Rosie: Her Intimate Diaries

1. Early Days

I had the greatest of good fortune in growing up in our family seat in the heart of the South Down country of West Sussex. Argosse Towers is an imposing mansion that stands in delightful surrounds some three miles from the sleepy little market town of Midhurst.

The characteristic Downland landscape is a perfect panorama of moulded promontories and ample spaces. Gracefully rounded hills run into each other in gently curving lines, and in the distance the far horizon is shut out by vague blue hills, and across to the east lies the Wealden plain, divided by dark hedges and brightened by the red and grey roofs of the villages, the greenery of wide woods and fields, the purple of plough-lands and the yellow acres of corn.

There is little I need to say of my life up to the day of my sixteenth birthday, which took place on the twenty-second of June, in the year nineteen hundred and five. I was happy enough, to be sure, for my Papa and Mama were the kindest parents one could wish for, but I did not see them as frequently as I really wanted. You see, dear reader, Papa enjoyed a most successful career as Permanent Second Secretary in the Foreign Office. This meant that he had to spend weekdays in London and frequently Mama would journey up to our London house in Belgrave Square and, accompany him to important Government receptions for visiting dignitaries and the like.

Mama also traveled with Papa when he felt it necessary to go abroad to spend time on delicate diplomatic business. During these more prolonged parental leaves of absence, my younger brother Jonathan and myself were left in the charge of my Mama's bachelor brother, Lord Gordon MacChesney, who supervised the running of our house-a task he relished for (though it was not until shortly after my sixteenth birthday that I knew it) my nice Uncle Gordon loved to fuck Sarah and Alice, the prettiest of our maidservants and to have his cock sucked by young Polly, the daughter of the local blacksmith.

More of Uncle Gordon shortly; for the moment let me state that my education was first at the famous Trippett College For Young Ladies in Chichester, but my final schooldays, before I left Sussex for finishing-school in Switzerland (and I write of these uninhibited days later), were spent at St Hilda's Academy for Young Ladies in Devon. My brother Jonathan, I should add, had followed my father's footsteps and had gone to Eton after attending a private preparatory school near our home.

And indeed Jonathan figures in the first incident of intimacy that I ever witnessed at first hand which took place on a glorious afternoon just a few days after this all-important sixteenth birthday.

I had decided to take myself off for a walk to Letchmore Woods. The weather was perfect for such an activity. Although it was one of the hottest days so far of a glorious summer, the air of the Downs is always fresh and pure. It has a quality which elevates the spirits and even on the warmest day you will almost always find a soft, sighing zephyr to cool the mopping brow.

So I ambled across the springy turf, idly considering what games we might play at my birthday tea, which was being postponed to the following weekend in order to allow Papa and Mama to attend for they had been in London since Tuesday. I had invited five of my best friends, Sheena, Katie, Gillian, Mary and Susie to the feast and I was looking forward eagerly to the party.

All was peaceful and serene as I made my way to the top of a knoll and I had decided to lie down on the dry grass and study a chapter of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, for Miss Caughey, my English teacher, had set this book for us to peruse during the summer holidays and we would be tested on our knowledge of it when we returned to St Hilda's in the autumn. It should have been a perfect place to read Mr. Dickens for no noise comes from the plain but the occasional lowing of cattle from Farmer Massey's fields or the musical tinkle of a sheep-bell as the flock moves along a slope.

But this afternoon this rural tranquillity was broken by what appeared to be sounds of some kind of human activity from behind a large bush that grew half way down the small hill on the opposite side to that which I had just climbed. From my position I imagined that I could hear three young, boyish voices and, as I was curious to discover what they were doing behind the bush, I scrambled up and walked quietly down the hillock to find out exactly what was going on.

The voices were now becoming clearer and the first voice I recognised belonged to Alfred, our page-boy, who was six months younger than me. Then I made out the dulcet tones of my brother Jonathan who himself would soon be fifteen. But as I drew nearer I realised that the third voice was in fact that of a girl-and unless I was gravely mistaken it was young Sarah, the prettiest of our maidservants, who was at least a year, if not more, older than me, who was larking about with the boys behind the bush.

Now I could clearly make out the words which were interspersed with a great deal of excited giggling. 'Look at my willie, Sarah, it's swelled up so big,' I heard my brother say excitedly. 'Won't you play with it like you did with Alfred's?'

'Why, Master Jonathan, you naughty boy, how rude you are,' scolded Sarah in a tone of mock severity, 'though I must admit you've got a very thick prick for so young a lad.'

