The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.III

CHAPTER TWO. On The Town

Mary and I arrived in good time for the first house at the Alhambra. Truthfully, I always preferred the second house which was usually noisier and jollier, but this evening, even the first house was crowded, though I did manage to buy two good seats in the fourth row of the fauteuils as the front stalls were grandly known.

'I've never sat in the posh half a crown seats before,' said Mary, as she looked up admiringly at the plush velvet curtains which would soon be raised for the first of the evening performances.

We both enjoyed the deft juggling of the talented David Kent (though I inadvertently made Mary choke with giggling when I whispered, 'How on earth does he keep his balls in the air like that?') and we 'oohed' and 'aahed' in amazement at the clever conjuring of the Continental illusionist Simon Barber who produced rabbits out of a hat and white doves out of his inside jacket pockets.

Yet whilst I appreciated the surprisingly clear voice of Seamus O'Toole, a bibulous Irish tenor whose staggering gait convinced me of my initial impression that he was definitely performing in a semi-drunken state, the cloying sentimentality of his songs about lost sweethearts and poor old mothers way back home bored me. But I did perk up after the interval when a twinkling little 'naughty but nice' soubrette named Suzanne Moserre came on and sang Roly Poly For Mr.

Moley and You Can't Give Mother Any Cockles and I joined in the choruses with gusto. Fred Karno's troupe acted out a hilariously funny series of sketches and Mary and I laughed till the tears ran down our faces. After we applauded the company off the stage, I suggested to Mary that we skip the Bioscope and leave before the crush. She agreed and we walked the short distance up through Piccadilly Circus to the Jim Jam Club in Great Windmill Street. I signed Mary in as my guest at the Jim Jam, though I could not help thinking to myself that bringing a girl to the Jim Jam was like bringing coals to Newcastle, for a chap who could not find a female companion at the Club had to be soft in the head-and for good measure, soft in the cock as well! But the reason why I wanted to take Mary to the Jim Jam-though I still feel slightly ashamed about it- was that despite its louche reputation, the Club had a strict code of conduct by which its patrons had to abide. For example, all male members who wore a red pocket handkerchief in the top pocket of their jackets or female members who wore a red rose on their dress or in their hair, signified their wish to remain totally incognito and would thus not be acknowledged or approached even by their best friends. Needless to say, I was sporting a handkerchief of the brightest red! 'Shall we dine in the restaurant or shall we have supper in one of the private dining-rooms?' I asked Mary, and she immediately plumped for taking our meal in one of the salles arrivee. I ordered whitebait, mulligatawny soup, roast chicken and the chef's fruit compote and whilst we waited for our room to be prepared, we drank glasses of ice-cold white wine. Mary revelled in seeing in person such 'toffs' as Sir Roger Tagholm, Bernard Osborne-Stott, Louis Highgate and all the other men-about-town about whom she had read in the weekly illustrated magazines. Do the men only come here to play cards or billiards? They are all walking about unaccompanied,' she remarked, but even before I could answer, her face broke into a sweet, dimpled grin and she said, 'I suppose this is a place where they can meet their sweethearts and make mad passionate love in the upstairs bedrooms.' I returned her laugh and said, 'You may not be far from the truth, Mary but how did you know there are bedrooms at the Jim Jam?' 'I just guessed as much,' she retorted gaily, 'and Sir Roger Tagholm looks as if he will need one unless the lady he is talking to so intently is a known cock-teaser.' Looking across the hall I saw Sir Roger engaged in deep conversation with Lady Elizabeth Stompson who was wearing a blue dress with one of the most daring decolletage I have ever seen. Sir Roger, who was a foot taller than Lady Elizabeth, was peering down at the ripe swell of her breasts with undisguised lust as he whispered something in her ear which made her shriek with laughter. 'This is a really ritzy place, Rupert,' said Mary (I had earlier asked her only to address me as 'sir' in the house). 'But what goes on at the Victor Pudendum contest I see advertised on the noticeboard?'

After she had promised not to reveal what I was about to tell her, I explained to Mary that the Victor Pudendum is a contest of elegant fucking that is held monthly in aid of a deserving cause. In this current year, all monies raised would be donated for the Society for Providing Comforts for Poor Families in the East End of London and the total could be quite a substantial sum, the highest being in 1906 when the Club collected?12,500 to send hundreds of slum children to the seaside for a summer holiday. Quite simply, entrants (who are restricted to Club members or nominated guests at the discretion of the Victor Pudendum Committee) are required to fuck their lovers in front of a specially invited audience. An entrance fee of one hundred guineas per pair was payable together with an extra twenty five guineas if a gentleman preferred to partner a demimonde from Mrs.

Wickley's establishment in Macclesfield Street or Mr. Baum's bar just off Soho Square. The couples were awarded marks for style, grace and originality by a distinguished panel of judges and a gold cup and a purse of two hundred gold sovereigns was presented to the winner of each monthly contest. The entrance fee to watch (which included a bottle of champagne and light refreshments) was twenty pounds for a double ticket and reservations usually had to be made at least two months in advance to ensure getting a table. 'How wonderful,' breathed Mary, who had listened with ever widening eyes to my explanation. If you ever fancy entering, do let me be your partner.

I'm sure we would do very well and I could certainly make good use of the money if we won!' A uniformed flunkey sidled up and murmured to me that our room was ready so I escorted Mary up the stairs, nodding to the Prince of Mitten-Derinen who had beaten me in the second round of the Club lawn tennis tournament held at Hurlingham in July, but who was now coming downstairs with his arm linked with that of a young, buxom blonde who I recognised from the Daily Mirror as the winner of the recent national swimming contests held at the Crystal Palace. The room was tastefully furnished with a table and chairs and also in the darkened corner was a bed with beckoning fluffed up pillows and the sheet invitingly turned back. But we were now quite hungry and we ate a tasty meal washed down with the fashionable new Buck's Fizz. After the waiter had cleared the table, set down a bubbling pot of coffee under a spirit lamp and finally retired, Mary stood up and said, Thank you for my lovely supper, Rupert. I've had a splendid time. The only slight problem is that I'm feeling rather warm-would it bother you very much if I took off some of my clothes?'

'Not in the slightest, my dear,' I said, also rising to walk across to the door and lock it. 'As it so happens, I'm also feeling very hot, so if you don't mind I think I'll join you.' We swiftly stripped to our underclothes and I was clad only in my underpants when, dressed only in her knickers and a slip, Mary sat down next to me on the side of the bed. 'I do hope that Miss Carrington didn't tire you out at lunch-time,' she giggled as she slid her hand in the slit of my drawers to bring out my fast-stiffening cock. 'I've heard what goes on at that house what with the black man and his gigantic prick.

Is it really as huge as they say?' It has always been a source of wonderment to me how one's staff pick up all the gossip which circulates around one's friends and acquaintances. I rather suspect that much of the material one reads about in the columns of the popular newspapers is furnished from paid informants in some of the wealthiest and influential houses-but heaven forbid, if a change in fortune meant that I had to wait upon some of the nincompoops who treat their servants like a lower species of homo sapiens.

Nevertheless, I chose my words carefully as I did not want to spread any rumours about Nancy Carrington. 'I did hear that the chap does possess a tremendous whanger,' I said carelessly, 'but size isn't everything, you know.' 'Oh I do agree,' said Mary, running her fingers up and down my now rampant rod which was sticking up like a flagpole out of my undershorts. 'Within reason, my cunney has no problem adjusting to any thickness so long as the cock concerned is hard and stiff. But you men all think that a great big prick will make a girl weak at the knees- and honestly, it ain't necessarily so.'

She cradled my cock in her hand and added, 'Now look at your tadger, Rupert. It isn't the biggest I've ever seen but it's got a nice shape and I like the way it cheekily curves slightly to the left.

Mmm, let's see if you've any spunk left in your balls since your lunch, because, despite what you may say, I'm sure that you had a jolly good fuck at Miss Carrington's!' Her directness acted as a spur and we threw off our remaining clothes in an ecstasy of abandonment. Our lips met in a passionate kiss which shook us both by its probing, violent tonguing as we explored each other's mouths. Then suddenly she wrenched her lips away and pulled me by my cock onto the bed. Obediently I lay down and then, with a quick smile, Mary's head was between my legs and her hands were clenched around the root of my straining staff. She kissed my knob and washed around it with long swirls of her pink tongue and then the sensual girl brought her mouth down and ran the length of her tongue along the width and length of my shaft, salaciously sucking my throbbing tool, sending waves of sheer, ecstatic pleasure throughout my entire body. Mary sucked my cock with great relish, cleverly moving her pretty head so that the thrilling sensations ran throughout every last inch of my palpitating prick. At the same time, she smoothed her hand gently underneath my ballsack, lightly grazing the wrinkled, hairy skin with her fingernails. These movements were so exciting that very soon I was trembling with the approach of a searing wave of pleasure which was building up inexorably inside me and my shaft started to shiver uncontrollably as the sweet girl's warm, wet lips continued to encircle my swollen stiffstander. 'I'm coming, Mary, I'm going to shoot my sticky spunk down your throat,' I cried out hoarsely, and this lewd warning seemed to make her suck even more frantically on my quivering cock. The fire flared in my loins and globs of frothy jism spurted out into her receptive mouth. She licked and lapped up my spend, gobbling down my copious emission until I was milked dry.

To our joint delight, my trusty tool was still semi-stiff as I kissed Mary, sinking my tongue inside her mouth and tasting the salty tang of my own spend. I now stroked her cool thighs and she continued to manipulate my shaft which shot back up into a smart erection, pulsating with pleasure at her soft, sensual touch. Now my fingers strayed through her thick auburn curls, tracing their way down the length of her moist crack as she pressed her wet lips even more firmly against mine, clinging to me as tightly as she could, sighing with delight as she soaked up the electric thrills as our melting kisses stimulated us to a fresh round of fucking. I let my tongue wash over her lips and trace a wet path down to her breasts which I suckled in turn until her rosy nipples were as hard as little red bullets.

