I murmured, brushing away a stray lock of hair from her face.
'Well, naturally I wouldn't have let you spunk inside me without a johnny if I had not already taken precautions,' she said indignantly. 'And I would be very upset if the thought ever crossed your mind that I let any Tom, Dick or Harry fuck me.' 'It never crossed my mind and I assure you that I did not mean to imply any such dreadful imputation,' I said hastily. 'Furthermore I don't think you are wrong to love fucking – I also can't think of a nicer way to spend my time and after all, if the parsons are right to condemn intercourse except for the purpose of procreation, why did our Creator make love-making so pleasurable if he did not want us to enjoy it?' To my astonishment my rhetorical question was answered! 'I could not agree more with you. Apes have been observed to finish their sexual union in six seconds, the male using some seven or eight thrusts of the phallus to complete the act. Would the puritanically inclined wish us to behave in such fashion? Is this a benchmark to which we should aspire?' said a fruity male voice by the door. I sat up in shock at this interruption but Marianne appeared to be very little disturbed by the stranger's entrance. 'Don't fuss, Rupert,' she said soothingly.
'It's only our host who I am sure has come up here only to make sure that we are having a jolly time.' By Gad, she was absolutely right regarding the identity of the intruder for this uninvited visitor was indeed none other than our host, Professor Webb. He stood at the foot of the bed and flourished what must have been a spare key of the door before putting it back in his pocket. He beamed at us and said: 'You're not too tired to accommodate a fresh cock, are you, Marianne?' 'So long as it's rock-hard and ready to do its duty,' she answered. And before I could venture to give my opinion on the matter, our host was unbuckling his trousers and sitting down on the bed to bend down and take off his shoes and socks. 'I do owe Simon a good fuck, you remember. I had no time even to suck his cock before the party began after he had creamed my cunney so superbly with his mouth.' 'Be my guest. Professor,' I said rather sourly and moved across the bed as our uninvited guest climbed into bed with us.
Although the bed was large, we only just had enough room to allow him in with us. For he was naturally broad shouldered and over the years had developed a corpulent figure which tended to sag somewhat without the power of doming to pull him into shape. But there was nothing amiss with his massive love truncheon which stood out from a mass of grey-flecked ginger hair at the base of his belly. He climbed rather awkwardly on top of Marianne and I must say that I was concerned that her tight little crack might make it difficult to take in such a mighty weapon. But perhaps because she had just absorbed my own sizeable prick, even a shaft the girth of the Professor's presented no problems for her and I watched in awe as the gigantic crown of the Professor's cock slid between Marianne's pouting cunney lips. He took a deep breath and then let out a deep growl of satisfaction as inch by inch his thick tool disappeared inside her warm, juicy pit.
There, do you like my thick prick slipping into your juicy cunt, m'dear?' he asked roguishly.
“Yes, I love it. Push it all in, you randy cocksman!' she gasped, but teasingly he pulled back and she wailed with dismay as with a passionate jolt of his loins the randy pedagogue plunged it in again, which made her roll her hips and clasp her legs around his waist whilst his large hairy ballsack banged against her bum.
They fucked away in joyful unison, with Marianne clutching his ample buttocks to draw him even closer inside her and they heaved merrily away as he screwed his shaft in and around her luscious crack.
'Oh what a perfect pussey! How it sucks and clasps my cock!
A-h-r-e, I'm coming, I'm coming, I can't hold back!' he groaned and she panted: 'It's all right, don't worry-I'm almost there too.
Shoot your spunk, you thick-pricked fucker!' These lewd words sent them both passing the point of no return and the lewd pair gloried in the joys of an unforced simultaneous spend as they writhed around in ecstasy with Marianne's pussey awash with the Professor's jism as well as the love juices flowing freely from her own cunney.
Then, when they had completed the course, he moved off her, flopping over to lie down on her side that was furthest from me. Watching this erotic exhibition had so excited my flaccid cock that it had swollen back up again in a fine state of erect stiffness. I rolled over back to Marianne and began to kiss and cuddle her. The insatiable girl relished the idea of a further fuck and responded by embracing me whilst I played with her titties. I guided my hand between her legs and parting her cunney lips with my fingers, began to massage her wet pussey which made her purr with pleasure. Shortly her bottom began to jerk up and down to the rhythm of my frigging and she opened her legs wider to receive me as I clambered on top of her. We were both leaning on our sides as with a squelchy swishy sound my cock slid into her sopping love channel. Marianne rotated her hips, working her soft, wet flesh against my hot, hard shaft as I matched her rhythm, letting my length slide in and out of her clinging dampness until our surging cries of fulfillment echoed round the room as her cunt milked my prick which was thrusting faster and faster out of her sated body.
'Aaah! Aaah! One last push!' she screamed out and she bucked and twisted under me as her spend sent thrilling waves of electric delight crashing through every fibre of her being. She arched her hips and with a huge final shudder, sank happily into the bliss that follows the draining of love's reservoir. When we had all regained our strength, the three of us spent the rest of the night engaged in further fucking and sucking. I think my favourite position was fucking Marianne's cock-hungry cunney whilst she lustily sucked on the Professor's prick, though we tried several variations on this and similar themes until the first rays of daylight heralded the dawn.
