The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.II

CHAPTER THREE. A Test Of Endurance

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when with a sigh of relief I put down my pen and shuffled together the papers upon which I had written my essay which was about the tiresome political situation in Ireland. As I yawned and stretched my arms I thought to myself that this might not be the most elegant essay I had ever composed but though on the short side it was competent enough and would have to suffice. Indeed, I had been sorely tempted simply to write that there were no solutions to the Irish problem except build a border fence like the Great Wall of China between Ulster and the rest of the country though it would be hard to decide on which side lay the barbarians, but aphorisms of this kind would not please my tutor, Professor Cuthbert Cumberland, who was a man of acerbic wit and well-known to be merciless to students who sent in below standard work for his perusal. He was also somewhat of a snob, a characteristic I abhor, although I still smile at the story about his involvement in a planned visit to the University by the Crown Prince of Japan. An official from the Japanese Embassy visited Professor Cumberland to make the necessary arrangements and the Professor, who was a stickler for protocol, asked how the young man should be addressed. 'At home we refer to him as the Son of God,' said the diplomat, to which Professor Cumberland is supposed to have rejoined: That will present no problem.

We are used to entertaining the sons of distinguished men at Oxford.'

He had a perverse sense of humour too as shown by this probably apocryphal anecdote. It is said that a colleague rushed up to him one morning with the news that a member of the philosophy department had committed suicide. Professor Cumberland is said to have raised his hand and said: 'Please, don't tell me who. Allow me to guess!'

But I would just have to hope that my essay pleased the Professor for I was so sleepy that I could not have written another sentence. I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow and would have missed breakfast and perhaps my first lecture if Nancy had not have woken me up in time. It was not part of her duties to rouse undergraduates from their slumber but the jolly girl wanted to apologise for slipping under the table and sucking me off during dinner the previous night. She had knocked on my door but when I had failed to reply she quietly entered as she had correctly guessed that I was still in bed. I must say that I preferred Nancy's way of waking me up to that of any alarm dock! I felt my shoulder being shaken and as I came to my senses I felt soft fingers snake their way around my stiff cock (since the age of thirteen I have always woken up with a boner) and I heard Nancy whisper: 'Wake up. Master Rupert, it's getting on for eight o'clock.' My head cleared quickly as her words seeped through and I slowly came to my senses, though for a few seconds I was puzzled by the fact that my tool was throbbing with pleasure even though I was not frigging myself. Then I quickly realised that Nancy was playing with my prick, rubbing her hand up and down the hot shaft, capping and uncapping my helmet as she said: Would you like me to finish you off. Master Rupert, or shall I run you a bath instead?' Time enough for both I dunk, Nancy, if you don't mind,' I said, now fully aware of what was going on. She grinned and increased the pace of motion, her hand flashing up and down my swollen shaft as I lay back and enjoyed the very pleasant sensation of being woken up by what is vulgarly known as 'a hand job'. Nancy's sensual rubbing soon brought the inevitable result and I spunked copiously, the sticky froth shooting out from my knob all over her hand and over my curly pubic hair. This sight so excited her that she whispered: 'Oh dear, now we can't let all that luscious spunk go to waste,' and she bent down and sucked up as much of my emission as possible, licking my cock clean until my prick began to lose some of its stiffness. 'I do love sucking your cock, your sperm has just the salty tang that I like to swallow. Just the thought of taking your pole in my mouth makes me ever so randy,' she added, massaging me.

'I'd love to fuck you, Nancy, but it will have to be at another time as I'm already late for breakfast. Please run my bath now whilst I shave, there's a good girl,' I said, heaving myself out of bed.

She sighed and said: 'Well, how about this evening before dinner?' I shook my head and said regretfully: 'Nancy, this must sound awfully conceited, but I'm afraid that I don't have the time.

I'm only going to have half an hour or so to change before dinner and then I'm going to a reception at Professor Webb's house. Believe me, it's not that I don't want to fuck you but I'm not really free till after dinner tomorrow evening at the earliest and then only briefly because I'm going out again to an art class.' 'I can't meet you till Friday then because I'm going out myself tomorrow night,' she complained crossly. 'My friend Rosa and I have been given tickets to see The Taming Of The Shrew at the New Theatre.' 'Really? I do hope you enjoy it-who was the kind gentleman who provided your tickets?' This question put her back into a good humour for she giggled and replied: 'Mike Beattie, of course. Why do you think I gobbled his cock under the table last night? Actually, I came in this morning to apologise if what I did during dinner upset you.' 'No, of course it didn't,' I hastened to assure her, 'although I must say I was very worried in case you were discovered.' It wouldn't have mattered too much, I would have just said that I was cleaning up some spilt food,' she said coolly, 'and I'm sure that none of you would have given me away! I had only planned to suck off Michael but I'm particularly fond of your prick, Rupert, and I couldn't resist it.'

Thank you, Nancy, I'm always very pleased to hear a girl say nice things about my prick because at school we were all a little jealous of Frank Folkestone's gigantic tool.' Her remark at hearing this confession well illustrates why, as I have just written when recounting the anecdote about Professor Cumberland's snobbery, I detest this particular vice. More often that not, I was to discover that several college servants like Nancy possessed far more common sense than many of the fellows of the college including those who sat at the High Table. She laughed openly at this confession and exclaimed: 'For heaven's sake, don't disappoint me now, Master Rupert.

Surely you're not one of those silly boys who measure themselves against what they see in the changing rooms and worry that their own pricks seem smaller than those dangling around them.' I coloured slightly at her well chosen words which you may well recall, dear reader, gave further credence to Chrissie Nayland-Hunt's rebuke to Gillian Headleigh when the latter made an appreciative remark about the size of Salman Marrari's member. Nancy continued:*My last boyfriend, Billy Bucknall, who still works down the road in Blackwell's bookshop, had such a tremendous tadger that at school his form-mates used to whistle and cheer whenever they saw him take a shower. And of course he enjoyed basking in their approval and admiration, but this proud self-confidence soon vanished when he first had the opportunity to spoon seriously with the maid-of-all-work back in his parents' house. 'At first all was well and she allowed him to caress her breasts through her blouse and she rubbed her hand against the huge bulge in his lap-but when she unbuttoned his trousers and took out his prick she was so startled that she began to giggle.

Now you can imagine what effect this had on a shy boy who had never even gone further than a furtive kiss before. His cock shrivelled down in double quick time and he couldn't coax it back up again for love or money. Still, I helped him to forget about his problem by explaining to him that a girl's cunney expands or contracts to take in whatever size cock is being placed inside it.' 'You must have had great fun giving Mr. Bucknall a practical lesson,' I said dryly.

“Yes, I taught Billy all he knows about fucking,' said Nancy with justifiable pride in her voice. 'We went out together for almost a year but neither of us want to settle down yet so we have agreed to go our separate ways for now, although you never know how things might turn out, do you?'

I gave Nancy a kiss as I stripped off and as I marched into the bathroom I called out: 'Nancy, thank you once again for waking me up this morning. Look, there's half a crown on my bedside table.

Please take it and buy yourself and Rosa a nice box of chocolates for the theatre tomorrow night.' That's not necessary, Master Rupert, really it isn't,' she protested as she followed me inside the bathroom and turned on the bath-taps while I rummaged around in the cupboard for my razor and shaving cream. 'I know it's not necessary but I'd like to show my gratitude to you, so please accept my gift as a sincere token of appreciation not as a fee for a service,' I said grandly and this pompous little speech made us both smile. Anyhow, Nancy finally accepted my little present and I just managed to get downstairs before the kitchen closed. After breakfast I left my essay in Professor Cumberland's pigeon-hole and spent the rest of the day hard at work. Nevertheless, I made sure to post two notes, one to the gorgeous Chrissie telling her that I would attend her art class the next night when she could give me further details about when and where we would meet my old pal Salman Marrari, and the other to the equally lovely Beth Randall, apologising for not having contacted her before but that I hoped she would be free to see me one day next week.

My crowded social calendar would certainly keep me busy, I thought, as I changed for dinner and Professor Webb's evening party.

Still, we work to live, not live to work as our wealthy village squire and family friend Mr. Buckingham was fond of saying when he called round in the morning to pick up my father for a day's fishing. Mind, my mother, who holds radical views upon what she calls the shockingly unfair distribution of wealth in our society, once asked the squire with some irritability how he would know this to be true as he had never done a day's work in his life! 'It's becoming quite difficult to fit everything in-as the maidservant said to the chauffeur!' I said to Frank Folkestone as we met as arranged after dinner. 'Don't complain.' advised Frank as we walked briskly out of the college gates. 'Despite the many opportunities to enjoy oneself here, there are very many first year students who are still lonely and homesick.' 'Very true, I have no right at all to grumble,' I sighed. 'And you seem to be getting on nicely, Frank. I can't believe that you really miss our life at St Lionel's.' 'Good God, I should say not, although I must admit that occasionally I do miss the friendship you and I shared with Prince Salman. We had some great times together, didn't we?' This reminded me to tell Frank the good news about Salman coming to Oxford for the weekend. 'I'm sure you could join us for dinner tomorrow night,' I said but Frank shook his head. 'Damn, I've already arranged to dine with the Matthew Arnold Society, but try and bring him over for coffee on Saturday morning,' he said, a sensible suggestion with which I was happy to comply, though I speculated that Salman had planned to spend the morning in bed with the delectable Chrissie! Professor Simon Webb's party turned out to be a fine affair- frankly, I had expected to mix in a small, exclusive gathering but there must have been at least fifty young people present. Frank and I were delighted to see that like Doctor Blayers, the good Professor believed in letting young people of both sexes engage in social intercourse and as I scanned the room looking to see if I knew any of the other guests besides Frank, I wondered whether Gillian Headleigh might be present. 'Are you looking for someone?' said a sweet feminine voice and I turned round and saw a truly ravishing girl standing beside me. She was a most beautiful creature, rather above medium height with shining bright brown hair, a fresh complexion and a pretty face which was set off by a merry smile that played upon her rich, red lips. Furthermore, this exquisite young lady was wearing a low cut crimson dress which revealed a goodly amount of her firmly-rounded breasts. “Yes, I was looking to see whether Gillian Headleigh or her chum Chrissie Nayland-Hunt were here. Would you happen to know these girls by any chance?' She looked at me closely and then with a lilting laugh in her voice she said with a fine theatrical flourish. I am acquainted with both of them and your question leads me to believe that your name la Rupert Mountjoy from Balliol College. Am I right or wrong, my dear sir?' With a chuckle I raised my hands in surrender. 'The prisoner pleads guilty as charged. But we have not been introduced, so I can't imagine how on earth you come to know my name.'