Mary moaned as we lay writhing naked on the bed and she parted her legs to allow me to run the palm of my hand over the crisp wetness of her open, naked pussey. I raised myself above her and she positioned my cock with her hand, guiding the knob in between the welcoming folds of her cunt. But then I suddenly remembered what she had told me earlier in the bathroom about this being a bad day for fucking and asking me to go up her bum instead. 'Mary, wait a minute, don't you recall that you said I shouldn't fuck you today?' I gasped, willing myself not to slide my knob home between her cunney lips. 'Yes, but don't worry, when I checked the calendar, I found I had added up the days wrongly. Now's a good time and in any case, I've brought my linseed oil douche with me.' Her reply put my mind to rest and so I plunged forward until my cock was embedded to the root in her tingling love sheath. All my senses were now in thrall to her passionate pussey as I pounded my proud prick in and out of her juicy cunt, pushing my cock in as Mary lifted her rear to receive her injection and my ballsack fairly cracked against her arse. She wriggled from side to side as my prick jerked inside her, stimulating every minute part of her tight little honeypot and I could see from the seraphic smile on her face how much she was enjoying this glorious fuck as we rocked furiously towards nirvana. 'Oooh! Oooh! I'm ready, Rupert! I'm ready for your sticky spunk. Fill me up, I want it all!' she hissed through clenched teeth. I jerked my hips as I crashed my cock inside her wonderful cunt one last time before shooting wad after wad of creamy white sperm deep inside her. As my jism splashed against the walls of her womb, Mary's fingernails clawed my back as she spent simultaneously with me and our bodies slapped together as she met each of my violent thrusts with an equally convulsive one of her own and we both screamed aloud with joy as we swam in our mutual love juices, our bodies threshing around wildly until the flow finally slowed and my chastened, shrinking shaft slipped out from the sopping embrace of Mary's love channel. Gad, what a truly wonderful fuck, though as Mary had to get back to the house before midnight, we had to finish our frolicking after a short rest to recover our composure.

However, I shall never forget that hour of lovemaking which, short but sweet, was one of the most passionate I have ever enjoyed. Before we left the Club I collected my winnings from Bob Cripps, the head porter, who said to me admiringly, 'How on earth did you pick out Fairbridge's Organ, Mr. Mountjoy? Did you have some inside information from the stable? I know that Captain Webb in The Sporting Life said he was a game little stayer but at best I would only have had a couple of bob each way on a rank outsider in such a strong field. Do you think he's worth backing for the Royal Hunt Cup? Here's your winnings, sir, forty quid exactly. Oh, and when I went round the bookie's to collect, Mr. Applebaum asked me to present his compliments and say if you ever wanted to take your business elsewhere, he won't be in the least offended!' I shrugged my shoulders as I passed the porter five shillings for his trouble and grinned, 'Hymie Applebaum can't really grumble, Bob, can he? Look how we all came a cropper on Shortbread Biscuit, your friend's tip for the Derby. Remember how Sir Harold Brown had five hundred pounds on the nose and that he had the deuce of a job afterwards placating Mrs. Archway and Lady Dyott when it came in one from last because he couldn't afford to take them to Paris for a week which he promised if they'd spend a night in a threesome with him at the Club. 'But as for Fairbridge's Organ, I thought it would be worth having a flutter because I was told the jockey would be trying, Bob, and that's half the battle won in my book. I'm not so sure about the big race, though. It was our old butler back home who tipped me off about the horse so when I see him next month I'll ask his opinion. He knows what he's talking about when it comes to horse-racing and I've often thought that old Goldhill could do much better than Captain Webb and all those other newspaper tipsters. I don't bet very often as you know and one of the reasons is that the horse can't tell me if he fancies his chances. But at least with one of Goldhill's tips, you're not as handicapped as all the other mugs who give their hard-earned money to the bookies.' Thank you, sir,' said Cripps, as he saluted me and pocketed his gratuity. 'You're quite right, of course, it is a mug's game. But so long as you don't lose what you really can't afford, I don't think any great harm is done. Mind, some of these idiots who chase their losses by doubling up their bets are crazy and almost deserve to be ruined.' And with these words of wisdom, the porter hailed a taxi-cab for us and in just ten minutes Mary and I were tip-toeing upstairs to bed.*You will come into my room when you've finished undressing, won't you?' Mary enquired, and I nodded my assent. 'I should say so, but give me twenty minutes or so as I want to have a shower first,' I said, as I gave her a little kiss, before retiring to my own second floor suite, whilst Mary climbed up to the attic. I took off my clothes and used the privy before taking a shower so it was nearer half an hour than twenty minutes before I crept upstairs to Mary's room. There was a soft light flooding out under the door so I knew she was not asleep and indeed I could hear little moans of passion coming from behind her door.

Perhaps she was playing with a dildo, I thought, as I opened the door-but in fact, the sounds I had heard had not been coming from Mary but from the throat of young Edwards, the footman, who was sitting on the pretty girl's bed, his head thrown back and his eyes tightly closed and his stiff cock was standing up out of his opened trousers whilst Mary, who was stark naked, was busying herself palpating his pulsating prick, running her pink tongue up and down the not inconsiderable shaft. When she lifted her eyes and saw me standing there she lifted her head and murmured, 'Eddie, Mr. Rupert's arrived, we can begin our fun in earnest now,' and then the bold miss looked up to me and said, 'I thought you'd like something a little different to end the evening. To start with, would you like to see Eddie fuck me? Perhaps you could tell us if we're good enough to enter this Victor Pudendum contest at the Jim Jam Club you were telling me about. It would be great fun and absolutely marvellous if we actually won-Eddie needs some more money to help his brother who is an apprentice carpenter and doesn't earn very much and God knows, my family are always broke.' Frankly I was none too pleased at her little speech because Mary knew full well that I did not want any news of our evening out to filter through to the other servants. But she must have read my mind because she added, 'Oh, I know you wanted everything kept secret, sir, but don't worry. I wouldn't have mentioned a word to Eddie if I didn't know he could keep mum. I mean to say, he wouldn't get a reference if he ever split, would he, and I wouldn't ever let him in my cunney again.' 'She's right, sir,' said Edwards, nodding his head. 'Honestly, I'll be as silent as the grave. Colonel Wright knew I could be trusted and often asked me to poke one of the ladies he brought home if they were feeling randy and he was too tired to oblige.' Well, at first I wasn't very keen at the prospect of sharing Mary with anybody, let alone a lowly footman, though this unworthy sentiment (for I am sure that the chap who cleans out the public conveniences at Oxford Circus is probably a more considerate bed-mate than some aristocratic toffee-nosed chump like Lord Slough whose unspeakable behaviour towards Miss Nellie Colchester led to his expulsion from the Jim Jam Club) soon passed, as I've always enjoyed an erotic exhibition -especially when I know that I will have an opportunity to join in if I so desire, and so I pulled up a chair and told the couple to proceed. If nothing else, it would be interesting to compare them to Standlake, Nancy Carrington's big-cocked black butter, and Lucy, her attractive and articulate maid.

Mary began by feeling for Edwards' prick which had shrivelled up and sunk back inside his drawers. She moved her hand up and down, giving his shaft a few vigorous rubs and then brought out his now stiffened shaft. Then she lowered her lips to kiss the uncapped knob but after a quick lick or two she lifted her head and said, 'Eddie, I think we'll do far better if you undress first.' He swiftly shed his clothes and stood up as Mary ran her hands across his broad, hairy chest and then slid them down to grasp his thick, hard cock which was standing up to attention almost flat up against his belly. She then knelt down to take his cock inside her mouth, pushing out the cheeks of her bum to afford me a truly excellent view of both her cunt and arse-hole. This exciting sight made my own cock swell up to a throbbing stiffness and I could barely restrain myself from tearing open my trousers and frigging off then and there. Mother Nature never ceases to amaze, for somehow Mary managed to take the whole of Edwards' bursting shaft between her lips. Then the libidinous little minx started to suck this giant pink lollipop, moving her head to and fro so that his cock moved smoothly back and forth though she took care that his knob was always engulfed inside her wet, warm mouth.

Meanwhile, she juggled his balls gently through their hairy, wrinkled covering until she opened her mouth and whispered to him to lie down on the bed. He obeyed without demur and lay flat on his back, his rampant stiffstander sticking up as firmly as an iron bar under Mary's deft handling. She then rose up, still clenching his cock in her hand and turned her peachy bum cheeks to me as she straddled him and inserted his knob between her pussey lips which I could see pouting out amidst her curly muff. Slowly she lowered herself upon his veiny shaft until she was sitting on his upper thighs with every last inch of cock crammed inside her dripping honeypot. They stayed motionless for a few moments as in a tableau vivant, enjoying to the full the mutual sensations of repletion and possession, so delightful to each of the players of this most glorious sport afforded us by our beneficent Creator. Soon it was time, however, to commence those soul-stirring movements which lead inexorably to the grand finale of frenetic fucking. I wriggled in my chair as I heard the squelchy sound of Mary's cunney sliding up and down Edwards' thick shaft and I licked my lips as I saw the gorgeous girl rub her titties as she drove down hard with a delighted squeal, spearing herself on his glistening tool until the lusty pair melted into a delicious state of ecstasy. They came together with great cries of release as Edwards shot a great gushing stream of spunk up her cunt mingling with Mary's own love juices which were running out of her love channel and soaking Edwards' pubic bush. The footman swung himself out from under her gleaming, ripe young body and he was so intoxicated by the force of his spend that he rolled over too quickly and went crashing down onto the floor. Mary giggled as she looked over the bed and Edwards groaned but luckily he was unhurt though naturally a little shocked by his fall. She threw him a pillow which he tucked under his head as he gasped, 'Phew, what a great fuck! But you must both forgive me-I'm absolutely done in and I just must grab forty winks.' 'Don't worry about it, Edwards, we'll wake you up when we need you,' I cried and within a few seconds I could see his eyes close and his chest heave up and down as he sank directly into the arms of Morpheus. Of course, I was more than happy at his being hors de combat as, despite what my father disparagingly calls my egalitarian notions, I had no desire whatsoever to fuck in front of my well-endowed footman. Anyhow, I tore off my clothes and Mary jumped out of bed and stood stark naked in front of me as we embraced, standing belly to belly, with nothing between us except my thick, throbbing tool which was being delightfully squeezed between our tummies. She grabbed hold of my prick and inspected my cock closely. 'You are lucky to have such a nice-looking cock, Rupert,' she said admiringly. It fits so nicely in my cunt, I really couldn't ask for more. It's one of the thickest I've had for some time too.' 'You're just saying that to flatter me,'

I laughed, but she shook her mop of dark shiny hair. 'No, I mean it, really I do,' she insisted. 'Why, it's thicker than Eddie's for a start.' I looked at her in disbelief but she squeezed my shaft again and said, 'It is, honest it is! You know, the trouble is that you can only see your cock when you look straight down at it whereas when, say, you see another gentleman's prick in the changing room, you're seeing it from a different angle which makes it look bigger.

