The Oyster, Volume IV

3

'A bicycling expedition?' I said. 'Where?'

'Northamptonshire,' said Donald. 'It's splendid fun. You must all come. Our cousins can fit us all in. They have a large house and the surrounding countryside is quite flat so no untoward exertion is required,' The Ferguson brothers were in town again for a few days, escaping the rigours of the Inverness climate and society.

Of course they had been invited, along with their cousin Catherine, to dine at Mrs. P--s. As before, we had a memorable evening of Highland Games and we were lying about the drawing room in a state of considerable fatigue and undress. Becky was stretched full length on the chaise longue, wafting her skirt up and down, 'To let some cooling air reach my over-heated pussey, as she said. Catherine was applying a soothing lotion to my member which had become quite sore with repeated use. Rosie was endeavouring to photograph Ian and Donald's Loch Ness monsters, but with limited success since they also were so tired that they could not sustain a satisfactorily erect position for the full duration of the exposure time. 'Yours is drooping again,' she said accusingly to Ian. 'I shall have to clamp it in position.'

'We should have attempted this before rather than after our evening antics,' said Ian. 'Try it one more time.' Rosie, stationed behind her camera, gallantly wriggled her hips so that her pertly naked little titties shook enticingly. Both Scottish members rose as one but alas they could no longer stand long enough. 'I must have them up, not down,' insisted Rosie. 'That's how we all want them,' interjected Hannah who was sitting on the Persian rug in front of the fireplace, sketching from memory the events in the kitchen of a few days ago. 'I think we have to face the fact,' said Becky, 'that we are all simply worn out with fucking.' Then it was that Donald, allowed to escape from Rosie's photographic demands, had made the suggestion of some country exercise. It transpired that the Fergusons' cousins, who lived near Blisworth in the county of Northampton, had gone north for the shooting season and had suggested that the two of them might like to take the house over in their absence, 'And entertain some of your nice young London friends'. This suggestion had been taken up by them with great eagerness. 'We know only a limited number of people in the south,' said Donald, 'And we see quite enough of our local friends as it is. In addition, of course, Northampton is rather too far for most of them to travel at such short notice.' 'But what can one actually do in the country?' Becky had asked. 'I'm not terribly keen on horses and am quite indifferent to agricultural processes. In addition, my admittedly slight acquaintance with country Society suggests that it is very, very dull.' Rosie, having only recently escaped from her schooling in Somerset, was inclined to agree. 'All cows and damp vegetation,' she said firmly. I, however, remembering the wild Deirdre at the dildo works, was inclined to think that life in the country might be rather fun if the company was right.

Of course I also had pleasant memories of events in the woods and on the playing fields surrounding my old school in Hertfordshire.

'Suppose we all went down together?' I suggested. 'We might invite one or two more to make up the party.' 'Gwendolen and her friend Cecily,' said Hannah. 'It would be lovely to see them again.

I'm sure they would come. Andrew, surely you'd like to resume your acquaintance with Gwendolen.' 'As long as I'm not eating at the time,' I said, remembering the uncomfortable, not to say positively painful circumstances of our first meeting. 'Come on Becky,' said Hannah to her sister, 'Think what fun we could have. I am sure that we can think of one or two others who would join a party.' 'But what would we do?' asked Becky again. 'We could fuck,' said Donald.

'But we can do that here,' said Becky. 'How would we get there?' asked Rosie. 'By train,' said Donald. 'Northampton is on the London and North Western line from Euston.' 'A mass expedition by train,' said Rosie, suddenly looking more interested in the idea. 'There might well be time for what Colonel Moore calls “railway rogering”. How long does it take?' 'Not much more than an hour, I would imagine,' said Ian. 'What's this about railway, rogering?' 'Andrew knows all about it,' said Rosie mischievously.

I realised that those present knew nothing of what had transpired between me and Rosie on the journey up from Bristol. I had been a little wary at describing the events of that memorable ride since Rosie had been in my charge and I had promised faithfully to deliver her safe and sound to Mrs. P-. 'We'll show you,' said Rosie.

'Between us we can completely fill a compartment so there will be no interruptions from strangers.' At this point, seeing the need to win Becky over to the idea, Donald had described how his cousins had a collection of bicycles and tricycles which we could use. He gave an enthusiastic description of the pleasures of bicycling through the countryside, possibly with a picnic, and of visiting the local sights of interest. He waxed quite lyrical about the feel of the fresh air in one's face, the thrill of speeding down the open road and the healthy appetite that a day on the saddle gave one. Becky began to look quite interested in the idea. 'Hannah can bring her sketching materials and Rosie her photographic equipment,' she said. Rosie by now was full of enthusiasm for the railway journey at least, but was concerned that the weather would be wet.. 'Northamptonshire is a dry county,' said Donald. 'Not at all like Somerset. Hardly any cows but fields of waving corn.' 'Where we could play hide-and-seek?' said Rosie. 'And we could follow Colonel Moore's suggestion and sample the pleasures of waterborne frolics.' 'There is a canal,' said Ian, 'though we would be in grave danger of being run down by a barge.'

'But there is an ornamental pond close to the house, if I recall, aright,' said his brother. 'Quite shallow, with a Chinese bridge and a gazebo nearby.' 'What's that?' asked Rosie. 'Like a summerhouse,' said Catherine. 'A place for assignations and intimate exchanges.' By now the idea had won more or less general approval. It was agreed that every effort would be made to persuade Gwendolen and Cecily at least to join us. Ten days later an excited party gathered at Euston station. The expedition had been made the excuse for an energetic round of clothes buying. We were surrounded by trunks, hampers and hat boxes. Rosie, responding to the hustle and bustle of a great main line station, was jumping up and down with glee. I had been put in charge of the buying and distribution of tickets. Donald and Ian were supervising the porters in the stowing of our luggage in the van. Locomotives hissed and snorted. Becky managed to stand in the way as a great squirt of steam shot across the platform, threatening to lift her skirt. Doors banged and whistles blew. Rosie spotted the Glasgow express on an adjacent platform. 'Let's go to Scotland instead,' she said.

'Think how long it would take and what we could do on the way.' She began to read off the stops shown on a board. 'Rugby, Nuneaton, Stafford, Crewe, Preston-We could fuck for hours and hours.'

'You'll have to be satisfied with Watford, Berkhamsted, Tring and Wolverton,' I said. 'Do you like my new dress, Andrew?' she said.

'It's made of French poplin. It was bought especially for the occasion. I thought it might be rather hot on the journey so I'm wearing nothing whatsoever underneath it.' 'Yes, very nice indeed, but don't bother me for the moment. I've got to make sure everyone is here.' She looked a little disappointed and made a face at me. 'Don't take your duties so seriously, Andrew. Here -'

With that she snatched the tickets from my hand and began to count them off against the members of our party. 'Becky, Hannah, Catherine, Ian, Donald, Cecily from school. Where's Gwendolen? And who's that dark girl. Is she with us?' 'I think she's a friend of Hannah's. I don't know her name.' 'And that man over there? The clergyman.' 'Most unlikely to be with us,' I said. 'I'll find out,' she said and before I could stop her, she went over to the clerical gentleman. I couldn't hear what she said but at once I feared the worst. I saw him turn an apoplectic shade of purple, swallow convulsively and run a finger round the inside of his clerical collar.

Rosie skipped back, trying to stifle a giggle. 'What did you say?' I asked, resigned to the fact that she was determined to misbehave. 'I just asked him if he was part of the Northampton pussey-hunting party,' she said. 'Rosie, do try to conduct yourself properly,' I said wearily. 'You'll get us all in trouble.

Look, he's talking to an official of the railway company.' 'Shall I go and say I'm sorry,' Rosie asked. 'He might well want to chastise me.' 'You're to stay here,' I said sternly. 'Do you want to chastise me?' said Rosie with a look of artfully contrived innocence.

'I shall pack you into a cab and have you sent straight home if you're not careful,' I said. 'We're still missing some of our party.

Where is Gwendolen! She was told what time the train left.' By now I was feeling more than a little flustered. I was holding twelve tickets and could only account for about eight people, assuming that the dark girl was in fact one of us. 'Cecily?' I called out with a growing sense of desperation, 'Do you know who all the others are and can you see them?' 'George is one,' Cecily shouted back above the increasing din of the station. 'Who on earth is he?' I asked.

'You met him at the studio,' she shouted back. 'No, of course you didn't. You weren't there.' 'What studio?' I fairly yelled as a locomotive suddenly blew off a great gout of steam. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, is he here?' 'I think I saw him a minute ago. He was going to buy a ticket.' 'But I've got the tickets. Didn't he know that?' 'Well maybe he was going to buy something else. I don't know. Oh no! There he is, over there, talking to that clergyman.' 'What!' I almost shrieked. 'This is getting impossible!' I looked wildly round. A tall elegant young man wearing a fur coat and sporting a green carnation in his buttonhole was talking with great animation to a similarly languid young man in a pale grey velvet suit and wearing a clerical collar. At least it wasn't the same clergyman that Rosie had scandalised. 'Why on earth have we got a minister of religion with us?' I asked. 'It hardly seems an appropriate addition to our party.' 'Possibly he's a keen bicyclist,' said Cecily, not very helpfully. 'And anyway,' I went on, 'If that's George, I've certainly never seen him before in my life.' 'You're right,' she said. 'I was getting confused.'

'You're not the only one,' I said bitterly. 'Look, Andrew, it's quite simple, George is a friend of Gwendolen. You do know Gwendolen, don't you? And I'm Cecily. I'm the one who sucked you off under the table. You remember that, don't you. And afterwards you complimented me on the size of my breasts.' 'Don't be sarcastic,'

I said. 'Of course I remember you.' 'Well,' she went on, 'George also knows your friend Donald. They were at Oxford together. And we're expecting Jack.' At this moment we were almost run down by a railway porter struggling with the weight of a trolley laden down with luggage. As he pushed his way between us, I had to step back sharply so that I slipped and almost fell in a pool of oily water that smelled strongly of fish. By the time I had recovered my balance, I realised that I had missed some part of Cecily's explanation of who was who on our expedition. '-the cousin, I think, of Becky's friend Charlotte. He studies the piano in Paris -' 'Well, what's happened to him and does anyone know what he looks like?' I asked.

Railway officials were beginning to shut the doors. The locomotive at the head of our train gave a short sharp blast on its whistle. An inspector or a guard fished out his watch and peered at it solemnly. The hands on the station clock stood at one minute to the hour. We were due off and I was beginning to perspire. 'I think I've found him,' said Rosie, suddenly appearing at my elbow. 'He's in that compartment there, talking to Gwendolen.' 'I never saw her arrive,' I shouted. 'That's because you were too busy talking about clergymen with Cecily,' said Rosie. 'This is surely no time to enter into theological conversations.' I suddenly realised something was terribly amiss. 'They're sitting in the wrong train! That's the Glasgow express. Get them out of there at once and across the platform into ours. For Heaven's sake!' Rosie, to do her justice, moved quickly. She ran over and almost dragged a startled-looking Gwendolen and her companion from their compartment, pushed them across to the Northampton train, bundled them in, ran back, brought out their luggage, thrust that in through the door after them. A moment later an elderly gentleman erupted from the Glasgow carriage, bolted across the platform to the Northampton train, threw open the door, almost fell inside and then backed out holding a leather hatbox. As he scrambled back into his compartment I realised that Rosie must have been over-enthusiastic in collecting up Gwendolen's luggage, although why an elderly gentleman should be accompanied by a ladies' large hatbox, I couldn't imagine. This scene had been played out before my eyes like a charade, since I could not hear a word of what had been spoken above the hubbub of steam escaping from a locomotive which was obviously preparing to help push the Glasgow train out of the station and up the slope that lay beyond.

Frantically, I tried to count our party. Hannah. I knew she was there although I had lost sight of her for the moment. Becky. She was sitting decorously at a window seat, not unaware that she looked pretty as a picture, neatly framed and wearing her new bonnet. Rosie, Ian and Donald, Catherine, the dark girl, the two aesthetes, Cecily, Gwendolen, Becky's friend's cousin Jack from Paris. If everyone was who I thought they were, the numbers added up. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I realised that they didn't. I'd forgotten to count myself. 'Deirdre's coming as well,' said Rosie suddenly. 'Hannah told me.' This was too much to bear. The signal at the end of the platform dropped. The guard whistled and waved his flag. The locomotive gave a great Whuff! and a cloud of black smoke shot up into the station roof. I gave up, dived for a compartment and scrambled in, pulling Rosie with me. I banged the door shut behind me, barked my shins on a wicker hamper that was on the floor and, as the train jolted forward, sat down abruptly. 'Ow!' said Becky. 'You're heavy,' and pushed me off her lap. And so we set off on the great Northampton adventure, although who was there and if they were the right people, I had no idea. Nor in truth did I much care. I pulled out a handkerchief and mopped my brow. The train was labouring and lurching as the locomotive made heavy weather of the steep gradient out of the station. There came a sudden jolt and I dropped the tickets which I had managed to retrieve from Rosie all over the floor of the compartment. As I scrabbled around frantically on all fours, reaching under seats and people's feet, the wicker basket by the door over which I had tripped on getting in, creaked and moved.

