The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 1

PART II

Sunday, November 11th, 1895 (before Luncheon)

I should also have recorded yesterday that Julian Clayton and myself buried the hatchet last night. After we had waved our good-byes to Charlotte and the Sparsit girls, he turned to me and muttered: 'Come with me to my study, young Dashwood, I want a few words with you in private.' Oh Lord, now I'm for it, I thought, but happily I was proved wrong. I should have known that Clayton – who is a decent, fair-minded chap at heart – would never have taken out his anger and frustration at being denied a fuck by punishing me, although I was also the cause of his coitus interruptus with Lizzie Dickerson. He pointed to a chair when we entered his study and sat down opposite me. 'Dashwood, have you studied Shakespeare's Othello yet? No? Well, Othello was driven to murder his lovely wife Desdemona by a so-called friend named Iago, who spread the lie that Desdemona has been unfaithful to him. Iago did this by mixing good advice with villainous falsehoods. At one point, he actually warned Othello: O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eye'd monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on. He paused to clear his throat and then continued: 'I must admit that I was very angry when you inadvertently interrupted my fuck with Lizzie and this anger was compounded by jealousy when you struck up a friendship with Charlotte Harley. Dr Muttley had asked me to sit with himself and Miss Atkinson, making it impossible for me to renew my own acquaintance with her. Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know that my temper has cooled and you don't have to feel you need to hide from me.' 'Thanks, Clayton, and I'm sorry if I queered your pitch this afternoon,' I said. He gave a good-natured chuckle. 'I don't think you are, especially if Charlotte was in the mood she was in when we last met.' I said I was unaware that Charlotte had visited the school before and Clayton said: 'Oh yes, I'll never forget the time she visited the school with the other Sparsit girls, a few days before the end of last term. It was a splendid summer afternoon with bright sunshine and a clear, blue sky – far too nice to spend indoors. So, during the lecture, I managed to slip out to take a walk down to Webb's Meadow. There I found Charlotte who had also broken away from the gathering. 'We sat down on a ridged mound of earth under the shade of a small tree near the banks of the River Kendal. Almost from our feet stretched tall, thick grass which dipped into a small copse beyond. I lounged on my back with my head cupped in my hands, whilst Charlotte sat up hugging her knees as she surveyed the beautiful scenery. 'Then suddenly she gasped and tugged on my shoe.

“Julian, sit up a minute and look over there to your left in the copse. Am I imagining it or is that not a couple engaging in some naughtiness?” 'Dashwood, you will hardly credit it, but when I hauled myself up and peered down towards where she pointed with a trembling finger, I did indeed see a couple who, believing themselves well hidden in the copse, were engaging in what I can only describe as a most energetic fuck.' 'Don't tell me the chap was from school,'

I blurted out. The captain of the Albion Academy nodded and gave me a cheery grin. 'Oh yes, he most certainly was, and you can probably guess the identity of the female participant who is also known to you.' 'Lizzie Dickerson,' I answered promptly but he shook his head. 'Good try but no cigar, as the Yankees say. No, it was the lovely Polly, old Smeeth's daughter, who you will soon be fucking yourself now that Lizzie's chosen you to be in her select screwing band.' 'Yes, she did mention something about Polly joining in the fun,' I said. Then, remembering the story which had circulated around the school about Polly and Mr. Lewis, the geography master, going into a public house together, I proferred: 'And I would also guess that you saw Polly being fucked by one of our learned schoolmasters that afternoon.' He looked hard at me as he confirmed my supposition, saying: 'Well, don't be coy – who are you talking about, Mr.

Hutchinson, Mr. Clee, or -' 'Mr. Lewis,' I interrupted, having to clear the names of the other members of staff, although I felt I had sneaked upon one of the most popular masters in the school. 'Because you must have heard the rumour that he was seen with Polly in The Three Tuns.' 'It's not a mere rumour, because it was I who saw Polly and Michael Lewis,' the school captain coolly replied. 'And I'm extremely sorry that the story has obviously gained a wide circulation around the school. I only told one person about it and he broke his solemn word of honour that he would not divulge the information to anyone else. You can't always trust your closest friends to keep a secret, Dashwood, so I sincerely hope you'll keep your lip buttoned about Lizzie Dickerson's romps or we'll all be for the high jump.'

I blushed with concern, wishing George and I hadn't caved in to Johnny Bridges's persistent questioning. (I pray that Johnny will not succumb to the temptation to spread the news of Lizzie's private tuition.) Anyhow, wishing to hear more of Polly and Mr. Lewis's frolics, I said: 'Quite so, Clayton, but to go back to your story, did you actually see Mike Lewis have his way with Polly?' 'Oh yes, there was no doubt about it. They were rolling around stark naked on a blanket spread out on the grass and he was on top of her, nuzzling her titties. Charlotte and I saw her raise her thighs and clasp him round the waist whilst his bum went up and down as he pistoned his prick in and out of her cunney. 'We were utterly engrossed in the scene and Charlotte, sensing that I was standing behind her, all of a sudden pressed herself backwards against my thickening prick. Even through the layers of our clothing, I could feel her tight little bum rubbing against my stiff cock. I whispered that the lean, white backside we could see rising and falling in such sensuous rhythm belonged to the head of Albion Academy's geography department. '“Good heavens, surely you aren't talking about that nice Mr. Lewis? Why, he frequently bicycles over to my school to take tea with Miss Hibbert, our games mistress. I wonder if he gets up to such larks with her, she's a very attractive lady,” Charlotte exclaimed. 'With a little giggle, she now started to move her cheeks in time with Mike Lewis's buttocks which were rising and falling at a frenzied pace and I noticed Polly's hips lifting clear off the blanket so as to force his chopper even deeper inside her cunt. 'Then we heard a hoarse cry from the direction of the lusty pair and Charlotte reached back and squeezed my painfully distended shaft with her hand as she muttered: “I believe Mr. Lewis is discharging his obligations and flooding that pretty girl's pussey with his manly essence.” 'I helped her unbutton my flies and brought out my throbbing stiffie which she clutched uninhibitedly in her small hands. We watched Polly Smeeth and Mike Lewis subside into a quivering heap. When they were finally spent, Mike stood up and produced a small towel with which he wiped Polly's pussey. Polly then wrapped the towel round his prick and rubbed him dry. Mike Lewis attempted to slip on his under-shorts but Polly sat up and took his cock into her hand and kissed it gently before tucking it back into his drawers. He returned the compliment as she was about to pull on her knickers, lowering his head between her thighs and kissing her cunney before they both started to dress themselves in earnest. '“I am pleased that Mr. Lewis remembered to bring a blanket with him for grass does so stain one's clothes,” murmured Charlotte. Her busy hand now slid up and down my bursting tool and she rapidly rubbed my cock until she felt my shaft tremble as the jism forced its way up from my balls. '“Careful, I'm about to spend!” I warned her and Charlotte deftly stepped to one side and pointed my knob towards the copse just as the first spurts of spunk splashed out. Then, in the distance, I saw Dr Muttley strolling towards us. I hastily adjusted my trousers and Charlotte hid herself behind some bushes. “There was no further opportunity for Charlotte and I to spend any time together, but we have written to each other now and then and I have longed for the chance to see her again. On reflection though, I don't think she would have been amenable to any rumpy-pumpy because I have been most remiss and not answered the letter she sent me at the beginning of this term.