'I heard Colonel Wright say that at a dinner party after the ladies had retired and I was helping Eddie clear the table,' she said with some satisfaction. 'It's so obvious when you stop and think about it.' I couldn't help laughing as I hugged her tightly and then inclined her backwards until we fell upon the bed and we lay at full length, side by side but with my head by her calves, both of us as eager as could be to enjoy a good soixante-neuf to start the ball rolling. I began the programme by burying my head between her thighs and I inserted the tip of my tongue into her inviting little crack, sucking up the remains of her previous spend, making Mary writhe with passion as she pulled her face up to my prick and murmured, 'Let me honour His Highness with a twenty lick tonguing,' as she slipped my ruby knob inside her mouth. She worked on my helmet for a while and then bobbed her head in rhythm as she lapped at my trembling tool with great long licks from the base to the top which almost drove me insane with desire. I was so aroused that I stopped nibbling at her erect little clitty and panted, 'Careful now, Mary, or I'll come too quickly, and that will never do.' She heeded my warning and scrambled round to lie flat on her back with her legs wide open. Naturally, I took my cue from her blatant posture and grasped my cock, giving it a quick rub before feeding into her juicy cunt. Without undue haste, I slid my knob between her pink pussey lips and inched my shaft inside her willing cunney. Then, once I was fully embedded, I started to fuck her with long, smooth strokes and we laughed merrily as I hovered above her, supporting myself on my arms. My balls slapped in slow cadence on her buttocks as I moved down, up and down again, increasing the pace as I thrust in with intensity until the voluptuous girl was squealing with joy. As I approached the heights, I changed the tempo of my fucking to one of swift, short jabs. Mary rotated her bum cheeks as I pulsed in and out of her squelchy cunt. I climaxed first, my quivering cock squirting out jets of creamy jism and very soon afterwards Mary followed me over the top to a huge, shuddering orgasm.

Luckily, my cock remained stiff for Mary's blood was on fire and she immediately wriggled over and thrust out her proud curvey backside at me. Nothing loath, I now proceeded to fuck her doggie-fashion, gripping her hips and sliding my still rampant rod between her bum cheeks and into her pussey. I fucked away with all the energy I could muster, the throbbing and contraction of her cunney muscles on my enraptured cock spurred me to even greater efforts until with a cry of triumph I pumped a second stream of boiling spunk inside her. This exhausting exercise made me dizzy with fatigue and I collapsed down beside her in an untidy heap whilst Mary rolled over and kissed my cheek with a warm smile of satisfaction on her lips. By the time I had recovered, Edwards had woken up from his intense slumber and at Mary's invitation, had squeezed himself onto the bed. There wasn't enough room to lie down so we sat on the side of the mattress with Mary in between us. By Jiminy! This randy girl was really insatiable!

In no time at all she had taken our two naked cocks in her sweet grasp and following her directions, Edwards held one taut tittie and I held the other and we squeezed and rubbed them as she squirmed with pleasure, holding on to our pricks all the while as she frigged our tools delightfully. Mary was so aroused by this lewd scenario that she climaxed before either Edwards or I had squirted our spunk and so we waited impatiently to take our further orders from this lusty mistress of ceremonies. She took little time in deciding what she wanted, sliding back onto the pillow and demanding that Edwards tittie fuck her. He clambered over her and she cushioned his cock in the valley between her ample bosoms. The footman began sliding his shaft between them as she called out for me to pay homage to her cunney. So I knelt down between her legs and she wrapped her thighs around my neck as I buried my face in her curly thatch of black pussey hair. I kissed her salivating cunney lips and started by licking her slit in long lascivious swipes. The vermilion love lips soon turned red and parted and between them I felt for her stiff little clitty which I rolled around in my mouth. 'Ohhh! Ooooh! OOOH!' she yelped as I nibbled the edges of her clitty with my teeth. 'Suck harder, Rupert, suck harder and make me come!' How could I disobey such a sweet command? I sucked and slurped with renewed vigour, rolling my tongue round and round her love button, lapping up the aromatic love juice which was now flowing freely from Mary's juicy honeypot. Her whole body stiffened as she felt an oncoming orgasm and then her hips bucked violently, her back rippled and from her cunney there spurted a fine creamy emission, which flooded my mouth with its milky essence, that I swallowed down until Mary shuddered into limpness as her delicious crises melted away. Meanwhile, Edwards' cock was still being massaged between the soft globes of Mary's breasts. The sight of his throbbing boner slewing its way back and forth stimulated her so much that she pulled his bottom cheeks towards her until his prick was above her face and she popped the hot staff inside her mouth. I could see her tongue work up and down, licking the entire length of his tadger, taking playful little nips at the sensitive tube of cockflesh, and when she realised that he was about to spend, her hands flew up to his balls and, smoothing her hands over them, she gulped down the copious emission of jism which poured out from the young footman's twitching tool. I dived down to kiss her pussey once again and instinctively she opened her legs to make the swollen love lips more accessible. My tongue moved, delving, probing, sliding from the top of her sopping crack to the base of her cunney-hole, my tongue lapping up the tangy cunt juice which was cascading out of her pussey. Then I stiffened the tip of my tongue and started to lick the soft, puffy inner lips and I eagerly inhaled the fresh zephyr of feminine aroma which arose from her and I made her moan with ecstasy as I pushed the tip of my tongue deep into Mary's love channel. Her hips were gyrating wildly as I stroked my tongue in and out of her and I licked her rhythmically up and down, delighting in the feel of the swollen flesh pulsing in eager response.

Her clitty grew harder each time my tongue flicked across it, jerking and rising up to meet my wicked little laps. I moved my head up to concentrate on her clitty and I must say how much I loved the way it grew like an excited miniature penis as I tickled it with my tongue. I continued to tease it, driving her wild with slow, firm strokes until she fairly screamed out, 'Fuck me, Rupert, please fuck me! I must have your big cock inside my cunt!' I gave her cunney a final au revoir kiss and flipped the quivering girl over to fuck her doggie-style. This greatly appealed to her for she stuck her rounded backside high in the air and reached back to fondle my balls as I parted her bum cheeks and pushed my prick into her drenched, welcoming cunney. Holding on to her delicious bottom I began pounding in and out of her cunt with long, deep strokes, raising the tempo from lento to andante and building up to an inevitable furioso. She squealed delightedly and yelled out, 'Now! Now! Shoot your spunk up my pussey, you randy rascal!' I was ready to oblige as I could already feel the first pulsations of an oncoming spend as the jism started to boil up in my balls though I hung on for as long as possible, drawing out the joust to a thumping climax. My sinewy cock slewed a passage through her tingling cunney and Mary was tearing at the sheets and moaning into the pillow as with a final heave I coated her cunt with a fine spurt of sticky sperm as together, we rode the wind… The three of us licked and lapped, sucked and fucked until the first rays of the morning sun lit up Mary's bedroom. I hastily threw on my clothes and said to the two servants, 'Mary, tell Mrs. Harrow that you are suffering from a severe headache. Edwards, you'll have to rise up at the usual time, I'm afraid, but don't come in and wake me. Now I will be going out after breakfast and I won't need your services until I return this evening. You can also tell Mrs. Harrow that you feel unwell and that you will also have to retire to bed. The good lady will assume that you and Mary have both caught the same germ and will not question either of you too closely. 'However, to be fair to the rest of the staff, I would suggest that you both get up by about two o'clock to help out with any remaining domestic duties.' They thanked me for proposing this kind stratagem and quietly I made my way back to my room and fell into a deep sleep from which I did not wake until almost ten o'clock. As I washed and shaved it occurred to me that I had really been foolish to fuck with my footman and chambermaid. I might be able to trust Mary but as the old saying goes, no man is a hero to his valet, though it would be shockingly unfair to dismiss Edwards who had done nothing dishonourable. Well, it would all depend on his behaviour when I sat down to breakfast. Would he be arch? Would he be familiar? Or would he put on airs? Perhaps he wouldn't even come in with the newspaper and the post. But thank goodness, all my worries were unfounded, for Edwards greeted me with his usual deferential 'good-morning, sir,' as he passed me the Daily News and the single letter which had arrived earlier in the morning.

A lucky escape, nevertheless, I mused, and resolved never to repeat the mistake as I read the short note addressed to me by Henry Bascombe-Thomas, an old chum from St Lionel's Academy, who I had not seen for a year-since after leaving Cambridge University, he had decided to cross the Atlantic and spend a year in America, studying modern art under Professor Sidney Cohen of New York University.

Henry was an artistic cove, much given to writing occasionally good verse, painting some rather rum pictures and wearing his hair far too long for our headmaster, Dr Keeleigh's taste. Some foolish fellows at St Lionel's wrongly assumed that Henry was a woofter and soon found out that though of an eminently peaceful disposition, if pushed too far, Henry could also deliver an uppercut to the jaw, though like myself, he abhorred physical violence and refused (again like myself) to be considered for the school boxing team. I should add that like a surprising number of very clever chaps, Henry was terribly absent-minded-which explained why his letter to me arrived a full two days after he had posted it from Southampton as he had addressed it to Bedford Street instead of Bedford Square. However, no harm had come from the delay as you will see, dear reader, from this copy of his message which I had deciphered with no little difficulty from his unreadable scrawl. It read as follows:

Dear Rupert, I returned to England last week on the SS Shmockle, the flagship of the Hanseatic Line owned by Count Gewirtz of Galicia who happened to be on board. The weather was inclement for the first two days but all in all I had a most enjoyable journey which I'll tell you about when we meet.

Could we lunch on October 29 at the Jim Jam? I'm on my way to Chichester this afternoon to see my parents but I'll be coming up to town tomorrow evening and staying at the Jim Jam for a week till I find myself some rooms. Unless I hear from you (you can telegraph me at The Old Vicarage, Mackswell Avenue, Kendall, Near Chichester), I'll assume you can make it. Shall we say one o'clock in the first floor bar? Looking forward immensely to seeing you again, Henry Now I had planned a semi-artistic kind of day myself.

