'Yes, and how stimulating it could be to feel a quiver of delight run through the body of the girl you were stroking, to look in the mirror and see her blush as she shyly raised her bum to show that she welcomed your attention. Then would come the magic moment when you raised the nightdress over the hips and the white orbs of her bottom were exposed to be cupped, caressed or even lightly slapped. And ah, the delight if afterwards she welcomed the insertion of your finger into the dampness of her cunney, wriggling so sweetly as you prised open the yielding love lips. 'Beth and I often used this stratagem before starting to play games in bed, though perhaps we should not mention such sport to you,' added Esme with a saucy look.
'Oh, please go on, Esme, don't be a tease,' begged Barry. 'Rupert and I would really love to hear all about what you got up to together, wouldn't we, old chap?' Before I could answer (in the affirmative, of course!), Beth interrupted and said: 'All right, we'll tell you all but you must confess your early experiences to us afterwards.' This was a fair enough exchange so we agreed and settled down to listen to Esme, but she had little to say except that 'actions spoke louder than words' and so she and Beth would demonstrate what they often did, cuddled together in bed at St Trippett's, and this proved to be so exciting that Barry and I never got round to fulfilling our side of the bargain! Barry and I settled down to watch as the two girls entwined their arms lasciviously around each other. I looked again at Beth and how magnificent her breasts looked, rounded like two snowy white balloons topped with two cute, rosy nipples. She squeezed her legs tightly together and her right hand went down to snake its path through the golden silk of her blonde mound. She started to rub it gently with the palm of her hand and to move her backside slowly, lazily dipping her fingertip into her itching cunney. Esme now knelt beside her, stroking and fondling Beth's nipples as she removed the blonde girl's hand and replaced it with her own, inserting two fingers into her sticky pussey, jerking them in and out, whilst her thumb brushed over the erect ditty which protruded between Beth's cunney lips. This was but the hors d'oeuvre to the main course of a girls-only fuck because she rolled herself on top of Beth, taking care that her hand did not lose contact with the juicy love nest which was becoming more moist by the minute. Her apt fingers toyed with Beth's erect ditty as Esme breathed: 'What a gorgeous wet cunt you have, darling. Can you feel my fingers dipping in and out of your honeypot? Does that feel good-or would you prefer a big fat cock like Rupert's piercing you through and through?' Beth moaned an inaudible reply as Esme now kissed the damp yellow pussey hair around the cunney lips and her pretty pointed tongue licked lewdly along Beth's crack. She soon found her ditty, fully swollen as she sucked the little button, letting the very tip of her long tongue go around it in tiny circles. Barry and I craned our heads forward to watch her teeth nibble all along the glorious love slit, her pink tongue teasing Beth's tasty pussey with rasping licks.
'Oh! Oh!' Beth gasped, her eyes dosed in heavenly bliss and she took hold of Esme's tousled head in her hands. 'Oh, you tongue me so divinely, darling.' Her soft limbs quivered as Esme pressed her face even harder against Beth's cunney lips so that her tongue could delve even deeper and she lapped around the innermost walls of the orifice.
Beth writhed around in frenzied momentum as Esme's tongue, now glued to her cunney lips, worked sensuously inside the hole to be rewarded by a sustained flow of pungent love juice which she swallowed as Beth worked herself off with wild, rising cries of joy. Now it was Beth's turn to be the gentleman and she rolled off the bed and padded across to the table on which stood the tray of refreshments we had ordered. She brought back an empty bottle of champagne with her and then she took out a small jar of cold cream from her handbag. Barry and I looked on curiously as she turned Esme gently on to her side.
Beth's ideas for pleasuring the other girl soon became apparent as she rubbed the cream in and around Esme's wrinkled little bum hole, and the auburn-haired beauty wriggled deliriously, her smooth white globes jiggling as Beth lubricated her rear dimple. Then Beth took the champagne bottle and with great care slid the neck, which was as thick as my prick, into Esme's behind. The girl gave a cry of alarm but then her pretty face relaxed, the hazel eyes wide and appealing as Beth now began work in earnest. With one hand she manipulated Esme's sensitive cunney lips and ditty and with the other she moved the neck of the bottle back and forth gently in and out of Esme's anus. 'Aaaah!