'Elementary, my dear Watson,' she replied, wagging a finger at me. 'Indeed so elementary that we hardly need employ the services of Sherlock Holmes or Sexton Blake. I am sharing lodgings with Gillian in Pusey Street whilst we are in Oxford and she has told me all about you, you naughty fellow.' 'Goodness me, I hope you don't believe everything that you are told.' 'It depends upon who is doing the telling and as you would-be lawyers might say, cui bono? As far as Gillian is concerned, I am sure that I can believe every word she has said about you, especially about your abilities to please members of the female sex.' I blushed at the thought of what Gillian had told this gorgeous girl about our escapades. 'Of course you can, I didn't mean to even hint that Gillian would ever deliberately utter an untruth.' 'Of course you didn't,' she agreed.*But alas, neither she nor Chrissie are here to defend themselves even if you did.

They've gone to see the Dramatic Society's production of The Taming Of The Shrew at the New Theatre this evening.' Well, dear reader, this led me on to mention my friend Michael Beanie's involvement in the play, though naturally I did not breathe a word about the truth of just how he came to take over the part except to say that Arthur Cuthbertson had suddenly taken ill during a performance and that at very short notice, Michael had bravely stepped into the breach.

'Anyhow, whilst I am sorry that Gillian and Chrissie aren't here, I'm delighted that their absence has brought us together. Miss, ah, now you have the advantage of me as you know my name but I don't know yours!' 'I'm Marianne Dawson and I'm pleased to meet you, Rupert, and please don't worry, Gillian said only the nicest things about you!' This chance meeting was indeed fortuitous for me. Marianne and I chatted animatedly especially when I discovered that we shared an interest in photography. I told her of how Frederick Nolan, the American cinematographer, had come to my family's home and I was saying how popular moving pictures had become with the general public, when Professor Webb himself joined in the conversation. 'Moving pictures, young Mountjoy?' he snorted. 'Can't abide them, to be frank with you-all that jerky flickering gives me a headache after a time but I suppose they'll form an interesting library of material for future historians to complement the newspapers and official records. I grant you that now people are flocking to see cinematograph shows but these only have novelty value and won't pose any threat against the music halls and the theatre.' Marianne took issue immediately with this view. 'I can't agree with you, sir. The film offers a new entertainment to an international audience. A film-maker such as Frederick Nolan makes his film and can have copies shown all over the world. All Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians or what have you need do is to insert title slides in their own language where needed. I grant you that the actors cannot be heard but against this, the action is more realistic, being able to switch at will from inside to outdoors and from the past to the present and if necessary even to the future. Of course, whilst the film remains without the power of speech, the theatre remains unchallenged but I would wager that sooner rather than later, some clever inventor will marry sound and colour to film and there will be machines available that we can buy so that we can view these films in the comfort of our own homes.' 'Oh, I think you are now entering the realms of fantasy, my dear,' said the Professor doubtfully although I strongly backed up Marianne's prophecy.

'Well, one matter upon which we can surely all agree is that the moving picture will never replace the art of painting, although like the majority of my friends, I was most disappointed at this summer's Royal Academy Exhibition,' I declared roundly. Professor Webb beamed and said: I am pleased to hear you say so, young Mountjoy. I looked in vain for evidence of new genius coming to the fore but was castigated for my criticism by my young brother who sits on the Hanging Committee. He had the cheek to call me an old fogey! Well, he could hardly level the same charge at you and your chums!' 'I was not able to see this year's Exhibition as I spent the summer with my family in America,' confessed Marianne, 'but I don't think we should judge the newer artists too hastily. The language of art varies -what may have been expressive yesterday may be regarded as merely commonplace today. But from what I've seen at previous exhibitions, I would say that the danger comes in that once an artist is admitted into the Academy, he often becomes too contented with himself to care to do anything that he had not done before.' There we are most certainly in agreement,' said the Professor, running a hand through his bushy red beard. 'I've been collecting landscapes by Stanley Brendah for the last ten years and I would have to agree with you that since he was given the imprimateur of an Academician, his work has suffered. The bold, dashing style seems to have become muted, as if he were afraid of experimentation in case his admirers might turn away, just as I must turn away from this interesting debate, dear Miss Marianne, for I must circulate amongst my guests and make some introductions where necessary. Many young people are terribly shy and stand around all by themselves, lonely in the thronging crowd, and I consider it my bounden duty as host to help them break into a friendly circle.' As Professor Webb plunged through the crowd, I said to Marianne: 'What a decent old stick! It's very thoughtful of him to make sure that his more reticent guests enjoy themselves. Mind, I never knew he was a connoisseur of landscape pictures.' 'Ah, there's probably quite a lot you don't know about our host,' said Marianne brightly. Tie specialises in other artistic fields too.'

'Really? In poetry perhaps, or in sculpture?' 'Neither, Rupert, and I doubt if you would ever guess the answer. You see, the Professor's chosen speciality is in sucking pussey.' I looked at her blankly for I could hardly believe my ears. 'Yes, it's true, I do assure you,' she said, trying hard to suppress a giggle. 'How do you think he came to have a nickname such as “Beaver”?' 'Well, blow me down, I would never have suspected it,' I said, taking a large gulp from my glass of the excellent fruit punch. 'My, this also has quite a bite to it.' We looked at each other and spontaneously collapsed into roars of laughter at this unintentional witticism. Frank strolled over to see what all the fun was about but we could hardly repeat the story and he retired muttering that we must have been pouring the punch down our throats too quickly for our own good. 'I say, Marianne, you're not having me on about “Beaver” Webb, are you?' I asked when we finally recovered our composure. 'No, of course not, Rupert,' she replied indignantly. 'Why, I myself had the pleasure of being brought off by his brilliant oral skills earlier this evening. I came here an hour before the party was due to begin because I had heard of his reputation as a cunnilinguist from my cousin Lucinda, who studied under Simon Webb last year. I was attracted to the idea of having my pussey pleasured in this fashion by an expert for the art is alas not practised as widely in this country as it is on the Continent and in America. 'As I had arrived so early, I was shown into a small sitting-room to wait until the Professor had finished dressing though it was not long before he came bursting in, saying that he was sorry not to have received me before but he had not expected such an early arrival. He opened a bottle of fizz whilst I told him that I knew I was early but that I shared his interest in art and wondered if he would be interested in an early Stanley Brendan picture I had uncovered, as my cousin Lucinda had told me of his interest in this artist. It was an unusual painting for it was a nude study and I had always thought of Brendah as a landscape specialist. Simon's face lit up and he explained: “Ah, well you see, Stanley was quite a ladies' man in his early days and every time, how shall I say, he sowed some wild oats, he made figure studies of the girls concerned.” '“How fascinating! So his lovers have been immortalised on canvas! I would have loved to have been one of his models but I don't think I have quite the figure for it.” '“Stuff and nonsense, my dear Miss Dawson, I am sure that any artist worth his salt would be honoured to have you pose for him,” he replied. I looked at him with a wide-eyed innocence and said: “Do you really think so, Professor?” '“Oh come now, let's not be so formal, we're not in the lecture hall now.

My name is Simon,” he said. “Very well, Simon, thank you, but then you must call me Marianne,” I replied as I hitched my skirts up to my knees. I stretched out my legs and enquired: “Tell me truthfully, Simon, don't you think my calves are a little too plump for someone like Stanley Brendah to paint me?” '“No, no, not at all, they are quite beautiful in my judgement,” he said, swallowing hard as I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Then I stood up and moved forwards towards him. When I reached his chair I deliberately leaned forward so that my bosom almost spilled out of this low-cut dress. Now false modesty is as foolish and vulgar as overweaning pride, so I have no hesitation in telling you that like all men, Simon Webb was overwhelmed by the nearness of my soft, rounded breasts. He gulped again as I said seductively: “What I would really appreciate is for you to give me your opinion on perhaps my best attributes.” He gaped in silence, his mouth hanging open in amazement as I fiddled with the hook behind my back to loosen the top of my gown and he stood up and helped me unbutton my dress so I was able to step out of it without creasing the material too badly. With a graceful movement I pulled off my chemise so that my bare breasts were exposed to his excited gaze and then I took his trembling hands and pressed them to my titties which made the nipples pop up like two little bullets. 'It was time for me to display the piece de resistance so with a deliberately accentuated wriggle I pulled down my frilly lace knickers. As I stepped out of them I bent down and picked them up from the floor. I held my knickers in my hand as I stroked my sides sensuously before placing my knickers on the silky mound of hair between my legs and rubbing them against it. Now the merest touch of my fingers against my pussey is always enough to get me going, so throwing all modesty aside I tossed them to Simon as I teasingly purred: “Sniff them and tell me if you like the aroma of my pussey. Then if you wish to sample what you see on display, I would very much like you to suck my pussey.

Otherwise I will assume that you want me to wrap the goods up again and place them back on the shelf!” 'He did not reply but wordlessly he rose and took me in his arms. Then he planted his mouth on mine and we exchanged a lingering kiss before I felt myself being gently laid back on the floor. Simon pulled down a cushion from a chair to act as a pillow for me as I lay back and relaxed, thrilling to the movement of his lips sliding down my body. He kissed each raised time in turn as his hands prised open my unresisting thighs.

Then he buried his face between my legs and licked the dampness round my pussey lips as I lifted my bottom so that he could clasp my buttocks and pull them forward to him. My cunney opened out like a flower as he slipped his tongue through the pouting pink pussey lips and lapped with long, thrusting strokes between the inner grooves of my cunt, which by now was beginning to gush out love juice.

'Simon certainly deserved first class honours for his ability to bring a girl off with his mouth. To add to my pleasure he slipped two fingers into my slit which made me thrash around wildly until the electric sensations subsided. But what took me up to the highest realms of ecstatic pleasure was how he attacked my clitty, driving his tongue into the ring of my love channel and then as the tiny bean broke from its pod he gripped it in his strong fingers and tugged at it quite vigorously, which made me spend profusely as I writhed my hips dementedly. Then he lowered his mouth again and slurped noisily on my drenched pussey, his tongue driving fast round the juicy crack from which dribbled a flow of tangy love juice which he swallowed with evident relish. 'I would have liked nothing better to have repaid the compliment by sucking his prick but the first of the other guests would soon be arriving and I needed time to put my clothes back on.