This would have started with a brisk stroll down to Holywell Street to see the new prints from Paris at the Birmingham Gallery where Mr.

Malcolm Campbell owns the largest selection of erotic pictures in the country, kept under lock and key away from the general public and shown only for viewing by selected customers. Afterwards, I would have hailed a cab to Pall Mall to take luncheon followed by an afternoon snooze at The National Reform, one of my more respectable clubs.

However, even though I had spent some time at the Jim Jam the previous evening with Mary, I wanted to see Henry again and hear all his news. So I decided to postpone my visit to the Birmingham Gallery to another day and instead I thought I would spend a quiet morning browsing amongst Colonel Wright's bookshelves as my landlord was an avid reader and collector of first editions. There was little of interest in the newspaper, so after demolishing a bowl of porridge, a full plate of bacon, eggs, sausages and five slices of buttered toast, I took my third cup of tea into the library and scoured the shelves for something interesting to read. By pure chance I pulled out a book titled Modern Women and opening it to the title page I read that this leather bound tome was of 'conversations with various girls in Belgravia and Mayfair' by a Mr. Oliver Dunstable, an author whose writing was hitherto unknown to me. There was, however, a preface written by none other than Sir Rodney Burbeck, one of the gayest Lotharios in London. He had written: 'This fresh and original book gives us an excellent verbal picture of what today's men and women are thinking and what they want from their counterparts. There is a perception and a sense of humour in his writing which makes Mr.

Dunstable not only delightful to read but well worth thinking about afterwards. The illustrations consist of portraits which will be recognised at once by anyone familiar with current members of Society.' This was praise indeed! And from such a source as Sir Rodney, it surely heralded some gallant writing, which always afforded me the greatest enjoyment. So I settled down with a glow of anticipation on my face as I read Mr. Dunstable's account of his interview with Melissa Rotherwick, perhaps the prettiest of all the debutantes who 'came out' in 1905, who I remembered meeting at Lord Bresslaw's Autumn Ball last year. She was one of the most beautiful young women one could wish to see, with gold-dusted light-brown hair, expressive large eyes, rich ruby lips and pearly white teeth. Mr.

Dunstable had had the good fortune to meet her at the splendid country mansion of Stockleigh Hall, her family country seat down in Kent and she talked openly of her belief that further education should be given to young people about matters appertaining to l'art de faire l'amour.

As this book was printed privately, I doubt if many readers will be acquainted with Melissa's frank account of how she and her schoolfriends were forced to kidnap, if this is not too strong a term, a willing young man, so as to find out for themselves the joys of a good fuck. Therefore I propose to bring her words to a wider audience by reproducing them here. The uninhibited young girl was telling Mr.

Dunstable of her years spent at Mrs. Bartholomew's Boarding School For Young Ladies not far from Redstock at the foot of the Mendip Hills.

Melissa Rotherwick told Mr. Dunstable: It will be readily understood, I am sure, that being all of the same sex, we found it most frustrating to be shut up in a friendly but strictly enclosed establishment in the heart of Somerset without a single member of the male species to be found anywhere on the premises with the exception of our chaplain, Reverend Jonathan Crawford, a nice old gentleman of seventy-three who conducted services every Sunday morning in the school chapel. As may be readily imagined, we were forced to explore amongst ourselves, so to speak, for our private pleasures and it was hardly surprising that there were many close, emotional ties which flourished between the young ladies. However by the time my pals and I had reached the dizzy heights of the sixth form, such juvenile 'pashes', as we called these intra-feminine love affairs, had palled and we were ripe for plucking by any lucky young man who might come our way. But we were so strictly chaperoned away from anything masculine (even the school cat was a plump ginger tabby!) that it seemed we would never be able to sample the fruits of sensual passion until we had left Mrs. Bartholomew's custody. Yet despite these restrictions, as the old saw has it, love laughs at locksmiths, and in the course of time a day dawned when some of us were able to put the theoretical knowledge we had gained from the copy of Dr Nigel Andrews'

Fucking For Beginners, which my friend Annabel had smuggled into school after borrowing the copy she found in her brother's room during a Christmas vacation, to a most pleasant practical use. This event happened by a series of fortunate circumstances and involved George Cox, the aptly named young nephew of Reverend Crawford, who was spending a few days down in Somerset visiting his elderly relation.

But first I had better explain that at Mrs. Bartholomew's, one of the benefits of seniority was that on Wednesday afternoons members of the upper sixth form were allowed out of bounds to stroll unaccompanied along the path, through Farmer Trippett's meadow, down to the banks of the small stream which ran between his fields. Well, one fine spring afternoon, during my penultimate term at the school, my friends Annabel and Sheena accompanied me for a walk along this path and we were discussing, some abstruse mathematical problem which had been set that morning by Mrs. Bartholomew herself. I must give my old head teacher due credit at this point and record the fact that science and mathematics played major roles in our curriculum, unlike the majority of similar academies for young ladies where only the arts are studied in any serious way. Anyway, we were deeply engrossed in this rather learned conversation when Annabel suddenly stopped talking and I saw her jaw drop and her mouth hang open as she stood stock still, staring across to the far bank of the stream. Sheena and I followed her gaze and we were also struck dumb by what we saw-for lying flat on his back, fast asleep, was none other than George Cox, who had obviously taken a dip in the river and followed it by a luncheon of sandwiches and the best part of a bottle of white wine which lay beside in an ice-box. This in itself would not have been such an extraordinary sight but for the fact that George had divested himself of his clothes for his swim and had not bothered to put them back on again afterwards, thinking no doubt that as he was on private land, no-one would be coming by! So there he lay, naked as nature intended, and for the first time in our lives, we three girls were given the opportunity to look at a full-sized genuine penis. Frankly, at first sight, this squashed up tube of flesh which protruded out of a growth of mossy pubic hair and lay limp over George's thigh did not impress us.

'It doesn't seem nearly as big as the pricks shown in Fucking for Beginners,' commented Sheena, and Annabel agreed with her, saying that the dildo she had purloined from her sister was also of a greater length and girth. 'Wait a moment though, girls,' I said to them.

'Surely we must only compare like with like and so we mustn't pass judgement upon George's cock until we've actually seen it standing up to attention. You may recall that Dr Andrews wrote in Chapter Three about the vast majority of cocks all swelling up to about the same size even though some look bigger than others when simply dangling between men's legs.' Annabel nodded sagely and said, 'Yes, I think you are absolutely right, Melissa, but experientia docet, as Miss Bartholomew would doubtless say. I suggest that we find out exactly what a stiff prick actually looks like for ourselves. I'm sure that George won't mind. He's fast asleep anyhow and if we keep very quiet, we might be able to play with his cock without waking him up.'

This sounded like an extremely sensible course of action to me and Sheena also agreed to take part in this voyage of sensual discovery. So we slipped quietly over the ramshackle wooden bridge and sat ourselves carefully round George who was still apparently fast asleep. Boldly, Annabel took hold of his soft shaft whilst I tenderly lay my palm underneath the hairy, wrinkled ballsack underneath it.

Thanks to our careful perusal of Dr Andrews' valuable tome, we were not too alarmed when George's tool stirred as Annabel clutched it in her fist and began to swell and thicken. Sheena now entered the fray by drawing back the skin at the top to reveal a smooth pink mushroom shaped knob. I withdrew my hand from George's ballsack which had tightened up as his prick had begun to grow and ran my fingers round it as well. I was fascinated by the feel of this, my first naked cock, which felt like an ivory column covered in warm velvet. 'It looks far better now,' Annabel commented with all the satisfaction of having been proved right. With a glint in her eyes Sheena said, 'George has a very pretty prick indeed and the way it throbs when I touch it is making me tingle all over.' Her words made me aware that I was also experiencing a buzz of excitement throughout my body.

My titties were as hard as two little rubbery nuts, my legs were trembling and my pussey was throbbing with the same kind of urgency I experienced when playing with myself, only stronger and more insistent. A novel thought then entered my head and I said to my companions, 'I wonder whether this cock tastes as good as it looks,' and I kissed the very tip of the smooth dome of the uncapped helmet.

Remembering what I had read in Dr Andrews' book, I licked round the knob and then I opened my lips and inch by inch, took the throbbing tool in my mouth. As my lips gently slipped further and further down its length, I sucked and pulled at the hot, hard shaft with my lips and I noticed that Annabel had now slipped her hands under George's ballsack and was very carefully caressing his testes. It was at this stage that George's eyes began to flutter open and he looked on in amazement as I continued to palate his prick whilst Annabel now busied herself by licking his balls. 'I must be dreaming,' he muttered and struck himself a sharp blow on the cheek. 'No, I'm awake all right,' he said aloud, trying to reassure himself that he had not taken leave of his senses. “This is really happening. To the best of my knowledge I'm not simply the victim of a delicious hallucination.

It's still Wednesday afternoon and I have just woken up after falling asleep after lunch and now I find I'm being sucked off by two beautiful girls from Mrs. Bartholomew's school.' Poor George may have been dreadfully puzzled but he, was no fool and with a contented sigh he decided not to tempt providence by asking further questions and simply laid back to enjoy the exquisite sensations of the soft, wet lips and tongues running over his cock and balls. 'A-a-a-h!' he gasped and he shot a jet of frothy creamy essence into my mouth.

Instinctively I swallowed his sticky emission and though a tad too salty for my taste, I knew it would not harm me, for as our mentor Dr Andrews noted, fresh semen is highly nutritive. However, as the good doctor also said, the tang may vary from man to man, which made me resolve to have another suck, preferably of another meaty specimen, for whilst I much enjoyed milking George's member, I wanted to try out the flavour of other suitable young men, for as Dr Andrews commented, the flavour of spunk is an acquired taste which often takes a little time to appreciate. But meanwhile Sheena now demanded a turn to gobble George's prick and the dear lad kindly proffered his limp shaft without hesitation saying only that he would appreciate a few minutes' recuperation from the prodigious spend of seed caused by my own superb sucking of his cock. To help revive his crestfallen member I told George to get up on his knees in front of me as I lay back and parted my legs to give him a wonderful view of my furry thatch and pink cunney lips. I took his hand and placed it on my already dampening mound. 'Oh my what a truly beautiful cunt,' he breathed, as the fingers of his left hand splayed my outer lips and the fingers of his right ran up and down the length of my love slit. Gently, he inserted his forefinger between my pussey lips and my hips rose up to greet the welcome visitor. He finger-fucked me for a little while but soon his head dived down between my thighs and I was in raptures as he found my excitable little ditty and my pussey started to spend freely under the voluptuous titillations of the randy youth's velvety tongue.