'So there you have it, Dashwood, I know you will keep what I have told you under your hat because I am sure that you also have designs on the sensuous Miss Harley. Well, you may as well know that I shan't be standing in your way as I now have another girl much closer to hand who is very keen on fucking. Charlotte is all yours – that is, if you can divest her of her knickers.' I was tempted to brag that I had already fucked Charlotte, but I am pleased to record that I stayed silent and shook hands with Clayton before leaving his study.

So much for yesterday afternoon – this morning's events also deserve to be noted in my diary. I found myself in the chapel, a place in which I am rarely seen if I can help it. However, this morning, Dr Muttley stopped me in the quadrangle and invited me to attend Divine Service. Before I could mouth my polite excuse, he added: 'I would deem it a favour if you did put in an appearance, Dashwood. We have a guest preacher, the Reverend Beresford Tagholm a curate from East Grinstead. He is a nephew of Smeeth, the groundsman, and I happened to discover that he was staying for a few days with his relations in their cottage. Of course, being of humble birth, the poor chap has to work extremely hard and needs to win several scholarships to further his education. He seems to be such a pleasant fellow that I persuaded Reverend Jellicoe to invite him to give a sermon this morning. I decided that there must be something in my personal aura, for after the school captain, the Headmaster now confided in me and went on: 'Between ourselves, Reverend Jellicoe was none too happy about surrendering his pulpit, but he could not refuse me. Now, I want to see far more chaps than usual in chapel this morning, not just out of politeness to our guest but also because it might help me to persuade our chaplain to cease his delivery of those fire-and-brimstone sermons which frighten our more simple-minded boys witless but do little to install a true religiosity amongst us. And I believe piety and moral strength are essential to chaps such as yourself who I believe are destined for great things after they leave us.' My father has always maintained that flattery will get you everywhere and indeed, without further ado, I yielded to Dr Muttley's request. I was chuffed to be thought of as a future leader of men, but I also reckoned that if her cousin was preaching, then Polly Smeeth would be in chapel to listen to him. There was no need for me to speak to Polly for George and I had no intention of changing the arrangements for the revelries with Lizzie Dickerson. However, I wanted to know whether the frisky Polly would be joining us in the afternoon as Lizzie had hinted.

Dr Muttley must have spoken in similar vein to several other boys, for the chapel was far more crowded than when I last attended a Sunday service. George and Johnny were both there and I managed to squeeze in a pew beside them. My parents would most certainly approve of the Reverend Beresford Tagholm, an earnest young chap of about twenty-five, who delivered an address on the need for those of us born into the upper social classes to prevent the rebuilding of our cities solely for the enrichment of speculators, town councillors and building contractors. After the sermon we sang a rousing chorus of 'Jerusalem' and when we filed out I took the opportunity to shake hands with the Reverend as I said: 'My father would have enjoyed your address, sir. As a country parson, he also speaks out strongly about the social evils of modern times, often to the discomfort of certain members of his congregation.' 'Good for him, I fear the Church has remained silent too long on these matters. Is your father's parish in this part of the country? If so, I would very much welcome the opportunity of meeting him.' 'And I am sure he would want to meet you, sir, but I'm afraid he lives many miles away in Gloucestershire,'

I said regretfully. But the curate's eyes lit up. 'Bless my soul, your father wouldn't happen to be Reverend Miles Dashwood, by any chance? He is? Well, what a happy coincidence. I had the privilege of listening to his address at a meeting of the Christian Socialist Society in Oxford, only a few weeks ago. What a wonderful man! So you must be his son, Henry, who he told me was at a boarding school in Kent.' 'You have an excellent memory for names, sir,' I smiled.

He grinned at me and said: 'One needs to have that facility in my work. But please don't “sir” me, my name is Beresford, or Berry to my friends. Henry, you probably know that I am staying with my Uncle Roger and Aunt Maud this weekend. Do join us for tea this afternoon.'

At this point I saw Polly Smeeth walking across the quadrangle towards us and I stammered out: 'Thank you, er, Berry, but I'm afraid that I have a previous engagement this afternoon.' 'Oh dear, what a shame,' he went on and as Polly was now in earshot, he added: 'I'm sure that my cousin would also have welcomed your company at tea this afternoon, wouldn't you my dear?' 'Very much so,' smiled the pretty girl surreptitiously pinching my arm as she stood beside me.

'Unfortunately, I shan't be at home this afternoon either, Berry. I have been asked to help the assistant matron with some chores.

However, I will be back by early evening.' He tut-tutted at this news and declared: 'You mustn't let yourself be put upon, Polly. My goodness, it isn't as if you are even paid a decent wage for your labours. You should speak to the housekeeper against being asked to work seven days a week.' 'This is more a labour of love,' said Polly hastily. 'Mrs. Dickerson is a most considerate employer and I want to help her out this afternoon in return for the many kindnesses she has shown me.' 'Ah, then that is a different matter altogether and far be it for me to criticise such a generous action,' said her clerical cousin. 'Look, I am staying here until Tuesday.

Henry, I hope it will be possible for us to meet again.' Dr Muttley now approached us and to the great relief of Polly and myself, shepherded the Reverend away to partake of luncheon with himself and his old friends from Appledore, Colonel and Mrs. Crabbe-Newington.

'Phew, that was a close shave,' I said, mopping my brow with a handkerchief from my jacket pocket. 'Nugent-Bull and I can't wait to see you and Lizzie in the sick bay this afternoon.' The news that George was planning to join in our frolics surprised Polly and she said 'Nugent-Bull? I understood you were going to be our sole pupil, Henry. Is Lizzie absolutely sure that you and your friend are mentally and physically prepared for your first fucks?' 'Of course we are, and in any case, I have already moved on from my initiation with Lizzie,' I said with no little pride. 'And, as for George, he is fairly bursting with anticipation.' 'Oh, very well then,' she said agreeably, giving my balls a gentle squeeze. Then she giggled and, lowering her voice, she added: 'After all, two cocks are better than one.'

Sunday, November 11th, 1895 [continued] How slowly the hands of the clock dragged their way to half past two! George and I ate sparingly at luncheon to keep ourselves in trim for the afternoon's indoor athletics. Our refusal of second helpings of Mrs. Mimble's scrumptious apple pie was noted at our table and elicited a polite inquiry about our loss of appetite from Billy Goodall. 'Don't worry about those two chaps, they're planning a long hike in the woods this afternoon so they can't stuff themselves before such hard exercise,' said Johnny Bridges meaningfully. It was obvious that poor Johnny was still upset that he would not be coming with us to visit Lizzie and Polly. I tried to soothe the troubled waters by saying: 'Yes, Johnny, and next Sunday you'll be coming with us, won't you?' Johnny took the hint and steered the conversation away to another subject, for in no way did he wish to jeopardize his own chance of crossing the Rubicon with one of the two willing females. We made our excuses and walked briskly out of the dining hall. With George at my side and on the dot of half past two, I knocked on the door of the bedroom. We waited only a few moments before Lizzie opened the door and let us in. She was wearing the same blue silk robe as she had before. She ruffled her hands through our hair and said: 'Punctuality is the politeness of kings and, as you have arrived exactly on time, you must forgive Polly and I for starting without you.' 'Starting without us -' began George with a puzzled expression on his face but then he stopped when I pointed to the bed on which lay the delectable, naked body of Polly Smeeth. She looked the very epitome of feminine pulchritude and I feasted my eyes on the gorgeous girl with her pretty face, her long locks of golden-blonde hair and her superb breasts which were topped with large, rosy nipples. At the bottom of her flat, white belly was a silky thatch of flaxen curls and when I walked slowly round to the foot of the bed, she opened her thighs so that I could see the glowing, red chink of her cunney between her pouting love lips.

