not yet been fully satisfied, we could not bring the two penises up to play again despite all the tender ministrations we attempted with our hands and mouths.
Truth to tell, John and David were both almost asleep when I turned to my side to examine the beautiful naked charms of Eliza who lay beside me. My eyes drank in the beauty of the large globes of her breasts, and my hand reached out to rub one of the little nipples to a hardness. She sighed as I did so, and moved onto her back as I slid my hand along her thigh till my fingers rested upon the curly moss of red hair that overhung the entrance to her cunney. And what a pussey the lovely girl possessed, a most ravishing affair almost beyond description. The bushy Mount of Venus swelled up into a hillock of firm flesh, surmounted and covered with the rich profusion of red hair, silky and smooth to the touch. The lips were most luscious, pouting outwards, and my finger and thumb found the hardening clitty as she gasped: 'Oh yes, yes, Jenny, finish me off as soon as you can!
I am likely to spend very quickly!' 'You have a delicious cunney, Eliza, and if I were a man I would be delighted to fuck you,' I said, kissing her full gorgeous pussey. My tongue ran the length of her parted lips and she shuddered as I stopped at her clitty which was by now already hardened into a little ball. I gave it my best attention, nibbling from side to side, up and down as she jerked and writhed, making it a little difficult to keep my mouth on her passion pit. I played with her titties for a little and then resumed my licking and lapping as Eliza threw back her head and twisted from side to side in a paroxysm of erotic fervour as her climax neared its peak. 'Oh!
Oh! Push your tongue further up my cunney! How exquisite! Further!
Harder!' she cried out as, with a shudder, she gained her release, yelping happily as her love juices dribbled over my face and I swallowed as much of her emission as possible. 'I think I want to spend again,' panted the adorable titian-haired beauty. 'Sit on my face and we can suck each other's pussies.' So I straddled her and thrust my blonde pussey over her mouth. Her teeth nibbled along my cunney lips and gently over my clitty whilst her pink, pointed tongue teased my pussey with long, rasping licks. I dove down to give her cunt another thorough stimulation with my tongue and fingers. Her pungent feminine juices tasted like nectar as I played with her love button between my lips. I pushed my arse in the air so she could thrust her tongue deeper inside me, and soon she was greedily licking the very inside of my cunney. 'I'm going to spend!' I told her.
'So am I, let's climax together! Fill me with your tongue and fingers!' Quickly I pushed two fingers up into her crack, still keeping my mouth glued to her pulsating pussey. She ground her mound right into my face as she arched her body and came with a great silent scream, drenching my face again with her juices which flowed freely from her cunney. 'I'm sure you can come again, Jenny,' Eliza said with a wicked little grin playing around her mouth. She lay me flat on my back, my thighs spread wide and my legs slightly raised. The dear girl then massaged my pussey with both hands, the left hand moving rapidly over my clitty and two fingers of her right hand moving briskly in and out of my cunney as I let out a sharp cry of pleasure, my hips now bucking up and down as Eliza sank her fingers deeper and deeper inside me. 'Aaah! Here I come!' I cried out as I writhed as one demented, shuddering to a lovely orgasm, then I lay still, gasping for breath. The exertions of the evening coupled with the ill-effects of the lobster salad meant that Johnny Lynch was still hors de combat, but David Haines' magnificent penis was now rising to the occasion, stimulated no doubt by the display of tribadism he had just witnessed. With one bound he was on top of us and he pushed me to one side and rolled Eliza onto her tummy. 'On your knees my darling girl!' he commanded as she obediently pushed her delectable bum cheeks out towards him. He gently forced her legs open a little further and clasped her round the ribs to play with her horned-up nipples, squeezing and nipping them as she stooped down with head nuzzling into the pillow. David's monstrous cock was now springing up between the rondeurs of Eliza's luscious bum when the trembling girl called out: 'No, not in my bum, dear David, as it is still recovering from the last encounter. But do feel free to go up my cunt from behind.' 'Your wish is my command, lovely lady,' said David, and I helped matters along by taking his great shaft in my hands and guiding it slowly towards her inviting wet crack until the tip of his knob touched her cunney lips. 'That's divine, darling, what a splendid staff you have. Do slide it in my wet, waiting pussey,' she encouraged him. 'Wait, though, perhaps Jennifer would like your big cock in her cunt. If so, I think you should transfer to her lovely little crack.' 'You are very kind but I think I would rather watch than participate,' I said. 'If you are sure, sister, then I will enjoy myself with this slick truncheon that is filling my juicy cunney so delightfully,' she responded. Her bottom rose with every shove as he drove home, excited to such raging peaks, the contractions of her delightfully tight cunney soon sucked the boiling seed out of his tool, sending the hot frothy spunk pumping through in thick wads as he heaved his throbbing shaft in and out of her dripping crack with all his youthful strength. We slept peacefully until dawn, when David padded quietly back to Miss Terry's rooms to ensure that she was still asleep. He woke her up with a cup of tea and two slices of dry toast and thankfully, both she and Lieutenant Lynch were fully recovered by mid-day. Now, Mr. Editor, you may well ask why this little escapade shows that the art of chivalry is thankfully still with us? My answer is simply this: firstly, we must consider the chivalrous manner of Doctor Tong who, on hearing that Lieutenant Lynch was suffering from a severe stomach pain, withdrew his therapeutic tool from the moist, clinging cunney of Gwendoline Bracknell to rush over post-haste to Albemarle Street. Then we may consider his generous acceptance of tit-fucking me instead of presenting a bill for a substantial sum. Then I may point to the spirit of 'what's-mine-is-yours-and-what's-yours-is-mine' extant between Lieutenant Lynch and David Haines as far as both Eliza and myself were concerned. And, of course, there was the similar share-and-share alike attitude between Eliza and myself to be taken into account. To close this true, unvarnished aide memoire, I should add that Eliza wished to be acquainted with the sexual potency of Doctor Tong and, as I quite fancied the idea myself, I readily consented to take part in a little jeu d'amour. So, two days later, we found ourselves naked on the crisp white sheets of Doctor Tong's bed, with the good doctor slipping off his robe and exposing his trusty truncheon which saluted us by standing stiffly up-against his belly.
This was a luscious sight and we begged him to fuck us as soon as possible, without too much foreplay. 'With pleasure, my dears.
Jenny, please be so good as to straddle my face so I can tickle your pussey with my tongue, whilst Eliza rides a St George on my cock,' asked the genial doctor. This was most pleasurable and, as Eliza and I faced each other, we kissed and fondled each other's breasts, making our nipples rise up until they resembled rich, red stalks, whilst Eliza slid her extremely juicy cunt up and down the doctor's shaft. I too bobbed up and down as he licked and lapped my own dripping pussey. After this, each of us sucked his prick and balls in turn and then he mounted me from behind and pressed his cock between my bum cheeks into my willing cunney, whilst Eliza kissed and sucked his hairy ballsack. He climaxed with a great groan and oiled my pussey with a copious emission of spurting seed, after which followed my own delightful spend. Doctor Tong was so enamoured with our fun and games that he proposed another session, this time with a third lady, Miss Catherine Sloper, the American heiress who is known for her delights of orgiastic joys in both London and New York. He will also attempt to interest the greatest cocksman of them all, Mr. Peter Stockman, whose enormous prick is the talk of London Society, but I fear that his diary of fucking engagements is full until late September, in which case Sir Andrew Stuck will no doubt kindly act as a not unworthy substitute. However, whoever takes part, I know they will be pleased to see my report in the pages of your excellent publication. I am, Sir, Your Obedient and Humble Servant, Jennifer Everleigh Webb House Hill Street Mayfair London, W September, 1892 N.B. I shall be abroad until the end of October. My cousin Miss Molly Farquhar and myself have been invited by Count Gewirtz of Galicia to be his guests at the Celebration Ball to commemorate the Silver Wedding of The Prince and Princess of Shmocklestein, and we shall spend some weeks with Sir David Cuthbertson in Paris. When we return, I shall recount our adventures in a letter which I hope will interest readers of this splendid journal. And may I take this opportunity of stating that HRH has never spent the night with me. I have indeed sucked the Royal Pego but our liaison has never gone beyond the bounds of good taste. I trust these few words will now scotch this foul rumour.
The morals of the young are not what they were in my day. Now, do not imagine that I shall now launch a tirade about Our Youth Going To The Dogs. I leave such nonsense to Mrs.
Grundy, the Reverend Bowdler, and all the would-be killjoys who sub rosa much envy the golden boys and girls who have boldly decided to sample all the forbidden joys of l'arte de faire l'amour. No, Sir, I write to you not in such a mean spirit of anger or of jealousy; my purpose in taking up my pen is solely to illustrate how the iron hand of repression can never jail the spirit of desire and how young people today are determined to experience the fruits of love-for as Mr. Disraeli comments: 'We are all born for love-it is the principle of existence and its only end.' This illustrative narrative is written, I must assure you, with the permission of all those whose names appear in this racy tale. Most of the action took place at Sir Trelford Stamp's London house in perhaps the most fashionable street in Belgravia. I shall not divulge the full address, or those of your readers not acquainted with the gentleman may pester him for invitations to his next dinner party. Those of us privileged to count ourselves friends of the seventh baronet know him to be of a most liberal disposition. This, of course, befits a handsome bachelor of some forty-five years of age who, whilst employed as a senior writer by one of our more salubrious journals, is himself extremely wealthy in his own right having had the good fortune to inherit three hundred and seventy five thousand pounds from his Uncle Rowland, twenty-seven years ago. Far more important than his scribblings, however, are his somewhat recherche parties held in D*** Street, one of which I was invited to last Wednesday week after meeting Trelford by chance in the lounge of the Jim Jam Club in Great Windmill Street, to which I had journeyed for my weekly game of whist. I play there every Tuesday evening with Lord Adrian Bourne, Doctor Jonathan Arkley and Mr. Peter Stockman whose gigantic penis must one day fall off from extreme wear and tear if there is any justice left in the world. The latest rumour is that Mrs. Keppel and Mrs. Langtry have both sampled the joys of Mr.