Simon also understood why I would not let him fuck me with his sizeable prick which he had let free from the confines of his trousers. I am sure you will agree, Rupert, that it would have been far too forward to let oneself be fucked after so brief an introduction.' 'Oh absolutely so,' I said gravely, nodding my head in agreement. 'I never fuck with any girl I have known for less than thirty minutes.' Marianne's delicious dimples showed as she smiled broadly at my ironic comment and said: 'A very wise maxim to follow-and one should be most careful when recounting the pleasures of one's fucking, though I know I can trust you to keep the tale I have just told you under your hat. For as Moliere rather cynically wrote: le scandals du monde est ce qui fait l'offense, et ce n'est pas pecher que pecher en silence.' 'So poor Professor Webb must be feeling rather frustrated unless he has sought relief from the five-fingered widow,' I commented. 'Perhaps, though I think it more likely that he asked one of the girls in that group over by the window to toss him off.' That would be rather dangerous, wouldn't it?' 'Not really, for I am certain that he has probably fucked at least three of them. Amanda Wellsend, the tall blonde girl, told me only this evening that she rode a splendid St George on Simon's cock the other afternoon.' Marianne looked down and lightly touched the bulge in my lap with her hand. I think that you might be more frustrated than Professor Webb,' she murmured. 'Do erotic anecdotes make you feel randy too? I must say that after telling you that lewd story, I'm also feeling pretty horny myself.' My blood was on fire and I muttered: 'What a pity there are no private rooms to which we could repair.' 'But there are, my dear-wait here for just a moment and I'll arrange everything for us,' she replied, a lascivious smile forming across her lips as her hand dived down to give my swollen cock a friendly squeeze. Marianne then made her way through the chattering crowd to where Professor Webb was holding court with his amor at a Amanda Wellsend and her friends. I saw her whisper something in his ear after which he passed something small from his waistcoat pocket to her which she clutched in her fist. When she returned to me she opened her hand to reveal a key. 'For one of the bedrooms upstairs?' I hazarded. She gave a wolfish grin and said: 'Who's a clever boy, then?' and she took my hand and pulled me towards the staircase. I was hardly unwilling to accompany her but as we climbed the stairs I glanced back to see how Frank was fairing-and I was pleased to see that he had now joined Professor Webb's little group and was deep in discussion with a striking red-haired girl who was laughing at some witty remark Frank had just made if the rather smug expression on his face was a true guide to what was happening down there. When we reached the landing Marianne pulled me across into the passage leading to the bedrooms and unlocked the door to our left.

We went in and she closed the door behind us as I switched on the electric light. The room was richly furnished and I was delighted to see there was a large double bed for us-fucking on a narrow single mattress can be fine but I am sure you will agree, dear reader, that un lit matrimonial offers more room for both partners. Be that as it may, Marianne and I wasted no time in tearing off our clothes and in under a minute we were rolling around quite naked on the Professor's huge bed, our mouths glued together in a passionate kiss, our tongues lashing away inside the other's mouth, hugging and clutching each other in a frenzy of loving voluptuousness. Finally, I was forced to break away from our embrace to draw breath- and raising myself on my elbow I looked down upon the soft, quivering body of this exquisite girl. She had unpinned her hair and her gorgeous face was now set off by soft waves of chestnut hair which cascaded down over her shoulders.

Her firm, jutting breasts stood out proudly whilst her well-rounded shoulders tapered down into a surprisingly small waist. Yet her thighs were full and beautifully proportioned whilst between her long legs lay a furry fleece of brown hair which formed a delicious veil over her pouting pink cunney lips. Marianne whispered: 'Let's start with a soixante-neuf. Why don't you lick my cunt whilst I suck your cock?' I have always maintained that this is the most ingenious yet easiest erotic position after the simple man-on-top-woman-underneath-on-her-back 'missionary' position, so called because our more bigoted evangelicals have always taught that this is the only permissible way to engage in intercourse. I have always delighted in the magic of soixante-neuf and Marianne and I assumed the position which led to me repositioning myself so that my legs were up against the bedstead with my cock by Marianne's mouth whilst my own lips were just inches away from the succulent goal of her sweet pussey. I inhaled and savoured the piquant fragrance before burying my face between her legs in this aromatic nest of love. I kissed her creamy crack and my tongue began whipping back and forth, taking on a life of its own when I slipped the tip of my tongue between her cunney lips which opened in salute as it bored deep inside her juicy wet cunt. I felt for her clitty and ran my tongue up and down the sides, teasing it into a full erection as taking it now between my lips I tweaked its plump unsheathed base with the tip of my tongue, which sent tremors of lustful passion hurtling through her.

Meanwhile Marianne closed her lips around the bulbous uncapped knob of my raging stiffstander and it was my turn to shudder as her tongue flicked over my helmet, down the shaft and over my balls before reversing the route back to the mushroom dome. Her moist mouth worked its way over every inch of my rock-hard cock, her hand grasping the base as she pumped her head up and down, keeping her lips taut, kissing and sucking my pulsating prick as she ground her now sopping cunt against my face-our tempos matching in increasing speed, faster and faster as our twitches grew into tremors, the tremors into convulsions as first Marianne climaxed, moaning her joy as she flooded my mouth with her liquid spendings. Soft and yielding, the delicate cunney flesh was slippery against my tongue and I was engulfed in her spasms which sent waves of love juice coursing their way through her love channel and into my mouth and over my face. Now I felt the first unmistakable rise of spunk rising up from my balls as Marianne continued to suck my throbbing tool, somehow managing to take almost all my shaft deep down into her throat. Her tongue slid juicily up and down until, with a low growl I cried out: 'Ahhh, here it comes!' and I shot an explosive stream of sticky white froth into her mouth which she gulped down as best she could though my emission was so strong that some of my spunk dribbled down her chin. I sat up and she leaned forward, tasting ourselves as we exchanged a long, lingering kiss.

Much like artichokes and olives, cunnilingus is an acquired taste but I would urge all young men who wish to pleasure their partners to try it. After all, is there a chap to be found anywhere in this world, regardless whether he prefers blondes, brunettes, or redheads in bed or indeed even if he is of the homosexualist persuasion, who does not love having his cock sucked? And if your bed-mate pleasures you, should you not play the game and return the compliment? Pussey-eating is an art in its infancy in this country which is, I am convinced, one of the reasons why English girls seem to fall so readily into the beds of the Latin races who practice cunnilingus almost as a matter of course. Certainly, as far as Marianne was concerned, having her pussey pleasured by my mouth made her terribly randy. 'Rupert,' she said throatily, her voice crackling with desire, I want you to fuck me now, so slide your lovely cock in my cunt straightaway, if you please.' Well, though putting myself in danger of sounding like an alehouse braggart, I should record here that my ability to keep a stiff prick at the ready has often been a source of joy and sometimes delighted surprise to my bed-mates, and at the age of eighteen, when the incident I am now describing took place, my prowess was at its peak and I could spend six or seven times a night without over-exerting myself in any great fashion. So to return to the tale, despite spurting copiously into Marianne's mouth, my cock retained much of its tumescence and the soft touch of Marianne's fingers soon had my shaft standing stiffly to attention. She lay back on the bed, and I raised myself on top of her superb body and looked down upon the delicious curves of her breasts with their elongated erect nipples pointing outwards. My eyes then travelled downwards to her milky white thighs, which were as perfectly proportioned as any Grecian statue and spread wide to reveal every exquisite fold of her juicy cunt. Slowly I eased myself down upon her, my cock sliding between her slicked cunney lips into the clinging moistness of her love channel, driving deeper and deeper until my prick was fully embedded inside her and our pubic hairs mashed together. Instantly, our bodies began to thrash back and forth in a fit of lustful passion.

Clinging madly to each other, Marianne clamped her legs around my waist, squealing with delight as I pumped away and her hips writhed and twisted in time with my thrusts to maximise her pleasure. What a marvellous fuck this was! Her cunney had been so well-oiled by her previous spend that I was able to slide my cock in up to the hilt and her pussey absorbed every inch of my shaft, rippling over my length as her body exploded into a series of tiny spends. She tossed her head from side to side, biting her lower lip for she was worried that letting out her emotions in an ardent scream might be heard above the din of the partying guests downstairs. But when my own orgasm arrived and I flooded her cunney with a vibrant stream of hot, frothy spunk, she could not contain herself and whilst spout after spout of sticky sperm poured from my cock deep inside her velvety cavern, she let out an uninhibited howl of pure ecstasy as she shuddered to a magnificent climax. Now despite my previous remark about being able to fuck all night at the peak of my youthful vigour, I was now gasping for breath, almost insensible from my efforts and I flopped down beside Marianne and my cock languished limply over my thigh. 'Oh my, I hope you have not over-exerted yourself,' said Marianne anxiously as she placed her head on my chest and listened with concern to the thumping beats of my heart. I ran my fingers through her hair and smiled contently, at peace with the world. 'Just give me some time to recover, my love, and I'll be as fit as a fiddle,' I said, closing my eyes for a well-deserved little nap, and so Marianne obediently snuggled down and moulded her soft curves into my body as we held each other tight for our short journey to the Land of Nod. She woke first and roused me by kissing me all over my body. By the time her head burrowed down to reach my burgeoning prick I was already awake and I grunted my appreciation as she washed my uncapped knob all over with her tongue. She pulled her head back and flipped herself round to lie on her belly, pulling a pillow underneath her so the rounded globes of her backside were pushed out cheekily as with a sensuous little wriggle she signalled her readiness to be bottom-fucked. I needed no further invitation and immediately heaved myself up to kneel behind her. Carefully I pulled apart those delectable bum cheeks and angled her legs a little further apart to afford a better view of her puckered little nether orifice. Then I gently eased my knob between her buttocks and pushed into the tight little rosette. My cock was still moist from our previous spendings and I encountered little difficulty for her sphincter muscle soon relaxed and I slid my tadger in and out of the tight sheath, plunging my prick to and fro as Marianne reached back and spread her cheeks even further to widen the rim for me, jerking her arse in time to my rhythm as I wrapped one arm around her breasts, frigging each of her titties in turn and with my other hand I diddled her sopping pussey, rubbing her ditty, which afforded her the greatest of delight, doubling her pleasure now being fucked from both in front and behind. Her bottom responded to every shove as I jerked my hips to and fro and my balls fairly bounced against her smooth bum as I cornholed her to the very limit. The unique, almost indescribable tingling one experiences in the cockshaft towards the end of a fuck soon heralded the approaching arrival of my spend. I moved my stout shaft faster and faster as Marianne worked her bum with a will until she brought me off and I injected her rear with a lavish libation of gushing jism which warmed and lubricated her delirious bottom. When I had finished emptying my balls I withdrew my cock from her well-lathered back passage with an audible plop and sank back to rest after this lascivious episode for a well-earned rest. We had been at it for only just over an hour and already I had fucked her three times and from the gleam in Marianne's eyes, I suspected that the night was still young as far as she was concerned! Sure enough, in a short time our bodies were locked together as we mashed our mouths against each other's lips. With a fluttering tongue, she explored the inside of my mouth whilst I ran my hands over her proud thrusting breasts, letting my fingers delve into the crevice between the two white rounded beauties. 'Am I naughty to love fucking so much?' she sighed thoughtfully. 'Would you be shocked if I confessed to you that I like nothing better than a thick prick sliding in and out of my pussey?' 'Of course not, so long as you take care to guard against unwanted consequences and choose your lovers with care,'

I murmured, brushing away a stray lock of hair from her face.