I clasped my legs around his head as he licked and lapped on my tingling cunney and I screamed with joy as I quickly reached the pinnacle of sensual delights. I released George's head from between my crossed legs and Annabel and Sheena pushed him flat on his back and he obeyed with alacrity their command to lie quite still.

Sheena smoothed her hand over his flat stomach and let her fingers wander into his thick growth of pubic curls. She licked her lips with gusto as she gazed down upon his thickening shaft that was not yet fully erect but which had a lovely, heavy look about it. She grasped the swelling staff in her hand and gently squeezed it-and immediately George's cock stood up in full, glorious erection, his rosy helmet now bared as Sheena helped snap back the covering foreskin. Her lips now swooped down and she began to kiss and lick the mushroomed knob, dwelling around the ridged edge and moving slowly up and down the underside before sucking in as much of the shaft as possible into her mouth. She frigged his prick firmly with her fingers, licking and lapping, as she clamped her lips over his cock, sucking furiously until she was forced to release it us she felt she was in imminent danger of choking. Whilst this was taking place, I was fingering myself, opening up my pussey even further and, when George withdrew from Sheena's mouth, I reached up and pulled his glistening, wet cock towards my aching cunt. Then, us if I had been doing this all my life, I raised my legs and grasped him round the waist and for the first time savoured the indescribably delicious feeling of my cunt being filled with a real live prick slewing a path backwards and forwards as he began to fuck me in earnest. Of course, my hymen had long ago been broken by a combination of horse-riding and frigging with friends and the aid of a dildo, so there was no pain but only a most delightful pleasure as George's cock pistoned deep inside my cunney and then slid back to repeat the effort. Also, I could lie back and enjoy my first fuck without worry as my monthlies were due within forty eight hours. By now my body was responding as if by instinct and I was thrusting my hips up to meet him time and time again. I responded with vigour, now carried away totally as he rubbed my titties whilst his sinewy rod crashed its way through my sopping love channel. Then my back arched and I realised in one unforgettable instant that for the first time in my life I was spending with a man's cock inside me… Suffice it to say that I came and I came and I came and when at last George's prick quivered and spurted a sticky libation of spunk inside me I was so overcome that I almost swooned with ecstatic joy. George too was similarly overcome and collapsed on top of me as I lay heaving and panting whilst the last waves of this gigantic spend washed over me. So ended my first fuck. Annabel and Sheena kindly helped me dress and we arranged to smuggle George into our dormitory that very evening for some further fun and games.

Annabel also had the brilliant idea of asking George to bring a friend with him if he possibly could, as even such a stout hearted and well-endowed cocksman as he could not hope to satisfy six lusty young maidens. As luck would have it, his old school chum, Clive Hampstead (who later became renowned for his abilities to perform cunnilingus, until his marriage to a wealthy American heiress led him to settle in Chicago), lived not five miles away and was happy to join us in a riotous night of sucking and fucking about which I cannot tell you as at least one of the girls concerned is now the wife of a very important personage indeed and she would be horrified if her participation in this orgy of sensuality was ever made public.

I closed the book and stood up with a raging hard-on as I thought about how divine it would be to fuck the gorgeous Melissa Rotherwick who, as one could gauge from this graphic account of her first fuck, was obviously a generous and free-spirited girl. I made a mental note to check if by any chance her name appeared on the members' list of the Jim Jam Club before I met Henry Bascombe-Thomas there for luncheon. Reluctantly I decided against summoning Mary to be fucked or at least to frig or suck off my uncomfortably stiff cock. It was not only my earlier resolve to cease fucking servant girls which kept my thumb away from the bell, but also the thought that it would be sensible to give my prick a rest in case Henry and I were offered invitations to one of the wild private parties which certain ladies had taken to holding at the Club on weekday afternoons.

So I walked slowly round the room three times, emptying my mind of everything, except the question of how many books might be stacked on the shelves of this well-stocked library. In time, my attempt to solve this problem by assessing the approximate number of books on one average shelf and multiplying this figure by the number of shelves did the trick and my rampant stiffstander slowly subsided. I went into the hall and called Edwards to say that I would probably return around five o'clock but in the unlikely case of needing to speak to me urgently, he could contact me at the Jim Jam Club whose telephone number I scribbled on a sheet of paper and pressed into his hand.

Now as the rain which had pattered down earlier in the morning had subsided and enough patches of blue were visible through the clouds, I had planned to walk down to Great Windmill Street-but just as I strode away from the front door, a carriage drawn by two smartly attired black horses pulled up alongside me and a familiar voice called out to me. 'Hello there, young Rupert, can I give you a lift?'

I looked round to see the occupant of the carriage throw open the door. I walked across and squinted inside to see if I had correctly identified the owner of the rather fruity tones. And yes, I was right, for leaning against the expensive kid leather upholstery was the portly figure of Colonel Stanley Gooner formerly of the Ninth Punjab Rifles, a former comrade-in-arms of my father and one of my parents' oldest friends. The Colonel, in his early days, had won an award for gallantry whilst serving on the North West frontier in an incident that made headlines in the popular newspapers. After his patrol had been ambushed by the Pathans, he escaped, but returned dressed in the clothes of a native woman and in an audacious single-handed operation, he managed to rescue two captured colleagues whose pricks were about to be amputated (without even the benefit of anaesthetic) by a mob of angry Afghans. I am hazy as to exactly how he managed to place a pistol against the balls of the much-feared enemy commander, a bandit notorious for his brutality, but the stratagem worked and the then Captain Gooner was able to bargain successfully for the freedom of the prisoners and himself. Yet Colonel Gooner could never be described as a typical Army officer. He was a man of progressive political views and championed the rights of the indigenous people in a book about his time in India, published after he had left the services. I had always known him as a jolly, amiable old buffer, far removed, one must add, from those many retired Indian Army officers whose brains have perhaps been affected by the heat and dust of the sub-continent. Perhaps readers have come across these poor chaps themselves, the ones who spend their days writing obscure tracts on the Egyptian Pyramids in the reading rooms of public libraries, or travelling to meetings to propound some fanciful idea about a secret international conspiracy of one-legged freemasons or about the Welsh race being descended from one of the lost ten tribes of ancient Israel. 'Where are you off to, my boy?' enquired the Colonel genially. 'I have a luncheon appointment with a friend who I am meeting near Piccadilly Circus,' I said, a statement which, if not false, was certainly economical with the truth as I doubted whether Colonel Gooner would approve of the raffish Jim Jam Club. 'Climb aboard then, I'm going that way myself and it's no trouble whatsoever to drop you off wherever you want,' he said, and not wishing to offend, I complied with his instruction. The Colonel disliked the motor car and owned one of the few horse-driven carriages still to be seen around the West End of London. We lurched forward and then as I sank back against the soft, comfortable seat, one of the horses broke wind with a quite astonishing ferocity. 'Oh, pardon me,' said the Colonel, and though I should have contained myself, I replied, That's quite all right, sir. If you hadn't spoken I would have assumed it was the horse.' But all was well for Colonel Gooner laughed loudly and said, 'Good one, old boy, very good indeed! I must remember to recount your witty riposte at my Club. So how have you been spending your time off in old London town? Enjoying yourself to the full, I'll be bound, and why not for heaven's sake, you're only young once. Tell me though, you must have heard about this grand reception back home for His Majesty in which your father has been involved. I'll be there myself, as my wife's brother is a local landowner near Boroughbridge and he's also on the organising committee for the royal visit.'

He was most pleased when I told him that I was of course going back home for this important event. 'Excellent! Mrs. Gooner and I will look forward to seeing you there. We live in the country ourselves as you know, but so many of my old friends live in London that I must spend a couple of weeks here every so often to keep in touch with them.' We were clipping our way briskly down Shaftesbury Avenue when I called upon the driver to halt. 'I'll get off here, sir, if I may,' I said, shaking hands with the Colonel, 'and I look forward to seeing you again in York.' Little did I realise just how soon I would see him again-far, far sooner than I could have expected! I crossed the road and bought a button-hole from an itinerant flower seller. My sixpence was received with the usual blessings upon my head and I made my way up Great Windmill Street to the discreet entrance of the Jim Jam Club. Cripps was on duty and was eager to pick up any racing tips, but alas, I had heard nothing further from old Goldhill and was forced to disappoint the porter, who nevertheless passed to me the name of a horse Sir Harold Brown had given him as a good each-way bet in the two o'clock race at Chepstow that afternoon. 'It's a fast filly called Big Brenda, Mr. Mountjoy, and I reckon the odds won't be less than twelve to one. What do you think?' he asked me. 'Well now, Cripps,' I said carefully, 'you must be familiar with the old saying, “He who decides to bet each way/Lives to bet another day!” 'Sir Harold's gone through a lean patch lately and it's about time he picked a winner, so I'll risk a pound each way on Big Brenda.

Will you place the bet with Hymie Applebaum for me?' I gave Cripps two pound notes and sauntered upstairs to the bar. Although it was almost ten past one, there was no sign of Henry Bascombe-Thomas. I sat down and ordered a whisky and soda from a passing waiter and hoped that my absent-minded chum had not forgotten the appointment which he himself had asked me to keep with him. In fact my worry was unfounded for I had time only to pour the soda into my Scotch when I looked up to see Henry striding towards me. I stood up and greeted him. 'Hello, stranger, how nice to see you again,' I said warmly as we shook hands. 'A pleasure to see you, Rupert,' he responded, pumping my hand. 'I'm so pleased you were free for luncheon. It's been a long time since we broke bread together. To be exact, it would be a couple of days before I sailed for New York when you, Frank Folkestone and Prince Salman laid on a splendid farewell dinner for me at Romano's. So what's the news with you, Rupert? Neither of us wrote to each other as often as we should have done. But Frank Folkestone did mention in one of his letters that your Uncle Humphrey has provided you with the wherewithal for a year off doing very little indeed except fuck pretty girls, you lucky so-and-so! Or has some clever beauty managed to get you to put a ring on her finger?' I grinned and replied, 'No, though I've fingered quite a few rings since we last met! Still, whilst it's true that I'm taking a break from my studies, you've been to America, which is something I'd love to do. Have you had a rewarding time, Henry? Have you painted much yourself? And what brings you back to Britain?' 'I'll answer your questions in reverse order,' he said with a smile, as we rose and walked into the dining-room where we were seated at one of the best tables overlooking the busy street below. I came back simply because my course with Professor Sidney Cohen ended and there was no further need for me to stay in New York. 'And I do still paint, but only for my own pleasure. I now know and accept my limitations, Rupert, which are-well, those of a talented amateur and not a gifted professional.