'If you boys would like to get yourselves undressed, Polly and I will continue where we left off,' said Lizzie. My cock was already standing to attention when she slipped off her robe and stood in all her naked glory in front of me, before flinging herself down next to Polly on the bed. Neither George nor myself had any experience of tribadic love, but we found the prospect most exciting. When we had torn off our clothes, we had to make a gigantic physical effort to stop ourselves wanking whilst we watched the two girls play with each other. We watched in total fascination as Lizzie and Polly engaged in a passionate embrace, kissing rapturously and thrusting their wet tongues into each other's mouths. With her left hand, Lizzie clasped the younger girl's delicious backside, whilst with the forefinger of her right hand, she frigged her pussey which made Polly purr softly with obvious pleasure. Then she caressed Polly's ripe breasts until her titties stiffened into two hard, tawny peaks before transferring her attentions to Polly's golden-haired pussey.

'Ooooh, that's nice,' Polly gurgled and she parted her thighs, giving us a marvellous view of the crinkling lips of her cunney from which protruded a pretty, erect clitty. Then, Lizzie bent her head down between Polly's smooth thighs and started to roll her tongue around the hard, little bud, playfully nipping at it with her teeth.

Even though George and I were somewhat startled at this uninhibited display, we found it most stimulating to watch, and our cocks were throbbing with lust. Then Polly began to shudder and she cried out: 'Oh! Oh! Oh! You're making me come, darling!' Polly fell back on the pillow with a seraphic smile upon her pretty face but Lizzie straightened up and slipped off the bed to face us. Her nude body glowed in the subdued light. She stepped towards George, the movement leaving her in profile and allowing me to drink in the proud thrust of her full, uptilted breasts, the sweep of her sculpted thighs and the fluffy, crisp thatching over her pussey. George's slim, yet muscular chest heaved as Lizzie's hand slipped down to grasp his swollen shaft and her tongue pushed between his unresisting lips. She guided him towards the bed where Polly had moved over to allow them room to lie down together next to her. Lizzie whispered her instructions into George's ear, keeping her hand clasped around his cock as she rolled on to her back. Then she spread her legs and I could see that George was shivering with excitement as he gently lowered himself upon her. I had expected her to first instruct George to squeeze her breasts or rub her titties but, doubtless concerned that he would spend too soon, Lizzie guided his cock into her cunney without any further preliminaries. George cried out in delight as at last he was landed and his arse jerked frantically up and down as he pumped his prick in and out of Lizzie's juicy love channel. No doubt Lizzie had warned him not to rush but to ream out her cunt more slowly, for after his initial frenetic burst, George slowed down the pace. This produced the desired effect and Lizzie trembled all over, panting: 'Yes! Yes! That's really first class! What powerful strokes! Keep ramming home, dear boy, you're doing wonderfully well!' She started to squirm and claw George's back as he lost all inhibition and began to ride Lizzie as if she were a bucking mare. Her legs slid down and her heels drummed against the sheet as she arched her back, working her quim back and forth against George's tool. George sheathed his shaft so fully inside her honeypot that his balls nestled against her bum cheeks. The moment of truth was nigh and he jetted his tribute into her cunt, his buttocks bouncing up and down as the final, weak dribbles of sperm oozed out from his sated cock. Then he sank down in a state of complete fulfilment upon her luscious, soft body. In the meantime, Polly had recovered from her spend and she now beckoned me over to sit on her side of the bed.

She scrambled up to bend over me and rested her pretty, blonde head across my thighs. She smiled up at me and then pertly stuck out her pink tongue which teased its way around my knob and the edges of the spongy cap whilst she gently caressed my balls. What blissful waves of sheer ecstasy flooded through my entire body when Polly opened her lips and enveloped my helmet inside her mouth. She sucked in two or three inches of my shaft and, instinctively, I pushed my hips upwards. Her teeth scraped the tender skin as she drew me in between her lascivious lips, gobbling in more and more of my cock to savour the juices which were already oozing from my knob. I closed my eyes and a hoarse growl of excitement escaped from my throat as the lewd girl continued to suck and stroke, her clever tongue working along the underside of my prick. At the same time, she cupped my balls in her hand, rubbing them softly as she bobbed her head up and down my stalwart shaft. All too soon, I felt the tingling sensations of my approaching climax and my lusty, young penis pulsed in her mouth. I let out a strangled cry and jetted wedge upon wedge of creamy, white spunk into Polly's adorable mouth. She milked my cock to the full, not ceasing to draw upon it until the final drops of pearly juice had been eagerly gulped down. Polly raised her head and kissed my glistening cock which was now slowly losing its proud stiffness. 'M'mra, I really enjoyed that, Henry. Your spunk has a delicious salty flavour and I must suck you off again before the afternoon is out,' she said earnestly. She rose from the bed and made her way to the bathroom. I turned back to see George lying on his back, slowly fisting his shaft which had quickly recovered from its virgin spend and was again as stiff and hard as a telegraph pole.

However, before she climbed upon his waiting cock, Lizzie rolled over towards me and squeezed my prick, pressing it first against her titties and then against her cheeks before she jammed down my foreskin and took the uncapped helmet between her lips, swirling her wet tongue all over the smooth surface as it began to swell menacingly in her mouth. Then she suddenly thrust the whole shaft down her throat and under the delightful stimulation of her exquisite palating my cock was also soon proudly erect. 'Ah, Henry,' she gasped, easing my knob from her mouth. 'Now we can begin your next lesson – I want you to fuck my bottom whilst I ride George's stiff-stander. But first you must dab some pomade on your shaft. You'll find some in a little jar on my dressing-table. 'Then come straight back here and stick your cock up my bum!' she added, with a wickedly voluptuous expression on her face. Obediently I scuttled over to the dressing table and liberally anointed my pulsating prick with the greasy ointment. When I had finished, I scrambled up behind Lizzie who had straddled George and who was now lowering her juicy crack down on to his quivering cock until she was sitting flat upon the tops of his thighs with every inch of his throbbing tool ensconced inside her love box. She rocked to and fro and, on every stroke, she thrust herself forwards as far as possible and pushed out her backside so that I was given an inviting bird's eye view of her wrinkled, little rear dimple. I took my cock in my hand and carefully positioned it in the crevice between her rolling bum cheeks which I parted wide so that her arse-hole would be fully opened to my prick's impending attack. Then I manoeuvred my knob into position. I hesitated as my cock seemed too big for Lizzie's back-passage, but Lizzie sensed my apprehension and gasped out: 'Go on, Henry, if it hurts I'll call out and you can pull back.' Ever obedient, I followed her command and shoved my cock slowly and steadily forward. Lizzie grunted as I pressed my knob inside her bum-hole, but the whimper changed to a moan of delight as my prick stretched her anus and slid inside her until her bum cheeks were pressing against my belly. She writhed and twisted so much that she found it difficult to keep George's cock inside her cunt, but she managed to so do and I could feel his prick rubbing against my own with only the thin divisional membrane running between us. This kindled such arousing passions that we both spent almost at once, deluging Lizzie's cunt and arse and spurting frothy spunk over each other's balls with every thrust. We were both now hors de combat, and when Polly skipped back into the room, she looked most disappointed to see the state of our limp, dangling cocks.

'Goodness gracious, Lizzie, what have you done to these poor lads' pricks?' she exclaimed. She flicked my friend's shrivelled shaft with her finger. 'George, I rather fancied sucking your cock. I'm sure you would find it a most enjoyable experience.' George's face flushed with delight as he gasped: 'Oh, I know I would love it, Polly.