'Well, naturally I wouldn't have let you spunk inside me without a johnny if I had not already taken precautions,' she said indignantly. 'And I would be very upset if the thought ever crossed your mind that I let any Tom, Dick or Harry fuck me.' 'It never crossed my mind and I assure you that I did not mean to imply any such dreadful imputation,' I said hastily. 'Furthermore I don't think you are wrong to love fucking – I also can't think of a nicer way to spend my time and after all, if the parsons are right to condemn intercourse except for the purpose of procreation, why did our Creator make love-making so pleasurable if he did not want us to enjoy it?' To my astonishment my rhetorical question was answered! 'I could not agree more with you. Apes have been observed to finish their sexual union in six seconds, the male using some seven or eight thrusts of the phallus to complete the act. Would the puritanically inclined wish us to behave in such fashion? Is this a benchmark to which we should aspire?' said a fruity male voice by the door. I sat up in shock at this interruption but Marianne appeared to be very little disturbed by the stranger's entrance. 'Don't fuss, Rupert,' she said soothingly.

'It's only our host who I am sure has come up here only to make sure that we are having a jolly time.' By Gad, she was absolutely right regarding the identity of the intruder for this uninvited visitor was indeed none other than our host, Professor Webb. He stood at the foot of the bed and flourished what must have been a spare key of the door before putting it back in his pocket. He beamed at us and said: 'You're not too tired to accommodate a fresh cock, are you, Marianne?' 'So long as it's rock-hard and ready to do its duty,' she answered. And before I could venture to give my opinion on the matter, our host was unbuckling his trousers and sitting down on the bed to bend down and take off his shoes and socks. 'I do owe Simon a good fuck, you remember. I had no time even to suck his cock before the party began after he had creamed my cunney so superbly with his mouth.' 'Be my guest. Professor,' I said rather sourly and moved across the bed as our uninvited guest climbed into bed with us.

Although the bed was large, we only just had enough room to allow him in with us. For he was naturally broad shouldered and over the years had developed a corpulent figure which tended to sag somewhat without the power of doming to pull him into shape. But there was nothing amiss with his massive love truncheon which stood out from a mass of grey-flecked ginger hair at the base of his belly. He climbed rather awkwardly on top of Marianne and I must say that I was concerned that her tight little crack might make it difficult to take in such a mighty weapon. But perhaps because she had just absorbed my own sizeable prick, even a shaft the girth of the Professor's presented no problems for her and I watched in awe as the gigantic crown of the Professor's cock slid between Marianne's pouting cunney lips. He took a deep breath and then let out a deep growl of satisfaction as inch by inch his thick tool disappeared inside her warm, juicy pit.

There, do you like my thick prick slipping into your juicy cunt, m'dear?' he asked roguishly.

“Yes, I love it. Push it all in, you randy cocksman!' she gasped, but teasingly he pulled back and she wailed with dismay as with a passionate jolt of his loins the randy pedagogue plunged it in again, which made her roll her hips and clasp her legs around his waist whilst his large hairy ballsack banged against her bum.

They fucked away in joyful unison, with Marianne clutching his ample buttocks to draw him even closer inside her and they heaved merrily away as he screwed his shaft in and around her luscious crack.

'Oh what a perfect pussey! How it sucks and clasps my cock!

A-h-r-e, I'm coming, I'm coming, I can't hold back!' he groaned and she panted: 'It's all right, don't worry-I'm almost there too.

Shoot your spunk, you thick-pricked fucker!' These lewd words sent them both passing the point of no return and the lewd pair gloried in the joys of an unforced simultaneous spend as they writhed around in ecstasy with Marianne's pussey awash with the Professor's jism as well as the love juices flowing freely from her own cunney.

Then, when they had completed the course, he moved off her, flopping over to lie down on her side that was furthest from me. Watching this erotic exhibition had so excited my flaccid cock that it had swollen back up again in a fine state of erect stiffness. I rolled over back to Marianne and began to kiss and cuddle her. The insatiable girl relished the idea of a further fuck and responded by embracing me whilst I played with her titties. I guided my hand between her legs and parting her cunney lips with my fingers, began to massage her wet pussey which made her purr with pleasure. Shortly her bottom began to jerk up and down to the rhythm of my frigging and she opened her legs wider to receive me as I clambered on top of her. We were both leaning on our sides as with a squelchy swishy sound my cock slid into her sopping love channel. Marianne rotated her hips, working her soft, wet flesh against my hot, hard shaft as I matched her rhythm, letting my length slide in and out of her clinging dampness until our surging cries of fulfillment echoed round the room as her cunt milked my prick which was thrusting faster and faster out of her sated body.

'Aaah! Aaah! One last push!' she screamed out and she bucked and twisted under me as her spend sent thrilling waves of electric delight crashing through every fibre of her being. She arched her hips and with a huge final shudder, sank happily into the bliss that follows the draining of love's reservoir. When we had all regained our strength, the three of us spent the rest of the night engaged in further fucking and sucking. I think my favourite position was fucking Marianne's cock-hungry cunney whilst she lustily sucked on the Professor's prick, though we tried several variations on this and similar themes until the first rays of daylight heralded the dawn.

After bidding the others farewell (for neither Marianne nor the Professor needed to rise at an early hour), I walked back to college with some difficulty, taking only small, bandy-legged steps as my over-indulgence had left me saddle-sore. God knows how long Marianne will need to recover from her all-night orgy, I thought as I hauled myself up the stairs to my room. There's just time for forty winks before breakfast, I decided whilst taking off my coat and dinner jacket, and without further ado I threw myself down upon my bed. But I was so completely worn out from the violent erotic excesses in which I had participated, that, this time being without the kind assistance of Nancy, I fell into a deep sleep from which I did not awake until shortly after eleven o'clock. Still, both my mind and body felt refreshed when I finally awoke, and after undertaking what my fellow undergraduates rather vulgarly know as a triple S, I was ready to face the day. Unfortunately, I had missed a seminar on the law of property, which meant that I had inadvertently broken the promise which those readers with good memories will recall I had made to my godfather about diligent attendance at lectures during my first year as a student. However, I did not feel too badly about this as the offence was not one committed deliberately and most fellows cut some work at some time or other without getting into any trouble. Mind, this did not hold good for one poor fellow who was summoned to the office of the famous Oxford don Dr Spooner, who when excited would often transpose the initial sounds of pairs of words, and was told by the angry don: 'You have hissed all my mystery lectures and are suspended from your studies. Leave college immediately by the next town drain.'

To make up for taking the morning to recover from the night before, I resolved to spend the rest of the day in the library. But as I was about to leave my room I noticed that a letter had been placed under the door. I did not recognise the writing which I deduced to be in a feminine hand but decided to take the envelope with me and read the letter in the common-room over a cup of coffee before I shut myself up in the library. Who could be writing to me? I opened the envelope and found to my disappointment that the scribe was Chrissie Nayland-Hunt and that she was the bearer of sad tidings…

For the record, I reproduce her letter and the missive which accompanied it:

Dear Rupert, I am sorry to tell you that Salman Marrari has been forced to postpone his visit to Oxford this weekend. I enclose his letter which is self-explanatory. Do let me have it back as he writes so well that I become greatly excited just reading it.

Still, I hope we can still dine together on Friday night though I will quite understand if you prefer to cancel our arrangement.

Love, Chrissie

Salman's letter read as follows:

Darling Chrissie, It is with heartfelt apologies that I must write to say it will not be possible to come to Oxford on Friday. My uncle Pandit, who is one of the members of an important Indian governmental consultative council on native education, has arrived in Britain for a short visit and naturally he wishes to see me this coming weekend in London. You will understand, I am sure, that this is an invitation which I cannot refuse. Perhaps you will let me know whether you will be free in two weeks' time and I can come over to see you and Rupert then. Perhaps you would ask Rupert to tell Frank Folkestone of my visit so we can have a reunion of our old gang from St Lionel's. I know you'll be back here in Cambridge by then but would you mind going back to Oxford as I would so like to see my old school chums again. However, wherever we do meet is no great matter so long as we see each other very soon. Chrissie, it is you who I will miss most on Friday, for I had planned a weekend ofY amour which will now have to wait for at least a fortnight. Shall I tell you what I had in mind and what I still hope will happen when we finally do manage to see each other again?

Do you remember how we first made love this summer after watching the lawn-tennis championships at Wimbledon? We had just eaten strawberries and cream and were sitting in my carriage which had the blinds drawn when I leaned over and kissed you and then one thing led to another and the carriage rocked so violently that we startled the horses which began to neigh and chafe at the bit. Wasn't it lucky that they calmed down before old Johnstone the driver returned! Ah, the memory makes my prick harden up as I recall that delightful afternoon! But enough of the past-let me look forward to the future and I'll tell you what I have in store once we are together. I shall place you naked on a cool white sheet on my bed and smear your quivering soft body all over with cream from a large bowl into which I will dip my bursting cock and then, taking hold of my shaft and using it like a paintbrush, plaster your sumptuous breasts and the crisp dark curls of your pussey hair with cream from my cock. Then I'll take a big banana, peel it and roll it over your titties until it is covered in cream and then slide it between your moist pussey lips deep inside your cunney, leaving only a little piece sticking out. Then I'd place my head between your legs and eat the sticky fruit, drawing it out slowly piece by piece as I taste the delicious mixed aroma of banana and cream laced with cunney juice!