Stockman's extraordinary member, but that is neither here nor there, as the actress said to the bishop. Fortunately for my own bank account, Lord Bourne has as much card sense as a pair of Lady Everleigh's tweezers, but he is man enough to pay for his lessons in card play. Nevertheless, he should watch carefully when I mix and deal the cards as I must admit that my Lord Bourne could then, with more truth than he would realise, recite the words of the poet: 'I do not like the way the cards are shuffled, But yet I like the game and want to play.' However, I am guilty of digression; Sir Trelford invited me to dine with him the next evening and I accepted with pleasure. However, as we were taking our leave, I suddenly remembered my promise to John, the son of my country neighbours Professor and Mrs. Walsh, that he could visit me for a week during his half-term holiday as a sixteenth birthday treat. 'Trelly,'
I called after him. 'I have just remembered that Professor Walsh's son John is staying with me for a week beginning tomorrow. The scamp is looking forward to coming to London immensely and I cannot let him down.' 'Great God, I haven't seen John for ages-is he really sixteen now? Well, I'll be damned, how time flies. I expect he's a chip off the old block like all those hot-blooded young pups. I last saw him some years back when I went down to his school to present the annual prizes.' 'He would very much like to be a gay young blade but John is very shy, and at Greyfriars he has been given no chances whatsoever to sample even a morsel of the delights afforded by wine, women and song,' I said with a note of genuine regret. 'Whilst John is a very agreeable young chap who, like myself, is a bit of a bookworm and appears to like nothing better than to peruse the stock at Gastons' Library during his vacation. Nevertheless, I did see him once looking at the prints in Harts Holywell Street shop, and from the bulge in the front of his trousers, he is at least a devotee of the undraped female form and has left the usual public school nonsenses far behind him,' I added. 'Well, no matter, Freddy, no matter, bring the boy along. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll invite Colonel Neil and ask him to bring his niece. You know the man, by the way? He is something of an arriviste who has tunnelled his path into Society through brown-tonguing the necessary persons who supposedly make up the great and the good. Anyhow, his niece Patricia lives with him, whilst her parents are in America, and she can partner young Walsh,' said the genial baronet. 'Thank you, Trelly, that is awfully kind of you. I'm sure John will be tremendously bucked by being invited to dine in D*** Street. We'll see you tomorrow, then, at eight o'clock,'
I said, waving to Lord Bourne who had just entered the club. In fact, I won only ten pounds at cards that evening, but I was in a good temper when young John Walsh arrived at my house the next day. After ordering Perrick to take up his cases, I settled the handsome youngster in a comfortable chair, passed him a whisky and soda and decided to tell him of our new arrangements without delay. 'I have some exciting news for you, John. We have both been invited to dine at Sir Trelford Stamp's house tonight. I know I said we would visit Covent Garden, but we can see this new Opera, what's it called, Cavalleria Rusticana, another evening. In fact, I've accepted the offer of old Jolyon Forsyte's box there for Saturday night, so you will not miss out.' The boy flushed as he said: 'Sir, that is very good of you, but I've never attended a formal dinner party before, and though I know which way to pass the port, I am totally without experience in making conversation to adults other than my family. Surely it would be most unfair to burden other guests with my presence.' 'Stuff and nonsense,' I said heartily. 'In fact, Sir Trelford needs you to squire the niece of one of his friends, Colonel Neil of the 69th Paisley Division, who has also been invited. I am sure that you will enjoy the evening immensely.' He hesitated a moment before saying: 'Must we really go?' 'Of course we must go!
As I said, you will have a jolly time there. Ah, wait a moment, perhaps I have worried you by telling you about Colonel Neil's niece.'
'How sagacious of you, sir! I will admit it, I am deucedly shy when it comes to meeting girls. I have had so little experience, you see, and frankly, I am terrified that I will make an ass of myself.'
So it was with some foreboding that I ordered Perrick to lay out our white ties and tails for seven o'clock sharp. In fact, John looked quite splendid in his evening attire. His curly hair, his handsome face and winning smile would surely not disappoint Colonel Neil's niece who I had heard was an extremely pretty young lady. I am a stickler for punctuality, so my coachman deposited us just seven minutes after eight o'clock at Sir Trelford's magnificent house. We were ushered into the morning room where some earlier arrivals were drinking champagne. Sir Trelford pulled us over to a rather stout Scottish gentleman and said: 'I don't think you gentlemen have met each other before. Colonel Neil, this is my old friend the Reverend Horace Bent-Organ, and the young man is John Walsh who I had the pleasure of giving the Victor Ludorum Award for English Literature at the annual Grey friars School prizegiving some time back. Horace, young Walsh, meet Colonel Neil who I believe is about to make one further introduction.' 'Indeed I am,' said the plump gentleman, gently pulling round a blonde-haired girl who had her back to us as she put down an empty glass on the tray proferred by a waiter. He continued: 'This is my niece, Miss Patricia Hiller of Kensington.
Patricia, may I present the Reverend Bent-Organ and Mr. John Walsh.'
Well, the Colonel may have been rather stout and plain of countenance, but Miss Hiller was a truly lovely girl, perhaps just a year or two older than my own protege. Her pretty face was set off by a mop of blonde hair, a pair of large, merry blue eyes and a generous mouth. And her low-cut peach gown set off admirably the snowy prominence of her large bosoms. Both John and myself were momentarily tongue-tied as we drank in her beauty, and it was fortunate that Miss Hiller herself broke the brief silence by saying in a sweet voice: 'Are you still a pupil at Greyfriars Academy, Mr. Walsh? I once met Clive Wingate who I believe was Captain of the School.' 'Oh yes, Miss Hiller, Wingate was a capital fellow, but I have not seen him since he went up to Oxford in September. He was also captain of football and I played with him in the school team.' 'Offer her a drink,' I hissed quietly at John, who was still somewhat ill at ease, 'and then ask her about how she likes living in London, which is something you have always wanted to do.' He took my advice to heart, perhaps over-enthusiastically, for I saw him make several trips to the champagne bar. In fact, Sir Trelford had arranged a buffet supper which I have always enjoyed for its informality. I noticed the young couple deep in conversation and, whilst waiting for my own paramour to arrive (this is, of course, Lady Jacques who had told Sir Trelford that she would not be able to arrive until ten o'clock as her husband was catching the sleeper train to Aberdeen that evening-I mention her name as our liaison is hardly unknown to readers of this magazine), I decided to eavesdrop on the two young people who were sitting side by side on the couch in Sir Trelford's drawing room.
'So you won the Victor Ludorum?' said Patricia gaily. 'Is that anything like the Victor Pudendum award given at the special shows at the Jim Jam Club?' Good heavens! How could this sweet young girl (who I found out from Colonel Neil was only eighteen years old) know about the orgiastic affairs at the Jim Jam! Could my ears be deceiving me? 'The Victor Pudendum,' stammered John, 'I don't know anything about that.' 'Silly boy, it is only the most sought-after trophy in London. Members of the Jim Jam Club award it monthly for the best exhibition of fucking,' laughed Patricia gaily. 'It is hardly an event advertised in the columns of The Times, but I assure you that some of the very best people in town can be seen there as either spectators or participants.' 'I've never been to a show myself, but I know Sir Trelford rarely misses a performance,' she continued. 'And as for my dear uncle, Colonel Neil, he managed to wangle himself a place on the judges table last month. May fair gossip has it that it was he who ensured that Sir Antony Mulliken and Mrs. Robert Wapping won the golden goblet that is given to the winners. Yet most people who were present opined that the trophy should have been awarded to Mr. Denis Le Baigue and Lady Roberta Cripps who fucked blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs.' At this juncture, I must state that I fully agreed with Patricia's assessment, for I must confess that I was at that affair as a guest of Lord Pokingham and, like others, believed that Colonel Neil may have made a prior arrangement with Mrs. Wapping as she is commonly reckoned to be extremely accommodating whilst her husband is in Australia. 'Perhaps we could go together to the Jim Jam for the next Victor Pudendum,'
Patricia murmured, snuggling up close to John and placing her hand on his knee. 'Meanwhile, John, I suggest we leave the party until the dancing begins in about an hour or so. 'Let us retire upstairs to one of the bedrooms. I am sure we will not be missed,' added the forward little golden-haired minx with an undisguised gleam of lust in her eyes. What should I do in this awkward situation? After all, I was acting in loco parentis as far as Master Walsh, was concerned, and perhaps some of your readers are of the opinion that I should have barred the way to the couple at the foot of the staircase by delivering a well-chosen sermon on lust. But it seemed to me that Miss Hiller was a girl of no little experience and would only enjoy the supreme pleasure of the flesh is she were protected against any unwanted consequences. Just in case there were any problems, however, I decided to follow the couple upstairs and, if necessary, view the proceedings through the keyhole. If Miss Hiller wanted John to spunk outside her cunney, I would at least be on hand to advise him-and anyhow, I am always keen to watch a happy young couple disporting themselves. Indeed, the very thought of that night's adventures is making my old pego stand at this very moment. It happened that my task was made easier when I heard Patricia tell John to go into the third bedroom on the left, and that she would follow him a minute or two later. Now I knew (do not inquire as to how this knowledge came into my possession!) that this room, which also enjoyed an en suite bathroom, was connected by a door to the adjacent smaller guest room into which I slipped whilst no one was looking. I locked the door behind me and scuttled across to the connecting door. I found it was already slightly ajar, so I switched off the electric light and brought up a chair so that I could view the proceedings next door in comfort. I guessed correctly that Patricia and John would be too involved with each others' bodies to even notice the fractionally open door into my darkened room. John was sitting on the bed when Patricia came in just moments after I had settled down in my chair.
She locked the door behind her and placed the key on a side table before taking out her hairclips, allowing her golden locks to fall freely down to her shoulders. 'My, my, John, haven't you even taken your shoes and socks off yet?' she teased my shy lad. He blushed to the roots of his curly hair and said: 'I never thought about removing even my jacket. You see, I have never been alone with a girl before and I don't really know the form.' 'You mean you've never kissed a girl before?' she said incredulously. 'Not ever, John? Can that really be true?' 'I'm afraid so-except for a peck under the mistletoe at Christmas and last term at Greyfriars, Julie, one of the kitchen maids, one afternoon let me touch her titties for two shillings whilst she rubbed my cock behind the sports pavilion. But we had all our clothes on, of course. So I will confess to you that I have never seen a naked girl before in the flesh, though together with my form-mates I had a jolly good look at some prints young Vernon-Smith brought back from Hotten's Bookshop in Piccadilly on his last half-holiday.' 'Your honesty does you credit,' said the delicious girl slowly. 'However, I think it is high time that your education was taken further than Hotten's photographs or the pages of The Oyster. Take off your jacket, waistcoat, shoes and socks and lie down on the bed, John. Let's see what you make of the real thing.'
