The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

PART I. A Sensuous September

Clayton Towers, Cheltenham, September 28th, 1901 Until my initiation into manhood through the kindness of Mrs. Lizzie Dickerson, the much respected Matron at my old school, I used to believe that my initial impressions of people were invariably right and I still hold it true that the firmest of friendships often begin within minutes of the first meeting of the persons involved. But I have now learned that other cordial attachments nurture more slowly as evinced by the gradual development of the close rapport which exists between myself and Julian Clayton, the former Captain of the Albion Academy. With hindsight, anyone would understand why Clayton was so angry when he first made my acquaintance. At the time he was lying naked on the bed with the equally nude Mrs. Dickerson and was about to slide his straining shaft into her juicy pussey when I interrupted their coupling by knocking loudly on the door of the Matron's private quarters. With the restraint of a saint, Clayton, who could hardly afford to be caught in flagrante delicto with the buxom Mrs. Dickerson, was forced to abandon his intent of fucking the comely lady. Instead, the poor chap had to pull on his clothes in double quick time before rushing to the door to see me standing outside like a spare prick at a wedding, as Uncle Robert (himself no mean cocksman) remarked when h? read about the incident in my diary. Fortunately, that and any further misunderstandings between us were swiftly settled and Clayton and I became the best of friends – so much so in fact, that when I took up my place at Oxford, he insisted that I should spend the week before the University year began as his guest at Clayton Towers, his family's impressive mansion near the village of Charlton Kings on the outskirts of Cheltenham.

'Our house is only some forty miles away from the 'Varsity so you will be able to arrive at Brasenose after only a short train journey as opposed to a long haul from your own home,' he had written to me, and then had added mysteriously: 'Anyhow, you must come here for a visit, Henry, I am in urgent need of your body! No, do not be alarmed, I have not joined the surprisingly considerable number of homosexualists who may be found lurking amongst the dreaming spires!

All will be explained over a whisky and soda after Fletcher has taken your bags upstairs.'

Naturally I accepted his invitation, for I was looking forward to meeting up again with my fellow Old Albanist and was keen to hear what was behind his strange request. Being a year older than me, Julian left the Albion Academy last summer having also gained a place at Oxford to study at Magdalen, so I also wanted to hear his comments about undergraduate life which I was sure would be extremely helpful for a naive 'fresher' like myself. So, this is how I came to be pacing up and down the forecourt at St James's Station, Cheltenham, at three o'clock yesterday afternoon, somewhat concerned that Julian's carriage was not waiting to meet my train. There was little I could do but wait and so I stood by my cases and glanced through my copy of the Daily News. I looked up when I heard the honk of a motor horn and, lo and behold, there was my chum sitting grinning like a Cheshire cat as he sat taking off his goggles at the wheel of a motor car. 'Hello there, Henry, I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting but I had a ruddy puncture on the Old Bath Road,' said Julian as he jumped down from his seat and strode towards me. 'What do you think of my horseless carriage, as my father insists on calling it?'

I know little about motors, but I recognised the vehicle from the distinctive semi-circular, finned-tube radiator. 'This is one of this chappie Austin's machines is it not?' I enquired as I helped him load my cases on to the car (my parents are kindly sending two large trunks containing my books and other belongings directly to Brasenose).

'Yes, this is a Wolseley from his Birmingham factory,' answered Julian proudly as he passed me a spare set of goggles. 'I decided to buy this model after reading how successfully it competed in the Thousand Miles Trial last year and I must say that I've found it to be extremely reliable, although that's the third tyre I've gone through in the last two weeks!' I clambered into the car and after a few minutes, I remarked on how many people had stopped to stare at us as we drove through the High Street. Julian put his foot down on the accelerator and soon we had reached the giddy heights of twenty-five miles an hour. 'I say, old boy, steady on,' I gasped. The car skidded to a halt some half an hour later on the loosely laid gravel of the drive of Clayton Towers. The butler was waiting to welcome us and to receive Julian's instructions. 'Afternoon, Fletcher, this is Henry Dashwood who will be staying with us for a few days. Put his bags in the Blue Room,' said Julian. 'Very good, Sir,' replied Fletcher and then turning to me, he said: “Welcome to Clayton Towers, sir. I'll have your luggage taken up immediately and Alice will lay out your clothes. Unfortunately, we are somewhat short-staffed as the valet and Lady Clayton's personal maid, have accompanied Sir Talbot and Lady Clayton to Scotland.' 'Yes, my apologies, Henry', said Julian. I should have mentioned that my people will be away whilst you're here. They send their best regards but they've been invited for a few days hunting, shooting and fishing up in the Highlands with Lord Macfarlack. My brother Nick has gone to stay with some friends in Bristol so I'm afraid we'll be rattling around the house by ourselves.' However, a few minutes later as we sat sipping whiskies and sodas in the drawing room Julian expounded further on this subject and upon the curious statement which he made to me in his letter of invitation. 'Whilst I'm sure that you would have wanted to meet my folks, I have to confess that I deliberately invited you to come here whilst they were up in bonnie Scotland,' he explained with a smile. 'For I am equally sure that you would prefer to spend your time fucking Harriet, our new young chambermaid. She's only been with us a month and I've been poking her solidly almost since the day she arrived.' 'Good for you, old bean, but what has this to do with my presence here? If anything, I would have thought having a house guest would cramp your style,' I observed. To my surprise Julian shook his head and smirked happily at me before he answered: 'Oh no, Henry, far from it. You recall that I wrote to you saying how I needed the use of your body?

Yes, I thought you might, it was a pretty strange thing to say. Well, Harriet's the reason for that request, because she is such a devilishly horny girl and I don't mind admitting I simply can't satisfy her just by myself. I'm not ashamed to admit this because it isn't as if she doesn't spend every time we fuck. 'To be honest, I simply cannot keep up with her any more, Henry. Four times on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday plus at least five fucks last Saturday night is too much even for such famous cocksmen as Sir Ronald Dunn or Prince Konrad Kochanski and all those other chaps I've read about in The Oyster.' I shrugged my shoulders and murmured: 'Well, old Doctor Muttley always maintained that even a gourmet can tire of caviare, lobster and champagne.' 'Maybe so, Henry, but this premise doesn't apply to me,' said Julian with an edge of irritation creeping into his voice. 'Believe me, I still adore a good poke with Harriet or any other willing wench. To be blunt, my dear chap, I just need a fresh cock to keep Harriet happy and your John Thomas was my first choice to fit the bill!' He gulped down the rest of his drink, then hauled himself out of his chair and strode quickly across to the writing desk at the window. He unlocked a drawer and brought out a photograph which he gave me on his return as he went on: 'Naturally, it goes without saying that you must not feel under any obligation in this matter. If fucking Harriet does not appeal to you, I dare say Patrick Fitz-Browne would be more than willing to help me out. But, whatever you decide, please keep mum about it for Harriet would immediately lose her situation if anyone found out what was going on.' 'Anyhow, here's a picture of Harriet which you might find of interest,' he concluded, looking intently at me whilst I studied the colour tinted photograph. One could hardly blame Julian for wanting to keep his amorata sweet for Harriet was without doubt a cut above the ordinary. She could not have been more than eighteen, and her pretty, fair-skinned features were well set off by good eyes and tresses of light hair. The top buttons of her white blouse were open giving a teasing view of the swell of her firm creamy breasts.

But what made me catch my breath was the lusty expression on her face as she looked to her right at a naked, stiff penis which she was clutching in her hand, with the uncapped knob only a few inches away from her lips! 'Hell's bells, Julian, what a smasher!' I gasped and he let out a snort of laughter and gurgled: 'Yes, isn't that the handsomest cock you've ever seen – and the girl's jolly good-looking too!' I peered at the photograph again and said: 'So it's your tadger on display, eh? So who took the photograph?' 'I did,' he said proudly. 'It was the first time I had tried this shot and it worked to perfection.' 'Isn't science wonderful?' I chuckled as I handed the photograph back to Julian who walked over to the desk and slipped it back in the drawer. 'No wonder you keep it under lock and key.' 'Absolutely, old boy,' he agreed. Knowing how from my own limited experience of l'arte de faire l'amour how foolish one can be when the blood is up, I looked up sharply at Julian and commented: 'Um, I don't wish to cast the slightest aspersion on this girl's character, but I hope she doesn't possess one of these prints?' A broad smile creased Julian's lips and he said good-humouredly: 'No, don't worry, Henry, I'm not totally daft. Giving her this photograph would be like placing a loaded gun in her hands if my mother and she ever quarrelled. Be assured, I'm well aware that fucking one of my mother's servants is not a very clever thing to do, but you must agree that Harriet is something special.' This answer relieved my disquiet and with a nod, I concurred with his estimation and said: 'She certainly is quite gorgeous, you lucky chap. Tell me, how did you know that she was fond of a bit of rumpy-pumpy?' Julian settled back in his chair and replied: 'Funnily enough it was more by accident than design. I had been out on the Cheltenham Athletic Club's paper chase. Well, I didn't win but the weather was fair and I was glad of the exercise. Anyhow, when I came home I went straight upstairs for a steaming hot bath and, after a nice long soak, I heaved myself out and wrapped myself with a towel I had taken out of the laundry-room.