No-one has ever gobbled my prick before and I'd be awfully grateful if you would be the first to do so.' 'But neither of your cocks are yet ready for such a fray,' observed Lizzie as she let her fingertips stroke a passage through George's flaxen, pubic hair. 'However, this brings us neatly to your third lesson, which is how to please a lady when your equipment has been exhausted from your previous efforts – or indeed when your member refuses to obey your command. 'You may have discovered that sometimes your cock appears to possess a will of its own. At your age, you have probably found out that your shafts stiffen for no apparent reason and when you are older, you may also find that it occasionally refuses to rise to attention when you have every reason to want it to do so. Do believe me, boys, even the greatest lovers have suffered from stage fright at one time or another in their careers.' 'What should we do when that happens?' I enquired. Lizzie smiled at me. 'Well, there are still ways you can please a lady even if your cock is temporarily out of action.

Henry, you watched me bring off Polly with my mouth. Why don't you see if you can do the same to me?' Now of course, I had never performed cunnilingus although I had studied the practice of 'muff-diving' in the pages of The Oyster. Frankly, the idea of licking Lizzie's cunt did not appeal to me at first, but I thought that it would be most churlish to refuse such a request from our instructress.

So, I disguised my true feelings and said it would give me the greatest pleasure to try. I hauled myself on to my knees and then slid down upon my belly between her open legs so that my face was only inches away from her pussey. At last year's Boxing Day party at Bacon Lodge, after the ladies had left the dining room, I had overheard my Uncle Robert chortle to one of his cronies: 'Like nipples, like clitty, old boy!' And Lizzie proved the truth of this adage, for her tawny, elongated nipples were matched by the size of her stiff clitty.

For the first time in my life, I inhaled the aromatic smell of cuntal odour which I found far from displeasing. I kissed Lizzie's pungent pussey and worked my face into the cleft between her thighs.

'Good boy, nibble my clitty,' she breathed. I placed my lips over the tender bud and sucked it into my mouth. The tip of my tongue explored it from all directions and when I nipped at it lightly with my teeth, I could feel it swell even larger while her thighs now wriggled against the sides of my head. My tongue flashed unerringly around her damp pubic bush and the folds of her pussey opened wide as she lifted her bottom to enable me to slide my tongue through the pink lips. I licked between the grooves of Lizzie's quim in long, thrusting strokes and her cunt now started to gush with love juice. Each time I tongued her, Lizzie's clitty twitched and I now slipped my forefinger inside her juicy honeypot. 'Ohhh! Ohhh!

Ohhh!' she panted and I worked my tongue till my jaw ached whilst at the same time I frigged her cunney with three fingers. Finally, her lovely body began to tremble violently and a veritable fountain of cuntal juice splashed all over my face. My own cock was thickening and on lifting my head I saw George and Polly embrace. Then Polly slipped her hand down to squeeze George's now rigid, blue-veined truncheon and whispered: 'Close your eyes and relax, my dear, whilst I suck your succulent todger until the spunk boils up in your balls and comes gushing out of your knob!' She slid down on to her knees, and with her left hand sliding up and down his smooth, hairless chest and the ringers of her right hand gripped tightly around his rock-hard rammer, Polly opened her mouth wide and eased his uncapped knob between her lips. Then she moved her free hand downwards to smooth her palm against one of his bum cheeks whilst with the other she massaged his hairy ballsack. Polly sucked on the throbbing, young cock that was jammed inside her mouth in long, squelchy bursts, varying the exquisite rhythm every so often by occasionally taking out George's cock and planting a series of wet butterfly kisses on his ruby helmet.

Then she licked all over his straining shaft, and for a moment or two, she took each of his balls into her mouth and lightly washed them over with her tongue. George's body went rigid and his eyes tightened as he gasped: 'My God! I'm going to spend!' His lithe body bucked to and fro as he spouted into Polly's mouth and his copious spunk dribbled out of her lips and on to her chin as she sucked and swallowed as much of his ejaculation as she could manage. George lolled back panting with exhaustion as Polly licked the remaining drops of his jism off her lips and remarked: 'Yum, yum, I do love the tangy taste of masculine seed, don't you, Lizzie?' 'Very much so,' replied our mentor. 'And yet there are some girls who prefer to spit it out at the climax and there are even those who have never sampled the delights of sucking a thick, throbbing cock.' 'Oh, I do love sucking pricks,' exclaimed Polly warmly. 'I would love to suck for much longer during a fuck but unfortunately none of the men I have ever had can hold back for more than about five minutes. Mind, it's so exciting when a boy's cock starts to quiver and his spunk squirts out of his prick and shoots down my throat, especially when it doesn't taste too salty like George's seed.' Lizzie nodded her head in agreement. 'Yes, I enjoy that too, though sometimes I stop sucking before the lad ejaculates so that his cock is as hard as a rock before I slip it into my cunt.' These lascivious thoughts so fired the delicious girl that she gave me an encouraging kiss on the lips and lay back on the bed, spreading her legs wide open to expose her glossy, dark fleece and her pink cunney lips which visibly protruded through the thick mass of pussey hair. Naturally, my cock stiffened at the sight of her delicious quim. I knelt in front of Lizzie and I pushed her legs even further apart, trailing my hand through her hirsute thatch until I found her fleshy, little clitoris and she gasped with joy as I slid my fingers around it. 'You clever boy!

Play with my clitty!' she panted as she writhed under the stimulation of my questing fingers. I can see you will soon have to move to the advanced class!' 'Thank you,' I murmured. Then I removed my fingers and, rising on top of her, plunged my prick straight into Lizzie's squelchy cunt and began fucking her in a veritable frenzy of passion. Ah, her sopping sheath was as a violin and my cock was as a bow and every stroke raised the most ravishing melody on the senses!

This time the build-up to our mutual spending was slower than when I first fucked Lizzie three days ago, and we abandoned ourselves totally in a sensuous ecstasy. Our matted, hairy triangles were both soaking with each other's juices as my trusty tool slid in and out of the folds of Lizzie's cunney and our surging cries of delight echoed around the room as we climbed up to the ultimate peak of pleasure.

'Oh, Henry! Oh-h-h! O-h-h! I'm going off, my dear,' cried Lizzie as she threw her arms and legs around me. She bit my shoulder in a frenzy of sexual passion whilst the lips of her cunney clung to my cock and she cried out: 'Shoot your spunk, you big-cocked boy!'

'Here I go,' I gasped. I began shaking like a leaf from head to toe until my body was enveloped in the blissful warmth of a tremendous spend and a stream of creamy sperm erupted from my cock and drenched Lizzie's cunt.. At the same time, the force of her own climax crackled through her limbs and she screamed with joy as my ardent ejaculation drenched her love funnel. All good things come to an end, and whilst we would all have loved to continue to participate in this orgiastic cornucopia, Lizzie reminded us that, as members of the school orchestra, our presence would soon be required in Trippett's Hall for the Sunday afternoon concert. Dr Muttley is a man of liberal persuasions and believes that, whilst Sunday should be a day of rest, there is no harm in allowing music to be performed on Sunday afternoons (though boys whose families object to entertainments on the Sabbath are excused attendance on the production of a note from their parents). George and I knew that we had no choice but to leave our two charmers. However, we made arrangements to see Lizzie and Polly again on Thursday afternoon after football practice. I did not forget to mention how keen Johnny Bridges was to join in our amusements. Lizzie considered this request and, when I informed her that his member was even thicker than mine, though of a slightly lesser size, she said that she had no objection. She then asked Polly whether she minded if Johnny participated in our secret recreations.

