The next day I waved a fond farewell to Jimmy as he boarded the 8.4S a.m. train back to town. The only comfort was that we would meet again next Thursday at Lady Macdougal's annual charity ball in aid of indigent members of the bookselling trade. With luck we would be able to slip away far from the madding crowd and enjoy each other's bodies in one of the several guest bedrooms in her ladyship's mansion in the leafy village of Barnes on the southern bank of the River Thames near the London suburb of Hammersmith.
Life was far duller without Jimmy-and poor Uncle Gordon fretted similarly from the lack of a bed-partner as he was unable to fuck Sarah for the following three days. For much against his will, he was pressed into service by Colonel Nettleton to sit on the bench whilst the local magistrate dealt with the latest crop of miscreants. The only amusing anecdote I can record about this event was that one of David Pickering, a poacher, was apprehended by Maddocks, one of the good Colonel's gamekeepers, after Pickering had bagged a couple of rabbits for the pot from our neighbour's land. He would have escaped scot free if in the woods he had not come across the gamekeeper's wife on her knees lustily sucking the pricks of two of the potboys who work at the village inn. Naturally, this stirring sight caused Pickering to cease his flight and as he watched entranced by this stimulating spectacle, he was pounced upon by Maddocks. Even then, he could have escaped but when he saw Maddocks burst out from the brush and threaten to blow the boys' balls to kingdom come with buckshot from his shotgun, the plucky poacher broke cover and wrestled the gun away from the raging gamekeeper.
'Colonel Nettleton is so down on poachers that he wanted to give the poor fellow three months' hard labour, but I said Pickering deserved a commendation from preventing serious injury or even worse,' I heard Uncle Gordon tell Sayers, as he played snooker with our butler that evening.
'Did you manage to change his mind, My Lord?' enquired Sayers.
'Eventually,' replied my dear old Uncle. 'I wanted to reward Pickering with five pounds from the court funds for his bravery but the Colonel would have none of it so in the end we compromised and bound both men over to keep the peace.'
'A fair compromise, My Lord,' commented the butler, as he dextrously manoeuvred the remaining red ball between two of the other colours still on the table.
'Good shot, Sayers,' said Uncle Gordon generously, complimenting our old retainer on his fine play. 'Mind, you've given me the sporting gentleman's favourite choice-should I go for the pink or the brown? Mind, one had to feel sorry for Maddocks, it must have been a great shock for him to find his wife in such an indelicate position.'
Sayers shook his head. 'Not really so, My Lord, the woman in question is well known round the area for her predilection in seducing young men and her husband's rage was in my opinion mostly simulated. Maddocks is not unaware of the matter and indeed I have heard that on many Saturday nights they jointly invite a lad to join them in bed after Mr. Stockman closes the tavern.'
'Stockman, Stockman, now isn't he the chap with extraordinary big bollocks?'
'So it is rumoured, though no doubt Sarah and Kathie would know better than I as to whether this is true.'
I left them to their game, musing that despite the thunderings from the Reverend Boms in the pulpit and the leaflets warning against the perils of the Sins Of The Flesh distributed to villagers by the Misses Allendaler, three crabbed old sisters who lived in the Old Rectory. As Oscar Wilde told Papa when my father dined with the disgraced wit in Paris shortly before he died: 'The Europeans have sex lives, the English have hot water bottles!'
Be that as it may, I asked Mrs. Moser to prepare a slap-up tea for my best girlfriends, who, you may recall, dear reader, I had invited for my birthday celebration on the afternoon of my parents' return. As it turned out, Mama and Papa were delayed for twenty-four hours but I decided that there was no need to postpone my little party. Katie, Gillian, Mary and Susie were all able to come but poor Sheena Waleshaw was unable to leave her bed as she contracted a nasty chill after dancing the night away at her cousin Deborah's coming-out party a few nights before.
'How is poor Sheena? I hope that at least she enjoyed Deborah's dance,' I said to my friends.
'Don't worry about Sheena,' laughed Katie. 'She was the belle of the ball. Why, she had George de Souza, Sir Andrew Stuck and even the Marquis de Soveral fighting to place their names on her card.
'Sheena always attracts the best men,' added Katie with a sigh. 'I bet she doesn't take a blind bit of notice of what old Ma Ogden was blathering about to the sixth-form girls last term-not that you can blame her for that,' she sighed.
Here I must explain that Ma Ogden, or Miss Edwina Margaret Ogden M.A. (Cantab) to be exact, is the revered headmistress of St Hilda's Academy For The Daughters Of Gentlefolk in sunny Devon where we all received our secondary education. 'Why, what did she have to say?' I asked. I had missed the last two days of the previous term, for during his Spring vacation Papa had taken Mama, Jonathan and myself on a most enjoyable holiday in Italy.
'Oh, she decided to call in several of her young ladies, as she calls us, for a private discussion on personal and private matters,' said Susie, with a cheeky giggle. 'I think Miss Ogden believes that we know nothing about what happens between husbands and wives in bed.'
'What about men and mistresses?' smiled Katie.
'Or between ladies like Miss Throng the games teacher and Miss Bulle?' I added, and we all pealed with laughter. It transpired that Miss Ogden, no doubt under the orders of the school governors, had attempted to teach the facts of life to the girls-most of whom probably had already as much if not more experience in amour than poor Miss O. who was not the most sensual of ladies and who had devoted her life to the instruction of mathematics and geography to young ladies between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, few of whom cared a jot for anything except enjoying themselves out of the classroom.
'Honestly, Rosie, you would hardly credit it,' said Susie. 'She began by saying how terrible were these wild women who demanded the vote. “This clamour for political rights is woman's confession of sexual enmity. Always remember, girls, that unless we are prepared to make of marriage a mere civil partnership, dissolvable at will, the correct relationship between husband and wife is one of control and decision on the part of the husband and deference and submission on that of the wife's. Never forget, girls, that where two ride on a horse, one must needs ride behind.” I just don't know how we all kept a straight face!'
'Did she talk about you-know-what?' I wondered.
'Gosh yes, and the poor old thing was frightfully embarrassed by it all,' Alice chipped in. 'She gave us all a leaflet written by Sister Elizabeth Thomson which explains all about how penises swell up when men cannot control themselves and that married ladies have the unfortunate duty to let their husbands place their members in their vaginas. “If ever any of girls get married,” said Miss Ogden, “you will have to let your husbands lie on top of you during their baser moments. I suggest that the best thing you can do is lie back and think of England for it is intercourse, when all is said and done, that causes babies to be born.” '
Well, at least no one could argue with that latter observation. Mind, it set me thinking that I had better visit Dr Bucknall's Surgical Stores in Chichester as soon as possible for a douche, as although I had taken only a very, very small chance of becoming enceinte through my romps with Jimmy Horobin, in future I should prepare myself better for fucking and let the boys know that their purchase of French letters would be welcomed.
Meanwhile, the girls regaled me about their latest encounters with the boys from St Trippett's College who attended our school debates every term and-under the strictest of supervision-the school's Spring, Summer and Christmas country-dancing parties.
Katie was first to tell us of what occurred between her and Robert Bacon, the handsome captain of cricket at St Trippett's. She said: 'Girls, you mustn't tell a soul because you know what my Papa is like-if he ever found out what happened, he would take his horse-whip to dear Robert.'
'Robert and I had both managed to arrange absence of leave one afternoon-we met secretly and wandered through the woods together, holding hands and chatting away like the close friends we were fast becoming. I should tell you that I was wearing my tennis outfit (for I had told Miss Ogden that I had been asked to play with the curate of Little Bristow) and that the previous evening I had taken the scissors to the neckline of the blouse to give the garment a plunging decolette'e finish that revealed the full, firm swell of my breasts to satisfying effect.
'My efforts were much appreciated by Robert for as we rested on a grassy knoll we were soon kissing and cuddling in fine old style. Oh, Robert is such a well-informed boy and I did feel so frisky that when he moved his hands from my back to rove over my scantily covered breasts, I made no attempt to arrest their progress. Of course, he was soon passing his lips over my naked nipples, kissing and sucking the titties like a real lover.
'I had never allowed him to go even as far as this before, but my blood was up and when he placed his hand on my knee and toyed with my thigh I knew what was to follow but again I made no move to stop him. So soon his hand was working its way up my leg and I even let him slip his fingers into the lacy knickers I was wearing and toy with my curly little bush.
'I know I should have put an end to it then and there but his fingers made me feel so good as they toyed with my trembling pussey lips that it was only when he attempted to lift my dress and press his face against my cunney that I called a halt and then only because I had already felt my pussey was already moist from a nice spend. Luckily, Robert behaved like a true gentleman and even offered to put his quivering bar penis back in his trousers (for he had unbuttoned whilst we were petting).
'To his everlasting credit, Robert Bacon did not attempt to force me to carry on further than I wished to go but we carried on canoodling and I will readily confess that I did take his lovely big prick in my hand. And oh! What a tremendous size it was! Whilst this was not the first time I had seen a stiff cockshaft, the upstanding girth and length of this one was beyond all my previous experience. I judged its length to be not less than ten inches and a full five inches in girth. Robert guided my unresisting fingers towards it and shyly I grasped this smooth fleshy pole with my hand, unable of course to fully circle it with my fingers. Though this was the first time I had ever touched a stiff manly organ, I knew what to do and I rubbed it up and down until it spurted a huge amount of foamy white spunk. We both so enjoyed the afternoon that next time I might let Robert proceed further down the path of love and allow him to play with my pussey whilst I lick his prick. I've always wanted to try that though I must say that his tool looks so big that I'm sure I'll never be able to cram it all in my mouth let alone swallow all that jism.'
Katie paused and said: 'Well, that's all that's happened so far, but Robert and I have planned an assignation for the first week of next term and I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to it immensely.'
Alas, tempus fugit, friendly reader and I must leave matters here for the moment, except to mention that the very next day my dear parents returned and after we had made our joyful reunion, Papa and Mama told me the most exciting news-if I was agreeable to the idea, I could leave St Hilda's immediately and in the Autumn take up a place at Madame Dupont's exclusive finishing school in Switzerland. Like Papa, I have always wanted to travel and I was thrilled to hear that he had managed to secure me a place in one of the most sought-after establishments of its kind in all of Europe.
Of one thing I was certain-Madame Dupont's would offer me the opportunity to put into practise the idea of obtaining a variety of sensual experiences. Jimmy Horobin had seized upon my words and acted upon them at the first available opportunity with Polly. Now it was to be my turn!
I stretched my toes catlike towards the roaring log fire and contemplated my first week in Switzerland at Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies on the beautiful banks of Lake Lucerne.
The school building itself was divinely elegant with a sweeping gravel drive, lined with conifers, leading up to a tall, carved wooden door set between majestic stone pillars. In the centre of the tidily clipped lawn was a tiny fountain set about with stone nymphs, and the beds bordering the drive were filled to bursting with fragrant spring flowers.
My days at the Academy were filled with the kind of studies designed to turn myself and my fellow students-a motley collection of girls from all over the world-into elegant and accomplished young ladies of breeding. Mornings were filled with lessons in French, cookery, geography and history, while the afternoons were set aside for music, drawing and painting, needlepoint and long, leisurely strolls on the banks of the lake, collecting wild flowers and interesting pebbles from the water's edge.
Although it was spring and the weather was beginning to turn a little wanner, the log fire in the girls' drawing room where I sat was necessary to take the chill from the air. Indeed, I felt my cheeks flush with warmth as I surveyed the room with its floor to ceiling windows with their breathtaking views, walls filled with books and pictures and its comfortably worn chintz sofas and Chesterfields.
Since I was alone, I kicked off my shoes and removed my stockings, drawing my long skirt to above my shapely knees, the better to feel the sensual warmth from the fire against my long, smooth legs.
With a secret smile of pleasure and stretching languorously, I took the letter from darling Simon, my brother Thomas's best friend, from inside the bodice of my undergarment where it had nestled, undetected, in the cleft between my warm, snowy breasts. From time to time during the day I'd remembered its presence and felt a thrill of anticipation as I counted the hours until I could steal away from the other girls and devour its contents.
I began to read:
My darling Rosie,
Since you left this morning for Switzerland, my mind and senses have been filled with you and memories of our last, sweet congress. So wonderful and delightfully erotic was it that my only desire at present is to put pen to paper and write about it in full, for our mutual delectation. I wish to describe each delicious nuance, that we might both, in our different countries and with the wide sea dividing us, relive the drama of those magical hours when time stood still and I was putty in your tender lily-white hands.
Do you recall how I stood behind you and gently ran my fingers through your soft blonde hair, then firmly massaged your neck and shoulders until I felt you shudder with pleasure. Still rubbing and caressing your back and sides, my strong hands moved round and discovered the full swell of your breasts. I slowly undid the buttons of your dress and, beneath it, your chemise, which fell open to reveal your gorgeous breasts, warm and naked beneath my cool hands.
At my touch, at first as light as a feather, I felt them tremble with delicious anticipation and your nipples swell and jut proudly against my palms. I tweaked them mischievously, making you squeal with delight, and lightly ran my fingernails across the ample, rounded undersides of your glorious titties. My naughty tickling caused you to gasp and your breathing to increase in rapidity, making your tits jiggle and bounce in my hands.
Moving ever downwards and stroking your soft ribcage, at the same time peeling down your dress and chemise to below your flat belly, my fingers snaked inside your frilly white drawers, twisting and rustling your crinkly pubic hair which is as soft and blonde as the hair on your beautiful head.
Suddenly, giggling with pleasure, you escaped from my grasp and, cheeks flushed and tits bouncing, ran to the other side of the room, losing most of your clothes on the way except for your silky stockings and lacy garters. From this position you commenced a display of the utmost lewdness, the memory of which has had me frigging myself dry every hour on the hour from the time of our parting.
At first, placing a delicate finger between your soft, pouting lips and sucking it provocatively, your huge blue eyes looked sulkily at me from beneath your sweeping, black lashes. Then, slowly undulating your slim, sexy hips and gazing downwards, you clasped your large, firm white breasts in both hands and squeezed them together so that your jutting strawberry nipples almost touched, creating a long, shadowy cleft between them.
With a slow, sexy smile you turned your back on me, gracefully parted your long, stockinged legs and flopped over like a rag doll, naughtily wiggling your round, tight arse high in the air and showing your silky blonde cunt hair and your pink pussey lips to me, as well as your little wrinkled anus.
Unable to control my lust any longer I pounced on you, breathing furiously and nuzzling your hair, at the same time fumbling with your fleshy tits with one hand and lowering my trousers and undergarments with the other.
Dropping to your hands and knees, tits dangling, legs spread wide and arse proudly displayed in all its glory, you presented a spectacular image with your soft skin sheened with sweat and your cunt gleaming hot and pink. Panting with excitement and firmly grasping your hips, I sank my huge, engorged prick between the cheeks of your bum and into your welcoming cunt, the walls of which hugged me tight like a long-lost friend.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, I fucked your tight pussey, grunting with the exertion of it, until I heard your little screams of pleasure and I knew orgasm was near. Only when I was certain you'd reached your climax did I thrust my cock into you one final, stupendous time and issue forth my jets of salty spunk.
Sinking to the floor next to you and taking your naked body, slippery and fragrant with sweat, in my arms, I kissed and fondled you and swore you'd always be mine. Please say you will, my darling Rosie!
I'll love you always and find myself weak with anticipation of your letter back to me. Make it soon, my angel.
Your own,
Simon.
With a deep sigh of pleasure and a secret, sensual smile, I stretched full-length on the sofa where I'd been sitting and threw my arms, with gay abandon, above my head to lose myself in a delicious erotic reverie. Quite unaware of how long I'd lain like that, I started with surprise when the door opened and Nicole entered. Nicole, born and raised within an extremely well-connected family of French wine growers from the Bordeaux region, was extraordinarily beautiful with waist-length, liquorice-black hair and ice-blue eyes, an aristocratic, aquiline nose and full, sensuous lips. She and I had become friends almost as soon as we'd met, recognising a shared sense of humour and a taste for adventure not immediately apparent in our fellow students who, for the most part, appeared to be rather a prim, stuck-up collection of young ladies.
Standing in the doorway, hands on hips and looking at me in a highly amused manner, she began, laughingly, to castigate me in her impeccable English – which was, I'm ashamed to say, infinitely superior to my command of the French language. Alas, we English are frightfully lazy when it comes to mastering foreign tongues, but I was soon to play my part in setting the record straight by mastering a foreign tongue of my own-and an extremely mobile and pretty one it was, too!
Looking slightly abashed, I raised myself on my elbow, bit my lip and blushed fetchingly, which precipitated a gale of girlish giggles from the gorgeous Nicole.
'What have you been up to, ma cherie! I've never seen you looking so guilty or, how you say, embarrassed! It's as if you might have a little secret you might wish to keep from me, no? But surely, ma cherie, you wouldn't want to keep secrets from your little Nicole, eh?'
Smiling broadly and showing her even, white teeth, she advanced sinuously and with evil intent towards the sofa where I lay. Squealing with mock horror I swiftly scaled the back of the sofa-a tricky exercise bearing in mind the length and fullness of my skirt-and dropped, rather indecorously, to the floor below where I lay for a moment or two, panting with excitement, before getting to my feet and standing to face the laughing Nicole on the other side.
Moments later, glancing floorwards, Nicole spotted Simon's by-now crumpled letter and immediately ducked to retrieve it and then, despite my cries of indignation, began to read it aloud in her prettily accented English.
Unable to stand the impertinence of the girl a moment longer, I reached across as far as I could and attempted to grab the letter from her grasp. Anticipating my action, she slowly backed away, clicking her tongue in disapproval and dangling the letter between thumb and forefinger, just out of my reach.
By now my blood was up and the thrill of the chase was upon me. Growling like a cat, eyes glittering, I freed myself from the confines of the sofa and pursued the naughty young mademoiselle round the room, both of us shrieking with laughter as we circumnavigated tables, chairs, bookcases and anything which came between me and my mischievous quarry.
At long last, with a cry of delight, I caught Nicole by the arm and swung her round to face me where we stood grinning at each other like a pair of Cheshire cats, breathing heavily after our exertions and with shining eyes and flushed cheeks.
Slowly our grins melted away and I found myself gazing, searchingly, at this beautiful girl's face while she studied me with a look of pure wonder in her eyes.
Not since I'd entered this delightful country had I made love to another woman-indeed, nothing had been further from my mind-and so I was surprised and shocked to recognise the first, sweet sensations of sexual desire rise in my belly as I watched the delicious Nicole while she, in turn, watched me.
Raising a slim finger to her pouting lips she bade me be quiet and then, winking suggestively, she led me to the thick, wolfskin rug which lay in front of the glowing fire. As we stood, facing each other in the warmth, she nimbly undid the fastenings of my bodice, pulled it gently from my shoulders and sighed with pleasure as my large, firm breasts spilled forth. Running her wet, pink tongue over her lips in anticipation she gently took one of my breasts in each hand and, looking into my eyes all the while, lowered her beautiful face to my by-now erect strawberry nipples.
I leaned back slightly, arching my tits towards her questing lips as she took first one and then the other jutting nipple into her mouth, nipping gently with her teeth, sucking lustily and rolling them around her tongue until the feminine warmth and wetness between my thighs suffused me with such longing that I desired only to caress this gorgeous creature in just the way she was caressing me.