'As I dried myself, it occurred to me that back at Albion Academy if Lizzie Dickerson had given the winner of the mile race a similar reward to that she gave the scorer of the winning goal against Bedinghurst, I would have broken the school record for the distance!'

'Yes, and you would have been able to pole-vault over the winning line as well,' I laughed, for as Julian knew, I was the lucky recipient of Mrs. Dickerson's accolade, a sensuous sucking-off which makes my shaft stiffen at the mere memory of the delectable way she swirled her wet tongue all over my quivering cock. 'And this would apply to any chap if he had been informed that he would win a lovely long gobble from the Matron,' he grunted and then continued: 'Not surprisingly, thinking about Lizzie Dickerson made my prick spring to life of its own accord and even before I began to stroke my shaft, it had swelled up to bursting point. I stood admiring myself in front of the full length mirror for a little while and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harriet standing in the doorway with-a pile of clean towels in her hands. She was also staring at my love truncheon in the mirror. '“For heaven's sake, Harriet, why didn't you knock?” I snapped irritably as, greatly embarrassed, I hurriedly threw a towel around my waist. But, to my utter astonishment, the little minx took no notice and calmly came into the bathroom, dropped her towels on the floor and proceeded to lock the door behind her without so much as a by your leave. Then to my amazement she said: 'Oh, you must forgive me, sir, but looking at your enormous stiffie has made my pussey go all wet.' 'I was so shocked that I stayed stock still. Harriet walked over and pulling down my towel, she exposed my slowly shrinking shaft. 'Now, now, we can't let this lovely thick prick be so shy,' she mumbled. 'She knelt down and ran her fingers along my penis before squeezing my shaft in her soft hands.

This was all the encouragement it needed to swell up again to its fullest extent and I gave a little groan when Harriet cupped my balls in one hand. '“Does that feel nice, Mr. Julian?” she muttered, but I was now far too excited to reply coherently and all I could do was to let out a tiny growl which made Harriet giggle. “Well, if you liked that, young sir, let's see what you think of this.' 'With those words, she leaned forward and, to my amazement, kissed my cock and washed my knob with the tip of her tongue. My God! The feeling was just unbelievable when she sucked my shaft into her hot, wet mouth. My balls started to tighten as they filled with cum and I thrust frenziedly forward, almost choking her whilst she slurped lustily on my raging tool. 'I was close to shooting my load although she had been sucking me for barely half a minute and she clearly felt my urgency for she sucked even harder as she gently squeezed my ballsack.

This sent me over the top and sent a rush of seed up the channel of my pulsating prick which exploded into her mouth, causing a torrent of jism to pour out of my cock and down her throat. 'It was as well that Harriet had unbuttoned her blouse because although she swallowed as much of my spunk as she could, she found it impossible to contend with the huge gush of semen which overflowed on to her chin and dripped down into the valley between her breasts. 'Finally, she licked round my knob and gave my still semi-stiff chopper another kiss. “My word, Mr. Julian, you didn't half let fly a tremendous spurt just then,” she said with admiration. “I've never had a problem swallowing cum before but you were fairly choking me with spunk!” 'Somewhat dazed, I said: “Thank you, Harriet,” but she countered this with a shake of her head and said: “No, thank you, sir.” 'Then she lifted up her skirt and added provocatively. “Oh dear, my pussey's absolutely soaking. I'm sorry, but I'll just have to take off these knickers.” '“There's no need to apologise,” I said thickly as she pulled down her drawers and the sight of her damp thatch sent my shaft swelling up again into its former rock-hard state. Now it was Harriet's turn to look surprised and she said: “Goodness gracious, how can you prime your cock for some more action so quickly? I was going to save the pleasure of being fucked by your meaty cock till tomorrow, but seeing as you're raring to go and my cunney is already so wet, there doesn't seem any point in waiting, does there?” '“No, there doesn't,” I said hoarsely whilst Harriet unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off her shoulders. Then she unhooked her skirt and stepped out of the garment leaving her clad only in a chemise which she pulled over her head so that she stood naked in front of me. 'She pulled me against her smooth body and, as our mouths meshed together, I slid my hands around her jouncy big breasts, brushing the pinky-brown nipples which hardened beneath my fingers and made her gasp with delight. After a while she moved my hand downwards, still holding my face hard against her bosoms which I nibbled greedily, grazing the randy young vixen's erect buds.

'Thus enjoined, we sank to the floor and Harriet laid herself down on the pile of towels she had brought into the bath-room. She parted her thighs and moved my hand away to spread her cunney lips with her own forefinger, revealing the red chink between them.

'“Go on, big boy, fuck my sweet little pussey,” she muttered.

That was all I needed to hear! With a groan I rammed my cock deep into her juicy cunt and she jerked her bottom to absorb more of my slippery shaft until it was fully engulfed inside her clingy cunney.

My balls dangled against her bum cheeks as she wrapped her legs around my waist to hold me firmly inside her. 'Dear Lord, what a marvellous fuck that was! I plunged my prick in and out of her clinging crack in time with the ever quickening upward thrusts of her hips. Suddenly I could feel her love channel tighten and she cried out: “Oooh! Oooh! Fuck me hard, Mister Julian! Oooh yes, I'm going to come!' 'I could feel the surge building up inside her and the contractions of her cunney muscles immediately sent the spunk to my cock. Harriet shuddered in ecstasy and, at the same time, I drenched her cunt with a stream of sticky seed which mingled with her own flood of pungent love juice. 'We lay together on the floor, panting, and then she wriggled out from underneath me. Whilst she dried herself with a bath towel she remarked pertly: “What a skilled cocksman you are, sir, you must have made love to lots of the maids working at Clayton Towers.” '“You're quite wrong, my dear, I haven't shagged any of the girls on our staff since I was sixteen and had my very first knee-trembler with Elsie, our former scullery maid, behind the greenhouse,” I replied mildly. She looked at me in some surprise and said: 'Well, I can tell that you haven't just played with yourself since then! Surely, there weren't many opportunities to fuck at that posh boarding school you went to.” Without mentioning Lizzie Dickerson's name or giving away too many details, whilst Harriet began to dress herself, I explained to her how a kind female connected with the school had assisted senior boys through the rite of passage into manhood. 'I noticed with some surprise that Harriet had slipped on her chemise, blouse and skirt although her knickers were still lying on the floor, but I decided it might be rude to point this out to her, so I made no comment and continued: “First love can be idyllic or a totally disastrous experience, and like my friends who were also chosen to receive these special private lessons, I count myself extremely fortunate to have been instructed in the mechanics of copulation by such a wonderful teacher.” '“Well, this lady certainly did a good job and I bet you came top of the class,” said Harriet with a smile and with that she checked how she looked in the mirror. Then she picked up her knickers from the floor and threw them at me. '“There you are,” she giggled gaily as she skipped to the door which she unlocked and as she left she winked at me and went on: “A memento of our first fuck, which is more than your brother Nick received after I tossed him off before he left for Bristol last Thursday morning.”' Julian paused and tramped over to the sideboard to refill our glasses from the silver-mounted spirit decanter. 'Lucky old Nick,' I observed. He looked up at me with a frown and grunted: 'Lucky indeed but hardly old, Henry, my young scamp of a brother is only just fifteen!' I rose from my chair and joined him at the sideboard where I pressed the handle of the siphon and splashed a dash of soda into my whisky as I asked: 'Why did Harriet's remark upset you? I'm damned sure Nick was delighted with his first experience of having a soft female hand slide up and down his shaft. Come now, old boy, when we were Nick's age, wouldn't we have given almost anything to have a girl like that to want our cocks? Of course we would! Come to think of it, I wouldn't turn down an offer of Harriet's fist now or at some time in the future!'

Julian grinned and shrugged his shoulders as I passed the siphon to him. 'You're absolutely right. I would have signed over part of my inheritance for a lass like Harriet to rub my prick when I was fifteen,' he admitted with a heavy sigh. 'And I shouldn't be jealous, but I wouldn't be surprised if Nick actually gets to fuck her when he returns from his trip, the randy young so-and-so.' 'M'mra, I hope I shall have my chance to poke this willing little miss,' I said thoughtfully as I returned to my armchair. 'Oh, you've no worries on that score,' said Julian lightly. 'Anyway, you will make Harriet's acquaintance at dinner tonight. As you heard Fletcher tell me, there is a shortage of servants with Hobart and Emily away with my parents, and another two maids down with chills even this early in the season.

Consequently, Harriet will be waiting at table this evening.