'What the devil is that!' I exclaimed. 'It moved. There's something alive in it!' 'It's all right,' said someone. 'It's only George.' 'I thought George was Gwendolen's friend. Cecily, you pointed him out to me. The tall man in the fur coat and green carnation. Now you claim he's shut up in a hamper! I think I'm going insane!' 'That's the other George,' said Cecily. 'This George is the other George's friend Monty's pet mongoose. He called it after George. At least that's what Gwendolen told me.' 'A mongoose!' I cried out. 'Why in God's name have we brought a mongoose with us.

Northamptonshire is not particularly known for its snakes is it?'

'Monty always travels with George, or so I have been given to understand,' said Cecily. 'He takes him for walks on a lead.'

'This is a mad house!' I exclaimed. 'And that is Camden Town,' said Rosie. Everything went dark. 'Primrose Hill tunnel,' said Rosie in my ear. 'Quick!' She seized my hand, causing my to drop the tickets again and thrust it under her skirt. I felt the warmth of her pussey beneath my fingers. 'Like that,' she said, and began to rub herself gently against me. First one finger and then a second slipped into her. I felt her hand as in turn she felt for me, unbuttoned me and drew my prick out. In spite of my confusion and worry, I felt it begin to stiffen in the smoky darkness.

She licked my ear with her pointed little tongue. 'Don't you just love travelling by train?' she said. Before I could do anything more, the train shot out into the daylight again. To my horror I realised that sitting opposite me was the pale young clergyman I had seen talking to the other aesthete on the platform. Rosie's skirt was up around her waist. My hand was clamped in her pussey and my member was standing up in full view. 'Bless you, my children,' said the cleric. 'Pray, continue. Such a pretty sight.' Even Rosie looked startled. 'I am Montmorency Willowherb,' he went on. 'What a charming bush your young companion has.', 'What-' I exclaimed, jumping as though I had been bitten and withdrawing my hand from Rosie's pussey as though it was on fire. 'Although for myself,' he went on, 'I find that the completely naked, hairless quim has a great attraction.

There is an innocence about it that I find delightfully prelapsarian.'

'What -' I spluttered again. 'I am sorry,' he went serenely on. 'A technical term in my calling. Before the Fall. That state of unashamed innocence that existed in the Garden of Eden before that unfortunate incident with a snake and an apple. I have a friend who swears by the exquisite pleasure to be had from a hairless cunney. I don't know whether you have any strong opinions on the subject?'

I had become completely speechless but Rosie, intrigued possibly by meeting someone even more outrageous than herself, was beginning to look interested in the conversation. 'The Art Master at school once told me that he had always preferred the pussey to be naked and unadorned until he met my friend Henrietta. She was of Italian extraction and had the most luxurious dark-haired pussey in the whole school. She tied little pink and pale blue bows in it before he photographed it. Every time he fucked her, she used to take one of the bows out of her hair and give it to him. He was most taken with the sight. He said he didn't know if it was Art but he knew that he liked it. Unfortunately my pussey hair is not long enough for me to decorate it in such a fashion.' 'It looks very sweet as it is,' said the young clergyman. 'Thank you, Sir,' Rosie said, smiling sweetly.

'Andrew, where is your hand? Put it back at once.' She grabbed for me but I resisted, completely taken aback by this conversation and display before a complete stranger. Rosie looked a little cross.

'Andrew,' she said, 'You are being difficult. Oh, look! There is a smut on the end of your prick.' She fished out a small cambric handkerchief, wetted it with her tongue and then rubbed delicately at the tip of my half-awakened member. At her touch it stiffened somewhat. 'There,' she said. 'That's better.' She bent down and kissed it lightly, at the same time pulling my hand on to her pussey. I was too taken by surprise to resist in time. She began to rub my finger up and down the entry to her hidey-hole. 'Tell me,' she said, redirecting her attention to the cleric opposite us, 'Do you enjoy travelling by train?' 'As a general rule, yes,' he said.

'There is often something of interest to be seen. Usually this is outside the carriage window but, on occasion, within as well.'

'Shortly you will have the choice,' said Rosie, 'between watching Watford outside the window, or my pussey inside.' 'While I have nothing against Watford,' said the cleric, 'I think that the nearer view is the more enchanting by far.' 'Without wishing to seem in any way forward,' said Rosie, 'I feel that I must ensure your undivided attention.' With that, she began to unbutton her bodice. As her fingers busied themselves, the upper slopes of her lovely rounded little breasts were revealed. Between them a small locket nestled. With the swaying of the train, it swung forward.

'Seed pearls and gold, if I am not mistaken,' said our companion.

'Is there some picture of sentimental value inside?' 'Not exactly a picture,' said Rosie. 'See.' She pulled it free, ran a thumb nail along the side and it opened easily. 'A souvenir of schooldays,' she said. Inside was a small coil of hair. I looked closely at it and realised that there was both light brown hair and dark hair carefully entwined. 'Henrietta and I,' Rosie said with a grammatical precision that made me realise that at least some orthodox teaching had gone on at her school. 'Just before I left, we swore eternal friendship and each of us snipped off a tuft of her pussey hair which we plaited together so that we should never forget one another. We gave another similar memento to the Art Master after he had fucked us both for one last time. We made him swear that he would wear it next to his heart.' 'How delightfully sentimental,' said the clergyman. All went suddenly dark again. 'Watford tunnel,' said Rosie. 'You appear to have the entire map of the railway system committed to memory,' came another female voice out of the darkness. 'I used to study the map at nights in the dormitory while I was planning my escape from school,' said Rosie. 'Who's that?' I asked. Rosie meanwhile was pressing my fingers against her and I felt her open up to my touch. Inside she was warm and mouthwateringly wet. 'A friend,' said the second voice.

Rosie's small hand closed over my prick and began to rub up and down the now firmly erect shaft. Her hand was joined by a second. For a moment I couldn't quite understand how she had managed such a contortion, but then realised with a start of surprise that the second hand belonged to a second person. Next there was a rustle and flurry of clothing as a body forced its way between my legs and a soft mouth took the straining head of my prick hungrily inside. A tongue flicked and teased at it. I sensed a general commotion in the carriage. The second hand was withdrawn, although not the eager mouth. I had no idea what was going on but what with my hand buried deep in Rosie's quim and my prick being sucked and lapped to bursting point, I no longer cared. Now there was even more general movement. I heard first a giggle and then a sigh of pleasure. Someone cried out 'There! There, in there!' More upheaval followed and there was a soft thump and a creaking sound. 'Mind the mongoose,' someone called out. 'Don't squash it. It bites.' The entire compartment was heaving in the darkness.

We shot out into broad daylight again, the smoke clearing rapidly outside the windows. I looked round bewildered. Between my legs was someone I realised must be Cecily, fastened on my engorged cock. Her rear end was raised up and the so far unknown cleric was buried in her up to the hilt of his clerical staff. He had risen from his seat as far as he could, given the extremely cramped nature of our surroundings. One of the Scottish contingent was trying to lift himself clear of the wicker basket on which he had obviously fallen.

The lid had sprung open and a small, sleek head was peering out. Rosie was twisted round, so that her head and shoulders were resting on the laps of two of our travelling companions. Her titties were fully exposed and were being rubbed and squeezed by one of the trapped parties. She was clutching my hand and riding up and down on it, crying out softly. The train rattled over a set of points, swaying from side to side. A prick was dislodged from a cunt. A cry of distress was drowned by a vehement oath. A jet of cum arced though the air, landing on Rosie's tits. The helping hands gleefully massaged it over her. Another hand joined mine at Rosie's entrance. A nearly naked woman was writhing and crying out, backed up against the upholstery, her thighs pulled tight up against her bosom as a man rammed himself repeatedly deep inside her. Against the door, the window having been let down, someone else was gasping for air. So intertwined were we that when someone cried out, 'I'm coming! I'm coming!' the whole mass of bodies heaved. My cum was gushing out into Cecily's eager mouth as she swallowed and sucked at me. Rosie wriggled and yelled out. I couldn't hear what she was saying. She cried out again.

'Tring!' 'What?' I gasped. 'Tring,' repeated Rosie. 'I think we're coming to Tring.' 'I think we're coming as well,' said someone else from the far end of the compartment. 'We are definitely slowing down,' said Becky, who seemed to be the only one in a position to look out of the window. Rosie was struggling to sit upright while holding my hand in position. Cecily was carefully draining the last drop from my prick and in any case could not regain her seat as the elegant young cleric was still embedded in her from behind. Only now did I begin to realise exactly who was in our compartment. Becky was still sitting demurely in the corner seat, facing the locomotive. She was quite unruffled and, surprisingly for her, did not appear to have taken part in the general outbreak of frigging and fucking. Then I noticed her carefully slide something out from beneath her skirt. She caught my eye and held an object up for my inspection. 'It's you,' she said. 'Hannah borrowed it from the display room at the dildo place.' There was the likeness of my member, looking as far as I could tell remarkably true to life except for a high gloss glaze. It had been painted with great attention to detail with a purplish blush to the head and a blue vein running along the top. 'I couldn't resist the temptation to find out whether it felt like the real thing,' said Becky. 'And does it?' I asked, a little worried in case I was about to be replaced in her affections by my replica. 'The fit is perfect,' she answered. 'It is always ready, does exactly what I want and can be kept handy at all times,' she said. 'Also it doesn't talk.' I was a little taken aback by this and I suppose something must have shown on my face. 'I'm sorry, Andrew. I was just teasing. Of course I'd rather have a whole, live body to hold me and undress me and do things to me rather than a china Thing. Still, it does come in useful. See, here we are about to stop at a station and I am the only one in the compartment in a fit state to face the outside world.' 'Not if you leave it lying beside you on the seat,' I pointed out. 'Silly me!' said Becky, picking it up and sticking it in her picnic basket. 'Oh! Let me see,' said Rosie, reaching out for it. 'Do yourself up and make yourself decent first,' said Becky. 'We may be joined by more people at the station.' 'I hardly think there's room for anyone else,' said the cleric. None the less, he had uncoupled himself from Cecily and produced what at first sight appeared to be a prayer book, but on closer inspection turned out to be a privately printed volume of erotic poems. As for the others, Donald was sucking an injured finger while trying to strap down the wicker basket with his other hand. I deduced that he had been bitten by George the mongoose.

The unknown, nearly naked woman who had been so comprehensively rogered by someone who I now realised was Donald's brother, Ian, was the only one who had made no attempt to make herself presentable. She was still perched up on the seat at the far end of the compartment, her hands clutching at her updrawn knees so that her still gaping quim was displayed to all and sundry. She was trembling and completely unaware of her surroundings. I raised a questioning eyebrow at Ian who shook his head. Obviously now was not the time for introductions. As the train drew to a halt, both Ian and I had the same idea at the same time. We grabbed a couple of travelling rugs and threw them over her, completely covering her so that at a casual glance she appeared to be a pile of luggage in the corner. Ian sat down beside her, making soothing noises to her plaid-shrouded form. The station signs flashed by. Not Tring but Bletchley. We had travelled further than we had realised during our impromptu bout. I hoped that the missing members of our party must be in the adjoining compartment but, frankly, still had no clear idea as to whether everyone had caught the train or indeed who everyone was. 'Change for the Oxford and Cambridge lines,' called out the porter. 'Any passengers for Rugby, Birmingham and the North change also. Northampton only. Northampton train.' Becky looked out on to the platform. 'There's a bishop,' she said. 'In fact the whole station is alive with clergymen.

Something must be going on.' 'They'll be going to Oxford,' said our own cleric, the surprising Mr. Willowherb. 'There's a gathering of Anglo Catholics at Keble to discuss a riposte to some evangelical initiative at Convocation. I really should be there.'' 'Why aren't you?' asked Rosie. 'Well, my child,' he said with a beatific smile. 'There are two reasons. The first is that as soon as my friend George told me of your bicycling holiday, I felt it incumbent upon myself to offer my services in case any of your party was in need of spiritual guidance. The second reason is that I am not in fact a clergyman.' 'What?' I said. 'I merely adopt the dress of a clergyman,' he said. 'I like dressing up. High Church of course. Lots of frills, flounces and embroidered vestments, the smell of incense and bags of ritual.' 'Isn't, um, isn't dressing up as a clergyman illegal?' I asked. 'Without a doubt, dear boy,' he answered sonorously. 'But then so many of the pleasures of life are, if not actually illegal, at least frowned upon by society today. Ours is a drab, conformist world for the most part, is it not?' Such a philosophy of life had a familiar ring to it. I knew that my old headmaster would have endorsed such sentiments heartily. His only objection to complete freedom of expression was that no harm should be occasioned to anyone by one's behaviour. 'It is a harmless habit,' he went on as though he had read my thoughts. 'I steer clear of offering any form of moral leadership. Indeed I suspect that I do far less damage than many in Holy Orders. Besides, it is often useful.' 'Useful?' I asked. 'Take, for instance, railway travel. I find that many people will go to great lengths to avoid sharing a compartment with a cleric. Thus more often than not, I can stretch out at my ease, uninterrupted.' 'He was certainly useful to me,' said Cecily. 'As soon as I realised what you and Rosie were doing in the tunnel, I felt a great need to feel a male member penetrating my inner recesses.' 'As soon as I felt your absolutely splendid bum pressed up against me as you crouched down in front of your friend, I knew also that here was a fellow spirit in need of help.' 'So you lifted up her skirt and forced your way between her cheeks,' said Rosie, a trifle crudely I thought. 'Not forced,' said our fake reverend. 'Eased would be my preferred choice of words. I merely placed my hands lightly on her buttocks and felt her open gently under my pressure.' 'Like the Red Sea parting before Moses,' said Rosie, who had an instinctive feel for biblical metaphor. 'How well put,' he said. 'That was very perceptive of you,' said Cecily. 'Since I had my mouth full, I could hardly say “Yes, please”.' 'You seem something of a connoisseur of the Sins of the Flesh,' I said.