Here Chrissie scribbled a note in the margin: 'I'd love to have my bubbies smothered in cream, perhaps with a cherry on each nipple-so long as I had the right man to eat them and lick it all off, of course!' Now you know, dear Chrissie, that we promised never to keep any secrets from each other. So I will not hold back from recounting what occurred last Thursday afternoon when I went into town to buy you an 'unbirthday' present which I had planned to bring with me to Oxford this weekend. My original idea was to buy you a book but whilst browsing through the shelves at Heffer's, I bumped into Johnny Crawford, a fellow member of the University Polo Club, and when I told him that I was searching for a present for my girlfriend, he suggested that I go down the road and purchase something suitable in Madame Antoinette's French lingerie shop in Green Street instead. I protested that I had never been inside such a shop before but he dismissed my fears, saying with a strange smile upon his face: There is no need to feel apprehensive. From my own experience, Salman, I can tell you that Madame Antoinette's girls give a splendid personal service to all their clients, both ladies and gentlemen alike.'

Well, it was worth a look, I thought, so I thanked Johnny and made my way to Madame Antoinette's, a small establishment tucked away in an alley set between two large emporiums. I felt slightly embarrassed at going into such a shop but nobody had seen me go into the alley so I screwed up my courage and opened the lace-curtained door. At first there appeared to be no-one inside the place as well, but in a few moments a young sales girl came through from the back of the shop. 'Bonjour, monsieur, can I help you?' she asked. I looked at her with interest. She was a slim brunette with long, curly hair and despite having probably worked in the shop all day, her flawless skin still had a fresh, vibrant glow. She was dressed in a dark skirt and a white open necked blouse which exposed enough cleavage to make my prick stir in my trousers, especially when she leaned forward to pick up her tape measure which had fallen to the floor. 'Madame Antoinette?' I asked nervously and she showed a set of dazzling white teeth when she smiled and replied: 'Mais non, monsieur, my name is Cherie, Madame Antoinette's niece, and I am helping her run her shop whilst I am staying in Cambridge to gain more practice in speaking English. Tell me, are you also learning English here, monsieur, ah, I don't think you mentioned your name?' 'Salman, Prince Salman Marrari at your service, mademoiselle. And no, I am studying science at the University, because English happens to be my mother tongue, the language in which I think and the one in which I can best express myself to other people. But I am fluent enough in Hindi and Gujarati, which occasionally we speak back home to our servants or when we don't want the British to understand us!' She chuckled at this and I added that I wanted to buy something for my girlfriend who I was seeing soon far a weekend reunion. 'I would like something elegant yet revealing far she has a lovely figure, much like yours,' I said boldly and Cherie put her hand on my arm and said: Then in that case I will model one or two garments for you.' She looked up at the clock and said: 'Good, it is near enough closing time,' and she drew a bolt across the door and hung the closed sign on it. I sat down whilst she went back into the back office which doubled as a showroom.

In just a few minutes she emerged wearing a negligee of such fine silk that it was almost transparent. She was wearing nothing underneath the negligee and I could make out the rounded globes of her bottom as she executed a little pirouette in front of me and the dark buttons of her nipples pushed out provocatively from their light covering.

Cherie must have seen my cock shoot up when she smoothed her fingers over her firm breasts, far then she rubbed her nipples against the palms of her hands and said softly: 'Does your girlfriend have sensitive titties, Salman?' Unable to speak, I simply nodded and she continued: 'I wonder whether they are as sensitive as mine. Would you care to help me find out?' The gorgeous girl giggled as she saw me blush but though I was still speechless, she nevertheless sat down on my lap and putting an arm around my neck, pulled my face to her breasts. I threw my arm around her waist and pulled up the frilly garment so that I could see her firm, jutting breasts which were topped with large, nut-brown nipples which I tweaked between my fingers. 'Suck my titties, Salman,' she moaned and I complied, rolling the erect, rubbery flesh between my teeth, nibbling gently on one nipple and then the other as Cherie squirmed in ecstasy. Now in my experience, playing with titties is a prelude to the main event but Cherie needed nothing more as, shaking all over, she spent with a happy little yelp of delight. “Wait a moment and let me show you something else,' she panted as she returned to the dressing room. My poor prick, which was already threatening to burst out from my trousers, now throbbed uncontrollably as Cherie re-entered the shop naked except for a pair of lace crotchless knickers which made the ravishing girl look even more inviting, especially when she turned her back and bent over the counter, spreading her legs to reveal her glistening wet cunney framed by twin trails of white lace. Now Chrissie, I have always been true to you, darling, in my fashion. Yes, I've always been true to you darling in my way-but I will have to confess that I found this erotic tableau simply too exciting to bear and I ripped open my trousers and grasping my cock in one hand and wrapping my other arm around her waist so that I could again play with her titties, I eased my knob between her bum cheeks and sank in to the hilt. Wisps of frilly lace tickled my shaft as I pumped in and out of her juicy cunt and what made the love-making even more thrilling was that I could see myself fucking this delicious girl in the long mirror on the wall in front of us. Watching our naked bodies heaving and shoving was so stimulating that I spent very quickly, shooting a torrent of sperm deep inside her longing pussey. Straightening up, she turned and stood before me, rotating her hips in a tight rhythm. Obviously she had not yet spent a second time so I dropped to my knees and breathed in her musky aroma as I fingered her cunney and began to massage her ditty. 'Ah, c'est magnifique! Continuez, conti-nuez!' she yelped as I licked and lapped around her pussey lips.

Now I placed my lips firmly over her ditty and sucked it into my mouth, with my hands now squeezing her bouncy buttocks and I found the magic button under the fold at the base of Cherie's clitty and twirled my tongue all around it. The faster I vibrated my tongue the more excited she became and she gyrated madly as my darting tongue licked and lapped up the delicious juices which were now running down in a veritable stream from the clinging grooves of her cunney. With each stroke she arched her body in ecstasy, pressing the erect clitty, which was protruding out quite two inches like a tiny cock, against the tip of my flickering tongue. This oral stimulation soon served its purpose and I brought her off wonderfully. She flooded my face with her juices as she spent exquisitely in great, tumbling spasms. I had an appointment with my tutor so regretfully I could not take up her kind invitation to go upstairs and fuck in the comfort of her bedroom for the rest of the evening. Now this tale might make you jealous but please note that I also declined the chance to visit Madame Antoinette's shop the next day before Cherie's aunt returned from her brief holiday. And not only have I bought you the negligee and knickers that Cherie modelled but two lovely muslin petticoats with flounces of broderie anglaise and baby ribbon edgings that I am certain you will love to wear-and I hasten to add that these were chosen solely by myself without any help from Cherie! Despite this erotic encounter, I only have eyes for you, Chrissie, and am counting the hours until we meet again. All my love, Salman I laid down the letter and called over a passing serving girl to refill my cup from the common-room coffeepot which was kept bubbling under a small spirit lamp from after breakfast until midnight. The maid was a pretty wench who I had not seen before in the college. She could have been no more than eighteen years old, a strawberry-blonde girl who had been blessed with a pert prettiness with wide cornflower-blue eyes, a tiny nose and generously wide red lips through which showed pearly white teeth that sparkled in the bright autumnal light which poured through the large windows.

'Some more coffee, please,' I said, lifting up the cup to her.

Thank you, Mr. Mountjoy,' she said sweetly. How did this gorgeous girl know who I was? My fame must have travelled before me, I smiled to myself as I asked her how she knew my name, and the lovely creature coloured slightly as she replied: 'My name is Polly Castle-hasn't my cousin Nancy said anything about my starting work here? She arranged this position for me and Nancy was here a moment ago and pointed you out whilst you were reading your letter. She told me some nice stories about you, Mr. Mountjoy.' 'I'm afraid she hasn't mentioned a word to me about her cousin starting work in the college, although I'm not surprised as she would hardly welcome such lovely competition for her favours. But Polly, I sincerely hope that you won't believe everything that Nancy might have told you about me.'

She stole a quick glance down to my groin where my prick, which had stiffened up whilst I was reading Salman's billet-doux, was bulging out like a miniature mountain from my lap. 'Well, Nancy did say that you had the sturdiest tool in Balliol,' she said quietly.

'Was this something that I shouldn't believe?' I looked straight into her large, liquid blue eyes and said: I would be happy to let you discover the truth of her observation at any time of your choosing.'

Frankly, I never expected her to take up this lighthearted challenge but to my delighted surprise she immediately replied:

There's no time like the present as far as I'm concerned. I had just finished my duties when you called me over to pour out some more coffee for you. Oh dear, I don't think there is any left in the pot-I'll have to boil up some more hot water.' I rose from my chair and winked at her: 'Polly, do not put the kettle on! Take off your apron and instead find out if Nancy was telling the truth about my capabilities.' She hesitated only for a moment and then she gave a cheeky grin. 'Well, why not? I know where your room is, Mr.

Mountjoy-I'll be there in five minutes.'*You really don't have to address me as Mr. Mountjoy, Polly. All my chums call me Rupert and I trust that we are going to be very close friends-do you agree with me?' 'Oh yes, I do hope so,' she said. 'Very well then-Rupert – I will come upstairs just as soon as I've cleared the rest of the tables.' All thoughts of spending time in the library had now vanished from my mind and after gathering up my books I ran up the stairs back to my room. I took off my jacket, shoes and socks and was debating whether it would be too forward to take off my trousers when a knock on the door announced Polly's arrival. 'Come in,' I sang out and sure enough, it was the delectable little miss who stepped inside.

'Hello again, Polly, now do sit down on the bed and for a change let me see if I can serve you. Would you care for a glass of wine?'