'Not as such,' she replied pertly. 'Though this will mean there will be only two cunnies for three cocks and, as we are all aware, three into two won't go. However, I have often wondered what it would be like to have a boy fuck me whilst I was sucking off another lad, so by all means let Johnny join in our fun and I will be able to satisfy my curiosity.' We gave Johnny the good news as we hurried into Trippett's Hall (named incidentally in honour of Albion Academy's great eponymous benefactor who studied here between 1862 and 1868).

'My God I can hardly wait till Thursday afternoon,' exclaimed Johnny, rubbing his hands in glee. George winked at me as he said: 'Well, that's all very well, but don't start thinking about it and get a stiffie or you might get expelled for tossing off during the Sunday concert!' Johnny took the teasing in good part and we heartily applauded Dr Muttley when he walked on to the stage with Sir Nicholas Webster, a gentleman farmer whose country seat and one hundred acre estate lies only three miles away. According to Mr.

Moore, Albion Academy's head of music, he is one of the most talented amateur violinists in the country. Dr Muttley thanked Sir Nicholas for giving up his weekend for our benefit and the baronet then introduced the three other members of the string quartet who would play for us – the second violinist, Professor Nicholas Clay of the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London and two most attractive ladies, Miss Angela Brendan-Sykes and the charmingly-named cellist, Miss Laura Lightly. 'Hello Henry', said a cheerful voice from behind me during the first interval. I turned round to see that the sprightly figure of the Reverend Beresford Tagholm was sitting behind us, next to an exquisitely pretty girl who I had never seen before. 'We meet again. Are you enjoying the concert Sir?'

'Very much so,' he replied. I introduced my study-mates to the amiable young curate and, in turn, he introduced his companion, saying: 'And let me introduce Miss Nancy Bulstrode, my fiancee. Nancy lives with her papa at nearby Bulstrode Towers, and is the reason I have availed myself of my uncle's hospitality this weekend.' 'How nice to meet you, Henry,' said this lovely creature in a delightfully soft voice. I returned the warm, friendly smile she bestowed upon me whilst I hoped that my face did not betray my shock – for old General Bulstrode is a fearsome martinet of a country squire, a local magistrate who would happily hang, draw and quarter any poacher who trespasses upon his or any other local landowner's estate. It is even rumoured that he bribed one of the warders to ensure his presence at any flogging of miscreants at Maidstone gaol. Incidentally, the General's wife, Mrs. Gertrude Bulstrode, is rarely to be seen as she is always away visiting friends, seemingly to get as far away from her husband as possible. I was staggered to think that this beautiful girl could have a father so unlike her in looks and temperament.

However, the musicians were now ready to play the next piece in the programme and I put the matter of Nancy's parentage to one side.

The concert ended with an inspiring interpretation of Schubert's 'Quartet in D Minor', a wonderful piece of music which I have studied with Mr. Moore. I listened with intense enjoyment as Sir Nicholas effortlessly played the lovely melody of the Allegro and there were tears in my eyes at the end of the performance. Whilst every person around me rose to afford the musicians a deserved ovation, I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief to dab my eyes and, as I did so, I noticed that Nancy Bulstrode had been similarly affected by the melancholy beauty of the music and tiny rivulets of water were cascading down her cheeks. She gave me a grateful smile when I proferred my handkerchief and, after Dr Muttley had again thanked Sir Nicholas and his fellow musicians for the wonderful entertainment, she gave it to me back and said gratefully: 'Thank you so much, I know it must appear foolish to cry so during a concert, but I find Schubert's music so emotional, especially such a sad theme as in the second movement.' 'It isn't foolish at all,' I said stoutly. 'Especially when one thinks how much marvellous music he composed during his brief life. Anyhow, the second movement is supposed to be sad.' 'Quite so, it is based upon his song 'Death And The Maiden', said the Reverend Tagholm as he took Nancy's arm. 'Although it does upset me to see you cry, dear! I see you too were much affected by the music, Henry. It's as well you didn't take up my offer of afternoon tea.

'Dr Muttley had forgotten to tell me about the concert and I must confess that I was not expecting to have the pleasure of seeing Nancy this afternoon. She was unsure until the last minute whether her parents would accept the invitation to spend Sunday afternoon with some friends in Orlestone and thus make it possible for her to meet me here.' Nancy pulled a face and said: 'Yes, but I had to leave a note for my parents to say when I would return home. You know my father's reputation. If my parents get back to Bulstrode Towers before me, Papa will probably come raging down to your uncle's cottage with a horsewhip.' 'In that case, I shall go out and attempt to reason with him,' said her fiance gently. 'Who knows, perhaps I might even persuade him to recognise that you and I love each other and, like my own parents, he and your mama should give us their blessing.' 'I doubt that very much,' she replied with some spirit. 'Still, you are a clergyman and if you didn't have faith, then I suppose you would be in the wrong calling and should resign to join your brother Roger in the regiment.' 'I don't think that a pacifist brother would be much help to Roger,' said Beresford mildly, which made Nancy laugh.

She said to me: 'Come on, Henry, do walk back with us to Mr.

Smeeth's cottage in case Papa does arrive home earlier than expected from Orlestone. If Berry won't defend himself, he will need someone else to do so.' 'No, I won't,' he said indignantly, although he smiled-perhaps at the thought of having a sixteen-year-old schoolboy as his champion. He went on: 'You forget, my love, pacifist I may be, but if your Papa attempts to inflict physical violence upon my person, have no fear that I shall hesitate to disarm him. Heaven forbid, though, that such a state of affairs should come to pass.'

Frankly, I was slightly embarrassed to be involved in this affair, but as we walked out into the cold evening air, we met Lizzie Dickerson who stopped me and said: 'Ah, Henry, I have an important message for you. Your appointment for treatment of your shin is confirmed for Thursday afternoon at five o'clock in the sick bay.'

'Thank you very much,' I answered politely and, hoping to slide out of accompanying Beresford and Nancy to the groundsman's cottage, I said: 'Mrs. Dickerson, have you met Reverend Tagholm and Miss Bulstrode?' 'Oh yes, Nancy and I are old friends and Beresford and I had luncheon with the headmaster today,' replied Lizzie who, to my relief, accepted an invitation to join us in the ten minute stroll.

'Nancy, I presume you do know that your father's carriage drove through the gates Five minutes ago.' The poor girl's jaw dropped in horror at this news. 'No, I was unaware that he was here. Oh, Berry, what shall we do?' Lizzie Dickerson was genuinely distressed to see Nancy so upset and took her hands in her own and asked if there was any way in which she could be of assistance.

'What's the matter, my love? I suppose he is on the rampage again about your keeping company with Beresford,' she said with resignation in her voice. 'Look here, you two lovebirds, go on down to the cottage and don't worry about the General, I know of a good way to keep him occupied. 'Yes indeed,' she added thoughtfully. 'Henry, I may require your help. Would you mind staying with me?' 'Not in the slightest, I'd be glad to do anything I can for you,' I said eagerly and so I stayed with her whilst Beresford and Nancy made their way carefully along the dark drive. 'Good boy, I need you to run an errand for me,' she explained and then, to my surprise, she said: 'Between ourselves, Henry, the General might be a foolish old duffer, but his bark is far worse than his bite and underneath that dreadful bluster, he is really quite kind-hearted.' She chuckled when she saw the look of amazement on my face and went on: 'Now you've probably heard the story about his wanting to witness the floggings at Maidstone gaol. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but there's not a word of truth in that tale. 'Anyhow, you will do everyone a favour if you would run to the housemaid's quarters and instruct Freda to go with you immediately to Mr. Hutchinson's study. If he is to be found there, you must tell your form-master that I would like to see him as soon as possible.' 'But what if he won't come to you straightaway?' I enquired. Lizzie grinned and said: 'Oh, he'll move himself all right, you may bet upon it. But if he isn't there, tell Freda to stay in the study and await General Bulstrode's arrival whilst you search high and low for Mr. Hutchinson and when you do find him, give him the same message to meet me in my rooms without delay.