'It's not so big as mine though, is it?' claimed Alfred. 'And I bet he can't spurt out as much spunk as I can.'

'No, probably not, but let's have a little contest to make sure. Come over here, Alfred, and stand next to Jonathan and I'll see what I can do,' said the lewd girl.

I was shocked by this bawdy talk for though I had secretly read copies of The Oyster which Papa kept locked in his private cabinet, I had never actually heard, let alone seen, anything like this! So you may well imagine that I was fairly trembling with excitement as I dropped to my knees behind the trio and peered round to see what Sarah had in mind.

Well now, I had surmised that I might see something I had never seen before, but I was shocked by the lewd scene which began to unfold before my very eyes.

Alfred and Jonathan had taken off their shirts and trousers and were standing naked as Sarah pulled off her clothes and (to her credit) busied herself folding them into a neat little pile, though naturally my gaze was turned immediately towards the two boys whose tools had grown into enormous flesh poles, hard and stiff and topped off at the end by uncapped ruby-coloured helmets. You must remember, of course, that this was the first time I had seen an erect prick in all its manly glory. I noted that neither Alfred nor Jonathan had more than a light covering of hair around the root of their cocks, but when I turned my head round to look at Sarah, a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips. For her love mound was covered by a veritable thatch of curly black hair, far thicker than the silky covering of down which lay between my own legs. I looked on in breathless excitement as the lusty girl stepped forward towards the boys and grasped their rampant shafts in her hands.

She proceeded to rub their staffs up until they stood like two bursting truncheons high against their bellies. 'Dear me,' she laughed, 'it's very hard to judge these fine specimens. Your prick is longer all right, Alfred, but I do think Master Jonathan's is just a little bit thicker. Now let's see how much cream I can coax out of you two beauties.'

I watched entranced as Sarah grasped the two red-helmeted cocks and continued to frig them vigorously as the boys yelped like two puppies with the sheer pleasure of being tossed off by this uninhibited girl, who appeared to be equally aroused from the gleam I saw shining in her eyes. Within a very short time the young scamps began to spend and the first spurtings of white juice shot out of their pricks like miniature fountains. Both boys produced substantial streams of sperm but I was proud to see that my young brother's emission was just as copious as that of his older companion.

'Oh, that was really super,' sighed Alfred, as he looked down to see his staff slowly subsiding into limpness, 'but I would so love to experience the real thing which I bet is even nicer.'

'So would I,' chipped in Jonathan eagerly. 'Please let me fuck you, Sarah. You can see that I'm quite capable of it.'

Sarah burst out laughing. 'I've seen that you both are, Master Jonathan, and I'm equally sure that I'd enjoy it too. But I haven't got time today and anyhow you've both just spent by yourselves.

'Well, with just a little help from me,' she added modestly. 'Don't be greedy, boys. After all, you've both been tossed off and you've had a good look at my titties and my bum. That will have to suffice you for the present. Come on now, we'd better get dressed because if we don't get back soon, Alfred and I will be missed at the house.'

The boys looked very disappointed but obeyed her and slowly began to pull on their clothes. 'It's a jolly shame for you that girls can't toss themselves off like boys,' remarked Alfred.

Sarah looked at him with a grin. 'What do you mean? Why, don't you know that we can enjoy ourselves without anyone else just like you?'

'Gosh, can girls spend by themselves too? I didn't know that,' confessed Jonathan shyly.

'Of course we can, you silly boy. Shall I tell you how I like to play with myself?'

'Yes, please,' they chorused, and I could feel my face turn scarlet as I felt embarrassed that anyone, let alone my young brother, should know of my secret pleasure. However, eavesdroppers seldom hear any good of themselves, as the old saying has it, and besides, this would constitute a sufficient punishment for my admittedly inadvertent spying upon this randy scene.

'Well now,' Sarah said, with a wicked smile playing around her lips. 'My favourite is at night just after I've had a nice warm bath. I then stand in front of the bathroom mirror and slowly dry myself with a towel. I close my eyes and imagine that in fact there's a handsome young man running the towel over my breasts and between my legs, making my body shine with a silken glow.

'Then I open my eyes and I look at my dark, thick cunney hair which curls round my crack. I let my hand slide down and let my fingers move lovingly around there and play around my moist pussey. When I'm ready I part my pale pink cunney lips with the tip of one finger and begin to rub myself off which makes me feel good all over.