He obeyed her with alacrity and sat propped up on the bed as she slipped out of her shoes and ran quickly to the bathroom. She emerged a minute later with her dress unbuttoned and, standing just a foot in front of the lad, bade him tug at the sash of her gown. He pulled it, the sash fell to the ground, the gown opened and she stepped out in all her naked glory. Whilst in the bathroom she had obviously removed her stockings and underclothes and she stood before John (and myself!) like a glorious statue come magically to life. Her beautiful full breasts swung gracefully as she pirouetted lightly on the balls of her feet, letting John have full view of her total nudity. What a delectable, ravishing, enchanting sight! Her creamy white skin showed off her curvaceous breasts to their best advantage whilst her well-rounded shoulders tapered down to a small waist; her delicate feet expanded upwards into fine calves and her thighs were full and proportionately fashioned, whilst hanging down between them, forming a perfect veil over a pouting little crack, was a mass that contrasted so well with the whiteness of her belly. Poor John was quite overwhelmed at the sight of her delicious naked body, though the perceptible bulge in the front of his trousers showed that he was very appreciative of the display. Patricia now jumped on the bed beside him and said: 'John Walsh, do not fib, are you really a virgin? Tell me the truth for you have nothing of which to be ashamed.' 'Yes, I have yet to fuck my first girl, though the delightful thought of having such an opportunity has exercised my mind for many months.
Indeed, I think about nothing else. Even in the middle of a mathematics lesson my cock will suddenly swell up whilst I am trying to concentrate on algebraic, formulations,' he whispered. 'Oh, how dreadful,' she said, kissing him lightly on the lips. 'We can't have this terrible problem affecting your schoolwork, can we?
Virginity can be a great burden at your age, and it will be my delight to lift this yoke from your shoulders.' His trembling hands clasped hers as he said: 'Will you really? You aren't just teasing me, are you?' 'No, I mean what I say. You are fortunate indeed that my monthly bleeding has ended only this morning, so there is no bar whatsoever to any lovemaking if you really would like to do so.'
'Would a man crazy with thirst refuse a drink?' he countered, his voice cracking with barely suppressed emotion. 'Patricia, I would love to fuck you more than anything else in the whole, wide world!'
For an answer, she smoothed her hand over the hillock which had formed over his lap and slowly unbuckled his braces. She then expertly opened the buttons of his fly and took out his bursting tool which was of a surprising thickness for one so young, and began to massage the shaft, drawing back his foreskin to make its red crown swell and bound in her hand. 'I will spend if you do that for much longer. Please may I fuck you without further ado?' begged the anxious lad. Patricia gave a little smile and murmured that usually some foreplay occurred that added spice to the occasion. 'But then I have taken you down to the edge of the sea and it would be wickedly unfair to deny you a bathe.' She reached down to guide his throbbing penis on its first ever journey through the slippery entrance to heaven. His blunt fleshy knob hovered between her juicy cunney lips and she spread her legs well apart to enable him to push further down. I saw John tremble, almost overcome with the emotion of crossing the Rubicon, but after sliding his shaft fully into her pussey he lay motionless and Patricia looked at him in surprise. 'Isn't that nice, John? Now be a good boy and fuck me.' 'What do I actually have to do?'
'It's very easy, my poor boy. Just push in and out until you feel your spunk rushing through your cock and then let nature take its course.' Her hands slipped down to clasp his taut little bottom cheeks, and young John proved himself to be a quick learner. His arms went under her shoulders as she eagerly lifted her hips to welcome the thrusting prick that slid in and out of her juicy cunt. What the lad lacked in experience he certainly made up for in enthusiasm, bouncing up and down on her pneumatic bosoms as she clawed his jerking bum and heaved herself upwards to pull him further into her. His jerking became even wilder as he plunged deeper and deeper, feeling the delights for the first time of his cock being caressed by the slippery membranes of Patricia's cunney. He rode her like a jockey at Royal Ascot as she lifted her arse and rotated her hips as she felt his body stiffen and knew that the moment of truth was all too near. John pumped even harder and I could hear the sound of his balls slapping against her bottom as, with a little shout, he unleashed a flood of hot spunk into her cunney so powerfully that the juices oozed out of her luscious love nest and trickled down her thighs. After a few further frantic quiverings, he took out his semi-limp affair and rolled over onto his back, drained emotionally rather than physically from the experience. 'Was that good for you?' he panted. 'I enjoyed it, but you must try and fuck more slowly at first. It takes longer for a lady to spend and a considerate lover always waits for his partner if he possibly can.' 'Oh dear, I'm afraid I didn't do very well.' 'Yes you did! For a first-timer you score top marks!
It is so strange, though, that youths in their physical prime do find it so difficult to hold back their climaxes. This is why I prefer to fuck with older men, though your tool looks good enough to eat. Oh, I assume that this too will be new to you, for presumably no lucky girl has ever sucked this velvety skinned monster.' 'Sucked it?
Goodness I have only read about such things-is it as pleasant as fucking?' asked the young pupil of his kindly tutoress. Patricia could not resist smiling as she said: 'Many gentlemen would say they actually prefer it, and most ladies enjoy it, as one can suck, at any time without the worry of becoming enceinte. I will show you how it is accomplished.' She knelt down to take the already stiffening shaft in her grasp. Then she gave a quick little moistening lick to the purple knob and proceeded to suck in at least three inches of his twitching tool into her mouth. Patricia was an excellent exponent of the art of fellatio, and John was in the seventh heaven of delight as her moist mouth worked up and down, licking and lapping at every inch of his length, her hand grasping the base as she pumped her head up and down, keeping her lips taut, kissing and sucking until suddenly she pulled her lips away. The juices were now oozing out of the 'eye' on his knob, to be lapped up instantly by her darting pink tongue. One hand now gently massaged his balls and the other clamped itself round his shaft as she jammed her mouth over the mushroom dome and slurped greedily on her lollipop. With a hoarse cry, John spunked a fresh jet of gushy foam into her mouth. She sucked and swallowed every last drop of milky sperm until his prick stopped twitching and began to shrink back to its normal size. They lay sated on the bed, and my own penis was now so uncomfortable within the confines of my trousers that I unbuttoned my flies to let my rampant cock stick out, naked and unashamed, as stiff and as hard as a flagpole. I was sorely tempted to toss myself off, but all being well Lady Jacques would arrive later and I wanted to be in peak condition to fuck this old friend who knew she could rely on my prick for satisfaction and on my mouth for both discretion and a good nibbling around the pussey. Interestingly enough, as this thought crossed my mind, Patricia gave John's cock a final stroke and said: 'Later on tonight I will tell you how to eat pussey, which few Englishmen really know how to do very well. But we had better get dressed and go downstairs now before we are missed-listen, I can hear the band striking up the first waltz.'
Unfortunately, Lady Jacques never arrived at the party as she was suffering from a heavy cold and thought it unwise to travel in the night air. However, my little adventure in voyeurism partially compensated for her absence, and I was delighted for young John Walsh who I know is destined to become a fine cocksman well into the twentieth century. Indeed, if such exciting contests as the Victor Pudendum at the Jim Jam continue to be held, I am certain that he will one day win the treasured golden goblet. The next day I asked him how he enjoyed the party and he told me that he owed an apology for his previous apprehension. 'I would not have missed it for the world,' he assured me, thanking me profusely for insisting upon his attendance, but saying nothing of course of his grand adventure with Miss Hiller. Now the moral I wish to draw from this story is this; years ago such behaviour would have been frowned upon by members of Polite Society. Nowadays, I am glad to say, more liberal attitudes to extra-marital fucking abound, especially amongst the young. Also, the strange notion that a man who manages to plunge his plonker into as many pussies as he can is a rattling good chap, whilst a lady who enjoys sexual sport is no better than she should be, is at last on the wane. Whilst I am not in favour of wanton promiscuity, as the music hall song has it 'a little of what you fancy does you good'!
I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant, The Reverend Horace Bent-Organ Dyott House Nicklee Street London S.W. May, 1894
Readers of The Oyster were invited to write to Doctor Jonathan Arkley about any sexual queries, worries and anxieties, with the assurance that all letters would be treated in the strictest confidence and would be answered individually, even if the letter was not published in the magazine. Many may be surprised to learn that one hundred years ago, the 'agony uncle' was soothing away very much the same fears that crop up in contemporary advice columns.*** A MERRY MASTURBATOR Dear Doctor Jonathan, We laughed at the Nursery Rhymes For Our Times in the June Issue of The Oyster-perhaps you recall: There was a young man of high station Attached to the British legation.
He liked being fucked And adored being sucked But he revelled in pure masturbation! I am concerned because like that young continental gentleman, sometimes I am achieving more satisfaction out of playing with myself than actually fucking Alice, my girl friend. Indeed, if I had to choose between fucking Alice and the five fingered widow, I am not sure that I would not plump for a session with the five fingered widow. I have always enjoyed tossing off (for a start, one can choose one's own fantasy) and a recent occurrence also demonstrated to me the joys of taking oneself in hand. Alice stayed for the weekend recently and, early on Saturday morning, I decided to take an early morning stroll before breakfast to purchase a newspaper. When I returned home I padded softly up the stairs, not wishing to wake my dear lady friend. I opened the door as quietly as possible and, to my surprise, saw that she was engaged in a masturbatory exercise. She was lying totally naked on the bed and her legs were spread wide open. One hand was caressing her left breast, tweaking the nipple up to hardness, whilst the other hand was between her legs fingering her juicy pussey”. Her eyes were closed and she did not see or hear me as I stood framed in the doorway. I stood and stared for a minute or two and then went to the bathroom to pull out my erect, throbbing cock. I beat my meat until I shot a huge load of creamy spunk into the bath. My balls were completely drained and I experienced one of the best spends I have ever had in my entire life-I am thirty-seven years old-so I am wondering whether, after all, solitary sex is just as good as actual fucking. Incidentally, Alice told me later that she had seen me in the doorway that day but she was enjoying herself so much she pretended not to have noticed me and that she too is a devotee of frigging.-What do you think? Mr. Philip P. Pelham Street Manchester, Lanes DOCTOR JONATHAN REPLIES:
Certainly, nothing is unnatural which is not physically impossible, and it appears that you and Alice could well enjoy a mutual masturbation scenario, which I would recommend. Solitary frigging can be very satisfying and indeed is far, far, better than celibacy-but I would suggest that it can never equal the intensity and the glow one achieves from an orgasm that has been reached 'through sharing and caring' as the American popular song puts it. There's absolutely nothing at all wrong with an occasional tossing off, but frankly speaking it is far more satisfying to fuck. Perhaps you need the stimulation of a new sexual partner, or simply the novelty of some new sexual enjoyments. Do you and Alice engage in soixante-neuf? Write back to me in six months if there is no change in your feelings-you may well like to purchase a bottle of Professor Taylor's tonic wine, meanwhile, which I find to be a fine stimulator of all appetites! Or alternatively purchase Mr. Colin Davis' fine little volume 'Fucking for Beginners' which may be purchased from any progressive bookseller.