Is that quite clear?' 'Oh yes, and then is there anything more for me to do?' I asked. She thought for a moment and then, with a brisk nod, she said: 'Well it would be most useful if, after the General has gone to meet Freda, you could head off anyone going to Mr.

Hutchinson's study and interrupting them.' 'Interrupting them?' I repeated blankly and Lizzie shrugged her shoulders and said: 'Mrs.

Bulstrode spends more time away than at home and, despite what a young man of your age might believe, people in the prime of life still enjoy sexual relationships. And what man in his middle years would not relish fucking a good-looking twenty-five-year-old lass like Freda Prestwich? So, if you could keep guard, so to speak, outside your form-master's study, I will ensure that he won't disturb them.'

'Very well, but could you explain to me why you are making all these arrangements?' I said. Lizzie patted me on the cheek and said gently: 'Run along now, Henry. I think you will find that everything will become clear in the next hour or so. If not, I'll answer any questions you may have on Thursday afternoon.' Still puzzled by her reply, I trotted off first to the servants' quarters where I gave Freda Prestwich the message about meeting General Bulstrode in my form-master's study. She seemed very pleased to hear this news and said: 'How nice, Master Henry, I'll take my keys with me in case Mr. Hutchinson has locked the door.' By good fortune I met Mr. Hutchinson just as he was about to open his door. As Lizzie had correctly forecast, after I passed on her instructions, he muttered: 'As soon as possible, did you say? Very well, I'll go round to the sick bay as soon as I have returned this book I borrowed from Dr Muttley's shelves last week.' 'I'll return the book to Dr Muttley for you, sir,' I said innocently. He nodded and said: 'Thank you, Dashwood, that will save me a little time. Please give the headmaster my compliments and tell him I found Mr. Mountjoy's volume on foreign affairs extremely interesting.' I could also pass on the information about Freda to General Bulstrode, I thought to myself as I knocked on the door. But when I opened the door after Dr Muttley had boomed 'enter', I immediately saw Lizzie standing next to General Bulstrode and realised that she must have already given him the news about Freda. And indeed, this must have pleased the General who said in an almost genial tone: 'Well, I must be away as I have someone waiting to see me. I'm happy to leave the matter we discussed in your capable hands, Muttley. I'm sure that I can rely on your good sense to help me keep this impudent young puppy from pestering my daughter.

Good night to you, sir, and good night to you, Mrs. Dickerson. Thank you once again for passing on that message to me.' He brushed by me as he walked out of the study at a lively pace and shut the door firmly behind him. Forgetting my presence for the moment, the headmaster turned to Lizzie and said: 'What a strange chap he is!

Whatever was in that note certainly calmed him down. In any case, I have no intention of interfering with personal matters which are of no concern to myself or the school. After all, Smeeth's nephew is a Church of England curate, not some kind of libertine cad!' Lizzie coughed and looked meaningfully in my me standing there. 'Ah yes, Dashwood, what can I do for you, my boy?' I gave the headmaster the book and, after I had relayed Mr. Hutchinson's message, Lizzie and I left the headmaster's study together. Outside in the corridor, she kissed my forehead and said: 'Well done, Henry, now I must be off to see Mr. Hutchinson, but you would be doing Nancy and Beresford a great service if you strolled down to Smeeth's cottage and informed them that the General will be too busy to bother them for at least the next hour. Then come back here and keep an eye on things.' I was in two minds whether or not to comply with this request, but when I returned to the study, neither Johnny nor George was to be seen. So, I slipped on my overcoat and walked down the drive to the groundsman's cottage to deliver the good news to the happy couple. Although there was a dim light showing through the curtains in the front room, there was no reply when I knocked on the door. I knocked a second time, but again there was no reply. I decided to walk round the back and investigate for I could not understand why neither Nancy nor Beresford had opened the door. There were no lights showing around the back and I was about to leave, when the thought came to me that, only the other week, I had read in the Ashford Gazette of an old lady who had been badly burned in a fire caused by a faulty oil lamp left burning in her kitchen. Now Smeeth is a most careful kind of chap and would never leave a light on if nobody was at home. So, with the best intentions in the world, I set about looking for the spare key which Polly had told me her father hid under a flower pot if she was working late at the sanitarium. Then it occurred to me that perhaps the cottage was being robbed by one of the petty thieves whose activities have also been recorded recently in the local newspaper. In that case, I decided I would apprehend the burglar. I picked up a stout stick which was lying against the side of the house and, sliding it under my arm, I quietly approached the front door. I tried the doorknob and, to my fear and surprise, the door opened. I stepped into the darkness of the hall and closed it almost noiselessly behind me.

Then, with the stick gripped firmly in my hand, I tip-toed towards the light coming out from the front room, the door of which was only half shut. I bit my lip however, when I instantly recognised the sweet tones of Nancy Bulstrode's voice. 'Oh Berry, don't you think it would have been wiser to answer the door?' she asked in a faltering voice. 'No, I'm sure whoever knocked will have just gone away. It was so kind of Lizzie Dickerson to head off a confrontation with your Papa, and as my dear cousin Polly has arranged to keep my uncle and aunt away till eight o'clock, I certainly don't want to waste a moment of the little precious time we can spend alone.' 'Neither do I, darling,' Nancy sighed. I dared not move whilst I tried to decide what I should now do. On one hand, I could simply retreat and leave the lovers be, but on the other, I had important news to impart to them, and surely they could not have meant to leave the door unlocked.

So, how best could I make my presence known without embarrassing Nancy? The answer came swiftly to me – I had a sheet of paper in my overcoat, and I would use my new Alanbrooke fountain pen to write a message which I would leave in the rack for letters by the front door.

Then I would go outside, close the door and keep knocking until I heard Beresford or Nancy come to answer it. In this way, they would find my note and I would be able to walk away, without having to engage in any conversation. Just to ensure that all was as it should be, I peeped through the half-open door and saw Nancy and Beresford sitting together on a small sofa. As I looked on, she closed her liquid, blue eyes whilst the couple dissolved into a passionate kiss. I stifled a gasp of surprise when Nancy's hand wandered to the front of Beresford's trousers and pressed hard against the bulge of his stiffstander. I was even more astonished – for, when all is said and done Beresford Tagholm is a man of the cloth – when I saw the curate unbutton the front of Nancy's dress and slide down the straps of her chemise. Her beautiful bare breasts were as white as alabaster and crowned with luscious strawberry-coloured nipples. 'Play with my breasts, Berry, I love having my nipples kissed,' she murmured and her fiance was more than ready to oblige! Whilst he licked and lapped her gorgeous titties, he started to undress her, until the adorable girl was completely nude. Then he tore off his own clothes and a pang of jealousy shot through me when I saw the size of his enormous prick which was standing stiffly up against his belly. It was the biggest cock I have ever seen, at least twelve inches long and even thicker than that of Hawton of the Lower Sixth, whose tremendous todger took first place in the unofficial Victor Pudendum contest which is held on the last day of the summer term for the largest shaft in the senior school. Nancy curled her fingers around it and began to move her fist delicately up and down the blue-veined shaft. Then she dropped to her knees and kissed the uncapped, glistening helmet, her fingers drumming softly on his bum cheeks. She took as much of this colossal cock as she could between her lips as she started to suck on it like a fruity lollipop. But Beresford very soon pulled her head away from his twitching tool and said softly: 'I'm sorry darling, but unless you stop, I'll come in your mouth and I want to fuck you properly.' With a delicious smile, the gorgeous girl did as she was told and stood with her legs apart as she bent over the sofa so that both Beresford and I enjoyed a lovely view of her open bottom and pouting quim while the lips of her cunney stretched to expose the flushed chink of her love tunnel. Then Beresford leaned over her and her bottom wriggled sensuously from side to side as, taking a series of deep breaths, he pushed his huge knob between her buttocks.