Incidentally, there was no dining car on your train was there. You must be ravenous. I'll ask Fletcher to call us in for dinner at seven and skip tea. If all goes according to plan, we'll need to have worked off our evening meal by the time Harriet clocks off.' I raised my eyebrows and asked Julian if he had already made any firm arrangements with Harriet. He gave me a sly wink and answered: 'Have patience, Henry, all will be revealed in good time. It's possible that she might not be able to sneak off till quite late so I'll challenge you to five frames of snooker after dinner if we have to wait an hour or two for her.' Fletcher the butler may have had to press Harriet into service to help him serve dinner, but there were no signs of any problems in the kitchen. Mrs. Sawyer (the cook at Clayton Towers since Julian was a small boy) produced a mouth-watering dinner of Hors d'Oeuvres Variee, Noisettes d'Agneau aux Primeurs; Pommes Mozerre;

Epinards au Beurre; Salade Vosigienne; Tarte de Framboises et Groseilles; Compote de Peches, Glaces Vanille et Chocolat and I should record that the lovely Harriet proved herself an adept waitress.

After this magnificent blow-out feast, which we washed down with two bottles of a very decent hock (a '99 Niersteiner Pettenthal as Julian later informed me) we retired to the drawing room where Fletcher was waiting to pour out coffee and liqueurs for us. 'I think I'll skip the port,' I said as I flopped into an armchair. 'As it is, I'm feeling rather tired and I need to sharpen up if we're planning to remove to the games room afterwards.' 'I'll also forgo my usual cognac. I need to keep my aim steady,' said Julian meaningfully. 'So just a small black coffee for me, Fletcher. Henry?'

'I'll have the same, please,' I said and after the butler passed us two Crown Derby dessert cups, he retired from the room. A few sips of the strong Mocha coffee swiftly cleared my head and I heaved myself up from the chair, prepared to challenge Julian to the frames of snooker. 'Game for it?' he said carelessly, putting down his coffee cup on a side table. 'Personally, I'd much prefer a bloody good fuck! I might have sounded blase when I told you that Harriet was tiring me out, but talking about how she seduced me in the bathroom has made me feel so randy that every time she sidled up to me at dinner, my prick shot up like a bullet out of a gun. By gad, Henry! I can hardly wait to slide my stiffie back inside her tight juicy pussey.' He sighed and glanced up at the clock. 'You're right though, old boy, we could both use a little warm-up to work off Mrs.

Sawyer's delicious dinner. Marvellous cook, isn't she? Trouble is, she tends to spoil me and I always put on weight when I come home during the vacations!' 'Well, if it's any comfort, the latest medical opinion is that a five minute fuck is the equivalent of putting yourself through a one hundred yard dash or a good brisk country walk,' I remarked. Julian rubbed his hands together and chuckled: 'Then let's hope that we'll run a mile or two tonight, eh? Come on, let's walk up to the games room, that's where Harriet will expect to find us.' Sir Talbot Clayton, Julian's father, is a keen devotee of snooker and billiards and has recently purchased a full-size twelve foot table. Frankly, there was little excuse for poor shots on such a magnificent table with its low, last cushions and a bed of superfine baize cloth. But after forty-five minutes play, neither Julian or myself had managed to make a break of more than twenty, for we were finding it impossible to concentrate fully on our game. 'Damn! I'm playing like a one-armed drunkard,' I muttered softly after I missed potting an easy red. Julian looked up for the umpteenth time to see if there was any sign of Harriet and he also fluffed his shot. 'Isn't it about time she made an appearance?

Perhaps she's changed her mind. I commented.' 'I can't believe Harriet would do that although it is getting rather late. Old Fletcher has probably got her helping the kitchen staff clear up,' he offered as he put down his cue on the table. 'Still, I'm also fed up with waiting for her. Why don't we go down to the kitchen and see for ourselves what's happening below stairs?' 'Very well,' I said approvingly and we strolled down to the hall. Julian put his finger to his lips and said: 'Quiet now, Henry. It would be best if we can find out whether Harriet is still working without any of the other servants knowing we're down here.' We crept down the stairs to the kitchen where we could hear the scullery maids chattering as they finished the washing up. 'I don't think she's in there,' hissed Julian softly and motioned me to follow him back up the stairs to a small landing and round a corner to the door of the butler's pantry. Here we heard the low murmur of voices and then a high-pitched, girlish giggle coming from inside the room. 'Sounds as if Fletcher has company,' he whispered angrily. 'Damn it, if Harriet's playing around with him as well, I've a good mind to dismiss the pair of them!' Julian scowled and pushed open the door where, to everyone's embarrassment, he revealed the old retainer with his trousers round his ankles, engaged in pistoning his prick between the jiggling bottom cheeks of a dark-haired chambermaid who was standing naked in front of him with the top half of her body bent across a table. They were so bound up in the enjoyment of their coupling that at first we stood unseen and watched in silence as Fletcher reached round to cup her pert breasts in his hands whilst he slewed his shaft in and out of her sopping slit. But then Fletcher turned round and the shock of seeing us standing there made him stand stock still with his cock embedded in the girl's cunt. This made her turn her head and she gave a little scream, horrified to see us gaping at them. The embarrassed silence was broken by Fletcher. 'Is there anything I can do for you, gentlemen?' he said hoarsely. Julian cleared his throat and replied somewhat shamefacedly: 'No, no, don't mind us, there's no rush. We're quite happy to wait till you've finished, aren't we, Henry?' 'Most certainly,' I agreed, and although it appeared that the girl was not overmuch annoyed by our presence – perhaps because she was not unhappy at having Fletcher's cock stuffed inside her tingling cunney – I hurriedly added: 'Please forgive our hasty intrusion. Julian was living me a guided tour of the house.' We withdrew hastily but not before we heard the girl say: 'Come on Martin, let's carry on where we left off.' I am somewhat ashamed to admit that Julian and I could not resist taking an ungentlemanly peep through the large keyhole of the door. The butler showed that he was no slouch for he was fucking the saucy girl at a steady, regular pace. 'Ooooh!' she gasped as he achieved maximum penetration of her love channel by bending forward and twiddling her large raspberry titties between his fingers as he pumped in and out of her juicy snatch. I must admit that the sight of Fletcher's glistening tadger sliding in and out between the girl's rounded bum cheeks gave me an instant erection. She felt behind her and caressed his tight, hairy ballsack which she gently squeezed whilst he pounded away behind her. Her arse responded to each lusty shove as he drove home again and again until his sturdy shaft excited her to such raging peaks of lust that she cried out: 'More! More! Empty your balls now, quickly now, that's it, that's it!' Fletcher permitted himself to smile broadly as he speeded up the tempo of the fuck to breakneck speed and then his torso went rigid as he croaked out: 'Here you are then, brace yourself!' 'Y-e-s-s-s! Y-e-s-s-s! Y-e-s-s-s!' she panted as, with a final tremble, the butler ejaculated inside her seething slit and she yelped with glee as the glorious sensations of her climax swept through her and she lasciviously twisted her bum to draw out the last drains of spunk from Fletcher's twitching tool.

'M'mm, what a marvellous fuck. Time for another one?' said the girl brightly. But the butler looked down at his shrunken shaft and shook his head sadly. 'Sorry, my dear, twenty years ago I might have been able to carry on, but these days I'm afraid my old cock isn't up to it,' he sighed as he pulled up his pants and trousers. 'Of course, I don't know whether Mr. Julian or his friend would be interested to help out if you care to ask them to oblige you.' The girl's eyes gleamed and before I had a chance to react she pulled open the door and said: 'Oh yes, what a good idea! How about it, boys? I'll suck one of you off whilst the other fucks my tight little cunt.' Now we were the ones to be caught out and we half retreated back down the corridor. I confess that right then I would have liked nothing better than to fuck her juicy young pussey, especially as I had seen her tongue pass sensuously over her top lip as she looked directly at the bulge which had formed between my legs whilst I was watching her performance with Fletcher. However, whether out of embarrassment or because of Harriet, a red-faced Julian sensibly answered: 'Thank you for the kind offer, but I don't think our cocks are available this evening. Nevertheless, I'm sure I can speak for Mr. Henry if I say that we would both be delighted to fuck you tomorrow night.' His answer disappointed the salacious wench, for her face fell and she said: 'What a shame! Never mind though, I'll finish work at around seven o'clock tomorrow so if you and Mr. Henry would care to come up to my room after dinner, I'll promise you both a warm welcome.' 'Well, thank you, we'll look forward to it,' I said quickly flashing her a friendly smile. Julian frowned: 'Fletcher, have you any idea where Harriet has got to? I fancy an early night and my bed needs turning down,' he said. 'I'm so sorry that you were inconvenienced, sir,' the butler apologised. 'I am afraid that because of the reduced numbers below stairs, we are all finding it takes longer to complete our work and dinner in the servants' hall finished thirty minutes later than usual. She went upstairs half an hour ago, sir, and is probably carrying out her duties as we talk.' 'Jolly good show,' said Julian and he beckoned Fletcher to come closer to him. He lowered his voice as he continued: 'You may care to try this little tip to get the old pego up again. Dab some mustard up your backside, a chappie at college told me about this old country remedy last term.' 'I'll bear that in mind, sir,' said Fletcher with just a hint of a shudder as we made our exit. Julian said cheerfully: 'Splendid! With any luck Harriet will be ready and waiting for us in my bedroom!' We raced up the stairs and burst into Julian's bedroom where sure enough Harriet was lying stark naked on top of the eiderdown, one hand holding a copy of The Cremorne and the other sliding gracefully to and fro on top of the flaxen fluff between her thighs. 'Ah, I wondered where you two had gone when I didn't see you in the games room,' the voluptuous girl exclaimed as she put down the ribald magazine and took her hand away from her pussey. 'Look, my finger's all wet as I had to start without you!' 'Oh dear, sincere apologies, Harriet,' said Julian as he bent down to suck on a large tawny nipple. Harriet responded by rubbing her palm against his stiffening shaft and he gasped out: 'Let's not waste any further time. Harriet, this is Henry Dash wood, one of my best friends from school.' 'Pleased to meet you, Henry,' Harriet said coquettishly. 'I hope that you and Mister Julian have primed your cocks for a good night's fucking because I'm warning you both now that I'm feeling very, very randy!' 'I should say we have,' growled Julian as he pulled off his jacket and threw it across the room we've just been spectators to a highly arousing scene.'