'When I find my clitty stiffening up I scuttle into my bedroom and lie on my bed with my hand mirror and ladies' comforter which cost me four shillings at Dr Bucknall's Surgical Stores in Chichester last year. By setting up the mirror between my legs I can see myself playing with my pussey. Then I separate my cunney lips and can see right inside my juicy damp cunt. I'm getting really excited now and all my juices are flowing as I push two and then three fingers in and wiggle them about to get myself really wet. It's time now for Dr Bucknall's imitation cock which I pick up and rub up and down my slit which tingles now with anticipation of a good fucking.

'After a few moments I push the dildo inside my cunt and then gently take almost all of it out. Oooh, just thinking about how lovely it feels is making my knickers wet!'

Truth to tell, this racy narrative was also making my pussey damp and I just couldn't stop my hand from diving down to start stroking myself as Sarah continued: 'I play like this for a while and gradually pick up speed, twiddling my titties with one hand as I push my dildo in and out faster and faster, deeper and deeper until wooosh! A lovely feeling explodes in my pussey and sends lovely waves all over me as my love juice now flows out of my sopping crack. I used to do this quite a lot but since Lord Gordon's been here I don't need a dildo because I've got his big thick tool ready and waiting whenever we feel like a little fuck. He's already told me to come to his bedroom this evening so I know that I won't be getting much sleep tonight.'

'Isn't Lord Gordon too old to have hard-ons?' asked Alfred, to which Sarah gave an immediate answer. 'Not at all, young Alfred, that's something else you and Jonathan should know. People aren't past it by the time they've reached forty. Why, Lord Gordon's sixty-five and he can still fuck like a rattlesnake.'

By now they had all finished dressing, but I could see that Sarah's story had excited Alfred and Jonathan so much that their cocks were fairly bursting out of their trousers. Sarah giggled as she too saw the huge bulges in front of the lads' trousers and she reached across to pat them. 'I can see that you were certainly hanging on to every word,' she chuckled, 'and that you can't wait to have me finish you off. Well, let's get back to the house and I'll see what I can do after tea. Be in your room at five o'clock, Master Jonathan, and I'll come to you just as soon as I can.'

'That's not fair, I won't be able to join in,' protested Alfred, heatedly.

'Don't worry, I'll see to you after supper,' Sarah promised, as they walked down the hill towards our house, leaving me feeling extraordinarily frustrated as I scrambled up to my feet, flushed with all the exciting images which were spinning through my brain.

When I followed them back a half hour later, I could hardly contain the strong feeling of pleasurable anticipation which seeped throughout my entire body. What was so especially exciting was the fact that Uncle Gordon's bedroom was next door to my own, and, unknown to him, when I was younger, Papa had a hidden peephole fashioned into the adjoining wall between the two rooms. This work was carried out so that the nurse who slept next door could keep an eye on her charge without disturbing me, for as a child I was a very light sleeper. Tonight though, this secret peephole would afford me my first view-and a grandstand one at that – of sexual copulation and I could hardly wait until ten o'clock which was the earliest time I could go to bed without arousing any suspicion of feeling unwell or getting into mischief of some sort or another.

At dinner I could hardly take my eyes off Jonathan, who looked terribly pleased with himself and I wondered enviously whether Sarah had helped him to make his first journey across the Rubicon just a couple of hours before. You lucky boy, I thought, there is no man I really want at Argosse Towers to rid me of my tiresome virginity. If only Jimmy lived with us instead of in London. I should explain here that Jimmy was the Honourable James Harold Fortescue Horobin, second son of Viscount and Viscountess Sevenoaks, who were amongst my parents' oldest friends. Jimmy was eighteen and had just gained a place at Cambridge University to read English although his father had hoped that Jimmy would follow his footsteps and take up a commission in the Grenadier Guards. More of Jimmy shortly, dear reader, for very soon he enters this story.

To return to my tale, Jonathan had gone to bed at half past nine and at the stroke of ten, I put down the book I was reading and walked across to my uncle who was engrossed in his copy of the Sporting Life.

'Good night, Uncle, I am feeling a little tired so I shall go to bed now.'

'Are you m'dear? Well, have an early night and you'll feel fully refreshed tomorrow,' he replied, and he gave me a chaste goodnight peck on my cheek as I moved away from his chair.