However, Beresford did not attempt to cork her bum-hole, but pushed his cock inside the supple, wet crack of her cunt, thrusting deeply as Nancy let out a tiny yelp of delight. He pushed forward fiercely, burying his shaft to the very hilt so that his balls rested against her bum cheeks and, holding her round the waist until he felt his cock could push forward no further, he shifted his hands to fondle her soft, rounded bosoms, rubbing the elongated rosebud titties until they must have been as hard as rocks. 'Fuck me, darling, I adore the feel of your big cock sliding in and out of my little cunney,' breathed Nancy. Beresford immediately obeyed, sliding his immense organ in and out of her pussey at some speed. Nancy responded gaily to every thrilling shove and I could hear, if not see, Beresford's hairy balls slapping against her bum as he moved to and fro in a fierce, shunting movement. This brought them both to the boil very quickly and, with one final, almighty thrust forward, he spurted into her, working his gleaming shaft back and forth as he creamed her cunney.

I ripped open my fly buttons and released my own pulsing organ which had been bursting to be freed from the confines of my trousers.

I began to slide my cupped hand up and down the straining girth of my swollen shaft, my firm motions regularly revealing and covering the crimson blush of my domed helmet. 'Oooh, your cock is still stiff,' exclaimed Nancy joyously as she reached behind her and clasped hold of Beresford's shining, wet shaft. 'Now, my dear, you must lie down on the sofa and let me do all the work this time.' 'With pleasure, my dearest,' Beresford panted as he pulled his cock out of the cleft of her buttocks. 'Who am I to disobey such a sweet command?'

He lay down as she had instructed and Nancy sat astride him, trailing her magnificent breasts up and down his torso. Then she lifted her hips and crouched over his quivering cock, her cunney directly poised above his uncapped, purple knob. She slid gently down his rigid rod with a heartfelt sigh of satisfaction and, ever so slowly, she lifted and lowered her dripping honeypot so that Beresford's boner went higher and deeper inside her with every stroke.

They soon established a rhythm to their fucking and his hips jerked upwards at each of Nancy's downward thrusts. By this time, I could no longer hold back my spend and my proud prick spurted a fierce jet of sticky jism on to the Smeeth's hall carpet as warm waves of sheer bliss coursed through my body. I wiped my cock with my handkerchief, but my attempt to dab at the soiled carpet was ineffectual. I glanced up to see Nancy was now pumping up and down on Beresford's shaft at great speed, digging her fingernails into his ribs. Each voluptuous shove was accompanied by their mutual wails of ecstasy. He pulled her body forward so as to rub one of her red titties between his fingers whilst he took the other pouting strawberry between his lips. The supreme moment soon arrived and she dropped down hard upon his raging rammer with a husky cry. They spent profusely, draining each other dry, until they finally came to rest.

'Oh Berry, that was a truly splendid fuck,' said Nancy happily.

'We really must get married soon for I cannot go for such a long period of time without being threaded by your wonderful cock.'

Beresford replied: 'I would like nothing better, my precious girl. Ah, if only we could get your father to see reason.' His voice trailed off and Nancy kissed him as she said: 'If only I came into my inheritance at twenty-one, but according to the terms of grandfather's will, I cannot inherit my share of his fortune until I am twenty-five. Then my parents can do nothing to prevent our union.

But I don't want to wait for almost another five years to become Mrs.Tagholm!' 'We could marry when you are twenty-one,' ventured Beresford. Nancy sighed: 'Yes, that is so, but we have discussed this possibility many times. The situation has not changed-if I marry without my father's consent, not only would he cut me off without a penny, but I would also forfeit my right to the eighty-five thousand pounds, plus bank interest, which would come to me from my grandfather's estate. I know that your family would augment your small salary, but I will not deny that I might well regret the loss of my inheritance in later years-especially if we started a family. It would be most unfair on any children to disinherit them.' 'It would be unfair, I entirely agree with you,' concurred her fiance with feeling.

'I may only be an unworldly curate, but if the boot were on the other foot, I would feel exactly the same way about the money. Alas, my dear, we must wait, unless some kind money. Alas, my dear, we must wait, unless some kind and clever soul like Lizzie Dickerson can persuade your father to drop his objections to our engagement.'

He sneezed and Nancy said: 'Sweetheart, we had better get dressed very soon. I don't know for how long Lizzie has managed to head off Papa but he might be at the door at any moment.' 'You don't think it might have been your father knocking on the door some ten minutes ago?' enquired Beresford. Nancy chuckled and said: 'Oh no, if it had been Papa, he would not have simply gone away but would have stood outside bellowing like a bull for me to come out and drive home with him 'this instant, my girl,' she concluded, giving a good imitation of her father's gruff, angry manner. 'Well, we can always pray for a change of heart by your father,' sighed Beresford. He gave a short laugh and went on: 'And we must have faith that this could happen, although it has been some nineteen hundred years since Our Lord performed his wonders! On the other hand, God helps those who help themselves, so we had better get dressed as you say, and try to fathom a way out of our problem.' Like the Bedouin Arab who folds his tents and steals silently away, I buttoned up my trousers and walked noiselessly to the front door. I hastily scribbled out the note and silently placed it in the rack. Then, with great care, I turned the door handle and opened the door just enough to enable me to slip through on to the porch. Once outside, I banged on it with some force three or four times, then I ran back towards the safety of the school drive. As I walked along the drive, the bell started to toll for the evening roll call, about which I had quite forgotten, but I had time in hand to present myself at the fifth-form assembly point where Davidson, the duty prefect, ticked my name off on the register.

Johnny and George were larking about with some other fellows and they invited me to join in a tug-of-war match in the common room.

'Sorry chaps, I don't think I'm up to it,' I said, making the excuse that my shin was playing up so I would take a rest in the library and see them in half an hour's time for supper. Of course, this was, shall we say, a terminological inexactitude, for the truth was that I was curious to know what, if anything, might be going on in Mr.