'Not just now, thank you, but perhaps a little later,' she rejoined as she stood still for a moment and then suddenly, as if remembering why she was here, set to work unhooking her dress and loosening her clothes. I copied her example and in no time at all she stepped out of her garments, naked except for her brief white knickers, whilst I also stripped down to my undershorts with the stiff shaft of my boner standing up like a flagpole against my belly and the rounded red knob poked up over the waistband of my drawers. Polly's bare breasts were simply superb, two proud, firm creamy spheres each tipped with taut crimson titties. My hands were instinctively drawn to these delicious beauties and I reached out and gently squeezed the succulent globes whilst our faces moved slowly forward until our lips melded together into a passionate kiss. Now the gentleness gave way to a frenzy as, locked together in a tight embrace, we staggered towards the bed and fell upon the mattress, still joined by our mouths. Polly wasted no time and immediately pulled down my drawers and grasped hold of my throbbing tool as she lifted her bum so that I could remove her knickers. I smoothed my hand over the flat expanse of her belly, 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 brown hair that formed a hirsute triangle around her pussey. She opened her legs slightly to allow me a view of the pink chink of her cunney before she climbed up on her knees and moved her hand up and down my blue-veined staff which was now pulsating furiously in expectation of the delights to come. 'What a splendid looking cock!' Polly said admiringly, now holding my engorged truncheon in both hands. 'I like a dick this size which isn't too small for me to feel or too big so that it's hard to take into my cunney. Now I must find out whether this nicely proportioned prick will taste as good as it looks.' 'Please feel free to do so,' I murmured as I lay back and enjoyed the sight of this sensuous girl licking her lips before kissing, my knob and thoroughly wetting it with her tongue. She gave my bared helmet a short series of licks before opening her mouth and engulfing it inside her. She closed her lips around it and worked in as much of my shaft as she could, sucking lustily all the while which made me almost faint with sheer delight. As she increased the tempo of her sucking and her teeth scraped the tender cockflesh, she cupped my balls in her hand and this sent me over the edge so that my rigid rod jerked convulsively against the roof of her mouth. In seconds I filled her mouth with a veritable jet of jism which spurted out from my prick and she swallowed the gush of milky love juice until the fountain of frothy seed eased to a mere trickle. When she had finally drained my twitching tool of the last dribble of my vital essence, Polly looked up at me, my sated prick still between her lips, as she brushed back a lock of hair which had fallen over her face. She bobbed her head up and down for a few moments to keep my prick from sliding back into limpness and kept hold of it in her hand as she scrambled back to lie down again. Then she levered herself up on her arms and looked me full in the face. 'I'm pleased to tell you that your spunk is quite delicious to swallow, Rupert,' she said happily as she snuggled down beside me, 'and so I award John Thomas ten out of ten on both his looks and the taste of his love liquid.' 'Are there any further tests you would like him to take?' Polly considered this question with a merry smile thoughtfully before answering: 'Well of course, so far he has only passed the entrance examination. He has yet to attempt his finals which of course means seeing how stylishly he performs in my pussey.' This was a challenge from which my prick had no intentions of shirking! I said nothing but pulled her closer to me and she responded at once to my embrace and playfully started to rub her soft body against mine. Her mouth was biting at my shoulder and the top of her head was level with my chin. Her nipples traced tiny circles against my chest as she ground herself against me. I gloried in the sensuous warmth which emanated from this divine creature and my cock, now back to its prime state of erectness, found its way unerringly between her legs and her pouting pussey lips were brushing the tip of my knob, frigging my cock up to bursting point. 'May I ride you?' she enquired and I nodded my assent. She wriggled herself between my legs and rising to her knees, she took hold of my iron-hard rod and placed it firmly to the mark. Then Polly pressed herself down and effortlessly her cunt encompassed the entire length of my swollen shaft. She moved sideways a little before settling herself down so that her bottom cheeks sat comfortably upon my thighs. She twitched her shoulders and I watched with awe as her jutting breasts swung free and unencumbered above me. I reached up as she leaned forward, placing her breasts inside my cupped palms and I squeezed and fondled them as she began to bounce up and down upon my own proud stiffstander.

Her red titties rose like twin projectiles as I sucked them into my mouth and Polly leaned further forward, sticking out her tongue, thrusting it deep inside my mouth as I moved my chopper upwards in unison with the downward pistoning of her bum. She adjusted herself slightly so that I could now also feel her silk)' pussey hair and fleshy clit rubbing along the upper side of my cock, and she rocked backwards and forwards so that her furry mound pressed damply against my own pubic bush. We matched thrust with counter-thrust until I suddenly had a fancy to fuck Polly doggie-style and gently wrenching my lips from hers I asked if she had any objection to being taken from behind. 'Not in the slightest,' she gasped and obediently turned herself over onto her elbows and knees and raised the delectable soft spheres of her bottom high in the air. Cradling her head on her arm she looked backwards at me with a cheerful smile through the tunnel of her parted thighs. Like her breasts, her bum was beautifully divided and I was tempted to cork my cock into the winking little eye of her rear dimple, but below the glistening damp hair of her pussey hung like an inviting tropical forest. I let my shaft ease its own passage between her bum cheeks which I clutched in my hands. I slid directly inside her and started to fuck her juicy cunney with great relish. I pushed in and pulled out at a steady pace and I looked down with pleasure to see the white shaft of my cock disappearing into the crevice between Polly's buttocks like a gleaming piston of a river steamer. Deeper and deeper, but still with deliberate speed, I continued to fuck the quivering girl and she moaned and trembled whilst my cock scythed in and out of her squelchy cunt. I held Polly firmly just below her breasts as they swayed from side to side, the nipples touching the sheet as she lowered herself even further.

'Faster! Faster!' she panted and I raised the speed a notch, flashing my prick in and out of her juicy pussey at a quicker rate.

But I wanted to make these marvellous moments last as long as possible for I was determined to savour every second of this magnificent joust.

So I closed my eyes and tried to keep tight control over my balls which were already threatening to send a foaming gust of spunk hurtling out through my cock. After all, when would I be able to fuck Polly again? Already I would have to find time to service Gillian, Chrissie, Nancy and Beth on a regular basis let alone any other willing girl that came across my path. And I would not be surprised if Nancy ordered her cousin to stay away from my cock if I did not give Nancy enough attention. However, try as I might, the divine sensations of reaming Polly's slippery love channel soon finished me off and I could not withstand the early familiar feeling of an approaching spend. My balls tightened as, swollen with their load, they slapped against Polly's bum as I pushed inside her pussey one more time. Polly sensed that the end was near for she suddenly lay down and turned over onto her back, opening her legs to display her sopping cunney. Without pausing I immersed my prick inside her and the clever girl did not close her legs around me but opened her thighs even wider, which allowed me to move my shaft all around her love channel, plumbing any hidden depths which I had not previously touched with my straining knob. Her love juices now poured out from her, soaking the sheet as well as the back of her thighs as the first unstoppable surge of jism coursed its way through my cock and seethed out into her welcoming cunt. This set her off and she twisted in delicious agony as her body was wracked by great shudders which rippled out from her sated pussey as each jolt drove through every fibre of her body. She rose to meet me as again and again I rammed my spurting cock home and my balls banged vigorously against her bum as now a tide of blissful relief ebbed through me. My pace slowed and the last irregular spasms shook my body as Polly gave one final convulsive heave and then lay very still, her legs and arms splayed out, only her breasts still trembling from the frenetic climax which we had experienced. I slid my now shrivelled joystick out of her and moving down, replaced my cock with my face which I pressed against the wet warmth of her soaking pussey. I breathed in the aroma of our combined spendings and licked at her pussey hair that shone damply around her cunney lips. I licked the inside of her thighs before my head drooped and I rested it upon her pubic mound, thinking how a painter would rejoice in the chance to contrast the silky blackness of Polly's bush against the smooth unblemished whiteness of her belly and thighs. Now what would be Polly's verdict on my love-making abilities? 'Did you enjoy yourself?' I asked, looking up from my pillow of cunney hair. 'A truly wonderful fuck, Rupert,' she replied lazily, 'and your cock has passed its test with first class honours.' And she then paid me the most tremendous compliment by adding: 'My cousin was right-you have a beautiful cock and what is even more important, you know how to use it.' Thank you very much, Polly,' I said with what I hope sounded like a dignified modesty, though inwardly I smirked because those readers blessed with good memories will remember that Gillian Headleigh had paid me a similar compliment after I had fucked her when she had finished telling me the story of the orgy at Lord George Lucas's birthday party. There can't be an undergraduate in the whole of Oxford -or Cambridge for that matter-who wouldn't be greatly flattered by such a kind speech, and what makes your words extra special for me is that I have a friend, Frank Folkestone, whose rooms are just across the way, incidentally, who has the most enormous plonker and occasionally, when we have been together with young ladies au naturel, I don't mind telling you that once or twice I've been miffed when one of the girls starts talking so admiringly about the huge size of Frank's bell-end.'

The size of a cock never really matters though I know that all you boys think that an extra couple of inches would come in handy,' said Polly, echoing the words of Gillian and Chrissie after the aforementioned fuck. 'And I admit that the sight of nine inches of proud, rock-hard cockflesh can often excite me. But for me and most of the girls I know it's the look of the owner of the prick which is far more important. We want to see if a man is dean, well turned-out, jolly, generous-and we all have little special likes and dislikes when it comes to physical appearances. For instance, I like a neat, tight bum myself and my cousin Nancy certainly knows what she fancies in a man.' 'And what does she specially like?' She gave a naughty little giggle. 'Well, come to think of it, there isn't much that Nancy doesn't fancy about a man,' she giggled naughtily, 'and in fact she has already warned me about your friend Frank's big cock. I haven't fucked as much as Nancy but one of my best lovers was the local policeman in the little village near Lord Brecklesbury's country house outside Witney, where I worked till Nancy found me a position here when I told her I wanted to live in town. His prick was thick enough but it only stood at less than five inches from base to tip, though he almost always managed to bring me off every time we made love.' I record Polly's comments in toto for as a noted cocksman, I cannot overstress the importance of her observation which had been mirrored of course by Gillian and Chrissie as well as by my very first fuck, the delicious Diana Wigmore, who had always impressed upon me the importance of never worrying about the dimensions of my equipment or about the fact that at times my young prick might jump up to attention for no apparent reason or that it might obstinately refuse to swell up when required-say when the lovely girl you have been wooing finally consents to place her hand inside your trousers! However, it was time for Polly and I to get dressed for she had further chores to get through whilst I knew that I would find myself in real trouble if I did not make my way post-haste to the library. I kissed the charming girl goodbye and we made an arrangement to see each other the next week when to her great joy I promised to take her to the first house of the music hall and on to a cafe for some supper. For the second time that morning I gathered my books together and told myself that nothing would stop me from going to the library except a visit to the college from His Majesty, King Edward VII, Defender of the Faith, Emperor of India 'and all stations south of Birmingham,' I muttered to myself as I raced down the stairs, determined to put in at least an hour's work before luncheon. But it was not to be! For who should I meet at the foot of the stairs but Beth Randall and Esme Dyotte, the two girls with whom Barry Jacobs and myself shared a splendid night's fucking courtesy of our host Mr. Waterbrick of The Cat and Pigeons.