Now, Uncle Gordon rarely retired before midnight. But as I fully expected, on this occasion I heard him climb the stairs and enter his bedroom not more than a quarter of an hour later! Five minutes after I heard the door close, I glued my eye to the peephole and was very soon rewarded. Uncle Gordon had taken off all his clothes except his vest and undershorts and he was sitting on the bed looking impatiently at his door.

Neither of us had long to wait for very soon I heard a knocking on his door and Uncle Gordon sprang up and rushed across the room to open the door. In popped Sarah, clad in a dressing-gown and slippers and as soon as Uncle had whisked her in he bolted the door behind her. 'No one saw you, did they?' he asked, anxiously. 'No, of course not,' she said. 'And even if they did, it's none of their business 'cos it's more than their job's worth to peach on us. After all, who would Lady D'Argosse believe if such a story were told to her? The tittle-tattle of servants of Lord MacChesney, her own blood brother?'

'Don't bank on it,' said Uncle Gordon, gloomily, 'because whatever else she maybe, my sister Cynthia is nobody's fool and she would probably believe a servant's tale rather than any explanation from me in such circumstances. Mind, it would be me who would get into hot water rather than you if we were found out as she would insist that I seduced you.'

Sarah giggled and replied: 'And so you did, Lord Gordon. I was a good little girl till I met you.'

'Go on with you, m'dear, you have had more pricks in your pussey than I've backed winners at Sandown Park races,' said Uncle, joining in her laughter.

'I must almost be a virgin then because your bookmaker sends you a box of cigars every month and he wouldn't do that if you were a lucky punter!'

'Ha, ha, ha! No, I don't suppose he would, just like I wouldn't give you a five pound note every week if your clever little cunney didn't tease my old cockie so deliciously, you naughty miss.'

This teasing badinage continued as Sarah and Uncle began to kiss and fondle each other on the bed. Sarah slipped off her dressing-gown to reveal that she wore only a thin nightdress underneath it. She rolled up Uncle Gordon's vest and pulled it over his head whilst he repaid the compliment by doing the same to her nightdress. The happy couple then dissolved into a loving embrace and my uncle's hand cupped one of her firm, full bosoms as they freely exchanged a most passionate kiss. My little titties began to tingle as I saw him squeeze Sarah's white globes, first one and then the other, and I rubbed my own nipples up to little red stalks as Uncle Gordon's lips broke away from Sarah's to move downwards to suck on the rosy red stalks that topped her sinuously ripe breasts.

Sarah's right hand now strayed to Uncle Gordon's lap and her fingers dived into the slit in his drawers to release his naked prick from its uncomfortable prison. Beforehand I could see the outline of a great bulge straining against the material of his pants, but I must confess that I was absolutely staggered by the tremendous size of my uncle's todger.

Though till this afternoon the only male organs I had seen had been limp and soft; compared even to the stiffstanders of Jonathan and Alfred I had viewed only hours before, the upstanding length and girth of Uncle Gordon's erect penis astonished and frankly frightened me. I judged its veiny thickness to be five inches in circumference whilst I estimated the veiny staff which Sarah was stroking with such eager relish to be at least nine inches long. There was no way that such a monster could be accommodated in my tiny crack and surely Sarah would be unable to take in this huge staff in her cunney even if she had already stretched her slit from previous fuckings?

I watched with fascination as Sarah leaned backwards and my uncle clambered over her. But he did not lay upon her but knelt down with his knees pressing the sides of her beautiful body. He then moved himself forward so that his prick, which still stood up as high as a flagpole, was positioned just an inch away from Sarah's mouth. This puzzled me until Sarah grasped hold of the veiny shaft with one hand and cupped his hairy pink ballsack with the other and I wondered as to what on earth was she planning to do with his throbbing prick.

In just a few seconds my question was answered for Sarah licked her lips and encircled the purple helmet of Uncle Gordon's cock with her tongue, jamming down his foreskin before taking the smooth knob between her lips. She sucked hard, taking at least a third of his rigid rod into her mouth while her hands played with his dangling balls. I could hear the sound of her tongue slurping round his pulsating pole before letting it out of her mouth. She then began to lick the swollen staff, drawing her tongue from the base right up to the gleaming knob. He clutched at her hair and shuddered violently as the lewd minx circled her tongue all round the fleshy red dome, washing his knob so sensuously that a hoarse groan of sheer delight escaped from my uncle's throat.