Dear Doctor Jonathan, The other evening I was walking down the Strand on my way to a matinee performance of Mr. Michael Cook's new melodrama, The Warehouse, when who should I see striding towards me but the great Mr.
Peter Stockman, perhaps the biggest cocksman in Old London Town.
'Good afternoon, Miss Smyth-Bedforde,' said the handsome old rogue, 'What brings you to town on a warm summer's day?' 'I'm planning to see a performance of The Warehouse at the Lyceum Theatre,'
I replied. 'The reviews of Mr. Cook's production have been so good.'
'Oh dear, I'm afraid that today's matinee has been cancelled due to an outbreak of influenza amongst the east,' he said. 'Such a pity and how disappointing for you, Mary-and for me, too, as I had also decided to see the play this afternoon.' 'Alone, Mr. Stockman?' I said with a cheeky grin. 'I can hardly believe that!' 'It's the truth! Captain Mellor of Kent was supposed to meet me for a game of snooker at our Club, but he cried off this morning as he has been asked to fuck Mrs. Nottsgrove at three o'clock. Her husband is in India, you know, and the good Captain, Doctor Hellen and myself have been taking it in turns to ensure that the loneliness of separation has been eased by some extra-marital frolicking whenever the opportunity arises.' 'How kind of you, Mr. Stockman, to make your prick available to a poor lady in need.' 'It is the least one can do,' he said modestly. 'However, I am surprised that you too were planning to visit the theatre without a gentleman or a chaperone to escort you.' 'Oh, well, to be honest my dear old friend David Taylor was called away suddenly to see his brother who lives in Cockermouth -' 'Perhaps the most suitable place for Mr. Taylor to visit,' he interrupted with a saucy smile playing around his lips. 'It is said that in his home town of Glasgow he is without peer in the art of cunnilingus, though I am sure that I could give him a run for his money.' 'I'm sure you can,' I retorted. 'I doubt if there are any virgins over the age of sixteen left in London thanks to you and your friends! Anyhow, I am foot-loose and fancy free until he returns the day after tomorrow.' We walked back along the Strand and took tea at Philip Ajao's Covent Garden restaurant, which is now perhaps the most fashionable place to see and be seen these days. We stayed an hour or so, and saw Dame Carolyn Caughey there, incidentally, planning some intrigue I'll be bound with Lady Roberta Cripps, Mrs. Langtry and Mrs. Keppel. Then lo and behold, I found myself in Mr. Stockman's delightful apartment in the Adelphi. Even as I write, I have hardly any memory of how we arrived there! 'Let me open a bottle of white wine. Mixed with a little seltzer water, I think you will agree it is a most refreshing drink in this warm weather,' said this sweet Lothario. I shall spare myself and your readers any further blushes, but most people who purchase The Oyster know of Mr. Peter Stockman's well-deserved reputation… I was certainly no match for his polished technique of seduction. Which girl could resist the charms of a mature, tall, good-looking and wealthy man like Peter?
Inside the hour I was lying naked on his bed watching him undress and his slim, athletic frame contrasted so well with my current beau's rather corpulent body. Like so many girls before me, I gasped with wonderment when he pulled down his drawers to reveal his astonishingly thick cock which sprang upwards from the mass of black curly hair at the bottom of his belly, and the tip of which reached above his navel.
He kissed me beautifully, nibbling my ears, and whispered his intentions 'to enjoy your body to the utmost' whilst his calm, experienced fingers caressed and massaged my breasts, rolling my nipples into erection whilst my pussey became decidedly damp, moistening like a dew-drenched flower in eager anticipation of what was to come. 'I am going to eat your pussey now, Mary, and I am certain that you taste even sweeter than Mr. Ajao's cream cakes,' he murmured. Doctor Jonathan, I must state here and now that Mr.
Stockman is a world champion of the fine art of sucking pussies! He placed a large silk pillow beneath my buttocks to ease his access, and then he pushed my knees up to my large breasts and parted them, thus totally exposing my honey blonde bush which almost perfectly matches the colour of my hair. He complimented me on my fine-looking pussey with its pouting lips, and then his head dived between my legs and I felt his tongue gently parting my labia, darting inside as I moaned softly with the pleasure this afforded me. He placed his lips over my clitty and sucked it into his mouth with one hand now under my bum for extra elevation, and the other round my thigh so he could spread my pussey lips with his thumb and middle finger. He soon found the magic button under the fold at the base of my clitty and twirled his tongue cleverly all around it. The faster he vibrated his tongue the more excited I became, and I gyrated madly as his tongue moved even more quickly along the silken grooves of my cunt, licking and lapping my delicious juices that ran down like a stream. With each stroke I arched my body in ecstasy, pressing the erect clitty against the tip of his flickering tongue. 'Aaah!' I moaned, and then yelped with joy as I exploded, flooding his face with my juices as I spent exquisitely in great tumbling spasms. As he rolled off me I reached down to take hold of his enormous shaft which throbbed like hot velvet under my touch. I gave it a little kiss when Peter asked me whether he could have the pleasure of fucking me from behind.
'Certainly,' I replied. 'But please do not go up my bum.' I raised myself up on my knees and turned to face the bedstead and stuck out my bum as provocatively as I could. Peter leaned over me and I felt the crown of his monstrous cock nudge against my pussey lips. He slipped his cock inside me and gently moved in and out in slow rhythmic thrusts. It is quite extraordinary how my poor little pussey channel managed to accommodate his mighty monster, but my juices eased its passage as he pushed in, withdrew, pushed in, withdrew as I shuddered in voluptuous ardour. I know of no feeling of pleasure quite like that of the initial penetration of the cunney by a cocked and loaded prick. Peter felt wonderful, thick and hot, stretching my pussey and filling my cunney deliciously. He used his cock expertly, varying his angle and speed, and his staying power was immense. We must have fucked for at least ten minutes until the wonderful performance ended as he shot thick wads of creamy jism into me as I screamed with delight, for I too spent almost instantaneously as the hot, frothy spunk drenched the walls of my womb. He stayed hard in my cunney for a little while and then slowly withdrew, his cock glistening with our mingled juices, and though we were both ready for another round of fornication we were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mr. Stockman's friend had sent him a wire asking him to dine at her house tonight as a gentleman had dropped out at the last minute and they would otherwise be thirteen at table unless he made up the numbers. (The alternative would be my poor Uncle Philip having to dine downstairs, which would create problems, as my aunt suspected a relationship between my uncle and Clare, the scullery maid.) So we did not have the chance of fucking in my favourite position, Doctor Jonathan, which brings me now to my question: I enjoyed being fucked from behind, and Mr. David Taylor has had me in various situations: standing up, me on top, sitting on a chair, etc. But I honestly prefer the good old-fashioned way of laying on my back in a comfortable bed and letting the man do most of the work! Am I missing out on hidden joys? Yours affectionately, Mary Smyth-Bedforde 69 Balls Pond Road London, N. July, 1895
DOCTOR JONATHAN REPLIES:
This is a psychological problem and I believe that you both need to work towards a solution. Certainly, your partner must respect your views and never force you to take part in activities which do not give you pleasure. The so-called 'missionary' position, where the man lies on top of the woman whose legs are spread apart to accommodate him, is the commonest sexual position by far, throughout Europe. It is so popular simply because it is, in my view, the most comfortable sexual position of them all! However, there can be many refinements which are detailed in Fucking For Fun by Professor Kenneth Hall and A Gentleman of Quality, a volume I would recommend to all interested in this grand sport. It may be purchased at Hotten's, Piccadilly and other specialised shops for twelve shillings and sixpence and is worth every penny.
With regard to the missionary position, Professor Hall comments that the sexual act performed thus can be even more enjoyed if the woman twines her legs around the man's waist as he is then capable of thrusting deeper into her vagina with increased sensation accruing to both as the entire length of the man's penis is then stimulated. Another most favoured way to extract additional joy is for the woman to learn the ancient Chinese art of Youg Me Dous, a most clever method of tightening the vaginal muscles enabling her to clasp the entire shaft of the man's penis. This also stimulates a feeling of closeness via the leg embrace, setting it aside from the simplest, straightforward position in which the woman simply lies prone, her legs apart and straight out and where there is therefore only a minimum of body contact.
But variety is the spice of life, Madam, and I think you will miss out if you do not at least experiment with alternative methods of fucking. One of my own favourite positions is that of rear entry. The girl balances herself on her hands and knees, her legs spread as the boy enters from the rear. This can be made more pleasurable if the woman bends forward, throwing her bum cheeks up in the air as high as possible. This method is frowned upon by some misguided moralists as being too 'animalistic', though anatomically it is a most natural position for sexual contact. A girl can support a boy's weight more easily since she is on her hands and knees with her back and thigh muscles (the strongest in the body) working. Both of the boy's hands are free to fondle and stimulate the girl's breasts, nipples, legs and bum and indeed can thrust his penis inside the vagina whilst at the same time frigging her clitoris to afford his partner extra joy.
Another position I can recommend was demonstrated to my by Miss Susannah O'Mahoney, the well-known bicyclist. Being athletic, after I have inserted my pego inside her oily love channel, she manages to keep one leg on the bed and is then able to lift the other one right up over my shoulder so that she is almost performing 'the splits'.
This enables her to spend very quickly as different positions of the legs create different pressures inside the vagina and this particular exercise makes my cock seem larger and penetration even deeper.
My advice, therefore, is to follow an empirical philosophy regarding your fucking. Partake of all the many joys of love-making, refining those arts that you enjoy and discarding those which you do not find pleasurable. This will take some time to accomplish, for the Indian Kama Sutra lists at least twenty major sexual positions, though Professor Hall insists that there are really only six, with all others being mere variants.
Dear Doctor Jonathan,
I will not hide behind a veil of false modesty. I am nineteen years old, raven-haired and blessed with a pretty face and a pleasing bodily development of large breasts, a small waist and long legs. I have been fucked by a clutch of lovers, including Sir Ronnie Dunn, Count Gewirtz and even the great cocksman himself, Mr. Peter Stockman.