Aaaah! Aaaah!' she cried out as Beth continued this inexorable masturbation. 'Oh Beth, you are a naughty girl to fuck my cunney and bum at the same time. All I need is a thick cock in my mouth and I will be filled to the brim. Where are you, Barry, I need you!'
This was all he had to hear-for like me, Barry's prick was now standing high against his belly and he shuffled forward, his prick in his hand, and to his delight Esme grabbed hold of it and her mouth opened greedily over his knob as she took it between her Lips, slurping lustily on the shaft, sending him into paroxyms of delight. I could no longer stand idly by and I crawled round behind Beth and parted her peach bottom cheeks and inserted two or three inches of my bursting prick into her damp cunt from behind. She turned her head so that our lips could meet and she drew my tongue into her mouth as she cleverly wriggled her bum so that I could embed my entire eight and a half inches of cock inside her. With a passionate jolt of our loins my shaft was fully inserted and she cried out in glee as I started to fuck her and our hips began to work away in unison. How tightly her dripping cunt enclasped my cock and we gloried with each tremendous thrust as her juices dripped upon my balls as they slapped against her arse. She threw back her head in ecstasy, tossing her blonde mane over her shoulders as she urged me to drive even deeper and with her firm bottom cheeks cupped in my broad palms, she writhed savagely whilst my sinewy shaft rammed its passage in and out of her soaking slit. I could feel the throbbing of Beth's excited pussey increase to boiling point as she screamed out her climax so loudly that I feared we might disturb other guests in the hotel. Her shuddering cries soon led to my twitching cock ejaculating great gushes of jism inside her cunney just as her orgasm was dying down, giving the sensual lady the pleasure of a second spend which arose from the sensation of my spunk hurtling into her love channel. Now Barry could contain himself no longer and he thrust his hips forward and his sperm spurted into Esme's waiting throat. She tried hard to swallow all of the creamy emission but he shot such a torrent between her lips that some of the fluid dripped down her chin and onto her breasts. This led to Beth increasing the speed of her finger-fucking of Esme's pussey and together with continued insertion of the champagne bottle up her bum soon brought off the sweet girl to a magnificent orgasm. This last 'whoresome foursome', as my first lovely partner-in-fucking Diana Wigmore was wont to call such jousts, completely exhausted us and we all fell fast asleep under the warm eiderdown Beth and I pulled across the bed. Our tangled limbs rested in comfort until the grey dawn of morning woke me from my slumber. The others still lay deep in the arms of Morpheus when as quietly as possible, I slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom to make my ablutions. Ah, what sweet recollections this memoir brings back to me, of how Beth, Esme and Barry lay naked on crushed and rumpled sheets whilst I watched the weak autumn sunlight caress the dreaming spires as the town woke up to another day. I looked out at the early risers walking down the street and I idly wondered how many of them had enjoyed as good a fucking (if at all) as Barry and I. An attractive dark-haired girl in jodhpurs strode towards the Bodleian Library and two or three male passers-by turned their heads to stare after her. I pondered as to what private thoughts were passing through her mind and those of her unknown secret admirers. What ideas were spinning around those people, hiding behind bland, expressionless faces, what lovers, real and imaginary were being wooed in their minds, what triumphs and failures-were being lived and relived in their daydreams? Take this girl who turned heads on this October morning, for instance; what were the thoughts of the young butcher's boy who was so entranced by the fetching swell of the
girl's buttocks tightly encased in the riding breeches which clung so lovingly to her figure, that he pulled his bicycle over to the kerb so he could gaze at the girl's delicious backside for a few moments more? Perhaps he was thinking of how he would like to see her peel off her clinging jodhpurs and expose her naked charms or maybe how she might caress his erect cock or even be persuaded to take his knob in her mouth? It is this gap between reality and fantasy, between what is and what might be or might have been which has for me been an endless source of fascination. Will the fucking of a particular girl turn out to be an anticlimax? Will the reality be but a pale imitation of the untrammelled adventures of the mind? Fantasy should not be discouraged for it represents perhaps the only time when one can be certain of taking the lead role in delicious daydreams in which one can become famous for whatever one wishes. All grievances can be righted, all one's actions will be applauded and, of course, a variety of the most gorgeous women in the entire world will be conquered almost without effort! Curmudgeonly critics may carp at fantasizing as a fruitless exercise-but surely the only harm in pursuing this occupation is when one finds it difficult to leave cloud-cuckoo land for the harsher world of reality upon which we have so little chance to influence the way events great and small unfold around us. The rays of the sun roused me from this reverie and I turned back to see that my companions were still asleep. But Beth lay on her back, her nude charms half uncovered by the bed-clothes which sent my prick rearing up to a fine hard stiffness. I gently climbed between her open legs and kissed her blonde furry pussey. Then I spread the pouting cunney lips with one hand and taking hold of my cock with the other, I lowered my uncapped helmet until it touched her pouting cunney lips. I managed to insinuate my knob inside her cunt without waking her. She made a few uneasy movements as I slowly withdrew my blue-veined pole but Beth slept on as this time I engulfed my staff fully into her love channel, overcome as she was by the fatigues of fucking the previous night. I would have liked to continue this delicate fuck but alas, tempus fugit, and I had to leave shortly to attend a lecture in political philosophy. So I was forced to begin heaving and bucking in earnest and this woke the pretty girl, who fondly kissed me, and we engaged in a wonderful contest, each striving to be first in climbing the mountain to the highest peak of pleasure.