As though she read my thoughts Nicole raised her head, full lips glossy and pouting, and proudly bared her slim, lithe torso to my view. Like a young cat she stood preening before me, throwing back her shoulders to display her olive-skinned, pointed breasts with their Bordeaux-wine nipples.
Taking a stray lock of blue-black hair in her fingers, she softly stroked a nipple with it and we both watched, transfixed, as it rose and hardened like a ripe grape. Anxious that her other, sweet nipple should not feel neglected, I leaned forward and took it between my lips, my luscious tits dangling and lightly brushing Nicole's flat, olive belly.
Feeling her nipple swell tantalisingly in my mouth, I raised my lips to hers and, taking her in my arms, kissed her fully and passionately, our tongues entwining and exploring each other's mouths. The sensation of her naked, sweat-sheened tits pressing against my own, heightened my desire still further and when our nipples touched, a spasm of electric desire passed from my breasts to my throbbing, wet pussey.
Smiling conspiratorially we stripped naked and then fell upon each other, kissing deeply and rubbing our tits and cunts together in complete abandon.
'Darling Nicole, how I've longed to feel your naked skin against mine,' I murmured huskily. 'At night in my room I've driven myself almost mad with desire at the thought of my tongue exploring the dark, secret places of your body. Angel, will you let me lick the honey from your cunt?'
'Mais oui, Cherie,' whispered Nicole. 'I thought you'd never ask!' Then, slowly and gracefully she spread her slim, brown legs and stood, feet apart, hands on hips and pelvis thrust forward, sinuously undulating so that with each circle of her arse, her delicious pink pussey was fully displayed to my gaze in the rosy firelight.
Dropping to my hands and knees, tits dangling and bum thrust high in the air, I extended my wicked tongue and licked her swollen cunt, nibbling and kissing its shadowy folds and dark recesses and drinking her musky juice while my soft hands clasped her tight, boyish arse.
After I'd spent a minute or two at this glorious pursuit, I felt Nicole tremble and her body tense with the onset of her climax. Between groans of pleasure her breathing was laboured and uneven, and her body ran with fragrant sweat which I tasted on my lips and the scent of which filled my nostrils.
Moments later I felt her body relax and her breathing become more even. Sitting back on my haunches, I looked up into her face and saw there an expression of pure joy and mischief.
'And now for you, sweet Rosie,' she said, dropping to her hands and knees and gently pushing me back on to the thick, soft rug beneath us.
Tits rubbing against me, she licked the salty sweat from my belly while her tender fingers stroked and tickled my pussey, making me squirm and giggle with delight as she found my swollen clitoris and softly massaged it so that I thought I'd explode with ecstasy.
With the swiftness and grace of a gazelle, she straddled my body, her heels under my bottom to raise and display my cunt, and lowered her own pussey on to mine.
We moved together in perfect unison, our pubic hair mingling in a delicious cocktail of baby blonde and jet black, wet with our love-juices. Once again she reached down and found my clitoris, rubbing and massaging until I, too, reached my longed-for climax and sighed deeply with contentment.
Oblivious to everything but each other, we lay in each other's arms in the warmth from the fire and fell into a light but refreshing sleep.
I awoke the following morning with an inexplicable sense of mounting excitement. Inexplicable until I stretched my limbs under the crisp, white bedclothes and opened my eyes to greet the warm spring sun which suffused the room with golden light.
Smiling to myself I pushed the sheets away and lay there naked, bathed in a brilliant shaft of sunlight which pierced a narrow gap between the flowered drapes at my window.
As the warmth enveloped my body and the sun glinted on my golden pubic hair like light dancing on the surface of the lake outside, I began to feel those familiar sensations of longing creep from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. With quickening pulse I felt my tingling nipples rise and harden and the deepest recesses of my belly and pussey throb with a warm dampness as I imagined my darling Simon stroking my body, tawny in the sunlight, and pushing the blunt, swollen head of his cock against the opening of my womanhood.
I squeezed my nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each gentle hand, breathing deeply and feeling the twin peaks of my generously rounded breasts rise and fall in voluptuous rhythm.
My entire body tingled with erotic pleasure as I ran a delicate fingernail from the cleft between my breasts, down the length of my slim torso, over my flat belly to the tangled mass of soft blonde hair at its base.
Twining the silky strands around my fingers for a moment or two, I reached down and insinuated a warm finger between the lips of my pussey. As I found and began to gently massage my swollen clitoris, Shockwaves of pure, unadulterated eroticism coursed through me and I began to feel weak with desire and suffused with a longing to be filled with a man's erect prick.
I gracefully parted my long legs, raising my knees and then, overcome with lust, thrust two, then three fingers into my throbbing cunt, moaning with pleasure and writhing in ecstasy on the rumpled sheets.
Flowing with the sensations of my swollen breasts and clitoris, sexy bottom rubbing against cool white linen and cunt filled with mobile, questing fingers I climaxed with a rush of passion and warm, liquid honey which spilled forth onto my soft inner thighs.
Relaxing my body I allowed my breathing to become regular and even, smiling inwardly as I anticipated my next sexual encounter. 'I wonder who the lucky man will be?' I whispered to myself, little knowing how quickly I was to find out…
Later that day, lessons at an end, I felt compelled by the burgeoning freshness of the warm spring afternoon to explore the extensive gardens belonging to Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies.
These gardens, which were beautifully maintained by an upright German gentleman of advanced years by the name of Franzmann, ran right down to a small private beach at the water's edge where we young ladies were frequently to be found in the warm weather, unbeknown to the stern Madame Dupont, dipping our bare toes in the clear water and giggling delightedly as the little waves splashed our legs.
A small wooden pier jutted out into the lake, to which was tied a gaily painted rowing boat belonging to Madame Dupont's son, Michel, whom none of us had met because of his being away at school, but who was the subject of a great deal of girlish speculation and more than a few romantic daydreams.
On this particular afternoon, there being a hint of a chill in the air, I made my way to the tall, heated glasshouse which lay at the very heart of the garden and which contained Madame Dupont's vast collection of exquisite orchids from all over the world. This glasshouse was one of the largest and most beautiful I'd seen, its clear panes glinting like a million diamonds in the sunlight, and its interior as green and scented as a tropical paradise.
Madame Dupont was often to be found in her moments off, aproned and with sleeves rolled up, a gentle expression softening her normally stern features, tenderly ministering to one delicate bloom or another, a tiny pair of scissors kept expressly for the purpose in her hand and a plant spray containing the finest spring water money could buy at her feet.
Franzmann, who shared Madame Dupont's love of orchids, carried out the more menial tasks involved in their cultivation, digging and planting alongside the great lady as she glided majestically from row to row, lovingly sniffing a scented bloom here and snipping away a dead leaf there.
It had been intimated amongst us girls that Franzmann who, to the best of our knowledge, was unmarried, shared more with Madame than a passion for exotic flowers. It was said that they shared pleasures of a far more intimate nature in each other's company, a fact borne out by my friend and fellow student Lisa who, when strolling through the gardens one balmy evening, heard the sounds of mature adult voices speaking in hushed, low tones, followed by much joyful chuckling and the rustling of headmistressy bombazine.
Swiftly crouching down in order to ascertain the true nature of what she was witnessing, Lisa clearly heard the voice of our revered Madame, exclaiming to her obviously male assailant: 'Franz, you naughty boy, I wish you'd stop tickling and find the time to free me from these dastardly stays. A moment longer in their confines and I swear I'll explode!'
There followed a quantity of male and female giggling, a hearty slap of manly hand against ample female flesh and a pink, whalebone corset sailed through the air and landed at Lisa's feet, whereupon she stifled the screams of laughter which threatened to divulge her presence and ran swiftly back to the school in order to regale the rest of us with the story of her horticultural experience, adding a great deal of speculative and lascivious detail for good measure!
I happened to know that on this particular afternoon Madame Dupont was engaged in marking French essays in her study, so I was a little surprised to hear the sound of a melodic tune being hummed within the sultry, scented depths of the glasshouse. I guessed the sweet music did not issue from the lips of the straight-backed, teutonic Franzmann, but it was clearly of male origin. Who could it possibly be?
Rounding a corner I chanced upon a glorious sight, the like of which I'd never before experienced, and haven't since. There, poised among the foliage and the delicately scented blooms was the most delicious male arse I'd ever had the pleasure to observe, clothed in charcoal-grey serge which clung provocatively to the tightly muscled masculine contours, leaving very little to my fevered female imagination.
Suddenly the whistling stopped and the young man to whom the arse belonged straightened and turned towards me with an amused and enquiring look.
'Bonjour, Mademoiselle,' he said, gazing levelly at me with eyes of melting chocolate. 'May I be of some assistance to you?'
'I'm sure I can think of a little something you can do for me, monsieur,' I murmured to myself, smiling.
'Pardon, Mademoiselle?'
'I said, I'm sure there's nothing you can do for me, monsieur. I'm merely out for a relaxing stroll before supper, and the glasshouse is one of my favourite destinations. By the way, my name is Rosie D'Argosse and I am a pupil at Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies.'
'And I, Mademoiselle Rosie, am Michel Dupont, Madame Dupont's devoted son. I arrived here this afternoon en vacance from my college in Paris. I, too, had it in mind to explore the grounds before going to meet some friends in town this evening. The gardens are very beautiful, non? Maman and her friend, Herr Franzmann, like nothing better than to spend time together here, tending the flowers, and other things I have no doubt…'
His eyes met mine and a ghost of a smile played about his lips as he said this but then, swiftly changing the subject, he offered to introduce me to some of his favourite varieties of orchid.
Taking my slim arm in his, rather solicitously I thought, gleefully, he proceeded to lead me towards the very centre of the glasshouse, stopping now and then on the way to show me a particular variety or other which caught his eye.
As we drew closer to the very heart of this fragrant heaven, the atmosphere appeared to become warmer and more humid, and the foliage was so thick and luxuriant that a great deal of the light from outside was obscured, creating a lush green glow, heady with the scent of some of the rarest and most costly blooms to be found anywhere on earth.
By now quite drunk from this intoxicating place, and more than ever aware of Michel's arm, which had been lowered at some point during our stroll and was now circling my waist, I was surprised and delighted when we came upon a little pool of crystal-clear water, surrounded by smooth, flat stones and with a small fountain playing at its centre.
'How utterly enchanting,' I whispered, turning to Michel with sparkling eyes.
'But not half as enchanting as you, Rosie. A girl with your beauty and sensitivity deserves an orchid which will echo those qualities, which is why I've brought you here…' With that, he reached out and plucked a deliriously scented bloom from a nearly plant, its blush-pink petals as heavy and as sweet as honey.
Carefully tucking the flower behind my ear, he gently stroked my cheek whilst gazing longingly into my blue eyes.
Now I'd heard that the French are a romantic race, but never before had I been seduced in so romantic a manner. By now fully prepared to accept my fate at the hands (and cock, I hoped!) of this handsome young Frenchman, I smiled saucily up at him, snaked my arms around his neck and pulled his face to within an inch of my own.
Closing my eyes, I slowly extended my little pink tongue and licked Michel's lips. After a second or two, Michel found my tongue with his own and we stood, lips not touching, tongues lasciviously snaking around each other. Then, lunging towards me, Michel pressed his lips against mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and there commenced the most delicious French kiss I'd ever experienced. All the more appropriate, of course, since it was delivered by a Frenchman!
Urgently opening my bodice with one hand and fondling my luscious breasts, he reached down with the other and lifted my skirts, then stroked my firm, rounded bottom through the thin cotton of my semi-transparent drawers before yanking them down to my knees.
Throbbing cock straining against the grey fabric of his trousers, he pressed hard against my by-now naked pussey and kissed me so passionately I felt I was being eaten alive. Parting my legs as far as my dropped panties would allow, I rubbed my glistening cunt against his stiff, serge-clad prick, leaving a damp, fragrant trail on the rough cloth. I felt for all the world like a randy female cat, leaving her scent on a favourite mate. A little something for him to remember me by, I thought to myself with a naughty grin.
Then, deftly unbuttoning his fry, I pulled his yearning cock free and caressed it for a moment or two, feeling it hot, dry and pulsing with life in my hand, before transferring the little drop of pre-ejaculatory cum from its tip to my finger, and from there to my tongue.
Smiling appreciatively as I savoured the salty taste in my mouth, I placed his eager prick at the entrance to my cunt, clasped his boyish arse in both hands, squeezing and massaging the taut, manly cheeks, and wriggled around a little so that the tip of his cock, wet with my love-juice, found my erect clitoris which jutted out like a tiny, miniature penis.
This was more than the poor boy could stand and, with a low moan of pleasure, he thrust his cock into me like a dervish, feverishly squeezing my sweat-sheened tits and pumping back and forth as though his life depended on it.
Should we have been discovered at that moment by some unsuspecting browser, what a picture we would have presented! Me with hair awry and breasts naked and free as nature intended, my dress pulled high around my waist and panties and stockings at half-mast around my knees. Michel, panting with exertion and quite red in the face, fucking my cunt with the enthusiasm of a man left starving in the desert having chanced upon a cool oasis with running water to slake his thirst and abundant date palms to satisfy his hunger. It occurred to me that I was most probably the first girl he'd fucked since he'd last been home from school. How utterly inhumane, I thought, to deny these young and virile flowers of manhood-many of them at the very peak of their sexual prowess-the opportunity of fucking pretty young ladies of a similar persuasion. Were I to be put in charge of the education of these sexy young tigers with their rampant cocks, I'd see to it that they received frequent visits from naughty girls such as myself, well versed in the art of de-spunking.
After what seemed like several minutes of glorious abandonment, I felt my orgasm approach like a tide of warm treacle through my loins. Then, with a tingling thrill of intense pleasure my senses exploded, at the same time as Michel, with a cry of delight and cock pulsating, shot jet after jet of warm spunk into my eager pussey.
We hugged each other tight for a moment or two then pulled away and smiled, wordlessly, into each other's eyes. As we straightened our clothing, Michel gazed into my eyes and said:
'Rosie, chere, that was one of the most glorious fucks I've enjoyed in many weeks. (My fears were confirmed.) 'Thank you, darling…' With that he kissed me on the nose, took me by the arm and led me back to the entrance of the glasshouse. As we parted to go our separate ways he said: 'Rosie, I have a little boat moored on the beach below and I'd planned to take my friend, Antoine, for a row on the lake next Saturday afternoon. Would you and one of your delightful friends care to join us? If the weather's good perhaps we could take a picnic, no? I'll arrange for our finest local shopkeeper, Pierre Bassinet, to prepare us a hamper, and I'll tell him to include a bottle or two of champagne.'
As he mentioned the champagne, I noticed a very definite twinkle in Michel's eye. Could it be that his plans included more than a simple row on the lake followed by a delicious but modest dejeuner sur l'herbe! Would my 'friend' and I be expected to perform in some as yet unspecified way? I certainly hoped so!
'Please say you'll come, Rosie,' pleaded Michel.
'But of course,' I said. 'We'll meet you at the pier at midday on Saturday. Meanwhile, au revoir, Michel… You scheming scoundrel,' I whispered to myself, giggling wickedly in anticipation of the forthcoming weekend's frolics.
Saturday morning dawned. Sleepily I opened my eyes and gave them a little rub. Brushing a stray, pale blonde curl from my cheek-which was still baby-warm and slightly damp from my recent slumbers-I gave a long, low whistle, parted my blushing lips in a sexy smile and began to giggle in a decidedly wicked manner, the sound emanating from deep within my throat.
I immediately recognised this particular expression of humour as similar to that which habitually issued forth from the full lips of the delicious Dora, a saucy and voluptuously popular lady of the night who for many years frequented the inns and taverns of London's Highgate.
Dora was notorious for her brashly extravagant and wantonly revealing ballgowns, worn day and night whatever the weather or the occasion, the necklines of which were cut so incredibly low that her big round breasts were all but completely displayed in their full, naked glory. Her modesty, if any, was preserved by a tiny strip of fabric which barely covered her succulent, and frequently well-sucked, red nipples, the generous contours of which were plainly evident under the lush material of her gown.
Men of all ages and from all backgrounds and walks of life had been known to pay vast sums of money for the voluptuous thrill of burying their faces between Dora's warm, white-fleshed tits and suck at her big, erect nipples. As a result, the fortunate Dora never found herself without a roof over her head or the price of a nip of brandy or a plate of oysters. More than a few gentlemen of means had offered to set her up in furnished rooms in a smart part of town if only she'd save her heavenly breasts and wicked favours for them alone, but Dora was by nature a woman of the street and while she still had her strength and her looks, on the street she'd stay.
The younger street girls would follow her, catcalling and rudely mimicking her swagger as she made her daily round of the taverns, gaming houses and licensed betting establishments, searching for handsome, horny men of discernment who were aching for a fuck with a woman of experience, and were willing to be parted from their hard-earned cash for a rummage in her drawers and a squeeze of her ample bosoms.
But I digress. The cause of my good humour on this particular morning was the delightful memory of a wickedly sexy dream I'd had before waking. I'd dreamt I was a young and beautiful concubine belonging to the king of Ancient Egypt.
I spent my days in the luxurious splendour of the royal harem, partially clothed or completely naked for the most part, bathing in warm scented water, rich with costly oils and essences, dining on wild honey and extravagant sweetmeats, or swapping wild stories and saucy anecdotes with the other women.
The older, more experienced concubines would delight in schooling us younger ones in the gentle, feminine art of pleasing men. In language of a most explicit nature and amid much hilarity, they'd teach us how to seduce, cajole and tempt a man on the one hand, while reducing him to a quivering mass of red-hot lust on the other with skilful displays of stroking, sucking and fucking to please even the most jade of male palates.
From these women we discovered the secret of nocturnal success in the royal sleeping chambers, and how to maintain the king's favour and keep him hungry for more of our bodily delights. We pure, gentle doves were trained to become ravening, sexy she-cats at the switch of a shapely hip or the wink of a glittering, black-lashed eye.
In my dream I was summoned by the king's personal bodyguard who told me that I'd been spotted by His Majesty in the royal gardens and, pleased and excited by what he'd seen, the king had demanded my presence in his private chambers that evening. Weak with anticipation and excitement (the king was potent in the extreme-a huge, well-muscled bear of a man with flashing eyes and a thick, glossy black beard), I set about the task of preparing my mind and body for a liaison with my master.
Aided and abetted by my friends and companions in the royal harem, I bathed, powdered, oiled and scented my smooth young skin, then applied kohl to my lids in the ancient manner, a mere hint of rouge to my already-flushed cheeks and a slick of fragrant beeswax to my full, pouting lips giving them a lusciously pampered sheen. Smiling with pleasure, I eased my long, lithe legs into a minute pair of satin panties, so brief they barely concealed my blonde pubic hair, which gleamed with aromatic oil, and plainly showed the little shadowy cleft at the top of my shapely bottom. I wriggled suggestively, causing my tits to jiggle in a delightful manner, as I adjusted the fit of these outrageously sexy briefs.