After bidding the others farewell (for neither Marianne nor the Professor needed to rise at an early hour), I walked back to college with some difficulty, taking only small, bandy-legged steps as my over-indulgence had left me saddle-sore. God knows how long Marianne will need to recover from her all-night orgy, I thought as I hauled myself up the stairs to my room. There's just time for forty winks before breakfast, I decided whilst taking off my coat and dinner jacket, and without further ado I threw myself down upon my bed. But I was so completely worn out from the violent erotic excesses in which I had participated, that, this time being without the kind assistance of Nancy, I fell into a deep sleep from which I did not awake until shortly after eleven o'clock. Still, both my mind and body felt refreshed when I finally awoke, and after undertaking what my fellow undergraduates rather vulgarly know as a triple S, I was ready to face the day. Unfortunately, I had missed a seminar on the law of property, which meant that I had inadvertently broken the promise which those readers with good memories will recall I had made to my godfather about diligent attendance at lectures during my first year as a student. However, I did not feel too badly about this as the offence was not one committed deliberately and most fellows cut some work at some time or other without getting into any trouble. Mind, this did not hold good for one poor fellow who was summoned to the office of the famous Oxford don Dr Spooner, who when excited would often transpose the initial sounds of pairs of words, and was told by the angry don: 'You have hissed all my mystery lectures and are suspended from your studies. Leave college immediately by the next town drain.'
To make up for taking the morning to recover from the night before, I resolved to spend the rest of the day in the library. But as I was about to leave my room I noticed that a letter had been placed under the door. I did not recognise the writing which I deduced to be in a feminine hand but decided to take the envelope with me and read the letter in the common-room over a cup of coffee before I shut myself up in the library. Who could be writing to me? I opened the envelope and found to my disappointment that the scribe was Chrissie Nayland-Hunt and that she was the bearer of sad tidings…
For the record, I reproduce her letter and the missive which accompanied it:
Dear Rupert, I am sorry to tell you that Salma
n Marrari has been forced to postpone his visit to Oxford this weekend. I enclose his letter which is self-explanatory. Do let me have it back as he writes so well that I become greatly excited just reading it.
Still, I hope we can still dine together on Friday night though I will quite understand if you prefer to cancel our arrangement.
Love, Chrissie
Salman's letter read as follows:
Darling Chrissie, It is with heartfelt apologies that I must write to say it will not be possible to come to Oxford on Friday. My uncle Pandit, who is one of the members of an important Indian governmental consultative council on native education, has arrived in Britain for a short visit and naturally he wishes to see me this coming weekend in London. You will understand, I am sure, that this is an invitation which I cannot refuse. Perhaps you will let me know whether you will be free in two weeks' time and I can come over to see you and Rupert then. Perhaps you would ask Rupert to tell Frank Folkestone of my visit so we can have a reunion of our old gang from St Lionel's. I know you'll be back here in Cambridge by then but would you mind going back to Oxford as I would so like to see my old school chums again. However, wherever we do meet is no great matter so long as we see each other very soon. Chrissie, it is you who I will miss most on Friday, for I had planned a weekend ofY amour which will now have to wait for at least a fortnight. Shall I tell you what I had in mind and what I still hope will happen when we finally do manage to see each other again?
Do you remember how we first made love this summer after watching the lawn-tennis championships at Wimbledon? We had just eaten strawberries and cream and were sitting in my carriage which had the blinds drawn when I leaned over and kissed you and then one thing led to another and the carriage rocked so violently that we startled the horses which began to neigh and chafe at the bit. Wasn't it lucky that they calmed down before old Johnstone the driver returned! Ah, the memory makes my prick harden up as I recall that delightful afternoon! But enough of the past-let me look forward to the future and I'll tell you what I have in store once we are together. I shall place you naked on a cool white sheet on my bed and smear your quivering soft body all over with cream from a large bowl into which I will dip my bursting cock and then, taking hold of my shaft and using it like a paintbrush, plaster your sumptuous breasts and the crisp dark curls of your pussey hair with cream from my cock. Then I'll take a big banana, peel it and roll it over your titties until it is covered in cream and then slide it between your moist pussey lips deep inside your cunney, leaving only a little piece sticking out. Then I'd place my head between your legs and eat the sticky fruit, drawing it out slowly piece by piece as I taste the delicious mixed aroma of banana and cream laced with cunney juice!
Here Chrissie scribbled a note in the margin: 'I'd love to have my bubbies smothered in cream, perhaps with a cherry on each nipple-so long as I had the right man to eat them and lick it all off, of course!' Now you know, dear Chrissie, that we promised never to keep any secrets from each other. So I will not hold back from recounting what occurred last Thursday afternoon when I went into town to buy you an 'unbirthday' present which I had planned to bring with me to Oxford this weekend. My original idea was to buy you a book but whilst browsing through the shelves at Heffer's, I bumped into Johnny Crawford, a fellow member of the University Polo Club, and when I told him that I was searching for a present for my girlfriend, he suggested that I go down the road and purchase something suitable in Madame Antoinette's French lingerie shop in Green Street instead. I protested that I had never been inside such a shop before but he dismissed my fears, saying with a strange smile upon his face: There is no need to feel apprehensive. From my own experience, Salman, I can tell you that Madame Antoinette's girls give a splendid personal service to all their clients, both ladies and gentlemen alike.'