Harriet cocked an eyebrow inquisitively and said to me: 'Get your togs off, Henry, first come first served.' Well, normally I would have been out of my clothes faster than The Mephistopheles. However, call me old-fashioned if you will, but I decided it only right and proper that my host fucked the delicious girl before me. And to be frank, as one should always be when recording any event in a diary, I will also admit that I felt unusually shy about shagging this nubile blonde less than a minute after making her acquaintance! I undressed carefully folding my clothes on a hangar whilst I watched Harriet trace her fingers over her plump breasts before letting her hands fall against her furry blonde bush. She smiled knowingly as she rubbed her thumb against her pouting pussey lips and said in an impudent tone: 'Hurry up now, you two. Otherwise I shall cover up the display of goods and offer the merchandise to other potential customers.' I turned away to place my hangar on the hook of the wardrobe door and turned back to see that Julian was already up on the bed kneeling face to face with the gorgeous girl who was holding his throbbing tool in her fist, frigging it gently from the root to just below the crown. Except for the rhythmic movement of Harriet's hand, they were still, their bodies pressed together, their lips and tongues engaged in a lascivious exploration of each other's mouths.

Julian's stiff cock pressed against the softly accommodating pillow of her smooth white belly. Then, moving back slightly, he reached around her waist to grasp Harriet's rotund bum cheeks and she responded by rotating her hips in slow, voluptuous circles. She now reached down herself to guide his majestic stiffstander into the slippery channel of her juicy cunt. My own prick thickened as I saw Julian's blunt, fleshy helmet hover between her pink cunney lips before sliding easily into her welcoming crack. Harriet's hands slipped down to clasp his taut buttocks and she arched her hips upwards to gain even more pleasure from his thrusting cock which was now gliding sweetly in and out of her sticky honeypot.

'H-a-a-r-g-h!' groaned Julian as they fell backwards on the bed and he fairly bounced up and down on her pneumatic curves. Meanwhile Harriet clawed at his back as she attempted to pull him even closer inside her. She began to rotate her hips, lifting her bum off the eiderdown and gyrating wildly. Julian rode the excited young girl like a top jockey at Glorious Goodwood in sight of the winning post. He too was caught in the frenzy and I could not only see but hear the slip-slap of his balls bouncing against her bottom and the erotic squelch of his blue-veined truncheon pumping in and out of her wet quim. 'I'm there! Oh God I'm there! Fill my cunt with your spunky juice, you randy rascal!' Harriet suddenly yelled out as the power of her climax crackled through her. I shot a quick look at the door, for although Julian's parents might be away, there were still servants in the house who might be tempted to take a peep through the keyhole, as he had done earlier. 'Woooh! Woooh! Shoot your load, you big-cocked boy!' Harriet all but screamed. I can't recall any girl I have made love to making quite such a racket but Harriet was oblivious to everything except the flood of Julian's seed which was now flooding into her and driving them both to ecstatic heights.

'What a fuck! I could spend the rest of my life with a thick stiff prick up my snatch,' purred Harriet. She stretched her legs languidly whilst Julian rolled over to lie next to her, his chest heaving from the force of his strenuous exertion. My penis was now fairly aching, standing stiffly upright against my tummy and as hard as a rock. The stimulating sight of Harriet's relaxed body – the soft white globes of her breasts with their erect brown nipples and the moist mass of blonde, fluffy hair around her pouting love lips – only excited me further. 'Do come and join us, Mister Henry,' she invited, but still feeling a trifle shy, I smiled nervously and hesitatingly approached the bed. When I neared Harriet, her hand snaked out and she wrapped her fingers around my shaft. 'H'mm, this is a nice-looking cock, not too big but just the thickness which I prefer,' she said reflectively. 'But my little quimmy would just adore some loving kisses. Are you a skilled pussey-eater?' Of course, Harriet was unaware of the superb coaching in l' arte de faire l'amour I had been given by the Matron of the Albion Academy and I said to her: 'Well, I'll be pleased to prove to you just how good I am,' Without further ado I positioned myself between her legs and dived down to nuzzle my lips around her damp pussey fuzz.

'Ooooh,' she cried out happily and I became wildly excited as I inhaled her pungent cunney odour. I clamped my hands around the jiggling, rounded cheeks of her shapely backside and pulled her closer to my mouth. The tip of my tongue flicked unerringly around her damp crack which opened like the petals of a flower as she lifted her behind off the bed to enable me to slip my tongue neatly inside her cunt. Immediately I found her clitty which I started to lick in long, languorous strokes. As I continued to tongue fuck the trembling girl, her excited pussey began to gush out a fountain of aromatic love juice which ran over my lips and dribbled down my chin. I spread her cunt wider and I inserted a finger inside her dripping slit whilst I nipped playfully at her clitty which I felt harden as Harriet wavered upon the edge of an explosive spend. Then a tremendous shudder ran through her and she spent copiously, drenching my mouth with a mix of Julian's jism and her own tangy cuntal juices which I gulped down with real enjoyment. 'Henry, I'm ready for your cock now,' she breathed and eagerly I stretched up and positioned myself on my hands above her quivering body. Her hand slid down and pulled my knob towards the slippery entrance to her honeypot and my muscles tensed as the swollen dome of my bell-end thrillingly teased its way between the yielding rolled cunney lips and plunged directly into her wet willing furrow. Waves of indescribably exquisite pleasure crashed through every fibre of my body and I was sorely tempted to ram my rigid rod at great speed in and out of Harriet's delectable cunt. However, I gritted my teeth and managed to hold back, pistoning my palpitating prick in and out of her clinging cunney at a reasonable pace, sliding all the way in and then withdrawing all but the very tip of my helmet before plunging in again to the hilt. Connoisseurs of fucking will know that the vast majority of girls enjoy this mode of shagging and it certainly had the desired effect upon Harriet whose behind rolled around as she arched her back, working her wet cunney back and forth against my hard, thrusting tool. 'Oooh, my pussey's all of a-tingle,' Harriet gasped as she looked to her right and swivelled my head round in the same direction. In a free-standing long mirror which she had set up against the wall whilst she was waiting for Julian and myself, we could see ourselves in action. This was an arousing new experience and it was extremely stimulating to watch myself sheath my shaft so fully inside her juicy love funnel that I could see my balls nestling against the back of Harriet's thighs. I could feel the inexorable rise of spunk now rising up from my tightened ballsack so I started to stroke my cock backwards and forwards, faster and faster, building up to a gigantic spend. I let out a hoarse growl as squirts of sticky warm froth seethed out of my prick. Gush after gush of jism flooded into her cunt until the last dribbles oozed out of my knob, but I continued to drive my still-stiff shaft to and fro until Harriet also cried out with delight as she thrashed around in the throes of a shattering climax. 'Lord above, Mister Henry doesn't your cock shrivel down after spending?' enquired Harriet as she slicked her hand up and down my shaft which was of course coated with her pussey juice.