'Hello, stranger!' squealed Esme. 'We haven't seen you for so long that Beth and I decided to see for ourselves that you were still in the land of the living.' 'Or to ensure that you had not been rusticated which we thought more likely,' added Beth with a roguish grin. Oh no, I groaned inwardly, as the wise words of Mustapha Pharte, the perhaps unfortunately named Oxford-based disciple of the Indian philosopher Tagore, whose teachings were beginning to influence very many young people at this time, rushed through my brain-Take care that an overindulgence of your favourite pastime (in my case, chasing pussey) does not overtax your strength'. Now it was no* difficult to see from the glint in their eyes that both girls had not come to my rooms simply to pass the time of day, but I had spent almost all the previous night fucking Marianne and if that were not enough, pretty little Polly Castle had twice emptied my balls. Even if I agreed to comply with the wishes of these two lovely ladies, would I be physically able to do so? 'Well come on, Rupert, aren't you going to invite us to your room to show us your etchings?' said Esme impatiently. There was nothing for it but to smile and wave the girls upstairs, I reasoned, for the girls would rightly consider it the height of rudeness to spurn the offer of a freely offered fuck.

'It will be my pleasure to entertain you both,' I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Though I have no paintings to show you, perhaps I can offer you a glass of wine or some other refreshment.' 'Or maybe both?' enquired Esme wickedly, slipping her arm in mine as we walked back upstairs to my rooms. 'Don't be too impatient, Esme-we'll begin with a glass of wine,' said Beth, settling herself down on the small sofa whilst I hung up their coats and busied myself selecting a decent bottle of white wine from the icebox, which incidentally was one of the first purchases I made in Oxford and is still in full working order. 'I'm afraid that I don't keep any champagne here, Beth,' I apologised, 'but let's open this bottle of Vernaccia from Sardinia your cousin Diana Wigmore sent me after she returned from her Grand Tour this summer.' 'I'm sure it will be lovely,' said Beth. 'More and more people are coming to realise that many Italian vineyards produce wine of an excellent quality. We do not look at Italian wines as seriously as we should because the Italians regard wine as something to be drunk and enjoyed rather than talked and written about like the French, who have cleverly conjured up a mystique of unique quality about their wares, from fashion to liqueurs. 'But it's funny that you should bring up Diana's name, Rupert. I had a letter from her the other day and she asks me to send you her love. When she was in Italy this summer, you know, she took a course in painting with the famous Professor Arturo Volpe in Milan.' 'Did she really? Even I have heard of the great Arturo Volpe. He is one of the top teachers in Europe and he must have thought very highly of Diana's work to allow her to join one of his classes.' 'Yes, I suppose so,' said Beth slowly, 'though I think Diana helped matters along by offering to pose nude for his students.

She wrote to me what happened when she finished one session and all the students had filed out of the room, leaving herself together with Professor Volpe. Look, I have her letter with me-would you care to read it?' She rummaged in her bag and passed me a couple of sheets of paper from it. Good grief! I had only just finished perusing Salman's sensual epistle to Chrissie, but I was curious to read how Diana had managed to wriggle herself into one of the best master classes in Europe, so I took the letter and sat down next to Beth and began to read. I skipped through the text until she came to the incident Beth had mentioned, and readers will note that Diana indeed had used all her wiles to secure a place with the great man.

So when the last student had left, I slipped off the pedestal and made my way across to Professor Volpe who was sitting at his desk.

Luckily he speaks excellent English (for my Italian is disgracefully poor) and I asked him what time I would be required the next day, and whilst he was replying I pretended to see a coin on the floor and I bent down to pick it up. This gave him an excellent view of my bottom which was only inches away from his face. I looked up and saw that he was appreciative of the two soft globes and so when I straightened up I said that I had been mistaken. Then I affected to trip forwards and fell across him, taking good care that my breasts fell nicely into his hands. At first he was embarrassed but I quickly made clear my intentions by taking his hands and pressing them to my naked nipples.

He looked startled for a moment but then he responded and we were soon engaged in a long, lingering kiss. I felt for his cock but there seemed nothing stirring in his lap so I slid off him and stood directly in front of him. Then I opened my legs and I began to stroke my cunney through the blonde silky bush of my mound. I slipped a finger into the moistening crack and started to rub myself off.

Professor Volpe obviously enjoyed watching me masturbate as I caressed my breasts seductively with one hand, tweaking my titties lasciviously, whilst finger-fucking myself with the other. He unbuckled his trousers and pulled them down to reveal his now hard, stiffstanding shaft. I looked down at his prick which was of no great size but of quite a thick girth and decided to stop the show. Instead, I dropped to my knees to suck upon his knob and run my fingernails lightly up and down the veiny length. He groaned with delight when I switched to his ballsack which with one gulp I had in my mouth, and I massaged his thick staff up to its throbbing, twitching peak whilst I sucked his heavy balls. Before long we found ourselves on the couch upon which I had been reclining for the students and I moved round, my lips still around his cock, so that my cunney was above his head, and as I lowered myself down he wiggled his tongue all around my dripping slit. By this time we were both moaning with genuine pleasure and I urged him to move round and get on top of me. When he was in position I took his shaft in my hands and guided him into my longing love-channel. He fucked me very nicely for about a couple of minutes until he shot a great spurt of spunk into my honeypot. I didn't spend myself but this pleasant little fuck was very enjoyable and certainly did the trick as far as getting me into his classes was concerned. In fact, I would never have let anyone fuck me simply to further myself in some way. If Professor Volpe had asked me to suck his cock, I would have been delighted to comply with such or any other erotic request as I regarded it as an honour to be fucked by the great man.

I passed the letter back to Beth who looked at me curiously and said: 'Rupert, you look somewhat pale and tense. Are you feeling unwell?' 'Yes, I'm quite fit, thank you, but I do feel a little tired even though I overslept this morning and truthfully, I'm also getting very worried about all the work which I have to plough through and how I am going to fit it all in with my social arrangements.' 'Oh, you must never let business interfere with pleasure,' chirped up Esme. 'You're probably just feeling out of sorts because you woke up late. My granny always says if you lose an hour in the morning you'll spend the rest of the day looking for it.' But Beth could see that I was really out of sorts and after we had drunk our wine she whispered something to Esme who nodded her head and smiled at me, saying: 'I have a couple of small errands to perform, Rupert. Will you excuse me for an hour or so? But Beth will stay and she'll help you relax.' What was all this about? Beth soon answered my unspoken question by taking me by the hand and guiding me onto the bed. 'No, I don't want you to fuck me,' she said. 'At least, not until I've managed to clear your mind and refresh your body by giving you an Oriental massage. I've always been a great believer in the principle of mens sana in corpore sano and I promise you that you'll feel so much better afterwards. I hope you'll let me try this out on you because you don't look your usual sparkling self.' 'I do need toning up in some way,' I admitted sheepishly, 'so I'd be more than grateful if you'd give me, a what did you call it?' 'An Oriental massage, Rupert. I was shown the secrets of the art by a friend who has spent several years in Hong Kong and if I say so myself, I picked up the technique extremely well.' 'I'm sure you have, Beth. So how do we start the ball rolling?' 'Lie down and let me help you undress,' she instructed as she sat down on the bed and unlaced my shoes. I unbuttoned my shirt and unbuckled my belt whilst she pulled off my shoes and socks. I arched my back to allow her to ease my trousers and drawers over my bottom and in a trice I was naked as nature intended. 'Now it's my turn,' she said softly, stepping out of her shoes. Then she slipped off her blouse before unhooking her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. She sat on the bed and peeled off her stockings and lifted her chemise over her head to reveal her bouncy white breasts with their pert ripe nipples which almost appeared to be stiffening as she wriggled out of her knickers.

She smoothed her hand across her fluffy blonde bush and I reached up to place my hands upon her breasts. But she stepped back a pace and said: 'Not yet, Rupert, you're not yet in trim. First, I want you to turn over and lie on your tummy.' I sighed but obeyed her command and Beth jumped up on the bed. On her knees between my parted legs, she placed her hands on the back of my neck and began to massage me, not too fiercely but at a slow, sensual pace, starting at my neck and working her way down my back, over my buttocks and thighs until she came to my ankles. She surprised me with the strength of her fingers but I must say that my muscles relaxed under the firm pressure of my skilled masseuse. She worked her way back up to my neck and then began to run her fingertips ever so lightly down my body. When her fingers reached the small of my back she slid her hands back and forth across my buttocks, then down the outsides of my legs to my feet and back up the insides until she came to my balls which she softly caressed from behind. Naturally, my cock rose up to greet Beth's hands even though she did not actually touch my shaft. After a minute or so she told me to turn over and I rolled over on to my back. 'Keep your arms down by your side,' she said as I moved my hands to cup her gorgeous breasts which dangled so invitingly when she leaned forward to repeat this fabulous massage. So I simply closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of Beth's hands pressing and kneading my muscles and though my stiffstander was waving frantically at her she kept her hands away from the throbbing pole. But relief was soon at hand for once she had given me the soft butterfly touch of her fingertips, she lowered her mop of silky blonde hair and planted a smacking wet kiss on my lips. With difficulty I restrained myself and kept my arms resting on the eiderdown as she worked her tongue down my body, stopping briefly to circle my nipples before at last descending to my aching cock. She licked all round my helmet and then sucked in as much of my straining shaft as she could manage, stroking my length with one hand and teasing my balls with the other. She opened her mouth and sucked in almost all my cock until it touched her throat. Up and down, up and down bobbed her head until I almost fainted away with pleasure. Once she had thoroughly anointed my pulsing prick, Beth climbed aboard for a ride. She leaned over so that her stalky red nipples brushed my chest and this time she raised no objection as I slid my hands under them and rubbed her titties against my palms. This was a short, sharp fuck but memorable for its intensity for her cunney muscles clung deliciously to my cock as it slid up and down inside her tight, wet sheath. All too soon, the spunk came rushing through my twitching tool and with a low growl, I sent a mighty burst of hot, seething jism upwards into her eager nook. Gush after gush spurted deep inside as Beth's climax followed almost immediately. There, do you feel better now?' she enquired with a smile as we lay in each other's arms. 'I should say so,' I said enthusiastically. 'Let's finish that bottle of wine and have another little fuck before luncheon.' 'What a splendid idea!' said a voice from the doorway and we looked over to see that Esme had returned. 'I'll just undress and then I'll fill our glasses,' she added as she took off her coat.