Next I insinuated my ample breasts into the matching upper garment, which was just about the smallest brassiere I'd ever seriously considered as bodily adornment. Thickly encrusted with sequin and dangling jewels which glittered and shook as I moved, this exotic creation cupped my peachy breasts, barely covering my big rosy nipples which even now were stiffly erect and unbelievably sensitive in delicious anticipation of my forthcoming sexual encounter with Egypt's all-powerful ruler, who would hopefully, overnight, become permanently enslaved to my charms.
Gazing downwards, thrilled with this unfamiliar image of myself in sexily revealing clothes (I was used to spending my days in innocent nudity, clothed only in my smooth, warm skin), I ran my mobile fingers over the firm, glowing mounds of my captive bosoms, stroking the deep, dark cleavage between them in pure wonderment. Never before had my glorious breasts been thus uplifted and confined-previously they'd bounced naked and free as nature intended.
I then fastened a sheer, floaty garment around my lower hips, stepped into a pair of gold kid mules and brushed my long blonde hair until it glowed and shone as though illuminated from within.
Prepared at last, eyes shining, I was finally ready to receive the king's bodyguard who was to present me to the great man himself. Gazing at me solicitously, his eyes devouring my body lustfully, this servant of the king handed me a small leather pouch containing precious jewels-gifts from his master-and bade me adorn myself with them while he averted his eyes.
Peering inside the bag, amid excited giggles and squeals from my friends, I found rings, bangles and bracelets for my hands, wrists and ankles, a round, smooth opal for my forehead and large, glittering ruby for my flat, tawny belly.
Finally, semi-naked, ravishingly beautiful and burning with desire for sexual fulfilment, I proceeded towards the king's chambers amid low whistles and sharp intakes of breath from all those, young or old, who lined the route.
Arriving at last at a pair of vast double doors, fashioned from fragrant sandalwood and sumptuously carved with scenes of men and women in virtually every permutation of sexual congress, the bodyguard threw them open and, with a small clap of his hands and a lewd wink, indicated to me that I should enter. I quickly went in, averting my eyes from those of my master, and prostrated my young body on the floor, just inside the doors. As I crouched, quivering in anticipation of what was to come, I heard the doors quietly swing shut, leaving me to face the rest of the night alone with this great and powerful man.
After a moment or two a measured, deep voice said: 'Please rise, my little flower. Do not be afraid-I mean you no harm. I spied you this morning in the orange grove, inhaling the scent of a perfect white blossom while the sun illuminated your perfect beauty, and I immediately felt compelled to request the pleasure of your company this evening. Tell me, precious one, have you resided long at the palace?'
Slowly rising to my feet, as steadily as I could and with breasts rising and falling in my flimsy garment like the breast of a small, captive bird, I stood and faced the powerful being who had addressed me-a ruler so mighty he could crush and destroy whole empires on a momentary whim-and found before me a tall, gentle man of immense physical beauty and presence. Deeply suntanned, bearded, with compelling but compassionate black eyes and a deep scar across one cheek, this living legend was, plainly, a man first with a man's needs and desires.
Recognising this fact I began slowly to relax, replying to his questions as best I could in my low, musical voice. 'I was born in the palace, Sire. My mother was a concubine belonging to your father. After many years in his intimate service, because she had pleased him greatly and afforded him so much pleasure, she was graciously permitted to marry his most trusted personal servant, and I was the result of their union. When I was fourteen I, too, joined the royal harem, just as my mother had done before me, and here I am at your request-a faithful and humble girl willing to please you, My Lord, in whatever way you desire…' Lowering my lashes, I raised my hands from my sides and joined them, reverently, before my swelling, bejewelled breasts.
'Your mother must have been an exceptionally beautiful woman to have produced a vision such as yourself,' the king said huskily, his eyes roaming from my sumptuous golden hair to my full, voluptuous breasts, my shapely hips and long, coltish legs, then back again. 'But first,' he said briskly, regaining his composure, 'let us eat!'
He clapped his hands together sharply and four serving girls entered on swift, silent feet, carrying trays of exotic delicacies high on their heads. On reaching the dining area, which was surrounded by soft, bright cushions, they arranged the beaten silver platters containing succulent, spiced meats, fragrant, aromatic rice and ripe fruits in the centre on a profusion of richly embroidered mats. Lighting a number of tall beeswax candles in gleaming pewter candelabrum and pouring measures of heady red wine into two engraved silver goblets, they departed as silently as they'd arrived. As she left the chamber, the last girl turned to me in the wink of an eye and gave me the benefit of a wide but fleeting grin.
'Come,' said the king, taking my slender arm in his large, strong hand and leading me solicitously towards the delicious repast, then bidding me recline on the swansdown-filled cushions before eating and drinking my fill.
As we ate, the king spoke animatedly of his childhood and his father, his friends and enemies, his stately responsibilities and future plans for his great and glorious kingdom. I listened in polite but rapt silence, my eyes taking in the earthy opulence of the chamber with its costly hangings, gleaming treasures and sumptuous animal skins, the whole scented with the smoke from a jewelled incense burner and softly lit by the still, small flames of a thousand candles and the low, orange sun which was setting low in the west and casting a golden glow over all in its path.
Almost swooning with the scent from the incense burner and the effect of the heavy, blood-red wine on my senses, I turned my heavy-lidded eyes towards the man at my side and, momentarily forgetting my servile position within his household, felt an engulfing flood of womanly desire, like treacle, suffuse my gracefully reclining limbs an the base of my warm, golden belly.
Like a big cat, sensing the urgency of my emotions, the king stopped talking and turned towards me, drinking in my musky, erotically charged beauty with his eyes and nostrils, an amused smile playing about his strong, masculine lips. 'Do my eyes deceive me or is it true that I am having such a desirable effect on you, my little dove? My heart tells me you may be ripe for the plucking but first, I desire that you dance for me!'
The king clapped his hands a second time and musician entered the chamber, seating himself on a pile of goat skins in the shadow at the far corner of the chamber. As the sweet, reedy music commenced I rose gracefully to my feet and made my way swiftly to centre-stage where I gazed levelly at the king with shining, lust-filled eyes and soft, parted lips.
Abandonedly tossing my luxuriant mane of blonde hair, I threw back my suntanned shoulders and proudly thrust forward my big, firm breasts, shaking them lewdly and making them jiggle and jounce, causing the sequins and jewels which adorned them to jingle and glitter in the candlelight. The monarch's eyes darkened with desire and he settled back against his pile of cushions, licking his sensuous lips in anticipation of the erotic display to follow.
Never once taking my bold, blue eyes from the master's face I moved my body to the music with sinuous grace, swaying and undulating my lithe torso, shaking my high, spangled bosoms and rotating my slim, womanly hips, causing the glowing, blood-red ruby in my belly to glitter and sparkle.
As the music quickened in pace and became more urgent, I threw off my golden mules and danced with increased passion and abandon, wriggling and gyrating my by now sweat-sheened body and shaking my damp, lustrous hair this way and that so that it whipped about my face like a tangle of shiny serpents.
Suddenly, without any warning, the music came to an end and I collapsed to the floor, my heart pounding and shoulders heaving with the excitement and the exertion of this dance of desire. The king clapped loud and long in appreciation of my display, chuckling low in his throat before saying in a voice shaking with desire: 'I am filled with joy by your dancing abilities, my blonde beauty. Come, experience for yourself the extent to which you have pleased me…'
I raised my bowed head and pushed aside the curtain of damp, pale blonde hair from my glowing cheeks, gazing at him through narrowed, lust-filled eyes streaked with kohl, and licking my generous parted lips in a lascivious manner. In this fashion and on hands and knees I advanced towards the object of my desire, rivulets of sweat snaking between my big breasts which hung suspended like lush, sexy fruits, threatening to burst forth from their flimsy covering with each movement of my body.
Reaching the king, I gazed into his eyes and softly stroked the scar on his cheek and his thick, black beard, making him smile with amusement, before lowering my playful hands to his nether garments, nimbly unfastening them and pulling them open to reveal his erect, throbbing penis to my gaze. Never before had I seen a cock of such immense length and girth. It was truly a prick fit for a king and the sight of it excited me greatly, causing me to tremble and bite my lower lip in wonder, like a little lost girl at her first grownup party.
'Please don't be afraid, little one,' said the king gently. 'You may take as little or as much of me as you desire. There is no joy for me in forcing myself upon you like a ravening beast. I wish only to please you as you have pleased me with your voluptuous body and the look of longing in your eyes. Why not find out for yourself how gentle is the giant between my legs?'
I needed no further encouragement. Lowering my hand to this mighty tool set in its bed of crisp black hair, I softly ran a fingernail from the thick base to the throbbing tip, causing it to convulse momentarily with a life of its own. Smiling delightedly and by now fully immersed in the task in hand, I deftly undid the clasp of my spangled bra, shrugged out of it and flung it aside, proudly displaying to the king the heaving, ample contours of my big, naked breasts with their stiffly erect nipples. Cupping them lewdly I squeezed them together and leaned forward to brush my wayward nipples against the king's bare chest, at the same time brushing my lips against his cheek and playfully wriggling my arse so that my tiny panties slipped down a little further, revealing the topmost wisps of my soft pubic hair and even more of my delicious, dimpled bottom.
Then, gently lowering my upper body so that my almost-bare arse was raised high in the air and my gorgeous tits were suspended directly above the king's massive prick, I rubbed my sensitive nipples back and forth along its full length, sighing with pleasure as sparks of eroticism flashed through my sexually charged body, before swooping down and imprisoning the entire shaft in soft, warm, womanly flesh.
This delightful pose left me in the perfect position to extend my wicked pink tongue and lick and lap at the king's muscular, hairy belly before, at last, falling hungrily upon his magisterial cock. Taking it, inch by inch, into my mouth and snaking my mobile, salivating tongue around its girth, paying particular attention to the gleaming crown, I held it in a firm grip between my lips and rhythmically raised and lowered my tousled head, causing the king to grunt and moan with pure, unalloyed delight. 'Stop, stop!' he cried, trembling with excitement. 'If you carry on in this manner I will shoot my sperm too soon, and that would never do, my shapely princess. Strip naked for me, right now, and I will fuck you as you have never been fucked before!'
With a petulant pout and a lithe whimper of disappointment-I'd so enjoyed the sensation of this wonderful, erect prick in my mouth-I let go of the king's manhood and slowly, sinuously rose to my feet. Cupping my beautiful, gleaming breasts in my delicate hands and absently tweaking my stiff, rosy nipples, my pout quickly turned into a sexy smile which within moments became a naughty giggle of pleasure.
Leaving the rondeurs of my bosoms, my hands slowly traveled the length of my golden body as I lifted my ribcage to further display my tits, and sensually swayed my arse from side to side in time to the sweet music which had once more begun to issue from the shadows in the corner.
Taking hold of my tiny, tight panties, I slowly lowered them over my curvy hips, wriggling my bottom to ease their descent, and let them drop to the floor where I daintily stepped out of them.
Suggestively sucking a delicate finger, I parted my long, coltish legs and insinuated it between the soft folds of my aching womanhood, gently massaging my erect clitoris before sinking it into my warm, dark cunt.
The king could endure this erotic display no longer. Rising to his feet like a giant, horny bear with his prick sticking out in front of him like a veritable flagpole, he ordered me in a trembling whisper to sink to my hands and knees and spread my legs for him.
I quickly did as I was told, opening my legs a far as I could and thrusting my arse into the air, thereby displaying to him my little wrinkled anus and the pink, fleshy lips of my throbbing pussey.
With a cry of delight he threw himself onto his knees behind me and took my hips in his giant, masculine hands before burying his handsome face in my grateful cunt, nuzzling, sniffing and licking whilst issuing a series of soft, satisfied grunts like a veritable beast of the field. Almost swooning with pleasure, I thrilled to the sensation of his big, wet tongue lapping and probing at my sex, hunting out my hot, swollen clitoris and nibbling it gently and insistently until I felt myself about to enter that deep, dark chasm of climactic sexual joy.
Sensing the imminence of my orgasm, the king raised his head, urgently straddled my body and thrust his huge, veiny cock into my welcoming crack. Panting and moaning he pumped his giant prick in and out of my tight, hot cunt, his balls slapping against my naked bum, before filling me with jet upon jet of warm, salty spunk as I, too, reached my longed-for orgasm.
Climax over, his breathing slowed and became more regular and he gratefully lowered his warm, manly lips to kiss the glowing, velvet skin of my back and shoulders. 'Lie down, my darling, and I will stroke you to sleep. Maybe in a while, when we are sufficiently rested, we can make love some more, eh?'
The idea of another bout of abandoned fucking with this beautiful, tender man and his stately cock sent little shivers of anticipation through me all over again. Sleepy and thankful, I stretch my lithe, naked body on the tigerskin rug beneath me, closed my heavy-lidded eyes and gave myself up to his smooth caresses and soothing words of love…
It was at that moment that I woke up. On the point of falling into a delicious slumber in my dream, I awoke in my bed at the Academy to greet a glorious spring morning, filled with birdsong, the scent of fresh flowers and the promise of a myriad earthly pleasures-this time for real!
I snaked my arms above my head in a long stretch, thinking excitedly of Michel and his friend Antoine, and wondering what frolicsome little plans the darling boys had hatched for our mutual delectation, before kicking off the bedclothes and springing to my feet. As naked as the day I was born and baby-pink with sleep – I never wear anything in bed, whether alone or accompanied by a lover-I padded over the window and threw open the curtains to present my luscious young body to the beautiful spring morning.
As I gazed delightedly at the flower-filled garden, a smile illuminating my countenance as surely as the sun shone on the warm grass, my hand strayed in an absent manner to the blonde curls at the base of my belly. Twisting the golden strands around my fingers and gently stroking the soft thatch, I heard a sharp intake of breath and suddenly became aware that someone or something was crouching amongst the foliage in the flower bed beneath my window.
Was it man or beast? Whichever, it was most certainly a voyeur of the lowest and most despicable nature, intent on feasting his eyes (for surely it must be male) on my innocent morning nakedness.
Blushing hotly with embarrassment and surprise I fully raised the sash of my already partly opened window and leaned out, feeling the cool air tease my rosy nipples into little erect buds.
Glancing down, who should I spy but young Pieter the under-gardener, knees firmly planted in the soft earth and sparkling eyes eagerly raised to meet my own. He was flushed and panting with excitement, his stiff throbbing cock straining against the rough fabric of his trousers as he knelt amongst the colourful blooms like a randy young satyr about to pounce on some poor, unsuspecting nymph.
'Why Pieter, it's you!' I whispered loud enough for him to hear but not so loud as to wake the occupants of the adjoining bedchambers. 'How long have you been there, staring upon my nudity in such a brazen manner! I should have you horse-whipped for this, you filthy-minded young cur!'
'Oh please, mademoiselle, have pity on a poor, wretched gardener with a ravening beast between his legs masquerading as an instrument of pleasure! I couldn't help myself, I swear it. When you opened your curtains and I saw you standing there in the window like a beautiful blonde goddess, I knew I ought to avert my eyes and leave immediately, but I was transfixed and my legs turned to jelly so I couldn't move, even had I wanted to… which I didn't! Oh, make a feeble, weak-willed peasant happy and allow me to feast my eyes on you a moment or two longer!'
Pieter! Up to his naughty tricks again, I thought to myself. That boy ought to be an actor. His thespian talents would surely be sufficient to gain him access to even the most prestigious stages of Europe-not to mention the warm, welcoming thighs of bevies of young, panting females.
Of less than average height and slightly but athletically built, the puckish Pieter had flashed his mischievous eyes at any number of my young contemporaries at the Academy. Charmed beyond measure by his honeyed tongue and lithe, bronzed limbs, they'd willingly conceded to him the very flower of their girlish maidenheads. There wasn't a bush or a tree in the whole of this sizable garden which hadn't witnessed scenes of urgent juvenile lust at Pieter's hands, or rung with giggles and shrieks of sweet, wanton pleasure.
I, on the other hand, was only too aware that on this occasion the tables were turned. Pieter of the mobile tongue and ever-open trousers was finally where he deserved to be and should have been from the day he discovered the hungry and feckless serpent at his groin-in the thrall of a beautiful girl who was more than a match for him in terms of lascivious wickedness. Me!
Tossing back my shimmering curls and running my naughty pink tongue over my pouting lips, I gave Pieter a knowing smile and a wink of complicity. Let's see how he deals with this particular little lady, I thought to myself, and immediately began to apply myself to the task of avenging those poor, bleeding hearts of my young friends and colleagues.
Arching my supple spine, I sucked in my breath and thrust out my big, luscious breasts so that they practically dangled from the window, allowing Pieter an excellent view of their generous creamy contours and the deep, secret cleft between them. Taking my juicy raspberry nipples between my fingers, I stroked, tweaked and tickled them until they blushed a deep rose pink and grew stiffly erect.
The warm, liquid honey which, as a result of my ministrations, began to flow through my body from the very tips of my nipples to the seat of my womanhood made me tremble with excitement and my breath quicken. Eyes narrowed with desire and sighing and moaning with pleasure I began to squeeze and knead my firm, fleshy orbs and then, seeing the effect this was having on the unfortunate youth outside, I withdrew my hands from my breasts, planted them on my hips and shook my tits at him through the window in an energetic and thoroughly lewd manner, giggling mischievously at his obvious discomfiture.
Used to lighting fires in the bellies of innocent, unsuspecting young girls before ruthlessly snatching their virtue, Pieter was totally amazed and nonplussed by my blatantly sexy shenanigans at the open window. Unable to control his emotions he'd ripped open his trousers and pulled out his hot, throbbing truncheon, the ruby dome of which was even now bobbing gaily in the morning breeze as, saucer-eyed and panting, he frigged himself frenziedly.
Slowly turning my back to him with a suggestion of demure coyness which little matched my mood, I glanced sexily over my smooth shoulder, winked at him again and blew him a little kiss before flopping forward like some bizarre, erotic toy and rudely waggled my naked arse at him through the window.
Grinning at him between my slim legs, hair like a gleaming blonde curtain which swept the floor at my feet, I saw him become momentarily motionless and his eyes widen still further, before grasping his prick with renewed vigour and pumping it back and forth with his flying fist until I felt sure the pressure within would cause it to explode.
Red-faced and sweating, he begged me in a trembling whisper to descend from my window and relieve him of his misery. But I had other ideas…
Slowly curling upwards with the sinuous grace of a ballerina I was once more upright, though still with my back to him, and I gazed over my shoulder and gave him by best and sexiest smile. Then, parting my long, slender legs and sticking out my delicious arse a little, I was able to afford poor Pieter an even more tantalizing view of my firm, gleaming bum-cheeks and a glimpse of the warm hairy heaven between them which, even as he watched, began to swell darkly and drip with my thick, scented love-juice.
Crouching miserably in the undergrowth with his naked cock hot and throbbing for want of a good, horny fuck with the object of his desire, Pieter began to whimper and whine at this latest rude display.
I suddenly found myself feeling sorry for the poor, helpless youth and was within an Ace of inviting him in through the open window to fuck my cunt in the way nature intended and he so obviously craved but, in order to dispel such philanthropic thoughts, I quickly brought to mind the pitiful looks on the faces of the lovelorn young girls who'd lost their innocence and their hearts to this thoughtless Lothario with his smooth tongue and wayward prick. My expression hardened once more at the thought, but not for long…
Insinuating a slim finger between the outer folds of my swollen pussey, I found my little pink clitoris and began to gently stroke and massage it until, swaying sensually from side to side and moaning and panting with pleasure, I nearly swooned with delight at the liquid fire which swept through my sex-flushed body.