That's how Professor Cohen delivered his verdict on my work and I wasn't too disappointed because the truth is that it wasn't very different to my tutor's back here in Britain.' The head waiter came up to us and after we ordered our meal Henry continued, 'His verdict doesn't mean that I can't be involved in the world of art.

I've written some critiques for the New York papers and I'd like to do the same in London. I feel I have something to say after spending a year away. God, it was refreshing to leave that dreadful insular resistance to modern painting which one finds here in England. People have told me that third-rate British pictures are still preferred to the new, exciting paintings shown in Paris, Rome and Madrid. I want to help change this head-in-the-sand attitude. 'What's really exciting though, Rupert, is that Professor Cohen, whose influence is very substantial in the New York art world, generously gave my name to Clive Labovitch, the wealthy owner of a leading gallery on Fifth Avenue who wants to set up an exhibition of the most promising, exciting young artists from all over the world. The Professor suggested that I act as his agent in England when I return to London.

After discussing the project with me, Mr. Labovitch agreed to the proposal, and has transferred five thousand dollars to a bank account over here to be spent on buying for this event which will be staged in New York next Spring.' Well, naturally, even before Henry had finished speaking I was wondering whether this information would be of use to the lovely Diana Wigmore. I explained to Henry how my closest girl friend was a talented artist who was living in Paris but who would be coming to Britain shortly. An idea struck me-if I could only persuade Henry to come up to York for the grand Royal reception, he would be able to meet Diana and see some of her pictures there, as she was bringing a selection over from France so that Nancy Carrington could have the opportunity to purchase a painting or two for her father's collection. The only problem was how to interest Henry enough in Diana's work to travel up North so soon after returning to London. Surprisingly, for he showed little interest in politics except to support the radical Liberals, Henry was a staunch Republican and unlike Nancy Carrington, for instance, had no desire whatsoever to hob-nob with the King, so partying with all the swells would have no appeal for him. But the promise of a good fuck-now that was another matter! I leaned across the table and told him all about Diana, Nancy and the whole business of my going up to see my folks and attending the reception for the King. I invited him to join Nancy and myself and stay a few days with my family at Albion Towers. 'You really must come up with us,' I urged him. 'My parents would be delighted to see you again and you know how interested my mother is in art. She would so enjoy hearing all your news about any up and coming American artists. And talking of up and corning, old boy, Nancy Carrington is a very attractive young lady who simply adores fucking, as does Diana, who particularly liked taking part in a whoresome foursome. I guarantee that you'd be dipping your brush into a fresh pot of paint every night if you take up my invitation.' Henry's eyes lit up and he said, 'Gosh, you certainly make them sound extremely tempting. But I really have a tremendous amount of work to do in London and I hadn't planned on spending any time out of town. On the other hand, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, eh? When do you plan to go?' 'In just over a couple of weeks time,' I replied promptly. “The big party is on November 15 so Nancy and I thought we'd go up on the previous day. We hadn't decided exactly when we'd-go back, but I might stay a few days and visit my Uncle Humphrey and look up some old friends.' 'And you say that I might get the chance to look up some new ones?' Henry quipped wittily. 'I don't think I can pass up such an opportunity, Rupert, so I'll take up your invitation with grateful thanks. I don't mind telling you that I'm in desperate need of a good fuck. Whilst I can't grumble too much about the availability of willing girls in New York, though they are probably a little more inhibited than in London, I've been forced to live like a monk for the month or so. Both the girls I was fucking in Manhattan were unavailable during the last three weeks of my stay and to make matters worse there were no available women on board ship on my journey home.' 'Poor you,' I sympathised, as I refilled his glass with the excellent Club claret. 'Yet I was given to understand that on Atlantic crossings, except during the winter months, there are always a number of unattached females on board eager for masculine company.' 'Maybe, but I was unlucky enough to be a passenger on a ship which was an exception to the rule. The only consolation was that I struck up a friendship with a girl named Jenny Cameron, the Scottish governess of an American family coming to live in London for six months whilst the pater familias travelled around Europe on business.

'Jenny was very happy to be coming home to her native Scotland after working for a year in Washington. She was a bonny Scottish lass of twenty-two whose light freckled skin and long reddish hair set off her well-made young body. Perhaps her best attributes were her large breasts which jutted out proudly like two firm spheres. 'Well, on the fourth evening, I engaged her in conversation after dinner and we talked over a lemon squash in one of the lounges (for she was tee-total and I had already put away a bottle of wine during the evening meal). I gazed longingly at these two beauties as we walked back along the deck to our cabins which happened to be very close to each other. Naturally, she slept in the same first class suite as the two children in her charge. After formally shaking hands and parting company at her cabin door, I wished Jenny good-night and I walked back alone very disconsolately to my own quarters. 'I undressed quickly and as it was rather warm in the cabin I lay on the bed naked as I reached over to thumb my way through a copy of The Oyster, a “horn” magazine which Frank Folkestone had posted to me every so often. As I thumbed my way through the magazine, the randy stories soon made my shaft stiffen up and demand to be exercised. I took my rock-hard cock in my hand and slowly rubbed it up and down as I closed my eyes and fantasised about running my hands across Jenny's magnificent breasts, of handling her delicious, ripe titties and then placing my hot, throbbing prick in her cunt… 'I was on the very verge of spunking when my reverie was disturbed by a gentle knock on my door. I jumped up and called out, “Who's that?” and my heart began to pound when I heard the soft reply, “It's me, Jenny Cameron. Henry, can I come in for a moment?” 'I slipped on a dressing gown and rushed across to open the door where Jenny stood clad in a blue silk night-robe. “Hello, Henry, I hope I haven't disturbed you,” she said with a slightly worried look. '“Not in the slightest, it's lovely to see you again so soon. Is all well though? Are the children all right?” '“Oh yes, they're sound asleep and won't wake up till morning, so I thought I might join you in a wee night-cap,” she said, and then impishly added as she looked slightly downwards, “but I think you had something else on your mind when I knocked on the door.” 'I followed her amused gaze downwards and with horror saw that my still erect truncheon was poking out between the folds of my dressing gown. I was so flustered that I sat down heavily on the side of the bed, my face burning and my rock quickly shrank back into its normal flaccid state. But to my overwhelming relief, Jenny had not been offended at all by the unintentional exposure of my stiff cock. Far from it, for the sweet girl giggled, sat down next to me and said in her pleasing Midlothian burr, “Dear oh dear, I didn't mean to upset your poor little cockie. Let's bring the shy fellow out again and have a proper look at him.” '“By all means,” I said, opening my robe and she reached out and clasped my shrunken shaft in her fingers. As if by magic, it began to swell up again, rapidly returning to its former length and strength as the lovely lass slowly tossed me off, squeezing and rubbing my prick so deliriously that I was almost ready to spend within seconds. 'Then she let her fist stay still as she murmured, “If I let you fuck me, will you promise not to tell anyone?

I've only had two or three romps with the children's tutor since leaving home and I'm feeling even more randy than usual after playing with your nice cock. But I must make sure that Mr. and Mrs. Barbach give me a reference.” '“I swear I won't tell a soul,” I panted, and to back up my word I told her of the oath we take at the Jim Jam Club never to reveal the names of lovers. She listened carefully, then smiled and said gaily, “Very well then, you've convinced me, you smooth-talking rogue!” Trembling with excitement, I tore off my robe as the delirious girl pulled her night robe over her head and stood stark naked in front of me. I stood up and she walked the few steps towards me, her firm, uptilted breasts jiggling and her strawberry nipples looking up pertly as our mouths met and I clasped her thrilling young body to me. 'We fell backwards on to the bed and my hands ran over her hard, engorged nipples and her own hand slid down to clasp my pulsating prick which bucked uncontrollably in her sweet grasp. As we threshed around, writhing in each other's arms, my fingers played around the silky strands of red-gold hair which formed a light veil across her pouting little slit. Jenny was justly proud of her pussey for her thighs were full and proportionally formed and my cock leaped and pranced in her hand as it sought access into her dampening cunney. So it was with great excitement that I scrambled to my knees when Jenny wriggled out of my arms and lay flat on her back with her legs apart. Quivering with anticipation I positioned myself between her thighs and gently lowered myself on top of her soft body and a low moan escaped from my throat as she took hold of my truncheon and guided it firmly between her cunney lips into her juicy, wet quim.

'I thrust my yearning cock inside her cunt and when I was fully embedded by the luscious love channel I stayed quite still for a few moments, revelling in the exquisite sensations afforded by her clinging cunney muscles. Then I started to fuck her slowly, pistoning in until our pubic hairs were entwined and then withdrawing all but the tip of my knob before plunging in again to the limit. This rich, deep fucking had the desired effect upon Jenny whose rounded bottom cheeks began to roll around as she arched her back, cleverly working her cunt back and forth against the ramming of my thick, hard prick, until I hoarsely groaned that I could no longer hold back the boiling spunk which was shooting up from my tight ballsack.

'Jenny grabbed my arse cheeks and pulled me forward so that every last fraction of my cock was encased in her cunt and our pubic bones mashed together as she started to move her hips up and down. With her hands still on my bum I matched her movements and now my glistening shaft was sliding in and out of her cunney at an even faster pace.