'Usually, but I can sometimes keep it up till I've spent a second time,' I answered proudly and Harriet showed two fine rows of neat white teeth as she gave a vulpine smile and said with a sly wink: “Then I'll gladly repay you right now for the gorgeous way you licked out my cunney with your tongue. Well, I'm assuming you would like me to, of course, though perhaps you have some objections to being sucked off?' 'None whatsoever, and nor do I believe there can he any red-blooded man in the whole country who would not take up such a kind offer,' I replied instantly. Giving a husky chuckle, the horny girl slid herself over me with her breasts resting comfortably over my ribs as she set to work with a will. After wetting the dome of my knob with a series of long, slow licks, Harriet immediately proceeded to suck in six inches of my thick tower of power between her lips. She was an extremely skilled practitioner of the ancient art of fellatio and I panted with pleasure as I felt my prick slide easily over her tongue and down into her throat. Somehow she managed to cram my entire shaft into her mouth, presumably in much the same way as a sword swallower performs his act without being injured by the lethal blade and I lay back in sheer bliss whilst her moist mouth worked up and down my delighted cock, licking and lapping on my pulsating length. Her hand gripped the base as she bobbed her pretty blonde head up and down like a yo-yo, keeping her lips magically taut as she continued to suck my quivering cock and with her free hand she gently massaged my balls. My hands clutched her head as Harriet continued this heavenly tonguing and her swirling tongue collected the pre-cum juice which now started to ooze out from the 'eye' of my knob.

Then she jammed her mouth over my cock and slurped so lustily on her penile sweetmeat that I almost fainted from the powerful electric shocks of erotic joy which crackled through every fibre of my body.

Even though a copious emission of seed had only just flowed out of my cock, with a desperate cry I sent a fresh flood of creamy spunk down her waiting throat and she sucked and swallowed every last drop of salty semen until my prick stopped its crazed jerking and slowly started to deflate back to its normal limp state. Suffice it to say that very soon afterwards Julian frigged his tool up to its previous rock-hard stiffness and he and Harriet enjoyed a delectable soixante neuf whilst I wanked over the randy pair. Let me finish this entry by recording that Harriet proved herself truly insatiable and milked my prick twice more and Julian's cock a further three times before she finally allowed us to rest our weary heads on our pillows.

By gad, she is a real little strumpet. I spent this morning in bed, composing a little ode which perhaps might not have been up to the standard of my prize-winning essay on the suffragette question which was printed, but I believe is worthy of scratching out in my diary. It reads as follows:

I care not what other men may say The girl who suits my mind, Is a wench who meets me in joyous play And whilst she is good, she is kind, With her beauties never could I be cloyed Such pleasures I find at her side; For I don't love her less because she's enjoyed By another young man beside. She opens her thighs without fear or dread And points to her dear little muff, Its lips oh, so red, and all overspread With blonde hair of the fuzziest fluff. Reclined on her breasts or clasped in her arms, With her my best moments I spend, And revel the more in her sweet melting charms, Because they are shared with a friend. The Montpellier Restaurant, Cheltenham, September 30th, 1901 (Over luncheon) Poor Julian! Although we enjoyed yet another fabulous night's fucking with Harriet last night, the wheel of good fortune turned away sharply from my chum this morning. As one would expect after such frenetic exercise, Julian and I were still feeling somewhat fatigued. Indeed, for the first time in many weeks I tried to freshen up by taking the advice (given of course in a vain attempt to prevent us beginning the day with a wank) of our old games master Bunny Hare to begin the day with a cold shower. However, I was still yawning when I came down to breakfast at ten o'clock. 'Good morning, sir, I trust you slept well,' said Fletcher who was in attendance in the morning room. The butler could see from my haggard expression that I needed a pick-me-up and he continued: 'Unless you have a preference for coffee, sir, may I recommend a cup of the Darjeeling tea which Sir Talbot has shipped over directly from his brother's plantation? It's a most refreshing brew with which to begin the day.' I nodded and he passed me a warm plate and went on: 'Then I will go down to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Sawyer to brew you a fresh pot and make some more hot toast. In the meantime, would you care to serve yourself from the buffet?' 'Thank you,' I said and walked across to the sideboard to help myself to a hearty breakfast from the row of silver dishes kept hot by spirit lamps. Although I was still tired from my exertions with Harriet, I was also quite hungry and piled my plate with three rashers of bacon, two sausages, and some scrambled eggs. Then I sat down and just as I started to tuck into this appetising feast, Julian came in dressed only in pyjamas and a dressing gown, looking bleary-eyed and definitely worse for wear. He flapped a hand at me and said wearily: 'Hello there, Henry, I hope you managed to catch a few hours sleep. Unfortunately, I've developed a rotten headache.

Please forgive me but I feel uncommonly rotten and would prefer to go back to bed till I feel a bit brighter.' 'Of course, my dear chap,' I replied sympathetically. 'I could take the opportunity to go to Cheltenham and see if I can find one or two books on the reading list for my first 'Varsity term.' 'Jolly good, um, you haven't yet learned to drive a motor, have you? No matter, I'll get Fletcher to arrange for Dawson, the under-gardener, to drive you into town,' he said as he flopped into a chair to wait for the return of the butler.

It was obvious that Julian would be unlikely to recover till tea-time at the earliest, so knowing that I might have some time on my hands, I took this journal with me today and hence am busy filling two or three pages over an excellent cup of afternoon coffee. The Montpellier Restaurant is across the road from the domed Rotunda, built some fifty years ago as a Pump Room where one may sip the famed Cheltenham waters in ease and comfort. Personally, I am somewhat sceptical as to whether glugging down pints of mineral water is beneficial to health (although I suppose a course of treatment cuts down on one's alcoholic intake). My uncle, Sir Robert Bacon, swears that he comes back a new man after his annual visit to Carlsbad every July. However, this has probably to do more with his nightly dalliances with the ladies of the town than anything else and I remember just how difficult it was for him last year to explain away to my aunt the contents of billet-doux he received from Countess Marussia of Samarkand after his return from the Slovakian spa. Be that as it may, my own far shorter excursion to Cheltenham has so far proved extremely rewarding. For a gardener, Dawson drove Julian's Wolseley extremely well and I asked him how he came to acquire this skill. 'I went down with Sir Talbot to “Lunnon” for the Royal Agricultural Show and at my request he let me take the wheel there and back,' he explained. When I enquired whether he had enjoyed the sights of the Metropolis, he said: 'It were all right, sir, but the Cockneys thought I was a “furriner” and I couldn't understand them.' At my request, he stopped the car outside the first bookstore we came across which happened to be Robertson's Bookshop which was situated almost alongside the theatre and opposite the County Court. Remarkably, I was the only person in the well-stocked shop and I scanned through the books in the Political-Economy section uninterrupted by other browsers. Alas', I could not find a copy of Basic Economics by Professor Zanerowski which I had been recommended to purchase by my tutor. When I asked the assistant who was sitting by the till at the front of the shop if there might be a copy in the stock room he said: 'I very much doubt it, sir. There is little demand for academic titles round here except from the Cheltenham College – but you might be lucky and find a copy in our second-hand department upstairs.' 'Very well, I'll take a look and see if you're right,' I said and made my way upstairs where two gentlemen were engaged in a heated discussion.

It soon became clear that the well-set gentleman dressed in a black Vicuna jacket with a silk-quilted collar and cuffs was Mr. Robertson, the eponymous owner of the shop and the younger man, who was wearing a smart grey lounge suit, was a representative of a publisher bent on obtaining an order for his company's latest wares. They were engaged in a keen discussion upon the state of the book trade to which I listened with interest, for if I ever had to enter trade (God forbid!) I would certainly plump for this gentlemanly profession.

'No, no, no, the market for historical texts is dreadfully slow and you'll have to show me something more lively than another of Mr.

Jackley's accounts,' said the bookseller. 'Come now, Mr. Lewis, surely the editors at Burbeck and Newman plan to publish some more contemporary works? The representative gave a tiny smile and passed a blue folder to his unwilling customer. 'Neil, I think I shall have to ask you to write to Mr. Burbeck and assure him that I do drop in here regularly. Your orders have been so small this year that he accused me of missing your shop out of my calls.' 'Well, you can tell him from me that if he published better books, then we would all earn more money,' said Mr. Robertson as he opened the folder and extracted some typed sheets from it. 'Good grief, what's this when it's at home?' 'It's The Courtship of Francesco by Mrs. Heather Adamson which is going to be the biggest seller this year. Neil, I guarantee that come December every lady in Cheltenham will be asking you for a copy of this novel. We've sent out advance reading sheets to some customers and though they deemed it a very fast story indeed, they all wanted a finished copy. 'I'll take fifty,' said Mr.

Robertson after some thought. 'And I'll up to seventy-five if you'll take back a dozen copies of Paris of Today by Louis Baum. When you showed me the book and said it was an intimate look at the city and its inhabitants, I assumed it is was going to be a little racy – and so did my customers, everyone put it down when they discovered that the Moulin Rouge isn't even listed in the index!' 'Ha, ha! You're pulling my leg,' laughed Mr. Lewis. 'There's no call for smutty reading in this high-falutin town.' 'No call for smutty reading?' echoed the bookseller. 'Now you're joking, Michael. If it weren't for the copies of The Oyster I sell every month, the ruddy shop would hardly show a profit. So how about giving me credit for twelve copies of Paths of Today?' Mr. Lewis considered the offer and then said: 'How about sending back six and increasing your order for The Courtship of Francesco to sixty?' 'Done,' said Mr. Robertson without hesitation and the two men shook hands. Whilst they continued talking, I searched the shelves for a second-hand copy of Professor Zanerowski's book. I was about to give up when I suddenly found one in such good condition that I could hardly believe that it was second hand. However, the name of the previous owner was scrawled on the flyleaf, which bothered me not a jot especially as I expected to save a considerable sum by purchasing a used edition. 'How much is this please?' I asked Mr. Robertson. He looked carefully at the book and said: 'Ah, you must be beginning your studies, young man.