Hutchinson's study! Stealthily, I made my way to my form-master's study, making as sure as I could that I was not seen and, when I reached my destination, I put my ear to the keyhole which, sadly, was blocked by the key. I could hear grunts and groans coming from behind the door and longed to know what was going on. Then I had a fine brainwave – the study faces the third-form classroom across the yard and, so long as Mr. Hutchinson had not drawn the curtains, and the lights were on, I could see what was going on between Freda and the General from there and perhaps better so with the aid of my new Danziger amp; Seligsohn German binoculars. (A birthday present from my dear Mama, who sent them to me with a note suggesting that they would be useful for nature watches.) Well, in the widest sense of the term, I was on a nature watch. I hurried back to my study to collect my binoculars and then to the third-form classroom. I offered up a prayer of thanks, for Mr. Hutchinson had not drawn his curtains or turned out the lights and I could see the outlines of an amazing scene unfolding. Everything became crystal clear when I used the binoculars, which, having adjustable focusing, magnified my vision so perfectly, that not even the smallest detail was hidden from me. It was difficult to prevent my hands from shaking slightly as I trained my glasses upon Mr. Hutchinson's table which had been cleared of books and papers, but was not empty. For, lying across it, flat on his back and stark naked was none other than General Bulstrode! His chest was covered with dark, matted hair and his corpulent belly sagged over the sides of the table without the restriction imposed by his clothes to keep his body in shape. However, his throbbing tool stood up smartly enough, a thick, twitching truncheon which was being manipulated in expert fashion by Freda Prestwich who was dressed, or rather half-undressed, in her black housemaid's uniform. Assisted no doubt by the gallant General, she had taken off her blouse and her large, hare breasts were swinging voluptuously from side to side, looking mouth-wateringly ripe for a touch of lips or fingers. My hand flew to my fly buttons, and for the second time in less than an hour, I pulled out my palpitating prick and began to slide my fist up and down my swollen shaft whilst General Bulstrode fondled Freda's breasts. Of course I couldn't hear what she then whispered in his ear, but it must have been along the lines of 'Now I want you to fuck me' because he heaved himself up from the table and helped Freda to unhook her skirt and slip off the garment together with her drawers. When she too was completely nude, Freda obligingly bent over the table with her back to the window so that I could see her full, sumptuous bum cheeks and she pulled them apart herself, inviting the General to plunge his prick between them. When he appeared to hesitate, I assumed that he was merely debating, like a billiards player, whether he should go for the pink or the brown. I wondered in which of Freda's warm, wet orifices he would slide his stiff shaft. But when he continued to stand by Freda's side with a forlorn expression on his countenance, I trained my glasses on his groin and noticed that the gallant soldier's equipment had malfunctioned and that his flaccid shaft was flapping limply between his thighs. Freda turned her head, presumably to ask why the General had not taken up position behind her. Then, after a brief, animated conversation, to my astonishment, the couple changed positions and the General sprawled himself over the table, lifting his buttocks high in the air. For a moment, Freda disappeared from view, but she soon returned to the scene having picked up Mr. Hutchinson's cane which he keeps resting against the wall in the far corner of his study. She gripped the cane and smoothed the stick across his arse – but even then I could hardly believe that she was actually going to swish General Bulstrode for not being able to maintain his hard-on!

And, funnily enough, Freda also seemed unsure as to whether she should carry on with this punishment for she appeared to ask the General whether he really wanted her to continue. He must have answered in the affirmative because he nodded vigorously in answer to her question.

Freda shrugged her shoulders and positioned herself ready to lay six of the best upon his chubby posterior. She raised her arm and brought down the cane with no little force across his bottom and, when she raised in for a second stroke, I could make out an angry red line across his bum cheeks. Nevertheless, General Bulstrode must have derived some queer pleasure from being whopped for he clenched and unclenched his buttocks in what I assumed was a further invitation to Freda to continue. She did so so skillfully that I suspected this was not the first time she had chastised the General in this manner.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Even though I could not hear the sounds I still winced at the sight. Freda laid on with a will, delivering the cuts with equal force, one below the other, so that the red stripes were imprinted on the General's backside at regular distances whilst he wriggled and writhed. She finished the flogging with an almost vicious snap to the deep crease of his arse. Then the General hauled himself up off the table and I could see why he had requested Freda to cane him – for now his rod was standing rigidly to attention.

The girl now knelt on her hands and knees whilst General Bulstrode guided his stiff shaft between the lovely cheeks of her bottom. From the expressions of delight on their flushed faces, I guessed that he had buried his tool deep inside her clinging sheath and I noted that he slipped his hand around her waist to handle her luxuriously-covered mound, sliding his fingers into her cunt to join his veiny love truncheon. My own cock now jerked and twitched in my fist and my whole body shuddered. Spurts of sticky spunk erupted from my knob as I gave myself up to the joys of a long and copious climax, spraying the window with my powerful jets of jism. As I wiped myself with my handkerchief, which was already coated with spunk from the result of my tossing off whilst I watched the glorious fucking of Nancy Bulstrode by the Reverend Beresford Tagholm, I saw the General collapse down upon Freda, doubtless having discharged his seed inside her cunney. As I squeezed my shrunken shaft back into my drawers and buttoned my trousers, I reflected that it would still be some time before General Bulstrode was ready to continue his search for his daughter. Meanwhile, Lizzie Dickerson would be entertaining Mr.

Hutchinson (in a manner I could well imagine) so that there was little chance of his returning to his study and interrupting the fine sport which was still taking place there. A final glance showed the housemaid on her knees in front of the General, coaxing his dangling shaft into a further cockstand. I decided that there was no need for me to have any further involvement in these matters and I walked thoughtfully back to the fifth-form common room. I've been reflecting whether Dr Muttley has the slightest inkling of just how much fucking has been taking place within the buildings of 'the grand old school', as he often refers to it. My conclusion is that the headmaster remains in a state of blissful ignorance of such carnal carryings-on. However, whilst he would not approve of them, he might prefer these expressions of sexual desire to take place rather than foster the sexual practices between us boys which are bound to occur if we are denied access to the company of the opposite gender.

When I opened the door of the common room, I found myself pressed into umpiring the rowdy tug-of-war match that was taking place until supper-time. Then, (as is the custom at the Albion Academy on Sunday nights) we had to attend a brief assembly in the main hall for a short lecture upon a topic of the day, occasionally given by a sixth former or by one of the teaching staff, but delivered this particular evening by Dr Muttley himself on the subject of 'The Ethics of Empire'.

Our headmaster is an unrepentant Imperialist and urged us never to forget that, to us, a certain definite duty has been assigned: 'to touch the mind of Asia and Africa with the ethical ideas of Europe; to give to thronging millions who would otherwise never know peace nor security, these first conditions of human advance. Whatever others might say, we do not possess the right to cast from us this vast world-work which our forefathers have entrusted to our care'. As we filed out of the hall on our way to the dormitory, I remarked to Billy Goodall that it was all very well for Dr Muttley to talk of the need to civilise the natives, but how about the need to provide decent living conditions and jobs at reasonable rates of pay for our countrymen who are crammed into the slums of our big cities and have little hope of escape from their wretchedness?' 'Now then, young Dashwood, we'll have none of that radical clap-trap here, if you don't mind,' snapped Addington, one of the sixth-form prefects who was walking behind me. 'I don't want to hear you spouting that dangerous nonsense again, it's all based on selfishness and socialist envy.'

'You may not agree with me but I'm entitled to express my opinion,' I challenged. He scowled and replied: 'Not when I'm around you're not, Dashwood, do you understand?' 'Only too well,' said the familiar voice of Julian Clayton and I spun round to see the captain of the school glaring at Addington. 'I don't agree with what Dashwood is saying either but he has every right to put forward his point of view. Haven't you ever heard of free speech?' “Thanks, Clayton,' I said as Addington walked furiously away. “That's all right, young Dashwood,' he said with a conspiratorial wink. 'Don't hesitate to let me know if that foolish fellow bothers you again. We pupils of Lizzie Dickerson must stick together!'