'Humani nil a me alienum puto,' he replied.

'What?' I said. 'Latin,' said Rosie. 'I count nothing that is human indifferent to me,' he said. 'How can it be a sin to slip into such a welcoming cunney.' 'It occurs to me,' I said, 'that we have not all introduced ourselves. I am Andrew Scott.'

'Cecily Cardew,' said Cecily. 'Donald Ferguson,' said Donald who by now had succeeded in strapping George the mongoose back into his basket. 'And Ian Ferguson his brother,' said Ian who was still sitting beside the bundled up stranger. 'Montmorency Willowherb,' repeated the exquisite young dissembler. 'Rosalind Murphy,' said Rosie. 'Spinster of this and every other parish.'

'Which parish do you think we're in now,' I asked, since we had now set off again from Bletchley. 'The Northampton line branches off shortly,' said Rosie. 'We shall in fact pass very close to Blisworth but the train does not stop there.' 'Who is left to be introduced?' said Becky. 'You,' I said. 'I'm Becky,' said Becky. 'My sister is of the party also.' 'Is that her under the rugs?' asked Monty. 'No,' said Becky. 'Who else is with us?'

'Your cousin Charlotte. The one who invented that unusual version of Musical Chairs that you told us of some time ago.' 'No, it's not her, although they have certain habits in common.' 'They fuck a lot?' said Rosie. 'They enjoy it,' conceded Becky. 'I know that there was a friend of Hannah's coming with us but I don't know her name.' 'Must be her,' said Donald. 'She's certainly been coming with my brother. Ask her her name, Ian.' Ian bent solicitously over the rug bundle. 'Can you hear me?' he said. 'It's all right.

You can come out. We've left the station but you'd better get dressed as we'll be coming into Northampton soon.' There was a movement under the rugs. A hand appeared, then a head. It was indeed the dark-haired creature that I had spotted on the platform at Euston.

'We've worked out that you must be Hannah's friend,' said Becky.

The unknown woman's eyes widened. 'We've just been introducing ourselves,' Becky went on. 'You probably heard us. We had to keep you hidden at the station since you were a little lacking in clothing.' 'Who's Hannah?' she asked in a low but melodious voice. 'My sister,' said Becky. 'She's in the next compartment.

At least I assume she is,' she added, looking at me questioningly.

'I hope so,' I said. 'But I wasn't able to check in the hurry.'

'I don't know anyone called Hannah,' said the unknown woman. A look of alarm spread over her face. 'Where-where are my clothes?'

'Under your bum,' said Rosie. 'You must have taken them off in a great hurry.' 'Well, it's a short tunnel,' she said. 'I knew there wasn't much time.' She was looking round the compartment with growing alarm. 'I'm sorry, but-but I don't seem to recognise anyone here. This is the Glasgow train?' 'Oh dear,' said Monty. 'No, it stops at Northampton. Are you not coming to Blisworth on the bicycling expedition?' 'No! I am en route to the Scottish Highlands. I didn't know my travelling companions very well but I thought you were they. We were to be met by two Scottish friends in Glasgow. We have this sort of holiday every summer.' 'What sort of holiday?' I asked. 'We all, er, fuck a lot,' she said, blushing most becomingly. 'Oh dear! What shall I do. As soon as I realised what you and your friends were doing,' she said looking at Rosie, 'I simply assumed that I must be in the right party. And when we went into the tunnel at Watford, this gentleman here,' she looked at Ian, 'was so attentive and I was in so much need that I just let him in without more ado. This is awful!' 'It was not awful,' said Ian gallantly.

'It was the most generous, most open-hearted fuck that I have enjoyed in a long time.' She blushed again. 'Thank you,' she said.

'I didn't mean that the fuck was awful. It was wonderful and just what I wanted. It is just the whole situation that is so awful. Whatever shall I do?' 'For the time being, you must come with us,' said Ian. 'We can send a message to your friends in Glasgow as soon as we arrive at Northampton. But now you really must get dressed.' 'All my luggage must be on the Glasgow train. I had a porter put it all aboard in the van,' she said. 'I have nothing except the clothes I'm standing up in.' 'Sitting down on,' corrected Rosie, ever the realist. 'I will hold one of the rugs up so that you can get dressed in some privacy,' said Monty. 'Oh, Father!' she said in a startled voice. 'No,' said Monty. 'You missed all the explanations.' 'I would prefer it if this gentleman here held the rug,' she said. 'We are already acquainted but I still do not know your name.' 'Ian Ferguson,' said Ian. 'Ferguson-Ferguson-Are you any kin of the Fergusons of Fort Augustus?' 'Cousins,' Ian answered. 'Distant cousins, but we meet from time to time. They are at the other end of Loch Ness. How do you know them?' 'It's a long story,' she said. 'Tell us while you get dressed,' said Donald.

Ian held up the rug. I saw a quick tantalising glimpse of white limbs and dark hair as she vanished behind her screen of decency. Ian, his arms stretched out, holding the corners of the rug, had a most appreciative look at her. 'I was lost,' she went on. 'It seems to be a habit,' said Rosie. 'I was on holiday and had gone out on my own to do some sketching, it being a fine day. I was so engrossed in getting the right tones for the heather and the bracken, that I didn't notice that a big, black cloud was looming up from the west. It started to rain. The clouds were right down on the moor and I couldn't see where the path was. I got absolutely soaking wet and struggled around looking for the way back. I must have walked in complete circles but eventually I found a ruined stone hut and I crept inside. I was so exhausted that I curled up in a corner and went to sleep. When I woke up, the storm had passed and the sun was shining brightly again. I was so cold and damp in my wet things that I took them off and spread them out on the heather to dry. Some time later I heard voices and saw two men striding across the moor. I didn't have time to gather up my things so I slipped back inside and hoped that they would pass by.' 'But they had spotted you?' I said.

'They spotted my clothes. I heard them come over and talk among themselves. They were obviously puzzled to find a complete set of women's clothes. “Not a local lassie,” I heard one say. “This dress is of a style all the rage in London. My cousin Catherine was wearing such a thing when she came home last.” I was getting more and more anxious. “I wonder where the puir wee thing is,” said one. 'Well, of course, you can guess what happened next. They decided to have a look in the bothy as they called it. I was crouched in the corner, trying to protect my modesty with nothing but a sketch book. I was terrified but they were most gallant. They suggested that they should bring my clothes in while they waited outside, but the bothy was so dirty that in the end it was decided that they would wait inside while I went out, collected my things and got dressed. 'Of course I discovered later that they had not been able to resist the temptation to have a peek at me, but they were thoroughly gentlemanly. They escorted me back to the hotel I was staying in with my family and later called on me, offering to show me the sights, including the Loch, Ness Monster. We went out in a little boat and there the inevitable happened.' 'You saw the monster,' I said. 'Not that monster,' she said. 'We became very friendly and nearly overturned the boat. It was the beginning of a memorable two weeks. I developed a great taste for the Scottish way of life and particularly for fucking in the open.' I remembered that Deirdre from Ireland was supposed to be with us and that she had challenged me to a ride in the Park. These two would have something in common. 'But, if I may ask a personal question, is it not somewhat prickly among the heather?' I said. 'Yes,' she said. 'But as I have said, they were both perfect gentlemen. They would lie down and I would lift their kilts and impale myself on them, one after the other.' I realised then the function of the kilt. Were I in that position, I would have to lower my trousers and would be in great danger of suffering from a badly scratched bum if I was being ridden by an energetic partner. From what I had seen earlier in the carriage, and from Deirdre's descriptions, both were quite abandoned in their fucking. Yet I felt a familiar stirring as Mr. Pego declared his interest. 'We still don't know your name,' said Becky.

'Perdita,' she said from behind her screen. 'Well, Perdita,' said Ian. 'I hope I can speak for the whole party when I say that we are delighted to meet you. I suggest that you stay with us in Blisworth for the night until we can get word to your friends in Glasgow and it can be decided when you should continue your journey north.' 'I think I should enjoy that very much,' she answered.

'But there are more in your party?' 'In the next compartment,' I answered. 'Unless they have made the same mistake as you, but in reverse, in which case they are speeding through Cheshire at this very moment.' 'I need a helping hand,' said Perdita. 'There are buttons at the back that I cannot easily reach.' 'I'll do it,' said Rosie, and ducked quickly under the rug. There was the sound of giggling. 'What lovely clear skin you have,' said Rosie. I noticed that Ian, still holding up the modesty screen, was becoming noticeably agitated since he alone had any inkling of what was going on. 'Shut your eyes!' came Rosie's voice. 'Oh no, let him be,' said Perdita. 'He has after all seen all this before.' 'I do hope it will take simply ages for your friends in Scotland to make arrangements for your journey up there,' said Rosie. 'Then you will have to stay with us. You have such blue, blue eyes and black hair and white skin. You are simply lovely, Perdita.' One of Rosie's good points, annoying though she could be at times, was that she was so open and honest in her appreciation of other women's attributes.

'I would love to photograph you,' she went on. 'But Hannah is better equipped to do justice to you. She paints and draws most beautifully. But then she is a trained artist. But you paint as well, do you not?' 'I am only a very amateur watercolourist,' replied Perdita. 'And of landscapes only. We were taught at school. The ability to turn out a pretty pastel view was regarded as a proper accomplishment for a young lady. Of course we were never allowed to try our hands at-painting the likeness of the human body.' 'You must try,' said Rosie enthusiastically. 'Hannah can draw you and you can draw Hannah. You are both dark-haired but, that apart, you have very different complexions. You will make a wonderful contrast.'

'Hurry up!' said Becky. 'We are about to arrive at our destination.' 'And stop teasing Ian,' said Donald. 'We all saw that.' What we had all seen was a bulge in the rug where what was obviously a hand had reached out and grabbed another bulge which had appeared in Ian's trousers, engrossed as he was in his vigil over Perdita and her assistant dresser, Rosie. Poor Ian, his hands fully occupied with holding up the rug, could neither defend himself nor take avoiding action. A second bulge reached out like a glove puppet.

'Stop it, Rosie!' I said. 'Not me,' said Rosie, waving both her hands in the air as though in greeting to a waiting crowd.

'Sorry,' said Perdita. 'I couldn't help it. It was so tempting.'

'The best way to deal with a temptation,' said Monty the pretend cleric, 'Is to yield to it. Not my own aphorism,' he went on, 'but that of a close friend at university.' The train drew to a halt.

'Now,' I said. 'We must be more organised this time. At least we have plenty of time since this is the terminus. Ian and Donald, will you get hold of a couple of porters. Perdita, we must make sure that your luggage is not by some lucky chance on the train. You'd better go with them. Mr. Willowherb-' 'Please,' he said, 'Monty-'

'Monty, I assume you'll take responsibility for George the mongoose?' 'For both Georges,' he replied. 'The other George can be remarkably vague at times. But then he comes from a vague family. I only met him because he was sent off to the wrong university.' 'I don't understand,' I said. 'He should have been at Trinity, Cambridge but he actually turned up at Trinity, Oxford in error and was several weeks into his first term before it was realised that some mistake had been made. By that time, he'd decided he liked it where he was. He did make one attempt to go to Cambridge, but he got on completely the wrong train and ended up somewhere in the vicinity of Birmingham. He was terribly upset and took some weeks to recover. He's very much a hot house plant, you know.' I pulled myself together with a start. Trying to organise this party was quite impossible.

Digressions and irrelevancies, reminiscences and odd allusions followed hard on each others' heels. No one had any sense of discipline. Enticing though Perdita was, her accidental addition to the party was somehow typical of events. Her ability to lose both herself and her clothes could only add to the confusion. 'Andrew, I think you'd better stand here by the pile of luggage,' said Hannah, appearing from the adjoining compartment. At least one uncertainty was cleared up. She had caught the train after all. 'Since you don't know some of the party, Becky and I had better find them all. You are the rendezvous point, so don't move.' 'There go Monty and the mongoose!' I cried out. The animal was moving with a great sense of purpose. Monty was following on the other end of the lead and the pair of them were rapidly disappearing out of the station. 'Don't worry so,' said Becky. 'They'll come back. Meanwhile, where's Charlotte? She must have been in the other compartment. Hannah? Was she with you? And Jack? And-' Chaos reigned. I resigned. I had had enough. Someone else could cope. 'It's called a Sociable Tricycle,' said Donald. 'You sit side by side instead of one in front of the other. That is called a Tandem tricycle. You steer the little wheel at the front, using this tall handle. Either of you can steer.

Or indeed you can steer together with one hand clasped over the other.

It's rather slow and cumbersome but it's a friendly way of travelling.

'This is called the Invincible tandem tricycle. The person at the back steers. It's faster and easier to control. This is a Tandem bicycle. It's hard to balance and because it's so high off the ground, it can be very painful if either of you should lose your balance.'