Oxford? Well, I sincerely hope you stick at it harder than the previous owner of this volume.' 'Did he not complete the course?'

I asked. The bookseller shook his head and said grimly: 'He was sent down during the middle of his first year for continuous rowdy behaviour caused by drunkenness. He had been given several warnings but when he ripped down his trousers and exhibited himself to the members of the Oxford Women's Institute who were being shown round Brasenose College by the Dean, I'm afraid he had to go. Or so he told me when he came to me to sell his texts.' I looked at the book again and unsuccessfully tried to decipher the signature. 'As the book finished up in your shop, I presume this chap abides in Cheltenham, but I can't quite make out his signature' 'Yes, it's difficult to read, isn't it, but his name is Brindsley Markham. I have recently learned that he used to live at Prestbury a few miles north of the city. His father is General Markham, who has sent him packing on a one-way ticket to America to make a new start.' 'Perhaps it will be the making of him,' I suggested. Mr. Robertson grunted: 'I doubt it, I mean just look at his signature. As you said, it's impossible to read. An illegible signature is supposed to be a mark of bad character – so it is, bad character and bad manners as well!'

'Anyhow, you can see that he hardly opened this book. A brand new copy would set you back twenty-five shillings, so I would have thought that fifteen bob was a fair price.' 'Oh, surely twelve and six is nearer the mark,' I retorted and then I had a brainwave. 'Or how about fifteen shillings if you throw in a copy of The Oyster?' He gave a low chuckle and said: 'You drive a hard bargain, young man, but fair enough. I don't have any of the current issue though, it'll have to a copy of the summer edition.' 'Good enough,' I replied and whilst at my request he wrapped up The Oyster in a separate package, I promised Mr. Robertson that I would never reveal from where I purchased my copy of the naughty magazine. 'Now and then I give a copy to the desk sergeant at the police station over the road, I can't afford to take any chances or I'll end up like old Martin Bressey.' he said. After my late breakfast, all I wanted was a light luncheon so I wandered into this restaurant after a lazy stroll through Montpellier Gardens. The restaurant is not crowded and I have placed myself at a small table in the corner where a pretty waitress has served me Fricassee of Chicken washed down with white wine. As soon as she left the table, I couldn't resist pulling out my copy of The Oyster which Dr Robertson thankfully bound up in plain brown covers. I turned to the opening page, which contained the first of several letters received by the editor. To my astonishment I saw that the first epistle came from a Miss Susie V-of West Trippett, Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire. I put down the magazine for a moment and expelled a deep breath for I immediately wondered whether the writer had been my seventeen-year-old cousin Susie Varnon. I decided it was simply impossible that she had composed this missive. The similarity of the two names has to be sheer coincidence. For it is hardly credible that Susie would even know of the existence of such a journal as The Oyster let alone compose a letter which would be printed in its pages! Even so, the author does seem remarkably like Susie. I have decided to copy out the letter for future reference although this is proving difficult as the waitress seems to be rather more attendant than the best waiter at the London Ritz Dear Editor, I hope your readers will find of interest this true story of my introduction to the delights of lesbian love. As a member of the Sixth Form at Dame M -in rural Derbyshire, I am hardly ignorant of the existence of tribadism. It is not completely unknown for girls to slide into their friends' beds after 'lights out' in the seniors' dormitory. However, through ignorance rather than inhibition, the only such encounters in which I have taken part merely involved open-mouthed kissing and fondling of the other girl's budding bosoms.

Nevertheless, I have sometimes been driven into the ecstacy of a cum from these embraces, the moist flow of love juice soaking my thick bush of pussey hair particularly when I close my eyes and dream it is some handsome young man (like a certain cousin of mine) and that it is his hand inside my nightdress and cupped round my bare breasts…

The school is far from being a hotbed of tribadism, and in my opinion there would be even less lesbian activity if we were allowed to mix more freely with members of the opposite sex (take that phrase as you will, Mr. Editor!). Nevertheless, it is not unknown on venturing into the bathrooms, to find two girls wrapped together in a clinging wet embrace under the shower and I will admit that I have often been invited to join in this sensuous fun. Until last year I had resisted such temptations, but my resolve faltered when after a hard game of hockey, Miss Archer, the senior games mistress, asked my pretty friend Laura, who is blessed with long silky strands of auburn hair, and myself whether we would be kind enough to do her a great favour and collect all the players' sticks and deposit them in the gymnasium storeroom before returning to the pavilion to change back into our uniforms. Miss Archer is a jolly young lady, very popular with all the girls, and we readily agreed to her request.

Alas, after tramping all the way back to the school, we found that the storeroom was locked up and it took a further fifteen minutes to discover the whereabouts of Mr. Barlow, and obtain the keys from the old school porter. All the other girls had left the sports pavilion by the time Laura and I reported back to Miss Archer, but she had waited for us and she said gratefully: 'Thank you again for your help, girls. The kitchen staff have brought plenty of hot water so instead of a quick wash you can both luxuriate in a warm bath if you wish.' 'Oh, that would be lovely,' said Laura and we trooped off to undress in the changing rooms. We took off our boots and then I left Laura unhooking her skirt whilst I went into the bathrooms and began to Jill one of the baths with the pitchers of steaming water.

When I returned, Laura had pulled off her blouse and shift and was standing there quite naked except for her long drawers. Frankly, I was aroused by the sight of her bare breasts which jiggled so deliciously when she reached up on to the shelf above her head for a towel to take into the bathroom. I said nothing whilst I swiftly undressed, but Laura could see from the look on my face the effect her semi-nude body was having on me. Now also wearing nothing except my drawers, I reached up for another towel and then we trotted into the bathroom together. Laura clambered in first and let out a contented sigh as she slid into the welcoming warmth of the water. 'Oh, if only we had some decent soap to wash ourselves with,' I grumbled, as perched the edge of the bath tub, I coated my arms with the small unscented tablet provided by the school. 'Yes, for what our parents pay to send us here we should be given a choice of the best French soaps like Dubois-Crepy or Maubert's,' Laura said consolingly. 'Let's pretend we have a bar of Roger and Gallet's Fleur d'Amours.' (As readers of the fair sex will be aware, this is one of the most expensive toilet soaps on the market and is only available at the most exclusive stores.) Laura held out her hand and smiled at me. Her pretty face was partially shielded by damp, silky strands of hair which covered her shoulders and reached to the tops of her high, uplifted breasts which were topped by large strawberry nipples. I glanced downwards and my own bosoms began to tingle as I peered at her flat belly which was dimpled by a sweet little button in its centre and below which nestled a mass of curly pussey hair. Here I should state that my own breasts are not quite so large as Laura's but are just as delightfully firm and are almost unbearably sensitive.

Sometimes I have managed to spend simply by rubbing them against my fingers and yielding to the exquisite sensations as the nipples swell and throb under my touch. I stayed still, staring at the gorgeous girl's supple, sensuous body, whilst she returned a similar look at my own naked figure. 'Shall I wash your back for you, Susie?' Laura asked and when I said that I should like nothing better, she said: 'Then put in some more hot water.' When I turned round to pick up a half-full pitcher I was convinced that she was staring hard at the flaunted cheeks of my raised bottom. 'That's better,' she said and as the fresh water cascaded into the tub. She added brightly: 'Come on in with me then, if we squeeze up there's easily enough room for two.' There was no need for her to repeat the invitation. I squeezed in beside her and she began to sponge down my back.

'I'll sit up so you can lie back and rinse off the lather,' she suggested and as she moved up and I moved down, her arm slipped around my shoulders and our cheeks brushed together. Then, to my great delight, Laura let her fingers slide across my tummy and down into my wet blonde bush. I sighed with pleasure when her fingertips began smoothing a salacious passage from top to bottom along the edges of my tingling cunney crack and I slid my arms around her waist to hug her soft body whilst her fingers continued to rub insistently against my pouting pussey lips. Shivers of delight coursed through me when I sat up and Laura pulled her hand away and instead fondled my breasts as our mouths crushed together and her wet tongue slithered between my teeth and began to lap lubriciously inside my mouth. 'Oh yes, darling,' I panted when she tweaked my engorged raised nipple between her thumb and forefinger. I lay against the back of the bath as Laura returned her hand downwards and glided her fingers into my sopping slit. Her thumb prodded against my clitty and I squirmed with joy and pressed my own hand against her curly pubic muff. She let out a throaty gasp as I slid two fingers between her cunney lips and, as I sank them in to the knuckle, Laura pushed herself upwards, arching her back and wriggling her delicious body to signal me to penetrate her love funnel even more deeply. In the meantime she repaid the compliment by thrusting three fingers in and out of my juicy cunney at a fast, rhythmic pace, and at every stroke her thumb rubbed excitingly at the erect fleshy ball of my ditty. 'Susie, can you pull out the plug?' asked Laura. I swung my arm backwards and lifted the chain upwards to let the water begin gurgling down the drain.