All these gentlemen and the others whose pricks I have sucked and fucked have given me great pleasure, but none have managed to make me spend as liberally as my next door neighbour. What is so surprising about that? you ask. Well, my next door neighbour is a sweet-faced girl of the same age as myself, who I did not realise harboured lesbian tendencies until an experience I shared with her last week at Lord Adrian's Midsummer Ball for Aged Booksellers at Bourne Castle, near Ashby de la Zouch, Leicestershire. Although the dancing did not begin till past nine o'clock, the weather was extremely close and my neighbour-her name is Miss Clare Ponsonby-and I found ourselves sitting outside the ballroom on the terrace. We had deliberately not filled in our cards for the fourth and fifth dances as we had guessed that the room would become extremely hot.
'Georgina, why don't we go down to the stream at the bottom of the garden?' suggested Clare, and I readily agreed with her idea as I thought we could well find some cooler air there. 'I have left two large towels there which we can sit upon and let the air get to our bodies,' she added. We made our way carefully down to the stream, and even thought it was now almost ten o'clock, there was still some light coming from the darkening sky. The stream runs through a rather deep bank and as we clambered down we heard some rather exciting sounds emanating from behind a bush. Who should we discover there but Mr. Oscar Wilde buggering a pretty young man who was in Lord Bourne's service. 'Mr. Wilde, I thought you had turned over a new leaf!' scolded Clare. 'So I have, my dear,' panted the poet, thrusting his prick in and out of the poor lad's bum.
'Only I have begun at the bottom of the page!' I burst out into a fit of giggles as we moved further along the wide bank, when Clare said: 'Why don't we cool ourselves off by taking off our clothes and lying naked in the grass. I see that the towels I brought down earlier have not been purloined by others, so we have something upon which to lie.' We lay naked together on the large towels Clare had thoughtfully provided and I was resting peacefully, when the wicked girl rolled over and nibbling in my ear said: 'Darling, you have the most fabulous breasts. I wish mine were as plump as yours with such large, beautifully formed pink aureoles and high-tipped nipples.'
I was so dumbfounded that I said nothing when she placed her fingers around my left nipple and began to roll it around on her palm until it stiffened up like a miniature cock. She then placed her hand upon the fine downy hair that covered my delicate notch and began to massage my thighs. The experience was not totally foreign to me as we had experimented in such matters at St Carola's Academy For The Daughters of Gentlefolk, but though I had enjoyed the experience at the time, I had reserved my pussey exclusively for cocks and dildoes since those days. However, Clare's busy fingers made my heart quicken and my whole body tremble with desire. I soon felt quite light-headed as she took all the liberties she desired with me, kissing and sucking my pretty breasts, frigging my erect little clitty and handling my bum cheeks lasciviously. When she eased a finger into my dampening crack, I sighed and raised up my bottom to enjoy to the utmost the delicious sensations. Now her finger was joined by a second and then a third as she finger-fucked me at an ever-increasing rate.
Clare now moved up over me and, still keeping her fingers embedded in my cunt, kissed me passionately on the mouth. Her velvet tongue slithered between my lips to make contact as her fingers plunged in and out of my juicy cunney. Oh, it was such blissful agony!
The clever little minx then left off her manual stimulation and replaced her fingers with her tongue as she grasped my bum cheeks, one in each hand, and buried her face in my pussey, her mouth pressed against the soft, yielding flesh, probing my slit gently with her tongue. Soon we were entwined together in a soixante neuf. Her head was firmly ensconced between my thighs whilst my own tongue licked and lapped around her sweet snatch. My mouth was now glued to her dripping slit and I rolled and flicked my tongue across her delicious pussey, sucking and nipping at the tender clitty in much the same way as she was working at me. We sighed and groaned together as we lay side by side with our heads deep between each other's legs.
I was tonguing deep inside her beautiful cunney and her juices were flowing freely and her clitty was quite enormous with excitement. I nipped her clitty again, playfully sucking and biting it as she in turn sucked up the love juice pouring from my own pussey, licking and lapping with a great ardour. 'Ooooh! That is delightful!' I panted. 'Now please pull on my clitty and make me spend!' The gorgeous girl wrenched her mouth from my sopping muff and replaced it for a second session with her long, tapering fingers. Immediately, she found my swollen love-button and stroked it expertly. Before my body began thrashing wildly about in a frenzied ecstasy as she slid a finger into my bottom-hole. I thought my body would fairly explode as spasms of excitement ran through my body, culminating in a gigantic peak of orgasmic lust. 'Now it is my turn to spend, darling,' she said, writhing delightfully as I pushed my mouth hard up against her, moving my entire head back and forth. I nuzzled my lips between her swollen cunney lips that were oozing love juice and I sucked upon her hard little clitty, flicking my fluttering tongue in and out of her lovely little hairy quim, sucking and slurping the juices from her cunt, filling the night air with the scent of raw sex. I could feel Clare's orgasm build inside her and I worked my tongue even harder, whilst at the same time inserting my forefinger into her sopping muff, deeper and deeper, until she screamed with delight as she spent copiously in waves of pure energy that coursed through her body.
We lay panting with exhaustion, but suddenly I heard the sound of heavy breathing just behind us. I turned my head, Doctor Jonathan, and perhaps you and readers of The Oyster will divine the sight that met my eyes. There, just ten yards from us stood young Adam Bucknall, nephew of the infamous Sir William, his trousers down by his ankles and his erect shaft cupped in his right hand, playing with himself, capping and uncapping the knob of his stalwart staff. 'Don't mind me, you two, just carry on!' he muttered as he rubbed away furiously at his thick prick. Well, it seemed like a terrible waste to let that fat cock spunk into his hand, so I called out to Adam that he should join us as soon as he had divested himself of his remaining clothes.
With commendable alacrity he shed the offending garments, and in a most gentlemanly way he asked me if I would consent to be bum-fucked as he had a great fancy for such action. 'Oh, Adam,' I faltered.
'I have never had a prick up my bottom before. I hope you wilt not hurt me.' 'Have no fear, Georgina, the bottom-hole can be a most delightful channel of bliss and it will open up your senses to a ravishment of which you have hither had no conception. Besides, you won't get a swollen belly from being fucked in the bum and you can truthfully tell your current beau that you are saving your pussey solely for him!' he said cheerfully, bending down by the stream to wet his stiff cock with water. I lay down as instructed on my elbows with my bottom cheeks firmly pushed out, and he angled my legs further apart to afford himself a better view of my wrinkled little rosette.
But despite his promise, it felt uncomfortable when the crown of his thick prick entered the tightened orifice. 'Ow! Ow! I don't think this is much fun,' I gasped. But Adam pushed on and the sphincter muscle gradually relaxed and I began to enjoy the delightful frigging of my cunney as he drew his arms round me, pushing gently but firmly with his cock so that, as Adam had forecast, the initial pain gave way to a most extraordinary and pleasurable sensation as his movements stirred me up to the very highest pitch of excitement. His cock throbbed and bounced inside my tight sheath as if spring-loaded and it now plunged in easily to and fro, pumping away like an engine. I reached back and spread my cheeks even further, and my bum jerked in time with Adam's rhythm until he exploded into me in a rush of liquid fire as we spent almost together in perfect accord. He withdrew his still stiff weapon with an audible 'pop' leaving my puckered nether-hole well-lathered for the first time in its life. 'I think there is still some life there,' said Clare thoughtfully, taking Adam's cock in her hands and rubbing up the shaft till it stood up as proudly as before. 'It looks good enough to eat, don't you think?' It certainly did and Clare and I knelt down naked in front of this magnificent prick, taking turns to lick the shaft, and then Clare gobbled the knob and two inches or so of the shaft greedily into her mouth and began to suck lustily upon it. I kissed and licked around his pulsating ballsack.
Then we swapped places and I licked and lapped at the pink knob, savouring the salty sensuality of its taste. He thrust his slippery prick deeper into my mouth as I helped him by sliding my lips as far down the shaft as possible, feeling his wiry pubic hair tickling my nose as I inhaled its perspiring fragrance. He spent very quickly and I swallowed his spunk in great gulps, pulling him hard into my mouth as he delivered the contents of his big balls deep in my throat. I sucked on his cock until the last drops had been milked and his member began to shrink back to its normal size. Now, Doctor, my question is this: am I really a tribade manque for allowing myself to take part in two-girl sexual activity with Clare, and do you think I was wrong to let young Adam stick his prick up my bum? And indeed, do you feel it was wrong for Clare and I to share the sucking off of his lovely penis? I await your comments with great interest, Your obedient servant, Georgina Cambridge c/o Rotherwick Lodge Luton, Bedfordshire May, 1890
DR JONATHAN REPLIES:
No, I do not believe that a single enjoyable sexual experience with a member of your own sex makes you a tribade! And certainly, I would be the first to suggest that whilst the good old-fashioned man-on-top method of fucking is the most widely practised, many couples prefer very different and indeed strange ways of achieving satisfaction. My old friend Sir Graham Giddens prefers to keep his hat on in bed, whilst one of the most sophisticated young men about town, Monsieur Max Dalmine of Bordeaux, never fails to anoint his prick with champagne before attempting an anal insertion. So do not worry simply because you enjoyed a sexual experience away from the established mainstream. I have always maintained that the whole experience of sex is greater than the sum of its parts, though every part has its pleasure and every pleasure its part. In normal love play, anything can happen-and usually does sooner or later.
Dear Doctor Jonathan, I am sixteen years old and am currently in the Lower Sixth Form at Reverend Dunton-Green's Academy for the Sons of Gentlefolk in Kent. The school is run on liberal principles but there is an appalling dearth of female company. The only women on the School premises are Matron, Cook and a handful of maids. The strange, unnatural separation of the sexes leads to some pretty rum behaviour, as you may well imagine, and it is rumoured that the captain of cricket has buggered more than half the boys of Form 3C. However, though we are forced to turn to copies of The Oyster and other such splendid magazines for our edification and stimulation during our nightly five-finger exercises, it is common knowledge that wanking is but a poor substitute for the genuine article of fucking. This sets the scene for my narrative, Doctor, which began last Thursday afternoon. We were playing Charterhouse at football and we beat them, I am glad to report, by three goals to two. I shall scorn false modesty and relate that I scored two of the goals. After the game we repaired to the wash-house but, alas, the plumbing, which had given trouble last winter, obstinately refused to deliver more than a trickle of water. So instead we used the facilities in the school itself and, being a sub-prefect, I enjoyed the luxury of my own bathroom which adjoins my study. I filled the bath with lashings of hot water and after stripping off, plunged myself into the warmth.