'Suck me off, Sarah! My balls are bursting with spunk!' he grunted, a request which she seemed happy with which to comply, for she took hold of his thick prick and with a sharp intake of breath somehow managed to cram all but the last inch or two of his enormous shaft into her mouth. She held his huge cock, lightly in her hands as he moved his hips backwards and forwards, releasing much of his rigid rod from her mouth before pushing it back in again. Sarah sucked away vigorously, keeping her lips taut on his length, kissing, suckling, licking and lapping as she took him into her mouth in long rolling sucks.

She continued to suck until with a cry of 'Here it comes!' he sent a stream of jism down Sarah's throat and she gulped down as much as she could of his copious emission. Despite all her efforts, however, Uncle Gordon pumped so much love juice into her mouth that some of his jism spilled out from between her lips and onto her chin. Sarah obviously enjoyed the taste of his libation for she rubbed his twitching shaft furiously to coax out every last drain of love juice from it.

'Oh my word, Sarah,' panted my uncle, as he removed her hand from his now deflated tool: 'I do believe that you are truly the finest fellatrix outside London.'

Sarah looked at him with a puzzled expression. 'Fellatrix? What's that when it's at home? There's no need to go calling me names just because I'm a simple country girl and not one of your high and mighty ladies in society.'

'No, no, m'dear, you misunderstand me,' said my uncle, hastily. 'I assure you that I paid you a compliment. Fellatio is the posh name for oral sexual intercourse and a fellatrix is a girl who performs the noble art.'

'Fellatio, you say? Well, that may be how you say it in London but down here people simply call it good old-fashioned cocksucking.'

'Good enough, my girl, why don't you show me again just how well you do it?'

'All right then,' she agreed and kissed the tip of his tool and drawing back the foreskin to uncover his smooth round knob. But despite taking it into her mouth and licking it all over, my uncle's prick obstinately refused to swell up even when Sarah took the limp shaft between her lips and nibbled away with her white little teeth.

She took the soft tube of flesh out of her mouth and said: 'Oh dear, oh dear, Lord Gordon, I really thought you wanted to fuck me.'

'I do, my dear, of course I do. I just can't raise a cockstand just now,' he replied, gloomily.

Her face brightened. 'Don't worry, darling, I'll stick some hot mustard up your arse. That's the cure for a drooping prick we use round these parts.' Not surprisingly, my uncle blanched at even the mention of this famous old Sussex remedy. 'That's very kind of you, Sarah,' said my uncle, faintly, 'but I think I know an easier way for you to make my poor old prick rise up again.'

'What do I have to do?' she asked.

'Smack my arse with your slipper,' he instructed. 'A good whacking rarely fails to give me a hard-on.'

Sarah shrugged and picked up her slipper as my uncle turned over onto his tummy and stuck out his dimpled bum cheeks, opening his legs slightly so that both Sarah and I had a god view of his hanging ballsack. Sarah passed her hand lightly along his bare bottom and then lifted her arm. Thwack, thwack, thwack! She laid into him with a will and I could see his posterior change its hue to a warm, pinky tint. Watching her chastise his wriggling backside made me tingle with arousal. An awakening interest crept into my loins and I closed my eyes for a moment to allow a blissful familiar feeling radiate out from my dampening pussey to my titties and then all over my entire body.

At this point Sarah dropped the slipper and began slapping Uncle Gordon's arse with the palm of her hand. This obviously excited him for he gasped: 'Yes, yes, crack away, Sarah! A-h-r-e! How invigorating! Cut away, my girl!' Obediently she struck a few more blows with quite a considerable force. Then she passed her arm around his waist to see whether her hard work had achieved the desired result. He moved across the bed and lo and behold, what a difference Sarah's spanking had made to his previously flaccid penis! It was now standing up stiffly to attention in a rampant state of erection. He drew back his foreskin himself making its purple helmet swell and bound in his hand.

Sarah looked lasciviously at his gigantic stiffstander and murmured, 'Go on, Gordon, stuff that big donger in my juicy cunney.' He needed no second bidding as she lay on her back, her legs slightly apart-in a trice he was on top of her, his hands roving over those lovely alabaster-white breasts, moving his hands over the large pink aureoles and raised red nipples. He gently squeezed these succulent little cherries up to perfection as Sarah's body arched like a sleek cat as my uncle kissed her knees, her calves and her inner thighs, his hands all the while massaging those divinely full breasts.

She now parted her legs further, exposing her luxuriant-crisp bush and for a moment I could see her protruding cunney lips before his head buried itself between her legs and I could hear (though not actually see) him licking and lapping around her open crack.