Well, it was worth a look, I thought, so I thanked Johnny and made my way to Madame Antoinette's, a small establishment tucked away in an alley set between two large emporiums. I felt slightly embarrassed at going into such a shop but nobody had seen me go into the alley so I screwed up my courage and opened the lace-curtained door. At first there appeared to be no-one inside the place as well, but in a few moments a young sales girl came through from the back of the shop. 'Bonjour, monsieur, can I help you?' she asked. I looked at her with interest. She was a slim brunette with long, curly hair and despite having probably worked in the shop all day, her flawless skin still had a fresh, vibrant glow. She was dressed in a dark skirt and a white open necked blouse which exposed enough cleavage to make my prick stir in my trousers, especially when she leaned forward to pick up her tape measure which had fallen to the floor. 'Madame Antoinette?' I asked nervously and she showed a set of dazzling white teeth when she smiled and replied: 'Mais non, monsieur, my name is Cherie, Madame Antoinette's niece, and I am helping her run her shop whilst I am staying in Cambridge to gain more practice in speaking English. Tell me, are you also learning English here, monsieur, ah, I don't think you mentioned your name?' 'Salman, Prince Salman Marrari at your service, mademoiselle. And no, I am studying science at the University, because English happens to be my mother tongue, the language in which I think and the one in which I can best express myself to other people. But I am fluent enough in Hindi and Gujarati, which occasionally we speak back home to our servants or when we don't want the British to understand us!' She chuckled at this and I added that I wanted to buy something for my girlfriend who I was seeing soon far a weekend reunion. 'I would like something elegant yet revealing far she has a lovely figure, much like yours,' I said boldly and Cherie put her hand on my arm and said: Then in that case I will model one or two garments for you.' She looked up at the clock and said: 'Good, it is near enough closing time,' and she drew a bolt across the door and hung the closed sign on it. I sat down whilst she went back into the back office which doubled as a showroom.
In just a few minutes she emerged wearing a negligee of such fine silk that it was almost transparent. She was wearing nothing underneath the negligee and I could make out the rounded globes of her bottom as she executed a little pirouette in front of me and the dark buttons of her nipples pushed out provocatively from their light covering.
Cherie must have seen my cock shoot up when she smoothed her fingers over her firm breasts, far then she rubbed her nipples against the palms of her hands and said softly: 'Does your girlfriend have sensitive titties, Salman?' Unable to speak, I simply nodded and she continued: 'I wonder whether they are as sensitive as mine. Would you care to help me find out?' The gorgeous girl giggled as she saw me blush but though I was still speechless, she nevertheless sat down on my lap and putting an arm around my neck, pulled my face to her breasts. I threw my arm around her waist and pulled up the frilly garment so that I could see her firm, jutting breasts which were topped with large, nut-brown nipples which I tweaked between my fingers. 'Suck my titties, Salman,' she moaned and I complied, rolling the erect, rubbery flesh between my teeth, nibbling gently on one nipple and then the other as Cherie squirmed in ecstasy. Now in my experience, playing with titties is a prelude to the main event but Cherie needed nothing more as, shaking all over, she spent with a happy little yelp of delight. “Wait a moment and let me show you something else,' she panted as she returned to the dressing room. My poor prick, which was already threatening to burst out from my trousers, now throbbed uncontrollably as Cherie re-entered the shop naked except for a pair of lace crotchless knickers which made the ravishing girl look even more inviting, especially when she turned her back and bent over the counter, spreading her legs to reveal her glistening wet cunney framed by twin trails of white lace. Now Chrissie, I have always been true to you, darling, in my fashion. Yes, I've always been true to you darling in my way-but I will have to confess that I found this erotic tableau simply too exciting to bear and I ripped open my trousers and grasping my cock in one hand and wrapping my other arm around her waist so that I could again play with her titties, I eased my knob between her bum cheeks and sank in to the h
ilt. Wisps of frilly lace tickled my shaft as I pumped in and out of her juicy cunt and what made the love-making even more thrilling was that I could see myself fucking this delicious girl in the long mirror on the wall in front of us. Watching our naked bodies heaving and shoving was so stimulating that I spent very quickly, shooting a torrent of sperm deep inside her longing pussey. Straightening up, she turned and stood before me, rotating her hips in a tight rhythm. Obviously she had not yet spent a second time so I dropped to my knees and breathed in her musky aroma as I fingered her cunney and began to massage her ditty. 'Ah, c'est magnifique! Continuez, conti-nuez!' she yelped as I licked and lapped around her pussey lips.
The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.II Page 14