I soaped myself down and relaxed, enjoying the comfort of the deep bath. I looked at the towel-rail and saw that in my haste I had forgotten to put out a towel. I heaved myself out of the water, not hearing my study door open as I padded out to retrieve a towel from my linen cupboard. I opened the door and I don't know who was more surprised-myself or Sarah, the cheeky little girl who worked for Matron, who was standing open-mouthed in the middle of the room with a linen-basket at her feet. I was bollock-naked, if you will excuse the expression, and I hastily cupped my cock and balls with my hand as I gasped: 'Oh, I am sorry, Sarah, I did not hear you come in.' 'No matter, Master Charlton,' she giggled. 'I only came in to change the sheets on your bed. My, you are rather wet, let me give you a nice, clean towel.' With that pert remark, the pretty young miss stepped across to my cupboard and threw a towel across to me.
Naturally, to catch it I had to use both hands and thus exposed my prick and balls to her gaze. I draped the towel around my back and, realising my nudity might offend (and to tell the truth I was a little embarrassed!), I turned aside and began to dry myself.
'Oh, don't be shy,' she said, walking towards me. 'I know how much you young gentlemen fancy fucking the girls. Have you ever thought how tempting it is for us, so near and yet so far from your youthful masculine good looks, to come in to your study one day and tear off your trousers?' I was dumbfounded at her directness. I was lost for words but nevertheless I slowly turned round to face her.
She reached out and cupped my balls in her hand. 'You really are a most beautiful boy,' she murmured. 'But your cock is dangling down there in such a doleful fashion. Let me see if I can do anything about that.' She swiftly undid the buttons of her blouse, exposing her naked breasts to my amazed, delighted gaze. What globular perfection!
Such curvaceous whiteness topped with the red cherries of her large nipples. I could scarcely believe this was happening to me and I shut my eyes for a moment. I opened them again to see Sarah kneeling down in front of me, kissing and sucking my knob as her busy hands drew back my foreskin and began to rub up and down my fast-stiffening shaft. I felt a delicious stab of desire as she sucked my cock up to full erection, teasing my knob against the roof of her mouth with her tongue and in no time at all I felt the surge of a powerful spend coursing through my throbbing cock. Sarah sensed this and took her sweet lips away for a moment. Then she returned to the attack as she stroked her tongue along the underside of my prick, making it ache with excitement as it throbbed more and more urgently. She squeezed her hand round the base of my shaft, sucking me harder until I could no longer contain myself. My lusty young cock pulsed in her mouth as I gave a small cry and, arching my back, jetted spurt after spurt of creamy white semen full into that adorable mouth, which did not cease to draw upon it until the last drops of white essence had been swallowed. Sarah murmured with satisfaction as she raised the head, kissed my gleaming cock which was only slowly losing a little of its stiffness. 'That was delicious, Jack, your spunk has a lovely salty tang to it. Now what would you say to a real fuck?' 'Yes, please!' I stammered as this gorgeous girl swiftly completed her undressing and stood naked in front of me. We made our way to the bed and she pulled my face towards her and sank her naughty little tongue in my mouth. I stroked her wiry black pussey bush as she then lay back, her head supported by her hands. She moved her tongue between her lips and, taking hold of me, she pulled me across her. I clambered upon her without delay as she opened her legs to allow me to kneel in front of her open cunney. She took my rampant cock in her hand and guided it between her cunney lips. What exquisite pleasure! I enjoyed the grip of her velvet cunney walls as she moved her hips sinuously, as I pumped up and down, my balls smacking lewdly against her bottom with every thrust. I pounded to and fro, my hands clasping her full, round bum cheeks as I felt the spunk boiling up in my balls for a second libation. Alas, I could not wait until she achieved her climax. With a mighty groan I flooded her cunt with a torrent of sperm, as jets of frothy love juice poured out of my prick, completely filling her cunney and dribbling down her inner thighs. To my great regret, she had to finish her domestic duties and so we did not have time for a third encounter. But she has promised me that we will be able to meet again on her days off. I saw her yesterday and we made an arrangement for next week, as her monthly period will have ended by then. Now, Doctor, my query is this. Am I beholden to this charming girl who took my virginity in such a sweet fashion? Should I reward her with a present of some sort, and would monetary gifts be spurned? Jack Charlton c/o Dunton-Green Academy for the Sons of Gentlefolk Kent March, 1891
DOCTOR JONATHAN REPLIES:
My dear young man, may I congratulate you on your good fortune to find so kind a mistress on your first journey across the sea of lubricity, upon which we all desire to sail. First love may be idyllic or it can bean unqualified disaster. You will always remember your first sexual union with great pleasure, and I am glad that you wish to reward your partner in some way for her services. I think the actual gift of money would be incorrect. It smacks too much of a commercial transaction. But a gift of clothes or of perfume would not come amiss. It so happens that your name is not entirely unknown to me as I recall Mr. Peter Stockman, the greatest cocksman south of Birmingham, telling me that his sister Mrs. Charlton had a son at your school. So I have taken the liberty of passing your letter to your uncle, who says that you may buy anything up to the value of twenty pounds on his account at the new emporium in Oxford Street, London, Messrs Selfridge's. If you obtain the opportunity to enjoy a whole afternoon of fucking with Sarah, do try and have some refreshments like sandwiches and lemonade available, for the worship of Venus and Priapus requires continual stimulation by the fuel of tasty eatables. Finally, do pass me the address of this delicious girl as I would very much welcome the chance to offer my medical services to her.
Dear Doctor Jonathan,
My boyfriend is the noted publisher Mr. Kenneth Watkins, who is not unknown to readers of The Oyster as his dalliance with Lady Pentos was well documented in these pages two years ago. Mr. Watkins possesses a large country seat in the Midlands and sports a fine ten-and-a-half-inch-long prick, about which I can find no fault except perhaps that my poor cunney does get somewhat sore after a good night's fucking. I can gladly testify that he is a skilled and considerate lover, even though he can now only perform four times a night these days. Not that he has left youth far behind, but as he said to me over a glass of wine the other day: 'to know how to grow old is the master work of wisdom and one of the most difficult chapters in the great book of living.' Alas, he has now developed an obsession about climaxing, of which I hope you will help me rid him. I can best illustrate the problem with an example. Last night we were guests at a dinner given by Lord and Lady Nayland for the noted author Miss Heather Dewsnap whose novel The Shackled Heart has won such wide critical acclaim. We arrived back home just before midnight and I was first to undress after we had completed our toilets. I sat on the bed fondling his rock-hard cock through his trousers, which he unbuttoned to let his manly staff shoot out like a coil. He sat down beside me and worked his hand down my dampening mound, moving his hand between the edges of my crack as we exchanged a passionate kiss. I clasped his hand between my legs as I lowered my head to kiss the majestic crown of his thick prick. 'Let's continue this in bed,' he whispered, and he quickly finished undressing as I admired his good looks, his handsome face, ice blue eyes and firm, manly chest as well as his extremely big cock which stood straight up against his belly. We smiled and embraced, our tongues entwining in each other's mouths. He rolled me over on to my back and firmly pressed his diamond-hard monster against my pussey lips. I was really enjoying myself and my cunney lips were now swollen with desire. With a deep groan he thrust his magnificently strong prick straight in without the slightest difficulty. His balls slapped against my bum as I wrapped my legs around his broad back and dug my nails in his shoulders. We rolled around on the bed until I found myself on top. His chest and shoulders were glistening with sweat as I rode him like a jockey rides a thoroughbred. My cunney was now on fire as dear Kenneth's huge cock trembled and twitched in a manner which I knew heralded his spending. I felt his body go rigid and then he arched his back upwards and shot once, twice and his spunk jetted out with such intensity that I could almost imagine it splashing off the rear wall of my cunt. Indeed, so abundant was his spurting that my thighs were well lathered until his tingling prick withdrew and rubbed itself amorously in a last salute against my sticky cunney lips. 'You haven't spent yet, have you, Margaret?' he queried as we lay together recovering from this grand fuck.
'I'm afraid not,' I replied. 'But it really doesn't matter a bit.
I enjoyed the fucking immensely and I don't have to spend every time.'
This truthfulness caused him to frown. 'Yes, it jolly well does matter,' said Kenneth. 'I am sure that achieving peaks of pleasure at the same time is what we are supposed to aim for, and I must be doing something wrong if we don't manage it.' I tried hard to assure him that he was wrong but he refused to be comforted. Please, Doctor Jonathan, will you add your voice to this debate as he reads your column religiously and does take heed of your wise words. Yours in hope, Margaret Finchley Bedford Manor Dunstable December, 1894 DOCTOR JONATHAN REPLIES:
My poor girl, I do feel so sorry for you! Of course there is no point whatsoever in working towards simultaneous climaxes. If they occur, jolly good luck, but there is absolutely nothing to be gained in labouring diligently and holding back or forcing forward merely to achieve such a situation. One can become obsessed with timing and become so involved that everything else is forgotten. In any case, climaxing at different times allows one partner to concentrate on exciting the other which is far more important. Yes, it can be fun to spend together but as far as I am concerned it's a very minor matter, and I hope Mr. Watkins will soon forget all about it.
Your readers will be aware that in almost every country in Europe today there is either war or rumour of war between employers and workmen. Not a week, scarcely a day passes but we witness determined struggles between those opposing bodies, the workers demanding better conditions, and the employers resisting these demands. Strikes and lock-outs are so Common that it would be difficult to find a manufacturing town in Great Britain of any importance where one or more such struggles are not now being waged. This situation indicates a terrible discontent, and I do not hold to the view of those grandees who care to pretend that it is all due to the work of a few mysterious agitators who refuse to let well alone. Neither does my old friend Lady Henrietta Hughes, who I visited at her lovely country house in the Kentish village of Orpington recently. Although cruelly widowed at the early age of thirty-two after Sir Roger succumbed to a fever whilst in India, she retains a delightful bloom with her gold-dusted light brown hair, expressive large eyes, rich ruby lips and pearly white teeth. 'My dear Count,' she said as we sat taking some refreshment in her garden after a leisurely ride round her estate on a delightful summer morning. 'In my opinion the lot of the working class will be eased not in one isolated phenomenon but as a necessary corollary of other changes which have been gradually and steadily modifying the social history of Europe. There will be a political change, hopefully not of a revolutionary character, based upon the social, educational and economic changes which have already taken place. The political machinery of the country will be adjusted to fit the altered social conditions of its inhabitants.' 'You mean that we will turn to Socialism,' I asked, sipping my coffee.
'Whatever that may mean,' she agreed. 'Above all, there must be a change in social attitudes between the so-called aristocracy and the working classes. It will happen, mark my words, even in a class-dominated country like England. 'Do you know that my neighbour, Captain Botley, was over here yesterday and in the course of conversation said casually that he didn't know whether working class girls had hair on their cunnies! He was so ignorant of his fellow citizens that he imagined a proportion of them to be of another race!' 'Hasn't he ever fucked a serving wench?' I enquired.