My own cunt cried out with unfulfilled desire as Uncle Gordon continued to suck and play with Sarah's slit and my mound was on fire as he now lifted himself over the trembling girl and mounted her, guiding his enormous ramrod inside her squelchy cunt. Directing every last inch of his shaft snugly inside her cunney, Sarah now closed her thighs so that his cock was well and truly trapped in her nookie. Uncle Gordon could hardly pump in and out because Sarah's strong cunney muscles were gripping him so tightly, but he had no complaint as she started to grind her hips round, which massaged his prick quite exquisitely. I could imagine his hard pulsating penis throbbing powerfully inside her love channel and when he clutched Sarah's plump bum cheeks and smack his lips over one of her engorged stalky nipples, my pussey became wetter and wetter as I wriggled my hand between my legs and rubbed my pussey as hard as possible.

Now Sarah shifted her thighs and as the pressure around his pole eased, he began to drive wildly in and out of her delicious slit, fucking at such speed that I marvelled at his athleticism. 'Oooh, Gordon, you fat-cocked fucker, you've made me spend already-Oooh! I'm going off again!-Oooh! Oooh! Oooh! AAAH! What a glorious spend! Come on, darling, fill my cunney with spunk!' she panted as she writhed in ecstasies of delight-for the lucky Sarah was being brought off time and again and she worked herself off to a huge orgasm as the fierce momentum of my uncle's fucking sent her cunt into new paroxysms of pleasure.

For the grand finale, she brought her legs up against the small of his back, humping the lower half of her body upwards to meet the violent strokes of his raging member which shafted in and out, in rhythm with the ever-quickening jerks of her hips. The contraction of her sopping pussey now sent Uncle Gordon to the brink and with one final thrust he melted into her as he reached his climax, spilling spasm after spasm of love juice into her vitals as she herself shuddered into an explosive spend and even my own now saturated pussey sent out delicious waves of pleasure crackling throughout my entire body.

Sarah and Uncle Gordon were equally happy with the result of their exertions. 'What a splendid old cock you have there, my lord,' said Sarah, her bosoms rising and falling as she lay gasping for breath. 'My God, you filled me up completely which is more than most young chaps can do, that's for sure, with that big old cock. It's as they say, the old fiddles play the best tunes.'

'Thank you very much, m'dear, but I always say that it's not the age of the ship that counts, it's the way the captain steers his ship,' he replied modestly, 'and let me add that you have an absolutely divine love channel, Sarah. It must be the prettiest little cunt I have ever fucked. I just love the way my cock slides against its wet, velvety walls. Truly it must have been a cunt such as yours that the Scots poet David Taylor had in mind when he wrote:

How oft I've sworn to my true love

The world no sight can show,

To match her locks, her lips divine,

Her bosoms hills of snow.

But yet I find myself forsworn,

Two lips I have beheld;

Still lovelier on this happy morn,

A mount that hose excelled!

Her bosom boasts no swell so fair

No tints that these eclipse;

Her head had no such jet black hair,

Nor such enchanting lips!

'Thank you, Gordon, that's really lovely. Would you write that down for me please?' said Sarah, snuggling up beside him. 'Now, I suppose that another little fuck is out of the question?'

''Fraid so, my love, my old soldier won't stand up again for another couple of hours at least, not even if you tried out your peculiar idea about shoving mustard up my arse, which in any case sounds jolly uncomfortable, if you don't mind my saying so. Look, you can stay here all night, can't you?'

'Yes, of course I can, only we won't be able to have a lie-in. I must be up early to begin my work. If I'm not downstairs by half past six, Mrs. Callaghan the housekeeper will come into my room and see that I've spent the night elsewhere,' she warned.

'Gad, that would never do. But don't worry, I'll set the alarm on my bedside clock for six a.m. I don't mind waking up so early, especially because my prick will be standing up nice and stiff again by the morning.'

'Then you had better set the alarm for half past five,' said Sarah, with an infectious giggle which set Uncle Gordon laughing and at this juncture I leaned back from the peephole. This erotic encounter had been most pleasurable to watch but I positively ached for a stiff prick of mine to slide into my cunney. Then suddenly I had a brainwave- whilst it would take too long for a letter to reach my boyfriend Jimmy Horobin in London, and in any case I would be terrified of my billet-doux being seen by someone else, I could always contact him first thing in the morning, for last year Papa had a telephone installed. Hurrah for Mr. Alexander Graham Bell! I rejoiced as I settled down in my bed to dream of what sensual joys Jimmy Horobin could offer me.