Esme was as good as her word and the three of us lay naked on the bed, drinking and laughing until Esme took hold of my semi-stiff love trunk and rubbed it between her palms until it stood up to attention, waving slightly as Beth and Esme knelt down in front of it and took turns to lick my shaft. Esme then gobbled my purple knob before taking about three inches of my cock into her mouth. As she sucked lustily on my delighted tadger, Beth kissed and licked my ballsack and then the girls swapped places and Beth lapped at my bared knob with the tip of her tongue, savouring the salty pre-cum which had already formed around the 'eye'. I thrust my slippery shaft upwards between her lips as she jammed my cock between them. There was time for just one more turnabout as Esme took my pulsating pole inside her mouth and she slid her lips as far down my shaft as possible, feeling my wiry pubic hair tickle her nose. She sneezed and Beth left her exquisite palpating of my hairy ballsack to say gaily: 'Esme dear, Lady Scadgers' Book of Etiquette expressly states that one should never sneeze with one's mouth full of cock.' I thought that Esme would choke with laughter but she sucked away vigorously until the girls finished me off and she swallowed my spunk in great gulps, pulling me hard into her mouth as I delivered the contents of my balls in a fierce squirt of white frothy cream. They licked up the last drains of my spend together until my prick had been totally milked and my shaft began to shrink back to its normal size. Beth and Esme would liked to have continued playing three-in-a-bed- who was the dolt who laid down the old law about the female being the weaker of the sexes?-but I was saved by the resonant sound of the dining-room gong and I invited the girls to quickly dress themselves and join me for luncheon. By good fortune Mike Beattie and his friend and fellow-Scot Allan Campbell were taking luncheon in college that day and I took the opportunity of introducing the Caledonian duo to Beth and Esme. When the girls left us to wash their hands I hurriedly explained my predicament to the two Scottish lads. 'I may be wrong but in all probability Beth and Esme are expecting to be fucked this afternoon and frankly, I'm just not capable of performing any more till tonight at the earliest. Would you kindly offer your cocks to the girls if need be?' 'With pleasure, Rupert,' said Mike warmly.

'Shall we inform the ladies that our pricks are at their disposal or would you prefer to tell them yourself?' It's probably best to play it by ear,' I advised the eager lads who were only too willing to please the two insatiable girls if required. I think you'll know well enough if your services are required.' 'It's a pity I'm not wearing my kilt or they could see something to tickle their fancy without too much bother,' commented Allan, but as it turned out, the four of them got on splendidly and after polishing off two bottles of the college claret, we were all feeling very merry. Esme asked Allan what was his field of study and when he replied that he was taking a degree in English Literature, she made us all roar with laughter when she said she also enjoyed poetry and, when being told that Allan's home city was Dundee, recited the following limerick:

There was a young man of Dundee, Who one night went out on the spree; He wound up his clock With the tip of his cock, And buggered himself with the key.

'I hope I have not offended you,' she said, but Allan shook his head and replied: 'Of course not, Esme, would you like to hear another rhyme about my home town?

A pretty young girl from Dundee Went down to the river to pee. A man in a punt Put his hand on her cunt, By God! How I wish it was me.'

It must be the influence of McGonagall which makes people laugh when they find a Dundonian who is studying poetry,' said Michael Beattie. 'Probably so,' said Esme, “but tell me, from where do you hail, Michael?' 'From Perth, another city on the silvery Tay, as McGonagall might say.' 'Very good,' said Esme, finishing off her glass of the very passable college claret. Then I dedicate a verse to you-how about:

Mike Beattie who hails from Perth Had the biggest balls e'er seen on earth. They grew to such size That one won a prize And goodness knows what they were worth.'

Perhaps it was as well that a two shilling bribe to Mrs. Woodway, who supervised mid-week luncheons, afforded us the luxury of dining in a small private room off the main hall. When it was time to pass the port we were all rather flushed and certainly far merrier than when we sat down to begin our meal. This free and easy atmosphere afforded me the opportunity to ask Beth if she and Esme would agree to my leaving the party. 'Please don't be offended but if I don't get on with my work I really will have good cause to worry and not even your delightful Oriental rub down will be able to help me-not even if you massage Professor Webb and my tutor!' 'It's quite all right, Rupert,' she said kindly.*You run along- Esme and I will be well taken care of by these two strapping Scotsmen, won't we boys?'

Allan and Michael chorused their agreement and so I kissed the two girls goodbye and walked back slightly unsteadily to my quarters.

But after a brief rest, dear reader, at the third time of trying I finally managed to find my way to the library where I spent the rest of the afternoon with my nose to the grindstone! But no, I cannot conclude these memoirs with an economy of truth! I did take a ten minute break at four o'clock to see if the girls had stayed with Allan and Michael. I left my books and papers on the library desk and made my way up to Michael Beattie's rooms. I thought I could hear some familiar sounds but as I discovered as I tried slowly to turn the handle of his door, he had taken the sensible precaution of locking the happy group out of sight of prying eyes. Now if he reads this manuscript, Mike Beattie will discover for the first time, that what went on that afternoon did not go unseen! For as I cursed Mike for being so careful, who should I meet on the landing but Nancy, who had also been drawn to the scene by the muffled cries and giggles that emanated from (as he is now entitled to be known, having joined the Scots Guards after graduation) Major Beattie's bedroom.

Carefully, she unlocked the door with her skeleton key and I pushed the door slightly ajar so that we could see inside-and what we saw was worth the effort we had made to view the lewd girls and boys!

Allan Campbell lay sprawled naked but hors de combat on the carpet, fast asleep, with his prick dangling over his left thigh as he lay dead to the world. But Mike Beattie was obviously made of sterner stuff for he was engaged in an interesting situation with Beth and Esme on the bed. Beth was on her back and Esme was lying on top of her so that the two girls' tummies and titties were pressed together with Esme's legs stretched out to encompass her friend's limbs. But behind her, Mike had climbed up and Nancy and I saw him guide his thick cock in the crevice between Esme's luscious buttocks. 'Is he fucking her up the bum or in her cunney?' whispered Nancy as the broad shouldered Scot eased his knob into one of Esme's orifices. Mike unknowingly answered her question by groaning aloud: 'Esme, what a lovely juicy cunney you have, my prick is sliding into it like a knife through butter. And as he fucked her from behind, Esme sucked upon Beth's erect rosy titties as she pushed a thigh up against the blonde girl's pussey and began to rub it sensually against her silky fleece.

Their gentle caresses rapidly acquired an urgency as the lusty Mr.

Beattie slewed his sturdy prick in and out of Esme's moist, yielding love channel and in turn she sucked furiously upon Beth's firm nipples, all the while massaging those divinely full high breasts.

'Oooh! I've come!' squawked Esme. 'You lucky girl-then may I have Mike's cock inside me to finish me off?' Beth responded.

'Certainly you may, and I'm sure Mike has no objection,' said Esme graciously and she wriggled off her friend to let the handsome young Scot mount Beth and place the tip of his glistening cock inside her. 'Aaaah! That's the ticket-slide all your fat prick inside me!' cried Beth as she raised her hips sharply to meet his initial thrust, forcing more of his shaft inside her, though it slid out as she fell back on the pillow. On stiffened arms, he teased her cunney by only inserting a couple of inches of his sizeable length but then with a growl he drove down and she took in the entire veiny staff as their pubic hairs entwined together. She wrapped her legs around his waist as Esme kindly slid a pillow under her hips to intensify the pressure of his cock against her pubes. Beth thrashed around, caught up in a wild ecstasy as she spent again and again before Mike's body went rigid and he trembled all over before releasing his flow of sticky white love cream. Esme now re-entered the fray by pulling Mike off and rubbing his twitching tool between her hands until she was satisfied that it stood as high and firm as before he shot his load. Then rolling him upon his back, she straddled him and with a single downwards motion impaled herself upon his throbbing tool.

With long, lingering strokes she slid her hungry pussey up and down the towering pole and Mike used one hand to play with Esme's breasts and the other to continue to finger-fuck Beth's cunney as she lay with her legs wide open, crooning with glee as sparks of excitement from her big spend continued to excite her. At this point Nancy and I closed the door quietly and the little minx squeezed my cock which, as may well be imagined, was bulging out from my trousers. Time for a quickie?' she suggested but I knew that I had to decline. However, I did not give the real reason for my decision not to slip into an empty bedroom with her, but said in as regretful a tone as I could muster: 'Oh Nancy, I'd adore fucking you but we won't have enough time to make love as fully as you deserve. Come to my room later this evening and we'll be able to relax and make love without having to keep one eye on the clock.' This satisfied the sweet girl though I knew that my cock needed a longer rest from all this frenetic activity. Still, after several years engagement in a similar routine, I can report that despite the warnings of certain jealous gentlemen, it is still in fine fettle and shows no sign of wear and tear! ENVOI Here I conclude this account of my first term at my old alma mater. But I will pen a frank, uncensored narrative of my further adventures with Chrissie, Beth and some new girls and boys who were to cross my path during my stay midst the dreaming spires of Oxford. Gad! How lucky I was to have enjoyed the company of such a merry and uninhibited crew during these formative years. My thanks to them and finally of course to you, dear reader, who I sincerely hope has enjoyed reading my recollections of what some prudes might call a misspent youth. But I don't regret a single day of the time spent at the Varsity, especially (as was not always the case afterwards as will be seen in my next volume of intimate memoirs) as I dallied with impunity so many times in beds which were not my own without any unfortunate consequences. Till then, au revoir. to be continued