Oblivious now to the voyeur beneath my window, I plunged three eager fingers deep into the dark recesses of my cunt, stroking and tickling the smooth, velvet walls as I simultaneously rubbed my erect clitoris, giving myself up to the intense orgasmic spasms which wracked my smooth young torso.
Moments later, pleased and triumphant at having reached my orgasm in so pleasing a manner, I turned to face my audience of one and was a little dismayed (though secretly as pleased as Punch) at the sight which eventually greeted me. It took me a second or two to locate Pieter, so silent and motionless was he as he lay prone amongst the primulas, a little last dribble of spunk oozing from the tip of his limp, lifeless tool.
'Why Pieter,' I hissed through the open window, 'I've never seen you in such a pickle. So dejected and woebegone and full of remorse. Just wait until I tell the other girls! Now, straighten your clothing and be off with you before I scream and wake the whole house. And don't let me catch you peeping at me in such a despicable manner again. Or any other girl for that matter!
Jumping to his feet and stuffing his soft little dick into his trousers, Pieter barely looked at me as, red-faced and ashamed, he muttered an unintelligible apology before shuffling off in a crab-like fashion to another part of the garden in order to reflect on his misdemeanours, past, present and future.
As soon as the wretched youth was out of sight I clapped my hands together in delight and laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks. 'Well, that took the wind out of the young rascal's sails,' I said to myself. 'It's about time boys learned that we girls don't always need stiff pricks to play with in order to have fun. Naughty thoughts and even naughtier fingers will do very nicely, thank you, when a girl feels that familiar little tingle in her pussey and has a mind to tickle her fancy!'
With that, I crossed swiftly to the closet in order to choose a suitable outfit for this day of days, filled as it was with erotic promise of the most exciting and compelling kind. I must choose quickly and with care, for this was the morning of my picnic with Michel Dupont and his companion, and I had not a-moment to lose for it was already 8.45 a.m., I had agreed to meet the boys at 12.00 noon, and I had two hours of history prep to catch up on before I could escape to the little pier where he kept his boat, fresh-faced and pussied, sweetly perfumed and ready for fun!
Impatiently pulling the gowns this way and that in my search, a little frown of concentration creasing my pretty brow, I secretly thrilled to the sensual feel of slippery satin, petal-soft silk and crisp white lace beneath my fingers.
Then, with a sigh of relief and pleasure, I found the ideal garment in which to enjoy a companionable lunch in the open air amongst friends, followed by fun and frolics in the afternoon sunshine-a floor-length fine-cotton gown of cornflower blue, trimmed with wide, creamy lace and topped with a tightly fitted, lowcut bodice which revealed a daring quantity of peachy bosom and my tiny, cinched-in waist which was the envy of all but a few of the other girls as well as a good many of the tutors.
Pulling it from its hanger and tossing it on the bed, I first of all slipped into my snowy-white undergarments-a semi-transparent camisole fashioned from the softest and sheerest Swiss lawn, trimmed with lace and blue satin bows, through which the generous contours of my big breasts with their luscious nipples were plainly visible; a pair of little matching panties which, cut from the same sheer fabric as the camisole, showed my curvy bottom and the soft blonde triangle of my pussey hair and finally a pair of silky white stockings held up by frilly blue satin garters.
Checking my reflection in the looking-glass and turning this way and that, it occurred to me what a great pity it was that I was forced to conceal this delightful confection by wearing a dress over the top of it all. Wouldn't the boys just love it if I were to trip gaily down to the beach clad only in soft lace and sexy stockings, tits bouncing and bottom jiggling for all to see! But no matter, I felt sure that within a matter of an hour or so I'd be forced by the heat of the day, the situation and my emotions to remove my outer garments for the mutual delectation of the assembled group, and anyone else who may be around at the time.
Thus comforted, I swiftly donned my cornflower dress, wriggling a little and adjusting my full breasts in their tight bodice in order to show off my cleavage to its best advantage. Brushing my long hair a hundred times to make it shine like golden silk, I quickly ran downstairs for breakfast in the girls' dining-room before gathering up my history prep and heading for the library for a morning spent in the dubious company of Thomas Robespierre and the French Revolution.
And there I stayed until, at 12.00 sharp, I heard the big grandfather clock in the hall chime the hour and realised with a little thrill of panic that Nicole (for it was she who would be accompanying me and completing the happy foursome) and I were most likely going to be a little late for our liaison. But it is, I thought to myself, always has been and always will be a girl's prerogative to keep a man waiting. And, what's more, I felt sure their annoyance would be short-lived when they finally caught sight of the two of us girls, blonde and brunette, excited and eager and pretty as pictures in our summery clothes.
Nicole and I had agreed to meet by the front door of the Academy so, having quickly returned my books and papers to my room and, bright-eyed with anticipation, checked my appearance once again in the mirror above my dressing table, licking my lips to make them gleam and gently tugging down my bodice still further to show even more of my generous curves, I hurried to the designated spot and almost ran straight into her in my haste.
'Mon Dieu!' she cried in alarm, 'Where have you been, you naughty girl? Did you not notice the time? I've been waiting here for you for at least ten minutes… with a rumbling tummy and damp pussey!' she added under her breath with a salacious grin, so I knew she wasn't as angry as I'd first thought.
'Have patience, Nicole. The longer they wait the more the boys will appreciate us when we arrive. They'll be altogether keener and their appetites sharper if they're left to cool their heels for a minute or two, don't you think? Anyway, what are you afraid of? Do you think they'll leave without us?'
'Mais oui cherie, of course you're right as always. Come, let's go before we waste any more time!'
Grabbing my hand in hers Nicole raced me down the steps and, picking up our skirts, we ran together across the garden until we arrived at the little beach and the jetty with the pretty boat moored alongside.
And there they stood waiting for us, Michel and Antoine, two of the handsomest boys we could care to spend this beautiful afternoon with, and neither of them in the least bit annoyed at our lateness. Michel advanced towards me and gallantly raised my hand to his lips, his eyes straying from my hair, to my lips, to my heaving, sexily exposed breasts, where they lingered wickedly before settling once more on my face and returning my warm smile. I noticed that Nicole and Antoine were exchanging greetings in a similar manner, Antoine's amused grey eyes showing every sign of enjoying the sight of the raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty who stood before him.
As well he might. Seldom had I seem my Gallic friend looking quite so alluring or, indeed, quite so openly provocative as she did this day. Dressed in rose-pink silk, which beautifully complemented her warm olive complexion, her long straight hair hung like a heavy, gleaming, blue-black curtain over her shoulders and down her back, almost to her bottom. Her perfect, finely chiselled features possessed an aristocratic, slightly haughty but undeniably voluptuous grace and her sensual, curvy lips were lush and inviting. She was studying Antoine approvingly, her blue eyes twinkling and the tawny half-moons of her semi-revealed breasts rising and falling in a most exciting and stimulating manner.
Or so the aforementioned youth obviously thought, for when I glanced at his crotch (a little habit of mine-I invariably find my eyes wandering to that most appealing of bulges whenever I'm lucky enough to be introduced to a man or boy not previously of my acquaintance), I was delighted to observe that it was swelling and becoming increasingly turgid before my interested gaze.
Nicole had noticed, too (she was a girl who obviously shared my predilection for cock-watching), and I saw her stifle a little giggle of merriment behind her hand before gazing once more in a thoroughly knowing fashion into the already infatuated young man's eyes.
The afternoon is looking promising, I thought to myself as I witnessed these events. Very, very promising indeed…
Michel took my slender arm in his and Antoine took Nicole's, then together we sauntered slowly and companionably towards the little boat.
'Rosie, cherie, I am so glad you were able to join us today for our little picnic, especially accompanied as you are by such a delightful companion-tres, tres jolie…' Michel glanced longingly at Nicole for a moment or two over his shoulder, and I was forced to give his arm a little tug in order to remind him of whom he'd first invited to join him for lunch.
Not that I really minded in the least. I'd already exchanged a burning, conspiratorial glance or two with the sexy Antoine, and my fevered feminine imagination was already toying with the notion of entertaining his randy prick in one way or another, possibly with the help of the luscious Nicole, or maybe Michel, or even both together… The possibilities were endless, but I swiftly returned my thoughts to the present and began once more to concentrate on making the very most of the here and now-yet another, even more appealing habit of mine!
'May I say how very glad I am to meet you, Mademoiselle Rosie,' said the supremely courteous Antoine in a low, heavily accented and decidedly appealing voice. I am sure we are to become close friends, non?' I certainly hoped so. The closer the better!
When we reached the boat, the boys helped us climb and made sure we were settled in our seats before Michel untied the rope, casting us off from the jetty, took hold of the oars and began to row with strong, even strokes. Very soon, settling myself against the pile of soft cushions which Michel had thoughtfully provided for our comfort, I felt my eyelids droop and was aware only of the soft, rhythmic splash of the oars, the golden sparks of sunlight which tipped each tiny ripple on the water, and the low murmur of voices, punctuated by gentle laughter as Nicole, Michel and Antoine became better acquainted.
I must finally have been lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the boat-fatigued, no doubt, by the machinations of Thomas Robespierre and his ilk which had filled my thoughts and my notebook that morning in the library-for I was suddenly aware of a soft hand shaking my arm and an insistent voice forcing me into wakefulness.
'What is it? Where are we?'
'Rosie, wake up! You've been asleep for over an hour, you lazy creature! We're back at the beach and the boys are preparing our picnic. Come, let's not keep them waiting. I'm famished and besides, I have a little plan. Listen, I'll tell you about it…'
I slowly sat up, yawning and stretching, and leaned closer to my friend in order to hear whatever scheme it was she'd concocted as entertainment for our hosts and ourselves.
When she'd finished, a little look of expectation on her face as though anxious for my reaction, I sat quite still, bolt upright and face expressionless, watching her anxiety turn to disappointment and her soft lips turn down at the corners in a petulant pout. Then I flopped back against my pile of cushions and grinned wickedly, pleased by my little joke and delighted at the prospect of turning Nicole's deliriously saucy scheme into reality.
Nicole grinned back at me and gave a little sigh of exasperation, before urging me to my feet and insisting that I pull myself together so that we might join our Gallic hosts and avail ourselves forthwith of the sumptuous outdoor feast provided for our benefit-to be followed, no doubt, by sensual delights of a very different but no less appealing kind.
What a splendid sight greeted us when we reached the warm, sun-dappled spot where our new friends had chosen to share their feast with us. Smoked ham, a whole cooked lobster, potted meats, aromatic cheeses, succulent spring vegetables and freshly baked crusty bread, accompanied by a bottle or two (or three!) of excellent Bordeaux. But first, Champagne!
Michel took four tall glasses from the basket beside him and filled them to the brim with the cool, sparkling, pale-gold nectar which bubbled and flashed in the sunlight. Handing us a glass each he leant back on the soft rug and took a well-deserved sip, peering at me through narrowed, appraising eyes.
Gazing back at him I too raised a flashing glass to my lips and took a long, cool draught of the energising drink, giggling gently as the fizzy bubbles tickled my lips and nose, and thrilled by the warm, sensual languor which quickly suffused my shapely limbs.
Before long I noticed that Nicole, too, was in a state of effervescence as a direct result of the sparkling wine, and it was merely a matter of moments before she winked at me wickedly, thus indicating that we should carry out the first part of our plan.
Flicking her shiny, liquorice hair back over her shoulders she turned to face the boys, at the same time delivering a knowing grin in my direction, and swiftly undid the front of her silk bodice. Michel's and Antoine's startled eyes nearly popped out of their heads as Nicole's pretty, olive-skinned tits popped out of her dress, jiggling sexily. The memory of these darling, girlish breasts with their large, port-wine nipples immediately came flooding back into my consciousness, and I felt my horny pussey dampen as I recalled the feel of her hard berry nipples between my full lips and against my eager tongue.
With a theatrical flourish, chin held high with pride, the beautiful young mademoiselle stood up and, as she did so, her dress fell to her dainty feet with a seductive rustle of heavy silk. Completely and utterly naked, body gleaming in the sunlight, the slim, sexy creature turned this way and that, posing for us like a randy mannequin and displaying her smooth brown legs, pert boyish bottom, slender waist and high, pointed breasts from every angle for all to see.
Amid excited gasps and low whistles of approval from the boys, Nicole laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet and rapidly undoing the fastenings on my own, cornflower-blue bodice. As my dress fell to the ground, revealing my voluptuous body dressed in semi-transparent, beribboned undergarments and silky stockings, big creamy breasts and curvy bottom all but completely visible, Antoine fell back against the rug beneath him, staring at us both, saucer-eyed, and exclaimed in a choked whisper: 'Mon Dieu! What's happening to me? Have I died and gone to heaven? Tell me this is not a dream and that it's really happening. Please…'
Thrilled by the boys' delighted and positive response to our little erotic entertainment, I slowly and sensually stripped naked for them, baring my big, peachy tits and luscious arse and pussey to the world, loving the feel of the gentle breeze against my nude skin and breathing in the wonderful, undeniable odour of arousal which surrounded all four of us, suffusing this warm afternoon with sexual magic.
Kissing my friend lightly on the tip of her aristocratic nose, I ran with her, hand in hand, to the water's edge where we laughed and chattered, dancing like happy children in the clear sparkling lake, totally oblivious to everything but our own sense of innocent fun and wonder at this beautiful, God-given day.
Silent, wide-eyed and utterly shell-shocked, Michel and Antoine watched us from their vantage point on the plaid rug-like two hunting stoats, fascinated by a pair of alluring, frolicsome rabbits.
After ten or fifteen minutes in the water, Nicole and I made our way back to the rug, pink-cheeked, sparkling-eyed and thoroughly ravenous after our exertions. A million jewel-clear drops clung to our lithe, naked bodies and we shook ourselves like naughty puppies all over the reclining young men, eliciting howls of laughter and mock protest, before flopping down on the rug and rubbing our wet hair with the fluffy white towels which had thoughtfully been provided by our hosts – no doubt in the event of a possible unexpected tumble in the lake whilst out rowing, or maybe a quick, post-prandial dip.
By now the spell had been broken and all four of us were laughing and joking with infectious animation, enjoying the delicious food with vim and gusto and steadily polishing off first one, then two bottles of the soft but deceptively powerful red wine.
All the while, despite our noisy alacrity and high spirits, Nicole and I were more than ever aware of our voluptuous nakedness in the presence of these two, horny young men with their burning eyes and stiff, lusty pricks. Never once did their eyes leave our bodies and, once or twice, cool male fingers chanced to brush against our warm, sun-burnished skin, causing little ripples and thrills of pleasure and anticipation to pulse through our soft breasts and warm thighs.
'And now, my darlings,' said the handsome Michel, rising to his feet and lazily unfastening a shirt cuff, 'I feel it is we men who should return the delightful compliment you have paid us by shedding your clothes and displaying your beautiful nakedness for our delectation. Come, Antoine, let us disrobe…'
Transfixed, Nicole and I watched as these two gorgeous boys in the very prime of life and positively oozing male potency and sexuality, elegantly and with great aplomb divested themselves of their restrictive manly garb until they finally stood naked before us, side by side like a pair of randy stallions with erect, purple-domed cocks standing high and proud against their flat, muscular bellies.
Purring with sensual pleasure, Nicole and I smiled at each other and advanced together on all fours towards our delicious, succulent quarry. When we reached the boys we each in our own special way and with our own individual and inimitable style, began to gently stroke and caress the pulsing pricks of our respective partners-Nicole had chosen to pleasure Michel and I, Antoine.
The boys gently cajoled and encouraged us as we acquainted ourselves with their beautiful cocks and then, at a sign from Nicole, we both lowered our pretty faces, clasped hold of the boys' bare bums for support, parted our lips and took their majestic tools in our mouths. We licked and sucked and nibbled until we tasted the first few drops of pre-ejaculatory spend on our tongues-a flavoursome experience I can thoroughly and wholeheartedly recommend-then we swiftly swapped partners and I sucked Michel's prick and Nicole sucked Antoine's.
The darling boys were delighted by our little change-around and they shouted and moaned with erotic pleasure, becoming more than ever agitated and dangerously close, I felt, to shooting their salty sperm into our mouths instead of into our hot and yearning cunts-which of course would never do!
So in order to avoid the aforementioned-which would be premature in the extreme and guaranteed to leave us girls high and dry in so far as sexual gratification was concerned-we quickly uncocked.
Turning to face each other, Nicole and I slowly and gracefully fell into each other's arms, softly stroking and nuzzling and cooing little endearments and words of love, pressing our tits together and rubbing our stiff nipples against the other's warm, receptive flesh.
As our lips met and opened and we lost ourselves in deep, passionate kisses, our tongues entwining and probing the deepest recesses of each other's mouths, my fingers reached out and stroked and tickled Nicole's warm pussey.
Nicole, in turn, began to manipulate my yearning womanhood, her gentle finger running back and forth along the length of my juicy slit, softly massaging my little pink clitoris until I felt I'd die from the pleasure of it. And then I felt my climax approach and gave myself up to wave upon wave of erotic abandonment, panting and tossing my blonde head this way and that in ecstasy.
Temporarily sated, I gently pushed the smiling Nicole back on to the rug, parted her incredibly long legs and buried my golden head into her raven-haired muff, which was hot and fragrant with her musky love-juice. As I lapped and sucked at her aromatic cunt I felt her sigh and tremble, her breath catching in little ragged gasps of pleasure.
And then I became aware that events were taking another, not altogether unexpected, turn. Strong male hands took hold of my womanly, upraised hips and a rampant, throbbing prick nudged urgently at the opening of my swollen cunt-which must have been enticingly visible for quite some time with my legs parted and my arse thrust proudly in the air as it was.
Suddenly, as if convinced of his directorial accuracy, Michel or Antoine-for I did not as yet know to whom the cock belonged-gave a tremendous thrust and sheathed himself fully in my tight pussey, before holding tight to my bum and pumping back and forth with enviable speed and athleticism, and no small amount of panting and moaning.
Simultaneously, on opening her mouth to take a breath, Nicole became the proud recipient of another, no less desperate weapon, and found herself licking and sucking anew on this big, manly cock which began to fuck her mouth with passion, but also with great sensitivity in order not to overcome the poor girl with its splendid length and girth.
This glorious quadruple fuck drove all four of us to the very pinnacles of earthly delight and we all-Nicole, Michel, Antoine and myself-reached our respective climaxes within seconds of each other, shooting and oozing our sex emissions into each other's welcoming mouths and cunts.
After a while we all four collapsed in a warm, satisfied, lazy heap on the sandy rug and were in danger of dropping off to sleep, until the two boys yawned, stretched and jumped up, pulling us with them, and we all rushed headlong into the sparkling water where, in the manner of lusty young people everywhere, we laughed, swam, splashed each other's naked bodies and sported like a family of happy seals.
Some time later, companionably dripping, we returned to the rug and stretched out in the sun in order to dry ourselves before getting dressed and returning to the Academy. It was as I lay there in that wonderful state that lies between sleep and wakefulness, as naked as the day I was born and more than ever aware of the feel of God's fertile earth beneath me and the sensation of the sun and the water against my skin, my mind began to wander and I found myself recalling a delightful and rustic experience I'd enjoyed a few years previously.