We were choosing our machines. The owners of the place we were staying in had a considerable collection of both bi-and tricycles of several different designs. Donald turned out to be the expert. Almost all the party had decided to make a mass expedition. Since the degree of experience varied from the expert to the complete novice, it had been decided that our objective would be a largish wood that lay only some four miles from the house. There we would have a picnic in a suitable glade. Everything for the repast had been sent ahead in a couple of gigs driven by two of the estate servants. Ian and Perdita took one of the Sociables. They had become inseparable. She had managed, possibly by design, to make such a muddle of her arrangements to resume her journey to Scotland that a full week had gone by and she was still with us. Becky and Hannah both decided on Safety bicycles, not wishing to commit themselves to any one partner from the outset. Catherine and Jack, both of whom had a good sense of balance, took a chance on the dangerous tandem bicycle. I had persuaded Cecily to join me on the Invincible. She would sit in front.

This had a number of advantages. It was a stable machine, I would be in charge of the steering and I would have the tantalising sight of Cecily's bottom moving rhythmically just a few inches in front of my nose. The rest of the party made their various selections, except for Rosie who was nowhere to be found. 'We can't wait for her,'

Hannah said. 'She knows where we're going and there is quite a selection of mounts left for her to choose from.' It was a fine day. Northamptonshire was, as promised, flat, so with much laughter and not a little wobbling we set off. 'Put your hand back where it was!' Perdita cried out as she and Ian veered wildly across our path. 'Someone has to steer.' 'Well, you put my member back where it was,' I heard him answer. 'It'll get sun burnt if it is left out exposed to the elements.' 'Is that better,' she said. 'I can keep him covered up with my hand.' The party was in good spirits. I had made the right decision. Cecily's delicious bum was moving seductively from side to side in front of me. Instinctively I peddled faster in order to catch it up while Mr. Pego jutted out like the figurehead of a China clipper ahead of me. Cecily lifted herself from her seat for a moment while she glanced back at me over her shoulder with an enticing smile. 'Andrew, look out where we're going,' she cried out in alarm. So intent had I been on watching her bottom that I had forgotten to steer properly and we were careering across the road towards the ditch. With an effort I redirected my eyes to the road ahead. Yet I could not remain unaware of my companion's rear view.

We overtook Gwendolen and Monty on another Sociable. They were deep in conversation, apparently on the subject of Sin; a subject that had greatly engaged both their intellects and their bodies for the last few days. I could not but notice that a number of her bodice buttons were undone. She had become increasingly careless in matters of dress recently. I took it to be the influence of Perdita who, with her luggage long since delivered to Scotland, had been reduced to borrowing items of clothing from the rest of the party. This had resulted in several unusual ensembles. Only last night she had appeared for dinner dressed in one of Jack's frilled French shirts and nothing else. We had all agreed that the result was absolutely charming. Catherine and Jack, moving as one with balletic grace, were speeding elegantly along. So good was their balance that they could ride hands off like something out of a circus act. Hannah and Becky were weaving in and out of the clustered party. Charlotte, who I had not yet had the chance to do more than talk to, was tandeming with George but each was accusing the other of not putting in their fair share of the pedalling. I suspected that George was not all that well suited to outdoor activities, since they tended to disarrange the perfection of his dress. Suddenly there was a crunching of gravel and a whirring of wheels. Rosie appeared from nowhere at high speed, a blur of activity, peddling an Invincible penny-farthing like a creature demented. Perched up above the huge wheel, she shot passed us. I gasped. Cecily let out a yelp of surprise and we swerved violently into an equally amazed Perdita and Ian. Rosie was riding her mount stark naked! She zigzagged through the party, leaving a trail of chaos behind her. Even Catherine and Jack nearly came to grief. 'Rosie, come back at once,' I called out. 'You're making an exhibition of yourself.' 'But rather a charming exhibition,' said Perdita. 'Don't be too censorious. I know from personal experience how easy it is to lose one's clothes. Anyway, you're too late. She's almost out of earshot already.' True enough. Rosie was dwindling in the distance, her bare bum catching the light as she jounced up and down on her high saddle, her round little titties bobbing and quivering with her efforts. 'Nothing we can do about it,' said Ian. 'Though I fancy she could cause an upset or two out on the public highway.' So we peddled on, all agog to find out what would happen to her. Sure enough, a mile or so later, we found a dog cart half on its side in a ditch with an apoplectic couple scrambling out. 'Did you see that!' the portly driver said. 'A naked woman on a bicycle!' He was staring after her down the road while his wife was hiding her eyes in horror. He looked at us more closely. 'One of your party, I'll be bound. You're the people staying at The Grange. I shall complain to the Authorities.' At this point Monty, who as luck would have it, was wearing his clerical garb, showed commendable presence of mind. 'Poor child. Such a sad case. She is indeed staying with us,' he said to the purple-faced man.

'She has a rare skin complaint and her doctor has recommended the maximum possible exposure to the sun as the only cure. We told her to stay within the confines of the estate but I fear that not knowing the area, she has taken a wrong turning. As soon as we realised what had occurred, we set off in hot pursuit. This lady,' he said indicating Gwendolen, 'is a trained nurse, hired especially to attend to her needs. Please be so good, Sir, as to indicate in which direction she went.' 'Down there,' said the woman, uncovering her eyes.

For a moment doubt was written large on her husband's face, but then he deferred to the authority of a Man of the Cloth. 'I hope you catch her before she does any more harm,' he said. 'My good lady wife has sustained a nasty shock and she is not in the best of health.' Gwendolen pulled herself together and played her part with exemplary self-control. 'My friends will help you out of the ditch,' she said. Then, taking the woman's wrist in her hand, she felt for a pulse. 'Just as I thought,' she went on. 'She needs to be put to bed in a darkened room for at least a day. I doubt that she has come to any lasting harm but if she is not fully recovered by tomorrow evening, you should think of sending for your doctor.' 'The pony has come to no harm either,' volunteered Donald, 'but it also should be put to bed in a darkened stable as a precaution. My father,' he went on, 'is a breeder of Shetland ponies and has some experience in these matters.' There was a choking noise. Cecily was doubled up, fighting back an attack of hysterical laughter. 'A chest condition,' said Monty hurriedly as Cecily wheezed and heaved. 'We are hoping that the dry atmosphere of this pleasant part of the countryside will alleviate the symptoms, otherwise she may have to attend a sanatorium.' 'Yours is not a healthy party,' said the man. 'From London are you?' 'For the most part,' I said.

'Although my friends here are from Scotland.' 'Well I hope you catch your errant friend soon,' he said. 'We don't take kindly to having unclothed women running amok on our country roads, whatever may be the fashion in London.' 'I say that's a bit unfair,' I said.

'And anyway she's from Somerset.' 'You should send her back there, if you want my advice,' he said. 'Please, please,' interjected Monty. 'Let us be charitable. We all partake of the fallen nature of Mankind. And she is not a well woman,' he added hurriedly, remembering his own story. 'You have my Word for it, as a man of God, that if she makes such an error in her navigation again, she will be severely chastised.' 'Chastisement! I like the sound of that word. Chastisement, Sir, is a matter on which we might both agree.

Behaviour such as your friend's, no matter what her medical condition, deserves chastisement. A sound thrashing! That is what she needs. That will drive the Devil out of her.' A curious glint had appeared in his eyes. His manner of speech was becoming increasingly agitated while the palms of his hands and his forehead had become visibly moist. 'Mark my words,' he went on. 'There is no other way.

Chastise the Sinner and the Backslider! I have lived all my life according to that creed. Why, only recently one of the more wayward girls of the village was made to feel the full force of my hand upon the seat of her Corruption. If the Lord had not intended the Godfearing man to administer manual correction to the parts of the Sinner, he would not have invented the backside to be the object of such attentions. 'Depravity and Filth! They are all about us. We live in the midst of great bubbling cess pits of Wickedness and Lewd behaviour. Naked Sin comes flooding in-or in this case pedalling in-on us. These Evils must be withstood. The Sinner must be beaten down, driven to her knees in penitence. I at least know my duty. My wife here will bear witness to the fact that I have been ever untiring in seeking out and chastising the Wrongdoer, fearless in my corrective efforts upon the flaunted fundaments of vileness!' 'Yes dear,' said his wife, handing him a handkerchief to wipe away the flecks of spittle that were flying from his lips and running down his chin.

'Depravity and Filth! Filth and Depravity! They must be driven out. The blows of our retribution must rain down on the rumps of the Ungodly!' Becoming dangerously choleric, he raised his right hand high and brought it down with a stinging slap on the hindquarters of his pony. The startled beast snorted, reared up and then bolted down the road. The stout gentleman's wife who was back on board the gig, tumbled backwards off her seat, her legs waving frantically.

'Come back, Dammit!' shouted the Hammer of the Evildoer, but to no avail. Pony, wife and equipage were fast disappearing out of sight down the lane. 'Quick,' said Monty. 'We must catch them before they come to harm. Gwendolen you stay here. Jump on, Sir, and pedal.'

The apoplectic man scrambled up beside Monty on the Sociable.

Swerving from side to side they tore off down the road, their legs pumping in unison. Monty was desperately trying to steer a straight course while the man waved his fists in the air. 'Filth and depravity!' came the repeated cry as they left us, 'Filth and depravity!' We were left stunned into silence. The only sound was of Cecily, gasping for air and slumped forward on her seat. I looked round. 'We had better follow them,' I said. 'That is our direction in any case.' 'But Gwendolen is without a mount,' said Perdita. Possibly we can accommodate her on our machine if we are careful.' I could think of no other solution unless one of the men were to give up his place and walk behind. 'We'll try it,' I said. 'But who is to sit on whose lap?' 'I shall sit on Ian and Gwendolen can take my place,' said Perdita. 'I hope I will not be too great a burden on you,' she said to Ian. She left her seat and lowered herself carefully on to Ian. 'I don't feel very safe,' she said.

'I hope I do not fall off. What should I hold on to?' 'I have an idea,' said Ian, lifting his kilt. Once again the practical advantages of Highland dress were revealed. His uncovered member lifted up.

'Of course! What a good idea,' said Perdita and, in turn,. she lifted her skirt. Inch by inch, she wriggled her way backwards until she was safely impaled on his prick. 'Gwendolen, you must hold my hand. Can you pedal in this position, Ian?' she asked, settling herself firmly. Ian gave a tentative turn or two on the pedals and his prick began to ride up and down with the motion. Perdita gave a little squeal of pleasure at each rotation. 'Now I understand why it is called a Sociable,' said Becky with interest. 'We will escort you, one to either side, in case some mishap befalls you.'

Hannah took up her position on the other flank and slowly we all set off. 'Not too fast,' said Perdita, 'or we will become unstable.' Of course the sight of such wheeled motion had an effect on the other members of the party. Round and round went Ian's legs. Up and down went his sturdy prick. Gwendolen reached across and placed a restraining hand on Perdita's lovely black-haired pussey.

'Whatever you do, Ian,' said Donald, with Hibernian practicality, 'Don't come, or Perdita will lose her support.' Ian gritted his teeth and peering over Perdita's shoulder, concentrated on steering a straight course. 'I'm getting too slippery!' said Perdita.

'Hold on tight,' said Becky. 'Use your muscles.' 'I've never been very good at that,' said Perdita. 'I just go all helpless.'

'Think of something else,' I suggested. 'What?' she asked with a note of desperation creeping into her voice. 'The Queen?'

I said. 'I saw her once,' said Perdita. 'Outside Windsor Castle.

She was all in black.' 'Do you not think that the period of Royal mourning has continued too long?' I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. 'Slow down!' said Perdita. 'What were you doing in Windsor?' asked Becky. 'I was lost,' said Perdita.

'Again?' I interjected. 'I was supposed to be in Eton. My brother was appearing in his House play.' 'What was it?' I asked.

'I don't know,' she wailed. 'It's no good. This isn't working. I remember what happened later. I had a fuck in Windsor Great Park. That was why I missed the play. Oh dear, I think I'm coming.' 'You'd better stop,' Becky said to Ian. 'Perdita get off for a moment and collect yourself.' 'No, I'll be all right if we just rest for a moment.' She sat there breathing deeply, her Head bowed. Ian held her round the waist. We all waited. I looked round. Mine was not the only aroused member. Tell-tale bulges rose on all sides. Becky was sliding backwards and forwards on her saddle. 'We must all practise self-control,' said Hannah, 'like the Indian fakirs.'

'You're sure you don't want to dismount and have a rest?' said Becky. 'No, my legs have gone all weak. I'm not sure I could even stand up.' 'We could change places,' said Gwendolen. 'That is unless either of you has an objection.' 'I suppose we'd better,' said Perdita. 'Just as long as Ian and I can finish what we've started when we get to the picnic site.' 'I shall just carry on considering the problems of the crafting community back home,' said Ian. They took up their new positions. Perdita settled down in the adjacent seat. Gwendolen slipped onto Ian's prick as to the manner born. We set off again. Ian stayed rigid but under careful control. He pedalled on. Soon afterwards Catherine and Jack who had gone ahead, appeared riding back towards us. 'We've found Monty,' Jack said. 'He's by the roadside about half a mile ahead with the Sociable.