'No, I doubt it. He has been involved since he was a young man with Mrs. Archibald Leach, who once told me that he could only get it up very infrequently, poor man. Doctor Tong of Harley Street, London has prescribed him some pills but little seems to work. He asked me to suck him off to see whether that would help. I did my best-for one should always come to the aid of a neighbour-but even tonguing around his helmet could not arouse him, poor man. 'Anyhow, I do not harbour such prejudices as Captain Botley,' she added, smoothing her hands down her thighs which were encased in her tight riding breeches.
'I am sure you do,' I teased. 'How many butlers have you had in your bed, Henrietta?' 'None, I prefer page-boys,' she smiled back wickedly. 'I see I shall have to demonstrate this to you or you will not believe me, you old rogue.' In fact I would have taken her word for it but it was obvious that she was keen to show off her latest conquest (for she is inordinately fond of fucking) so I did not demur. She stood up and beckoned me to follow her to the very back of her garden, which is well-shaped by umbrageous elms of a venerable age where, facing the south, a summer-house stood under the trees by the side of the small lake. 'Lawrence, are you in the summer-house watering those plants as I asked you to?' she called. 'Yes, ma'am,' came back a youthful voice from inside the well-constructed erection. 'Please bring out three large shawls, as we would like to sit on the grass,' she instructed. Out came Lawrence, a handsome youth of sixteen or so with the shawls and two pillows. 'I thought you might like these as well, ma'am,' he said. Lady Henrietta took the pillows from him and he spread the shawls out on the ground.
She then bent down and deliberately flaunting the rondeurs of her beautifully formed backside to the lad, bent down to arrange the pillows. She fiddled around for a few moments, plumping them up until she straightened up and said quite coolly: 'Lawrence, I detect that you rather enjoy looking at my bottom. Do you like what you see?'
Amused at the reddening up of his face, she eyed him carefully for a moment and did not fail to espy a bulge in the front of his trousers. 'Well, Lawrence, what have you got to say? Don't be shy now.' 'Well, ma'am, you are so very beautiful, and your arse looks so inviting that my cock has swollen up.' 'I'm glad to hear it. So you like my bum, do you? Here, you may feel it. Don't worry, I shan't tell and neither will Count Gewirtz for he knows I shall cut off his testicles if he speaks of this without my permission. Now Lawrence, dear, put your hand all around and under it. Doesn't it feel firm and round?' 'It's really lovely, ma'am. Can I keep my hand there?' 'Yes, of course, feel right under my bottom, Lawrence, and you will come to my cunney which would like to have that truncheon of yours plunging into it.' 'Oh, goodness, may I really take that liberty?' 'Yes, yes, you may fuck me so long as you promise never to tell tales.' 'Ah, no-one could ever wring the secret from my lips. I shall never forget such a favour,' he said with bashful excitement. 'Very well, Lawrence, we fuck here and now. I know you must be a perfect Cupid and I would like to see you naked just as much as you would like to see me unclothed. Let's see who can get undressed the quickest!' I suppose Lady Henrietta cheated for I was called upon to help divest her of her riding boots but Lawrence was first to expose his young, strong body in its admirable total nudity. The young man was blessed with a broad, hairless chest, slim flanks and shapely legs. And for one so young he boasted a very well-sized purple-headed prick, which rose majestically from between his legs to stand almost straight up against his flat belly.
Henrietta, too, was now naked and I admired her adorable rounded breasts, each topped by a rosy nipple, her narrow waist and long legs between which nestled a glorious thatch of silky dark hair. Her roving hands took possession of Lawrence's prick and she peeled back his foreskin to uncap the vermilion knob as she massaged his shaft gently with both hands. 'This is a grand-looking cock for one so young,' she murmured. 'Such fine, smooth skin, yet so hard and stiff to the touch. Quite large enough for a man of twice your age. Have you ever used this noble member for anything else except tossing yourself off?'
'No, ma'am. I wanted to try it with Lettie but she wouldn't let me.' 'What a spoilsport. I'll try to get Lettie along here afterwards as I'm sure that Count Gewirtz would appreciate taking part in a quarter,' she laughed impudently. I returned her smile and said simply: 'I always enjoy a good fuck but I am quite happy to be a mere spectator. I only wish I had my new camera here so that I could record your passion for posterity.' 'Perhaps it is as well that you cannot take any photographs, Count, as I don't want too many people to see me coming!' she replied with her quick wit. Lady Henrietta lay down on the shawls and placed one pillow beneath her head and the other under her buttocks. She opened her legs wide and, with her finger, opened up her delicious red-lipped slit for the lucky young rascal. He knelt down in front of her as she gently rolled her foot on his huge prick. She gently drew him over her and, taking hold of his mighty staff, she inserted the knob between her waiting cunney lips as his tight little arse fairly quivered with anticipation of the joys to come. How she enjoyed being fucked by that boy! Although this was his first fuck, Lawrence had a natural understanding of what to do and he did not, like so many boys of his age, rush in and out in a mad frenzy, but thrust home slowly, then withdrew and re-entered further. This had the desired effect upon Lady Henrietta who was now in a state of high excitement. 'Ah, that's delicious! Make me come! Ram your fat cock into me, Lawrence! Empty your balls, sir!
Aaah!' she screamed as her bottom rolled violently as she clawed the boy's back and he grasped her shoulders and began to ride her like a bucking bronco. Her legs slid down as she arched her back, working her cunney back and forth against the ramming of Lawrence's young, thick cock. I leaned forward to obtain a closer view of his glistening tool pounding in and out of Lady Henrietta's pussey, and she reached down to caress his balls as she rocked to and fro. This proved to be the coup de grace for Lawrence whose torso suddenly went rigid and his cock spurted spasm after spasm of sperm inside her cunt. His orgasm was so powerful that it seemed his body was being shaken to pieces as he gave a last drawn-out cry and collapsed on top of her, the perspiration pouring from him. 'Well done, young man!' I said, congratulating the boy on a fine performance. 'I could not have done much better myself.' 'Well done, indeed; I came twice before you spunked,' said Lady Henrietta cheerfully. I was paying such close attention to this erotic scene that I was quite startled when a hand tapped my shoulder. I looked up to see a pert young blonde-haired miss with a country fresh colour and sparkling blue eyes that were set off by a merry smile. 'I am so sorry to have disturbed you, Your Excellency,' said this delicious girl who was dressed in a low-cut black maid's uniform that showed to best advantage the swell of her firm young breasts. 'This is Lettie,' said Lady Henrietta languidly, clasping her hands around Lawrence's semi-erect penis, capping and uncapping the rubicund head as she playfully rubbed his shaft up to its previous rock-hard stiffness. 'Lettie, I am glad you have remembered to address our visitor in the correct fashion. Have you a message for us?' 'No ma'am, but I was taking the dog out for a walk when I noticed you out here having such a good time and I wondered if I could join in.' 'Well, you can't have Lawrence's cock yet. You spurned your chance when he offered it to you, and now you will have to wait until I have finished with it. That is only fair, isn't it?' 'Absolutely,' said the owner of the penis in question. 'Lady Henrietta has first call on my cock.' The pretty girl smiled at me and said: 'I don't mind at all as I've had my fill of young boys. I've never been fucked by a member of the aristocracy before, even if he is a little fat and a foreigner to boot.'
'Don't be so cheeky, Lettie,' said Lady Henrietta, trying hard to keep a straight face. 'She only speaks the truth, my love,' I said mildly. 'I do not take offence and will gladly fuck her if she really wants me to.' 'That she does, Your Excellency,' said Lettie with a gay laugh as she set to work unhooking her dress and loosening the strings and laces. She stepped out of her dress and took off her chemise and, to my surprise, I saw that she wore no drawers as she paraded her naked charms just a metre or so away from my face. I reached out to caress her succulent breasts which generated great excitement through my entire frame. Lettie's firm globes were well separated, each looking a little away from each other and tapering into two delicious points. The taut nipples acted as magnets to my mouth, and I sucked and nibbled on the ruby stalks that stood up in honour of my attentions. 'Do let me help you undress, Your Excellency,' she said as she unbuttoned my trousers and took out my naked erect prick which was now standing at its fullest height.
Tickling it lightly she wrapped her rich lips around my straining shaft, lustily slurping her tongue around my knob until I told her to desist or I would spend then and there. 'That would never do, because I want your cock in my cunney,' said Lettie, lying down beside Lady Henrietta who moved on top of Lawrence to allow Lettie and I some room on the shawls. I quickly divested myself of my remaining garments and knelt down in front of Lettie's open legs which gave me a fair view of her hairy cunt. 'What a superb cluster of blonde curls you have around your cunney, Lettie,' I said. 'I must pay homage to the shrine of Venus before I fuck you.' 'And I will do the same at the altar of Priapus,' called out Lady Henrietta, moving herself between Lawrence's legs and moving her head down to begin lapping and licking the knob of his prick. I saw her eagerly lash her tongue around his rampant young pole, slowly encompassing every inch until her lips touched his wiry pubic hairs. I now leaned forward to kiss the pink pouting lips of Lettie's crack which beckoned me so invitingly, set as they were so delightfully in her silky blonde muff.