Convinced that my friends would take pleasure in sharing with me my delicious reverie, I began to tell them of it.
'I had been staying on my uncle's farm in Dorsetshire,' I said. 'It was harvest-time, and all the able hands from miles around were busy at work in the fields. Each day my cousin Primrose and I would stroll about the countryside, and we would often pause to watch the time-honoured rituals of harvesting, threshing and haymaking.
'At this time of year, the labourers' whole families would come out to the fields to work alongside their menfolk. Even little children of five or six could be seen, busily carrying a few handfuls of hay to the stacks, an expression of earnestness about their angelic little faces.
'Primrose introduced me to some of the families that she knew from the village. There was Old Mother Moule, famed far and wide for her skills at mending. Her gnarled old fingers were now busily engaged with baling twine, and it was extraordinary to see how deftly she could gather up a sheaf of straw and tie it round. Then there was Mrs. Knight, the laundrywoman, who had exchanged the old brass boiler of her daily trade for the scythe, while her children scampered and squabbled about her feet.
'In another field that day we met young Nick, the son of old Cave the farrier. He was a fine young man of sixteen or seventeen, tall for his years and with rich dark eyes. It was the dinner-hour, and he rose to greet us from the shade of an old blackthorn where he lay sheltering from the noonday heat of the sun.
'“'Tis fine weather for the harvest indeed,” he said in answer to our polite observations.
'“Is it going well this year?” asked Primrose.'
'“Very well indeed, so as I gather.”
'“And will you be looking forward to the harvest supper?” I asked, knowing that this was as great a highlight in the countryman's calendar as was Christmas in our own.
'Before Nick could reply, Primrose clapped a guilty hand to her mouth.
'“My goodness,” she exclaimed, anxiety strong in her voice. “I had quite forgotten! I was supposed to go with mother to make arrangements with the minister about the flowers for the harvest festival. What time is it, Rosie?”
'I took my watch from my bosom. It was nearly twenty minutes after twelve.
'“Then I must fly,” cried Primrose. “The Reverend Stitchum is a most punctilious man, and mother will be most annoyed.”
'I rose to my feet, but Primrose demurred.
'“No need for you to come, my dear friend,” she averred. “I'll go by the long pasture here, which will take me to the church gate by half-past. You can walk back to the house the way we came. Even half an hour in the company of the Reverend Stitchum,” she whispered to me, “is a penance to deter the most wicked sinner. It is a punishment I could scarcely wish on my dearest cousin. Better that you shall linger awhile with young Nick here.” And with that she tripped away across the field.
'Nick looked discomfited, perhaps embarrassed at being alone in the company of a young lady, but I quickly put the farrier's son at his ease. We talked of this and that, of life in the village and his hopes that he might in time make his way in the horse-trade for, though so young, he had already shown considerable acumen in that respect. He had found two splendid Clydesdales going cheaply at a farm some ten miles away which Uncle had subsequently purchased, his recommendation being rewarded by two equally handsome sovereigns.
'Like many countrymen, Nick showed great facility with animals. But while many of his contemporaries were interested solely in those which they might trap or hunt, he loved them for their own sake.
'I was about to be going, but Nick said he would show me something. “It's only over here, behind old Moss's barn,” he said. “The lane takes you out past the big house in any case.”
'We walked through the copse and I noticed how firm and strong his hand was as he helped me over the little tinkling stream that ran through it.
'“Here,” he said, as we approached the old barn. He pointed to a rusty piece of farm machinery, long disused and partly covered with a tarpaulin.
'“How interesting,” I murmured, wondering what he possibly thought I would find so fascinating about Messrs Ransome and Rapier's Patented “Ipswich” Seed Drill.
'He must have noticed my momentarily quizzical expression, for he laughed and drew me closer. Again I noticed the firmness of his hand on my arm.
'“No, underneath,” he said, speaking in a husky whisper which I found by no means unattractive.
'I peered past his pointing finger and there, in the gloomy cavern revealed by pulling back the tarpaulin, I saw what he had brought me to see. A fine tabby cat, around whom four delightful kittens were happily playing.
'“Oh how sweet!” I exclaimed. “Look at the little black one, with his white feet. And the ginger one-I bet he grows into a real bruiser!”
'“This one's my favourite,” said Nick, and picked up a tabby that was the image of her mother. He stroked her gently while the mother looked on anxiously. “Don't you worry, Mrs. Tibbies,” he said. “Young Rosie here won't come to no harm.”
'“Rosie?” I cried. “Why, that's my name! What a coincidence!”
'Nick laughed. “Not really,” he said. “I named her for you. I found the cat had had kittens here the day you came to stay with your uncle. I heard you was called Miss Rosie, see. Hope you don't mind me being so familiar as to borrow your name, Miss Rosie. Only it strikes me as such a pretty one.”
'I laughed, not minding at all, and stroked the kitten that had become my namesake. Mrs. Tibbies began to show signs of annoyance, so we quickly restored her brood to full muster and quietly made our retreat.
'“Why name her after me?” I murmured as Nick replaced the tarpaulin.
'Nick blushed hotly. “Well,” he stumbled, “'cause I thought you were a real lady and she was too. And she's a bonny little thing, and so are you, if you don't mind me saying.”
'“Of course not!” I tinkled. “Every woman likes to be flattered, especially by a handsome young man like yourself, Nick.”
'I don't know quite how it happened, but we had been standing there for some moments, not knowing quite what to say, and then all of a sudden we were in each other's arms. Our lips met in a long, smouldering kiss.
'As my tongue probed his I felt strong, sensitive hands grasping my bottom cheeks. I pressed myself hard against him, feeling the steady stirring of his manhood through my summer dress.
'We broke for breath, and then once more we embraced passionately. I nibbled his ear, his neck. His hands seemed everywhere at once, caressing my arms, my thighs, my breasts.
'“Oh sir,” I exclaimed, more for form's sake than from any genuine desire that he should desist.
'“Oh how I've loved you,” cried Nick, his voice passionate with entreaty. “Right from the first moment I saw you I've felt drawn to you. And yet you always seemed so remote, so untouchable. You being from such a grand family an' all.”
'“Oh fiddlesticks,” I retorted. “My father was an ordinary farmer, not half so grand as my uncle. His family held no higher social station than your own, my dear Nick. And not half the gentlemen I've met since then in society have had half your sensitivity.”
'I kissed him again, full on the lips this time.
'“Come,” he said pushing me towards the open door of old Moss's barn. Our lips were firmly glued together, and I surrendered to his judgement implicitly, as though he were my partner leading me backwards across a crowded ballroom.
'There was a squawk-he had unknowingly trodden on Mrs. Tiddles' tail-and we toppled over backwards on to a bed of fresh straw, laughing.
'I felt his hand busy with the buttons at the front of my dress, and I did nothing to stop him. My naked titties were quickly exposed to view. He pulled back to look at them, and I heard him gasp.
'“Why, them's a wondrous pair,” he gulped at last. “Ain't 'em just.”
'“You like my bosoms then?” I asked coyly from beneath fluttering eyelashes.
'“'Em's lovely,” he said, and he buried his face in the deep cleft between my bosom. My nipples, as I could see, had perked up like organ-stops, and they seemed to fascinate him. I caressed them playfully.
'“Lick them, Nick,” I whispered on impulse.
'“Lick 'em?”
'“That's right. Lick them.'
'“What?” he said, his eyes wide with wonder. “You're asking me to lick your nippy ends?”
'“That's right.”
'“Lumme! Ain't you a dirty girl then! I never heard a girl ask me to do anythin' like that.”
'Such a sweet, innocent boy! But he sucked my titties as well as any man I have known, and then I stood up, and shed my dress, and he pulled of his trousers, and I could see he had a most wonderful winkie there, straight as a ramrod and seemingly bursting with youthful vigour. Instantly I took a letch to have it in my mouth there and then.
'“Come on, Nick,” I said, dropping to my knees. “Give me a taste of what's in store!”
'He seemed scarcely to know what I had in mind. But when I knelt there before him, and took hold of that fine manly cock of his, and licked around the purple tip, and then took it deep within my mouth, I could hear him audibly gasp out his pleasure.
'“Ah! Oho!' I heard him cry. ''Tis too much. No one never done that to me before.”
'I rolled my tongue around his cock, and tasted the sweet salt taste, and sucked him hard and deep. When I could sense that soon he would be able to hold back no longer, I ceased my lecherous labours.
'“Did you like that?” I asked breathily.
'“I love it,” he cried, almost jumping up and down in his excitement. “That's what they say the French whores do, but I never thought afore now that folks really do it.”
'“Oh yes they do, Nick. Lots of nice ladies do it, and they greatly enjoy doing it too.”
'“Then I'll show you what I can do,” he cried, and pushed me over backwards on to the straw. We both fumbled with my underskirts and then master Priapus was knocking at the door of my temple, begging for admission. I was in no mood to refuse him entry!
'In a trice his fine youthful cock was buried in me up to the hilt. Oh! How he fucked me that hot summer afternoon. In and out went his rampant charger, and how my bottom bounded up to meet his every thrust. His prick seemed to grow bigger by the second, until I seemed entirely filled by it, and about to burst.
'For one so young he was a lover of remarkable skill and tenderness. His spunk burst into me exactly at the instant I spent myself, and we rolled over and over in the hay until he uncunted.
'For several minutes we lay there in each other's arms, moist with the exertion and panting for breath. Suddenly from the distant fields came a whistle.
'“Stap me!” he cried. '“What time is it? They're ready to start up again after dinner.”
'I fumbled for my watch.
'“It's nearly one, Nick,” I said.
'“Then I must be gone. Sorry, my dear, 'tis hardly fan-to leave you like this. How I wish with all my heart I could stay with you all the afternoon long. But I have work to do, and I'll be getting in trouble if I let the others down.”
'I laughed. “Not at all, dear Nick. I do understand, and I would fain be the one to get you into trouble. Here, give me a kiss, and then begone.”
'He kissed me one last time, long and deep.
'“Shall I see you again, dear Rosie?” he said.
'“Yes indeed,” said I. “I shall be here again tomorrow. We shall pay our compliments to Mrs. Tiddles and her little pussies, and you can pay your compliments to mine.”
'I swear that, as he went, he blushed quite scarlet at my words. Country girls, as he told me later, do not speak so, nor are they much advanced in the ways of making love. Lads neither, he added ruefully. I assured him that that was not how I judged him but, before the week was out and it was time for me to return to the bosom of my family, he had become a true carnal gourmet. In old Moss's barn, every dinner-time, we were transported for an hour into an altogether new realm of the senses. He fucked me from on top, from behind, with me sitting astride him. I sucked his prick and took his libation in my mouth I taught him how to lick my cunt and bring me to a spend with his tongue. Once, when we were feeling particularly randy, I took his prick in my bottom-hole. But all good things must come to an end, and it was with parting's sweet sorrow that we finally took our leave of each other, with many murmured endearments and the promise that, at Christmastide, I would be back a my uncle's farm, and with me would bring a very special present for us both to share. But that, my dear friends, must be another story.'
'Bravo!' cheered Michel. 'That was, indeed, a charming story. How I wish there were time for us to practise some of those naughty tricks you demonstrated for that fortunate young boy! But now I fear it is getting late and we must return to the Academy at once, for I promised Maman I would take tea with her this afternoon.
Madame Dupont was undeniably fond of indulging in this peculiarly English habit and did so on the slightest pretext. I believed, secretly, that it was the hot buttered toast and delicious, sugary confections that went with it rather than the beverage itself which appealed to her expansive and expanding nature!
'Come, dear ladies, Antoine and I will be delighted to help you back into your gowns as soon as we are dressed ourselves.'
Michel was as good as his word and within a few minutes the four of us, arm in arm, were strolling back through the garden with the mid-afternoon sun slanting down on us through the trees and making dappled patterns on the soft, springy grass.
As we parted company from our new friends, smiling warmly and kissing each glowing cheek in turn in true French fashion, we promised to meet again soon in order to renew our relationship and share a further hour or two of companionable eroticism in the open air.
A day or two later, on entering the senior girls' study I was assailed by much excited laughter punctuated by a quantity of low, throaty, though undeniably feminine guffaws. What could have precipitated such earthy hilarity in this, a traditionally serene and tranquil chamber?
In the centre of the room, seated comfortably on a low, brocade sofa, sat an attractive and buxom lady of advancing years with twinkling brown eyes and an obviously merry disposition. She wore a peacock-blue gown of shot silk, generously boned and corseted in order to tame and hold at bay her ample bosom and rounded, womanly curves, and an elegant little hat with a long, black ostrich feather set at a jaunty angle atop her golden-blonde curls.
She was surrounded by ten or twelve of my classmates who, seated on adjoining chairs, on the floor or on each other's laps, were gazing at her delightedly with the sort of rapt attention rarely afforded to the Academy's more formal tutors.
As I entered the room she looked up and gave me a warm, inviting smile, gesturing for me to sit down. 'Good afternoon, my dear. I expect you're wondering who on earth I am-this middle-aged thorn between so many beautiful roses! Well, let me explain. I am Mrs. Horwill, mother of Jane Horwill who I am sure you must know since she has been a student here at the Academy for over a year now.'
Indeed, I did know Jane Horwill, but I'd scarcely been tempted to further our acquaintance since she seemed to me to be the plainest, most unenviably tedious creature to whom I'd ever had the misfortune to be introduced. That this voluptuous, twinkling creature was her mother was almost beyond my comprehension, although it is a commonly held belief, and I certainly believe it to be true, that sparkling, elegant mothers have a habit of overshadowing their poor, unfortunate offspring-most especially the female offspring-imbuing them with a dowdiness made even more apparent when parent and child are viewed simultaneously. However, I digress.
'I have taken the opportunity of accompanying my dear husband, who has business here in Switzerland, in order to visit my daughter's school. Alas, poor little Jane is at present employed in a period of extra French with Mademoiselle Cartier, so I am entertaining some of your friends here with a few little stories and anecdotes. I do hope we won't be disturbing you. Do please join us if you have a minute or two to spare.'
With that, Mrs. Horwill settled back against the firmly stuffed sofa and arranged her equally firmly stuffed gown around her knees, raising it up slightly in the front in order to facilitate the crossing of her surprisingly slim ankles and displaying her dainty little feet in their fashionable black button-boots.
Unable to resist the promise of a story (hopefully a naughty one, I thought wickedly!), I seated myself on a little footstool beside the sofa and prepared to listen. I was not, you'll be delighted to learn, in the least bit disappointed by what I heard.
Mrs. Horwill cleared her throat and began:
'I had been invited to send a few days at the Somerset estate of Lord Somerville,' said Mrs. Horwill at length. 'Of course, I had quite a shrewd idea of what that might entail. Lord Somerville was famous for the recherche eroticisms which formed a daily part of the amusements for those lucky enough to he entertained at his country seat. There were games, competitions, activities outre enough to enliven even the most jaded palate. In particular, I was anxious to see the famous “Nuditorium” which he had established there, and whose splendid facilities were, I gather, the talk of every gentleman's club the length of Pall Mall. My husband had frequently spoken of it – indeed, he had even suggested that, were his extensive shareholdings in the Bolivian tin-mining industry ever to bear as rich a fruit in dividends as he hoped he might realise from them, he might very well care to consider something of the sort at our own Yorkshire home.
'We arrived at the house in the late part of as splendid a summer's afternoon as one could have wished, for. The house was perhaps slightly more modern than I had expected-built no later than the middle of the last century, according to his Lordship-but it was nevertheless a fine and foursquare edifice in the local stone, with some sixteen bedrooms and no less than two bathrooms. Downstairs, as well as a magnificent dining room and a ballroom that entirely equalled it in splendour, was the former salon that Lord Somerville had, with commendable speed, converted into his “Nuditorium” almost as soon as he had succeeded to the title. We were soon to enjoy its facilities.
'So hot was the afternoon that, as soon as we were shown to our room, I felt obliged to remove most of my clothing. I lay down on the bed in my drawers alone, practically panting from the heat, sipping occasionally from a glass of iced water. A cooling breeze blew in from the window, fanning the curtains that stirred lazily in the warm gusts. Idly I ran the frosted glass from which I drank against my bared bosom, and anointed my pert rose-bud nipples with drops of cool crystal. They sprang up immediately as if in salute.
'At this point my husband returned from the lavatory. “Now there's a sight to give a chap a bump in his trousers the size and shape of a Howitzer!” he exclaimed at once.
'“You still enjoy the sight of my bosoms, even after all these years?” I enquired of him, playfully cupping and squeezing my breasts and rolling my head from side to side, my tongue flicking my lips. “Come then, you must suck them for me. Take off your trousers so I can play with that fine cock of yours as you do so!”
'In a trice he was at my side, and his head buried between my smooth ivory mounds. He licked playfully at each nipple in turn, and then sucked deeply. Next, as I rubbed his cock, he drew in a mouthful of the firm flesh, and then another, until I felt he might actually swallow an entire breast.
'“Shall I spend over your titties, my dear?” he enquired of me, polite but urgent. “Though last night I swear you all but emptied me of a month's reserve of spunk, our long journey seems to have been a most wonderful restorative. Perhaps it was the jerking and lurching of the carriage. As it is, already my balls fairly ache with the lewd urgings of love.”
'“Of course, my darling. I am always willing and eager to minister to your physical needs. Besides, nature knows no finer lotion than spunk to keep skin smooth and supple, especially when it is of such delicacy as a ladies' bosoms.”
'I rolled over on to my side, and clasped that great ivory rod of his. I frigged him up and down a few times, and then pressed the bulging purple head between my titties.
'“See how the firm flesh enfolds your cock,” I exclaimed as he sensually rubbed his cock against my bosoms.
'He paused for a moment and looked down. “See how I rub its tip against your exquisite nipples,” he pointed out in turn.
'“Shall I frig your cock until your spunk shoots all over them?”
'“Of course, my sweet. Let my spunk gush all over those sweet strawberries.”
'“It is such a perfect summer's afternoon,” I purred, “that strawberries and cream would be an equally perfect complement. How I do like to see a rich, creamy spend at such a time. I am sure, my dear husband, you have more spunk in you than any man I have ever known.”
'“And, you have known many men?” he asked rhetorically.
'“Many men. Many, many, many men. And many women too, but not nearly so many as all those many men. But not any of them could cover my titties with spunk the way you do.”
'I seized his cock and almost instantly was rewarded with a great gushing jet of cum that shot right across my bosoms. Five, six, seven times, that great spunker of his pulsed and discharged its precious fluid against my person, as I writhed and squealed in pleasure, for I had been playing with my pussey through the open gusset of my drawers all the while and now could feel my own spend upon me as the great heavy drops rained down.
'“Aha!” cried my husband, so loud that I am sure half the household might hear us.
'“Aha!” I cried in return, not caring a jot as we writhed together in the throes of our mutual spending.
'And then, almost in an instant, it was over-at least for the time being. We lay back against the pillows in the breeze from the window, the rivulets of spunk already cooling, even as our ardour in turn diminished. With womanly acumen I rubbed the sweet fluid into my skin, not merely to prevent it running on to the exquisitely embroidered counterpane and spoiling it but also to gain the benefit of its wonderful properties of nutrition. A good thick jet of spunk, as I have said countless times to ladies and gentlemen of my acquaintance, is as fine a food for the skin as any of the costly preparations sold in jars by even the finest chemists of Jermyn Street. And then, for a moment or two, we drowsed together in each other's arms.