With a cry I exploded into her, showering the walls of her love channel with sticky jism. I ejaculated copiously inside her willing pussey and this brought about her own orgasm: her body stiffened and I rubbed her clitty as her cunney was flooded with fresh rivulets of love juice whilst she shuddered in ecstasy as the force of her orgasm swept through her. 'After we had recovered I fucked her from behind as she stood with her feet on the floor, leaning forward with her arms held straight out, the palms of her hands flat against the sheets and her rounded backside pushed out towards me. I slid my shaft between her chubby buttocks and gloried in the sublime sensation as my cock slewed its way into her dripping cunt doggie-style. As before, young Jenny worked her hips in rhythm with my eager thrusts, letting my shaft sink all the way inside her juicy honeypot which I left there momentarily before easing back to piston forward again through the crevice between her bum cheeks. This time Jenny was the first to reach journey's end and she cried out, “Go on, Henry! Keep plunging forward! You're coming, aren't you? I can feel your cock shuddering inside my cunt! A-h-r-e! A-h-r-e!” A huge flow of her love juice soaked my shaft and I gasped, “I'm going to spend, Jenny! Yes, yes, I can't hold back any longer!” and I made one last lunge forward, my balls cracking against her bottom as I sent a stream of hot spunk hurtling into her sopping snatch as we collapsed down together on the bed. I'm not sure I could have obliged Jenny with a third bout but fortunately I did not have to try as she looked at my watch and decided she had better go back to her own bed in case one of the children woke up. 'However, after breakfast we exchanged addresses so after staying with you in Yorkshire I might journey on up to Edinburgh as she will be on holiday in mid-November, visiting her parents.' I sipped my coffee and said, 'Well now, Henry, has the telling of that lascivious anecdote drained you or is your cock still available if required? Since you left our shores for the New World, certain ladies of quality, such as the wives of Army officers serving abroad, have taken to holding discreet little afternoon parties. Entry to these gatherings is not open to all and sundry, however, and to ensure privacy, the ladies leave the names of those members they wish to invite with Cripps and his underlings who pass them on verbally to the lucky chaps chosen to enjoy a wild afternoon's fucking.' 'It looks as though we may be in luck,' commented Henry. 'Look, Cripps has just walked into the restaurant and it looks as though he's corning our way.' The head porter did indeed make his way to our table but though his message was of good cheer, it was not the news Henry wanted! 'Hope I'm not interrupting you, Mr. Mountjoy, but I thought you might like to know that Big Brenda came in second. She was only beaten by a short head but at least you win two pounds.' 'Is that all? I thought you said the horse would be a twelve to one shot,' I said rather disappointedly. 'So it was, sir,' the Club head porter explained patiently, “but you only get a quarter of the odds for the place and so you win three pounds, but as you lose one of the two pounds of the each-way bet, I'm afraid that you only win a couple of quid. Still, that's better than poor old Sir Harold Brown has done: he had fifty pounds to win on Big Brenda and only had ten pounds each way as a saver.' 'Oh well, it's still always better to come out on top,' I said with a sigh, as Cripps handed me my winnings. The crafty porter always made sure that all members' winning bets were paid out with lots of coins which almost always ensured a generous gratuity. As it was Cripps himself who had given me the tip for Big Brenda, I gave him three half-crowns which naturally put a large smile on his face. 'No afternoon parties today, then?' I enquired or him. He shook his head. 'Not as far as I know, sir,' he replied.

Though I understand that General Gooner is having a private party with a couple of girls from Swan and Edgar's ladies' underwear department in room nine on the third floor. But please don't say I told you about it, sir.' I waited till Cripps had left us and then I said to Henry, 'My God! Did you hear that? I never knew General Gooner was a member of the Jim Jam.' And I told Henry how the General had seen me before lunch and had given me a lift in his carriage. I laughed and said, To think I fibbed and said I was meeting a friend nearby because I was worried that the old boy might know about this place and would report my coming here to my father! Come on, my dear chap, let's go upstairs and see if the General is still firing his artillery.'

Before we went upstairs Henry insisted on signing the bill for our meal and urged me to hurry as I said that I first wished to visit the cloakroom. When we finally reached the door of room nine, to no great surprise, we found it was locked. 'Damn and blast!' cursed Henry, but I put a restraining hand on his arm and withdrew a silver key from my jacket pocket. 'Do you remember when Count Gewirtz of Galicia paid for the Club to be totally redecorated about five years ago?' I said, grinning at the look of frustration on Henry's face.

'Well, mixed in with the altruistic motive behind the Count's generous gesture was the rather darker desire to own a set of skeleton keys to the private rooms and he paid for a secret set to be made for him.

These keys weren't simply used to embarrass other people, although you know how the Count enjoys a good practical joke and one afternoon he used his key to burst in to a room dressed as a policeman just as Lady Pachnos was about to sit upon Mr. George Bernard Shaw's quivering naked stiffstander. 'But what the Count actually wanted was to be able to nip into a room without even having to book it with the staff, so nobody, but nobody knew he was there. This facility was not really necessary as far as he was concerned, but it was of great importance for high-ranking personages. They even say his friend Mr. Tum Tum has used this facility to bring Mrs. Keppel and Mrs. Quentonne here for a quick fuck. 'However, be that as it may, Cripps somehow found out about the Count's little game and bribed a locksmith to make him a similar set of keys and he sells copies of them at a vast profit to selected Club members. 'Frankly, I wasn't in the market for such items but I happen to have the key to the third floor rooms as I won it from Tubby Meredith at a baccarat evening a few months ago. Now so long as the General hasn't bolted the door, I don't think we'll have too much trouble in joining his little party.' Henry was very impressed and he rubbed his hands in glee. 'Here's hoping,' he said, as I turned the key and gently pushed against the door which yielded to my weight. 'Hey presto,' I said softly, as I slowly opened it and we popped our heads round to see exactly what military manoeuvre was being attempted by General Gooner, whose heavy breathing we could hear before we saw for ourselves what was taking place. Well, whilst I did not expect to see the General standing in front of a blackboard, lecturing on lessons to be learned from the Boer War, I was still taken aback at the sight which greeted our eyes. For there on the bed, stark naked and flat on his back the gallant veteran lay with his hands clasped behind his neck. His chest was covered with matted grey hair and without the restrictions imposed by a belt, his corpulent belly sagged all over the place. But his gnarled old penis was standing up smartly enough, a thick, twitching love truncheon which was being manipulated by the buxom Maisie, one of the Jim Jam's barmaids, who was dressed, or more accurately half-undressed, in her black Club uniform. She was kneeling on the bed beside him and was still wearing her skirt but, in all probability assisted by General Gooner, she had taken off her blouse and chemise and her large, bare breasts looked mouth-wateringly ripe for a touch of masculine lips or fingers. We stood silently at the door, watching with growing interest as Maisie squealed, 'Stanley, please undo the buttons of my skirt so I can take it off before you fuck me.' 'Certainly, my dear, I'll do my level best but I don't know whether my old John Thomas is up to much today,' said the General doubtfully. However, he helped unbutton Maisie's skirt and she stopped frigging his prick in order to peel off her knickers and stockings. When she was naked she took hold of his cock in both hands but I could see that his tool had now wilted and despite some vigorous frigging and tonguing, Maisie seemed unable to coax it back up to an erection. 'Maybe this will help your old soldier stand to attention,' Maisie suggested, as she knelt in front of him, facing the curtained bay window. She stuck out her sumptuous backside and the General placed his hands on her rich, rounded bum cheeks and parted them to give himself a close-up view of her hairy pussey pouch and her wrinkled little bum-hole, whilst at the door Henry and I were also treated to a tantalising glimpse of the fur lined lips of her cunt. Maisie raised her buttocks and the General spread them open even further, showing her to be wet and open and she turned her head towards him and said, 'I'm ready and waiting for inspection, sir.' But he shook his head and looked sadly down at his flaccid shaft which flapped feebly against his thigh. 'Sorry, m'dear, it looks as though I shall be forced to run up the white flag even before battle commences. Gad, if I were only ten years younger, I would have had a massive boner by now! But lately, my treacherous old plonker has been playing the most diabolical games with me.

'Strange to think that when I was a young lad I had only to think fleetingly of a juicy cunt and it would swell up in an instant. All the working girls who serviced the cadets at Sandhurst used to say that Stanley Gooner's cock was the thickest and hardest of them all,' he added gloomily. 'Nowadays though, merely striving for a stiffie is enough to put paid to all hope of my achieving one.' 'Never mind, dear,' said Maisie comfortingly. 'I'll tell you what, why don't I lie down and you can bring me off with your fingers instead?' She settled herself down next to him and began to squeeze her own engorged nipples. 'Now then, Stanley, rub my clitty, there's a good boy,' she ordered, as she continued to massage her horned up teats. 'Ah, that's very nice, and slide your fingers in my cunney whenever you like, I'm getting really moist. Mmm, keep going, you'll have me going off in no time at all.' The General turned to the side and their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Then he bent his head down and while Maisie rolled one rubbery nipple between her thumb and forefinger, he sucked deeply on the other tawny tittle. Soon he was sliding three fingers up to the hilt inside her sopping slit and she threshed around wildly, her feet drumming a tattoo on the sheets as she tried to work herself off. Alas, it was obvious to Henry and I that she was having as little success as her partner, whose penis still lay obstinately limp despite all the action around it. 'Don't you think we should help out?' muttered Henry, who had already taken off his jacket and was unbuckling his belt. 'Oh yes, most certainly we should,' I said with a grin as I loosened my cravat. 'I would even go so far as to say that it is our bounden duty as Jim Jammers to aid Maisie reach her climax.' It took only a few short moments before we too were as naked as babes and we padded briskly up to the bed, our two stiff cocks standing almost up against our bellies. Our footsteps were heard by Maisie who sat up and gaped at us. 'What the hell-' 'It's the cavalry, Maisie, arriving just in time to ensure you enjoy a good spend! Seriously, don't worry, it's only me, Rupert Mountjoy and Henry Bascombe-Thomas. He's a Club member too but he's been away for some time so you might not recognise him.' She grinned lewdly at us.

'Who says I don't? His face has changed especially now he's shaved off his moustache, but I'd recognise Henry's roundheaded cock anywhere.'

I looked down at Henry's bulging boner and sure enough, Maisie's memory was absolutely spot-on, for like the handful of Jewish boys at St Lionel's and my close chum Prince Salman, who was a Mohammedan, Henry's slightly curved pecker was bereft of its foreskin. 'I'm truly honoured that you remember the shape of my tadger, Maisie,' said Henry politely. Though I'm damned if I can think where on earth you might have seen it before.' 'Dear, oh dear, still the absent professor, aren't you? Just before you went away-to America, if I'm not mistaken-the Club committee gave you a farewell supper followed by a presentation by one of the girls from Mrs. Wickley's place in Macclesfield Street. I can't believe you'd forget that!' Henry gave a loud chuckle as he stroked his throbbing tool. 'No, of course not-who could forget such a grand send-off! I thought the girl was going to present me with a wallet, a picture-frame or some momento of the Club. Much to my delight, she presented me with her pussey and I seem to recall that I fucked her on the dining-room table in the Harcourt Suite.' 'Quite right, and I was serving behind the bar and happened to notice how the knob of your love trunk had been bared, presumably when it was only a tiny sapling!' 'How observant of you! Yes, my parents took the advice of the learned Doctor Aigin of Harley Street who recommended the operation when as a very small boy I had an irritating rash on the skin round my helmet. I hardly remember the operation-which perhaps is just as well!' At this point General Gooner, who had understandably been very quiet during these exchanges, snorted loudly and thundered, 'Come now, gentlemen, enough of this idle chatter. For heaven's sake do your duty and fuck this poor girl without further delay. God knows she's been kept waiting long enough for a thick, stiff prick of whatever shape or size.'