My thrusts forward were met with her impetuous heaves upwards and as my shaft slid to the hairs inside her honeypot my balls knocked against Beth's thighs and the delicious wriggles of her splendid bottom soon roused me to an erotic fury. Our frenzied fucking woke Barry and Esme and they immediately copied our example. It was so arousing to see Esme's beautiful cleft in its hairy auburn grotto with the large white shaft of Barry's weapon appearing and disappearing through the luxuriant curly thatch of pussey hair as he drove his cock in and out of the open, rosy chink. Our frantic heaves and shoves were received and returned by our lusty partners with a gradually increasing intensity until we all four spent near enough simultaneously, swimming in a sea of lubricity as we melted away in a glorious excess of sensual rapture. We lay there for a while longer but then it was time to wash and dress and we ate a hearty breakfast. Barry paid the bill and we made arrangements to meet the girls again in a few days' time. 'Will you get into trouble for staying out all night?' I asked, much concerned that this escapade would have no serious consequences for the two lovely ladies.
'No, Mr. Holland the porter is very obliging and a half sovereign will buy his silence,' said Esme with a giggle as we exchanged fond kisses of farewell. 'How do you boys plan to get back into your rooms?' Barry explained that we hoped to enter our college through a secret back entrance our maidservant Nancy had shown us (we didn't venture any further information about the other services Nancy provided for her scholars!) and we waved goodbye as we walked through town. By taking the seldom-used side stairs that Nancy had pointed out, we managed to sneak into our college unnoticed and I hastily changed and ran down the stairs to the lecture hall just in time to take my place before our senior lecturer. Professor Simon 'Beaver' Webb, entered the room. He was a large, indeed somewhat corpulent gentleman with twinkling blue eyes and a luxuriant red beard which doubtless accounted for his admittedly vulgar nickname. An ardent supporter of the suffragettes, his radical views were hardly hidden in his dissertation on the so-called 'wild women' who were determined to change the country's social structure. But frankly, I was so tired after all the exertions of the previous night that my eyes fluttered shut more than once whilst the Professor gave us his views on why women should be allowed to vote. However, he became quite steamed up at the end of his lecture and I woke up with a start as he thundered: 'We must allow for the fact that there is no reason to suppose that in any respect women will show themselves superior in sagacity. Blunders will undoubtedly result occasionally from the new freedom when it finally arrives-and I say “when” and not “if” advisedly for the river of social progress can only be stemmed, it can never be rolled back. And if the new movement has no other effect than to rouse women to rebellion against the madness of producing large families, it would confer a priceless blessing on themselves and upon humanity!' A burst of applause came from a small group of girls from Girton College, Cambridge who had been specially invited with other students from London and Edinburgh to attend a special three day seminar presided over by Professor Webb on The Emancipation Of Women'.