They caught up with the runaway dog cart. The fat gentleman has been loaded aboard. He's quite exhausted. His wife is driving him home. I advised a cold compress and a good rest. Actually I suspect that two cold compresses will be needed. He had become visibly over-excited, but I leave that for his wife to sort out.' 'No sign of Rosie?' I asked. 'A trail of devastation,' said Catherine. 'Two more of the local population have driven off the road and there is an extremely animated group of people at the next crossroads. I suspect the incident will be a staple of conversation in the vicinity for quite some time. The sudden appearance of the naked bicyclist will be raised at many a dinner party.' 'There is a more immediate problem,' I pointed out. 'If the road ahead is lined with outraged and overturned locals, we can hardly pedal past them with Gwendolen still impaled on Ian's mighty member.' 'That would indeed be the final straw,' said Cecily. 'I hardly think straw is the right word in Ian's case,' said Jack. 'Rod, pole or, especially in the present circumstances, perch, would seem appropriate.' 'None the less, the problem remains,' I said. 'Just when we were so happily embedded,' said Ian sadly. 'However I accept that we must dismount.'

'We could go behind the hedge,' said Gwendolen, 'and complete the exercise. But Perdita, you must come as well.' 'And in the meantime,' suggested Donald, 'One of us could ride ahead and bring Monty back with the other Sociable.' All agreed that this was the most satisfactory solution to our problem. Gwendolen slipped off Ian's safe anchorage and reached out her hand to Perdita. 'Come, Perdita,' she said, 'we shall have to take him in turns. Would you rather be fucked first or second?' 'I shall come with you to keep guard,' said Cecily. 'And watch,' said Gwendolen. 'I know you too well to think that you will be content with merely standing as a lookout at the gate.' 'That may indeed be true,' said Cecily.

'Already my bodice feels uncomfortably full.' 'But delightfully so,' I said. 'Thank you Andrew, you are most complementary. Would you like to help release me from my bondage?' I realised that our organisation was in danger of falling into disarray and that a lot of to-ing and fro-ing was necessary if we were not to be very late at the picnic place. Also we had to find the missing Rosie, our pedalling nymph. Yet the prospect of once again seeing Cecily's gloriously plump breasts spilling out of her clothing was most alluring. In fact she made up my mind by coming up to me with her hands cupped under her swelling bosom. 'It would be the work of an instant, Andrew, and there are but six small buttons to be undone,' she said. 'I will go ahead as we had decided,' said Donald, and set things in motion.

The Sociable can be steered, although not easily, with only one aboard. If Monty finds that he cannot control it, I have some experience in such things. He can ride my Safety back.' Gallantly he set off. The rest of the party would have to remain on the road with the assorted cycles. 'Quick,' said Cecily. 'I can see that duty demands that you remain with the roadside party, but unbutton me before I go behind the hedge to chaperone the others.' Perdita, Gwendolen and Ian had already disappeared behind the hedge and were safely out of sight. However, a sudden gasp of pleasure and a quiet Gaelic cry of satisfaction suggested that they had already set about their business. Distracted by the sounds and what they signified, I had turned away from Cecily. 'Andrew,' she said, approaching me from the rear and rubbing her still clothed titties tantalisingly against me, 'Pay attention to me or I shall have to seek help elsewhere.' I let her breasts loose. Truly they were magnificent. The creamy fullness of them came tumbling out of her dress. I stood back for a moment to drink in the sight. 'Cecily, they are lovely,' I said simply. 'Just rub them for a moment,' she said sweetly. She guided my hands so that I took their succulent weight in my hands. Her hands clasped mine as I began gently to fondle them. Untouched, her twin nipples rose in excitement like two sap-filled buds. 'We must not get too carried away,' she said with a provoking note of regret in her voice. 'I have to go and take up my post and keep watch.' I became aware that from beyond the hedge, cries of feminine delight were rising up. Either Gwendolen or Perdita, for I did not have sufficient experience yet of either to be able to distinguish between their cries of coming, was being most comprehensively fucked and was enjoying every minute of it.

Reluctantly I released my twin burdens. Cecily leant forward to kiss me sweetly. 'I promise that they will be yours again once we get to the picnic. We have a large jug of clotted cream among the food that cook packed. It was intended to accompany the strawberries, but I am sure that some can be spared. I love having cream sucked off my nipples.' I looked at her. Indeed, her engorged nipples were the size of strawberries, and equally as juicy to the eye. Mr. Pego thrust uncomfortably forward at the sight and the suggestion. 'Sorry,' said Cecily, realising that her generous promise had made my present position worse rather than better. 'I must go, but we both have something to look forward to.' 'There's a thin bit in the hedge here,' said Jack. 'I think I can see something pale moving about just behind it.' We all joined him. If indeed the activities of the three of them were visible from the verge of the road, then it would be only prudent if we stood protectively in front of the thin patch to avoid upsetting any more passers-by. 'It would be wrong to watch uninvited,' I said. 'Judging by the sounds, I doubt if they will notice,' said Catherine. 'Anyway, you can't see properly. One of them seems to have taken all her clothes off.' 'That will be Perdita,'

I said. 'She makes a habit of losing everything she has on. Gwendolen is more used to being fucked and remaining apparently more or less fully clothed. She knows how to behave in Society. Perdita I suspect moves in more artistic and abandoned circles.' As I spoke there came the unmistakable sounds of a woman coming. The cries rose to a crescendo followed by a long-drawn-out moan of ecstasy. From Ian, though, nothing was heard. We all realised that he had to keep himself in check in order to satisfy his second Sociable cunney.

'Gwendolen can be relied on to help Perdita afterwards, if she has indeed mislaid anything,' said George. 'I have noticed that she has a practical streak. I have escorted her to several formal balls and she has always managed to remain a model of seeming modesty and decorum even when, if I may speak bluntly, we have only moments before fucked ourselves silly.' 'Such social graces,' I said. 'To think that she attended the same school as Rosie.' 'She was taken in hand by her aunt, the Dowager Duchess when she came to London for the Season,' said George. 'The Duchess is famous for her exploits among the hunting set in Gloucestershire yet always insists on the strictest attention to propriety when in Town. Although in the Country she is known as the Dowager Quim of Quorn.' 'I thought the Quorn is hunted in Leicestershire?' I said. 'Her Grace spreads her presence widely,' said George. 'She has ridden with most of the more prestigious hunts in England. She has even engaged in following the beagles on foot. She is a formidable woman, especially when laying about her with her crop.' 'I wonder if she has ever been introduced to the chaplain at her niece's school?' I said. 'Rosie tells me that he was known as “Spanker” Paddlebottom. A Cambridge man.' 'I suspect that Her Grace's vigour in these matters would prove altogether too overwhelming for the average school chaplain,' said George. 'His experience must of necessity be restricted to the tender bottoms of his young charges. Her Grace is a dominating figure, well hardened in the saddle and accustomed to command.' Suddenly, up the road, there came a faint cry of 'Halfooo!' In the distance we could see a bicycling Monty, swerving slightly while gravely doffing his panama hat as though in greeting to an imaginary audience. Behind him, Donald was briskly pedalling away on the Sociable with an empty seat beside him. 'We have been making our peace with the local inhabitants,' said Monty when he reached us. 'I actually think they are completely bemused,' said Donald as he joined him. 'First they will have been presented with the sight of a young woman, stark naked, flashing past them on a man's bicycle, perched above the huge wheel like a demented wood sprite. Shortly afterwards they will have seen a runaway gig with no driver but an upturned woman struggling in the back. This will have been followed by a Sociable tricycle with a clergyman pedalling for all he was worth, while his fellow traveller waved his arms in the air and cried out “Filth and Depravity!” No wonder that our return, though puzzling, was quite unremarkable after all they had witnessed earlier.' 'We must gather up our party and set off as soon as the group behind the hedge have finished,' I said.

'I wonder how things are going?' We listened. All we could hear were the sounds of a warm summer's afternoon. Bees buzzed. There was a general hum of insect life. Birds were twittering. 'A sky lark,' said George. 'Bastard toadflax!' said Hannah. 'What?' I said, startled. 'It's a flower,' said Hannah. 'Look, it's growing along the verge.' Suddenly there was a yelp followed by something crashing against the hedge and a bellow. 'Ian and Gwendolen?' said Becky. 'I think not,' said Ian. 'At least I have never heard my brother make such an extraordinary noise.' 'Look!' said Monty.

Something was on the point of bursting through the thin patch. A large face was looming through the sparse twigs. 'A bull!' shrieked Becky. 'It must have trampled them to death.' 'A cow,'

George corrected her. 'But we'd better see what has happened.' We rushed over to the gate and spilled out on to the meadow beyond. We looked around. 'There's Cecily,' said Becky. 'She is all doubled up. Something dreadful must have happened.' Cecily, her bodice still undone, was indeed crouched in the grass. Her shoulders were heaving but the cries she was making were not of distress but of helpless laughter. 'What's happened? Where are the others?' we asked. Unable to speak, she extended a shaking arm and pointed. A few yards away Gwendolen and Ian were frantically adjusting their dress while Perdita was gathering up scattered articles of clothing.

'Ian had his bum licked,' said Cecily, still choking with laughter. 'He was having his wicked way with Gwendolen with his kilt flipped up so that his bottom was exposed and raised up. This cow which had been watching with interest, came ambling over and stood over them. Ian of course never noticed it until too late. It bent its head down and gave him a great slapping lick. He just carried on but when it did it again, he said, “Cecily or Perdita stop it!” He reached an arm round behind him to push away the interruption and inadvertently stuck a finger up the cow's nostril. The cow bellowed and ran into the hedge. Gwendolen yelped. Perdita dropped some Of her clothing in surprise and I fell about laughing. If you could have seen the look on his face!' 'It's the salt,' said Donald. 'Cows always lick anything that is salty. A perspiring bum in a field is something that no cow could resist.' 'They hadn't actually quite come,'

Cecily went on, 'Although they were very close. However I doubt if they would want to carry on for the moment, particularly as the cow is still close at hand.' Together we picked everything up. Gwendolen and Ian picked the grass off themselves. Perdita, assisted by Cecily was made to look presentable if still somewhat dishevelled. I buttoned Cecily up remembering with lively anticipation on the part of Mr. Pego the promise of strawberries and cream. Gwendolen and Cecily decided to take one Sociable together while Monty joined me. Perdita stayed with Ian. Everyone else remounted and we pedalled off in a stately convoy up the road. Most of the reported excitement that had been lining the road had disappeared. We had one or two questioning looks but we rode decorously on. After not much more than a mile, Donald, who knew where we were going, turned right up a rough track into a wood. This in turn soon opened out into a large glade, well grassed and sun-dappled. There, spread out before us, was a truly splendid picnic.

Cook and the housekeeper had done us proud. Game pie, a large ham, cold cutlets, tomatoes from the greenhouse and an array of salads, cheese, fresh fruit and bread. Several bottles of a white wine had been wrapped in damp cloths and set down in the shade to keep them cool. A hamper contained the plates and silver. Finally, propped up against a tree, was a gentleman's bicycle. 'Wonderful,' came a chorus of voices as we looked at our feast. 'But where's Rosie?' said Cecily. 'There's her bicycle but I can't see her.' 'She can't be far,' said Donald. 'She's probably in the woods.'

'Keeping out of the way,' I suggested. 'And rightly so. She will have to be severely spoken to. She nearly caused a bad accident with her waywardness. I suppose we'd better go and find her.' 'Let's eat first,' said Gwendolen. 'I'm starving after all my exercise, even if I didn't quite finish it.' Everyone agreed that this was the correct order of priorities and we fell upon the food.

'I'm ready for my next course,' said Cecily some while later. We were surrounded by the remains of our meal. Obviously the country air had had a great effect on our appetites. Almost everything had been finished. Cecily and Gwendolen had been engaged in a low conversation for the last few minutes. 'I want all the men to go for a short walk in the woods. We will get everything properly laid out and we'll call you back when we're ready.' We did as we were told, taking the opportunity to answer the calls of nature. All at once I heard a very odd call of nature. There came a high-pitched squeal, a rustling* a crash of branches and a thump. Rosie had fallen out of a tree.

George and Monty were closest. Indeed Monty only just avoided being dropped on by her naked falling form. They hurried to pick her up. She was covered with twigs and leaves but did not seem to have come to any great harm. As they brushed the foliage off her, she gave a little cry of distress. 'My bum is all scratched! Horrid Nature!' She turned her neat little bottom towards us. Sure enough, there were a couple of scratch marks as well as an angry red patch where she must have made contact with the ground. We crowded round in interest. 'Soothe it someone, please,' said Rosie. 'It stings.' 'You've got the most experience in handling Rosie,' said Donald to me. As so often with Rosie, I was torn between being very annoyed with her and with the enticing sight of her unclothed body. However I decided that I really must reprimand her first for all the trouble she had caused. 'Rosalind,' I began sternly, 'You have behaved very badly indeed -' She burst into tears.

'Don't be unkind to me, Andrew. I have a hurt bum. Make it better.' She snuggled up against me. I struggled to continue my reproving speech on the nature of responsibility and the need for order in society but to no avail. 'Of course,' said George later, 'we all realised that you would not be able to hold out long against her wiles. She was the picture of contrition and her poor little bum was staring you in the face. You kissed her most solicitously and lingeringly. You also licked her most soothingly. I must admit though that I had not noticed she had sustained that injury between her legs that had to be so carefully attended to.' 'It was an oakapple that had become lodged between her cheeks,' I said a mite gruffly. I had a strong feeling that Rosie had managed to get the better of me. 'We were very impressed by your skill in aiding and comforting the sick. You have a healing touch. Florence Nightingale could hardly have done better,' said Monty. I couldn't help feeling that Florence Nightingale would have acted very differently in the circumstances. However I was pleased to be so complimented.