When the tub had emptied, my finger slipped out of her cunt as she moved herself downwards. Next the frisky girl locked her thighs around my knee and she writhed her pussey back and forth across it. My senses reeled when she looked up at me and giggled before swiftly burying her pretty face between my thighs. Her hands slipped under my buttocks which she squeezed firmly as her mouth found my love lips and I squealed as she began nibbling at my erect clitty which now protruded out from my cunney. I pushed her head tighter against my groin and purred with pleasure as her tongue prodded a passage between my pouting pussey lips. 'A-h-h… A-h-h-h… A-H-H-H!' I shrieked as Laura brought me off in a series of exciting little cums and after this stupendous oral fucking, she lifted her head and whispered: 'Now will you please finish me off?' To say the least, this was an understandable and reasonable request with which I was happy to comply. At my suggestion we got out of the bath and Laura sat on the bath mat with her legs apart whilst I spread out a towel and laid down on my tummy upon it. I climbed on top of her and, entwined in the most passionate of cuddles, we exchanged a further passionate kiss, lips to lips, titties to titties and cunt against cunt. 'Oh darling! At last… at last!' murmured Laura as I broke off this sweet embrace and then moving downwards, nuzzled my lips around her hairy muff. My hands clamped themselves upon her jouncy soft bum cheeks and she continued to murmur and call out to me.

Although I was totally inexperienced in cunnilingual practices, immediately my tongue started to flutter along her pussey.

Laura's crack opened out like the petals of a flower and she cooed with ecstatic joy as with long, powerful strokes I slid my tongue through the pink pussey lips and licked between the grooves of her love channel. I rolled my tongue around her clitty and soon Laura spent profusely over my nose and lips as she cried out with a convulsive shudder: 'Susie! You lovely girl, you're reaming me out beautifully! Oh! Oh! Oh! What a divine cum! A-h-r-r-r-e!' I raised myself up and placed a warning finger upon her lips although I thought it inconceivable that Miss Archer had not heard the cacophony of our sensuous moans and groans. And indeed, after we had scrambled to our feet and wrapped our towels around our naked bodies, I was almost certain that I saw the fleeting shadow of a figure against the wall of the passage leading from the bathrooms. 'You're probably just imagining it,' said Laura whilst we hastily dried ourselves and slipped our drawers back on before walking back to the changing rooms.

However, I don't believe that I was mistaken, because as we finished dressing ourselves I said to Laura that I would pop into Miss Archer's office and wish her good-night. The door of the office was slightly ajar and I could see the games mistress sitting on her chair, her face flushed, her skirts thrown up and her knickers round her ankles. Perhaps it was as well that Miss Archer was so busy frigging herself that she had not heard my footsteps and I decided not to interrupt her but simply walked back silently to Laura and told her what I had seen. Later that evening we continued our lesbian love-making in bed, but the next morning, a worrying question struck me and I hope you will be able to put my mind to rest. Mr. Editor, I wish to pose this question to you – after reading this candid confession, are you of the opinion that I am an out-and-out tribade or might I outgrow these lesbian love sessions for normal fucking with a young man of my choice. I await your comments with interest, and remain, Sir, Your humble servant, Miss Susie V Looking at my pocket watch, it has taken me a good hour to transcribe this letter. The editor must have known it would have good effect on his readers to publish it in full. My prick is sticking up as if it had been liberally powdered with yeast and I have been forced to put down the magazine across my legs to hide my raging erection. Unfortunately the waitress is hovering nearby again. I have ordered coffee and shall attempt to copy down the editor's reply.

My dear girl, Perish the thought that you are doomed never to experience the joys of copulation! Once you have left school, there should be ample opportunities for you to sample the delights afforded by the first lusty young-fellow-me-lad who will be lucky enough to sheath his stiff shaft inside your sweet little quim.

Have no fears because you took part in a sexual liaison on the borders of the established norms. In the wise words of Sir Robert Dunwell, who has devoted his life to a lifelong practical study of human sexuality in all its forms: I strongly maintain that the entire experience of a grand fuck is greater than the sum of its parts, though every part has its pleasure and every pleasure its part! After all, in love-play, anything can happen – and usually does sooner or later.

Yours confidently The Editor A sound enough philosophy, I shall put the magazine back into its brown paper bag and pay my bill. I'm sure the waitress is expecting a generous tip. Clayton Towers, October 1st, 1901 (Before retiring) Today is the first day of a new month and marks my last day of repose at Clayton Towers before taking up my position at Oxford. But before I muse on what delights lie in store for me, let me finish recounting the remarkable events of yesterday afternoon which were initiated by my asking my pretty waitress to pay her compliments to the chef. The girl blushed a little and suggested that I might like to thank the cook in person as she would be extremely pleased with the compliment. There seem to be an increasing number of females in the work force these days, which I can only think is a good thing if I am to have such delectably sweet encounters every time I dine out. 'I'll do just that,' I said, wiping my mouth with my napkin as I rose to my feet and following the waitress's pointed finger, marched through a pair of swing doors into the kitchen. However, there were no staff to be seen and as the time was now approaching four o'clock, it appeared as though the cook and her assistants had left the kitchen for a well deserved rest. I was about to leave when I heard low moaning noise coining from inside the scullery at the far end of the room, followed by what to my ears sounded very much like that arousing squelchy sound of a thick stiff cock sliding in and out of a juicy wet cunney! I decided to make a further investigation for on the other hand, I might be mistaken and the groans could be those of a lady in distress. So I tip-toed towards the scullery and poked my head around the door to see exactly what was going on in there. Fortunately, one glance was enough to confirm that my initial conjecture was correct for the sight which met my eyes was of a couple heavily engaged in a full-blown fuck! A buxom wench was leaning back against the wall with her skirts up and her frilly drawers around her ankles being shagged by a curly-haired young commis chef who had discarded his shirt, trousers and pants which were lying in a rumpled pile on the floor beside them and was clad only in a cotton vest. His taut buttocks jerked to and fro as he pumped his prick in and out of his paramour's pussey at a great pace.

'H-a-a-r! H-a-a-r! Oooh, Maggie, I'm going to spunk, I can't stop!' he choked and with a cry he jetted his jism inside her love channel. Then, to my alarm, he slowly slid down and collapsed in a heap at his lover's feet. 'Are you all right, Jack?' she enquired as she squatted down beside him. The lad did look in a bad way and I thought they might need some help. I stepped forward and offered my services. When she saw me the cook gave a tiny scream and I hurriedly explained that I was not spying upon her but had only come into the kitchen to offer my congratulations on her excellent cuisine.

'What exactly is he suffering from? Nothing serious, I trust,' I asked her. 'The heat?' I continued. She shrugged her shoulders and answered: 'Not really, it's more from fucking.'

'From fucking!' I spluttered. 'Yes, sir, the fucking,' chuckled the cook and as she moved closer I detected the smell of alcohol upon her breath. 'You look like a man of the world, sir, and I'm sure you understand that a culinary artist like myself who finds herself in a dump like this after working under the finest chef in Europe needs something to prop herself up during the day. Young Colin down there has a nice thick cock but he always spends too quickly for me and so we have to start again until he manages to wait for me to finish. “The problem is that if he doesn't get it right after two spunkings, he isn't in any fit state to continue so I have to find another way to satisfy my needs.' 'So I see,' I said, casting a meaningful glance at a half-empty bottle of Old Jamaica rum and a liqueur glass on the scullery table. She followed the direction of my eyes and said: 'Oh, I'm really not a great tippler, sir. I only take an occasional nip whilst I'm on duty. Otherwise I couldn't prepare my food properly – and thank you very much, Mr., er 'Dash wood, Henry Dash wood. And your name is…?' 'Maggie Crompton, at your service, Mr. Dashwood,' she said as we shook hands.