I worked my mouth all around her lovely crack, tasting the musky female scent as I licked all around her bush, and rubbing my mouth against her cunney lips sent Lettie into a frenzy. 'Put your fingers in, please, Count,' she begged me. She put her hands on her inner thighs and pulled her legs further apart, exposing her outer lips, and her cunt was now so wet and swollen that I easily slipped three fingers into her snatch. I worked up a good rhythm, slipping them in and out of her juicy cunney, slowly at first and then increasing the tempo. At the same time she slipped a hand down to her clitty to frig herself, rubbing the little rosebud around her thumb and forefinger. I replaced her hand with my own as I simultaneously took over the frigging of her clitty whilst lapping away inside her deep pussey. She let out yelps of pleasure as she reached her climax and her luscious love juices filled my mouth. Her tangy juices were delicious and pushing my mouth hard up against her cunt, I moved my whole head back and forth until her pussey was sopping wet. My tongue moved quickly along her cunt as I licked and lapped her sweet juices that overflowed onto her thighs. 'Please fuck me now,' she asked and I obliged immediately, moving my body up across her so that we could kiss passionately as my knob forced its way between the portals of her cunney lips. As it slipped in I sucked on her firm little titties, which made her writhe with pleasure. I fucked her powerfully, plunging my prick in and out of her sopping pussey, my balls banging against her bottom as my shaft slipped all the way in her cunt so that our pubic hairs mingled together. Oh ye gods! How tight did her pussey clasp my pumping prick, and how luscious was the suction created by the juicy folds of her cunt as my trusty cock shoved in and out of its sheath. How magnificently she met my thrusts with the most energetic heaves as we revelled in voluptuous delights. All too soon I felt myself approaching the ultimate pleasure as the spunk boiled up in my balls, and though I tried to delay the ultimate moment as I was enjoying fucking this lovely young girl so much, my body was being wound up tighter and tighter until finally I exploded into one climatic release as I shot my hot, sticky sperm deep into the young lass who writhed beneath me, her hips rotating wildly, her cunney throbbing as my cock spurted jet after jet of love juice inside her, lubricating her love channel as we went off together, our mutual spends soaking her cunney and for some moments neither of us moved as we just lay there luxuriating in utter bliss. But next to us Lady Henrietta had stopped sucking Lawrence's lusty young cock and had climbed up on him with her knees on either side of his body. She pulled open her cunney lips and we saw her guide his straining shaft into her pussey, slowly tightening the walls of her cunt so that she held his twitching prick in place. Her expertise as a horse rider may have helped for she rode his vertical cock with great assurance, twisting her hips and bumping and grinding away, leaning forward so that the boy could take her cherry-coloured nipples in his mouth which drove her completely wild. 'I'm going to come,' panted poor Lawrence as Lady Henrietta rocked backwards and forwards on his cock, thrashing about as she screamed: 'So am I! Just spunk into me whenever you like!' They ran a delightful course and as they died away in a mutual spend, Lettie said to me: 'I quite enjoy being on top, but I don't think I can ride a St George as well as Lady Henrietta. Mind, it is nice to sit down and work your cunney muscles round a strong, hard cock as then, whilst you are grinding your arse about, you give your clitty a good rub as well.' This lewd talk sent my prick swelling up again, but this time it was Lady Henrietta who bent over to give me a thorough wash with her tongue. She licked my prick from the tip all the way down to the balls and back again. I gently raised her head and told her to lie back as I desired to fuck her. She did as she was told and I lifted myself on my knees between her legs, which I hooked over my shoulders so that her bottom was lifted into the air, and I cupped her bum cheeks in my hand. A low gurgle of anticipation escaped from her lips as I viewed with delight the narrow triangle of bushy brown hair that fringed her cunt. I was about to repeat my tonguing of Lettie but Lady Henrietta panted: 'Oh, Johann, stick your lovely cock inside me. I want your prick rather than your tongue!' What could I do but obey. In fact Lettie took hold of my throbbing tool and guided it herself between her mistress's glistening red cunney lips. I slipped my shaft slowly inside her hole and began to pump in and out of her inviting crack. She contracted her pussey so that it took hold of my cock like a delicate soft hand frigging the shaft, and she wriggled away as I pumped my raging tool in and out of her sodden cunney, her vaginal muscles caressing my prick as we went faster and faster as she bucked and twisted, urging me to thrust deeper as she raised her legs to wrap them behind my shoulders. How tightly her cunney clasped and sucked on my cock, and we gloried in the lubricity of it all as her juices dripped against my hairy balls as they banged against her arse. Cupped now in my broad palms, her tight bum cheeks rotated almost savagely as my lusty shaft rammed home, and her kisses rained upon my neck as the friction in her cunt reached new heights.
She reached climax after climax as my throbbing tool slid in and out of her dripping cunney. I plunged down hard, crushing her luscious breasts beneath me as her cunt squeezed my prick even tighter. The continuous voluptuous pressure was too great for me to bear. I could feel the boiling spunk rising and then, with a whoosh, it surged out of me, spurting from my knob deep inside her in a spend that seemed to last and last as I pumped my creamy white froth into her juicy dark warmth. She squeezed my balls gently as I withdrew and the last creamy drops of sperm trickled down her thighs. We lay back exhausted but, at our side, Lettie was holding young Lawrence's shaft at the base whilst she sucked upon his rigid pole. It was not long before his cock began to twitch as Lettie's head bobbed up and down and she sucked as much of his spunk as she could, gobbling the ruby knob of his youthful cock as her hands jerked up and down the shaft, milking his prick with a flourish. 'Oh, I do love sucking cocks,' she said smacking her lips. 'Young Lawrence here has a grand salty tang to his spunk. Mmm, nothing tastes as clean and fresh as frothy sperm straight from the cock.' 'I do so agree,' said Lady Henrietta. 'I only wish that men could hold back a little longer, but sucking off drives them wild. Boys are the worst for coming too quickly.'*I did my best, ma'am,' said Lawrence anxiously.
The girls reassured him that they were talking in general and not in the particular, and we entwined ourselves again in a further bout of fucking and sucking. Lady Henrietta licked out Lettie whilst she sucked me off, at the same time tossing off young Lawrence. Then I fucked Lettie up the bum whilst she sucked off Lawrence, who nibbled Lady Henrietta's erect little clitty as she sat on his face. So all in all, a great day's entertainment. As Mr. Kipling has commented: 'Lucy O'Grady and the Colonel's lady are sisters under the skin.' For my part, Lettie's tremendous ability in the art of fucking reinforces my belief in the democratic doctrine. Who cares about class so long as the lady in question is as the girl in the popular poem:
She's pert and slim And takes a swim Down by the harbour wall. She's only a cobbler's daughter But she gives the boys her awl! That's a different way of looking at it as the fly said when he landed on a mirror. I remain, Sir, Your Obedient Servant Count Johann Gewirtz c/o Lady Valerie Fitzcockie 46 Allendale House Belgrave Square London, S.W. June, 1893
Sir, I have often fantasised about the joys of multiple fucking, and I am pleased to report that my fantasy turned into reality last weekend. I am twenty-three years old and am considered attractive by the many young men who have attempted to pull down my drawers. Most have failed in their attempt, but occasionally I have enjoyed the attentions of several noted cocksmen, including Sir Robert Bacon and Captain John Gibson of Edinburgh, whilst currently I have been fucking the Honourable Anthony Bodley-Cape, a young man of no mean talent in l'arte de faire l'amour. For some time now I had suspected that Anthony had the similar desire for a bed party. He would tease me by saying that he suspected my ambition was to fuck before an invited audience. I denied the accusation but, frankly, the idea sent the adrenalin coursing through my veins. We attended the party given by Lord Tagholm at Ajao's restaurant in honour of Madame Melba the famous opera singer, and afterwards we took a hansom cab back to Anthony's apartment in Welbeck Street. He sent me into the bedroom whilst he locked up and paid a visit to the bathroom.
He came to bed some ten minutes later with a mischievous grin on his face. He joined me on the bed after carefully folding away his clothes and, as usual, I reached down to encircle his fast-swelling prick in my hand. When his staff was at its proud, fullest height, I leaned over to take the fiery red crown between my lips. I had just opened my mouth when I heard a noise outside. 'What's that, Tony?' I asked With a start. 'Are we being burgled?' 'It's nothing, darling, it's only old Rex the dog scratching around,' he said soothingly.
I took his word for it and jammed down his foreskin before enveloping his cockhead between my lips. I sucked hard, taking half his shaft into my mouth whilst I toyed with his rather small hairy balls. False modesty is as unbecoming as overweening pride, so I shall not neglect to mention that I am considered to be one of the best cocksuckers in London. Tony cooed with delight as I sucked his shaft with a firm motion, sliding my lips up and down his rigid staff, slurping noisily as his knob slid along the roof of my mouth to the back of my throat. The juices were really flowing when again I thought I heard a noise, and I opened my eyes to see that we were not alone! Two of Tony's friends, Sir Andrew Stuck and Tommy Dashler, were standing by the door watching me suck Tony's cock. Now I realised that the noise I heard was Tony leaving the door on the latch-poor old Rex was guiltless of making any noise as he was doubtless fast asleep in his basket. At first I was unsure whether or not to proceed-the sight of two men watching me suck my lover's prick at first confused me, but then I thought to myself, what the deuce does it matter, so I climbed on top of Tony's flagpole and bounced merrily away until I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. To my astonishment I saw that Sir Andrew had stepped out of his clothes and was standing beside me stark naked with the biggest thickest prick I have ever seen in my life! I made no protest when the lusty baronet guided my hand downwards to his enormous tool. It was incredibly thick and my hand could not reach round it. I leaned forward and licked at this luscious dome as Tony jerked his body upwards to restart our love-making rhythm. This erotic sight was too powerful for young Tommy Dashler to resist, and very soon he was stroking my breasts and lapping at my hard little nipples. I reached across with my left arm and took his prick in my hand. What an experience! I had a cock in my cunney, one in my hand and Sir Andrew's monster shaft in my mouth! To cap it all, the three men and myself came almost together and I screamed and shuddered as wave after wave of orgasm swept over me as my juices flowed like a torrent to mix with the frothy jism Tony was unleashing inside my pussey. Tommy's rampant prick spurted out a generous amount of juice, but Sir Andrew's libation was so copious that I could not swallow all his salty spend. Tony and Tommy were now hors de combat, but Sir Andrew's shaft was still rock hard and I readily assented to his invitation to continue this escapade. Perhaps I looked frightened as I stared at his huge weapon for he kindly whispered, 'Don't worry, Julia, I would never hurt you. If I push in too deeply just tell me and I will withdraw immediately.' He slowly slid his ruby knob between the lips of my sopping cunney and I could hardly believe that I could accommodate such a noble tool. He filled my body with his hardness and slowly built up his speed as he thrust and probed inside me. I was astonished that something so big could move so gently inside me. His balls banged against my bum as he” thrust more urgently, and I felt an enormous wave of orgasmic pleasure starting to course throughout my body. 'I'm coming, I'm coming!' he cried out, and so I squeezed his balls with my thighs and the feeling of his spunk jetting through his shaft took me over the brink into Elysium. He exploded into me with a tidal wave of hot, white juice. Poor Tommy was unlucky as I could not face another bout after Sir Andrew's mighty machine had penetrated my love channel. I administered manual relief to the sweet boy, however, so that he did not feel too frustrated about the affair.
Although I do hold a grudge against Tony for inviting his friends to watch us fuck, regrettably I had to inform him that our liaison was now at an end. I don't believe any girl will be satisfied with her lover after taking Sir Andrew Stuck between her legs. I don't know how long I will be able to keep him in my bed, but meanwhile I shall make the most of my time with him.
Carpe diem, guam minimum credula postero has always been a maxim I have scrupulously followed.
Your Obedient Servant, Julia Hurchille Callil Mansions Osbaldeston Road London, N. February, 1889 Seize the present day, trusting the morrow as little as you can.