'We're wanted back!' said Ian who was a few yards away. 'I can hear them calling.' Rosie insisted on being carried since the twigs and acorns on the ground hurt her feet. I picked her up carefully and she put her arms round my neck, tucking her head into my shoulder. My hands linked under her tender bum, I followed the others.

As we reached the edge of the clearing I dropped Rosie in surprise. She yelped but I regret to say, I failed to pay her any attention. Spread out on the tablecloth was the most delicious display of strawberries and cream. Mouth-wateringly naked, Cecily was stretched out on a large table cloth. Her legs were parted and her clothes were pillowed under her head. On the crest of each luscious titty was a generously heaped mound of whipped cream. On top of each mound was a neatly placed strawberry. My eye ran down her sumptuously displayed body. Her navel had been delicately filled and her entire pussey was completely hidden by another great confection of cream and strawberries. For an instant I could only stop and stare. Nothing like this appeared in the pages of Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management as far as I could recall from my admittedly cursory reading of the text. 'Andrew,' said Becky, 'This is what you were promised. It's all for you but you must promise to finish up every last mouthful.' 'What about everyone else?' I asked. 'Hannah and I have devised an apres dejeuner entertainment for the rest of us.

You can join in later if you wish but in the meantime you'd better take your things off, otherwise I can see you getting very messy indeed.' With the two sisters' help, I made myself ready. At the sight of my released prick thrusting hungrily upwards, Becky could not resist dabbing a big lump of cream on the end. 'That is for Cecily,' she said. The problem of Rosie quite forgotten, I bent down beside Cecily. She smiled up at me and reached out to pull my face down to hers. She kissed me warmly, nibbling softly at my lips.

'Time to eat,' she said. Breathing in deeply so that her breasts rose up like twin meringues, she guided me down to her body.

At first I licked delicately at a trickle of cream that had run down the side of one breast on to her ribs. Carefully, slowly, I worked my way around the lower slopes, sucking gently and tasting the warm flesh under the cool cream. I paused to swallow, then resumed my feasting, working my way around and up first one breast and then the other. More and more delicious flesh was revealed and licked clean.

'Strawberry time,' said Cecily with an excited sigh. I bent over her and nipped the strawberry that sat, firmly embedded in cream, on top of one nipple. I bit carefully into its peak. Then, holding it in my teeth, I rubbed it gently against the true nipple that was now revealed, peeking up through its concealing confection. A spurt of juice ran down my chin and mingled with the cream. Still holding the fruit in my mouth, I lowered myself so that she could reach up and take the full roundness of the strawberry between her teeth. Biting it in half, we chewed and swallowed it between us. We kissed, warm juice staining our lips. Now I fastened hungrily on the exposed nipple, sucking it and teasing it with my tongue. It stiffened and fattened, a ripe fruit under my touch. Cecily began to moan. I turned my attentions to the other strawberry mock nipple, picking it cleanly off and sucking it clean before transferring it in its entirety to her, mouth to mouth. As I returned to the second exposed nipple, I nibbled gently at it while she chewed the berry. As she swallowed, I drew her nipple into my mouth, pulling at with my lips. She moaned again, louder this time. Burying my head between her breasts, I lapped and nuzzled my way down the valley that had filled with juice and melted cream. The salty tang of fresh sweat mixed with the sharpness of the fruit and the sweetness of the cream. Her hands met mine as I squeezed and stroked the firm flesh. She was beginning to heave up and down. 'Go further down,' she gasped. Becky and Hannah appeared on either side of her like two acolytes. As I moved down her body, they took my place, rubbing and kissing her breasts. Arriving at her navel, I ate the next proffered strawberry, my tongue probing and cleaning out her puckered, cream-filled belly button. She giggled, rolling her stomach. 'That tickles,' she said. 'Now for the main course,' said Becky. Again I paused for a moment. Cecily's legs were well parted and she had instinctively begun to draw her knees up.

Confronted by this huge mound of fruit and cream, I knew that the time for delicacy was past. I drew a deep breath and fairly buried my face in her. Cream oozed and clung to me. Like a starving man I swallowed and sucked, straining whole fruit through my teeth, diving down to find the tangle of her pussey hair that had been so thoroughly hidden under its whipped-up topping. Such was the vigour of my movements that cream was squirting up the inside of her thighs. More cream was in my hair and in my eyes. I gulped convulsively, then swallowed again. Suddenly, as she spread her legs wider still, my tongue encountered the smoothness of her pussey lips. They parted and I slipped easily inside. I touched her already erect clit and she gave a gasp. Tucked in beneath it, hidden inside her, the stroke of a master chef, was one last strawberry. I sucked it out and swallowed it whole. Other juices, warmer and more animal than vegetable were flowing now. Hannah and Becky, their own titties now exposed, were rubbing themselves against her body, nipple to nipple, stifling her rising cries with their mouths. She sat up and I felt myself being turned over by unseen hands before she lowered herself on to my face, enveloping me in the sticky warmth of her pussey hair. I was questing and plunging my tongue deep, deep into her, her clit rubbing against my taste buds. She leaned right forward and her mouth closed round the tip of my hugely swollen cock. Her breasts were pressed tight against me. I was struggling for air and it crossed my mind that if death by suffocation was to be my destiny, it was a blissful way to go. But how I felt the first unmistakable tremors of her coming.

Shudder upon shudder ran through her as she half sat back again so that I could cup her plump pendant breasts in my hands. Eyes, mouth and cunney were opening wider. It was as if she had been taken by surprise at the strength of her reactions. She gave a choking cry and began to ride up and down on me, forcing herself down on my face as though urging my tongue to penetrate further and further inside her.

Manfully I kept going as the sweat and cream filled my eyes.

Then, as Cecily cried out loud, the first taste of her coming trickled into my mouth. Thirstily I drank it in, my lips clamped on hers. Now she was flooding me. Soft and yielding, the delicate inside flesh of her cunney was slippery against my intruding tongue. Again and again uncontrollable spasms coursed their way down her tunnel of love. Meanwhile I was dimly aware that my now untenanted prick was reaching desperately up as it sought a relief of its own.

Cecily's cries and convulsions reached a peak. I felt as though I was being engulfed by a series of mighty ocean waves and that I was drowning in the undertow. She gave one last near scream, subsided and collapsed forward on me. Her fine, dense pussey hair and the delicious smell of her filled my nostrils. Suddenly, overcome by the tickling sensation, I sneezed. Cecily twitched. I was aware of peals of laughter. The weight was lifted from my face. 'Andrew,' came Becky's voice, 'it is very rude to sneeze into a lady's cunt.'

Cecily and I lay panting slightly, like two large beached fish on the now badly stained cloth. A dull throbbing in my balls reminded me that I had not yet made my personal contribution to the commingled fluids that covered us. There was something squashy under my shoulder blades. Another strawberry. Hannah was the first to realise that all was not yet at an end. She knelt down beside me, reached between my legs and cradled my swollen balls in her hands. My senses of taste, touch and smell had been overwhelmed by what had gone before and I was exhausted. Yet still my unsatisfied prick stood defiantly erect like a regimental colour flying proudly over the carnage of a battlefield.

'Relief is at hand,' said Hannah, and began to stroke me, running her hand up from my bursting testicles, along the under side of my prick. At once I felt a familiar churning response. 'It's gone all wet,' said Hannah. 'Quick, Cecily, I think he's coming!'

Cecily dragged herself to her knees and looked down at me. Her breasts dangled seductively over me but before she could assist Hannah in any way, the first wave of my coming forced its way up the length of my prick and shot into the air, white and sticky as the cream I had supped on so delightfully from Cecily's body. As jet followed jet, spurting upwards, Cecily's breasts were copiously splashed.

Hungrily she rubbed my cum into them before ducking down as though at a drinking fountain to catch some in her mouth. Hannah joined her, helping her to anoint her body with my offering. Her nipples were still engorged and her body flushed. Twisting and turning, she massaged herself all over, squeezing the last dying gushes and dribbles from my prick with her hands. Becky appeared suddenly at her side. She had found one last small basket-a punnet I believe it is called-of strawberries. Crushing the fruit between her fingers, she began to smear it all over Cecily's titties and her stomach. As she raised her arms, more crushed fruit was applied to the soft, delicate hair thus revealed. Then she reverted to holding her magnificent breasts out so that Hannah and Becky could continue to anoint them with a happy mixture of strawberry, cum and cream. By now, spent and fatigued but still drinking in the scents and sights of our summer entertainment, I became aware of two things. I was very sticky and I was beginning to attract the insects. Both of us needed a good wash.

'There is a small pond over there,' said Becky. 'Donald told me about it. He thought you might need to be cleaned up before the afternoon was over.' 'Where is Donald?' I asked. 'Indeed, where is everyone else? They've all vanished except for you and Hannah.'

'They're taking part in the apres dejeuner entertainment,' she said. 'What's that?' I asked. 'A game loosely based on hide-and-seek,' said Becky. 'So we have missed it? It was very good of the two of you to stay behind and assist Cecily and me.'

'It will go on for some time yet,' said Becky. 'If you have a quick splash about in cold water, apart from getting clean, you might feel sufficiently revived to take part in it yourself. Take this rug.

You can rub yourself dry afterwards with it.' 'I am very fatigued, Becky. I suppose you wouldn't consider helping me?' I said.

'No,' said Becky firmly. 'Hannah and I are going to have our hands full getting Cecily sluiced down and made presentable. She's in a far messier state than you, except for her hair. You've got bits of strawberry and God knows what in yours, Andrew, so make sure you submerge yourself properly and wash it all out.' I was despatched pondwards, but before I went I turned back to Cecily and gave her a fond kiss. 'That was a lovely meal,' I said. 'Thank you for inviting me.' 'Thank you for coming,' she said sweetly.

Half an hour later found me clean, dried and dressed. 'What about this game?' I asked. 'It's quite simple,' said Becky. 'All you have to do is to go into the wood, hide yourself and wait.'

'Then what happens?' 'If you're lucky, you get found.' “Who by?' 'All the men are hiding and all the women are seeking.' 'So it's up to me to tuck myself away in some really obscure place?' 'If you are quite sure you want to remain undiscovered,' said Becky. 'At least you'd get some rest. On the other hand you might get bored with only the flora and fauna of the wood to look at.

Anyway, that's up to you.' 'Won't everyone have been discovered by now?' I asked. 'The game must have been underway for some time.'

'Remember that Hannah and I had to stay behind to help Cecily,' she said. 'That means that there are more hiding men than seeking women out there. Also that some of them may be ready for a second finding, and a second coming.' Entering into the spirit of the occasion, I set off into the woods. After a few hundred yards I heard a crashing sound and an excited feminine cry of triumph. Someone had been found by someone. I couldn't see who they were since they were on the far side of a particularly thick thicket. I edged my way between some saplings. I could move quite quietly now because there was a carpet of moss under my feet. Again I heard voices. Two people coming my way. I slipped behind a large tree. Remembering schoolboy games, I backed slowly round to the far side of the tree and waited. I heard them walk past and thought I caught Catherine's voice but they soon disappeared and all was quiet again. A movement caught my eye again. There was something up in one of the trees. I peered up. A squirrel. I watched it as it came out onto a low branch, ears pricked and tail erect. 'Got you!' said a voice in my ear. At the same time two arms were clasped round me from behind. I glanced down. Two very white arms held me. Two slim white hands, the fingers interlaced in front of me. 'Perdita!' I said. Her grip relaxed and I turned round. 'I'm glad it's you,' she said. 'Andrew, I know that I have passed most of my time with Ian since I have been here. But I would like to have one fuck with you before I set off for Scotland tomorrow.' A note of solicitude entered her voice. 'I hope that you can manage it again so soon after your Cecily and cream meal.' I looked at her. Perdita was almost my height. Her dark hair was in considerable disarray and her dress half-unbuttoned and already torn at the hem. She had a wide, generous mouth. Her lips were slightly parted and she was breathing quite heavily. I watched her bosom rise and fall. White flesh showed under her unloosed bodice. Her deep blue eyes were opened wide and she held me in a steady gaze. I poked a finger between two undone buttons and touched her. She smiled and clasped her hands over mine. My trapped fingers felt the smoothness of breast. Mr. Pego came to life. 'Something tells me that all will be well,' I said. She reached one hand down and fondled my balls.

She squeezed gently. My cock thrust out slowly but determinedly. She took note of what she had achieved. 'All's well that ends well,' she said and pinched the head of my member. She started to undo my buttons. 'We must undress each other,' she said. 'Except for the shoes.' 'You want us to keep our shoes on?' I asked with surprise. 'I want you to take your own shoes off,' she said. 'I can never manage men's shoes when I'm excited. I go all clumsy. And when you do get them off, there's only a pair of feet revealed. Men's feet are not their best part.' 'There are better,' I agreed. As I spoke she completed her release of Mr. Pego. He protruded in a thoroughly satisfactory manner. 'Over here!' and I led her back to the mossy patch. 'It's softer here. No nettles, just some leaves.'

'How thoughtful of you,' she said. She bounced up and down on the thick moss carpet. 'Almost like a bed.' More and more hurriedly we unhooked, unlaced and unbuttoned each other. We looked at each other, still largely clothed but already revealing most of the things that clothes are supposed to hide. 'The shoes,' she said. I bent down to undo them but, as I did so, my unbuttoned trousers slipped down to my knees. Unbalanced, I sat down backwards with a thump. Kicking my legs up in the air, I tried to take off my shoes.