Thank you, Stanley,' she said with a giggle. She took each of our two rampant rods in her soft hands and began to frig our stiff shafts.

'Well now boys, I can hardly fuck you both together, so who's going to be the first to cram his cock inside my juicy cunney?' 'After you, Henry,' I said generously. 'You were bemoaning the fact that your prick hasn't seen too much action lately.' 'That's dashed kind of you, Rupert,' he said with gratitude, as General Gooner heaved himself up to sit on a nearby easy chair and Maisie lay back and opened her legs, exposing her damp pussey to Henry. Without further ado he crawled between her spread thighs and immediately parted her serrated cunney lips with the tip of his cock. 'Go on, shove it right up as far as you can,' she panted, and, nothing loath, he rammed his veiny pole deep inside her clinging cunney. The General and I watched Henry's gleaming cock slide its squelchy path in and out until Maisie whispered a few words to Henry who grinned-and without missing a stroke, rolled over so that he was now on his back and Maisie was sitting astride him. She pivoted happily on his shaft, rhythmically rocking to and fro as he thrust upwards, plunging his pulsing prick up inside her warm wetness. His back arched upwards as Maisie worked her soft, moist flesh against his iron-hard staff and as they spent simultaneously their surging cries of fulfilment echoing around the room as her cunt milked the manly essence out of his shuddering penis until he withdrew his sated, shrinking shaft from her love channel.

The happy pair lay panting with the effort of their joust but General Gooner cleared his throat and broke the silence. 'Now then, don't just stand there like a lemon, young Mountjoy, what the deuce are you waiting for?' he cried, like a demented sergeant-major. 'You young fellows don't seem to know you're born! Isn't it obvious that Maisie needs a second seeing-to? Damn it all, when I was your age I would have been up and at her as soon as you could say Jack Robinson.'

'I am right, aren't I, m'dear?' he asked Maisie, who reached out and pulled my twitching tool towards her as she replied, 'Well, I wouldn't say no, that's for sure, especially with such a nice-looking young cock ready and waiting to ream out my tingling pussey.' I climbed onto the bed next to Henry with Maisie still clutching my cock. She leaned forward and brought her lips to my knob, rolling her tongue around the purple dome and giving me playful little nips with her pearly white teeth. My prick began to pulse furiously in her mouth as she greedily gobbled my throbbing tool and her eyes smouldered with passion as I sat up and cupped her full breasts with my hands, deftly flicking her nipples with my nails. She now began to give me sharp little licks on my swollen shaft, followed by a series of quick kisses up and down the stem, encompassing my hairy ballsack and she ran her lips down to my perineum, the so-sensitive zone between the balls and arse-hole, which sent waves of pleasure floating through my body. Then she thrust my cock in and out of her mouth, deep into her throat and she tongued me at the end of every stroke, lapping up the pearly of creamy white fluid which was already beginning to seep out of the 'eye' on the tip of my helmet. My arse began to undulate as she grasped the base of my shaft and sucked hard on my bulbous knob, but as soon as she felt I was on the verge of spending, she made ready to swallow my spunk. I thrust my hips upwards and my cock shuddered violently between her lips as with a long spasm I released my sperm, first in a few early shoots and then in crashing dollops of frothy hot jism which filled her mouth and oozed out from between her lips. Maisie let the sticky white love juice flow down her throat as she gently teased my spongy knob with her tongue as very gradually I allowed the wet shaft to slide free. I thought that this little orgy would now end but General Gooner was standing up, holding his now rampant cock as he cried out happily, 'Well done, Maisie, that was a splendid sucking off. Just watching you at work has finally done the trick and given me a cockstand.' 'Quick, come over here and fuck me,' she laughed. 'I had a good little spend whilst I was sucking Rupert's prick so my cunney's wet and waiting for your thick, fat shaft.' 'Strike whilst the iron's hot, eh?' he grunted, as he clambered on top of her and Henry and I scrambled up and stood by the side of the bed, watching the game old boy mount Maisie and guide home his ramrod between her yielding cunney lips. Once he was fully embedded in her, Maisie trapped his cock inside her cunt by lacing her feet together behind his back. The General could hardly pump in and out of her pussey because her cunney muscles were gripping him so tightly, so instead he slid his hand under her and inserted the tip of his forefinger inside her bum-hole which sent such powerful sensations running through her that she squealed and wriggled in an ecstasy of passion. This also made her shift her legs and the General was now able to piston in and out, fucking at a surprisingly high speed, bringing Maisie off time and again as the fierce momentum sent fresh thrilling spasms of pleasure out from her drenched pussey. Maisie knew that it would be unfair to ask the General to over-exert himself and so she brought her legs up against the small of his broad back, humping the lower half of her body upwards to meet the violent strokes of his raging rod. But as he bore down on her yet again, she grabbed his balls in her hand and tenderly squeezed their hairy sack. This had the desired effect of hastening his spend and seconds later his body tensed and with a hoarse cry of 'Steady the Buffs!' he crashed down upon her, his cock jetting its jism inside her sopping slit as she clenched her thighs together until she had extracted every last drain of cream from his spurting shaft. I applauded the General on his prowess as a veteran cocksman. 'Well done, sir, I'm sure neither Henry nor myself could have bettered you for technique,' I said with total sincerity, although the gallant old soldier would accept no praise and waved aside my congratulations. 'Thank 'ee, my boy, but you should have seen me in my prime. Then I could have brought Maisie to the boil, cooled her down, and brought her up again at least five times before shooting my load. But gone are those roistering years back with the regiment when I could fuck all night with the lovely Gita, the beautiful dark-skinned daughter of the Maharajah of Bangitin, who was a true expert in eastern erotic arts, and then take part in the special short-arm parade of the officers of Ninth Punjabi Rifles organised by our Colonel's lady wife, whose favourite breakfast consisted of mouthfuls of fresh spunk obtained by sucking off the cocks of her three favourite young subalterns, Brandon Smith, Charles Farnes-Barnes and myself.' 'How very interesting, General,' said Henry with a puzzled look. 'My uncle Eric was for many years Governor of Bangitin and he never mentioned the Ninth Punjabis to me, nor is there any mention of them in his memoirs.' Oh-ho, I thought, so the old goat might be guilty of embroidering his tale. But at St Lionel's, it was firmly dinned into the pupils that it is the height of bad manners to question the accuracy of another gentleman's story, especially if it were entertaining, so I held my peace. Nevertheless, I filed the incident away in my memory in the unlikely event of ever having to persuade General Gooner not to tell my father about my escapades at the Jim Jam Club-but as he could hardly do this without seriously compromising himself, I was not unduly concerned about details of my secret life finding their way to the ears of my parents!

General Gooner himself confirmed this belief whilst we helped ourselves liberally to the sandwiches, fresh fruits and chilled white wine which he had ordered to be on hand before (as he had mistakenly thought) he had locked himself and Maisie away from any prying eyes! 'Er, gentlemen, I don't think there is any need to mention details of this afternoon's activities to a living soul,' he said, tapping his fingers nervously on the arm of his chair. 'Don't you agree that the three of us promise to keep silent about our fun and games-for Maisie's sake, if nothing else.' “Yes, of course,' I said gravely, giving Henry a broad wink.

'I'm sure that none of us would want to compromise her reputation as one of the Club's most valued employees.'

'Good, that's settled then,' said the General with obvious relief. 'I'm truly glad you chaps happened to be passing and helped the party go with a swing, though I'm still puzzled as to why you wanted to come into room nine this afternoon, let alone how you managed to open the door, for I would have sworn on a stack of bibles that I had locked it after Maisie and I slipped upstairs after luncheon.' 'Maybe you turned the key the wrong way, sir,' said Henry disingenuously. 'I've done that myself occasionally. But the reason why we came in here was that we understood that Lord Searle had booked the room for a showing of the new naughty films he brought back from Paris last week.' 'Oh, that's not till six o'clock,' said Maisie, who probably knew full well that one of us had purchased one of Cripps' skeleton keys, but who had enjoyed the afternoon's sport and was more than satisfied with General Gooner's little present of five pounds for her participation. 'You must have misread the notice pinned up on the Forthcoming Attractions board.' I offered our apologies for this mistake but, as the General said, everything turned out for the best so we parted friends. As we went downstairs, I suggested a game of snooker but Henry looked at his watch and said regretfully that he must be going as his Aunt dare was expecting him to take tea with her. We shook hands and he said, 'Rupert, I so enjoyed seeing you again. Will you confirm all the arrangements for our trip up to York? I'm staying at the Club until I find a decent apartment, so if need be you can always leave a message with Cripps.'

After he took his leave I went into die writing-room and dashed off a letter to my parents. I told them that I had bumped into General Gooner in Bedford Square (though I omitted to mention the later meeting!) and that in addition to Nancy Carrington, I had now invited Henry Bascombe-Thomas to stay with us and hoped that this would not be an inconvenience. I added that if an invitation to the party could be wangled for Henry, so much the better, but this was not of prime importance for the main purpose of his visit was to assess the worth of Diana Wigmore's pictures. I handed the letter in to the desk to be posted and went back into the lounge for a snooze. As I dozed off, the thought passed through my mind that whilst I have never suffered from insomnia, the noted Society physician, Doctor Aigin of Harley Street, has always maintained that fucking is by far the best cure in the world for this troublesome complaint. I would go further and add that the activity is efficacious for many other complaints as well, except perhaps for the common cold, a cure for which has so far eluded the medical profession. However, in my experience, a small whisky to soothe the throat followed by a rattling good fuck will at least temporarily banish the miseries of a feverish chill.