'I'm so glad you enjoyed my cuisine. Monsieur Escoffier himself taught me how to prepare all the dishes I know.' As she spoke, the young man on the floor groaned and I suggested that a glass of rum might revive him. 'Well maybe, but only a small one,' she agreed hesitantly as I moved across to the table and poured out a small measure for the lad. 'Otherwise he'll fall asleep and there's a heck of a lot of washing up for him to get through before he starts peeling the potatoes for dinner.' Happily, a swig of the dark sweet spirit did the trick for Colin, although he still looked groggy as he scrambled to his feet and of course his cock had shrivelled up and was dangling loosely between his thighs. On Maggie's advice, he pulled on his clothes and staggered upstairs to lie down for half an hour's rest before coming back to tackle the pile of dirty dishes which were stacked up in the sink. After he left us, Maggie Crompton slipped her knickers into a drawer and then produced two more glasses and a bottle of Hennessy's three star cognac and insisted that I joined her in a drink. Now I am no gourmet but I pride myself on being able to appreciate good brandy. Therefore I was pleased to accept her offer, although I eyed with some trepidation the large measure she handed to me. So Maggie and I enjoyed a nice chat, during which she told me of her exciting days working with the great Monsieur Escoffier at a Paris hotel. After a time she formed a liaison there with an Italian sous-chef with whom she left for London and then Cheltenham where they purchased the Montpellier Restaurant with the idea to provide a high-quality eating house for the citizens of and many visitors to the city. Alas, they found that the burghers of Cheltenham were suspicious of anything except plain English fare and Arturo Volpe, her partner in the venture, soon sloped off to Turin leaving Maggie to run the restaurant single-handed. 'Oh, I could manage in the kitchen well enough without him,' she remarked when I said that these must have been dreadfully difficult times for her.

'But I'll be honest, Mr. Dashwood, I don't half miss him between the sheets after work – and I still do! I love rumpy-pumpy and a dildo is a poor substitute, I can tell you! Arturo hasn't got the biggest cock in the world, but I've never been one for sheer size. What is more important is that he knew how to get me going by tickling my clitty with his knob.' 'Is that so?' I asked politely. My own cock, which had already been excited by the letter I had been reading began to thicken again. As Maggie had been speaking, her hand had strayed down and pulled up her skirt and she was now rubbing her forefinger gently along her half-hidden cleft. Then, with a faraway look, she sighed and slipped first one and then a second finger inside her pink quim. I was not sure quite how to react to the situation but the brandy had loosened my tongue and I said boldly: 'Don't mind me, though I would be pleased to help. More hands make lighter work, h'm?'

'You are kind,' she said, reaching out and squeezing my arm. 'I'm just about ready to accommodate another finger or two. Then Maggie hauled herself up and murmured: 'I've an even better idea. If you frig me from behind, our fingers will be able to meet in the middle.' 'By all means,' I said, smacking my lips as she turned round and, throwing up her skirt over her back as she bent down, flaunted a mouth-wateringly plump pair of smooth bum cheeks in my face. With one hand I parted her buttocks and slid my fingers into the crevice between the jiggling globes until my fingertips were gently caressing and exploring the luxuriant, dark jungle of her splendid thatch of cunney hair. Maggie squealed as the tip of one finger touched her fleshy clitty and then she removed her own hand from her crotch to whip off her dress and chemise so that all the charms of her luscious naked body were revealed to me. 'Oh, that's lovely! I just adore having my titties played with,' she purred as I kissed the back of her neck and slid my arm round her ribs and tweaked one of her large raspberry nipples which rose up in salute between my fingers. Meanwhile, her clitty had now fully erected under my touch and Maggie urged me on, sliding her cunney back and forth against my well-lubricated fingers whilst she moaned in ecstasy.

Her cuntal juices flowed out copiously from her crack when I plunged my fingers in and out of her love funnel. 'M'mm, that's simply divine,' panted the randy cook when I trapped her clitty between my fingers and she added breathlessly. 'Please will you finish me off with a doggie-style fuck, there's a dear.' Now my uncle, Sir Robert Bacon, has warned me against poking my prick into strange pussies, so initially I hesitated, but when I related this incident to Julian Clayton later in the evening, I was glad that he agreed with me that it would have been churlish to have ignored her heartfelt plea.

Anyhow, despite the praise lavished upon his sexual expertise by all who know him. I dismissed Uncle Robert's admonition from my mind and concentrated on how I could best unbuckle my belt and unbutton my trousers with only one hand, for Maggie had closed her thighs and would not surrender my right hand whilst my fingers were frigging her engorged clitty. Somehow I managed to perform this tricky operation without removing my wrist from Maggie's crotch and I slid my stiff cock in-between the rolling cheeks of her bum until the tip of my knob touched her cunney lips and at last she released my fingers from inside her sticky quim. I pressed home firmly, inserting my helmet inside her slippery honeypot. Her cunney expanded to take in the extra width of my rock-hard rammer and I continued to push forward inch by inch until my pubic bush was rubbing against her bum and my balls were swinging against the backs of her thighs. What a grand fuck this was! Maggie rotated her delicious bum cheeks around the fulcrum of my throbbing tool and she whimpered in appreciation as I withdrew almost all of my meaty boner and then plunged forward to the hilt, and I continued this powerful pistoning until the length of my shaft was glistening with a moist coat of Maggie's cuntal juices.

'Oooh, that's marvellous, Mr. Dash wood!' she cried out happily.

'Carry on now, don't stop now whatever you do!' 'Don't worry, I won't!' I promised, working my stiffstander in and out of her delectably clingy cunt, pushing my whole body backwards and forwards whilst Maggie mashed her soft bum cheeks against my belly.

'There, can you feel my prick reaming out your cunt?' I panted as I increased the pace, my balls banging against her bottom with each powerful lunging thrust into her squelchy slit.

'Yes! Yes! YES! Shoot your spunk, you randy rascal!' she screamed, which was just as well because I was already on the brink.

Within seconds I shot my seed, spouting jets of frothy jism into her cunt and I saw waves of orgasmic delight ripple down Maggie's back as she scaled the ultimate peaks of sensual pleasure. I must digress a moment here and state how much I enjoy fucking in this way. Some regard the method as animalistic, but most mammals copulate in this fashion and as Sheridan rightly points out, nothing is unnatural which is physically possible. In my opinion there is nothing more stimulating than the resilient, tender cheeks of a pretty arse quivering in front of you as one slides one's cock in and out a tight juicy cunney (or the wrinkled little bum-hole if the fancy takes you and your partner is agreeable). A girl's backside, perhaps more than any part of her anatomy, transmits the results of a good fucking and I cannot think of anything finer than how, in the fiery heat of passion, these pneumatic spheres tremble and twitch so divinely with each pistoning plunge of the prick. Maggie was a game girl and it took her only a few minutes to recover although I was happy enough to sit down heavily on the chair whilst she poured out another two glasses of cognac, passed one over to me and then, at my invitation, perched herself on my knees. We toasted each other and she looked down at my beefy, semi-erect truncheon and said: 'Well, you've more stamina than young Colin and that's a fact. My goodness, are you able to fuck again straight after spending?' 'Sometimes,' I replied with due modesty. 'But I prefer to rest for a little while after a climax, because I have found fucking to be very strenuous exercise unless the girl climbs on top of me and does most of the work!' She smiled and said as she slid down to the floor: 'In that case, you close your eyes and relax whilst I suck you off.' I opened my legs for her to crouch between my thighs and she cupped my balls in one hand and with the other she slid her fist up and down my sturdy shaft. It swiftly swelled up again to its fullest extent. Now it was my turn to sigh with bliss as Maggie's wet tongue lapped around the ridges of my uncapped knob whilst she gently but insistently squeezed my tightening balls. Then she started to suck my prick in earnest, sliding her lips up and down my rock hard rod. Maggie gulped in my length which smoothed across the roof of her mouth and down towards the back of her throat. I leaned forward and held her shoulders as her head bobbed to and fro as she gobbled with unashamed gusto on my throbbing tool. As my climax approached I leaned forward to flick her titties between my fingers while she continued her lusty sucking.

Very soon I pumped a stream of creamy spunk down her throat which she swallowed with the same lip-smacking urgency with which she began this lascivious encounter. Gad, what thrilling waves of ecstasy crashed through my body as Maggie milked my cock! As Lizzie Dickerson, the Matron at Albion Academy and my first teacher in l'arte de faire l'amour used to say to me: 'Most females soon discover that sucking a boy's cock is the deepest, most sensitive way in which a girl can acknowledge her lover's masculinity.' Maggie asked me to stay the evening as her guest but I had to decline this kind invitation for I recalled that Julian had promised the nubile chambermaid who was fucked last night by Fletcher the butler, that he and I would both shag her this evening. Nevertheless, I copied Maggie's details into my address book and faithfully promised that I would keep in contact with her as soon as I had settled down in my 'digs' in Oxford. As fate would have it, when I returned to Clayton Towers this evening, I was mortified to learn that it would not be possible to fuck the girl.

Rightly, Julian had given her compassionate leave to travel to the nearby town of Winchcomb after she had received a letter from home saying that her grandfather was very poorly and not expected to last out the week. 'She was most upset that the old boy was about to croak,' explained Julian gloomily. I clicked my teeth and said: 'What a deuced shame! I was looking forward to tonight and comparing this girl's pussey with Harriets. Oh well, what did Robbie Burns say – “the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley”. Still, one shouldn't be selfish and, we still have one of Mrs. Sawyer's delicious dinners to look forward to and then we can concentrate on a real game of snooker,' I said as we settled down in our chairs for a snooze for which I was more than ready after my afternoon's exertions with Maggie Crompton!