One slipped off easily. The second resisted. I gave a sharp tug and it flew off, landing some feet away in some undergrowth. In reaction to the sudden jerk, I fell over on my back. My legs were waving in the air as I tried to ease my trousers off which had got thoroughly entangled round my ankles. 'Help,' I said, trapped like a sheep on its back. Perdita knelt down and tugged my socks off, tossing first one and then the other impatiently over her shoulder. Then, as she reached forward to pull my trousers off as well, she paused as though an idea had struck her. Instead she shook her shoulders so that her bared bosom escaped fully from the clinging stuff of her dress.

With a hand on each ankle, she pressed my bare soles against her breasts. She began to rub herself against them. 'Just an idea I had,' she said. 'There must be something you can do with feet.' I felt her nipples harden. Then she drew back a little so that the tips were just brushing against me. They hardened even more. She manipulated one so that it was between two of my toes. It felt like a delicious small berry. 'Can you clench your toes?' she asked.

I tried and managed to give each nipple a squeeze. 'Powerful feet,' she said. 'Like one of the big apes I saw in the zoological gardens.' I wasn't sure I liked being compared to a great ape although I was enjoying this novel situation. 'But not nearly so hairy,' she went on hurriedly. She began to suck my toes. A delicious sensation shot through me. Mr. Pego was bolt upright. She raised her eyes and noticed. Her teeth bit delicately at a big toe.

'A moment more,' she said, taking the toe out of her mouth. She pressed her breasts again against my soles and began to rub harder than ever, swaying like a snake charmer in front of a cobra-or is it the other way round? A detached part of my mind made a note to ask Colonel Moore as an expert in all things Eastern. Perdita was becoming more and more carried away. 'You like that?' she asked.

'Yes,' I said, for it was true. 'Although I do feel somewhat pinned down.' 'Time to move on,' she said, letting me go.

She stood up and pulled her dress off her shoulders and down to her waist. Then she let it drop and stepped out of it. Bending down, she grabbed one sleeve and made as though to throw it with careless abandon behind her. There was a ripping noise. She had had one foot on the hem. 'Damn,' she said. 'This always seems to happen.'

Crouching down, she bundled the increasingly sorry rags of her dress together and re-enacted her casual tossing away motion. The dress flew through the air and caught on a projecting bough. 'Now for your things, Andrew,' she said, removing my trousers, helping me to my feet and then stripping my shirt off, followed by my underwear.

There was a brief struggle as Mr. Pego had to be negotiated. Item by item, my clothes were flung away. I tried to keep an eye on where each article fell. We had had enough missing clothing for one day.

Finally we were both completely naked, facing one another. As I have said, Perdita had that very clear, almost translucent skin that some dark-haired women have. Her hair was very black with a bluish tinge to it where it caught the light. Her nipples were a dark red and the area round them again very dark. Her breasts were clearly separated by the channel between them. Her breastbone showed up plainly. Her titties did not have the rippling abundance of a Cecily nor the round plumpness of a Rosie. Instead they were pointed and vulnerable. I could see tiny blue veins around the nipples, each of which, because of a slight concavity of the upper surface of her titties, stood boldly upwards. As she sucked in her breath, I could see her ribcage. There was not an ounce of spare flesh on her. Waist and hips were sharply defined. Below a large navel, her stomach was flat before swelling out to a generous Mound of Venus. Her pussey hair was also very black as well as long and profuse. Stray black hairs curled invitingly against the white of her thighs. I became very eager to discover what was hidden away beneath that dense bush.

'Perdita,' I said, 'I am glad that I've found you.' 'What are you going to do with me?' she said with a teasing glint in her eye. I said nothing but held her tightly in my arms. Her arms went round me and we stood locked together for a silent minute. Then she hugged me and began to rub herself against me. Her mouth was biting at my shoulder and the top of her head was against my mouth.

Her nipples were tracing little circles against my chest. As she ground herself against me, I felt the warm friction of our pubic hair deliciously entangled. Unlike many women, her pussey hair was almost as silky as that of the rest of her and it had a similar sheen to it.

My prick had found its way unerringly between her legs and her pussey was brushing the top of it. She moved backwards and forwards, stroking it to a state of almost painful arousal. 'Let's lie down,' I said, becoming weak with my desire to enter her. We collapsed on to the moss, she on top. She levered herself up on her arms and looked me anxiously in the face. 'Andrew,' she said, 'I must warn you that I am going to be what I know you men sometimes call a Sloppy Fuck. A very sloppy fuck. You already know that Ian and I fucked on the way here, both on the Sociable and behind the hedge. I also fucked George here in the woods a short while ago. 'I am also,' she went on, 'One of those women who cannot exercise any great control over their hidden muscles when a man is inside them. I just give way completely and get very wide and very wet.' 'I don't mind,' I said. 'Let's fuck.' Without more ado, she lowered herself on me, effortlessly encompassing my member in its engorged entirety. We both stayed still for a moment as I enjoyed the feel of her. Then she settled so that the cheeks of her bum pressed hard on the tops of my thighs. She twitched her shoulders and I watched her breasts swing unencumbered and free above me. With one finger I traced the outline of a nipple before running my hand lightly down the channel between her breasts, parting them carefully, feeling the hardness of bone under the thin flesh. She lifted herself a fraction and leaned forward so that now her breasts were brushing against my chest. I breathed in so that their soft weight lay on me. With both hands I began to squeeze and fondle them. Under the soft skin they were surprisingly firm. As I played with them, the nipples rose like twin projectiles, hard with desire. She leaned further forward and stuck out her tongue, thrusting it deep into my mouth. As I began slowly to force my prick up and down inside her, so her tongue moved in unison, exploring and probing. The wetness in my mouth was matched by the wetness of her cunney. By dint of careful experiment, I was able to adjust myself so that I could feel her pussey hair and clit rubbing along the upper side of my member. She responded to my movements, sliding backwards and forwards so that her thick bush, already well dampened, rode up and down, pressed tight against my own pubic hair. Suddenly she moved up too much and my prick dropped out, remaining in slippery contact with her cunney lips. 'Sorry!' she said. 'I knew that was going to happen.' 'Don't worry,' I said. 'It's a lovely feel.' Reassured, she began to rub her pussey along my body, over my stomach and up as far as my chest. I could feel her opened lips sliding warmly over me. Her pussey hair seemed to ease rather than impede that long, slow advance and retreat.

I stretched out my arms to clutch the cheeks of her bum, pressing them and taking control, moving her at an easy pace to and fro.

Without any increase in the pace, I pulled her back down. Then I urged her back up so that, as easily as it had fallen out, Mr. Pego slipped back inside her. 'Easy go, easy come,' I said softly to her. We began to match thrust with counter thrust. 'Can I do it from behind?' I suddenly asked her. 'Yes, yes,' she said breathlessly. In an instant she had turned herself over on to elbows and knees, raising her bum up into the air. Cradling her head on her arm, she looked backwards at me through the tunnel of her parted thighs. She raised herself still further. Like her breasts, her bum was well divided. I saw the dark eye of her back passage held up towards me. Below, the soft, sopping hair of her pussey hung like an inviting tropical forest. 'Which hole?' I asked. 'Either! Or both!' she replied urgently. Parting the cheeks of her bum, I placed the tip of my prick at the-entrance to her tight little hole.

'No one's been there today,' she said. 'In fact, I don't think I've been bum fucked for the whole of this holiday.' Carefully, anxious not to hurt her, I began to inch my way into her. She caught her breath. 'It's all right,' she said. 'It'll get easier in a minute.' Slowly, withdrawing a little and then pushing on, I eased my way further and further into her. I could sense her straining to widen her legs and help my passage. I paused, not wanting to distress her. Then all at once, I felt her relax and I slid well into her. 'All right?' I asked. 'Yes,' she said. 'I was a little tight at first. Sometimes it hurts but it's lovely now.' So well lubricated had I been before forcing my way into her that now, although her muscles were holding me in a firm grip, I could ride easily along her. I looked down and watched the white shaft of my prick appearing and disappearing into her like a gleaming piston of one of Mr. Brunei's steam ships. 'Andrew,' she said quietly, catching her breath, 'Will you promise me something, before we get too carried away. When you come, will you come in my cunt?' 'If I can,' I replied. 'Although sometimes things happen too fast to control. But I will try.' Deeper and deeper but still with deliberate speed, I thrust back and forth in her. She began to moan and tremble. I moved inexorably on, kneeling up, my hands holding her firmly just below her breasts as they swayed, the nipples rubbing against the moss as she lowered herself further. I felt the walls of her passage widen. She had become very hot and all her body had the sheen of perspiration on it. It was as though I was being drawn in, into some dark secret cave. Faster and faster I pumped, and now she was responding to me, meeting thrust with counterthrust. I kept tight control on myself. I was determined to make this fuck last as long as possible and savour every last drop of enjoyment. Not only was this my first fuck with Perdita, but it would in all probability be my last. Tomorrow she would be on her way to Scotland and there was no telling when, or indeed if, I should ever see her again. All I had to do was to remember my promise and move down to her cunt when the time came for my coming. Once again I thanked the blessed providence that had ensured that every woman and every cunt I had encountered had been in some way new and different. I recalled one of those chats that my old headmaster liked to have with his senior boys from time to time in his study. 'Andrew,' he had said, 'A word of warning. Fucking is the finest sport that a young man can engage in, but if you ever reach the stage where one fuck is much like another, where afterwards you cannot picture who it was you fucked and the particular feel and smell and taste of her, then you should give it up for the time being and practice the art of self-control until you are able to resume in full enjoyment of the variety of the wonderful world of pussey, and of the ever-altering feel of one pussey from occasion to occasion. Every fuck should be different.' 'What wise counsel,' I said to myself. I was indeed lucky that I had been taught by a man with such a deep and scholarly understanding of the more esoteric Greek philosophers. Was it not a follower of Epicurus who said, 'No man slips twice into the same Quim?' Or was it one of the Chinese thinkers? Steadily I rode on, taking notice of every last sensation, feeling how her bum was now spread wide, letting me move as powerfully but smoothly as a ramrod up the barrel of a gun. Now though, try though I might, I could not withstand the first familiar sensations of my coming. My balls felt full to bursting. I could see them, swollen with their load, as they banged against her buttocks while I thrust ever more vigorously into her. A tingle announced that the first surge of my coming was beginning its journey up my rock-hard prick. 'Careful,' I said, 'I think I'm coming.' 'Quick!' she said, holding still so that I could ease my prick out of her without precipitating the final release. Concentrating hard, I pulled free, although the last clinging touch of her outer muscles around the tip of my prick was nearly my undoing. I drew in a deep breath and waited, trying to distract myself by looking round and spotting where all my clothing was. Only one sock in sight, I realised, trying desperately to keep my attention from the churning sensation inside me. Perdita, as eager to take me into her cunt as I was to enter it, turned over onto her back, tucked her heels against her bottom and exposed the full moist extent of her hungry pussey to view. Her knees were so widely parted that it seemed she must be double jointed at the hip. Never before had I seen a pussey so almost frantically displayed for fucking. I sank into her. There was no pause, no precision, no care. I just immersed myself in one long movement far, far into her. Instead of closing her legs to hold me, she instinctively opened ever wider. I moved around inside her, feeling out the full extent of her cunney, plumbing her hidden depths. Perdita was a very wet fuck indeed. Her love juices were trickling down, dampening her thighs and soaking her pussey hair. As I drove in and out, the juices were transferred onto me and from me onto her stomach so that our bodies were oiled and bathed in her wetness.

I realised that what I was missing through the absence of a tight fit and the sensations of being held in and manipulated was more than made up for by the tremendous excitement of being immersed in her copious cum. It was as though Perdita's entire being was dissolving into a warm welcoming sea. When fucking she let go completely. She became quite incapable of any artifice or calculation. Her body took over and she became a woman utterly abandoned to her sexual appetites and her outpourings. Perdita would never be a neat fuck, one that could manage to fuck discreetly. The urgency with which she threw off all her clothing, inconvenient though it might prove later, was all part and parcel of her need to offer herself up without delay and without reserve. All her body became one sexual instrument.

Perdita was an all-over fuck. No part of her was unaffected. Yet in the end all her hunger became centred in her wide-open pussey as it filled and flooded with her juices. I was very happy that I had not missed her. I suspected that anyone who lived with her or passed much time with her would find that they were spending a disproportionate amount of that time looking after or looking for Perdita. What she needed was some sort of chaperone. Not-Heavens Forbid!-to prevent her from fucking, but to look after her when she was fucking: someone to ensure that Perdita, her belongings and her clothing were gathered together roughly in one place-and the right place at that. Our fuck could not last much longer. I had already been on the verge of my coming while I had been still ensheathed in her bum. I quickly felt the first unstoppable surge of my cum coursing its way up my cock, eager to discharge into the sea of her secretions. Perdita was beginning to be wracked by great shudders that rippled through her body so that each time, however impossible that might be, she seemed to open a little wider. She didn't cry out loudly, but, half under her breath, as each shudder jolted through her she was saying 'Yes! Yes!

Yes!' as though she was willing herself on, driving all the tensions from her, draining them from her body and her mind. She rose up to meet me as I plunged into her. Time and time again I rammed into her, trying to fill her to overflowing. Jet upon jet gushed up and spurted into her. My balls banging unmercifully against her and sticky with her cum, throbbed with the power of their emptying ejaculations.