Not all the undergraduates agreed with the Professor's sentiments however, and a few ill-mannered boors had the temerity to hiss as Professor Webb gathered up his papers. At first I thought the Professor was going to ignore the jeers but he changed his mind as he reached the door and he suddenly whirled round and accosted Lord Blaxonberry who had led the dissenters. 'So you and your friends do not approve of votes for women,' he snapped angrily. 'Perhaps you do not approve of votes for men either.' 'Not particularly,' the wealthy young landowner coolly replied. 'I would have to agree with you that the prevailing democratic tendency is the prevailing fashionable theory. The idea of government by the absolute majority has superseded the thought that government should be conducted for the benefit of all by the enlightened and capable-the genuine aristocracy in the strict sense of the word-who have been born and bred to such a task. 'In my view. Professor, the only benefit of granting women the franchise might be to show the innate fallacies inherent in the pernicious democratic doctrine and weaken the belief in the wisdom of purely popular government.' 'Stuff and nonsense!' called out a very pretty girl from just a few seats away from me. I would rather be governed by a council of working men who know at first hand the needs of the great majority of our citizens than a gathering of chinless drones who know nothing except how to idle away their days whilst the rest of their fellow countrymen engage in back-breaking toil.'
'Hear, hear! Well said!' I cried out loudly, and this interjection brought me a friendly smile from the speaker and a disdainful look of utter contempt from Lord Blaxonberry.
Professor Webb stroked his luxuriant red beard and said: 'Carry on, sir. What would you add to this discussion?' I thought carefully before rising to reply. I would just wish to add this thought, sir,' I said, trying as hard as possible to prevent my knees from shaking, as public speaking has always filled me with dread and was one of the major reasons why I recently refused the kind offer of Mr. Lloyd George to stand as the Liberal parliamentary candidate in the safe seat of West Gloucestershire during the recent General Election. There is no sadder sight in the world than that of a wasted life, yet how wantonly Society condemns to waste the lives of thousands upon thousands of bright, intelligent young women all over Britain whose powers are worn down and diminished by long courses of boring trivialities and mental stagnation.' Though I stand in danger of being labelled a braggart, I can truthfully record that my words were cheered to the echo, not least by the attractive girl whose own speech had sparked off my contribution. Professor Webb brought the discussion to a close and enjoined us to read a variety of books on female emancipation-both for and against -and told us to w
rite essays upon the subject that he wanted handed in to him in three weeks' time.
As we left the lecture hall, I smiled back at the girl whose cause I had supported and she made her way round to my desk and introduced herself. 'My name is Gillian Headleigh from Girton College, Cambridge and I'm the secretary of the college branch of the Cambridge Society For Women's Rights,' she said, holding out her hand. Thank you very much for supporting me against Lord Blaxonberry and his little coterie of silly young reactionary idiots.' 'I'm Rupert Mountjoy and I'm studying here at Balliol,' I said, shaking her preferred hand.
The authorities here are usually so stuffy about male and female undergraduates mixing together that I'm surprised you managed to obtain a pass to listen to Professor Webb's lecture.' She laughed and though we were talking of serious matters I could not help but be diverted by her mop of bright curls that set off her tiny, slightly retrousse nose and large cornflower-blue eyes which sparkled with promise. Her slim, lithe body was delightfully shown off by a close-fitting grey costume in the modern style, which accentuated the swell of her small but gorgeously rounded breasts that jutted proudly forward like two soft peaches ripe for my mouth… 'Doctor Blayers arranged it for a group of us to come over to Oxford and attend a number of lectures as part of our PPE course. There are many excellent scholars at Cambridge but it is generally agreed that Professor Webb is the most important figure in the drive towards social progress.' 'What a coincidence,' I exclaimed. I was at a party given by Doctor Blayers last night.' 'Yes, I was there too and I saw you talking to a pretty blonde girl,' she said with a little smile which showed two delicious dimples on either side of her lovely red lips. 'Would you like to take morning coffee with me?' I asked hurriedly, for I had no desire to let the conversation drift down this particular avenue! Gillian agreed and fortunately I had no further lectures until mid-afternoon so after coffee I was able to walk down with her to her lodgings in Pusey Street, just off the Woodstock Road. We chatted in animated fashion and by the time we reached the house in which Gillian and three other girls were staying for the week, almost to my surprise, I noticed that we were holding hands. 'I have some reading to catch up on,' she said, 'but you're welcome to join me if you are free,' I accepted this invitation with alacrity for the sun had come out and the weather was warm enough to sit outside, which I thought would be especially pleasant as the other girls were studying elsewhere and so we had the house to ourselves. I pulled out a rug and two deckchairs from the garden shed but Gillian sat herself down on the rug and of course I followed suit.
The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.II Page 4