'Later we adjourned to the drawing-room for tea. We found that the company, as well as Lord and Lady Somerville, consisted of Captain Turvey and his delightful wife Annabel, and a Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, of Saffron Walden. After an excellent early evening meal of rice soup, rolled loin of mutton, curried veal and gooseberry fool, washed down with liberal supplies of a fine white Burgundy, we all took a turn on the terrace. Here glasses of champagne were served. Heated, perhaps, by the wine and the warm summer's evening, conversation gradually assumed a form and character that might have been eschewed in more polite society. Not lewd, exactly, but certainly a good deal more intimate than the polite and studied tone which so frequently characterises post-prandial intercourse.
'I am sure that Lord Somerville had read everyone's mind, for after our third or fourth glass he stood up and addressed the party.
'“'Now that the evening is becoming somewhat cooler,” he began, “I think it would be a fine thing, would it not, if we were to repair indoors and to show you something of that architectural indulgence for which, I gather, Somerville House has become celebrated in sporting circles. I refer, of course, to the Nuditorium my wife and I have established here in our ancestral home.”
'There was a general murmur of consent. I am sure that both the Turveys and the Middletons were as keen as Humphrey and myself to see it. Accordingly we took our glasses and, led by our host and hostess, strolled through the splendid reception rooms of Somerville House until we came to a fine carved door of English oak.
'Lord Somerville produced a key from his waistcoat pocket. “I prefer to keep the suite locked,” he explained. “There are many valuable items kept here. And besides, we not infrequently are obliged to entertain guests-mostly serious men of politics, and from the world of commerce, and such dull company whose general humour would not, I am afraid, be much improved were they to pass through this particular door. But I am sure our present company will find nothing whatever to offend them within-indeed, it is the fervent hope of myself and my dear wife that you will find a very great deal to amuse you here.”
'He stood aside, and we were ushered into a room richly furnished in the oriental style then much in vogue. Further apartments in turn led of this.
'“Let me show you some of the best features,” said a voice, and we turned to see our hostess, Lady Somerville, emerging from one of the side-chambers. She was quite naked.
'“Yes indeed,” cried her husband, not in the least perturbed by his wife's appearance in a state of paradisiacal innocence before his guests. “But first we too must disrobe. There is no point in having a Nuditorium without nudity, after all!”
'He quickly suited deed to word. I glanced at Humphrey-he seemed mesmerised by the radiant and entirely naked beauty of our hostess-and nodded my eager assent. In a second we, too, had undressed, and stood sipping our champagne in the unclothed company of our fellow guests. I was taken particularly by the splendour of Captain Turvey's cock, which was already showing signs of rapid and considerable tumescence. My husband murmured his appreciation of the size and firmness of his hostess's bosoms, and vowed to have the better of them before the evening was out. I too took quite a letch to suck the tits of an English lady, and told him so, sotto voce.
'Leaving our clothes piled on the floor where we had stepped out of them, we made a tour of inspection of the apartments. Lord Somerville pointed out some of the features of interest-the ingenious system of mirrors whereby a watch could be kept on activities in the bedchambers directly adjacent; the large bed in the centre of the room surrounded by armchairs and divans, so that ladies and gentlemen might sit comfortably and enjoy a drink or a fine cigar while they watched others of their company disporting themselves on the sheets and pillows; the marble bath; the Italian piano; the countless fine prints and paintings showing scenes that would satisfy every conceivable erotic whim. It was, in truth, a veritable temple of Venus, and we loudly proclaimed our wholehearted approval to our ingenious host and hostess.
'“Of course,” said Lord Somerville, “one always takes great care to choose one's guests with taste and discretion, so that future friendships-not necessarily of a purely amatory nature-may have the chance to blossom here. Many a useful connection in the City or the House – or, dare I say it, at Court-has been forged here.'
'He pulled aside a curtain, and drew out a device not dissimilar to a magic-lantern, mounted on a wheeled trolley.
'“Guests who stay at Somerville House are, of course, cordially invited to sign the visitor's book. It is a source of no small gratification to my wife and I to look back over those pages from time to time on the long and lonely winter evenings, and to read once more the names of those brilliant and distinguished friends who have graced our humble home with their presence. As you will see, we also have an interesting record of the guests who have whiled away an hour or two in the Nuditorium.”
'He struck a vespa, and a searing beam of light lit up the room. Then a photograph, much enlarged, was projected on the wall directly opposite his Lordship's magic lantern.
'“Count von Buhlen, of Danzig, fucking the wife of one of our most distinguished portrait painters. And another-Sir Egbert Claughton, our ambassador to the King of Spain-proudly showing what is unquestionably the longest prick my wife has ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Now we see Sophie and Emma, the twin daughters of General Hapgood, licking the cunt of the splendid Lady Erinmore. See, here is Lady Erinmore again, with my own prick in her mouth while she is fucked from the rear by the Maharaja of Filthistan, a potentate with the finest collection of erotica in the whole of India. What exotic bout we ran that night, I can tell you! Here is my wife again, playing the fellatrix with the Bishop of Bath and Wells-what a pair of balls he has on him, to be sure! And now Mrs. Neaverson and Mrs. Dugdale-deadly rivals their husbands may be at Westminster, but here are their wives busy dildoing each other in fine style, while Her Majesty's Sergeant-at-Arms masturbates vigorously in the background.”
'I could not resist giving my husband Humphrey's cock a sly squeeze, and noted with pleasure that it was already as stiff as a regimental flagpole. Indeed, others had been similarly impressed with the photographs, for Mrs. Middleton was sitting with her legs apart while her husband played skilfully with her pussey. After we had seen the last lantern slide-a remarkable study of the operatic diva La Ciccone being fucked by Sir Constantine Learie, the sportsman and politician, while simultaneously being enculed in rear by the pianist Horobin-we all spontaneously burst into applause.
'Lord Somerville modestly acknowledged our tributes. “Something slightly more energetic now, perhaps!” he called, and his wife sat down at the piano. “My dear lady,” he beseeched me, “would you do me the pleasure?”
'I half expected to be pushed backwards on to a sofa there and then, but instead of this he led me off in a delightful waltz around the room while Lady Somerville accompanied us on the piano, exhibiting no small accomplishment at the musical arts. The others quickly joined us, Captain Turvey with Mrs. Middleton and his own wife, Annabel, in the arms of Hugh Middleton. My dear Humphrey was profitably employed in turning the music for his hostess.
'We were all, it should be remembered, entirely naked. Though I have experienced many sensations in a life largely devoted to the pleasures of the flesh, I had never encountered any that was quite so hovel, or as titillating, as that of dancing closely together in flagrante delecto. There is always the delight, when dancing fully clothed, of knowing that the press of one's bosom against a manly chest is discreetly acknowledged and appreciated, and similarly of feeling the insistent stirrings of one's partner's prick against a gartered thigh. But this was an entirely different proposition.
'“And how do you like my Nuditorium?” asked his Lordship when we had completed the second circuit of the room.
'“I think it is excellent,” I replied, lightly rubbing my Mound of Venus against him. He lightly squeezed my bottom-cheeks in acknowledgment. “My husband speaks of installing something similar at our own home. On a more modest scale, of course, for our means are perhaps not quite so limitless as your own.”
'Lord Somerville laughed gaily. “Nonsense, my dear girl! From what I hear at my club, old Humphrey is one of the richest men in all England. I am sure he can quite outdo me in that respect. My wife too has long admired his acumen.”
'We both burst into laughter at this wordplay, and glanced over at where our respective partners were seated at the piano. Lady Somerville's fingers flickered lightly over the keys, while Humphrey was leaning across and cupping her fine breasts as he had so often caressed my own. From time to time, they would exchange knowing looks.
'Presently we sank on to a divan, and watched the others as they progressed from waltz to polonaise to mazurka. Lord Somerville poured me a glass of champagne. Despite my nakedness, I was quite panting with the exertion of the dance, and welcomed the libation. Almost unconsciously, I lay closer to Lord Somerville and casually stroked his fine chest. He in turn drew his long, aristocratic fingers up and down my spine in a way that quite made me tingle with longing. In a second we were kissing deeply and passionately, our tongues flicking each other's.
'Fired by a fierce longing, I whispered lewd imaginings in Lord Somerville's ears. It was as though I had ignited gunpowder. He pushed me backwards, covering my body with savage kisses, his hands seemingly everywhere at once. The music resounded around the room, yet louder still seemed the rush of blood through my ears. I lay back on the cushions and within seconds he had mounted me, his questing cock probing deep within me as a voluptuous thrill coursed through my loins.
'“Ah! I die!” I cried, as he thrust hard against me, his great lordly ball-sack seeming to slap against my bum-cheeks in time to his powerful movements. In and out went that splendid cock, splashing in the lubricious secretions of my pussey like a dog splashing happily in a river.
'“My God, dear lady!” he exclaimed, as I slapped his bum hard and urged him to still greater exertions. “It is too much! I can hold back no longer.” And with that his great tool shook me like an earthquake from within, and I could feel great pulsing gobs of spunk shoot into me as I squealed with my own spending and bit him sharply on the neck.
'“I never knew a cunt that was so tight and yet so wet at the same time,” he said when he had recovered his breath and uncunted.
'“But were you not once in amorata of Miss Langtry, the actress?” I ventured. “They do say that, for powers of nip and squeeze, her pussey could clamp a man's cock down as hard as if it were in a vice on a bench.”
'“In comparison with having the pleasure of your own dear pussey,' he murmured, 'fucking Miss Lillie Langtry was like lobbing a jug of cream down Regent Street.”
'We both roared with laughter to such an extent that the music came to an abrupt halt. The others had, it seemed, been so carried away by their own intrigues that they had scarcely begun to realise what had passed between Lord Somerville and myself. However, soon there were other combatants in the lists of love, lady Somerville was busy sucking Humphrey's cock as he stood by her at the piano, while Rachel Middleton and Captain Turvey were playing a delightful game of “sixty-nine” on a Kashmiri rug by the fireplace. Hugh Middleton, in turn, was busy rodding Annabel Turvey from behind. I could see the fine shaft of his love-staff as it thrust in and out of her, and I pointed this out to Lord Somerville.
'“Aye, he has a fine cock, it is true. And see how her titties swing as she kneels before him! Mrs. Middleton has a fine pair of bosoms, does she not? Come, my dear, what say you that I shall suck one of them while you suck the other?”
'So saying, he practically pulled me to my feet and led me across the room. He lay down beneath Rachel and his tongue began to lick and flick at her nipples with commensurate skill. In a trice I had lain down beside him, and my mischievous tongue began its saucy work.
'“Oh, what rapture! exclaimed the object of our ardour. “How I love to take on several partners at once!”
'“And how I like to see a woman making love to another woman,' cried Lord Somerville.
'The sight of myself lying, legs apart, beneath Rachel Middleton must have driven Captain Turvey to a frenzy of lust. His eyes rolled, and I could feel his body shuddering as he shot his load into her. He uncunted and fell back on to the rug, but Mrs. Middleton's ardour seemed unassuaged.
'“Quick, my Lord, put your own cock up my cunt,” she breathed. “I am sure I can't be satisfied till I have two men's spendings in me. And Henrietta, let me lick your cunt even as his Lordship fucks me from behind, and let us all three spend together.”
'I lay down before her, and parted my legs. For the second time inside ten minutes, Lord Somerville unsheathed his great sword and plunged it in her right up to the hilt, even as Rachel buried her face in my muff and licked greedily.
'A nice cock in the pussey is a splendid sensation, but surely there is little in the realm of the senses that quite equals the exquisite pleasure of woman cunt-licking woman. How Rachel's probing tongue found my every recess, how she lapped and nipped with consummate skill! I spent once, twice and had very nearly reached my third climax before Lord Somerville's shouts betokened his imminent spending.
'After this the party retired to the marble bathing-hall where, purified and refreshed by further generous bumpers of champagne, we laid plans for further lewdness.
'Our next bouts were handsome Hugh Middleton up my cunt while I sucked my dear husband's prick; Lord Somerville fucking Annabel Turvey in front while her husband enculed her from the rear (she, it had been admitted as we bathed together, being rather fond of this double insertion); Lady Somerville and Rachel Middleton dexterously dildoing each other while studying their reflection in one of the fine chemise glasses that were placed to good advantage around the room.
'After that, I took on Captain Turvey while his wife licked both my cunt and his cock, on which I was spitted; my husband fucked Rachel Middleton kneeling down while Hugh came allover her tits; and Lord and Lady Somerville enjoyed a splendid and entirely orthodox fuck in each other's arms.
'A little before midnight, our heads fairly spinning from the champagne and our strenuous exertions, we made our separate ways unsteadily to bed. My darling husband, bless him, still had sufficient spunk in him to pay a final tribute to my charms, before we fell into deep and undisturbed slumber.
'The following morning we all breakfasted together. Such was the discretion of the company that, before the servants, there was not the slightest hint of the improprieties of the night before. The titled lady who, not twelve hours before, had taken my husband's cock in her bum now decorously assured him it would be no trouble to send to the kitchen for more bacon. I, meanwhile, demurely passed the sugar to the man whose spunk I had earlier so greedily swallowed, while Lord Somerville politely discussed local matters with his two other lady guests, despite my having seen with my own eyes them taking turns to suck his cock and lick his wife's quim. And then, myself perhaps slightly sore and my husband complaining in private of the odd twinge here and there, we made an affectionate farewell to the party, and so took our leave of Somerville Hall and the remarkable pleasure of its Nuditorium.'
Mrs. Horwill gave a deep sigh of satisfaction at a story well told and, for a brief moment or two, stared off into space with a little grin and a twinkling eye. The atmosphere in the senior girls' study could be cut with a knife. No one spoke for a full five minutes as, to a girl, we sat motionless, fighting to commit each delicious nuance and saucy twist of Mrs. Horwill's reminiscences to memory.
Suddenly someone giggled, then before you could say 'hot furry fannies' the whole room was laughing and joking and chatting in a thoroughly enlightened and animated style.
Mrs. Horwill was delighted at the effect her lustful little tale had had on us. She sat in our midst, four-square and smiling, like a proud bitch with her litter of squirming, mischievous puppies.
For myself, I was still finding it almost totally impossible to believe that this was the mother of plain Jane Horwill, a girl I'd scarcely glanced at, let alone shared confidences with, since my arrival at the Academy some weeks before. I decided then and there to make a mental note to find out more about her in the days and weeks that followed her charming mother's visit to our illustrious establishment. Maybe there was more to our Jane than met the eye. We would see…
'Do tell us another story, Madame,' begged Lucille, a pretty little blonde with shiny ringlets and a dusting of freckles on her retrousse nose.
'My dears!' laughed Mrs. Horwill,' I swear I shall lose my voice once and for all if I agree to recount any more of my exploits, and that would never do. My dear husband and myself have been invited to dine this evening at the British Embassy in Lucerne, so I must preserve my energy and my vocal chords or there'll be hell to pay.
'The Ambassador himself is a dear, sweet man – a gentleman and a scholar-but, alas, he lost his loving wife to whom he was totally devoted in a boating accident some months ago, and is still reeling from the shock of his loss. Indeed, so deep is his sorrow that from time to time he loses all sense of reason and finds himself saying things and acting in ways hitherto unthought of, which would make his dear departed wife turn in her grave.
'Why, only the other day my husband and I were indulging in a spot of Whist with the Ambassador in the drawing room at the Embassy. Darling Humphrey was droning on, as he is wont to do, about the fine architectural heritage of the town in general and the Embassy building in particular, waxing lyrical about the giant porticos, the stately colonnades and the delicate cornicing to be found within.
'The Ambassador and I were hardly listening, disrespectful though it may be to admit such a thing, and when Humphrey left the room for a minute or two in order to answer a call of nature, the illustrious gentleman leant across, planted his hand firmly on my upper thigh and, looking me full in the eyes, made me promise to make my excuses this evening after dinner (I decided in a trice that I could complain of a headache or somesuch) and slip away from the assembled gathering so that we might meet in his chambers for a post-prandial glass or two of brandy, and maybe a spot of spontaneous entertainment of our own invention if the time was right and our hearts felt mutually inflamed by the idea.
'I have to admit, my dears, that the very thought of an hour or two spent alone in the company of the great man elicits within me emotions of a thoroughly unladylike nature. Indeed, I feel quite lightheaded at the notion.'
With this, Mrs. Horwill leant back and rested her ample frame against the elegant brocade back of the sofa, breathing rather too rapidly for comfort and frantically fanning her flushed cheeks with a small, painted silk fan which had previously been concealed about her voluptuous person.
'Tell me, my sweet,' she said breathlessly, looking expectantly at a sultry brunette by the name of Mariette, 'would it be possible to partake of a little glass of something to soothe my nerves? Maybe a small brandy, or even a soupcon of Schnapps?'
'Mais non Madame!' exclaimed Mariette with mock horror (the twinkle in her big brown eyes gave a clue to the fact that she was quite obviously highly amused, despite the severity of her tone). 'Alcohol is strictly forbidden at the Academy (but not within its grounds, I thought with glee as I remembered my sensual little dejeuner sur l'herbe with Nicole, Michel and Antoine a few days earlier, and how our randy foursome had polished off several generous measures of champagne and red wine on that lazy, hazy, sexy afternoon), but if you will permit me, I'd love to share with you a letter I received this morning from my dear brother, Jamie.
'He and I are twins and, as you might expect, we share more than our looks! He tells me absolutely everything and always has done, and since he's a very naughty boy indeed with a quite spectacular passion for pretty young girls, his letters to me are often of a thoroughly explicit nature. Indeed, the one I'm about to read you made me blush to the very roots of my hair when I first saw it. Anyway, here goes!'
Mariette's sparkling eyes and eager demeanour gave a lie to and quite overshadowed her modest protestations of embarrassment. Tossing back her bonny brown curls, withdrawing two or three crumpled, well-read sheets from the bodice of her dress and clearing her throat in readiness, she began:
'“My darling sister, Mariette, I am aching to recount to you a randy little anecdote told to me the other day by dear old Bertie. He and I had been enjoying a glass or two of beer in the open air with some friends of ours, when suddenly he came out with a tale to make your hair curl and put roses in your cheeks! The circumstances were rather as follows:
'“'It looks like it's going to rain,' observed Cristabel, who had been studying the clouds over the distant mountains.
'“'They say that if you can see the Eisberg clearly from here before 10 in the morning, then it will rain before luncheon,' said Antoinette.
'“'And if you can't see it, then it must be raining already,' added Monsieur la Rochelle, with his customary dry sense of humour.
'“'What's all this?' asked Bertie, who had evidently been dozing underneath the laurel tree and had just now awoken with a start.
'“'I said it looks like rain.' said Cristabel.
'“Bertie picked up his half-drunk glass of beer, and held it up against the sky.
'“'My word, you're right,' he said at length, after studying the pale fluid intently for some while. 'It certainly does look like rain. With, I might add, just the very faintest flavour of hops.'