Her hands were clenching and unclenching, her breathing harsh. I in turn felt a tide of relief ebb through me. Everything that was in me was now in her. My pace slowed. The last irregular spasms of my coming shook me but soon I had nothing left. She gave one final convulsive heave and then lay very still, legs and arms splayed out, only her breasts still quivering with the energy she had expended.

Quite quickly I slid out of her. Our combined juices were dripping out of her and soaking into the damp moss on which she lay. I pressed my face into the wet warmth of her pussey, breathing in deeply and tasting the pussey hair, smooth as silk against my cheek. Lazily, I licked the inside of her thighs. One last, belated drop of cum hung on the end of my prick before dropping to the ground. We were both spent and exhausted. All seemed very still around us. Little by little life resumed. I became aware of a chaffinch or some such bird singing in the tree above me. Some small animal rustled through the leaves and I watched a glossy black beetle feeling its way across the moss only inches from my nose. Two Red Admiral butterflies were dancing and twisting in a shaft of sunlight above our heads until one fluttered down and settled on Perdita's left breast. As she felt the light touch she squinted down her nose to see what was happening. She lay still and the butterfly opened and closed its wings. No doubt it had been attracted by the fresh sweat that glistened on her. As it drank-for that was what I assumed it was doing-I thought it a great improvement on the slapping tongue of the cow that had been similarly attracted to Ian's bared bum earlier. 'Have you seen my clothes?' said Perdita about a quarter of an hour later. 'They're over there,' I said, 'And over there, and over there.' We staggered to our feet. Perdita stretched like a cat. There was a dazed just-fucked look to her that was most beguiling. For a moment I felt Mr. Pego shift and stir but in reality I was both too fatigued and beginning to get concerned about collecting the party together again.

There remained the Rosie problem. As far as I was concerned she had indulged in her last naked bicycle ride. We would have to find something for her to wear. Perdita was retrieving her clothing item by item, pulling something frilly off a bush here, unearthing a shoe there. As she hopped about, clutching at a foot where she had stepped on something sharp, her hair had fallen over her eyes and her naked breasts swayed. Again there was a twitching hint of interest from Mr. Pego. The damp blackness of her pussey showed up in stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin. Sadly I resigned myself to the fact that I might never see it again. 'Oh, there it is!' she said. 'My dress. I thought I'd lost it.' I was conducting an inventory of my clothing. One sock short. I shut my eyes, trying to picture where Perdita had thrown it. 'To the left of that tree over there,' I said to myself, deciding to dress myself as fully as possible before searching for it. I did not want to risk an unprotected Mr. Pego among the thorns. Perdita and I began to dress.

We both heard the sniffling noise at the same time. 'Who is it?' I called out. There was no answer except more sniffling, then the sound of someone blowing their nose. 'I can see her,' said Perdita, trying to untangle her dress from a broken bough on which it must have got caught earlier when she tossed it away in her cavalier fashion. 'She?' I queried. 'Rosie,' said Perdita.

'Bother, I've ripped it.' Sure enough she had torn her dress so badly that short of a prolonged session with needle and thread it was clearly unwearable. 'Where?' 'Over there, under that beech tree.' 'I don't know what a beech tree looks like,' I said.

'That tree, over there,' said Perdita, mournfully peering at the ruin of her dress. I scrutinised the shrubbery. Sure enough, there was Rosie, tightly bundled up from throat to ankle in what looked like a tablecloth. 'Becky and George did it,' she said. 'They said that I couldn't go on flitting around the countryside without any clothes on. And in particular, I had to be properly wrapped up before we all cycled home. They wound me round in this spare cloth like some horrid Egyptian mummy and put me under strict orders not to take it off again under any circumstances.' 'Very sensible of them,' I said.

'But it's completely spoilt the game for me,' she said. 'I can hardly walk, I'm so hobbled up. I'm so afraid of some mishap that I daren't try to get through the prickly bits and I keep having to clutch hold of the trees to avoid falling over. I didn't catch anyone.

They'd all gone much deeper into the woods or else could get away from me if I did spot them. I nearly got Monty but Gwendolen saw him at the same time and caught him first. And I did so want a fuck with Monty.

Ever since I saw him doing it doggy style on the train here. And he's funny. And besides, I want to broaden my clerical experience.'

'He's not a proper clergyman,' I reminded her. 'I know,' she said, 'But he dresses like one and he talks like one when he wants to.

And he smells like one. Do you not detect an odour of sanctity hanging over him sometimes?' 'I think you will find it is more the result of the occasional over-liberal application of pomade,' I said. 'Or those carnations he seems to have an endless supply of.'

'Anyway,' she said. 'I've had a rotten afternoon.' With that she started to sniffle again. 'There, there,' said Perdita. 'You can dry your eyes on the remains of my dress. I'm sure I'll never be able to wear it again.' She mopped down poor Rosie. Bad though her behaviour had been, I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

'Come back with us,' I said. 'We really do have to go back to the others and then go home. But I promise you, I'll have a word with Monty this evening. I know he likes you. You'll get your fuck, believe me.' 'On a train?' she sniffed, obviously trying to drive a hard bargain. 'Hardly this evening,' I said. 'You'll have to make do with the house or the garden. No travelling and no wheels.' 'Not even one of the tricycles,' she said. 'No,' I said. 'Rosie, you know perfectly well that you cannot always be in motion when you fuck.

Anyway, you were quite happy at the prospect of fucking Monty behind a tree.' 'All right,' she said. Then she brightened up. 'Maybe we can go on an excursion somewhere next week. We can get a train from Northampton to Leicester I think, and then we could go on one of the Midland expresses to, maybe, Derby.' 'We'll try something, although I would prefer an outing to somewhere more interesting.'

And so we retraced our steps to the picnic glade, Rosie hobbling along in her tablecloth wrapping, me fully dressed except for one missing sock and Perdita with the remains of her dress thrown round her shoulders like a shawl and carrying the rest of her things in a bundle. Most of the others were already there when we eventually stumbled out of the trees. They were sitting about in various states of dishevelment and fatigue. Cecily was looking thoroughly presentable as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Monty and Gwendolen were fully dressed but in each other's clothes. 'If women were ordained,' said Donald, 'I for one would become a regular attender at any service taken by Gwendolen.' She did in fact look most fetching, her generous bosom barely contained in Monty's white shirt, his clerical collar sitting demurely at her throat while his frock coat and trousers accentuated the neatness of her waist and hips.

Monty, an actor to his fingertips, was thoroughly enjoying flaunting himself in Gwendolen's dress, strutting and hip-swinging.

Hannah and Becky were engaged in animated discussion. Donald and Ian were standing shoulder to shoulder, each with his kilt lifted high in front, like a pair of French Can Can dancers. Their stout Scottish staffs were being paraded under orders from the two sisters.

'They are so alike,' said Hannah, lifting up Donald's prick and displaying it to Becky. 'Are you sure you can tell which is which?'

'That's the one that I had,' said Becky firmly, pointing to Ian's member. 'But you said he came at you from behind,' said Hannah.

'I'm sure it was Donald because I know for a fact that Ian was well lodged in me at just the same time that you say your encounter took place. Although, I must admit that he entered me from the rear as well.' 'Who fucked who?' asked Becky to Ian and Donald. 'We must clear up this confusion.' They both looked rather smug. 'I was always brought up not to talk about amorous exploits in front of other people,' said Ian. 'I also,' said Donald. 'But it's most provoking not to know who one has been fucked by,' said Hannah.

'Especially when it was such a pleasurable fuck.' 'The solution must be,' said Donald, 'that when we get back, you should try us both in order to make up your mind which is which.' 'I suppose we will have to do that,' said Becky brightly. 'Don't forget what you promised,' said Rosie to me. 'About asking Monty.' 'I think it had better wait until we're home. Anyway, you'd hardly want to fuck him when he's in the guise of Gwendolen,' I said. 'Besides, you've got to be as good as gold on the return journey in order to make up for all the trouble you've caused today.' 'It might be an interesting surprise,' said Rosie, with a gleam in her eye. 'Imagine the fun of going out together with Monty dressed like that. Everyone would think he was my big sister and we could sit innocently side by side in public and only I would know that under that rather stylish dress there was that enormous prick just waiting to shove its way into me.

But we'd have to fit him out with a big hat,' she went on, 'Otherwise it doesn't look quite right.' I could see that Rosie, with her taste for the unusual in life, was getting thoroughly interested in the proposition and I had a feeling that Monty, to whom all life seemed to be a charade, would be equally interested in the idea.

'Of course, the fun would be in doing it in some public place,' said Rosie. 'We could go to the Opera together. You would have to chaperone us.' 'Where would be the fun for me?' I asked.

'Gwendolen could come as our other male escort,' said Rosie. 'You two could talk about the things that men talk about at the Opera. Like the Funds. Or the state of our North American markets. Gwendolen would have to wear a weskit and a watch on a chain.' As I thought about the scheme it began to have distinct possibilities. 'When we get back to London,' I said. The idea of Gwendolen's lovely titties concealed in Monty's shirt attracted me. Mr. Pego again gave a first warning twitch. I looked at her. We would have to do something about her nipples. They stood out too obviously through the thin cotton. Rosie was right, a waistcoat would be the answer. 'But what about tonight?' said Rosie. 'I can't wait till we get back to London.'

'How about an assignation in the summer house,' I suggested.

'Or the maze,' said Rosie. 'That would be an adventure. We could all try it after dinner.' 'Except Perdita,' I said. 'She would get completely lost and we'd have to spend half the night looking for her. And we have to put her on the train for Scotland tomorrow. I suspect that the whole household is going to have to help her pack in any case.' 'I am going to provide her with a map,' said Rosie.

'She has to change at least twice. I'm sure she is going to end up somewhere like Great Yarmouth if we are not careful.' Rosie's practical side in matters of public transport had come to the fore again. 'That's a good idea,' I said approvingly. 'But now we must get everything organised for our bicycle ride back to the Grange.'

A couple of servants arrived with a gig. The remains of the picnic were loaded into it. 'We'll bring the other tablecloth back with us,' said Becky, indicating the swaddled Rosie. Perdita was the only remaining problem. She was sitting down on a handy tree stump on the other side of the clearing, holding on to the bundle of her belongings, a far away look in her eyes and quite oblivious to the fact that her white titties were highlighted by the setting sun. She could not travel like that. Becky and George solved the problem. She was to depart just as she had arrived, bundled up in a travelling rug like a large parcel beside Ian. I carefully mounted myself on the tandem tricycle behind Cecily. 'I hope you are still strong enough to pedal,' she said, with a provoking smile. 'I am just going to sit here and think of strawberries and cream.' Mr. Pego, as though sensing her bum just inches ahead, did rather more than twitch this time. It was going to be a difficult ride home. I could hardly let him out into the late afternoon air. We had caused sufficient consternation among the local population already that day. At least Rosie was safe. I hoped that there would not be too many people on the road. Although superficially decent, any closer inspection would reveal some distinct oddities about the party. A girl wrapped in a tablecloth, pinned firmly at hem and neck, a clergyman with very obvious nipples riding with a woman with close cropped hair, a large bundle with a tendency to giggle and me, bent double in order to relieve my straining member. Suffice to say that we did arrive with no further adventures. The picnic had been a success and several of the party had developed a taste for the country life. I hoped though that I would encounter Perdita again although I recognised that this was more likely to be by chance than design. 'Who knows,' I thought wistfully, 'by tomorrow evening she will either be enjoying a Highland fling with her friends, or will be having a thoroughly sloppy fuck anywhere between Llandudno and Scarborough, depending on where she got on the wrong train.' At dinner that night, we had dildo surprise. Becky and Hannah were responsible. As we sat round the table, small bowls of salad were brought in after the soup.

Nestling among the lettuce in four instances, were copies of the Scott Dildo, as Hannah called it professionally. My prick, proudly erect among the greenery, set about with radishes and spring onions. Cries of surprise and, I am glad to say, delight, greeted them. 'It is becoming a standard line,' said Hannah. 'Your likeness is entering an amazingly wide variety of cunnies on a regular basis all over London and the Home Counties. Andrew, you will receive quite a substantial sum in royalties at the end of the six months accounting period. But you may have to come back to the pottery in the near future.'

'Why?' I asked, 'Is there something wrong. Without having scrutinised any of them in detail, they seem to be remarkably true-to-life reproductions.' 'At least three of the girls,' said Hannah, 'Have expressed a very strong interest in being fucked by the original.' 'Will that be acceptable to Madame Nettleton?' I asked. 'Madame Nettleton is thoroughly accommodating about such things, as long as the work is not held up too much.' 'But in the meantime,' said Becky, 'I for one intend to make use of one of these splendid Things as soon as the meal is finished. 'And me,' said Rosie, although whether she intended to sample my likeness before or after her assignation in the gazebo with Monty, I did not know.

'And me,' said Cecily. 'I want to compare it with the real thing.' 'I want the original,' said Catherine suddenly, breaking her silence. 'I have been here for five days and I haven't fucked you once.' 'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but you have been much occupied with George.' 'That was not a reprimand, Andrew,' she said, 'But art expression of interest.' The prospect of a bout of after-dinner fucking was looming deliciously before us. I ate heartily, knowing that I would need all my energy in the evening ahead.