'“We all laughed uproariously at this gem of Bertie's wit. Another bottle of champagne was broached, and again we drank deeply. Bertie, however, topped up his glass with beer. He came from a long-established line of brewers in Wiltshire, and I was touched by his devotion to the beverage that made their name.
'“'I say, Portland, old chap!' he called at length. 'Let me pose you a question. Why is this glass of beer-of whose quality I am distinctly not enamoured-like making love in a punt? Let's see if a Cambridge man can answer that one, eh? Let's put a fiver on it to make things more interesting.'
'“Lord Portland, not the brightest spark of Edwardian England's manhood, looked puzzled. But the natural instincts of the sportsman rendered him incapable of refusing a challenge.
'“'Have a swig yourself, my dear fellow,' urged Bertie. 'It might get the old grey matter ticking over. Though not as well, I might add, as if you were drinking our very own Celebration Ale, which we brewed especially to mark the Coronation of our present King. That sir, was a beer as fine as any that I have ever tasted.'
'“Lord Portland took the proffered glass and sipped reflectively. 'Why is this beer like making love in a punt? Hmmmm, let me see now. It's dry, to be sure. Could that be it, I wonder? Wet and dry? No, surely not. It has a faintly nutty taste, though. Because only a fool would consider making love in a punt? No, it can't be.'
'“His brows furrowed again.
'“'Why is this beer like making love in a punt? Hmmmmm. Hmmmmm.' I thought I could almost hear the cog-wheels whirring around inside my head, but then he gave me the most outrageous wink.
'“'Why is this beer like making love in a punt, you ask?' He paused, and took a deep draught of the amber nectar. 'I'll tell you why, Bertie,' he said in a quiet undertone. 'Because it's fucking near water that's why! Eh? That's a good 'un, what? Thought you'd got me there, didn't you? Fucking near water, that's the answer to your riddle! Come on now, old boy, cough up! Let's see the colour of your money!'
'“Bertie paid up in great good humour as befits a gentleman. 'Actually,' he began, 'my question does put me in mind of another little riddle of my own, that actually took place some few years ago, when I was in Venice. I had been staying with the Powells-excellent people, who had come originally from Bicester-and one evening we went, as one might, for a gondola cruise on the canals.
'“'Venice, is, as you will know, a most delightful place, especially when the softer light of early autumn adds its own special qualities. The evening was made even more delightful because I was seated at the rear of our gondola, squeezed in between the two Powell daughters, Rebecca and Suzanna, twin sisters of some seventeen years.
'“'For over an hour we passed along the canals and lagoons, admiring the splendours of the buildings as they were lit up by the setting sun. It grew chilly, and at length rugs were passed out by Mrs. Powell. I was given a particularly large and thick one which I spread loosely over the laps of the two girls and myself, and we resumed our journey tucked up in perfect snugness within its capacious folds.
'“'After a while I became conscious of a movement on my leg. At first it was no more than an animal might make, as when a cat brushes herself against you. Then I was aware that it was moving gradually up my thigh. Thinking there might be some insect crawling about beneath the rug, I wriggled slightly to try and shake it off, but was hampered both by my being closely hemmed in by the Powell girls and my wish not to alarm them. You can imagine the panic that would have been caused had I said I suspected there was a spider under the rug.
'“'My wriggling proved ineffectual. To distract myself, I began talking instead in an animated fashion, drawing attention to this church or that tower, without really knowing what I said. The Powell girls listened politely and added observations of their own, obviously quite unaware-or seemingly so-of my discomfort.
'“'The movement was now around my groin. Then I became aware that soft fingers were caressing the bulge at the front of my trousers, kneading and squeezing it until my cock was inflamed with longing. The strange nature of my position made my arousal even more exquisitely unbearable. Though it was obvious that either Rebecca or Suzanna was responsible, each girl showed an almost complete detachment from the business in hand. Rebecca was talking to her father, who was seated in front of us, and Suzanna was telling me something of the history of St Mark's church. Their expressions alone betokened complete innocence.
'“'So this state of affairs went on for some little while, and then the mysterious hand quickly unbuttoned me and took hold of my prick. I looked at one sister, and the other, and then back at the first again. They acknowledged my glances with a smile or a casual nod, as one would on momentarily catching a friend's eye. There was not the slightest suggestion that one of them-and I could not for the life of me tell which-was quietly playing with my cock beneath the rug.
'“'The situation was unspeakably erotic. I longed to pull back the rug, to take a sister in my arms-it didn't matter which, for they were both exquisitely beautiful-and plunge my burning cock into her there and then. This, however, would have been quite out of the question. At the very least, it would have horrified her parents, who were sitting only a few feet away. It might even have capsized the boat, and sent us all to Davy Jones's locker.
'“'So I simply sat there, seething with lust, while that expertly skilled hand worked up and down my cock with firm, discreet strokes. Light fingers fluttered elegantly against my blazing prepuce, and yet not a ripple of movement showed on the surface of the rug.
'“'Soon, inevitably, I spent-all over her hand, the rug and my trousers. I was powerless to stop it, even had I wanted to. My laboured breathing must have caught Mrs. Powell's ear, for she turned to glance at me for a moment. Through a whirl of bawdy feelings I was aware of Rebecca casually discussing plans for tomorrow's excursions with her father, while Suzanna was exchanging playful banter with her young brother, Tom, standing in the bow of the boat. For my part, I felt like subsiding into a heap.
'“'In time, but my mind still quite aflame, we returned to our moorings, close to the Powells' apartment. I had the presence of mind to quickly button myself as we gathered up the rug and stepped out of the boat. Thanks to the darkness and a discreet readjustment of my jacket I was, I think, successful in concealing the very obvious marks that were evident on the front of my white trousers.
'“'We spoke for some little time on the shore before our party broke up and I returned with the Powells to their home. Not a single sign did I detect from either of the sisters that they had been in any way involved in what had happened on the boat. And yet the bare fact of the matter was that one of them-a girl I had neither made overtures to, nor even spoken to much during the course of my stay with them-had quite unashamedly tossed me off earlier that evening, not merely under a rug, but under her very parents' noses.
'“'Their mother, I now think, might well have suspected that something was afoot. From that point on, at any rate, we spent quite a bit of time together, touring the many museums and antiquities of Venice. This culminated, as such things will, in a most enchanting afternoon spent at the Excelsior Hotel-it being quite out of the question that such adulteries could be carried out under her own roof. But that, of course, is another story. For the moment, I rather fear that the heavens are about to burst, and unless we can get back to our lodgings within a few minutes we will, I am afraid, be in for a drenching.'
'“'Well, Mariette, as you might imagine, Bertie's tale fired the collective imagination of the assembled gathering in no uncertain manner! Emboldened by the alcohol we had consumed and flushed with heroic fervour by Bertie's story, it was as much as we could do to keep our hands off each other until we met again that evening, after dinner, for a glorious romp in my chamber!
'“I might as well tell you that Cristabel and I have been meeting in private, for similar such entertainment, ever since. I will let you know when next I write how the affair progresses.
'“Meanwhile, take care of yourself at that school of yours in Switzerland and be good, and if you can't be good, be careful!
'“With very much love, Jamie.”'
Coughing slightly, Mariette refolded the letter and replaced it in the soft little nest from whence it came-inside her bodice, between her warm breasts-and the rest of us burst into a round of spontaneous applause, accompanied by assorted whistles and cat-calls from some of my bolder, less decorous classmates.
By now thoroughly enjoying myself-our little gathering had turned into quite a party, thanks to Mrs. Horwill and Mariette and their saucy stories-I was quite crestfallen when the door to the study swung open and there on the threshold, stood Mademoiselle Cartier and the unfortunate Jane. The tutor stood there open-mouthed, like a fish out of water, and was obviously totally taken aback by the almost tangible aura of jollity which assailed her.
Jane, on the other hand, was red-faced and obviously highly embarrassed at what she perceived, quite rightly, to be yet another example of her mother's habitual impropriety.
'Darling!' boomed Mrs. Horwill to her unfortunate daughter. 'How wonderful to see you, and looking so… so… healthy, too.' She could hardly have said 'attractive' or 'becoming' I thought, meanly, and giggled behind my hand.
'Come, I've been simply dying to see your room – and to meet your tutors, of course (this with a deferential but not entirely convincing nod in the direction of Mademoiselle Cartier, who was by now quite white in the face with shock.)
'As you can see, I've already made myself known to some of your young friends,' she informed her daughter, turning to we girls and giving us an enormous, conspiratorial wink, eliciting a veritable barrage of juvenile titters and giggles from our little group. 'Now then, show me the way if you please.'
With a flourish of peacock silk, trailing an aromatic cloud of expensive French cologne, Mrs. Horwill left the study. Her daughter Jane, blushing hotly and with eyes raised heavenwards, fiddled with an imaginary rosary and followed resignedly. Mademoiselle Cartier, ashen-faced, brought up the rear.
As the study door softly closed behind them, those of us that were left exchanged glances before collapsing into uproarious laughter, vowing to somehow engineer a further meeting with the delightfully entertaining Mrs. Horwill before she finally departed for England.
Some weeks before I'd joined Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies, the esteemed principal had decided, working on the advice given by some of the college's governors, to allow us senior girls, in twos and threes, to visit the town from time to time in order to avail ourselves of some of the fine museums and galleries to be found there.
One sunny spring morning, shortly after I'd completed my toilet and consumed a hearty breakfast of crusty rolls with Morello cherry jam and a large, steaming cup of aromatic black coffee, I was called to Madame's study together with a fellow classmate, Justine.
'Mademoiselles D'Argosse et Villeneuve,' she said. 'I see by my diary that it is the turn of you both to visit the town. After lunch, I'll send my carriage to the front door of the Academy and the driver will wait for you there until 2.00 p.m., at which time I expect you to be correctly attired-don't be fooled by the weather; it's not as warm as it looks-and ready to embark on your trip.
'The mistress who under normal circumstances undertakes to accompany young ladies on these expeditions into town, Mademoiselle Bernard, is currently indisposed, so I'm relying on you girls to act with the decorum expected of your class, and to conduct yourselves with the grace and bearing necessary in order to bring credit to yourselves and your school.
'Please instruct the driver as to the places of learning you wish to visit. He will drive you to them and wait outside each one until you feel you've absorbed enough, at which time he will return you to the Academy in time for supper. You will have taken tea-an English custom, I believe-at one of the hotels in the centre of town. May I recommend l'Hotel Royale in the Rue Fontaine. Now all that remains is for me to wish you both bon voyage.'
With that she made a small gesture of dismissal and turned her attention to the papers on her desk.
Justine and I curtsied politely and left the room. Once outside the door and on our way to our classroom for a lesson in Geography, which I always found tedious in the extreme, we looked at each other and grinned conspiratorially.
'How kind of Madame to allow us an afternoon on the town,' I said, a wicked gleam in my eye.
'And just at the right time,' agreed Justine. 'My boyfriend is in town at the moment, spending part of his annual leave. He's a Professor of Humanities at the Sorbonne in Paris. I received a letter from him the other day outlining his plans, where he pleaded with me to try and meet him for an hour or two during his visit.
'The dear boy obviously misses me dreadfully. Maybe I could arrange it so that I just happened to be walking past his hotel when I discovered a pressing need for some light refreshment. I believe the hotel where he's staying, l'Hotel Candide, has a reputation for baking the best pastries in town, and utterly delicious they are, too-as light as swansdown and filled with fresh fruit and cream.
'Wait! He happened to mention that he would be accompanied by a friend from Paris-Maurice DeClerc, a Professor of Fine Art. Rosie, your luck's in! Maybe you, too, could discover a similar need for coffee and pastries!'
'But what about Madame's driver?' I asked with curiosity. Maybe Justine knew something I didn't-she had been a student at the Academy for a term or two longer than me-but I failed to see how we could evade the eagle eye of the wily Gruber. He'd been in Madame's employ for a number of years and must by now have become well versed in the girlish pranks and tricks of her young students.
'And anyway,' I continued, 'Maurice is probably five feet tall and built like an ape. I certainly shouldn't like him if that were the case. I do have certain standards to maintain regarding my male acquaintances, you know.'
'Not a bit of it,' replied Justine, who must obviously have met the gentleman in question, 'he's six feet tall and built like a Greek god. And as for Gruber it's well known that one only has to grease his palm with a franc or two to ensure his total compliance. Indeed, he welcomes his free time in the town. It's been rumoured he has a lady friend there whom he visits whenever the opportunity arises. So, this afternoon for him holds the promise of an hour or two's lovemaking as well as some extra cash to bolster his income. I might even find it in my heart to do him a little favour…' she added mysteriously. 'I owe him one from my last trip into town. What more could the old reprobate want? Come we must hurry to our class. We're five minutes late already and we don't want to fall prey to the sharp side of Mademoiselle Phillipe's forked tongue-the old dragon!' Hurrying along at Justine's side, I couldn't for the life of me imagine what she'd meant about owing Gruber a favour. I wasn't allowed the opportunity to discover the reason, however-just as I opened my mouth to ask we arrived at our classroom and Justine pressed her finger to her lips and bade me be silent. I needn't have worried, though-I had oodles of fun finding out!
A few hours later, morning lessons and lunch over, Justine and I descended the steps of the Academy looking for all the world like two respectable young ladies of breeding about to embark on a mission of mind-expansion. But it was to be more than just our minds which were expanded on that glorious afternoon.
Glancing at each other with little smiles of complicity, we alighted the steps of the carriage and seated ourselves comfortably within-side by side, ankles crossed, dainty gloved hands in laps and jackets tightly buttoned.
No sooner had we commenced our journey into town than the carriage stopped, Gruber jumped down from his driving seat and came round to the door of the carriage, opening it and peering in at us with a look of expectation on his face.
I marvelled at Justine's bare-facedness as she smiled sweetly and handed him a small, sealed envelope. Obviously she's been through this procedure before, I thought to myself. Then, mouth open in surprise, I watched as she carefully removed her gloves and slowly undid the buttons of her jacket, and then her high-necked white lace blouse.
Pushing these items of clothing to one side and looking down her nose at the by-now sweating Gruber in a thoroughly patrician manner, she pushed her shoulders back, thrust out her chest and proudly displayed to him her nubile young breasts which were snow white, uplifted and rosebud tipped.
Having got over the initial shock of this brazen display I began to see the potential of the situation and, as I looked longingly at Justine's darling tits, a plan began to form in my mind.
Lasciviously running my pink tongue over my lips, pussey growing increasingly damp at the prospect of the fun to follow, I too undid my upper garments and, savouring every erotic moment, peeled them back to reveal my full, rounded breasts to Gruber's gaze.
The poor man was now quite red in the face and, fumbling with his fly buttons, issued a series of small, strangled cries.
At first gazing lovingly at my beautiful twin assets, I began to fondle them with my soft hands, following their full, snowy contours with my fingers and stroking the plump strawberry nipples until they grew firm and pointed.
Continuing in this way, I raised my big blue eyes and looked levelly into Gruber's, which by now were like organ stops. He'd pulled his cock free and was frigging himself like a man possessed, grunting and shuddering by turns.
Turning to face my pretty young friend I gently smiled and stroked her cheek with my finger. Then, placing my hands on her shoulders I pulled her towards me and we began to explore each other's faces with our parted lips before sinking into a deep, erotic kiss. Our girlish arms twined around each other and our tits pressed together, nipples touching and sending ripples of pleasure through us both.
At last, with a long-drawn-out groan, Gruber ejaculated into the handkerchief he had ready for the purpose then, swiftly and with a furtive glance around him, began to tuck his still-slightly erect cock back into his trousers. His task completed, he gave a couple of embarrassed coughs (not very convincingly), leered suggestively at us both and slammed the carriage door before climbing back into his driving seat at the front of the vehicle.
As the carriage began to move off again, Justine and I looked at each other for a moment or two before collapsing into fits of thoroughly unladylike laughter, shoulders shaking and naked breasts bouncing with mirth.
'Did you see his face?' I shrieked. 'I thought for a moment he was going to die from a heart attack when I showed him my tits!'
'And did you hear him whimper like a little lost dog when we began to kiss?' said Justine. 'My only regret is that he chose to spunk into his handkerchief. If he'd taken it upon himself to squirt it over our bosoms I'd have taken great pleasure in ordering him to lick it off them-first yours, then mine-so that not a sticky trace of it was left. Dear me! The very thought of his big, wet tongue lapping the salty cum from my nipples has made me incredibly horny.'
'You wicked girl, Justine. The very idea of it! You've made my pussey go all damp and hot again,' I said, more seriously this time and gazing longingly into Justine's mischievous face.
'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' she whispered, all amusement gone from her voice. 'If so, I'd love it if you'd play with my nipples for a while before we get dressed again.'
Looking at me with her big, brown eyes she gave me a suggestive little wink then, tossing back her thick, waist-length strawberry-blonde hair, leaned back against the seat of the carriage in a thoroughly abandoned manner.
With a look of serenity on her face she closed her eyes, her pert little breasts rising and falling as she breathed, blush-pink nipples tantalisingly erect. With her cute, retroussie nose and generous, upturned lips she looked for all the world like a contented kitten waiting for its mother to commence preening.
Taking care not to touch her nipples, I softly stroked her adorable tits with the tips of my cool fingers while she squirmed with delight. For a brief moment I almost thought I heard her begin to purr.
Turning my attention to her nipples I began to gently flick them, noticing at the same time the rapid thumping of her heart and the little goose-bumps rising on her sensitive white skin.
'Please suck them, Rosie,' she begged in a small, hesitant voice, a look of gentle pleading in her wide eyes. 'It may seem strange but it's a long time since I've had a girl make love to me. I need to remind myself of what it's like to feel the insistent pressure of soft, feminine lips around my nipples. Don't tease me, Rosie. Do it now!'
I hadn't the heart to keep the poor girl waiting so I moistened my full lips and lowered them to each of her trembling nipples in turn, nibbling the taut rosy flesh and sucking deeply.
Concentrating on the delicious task in hand I became aware of a tiny, stockinged foot, divested of its shoe, insinuating itself under my gown and between my shapely thighs as I knelt on the carriage floor. Obligingly parting my legs and feeling the damp fabric of my brief panties stretch, and the folds of my ever-willing cunt part and begin to throb in expectation, I sucked and lapped at Justine's nipples with an even greater diligence before asking in a low, seductive voice:
'Tell me, darling, do you plan to fuck me with your pretty little toes? I do hope so! No one's ever pleasured me that way before. Here, let me help you.'
With that I reached down, flung my full skirts over my back and pulled down my knickers, thereby displaying my upraised naked bottom to the bug-eyed occupants of a passing cab.
A moment or two later, hearing the muffled screech of brakes and a splintering crash, we guessed that the unfortunate vehicle must have somehow left the road. How strange, I thought to myself, that my lovely bum, for so long the source of endless pleasure for myself and countless others, should be the cause of so much needless damage. Had the poor, deprived driver never seen a pretty girl's bare-cheeked arse before?
Attention drawn back to the growing need between my legs, I took a sharp intake of breath as Justine's wriggling toes in their silky stocking found my erect clitoris, rubbing and massaging in such an expert manner that I felt my orgasm rapidly approaching.
Sucking lustily on Justine's warm, naked tits and wriggling my bare bum in the cool air of the carriage, I felt my wet cunt shudder with a series of tiny contractions as my climax arrived. Justine reached her orgasm at the same time and the carriage was filled with the sweet sound of soft, feminine moans and sighs of satisfaction.
Silently now, I pulled up my damp, lacy panties and straightened my stockings and skirts before planting a lingering kiss on Justine's smiling lips.
'Let's consider that little bout as a kind of rehearsal,' she said after a moment or two, a sexy plan forming in her mind. 'I'm sure my boyfriend, Pierre, and his handsome friend would be only too delighted to watch us enjoying each other's company in such a manner. What do you say, Rosie? Do you think we should lay on a little entertainment for the dear boys?'
'I can think of nothing nicer than a spot of naughty theatricals,' I agreed. 'Especially if we include some of the Candide's fresh cream pastries as props, and even more especially if we invite our audience of two to join in the frolics after a while. It's quite astonishing where on one's body one manages to disperse dollops of cream when one's having fun!'
Giggling wickedly, we discussed our plans for the afternoon's entertainments as our carriage grew ever nearer to our destination.
After what seemed to us to be a lifetime of waiting (so anxious were we for the fun to begin!), our carriage finally entered the outskirts of the town. Peering out of the windows of the vehicle, wide-eyed like two little girls on their first foray into the grown-up world-which we most certainly were not!-we saw tall, gaunt, slab-sided warehouses, a grubby-looking railway siding and numerous mean-looking dwellings with washing hanging outside and smoke curling from the chimneys.
Men, women and children thronged the streets, laughing, arguing and calling out to each other as they went about their daily business. A cheeky-faced young boy on a coster-monger's bicycle which seemed to be several sizes too large for him, caught sight of the two of us in our carriage like a couple of prim china dolls and grinned widely, removed both hands from the handlebars in a lewd gesture, then favoured us with a loud wolf-whistle before continuing on his brazen way.
Justine and I exchanged glances of indignation before breaking into amused smiles and eagerly returning our attention to the hurly-burly world outside our carriage window.
A swarthy, bewhiskered young man operating a barrel organ, on top of which danced a small, chattering monkey dressed in a suit of miniature clothes, stood on a street corner. Leaning back in a lazy, leisurely manner against his music machine, he was slowly inhaling the smoke from his long clay pipe whilst gazing with heavy lids at his companion-an exotic street girl with heavy, garish make-up and big, melon-like breasts which shook and wobbled as she moved.
She was engaged in loud and animated conversation with the man, eyes rolling and expressive painted lips moving nineteen to the dozen when all of a sudden, anecdote at an end, she slapped her thigh and erupted in a gale of sidesplitting laughter.
As we passed the colourful pair the man caught sight of us, winking and gesturing to the young whore, who turned and faced us before raising her gaudy skirts between thumbs and forefingers of both hands and dropping down in an exaggerated, mocking curtsey, facial expression fixed in an attitude of imperious dignity, made all the more ridiculous by her clown-like, painted features.
Favouring her with warm smiles to show we appreciated her little joke and were not in the least offended, the saucy young wench grinned and blew us a theatrical kiss before turning her back to us and, quick as a flash, raising her skirts to above her waist, bending over and wriggling her voluptuous, bare arse at us.
Speechless and red-cheeked with shock and embarrassment we fell back into the gloom of the carriage and pressed our heads against the seat-backs for fear that the cheeky young strumpet would see our discomfiture and exact still further revenge for what I could now see was our over-privileged, patronising manner towards her.
As we rumbled into the more salubrious, central part of town our pinched embarrassment faded and turned into beatific pleasure as we contemplated our plans for the afternoon.
Rounding a corner into one of the main streets, Justine recognised our destination, l'Hotel Candide, about halfway down on the right hand side. Gesturing to Gruber to stop the carriage by rapping smartly on the roof with her knuckles, we both set about the task of straightening our gowns, checking our appearance in the useful little mirror set just above my seat in the padded interior fabric of the vehicle, and prepared to alight.
Gruber drew the carriage to a halt a hundred yards or so away from our destination, lumbered down from his drivers' seat and ambled round to help us climb down to the pavement. Opening the carriage door he took each of our hands in turn and, eyes gleaming lasciviously, was rather too solicitous, I thought, in aiding our descent. When it was Justine's turn to alight she gave him a merry little wink and displayed for his benefit several inches of shapely, stockinged ankle and calf-an unnecessary expedient, I thought, since the poor man was already damp with perspiration and quite flushed with fresh excitement.
Before setting off towards the hotel Justine blew the unfortunate Gruber, who was by now putty in her naughty hands, a pretty little kiss and made him promise to meet us in the same place in three hours.
Amid much spluttering and coughing Gruber agreed to her request and climbed back on to his drivers' seat, rather painfully I fancied since his erection was the size and shape of a small Howitzer, before hurtling off down the street in the direction of his innocently unsuspecting mistress.
I hope she's ready for him, I thought with a grin. If the poor man doesn't spunk inside a warm cunt within the space of five minutes I swear his balls will explode with the buildup of pressure from within!
We entered l'Hotel Candide through a pair of heavy swing-doors fashioned from smooth, glowing mahogany and thick panes of crystal glass, and found ourselves in a totally different world from the one we'd left outside. A world of silent, deep-piled carpets, subdued lighting, polished wood, fresh flowers, hushed voices and the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Glancing around I noticed a small, elegant desk behind which sat an efficient-looking young lady with a striped blouse, spectacles and a rather prim, severe-looking hairstyle. She was peering at us over the top of her glasses in rather a pointed manner.
'That must be the receptionist,' I hissed. 'Come on, Justine, you'd better explain what we're here for… On the other hand,' I giggled, immediately visualising the likely furore cased by a true revelation of our intent, 'perhaps your explanation had better be a little less inflammatory!'
Clearing her throat and linking her arm in mine, she marched purposefully with me to the receptionist's exceptionally tidy desk and, chin held high in the manner of one who is used to being obeyed, began to speak.
'Bonjour, Mademoiselle,' she said in clear, even tones.
'Bonjour, Ma… Mademoiselle,' replied the slightly discomfited receptionist after first scanning Justine's hand for signs of a wedding ring. 'How can I help you?'
'My sister and I have arranged to meet my brother and his friend here this afternoon for coffee. Messieurs Renoir et DeClerc. I believe they are staying at l'Hotel Candide, non?”
'Mais oui, Mademoiselle. The two gentlemen to whom you refer left the hotel ten minutes ago in order to go for a little stroll in the park. Monsieur DeClerc assured me they would return within half an hour. Indeed, the gentleman did mention something about being sorely in need of a cup of strong coffee and one of our pastries.' Glancing around her to make sure no one was listening, she whispered, 'I've heard tell that one of them was fortunate enough to make a killing at the Roulette wheel yesterday evening, and they both spent the rest of the night at La Moulin Rouge, spending it!' She giggled irreverently until, embarrassed by her little outburst, she bit her lip, eyes downcast, and continued.
'Would you be willing to wait in the salon until they return? It is just at the end of that corridor over there. I will be sure to tell them you are here, waiting for them, when they return from their walk…'
'Merci, Mademoiselle. We will wait for them in the salon.'
As we left the desk, the young lady's expression softened a little and her mouth curved into a wistful little smile. She gave a small sigh and, with an absent look, followed or progress towards our place d'assignation.
In those few seconds I realised that she couldn't be any further advanced in years than Justine and myself. Had she guessed the truth behind our little fabrication? Did she yearn in her heart of hearts to join our little party for an afternoon of frivolity, fun and flirtation-possibly followed by fanciful frolics-with a pair of devilishly handsome young men, which I felt sure was the delicious fate awaiting my friend and I?
Settling ourselves on a small settee in the salon to wait for Pierre and Maurice, Justine and I attempted to attract the attention of the young waitress who dodged backwards and forwards between the kitchen and the salon with trays of coffee and cakes for her clients – a mainly elderly collection of ladies and gentlemen, and most certainly highly demanding of her attention to their gastronomical needs.
As my eyes followed those of the waitress, hoping in vain to attract her over to us so that we might place our order, my attention was caught by a solid, rather heavy-looking gentleman sitting in the far corner. Grey-haired and whiskered with a ruddy complexion and a pronounced pot belly, he had been gazing at us over the top of his newspaper with considerable interest since we'd entered some five minutes previously.
As my eyes met his, the randy old gentleman gave me a big, suggestive wink, then coughed in a self-conscious sort of way and pretended to return to his newspaper, glancing up at regular intervals to check my reaction to his rather forward gesture.
What an excellent manner in which to pass the time until our young men arrive, I thought to myself. A saucy little dalliance with a horny old duffer who, by the look of him, is old enough to be our grandfather!
Edging closer to Justine on the little settee, I gently nudged her with my elbow and, with a whispered explanation and a little series of gestures, alerted her to the comic, as well as the erotic, potential of the situation we now found ourselves in.
'Maybe he thinks we're a couple of working girls,' Justine hissed at me under her breath.
'Then we'll not disillusion the old boy,' I replied. 'Come, let's make his day and have some fun into the bargain!'
The next time my eyes met his I, too, winked suggestively and indicated with a little tilt of my head for him to join us at our table.
Eyes widening with surprise and delight he swiftly folded his newspaper and did as he was bid, pausing for a moment to instruct the waitress in hushed tones (continually glancing across at us all the while for fear we might disappear in a puff of smoke) to bring a fresh pot of coffee-for three-and a plate of Florentines.
Justine and I once again exchanged knowing glances, primping and preening, moistening lips and adjusting our posture in order to enhance the jut of our breasts for the satisfaction of our new 'friend'.
'Good afternoon, ladies,' he said to us in impeccable English as he sat down, rather heavily, in a chair facing us on the other side of the small, rococo table. 'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is David Hostridge I hope you will not be offended but I noticed from where I was sitting that you were experiencing a little difficulty in attracting the attention of the waitress, so I've taken the liberty of ordering coffee and Florentines for us all, if that meets with your approval?'
He gave an obsequious little smile which served to irritate me intensely, reinforcing my desire to teach this rather patronising gentleman a lesson.
I smiled sweetly at him. 'Why, sir, how extremely kind and generous of you to favour us with your presence in this way,' I simpered at him from behind my fan, coyly fluttering my long eyelashes, before dropping the dainty confection of ivory and lace to the floor beneath the table.
'Allow me. Mademoiselle,' he said with a flourish.
'No, sir, allow me!'
With these words I dived under the table and, totally ignoring the dropped fan, began to tickle and fondle the portly gentleman's ankles and calves through the smooth fabric of his trousers. (Fortunately, my exploits were completely obscured by the heavy damask cloth which draped to the floor on all four side of the table, shielding me from the possible gaze of interested parties.
I felt the gentleman in question stiffen slightly with surprise, then commence a rather false-sounding and slightly falsetto conversation with Justine who, judging by the somewhat quavering tone of her voice and the way her toes were curled inside her shoes and her legs under the table were pressed tightly together in the tense attitude of one desperate to hold something in, was finding the whole situation amusing in the extreme.
Ignoring the deceptively bright conversation going on above my head, I deftly removed the shoe and sock from Mr. Hostridge's right foot and quickly popped his big toe into my mouth, sucking sweetly and exploring its contours with my wicked tongue.
As I did so I unbuttoned the front of my bodice and pulled aside my chemise so that my big, creamy breasts flopped out and hung suspended, luscious and naked and the perfect place to rest a man's bare foot, which I held in both hands and rubbed over my warm, yielding flesh.
When I tickled the soft, sensitive underside of his foot with my large, firm nipples which were by now like organ-stops, I felt him tremble with excitement and his voice reach an even higher register as he struggled to keep mind and body on an even keel and maintain an element of sense in his conversation with Justine.
By now, of course, the subject of their discourse was completely lost on me, so filled was I with lustful and erotic imaginings.
Letting go of Ids foot and snaking my hands upwards to his crotch, I quickly undid the buttons of his fly with great difficulty, I might add, since the fabric of his trousers was stretched almost to breaking point over his fat, pendulous belly and the enormous erect prick which lay beneath it like a thick, coiled serpent.
At last I managed to free the big, throbbing cock from its confines, stroking and squeezing it and pressing it against my firm white tits, and feeling it tremble and pulse in my tender hands as though with a life of its own.
When, finally, I lowered my head and took David Hostridge's huge, veiny member between my moist, pouting lips, nipping lightly but insistently with my even, pearly teeth, I felt a tremendous shudder and a huge surge of emotion course through his body.
At that moment, mouth crammed full of hot, engorged prick, I became aware that two more individuals-men-had joined in the conversation.
'Justine! What a wonderful surprise! How glad I am to see you, ma cherie. I'd almost given up hope. Maurice and I travel back to Paris tomorrow and I feared we'd leave Lucerne without having had the opportunity to spend some time with you. You've met my friend, Maurice, I believe?'
'Indeed we have met, Pierre,' agreed an attractively distinctive male voice. 'Mademoiselle, I am delighted to have this opportunity of renewing our acquaintance/ Maurice politely kissed Justine's proffered hand in the charming French manner. 'But I do hope we haven't interrupted your conversation with this gentleman. Monsieur, I don't believe I've had the pleasure…'
Maurice, it is true, may not previously have had the pleasure, but the gentleman referred to was at that precise moment enjoying pleasure of the most intense and exquisite kind, and showing every sign of inadvertently proclaiming his joy to the entire salon.
'Ahhh… No, no, I don't believe we have… Ooh, ooh, ooh!'
'Forgive me, sir, but are you entirely well?' asked Pierre, placing a solicitous hand on the older man's arm.
'Why, yes! Perfectly well, thank you… aargh, aargh, aargh! Just a spot of indigestion, I fear. Must have been those Florentines. Poor old insides can't stand the strain of too much rich food these days. Ha, ha, ha… AARGH!'
With that, the lecherous old devil shot his salty spunk into my busy mouth, as I continued to suck lustily on his game old tool, milking it dry and smacking my lips with libidinous pleasure.
Red-faced with shock and embarrassment, and thoroughly chastened by the experience of spunking before an audience, Mr. Hostridge stuffed his rapidly deflating cock back into his trousers, rose unsteadily to his feet and muttered an unlikely excuse about a prior engagement with a colleague on the other side of town, whereupon he shuffled away, hunched over in an effort to disguise the damp stain at the front of his semi-unfastened nether garments.
Wordlessly, Pierre and Maurice watched him go with looks of amused puzzlement, while I rose from beneath the damask tablecloth like Venus from the waves, glowing with triumph and satisfaction at the knowledge of a job well done.
'I don't believe you've met my friend,' smiled Justine. 'Rosie D'Argosse, absolutely the wickedest, naughtiest girl at Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies!'
The two young men stood speechless for a moment or two, eyes and mouths wide in amazement, before the truth finally dawned and the comedy of the situation prompted them to laugh out loud.
Pulling themselves together and remembering their manners, they took one of my hands each, planting gentle kisses thereon by way of introduction, all the while gazing into my eyes with delight and anticipation. They, too, it would seem had caught a glimpse of the sensual pleasures to follow.
An hour later, Pierre, Maurice, Justine and myself found ourselves comfortably settled and delightfully engaged in the luxury, two-bedroomed suite which the two young men were sharing at l'Hotel Candide.
The long drapes at the windows were modestly drawn in Maurice's bedroom, bathing everything and everyone in a warm, peachy glow but, to be frank, that was all that was modest about the voluptuous scene within.
All four of us were sitting or lying, as naked as the days we were born, on Maurice's large double bed. Two empty bottles of champagne lay, discarded, on the floor beside us. The warm atmosphere in the room lay heavily on our senses like a richly scented, sexual-charged cloud. A tray of assorted cream confections beckoned us, temptingly, from the bedside table.
Languidly, Maurice raised himself up from his prone position on the crumpled, musky sheets and lazily leaned on one elbow. 'Well, my beauties, which of you is going to volunteer to offer me one of those delicious cakes in a way I can't refuse? A prize for the girl who dares!' Raising his eyebrows in an attitude of enquiry and sexily narrowing his eyes, he glanced from one to the other of us, expectantly, his gaze eventually falling on me alone with a look of smouldering passion.
Long, lean and lightly muscled with dark, curly hair and a close-cropped beard, Maurice was everything I'd hoped he'd be-and more. He was all the things I looked for in a man, and the moment I'd set eyes on him my heart had skipped a beat.
Now, with the memory of our recent stimulating conversation fresh in my mind (which had shown that we had a great deal more in common than a fancy for each other's bodies), and at the sight of his magnificent, long prick which was slowly rising against his belly, pulsing with life and a need to possess, I desired only to give myself to him-totally, absolutely and irrevocably.
Never before had I felt this way about a man and, goodness knows, I'd known men aplenty, despite my tender years. Used always to being in full control of my amorous relationships, this particular man had reduced me to so much putty in his hands, wanting only to be shaped and moulded into a thing of beauty and life and passionate feeling between those sensitive, artistic fingers. Could I, for the first time in my life, have fallen in love?
Gazing back at him, heavy lidded and gently inhaling the heady, male scent of his body, I reached across and plucked a cream cake from the table beside the bed. Teasingly I took a delicious bite, then licked the cream from my lips like a naughty kitten before gracefully reclining on the crumpled bed.
Scooping two dollops of thick cream from the centre of the rich confection, I tenderly deposited them on the very tips of my engorged strawberry nipples which, already, were aching to be licked and sucked by the man of my dreams who lay before me, transfixed and softly panting with mounting excitement.
Taking another scoop of cream, I lay back fully on the bed, spread my long legs with the grace of a dancer and sensually anointed my hot, aching pussey which throbbed in unison with my love-sick heart and longed like never before to be filled to bursting with my wondrous new lover's prick.
Thus garnished I turned my sexy blonde head to face Maurice, eyes burning with lust and as yet unrequited love. Then, as if by magic, I found that we had been granted the entire bed to ourselves. Pierre and Justine, no doubt inflamed by my erotic display with the whipped cream and Maurice's obvious complicity in the warm, highly sexual gastronomic scene which would surely follow, had tactfully retired to Pierre's room and were, even now, engaged in eroticisms of their own.
Alone at last with my lover, I spread my gentle arms and my long, slim legs as far as they would go, willing Maurice to enter me and make me his with a ferocity I'd never previously known.
And I am glad to say that Maurice did not disappoint me. With a low groan he fell upon my breasts and my nipples topped with whipped cream, sucking and feeding upon them like a hungry babe until tears of joy pricked my eyes and, with a sob, I begged him to attend to the sultry haven between my legs.
Lowering his dark, tousled head he licked the rich cream from my dark, throbbing cunt, rubbing his nose and stubbly chin against my unbelievably sensitive clitoris and making me cry out with exquisite pleasure.
Unable to bear the sweet pain of his tongue a moment longer and desperate to be filled with his big, throbbing cock I took hold of his broad suntanned shoulders and pulled, his face up to meet mine.
At the same time as he thrust his eager tongue between my welcoming lips, exploring the deepest recesses of my mouth, his erect cock entered my hot cunt, pushing and thrusting with vitality and vigour until, with mutual passion, we cried out with joy at our simultaneous orgasm.
Moments later we tenderly kissed and our bodies entwined. From the next room we heard Pierre and Justine reach their passionate climax. Faces almost touching, Maurice and I smiled into each other's eyes. God was in his heaven and all was right with the world…