Goldhill that if he would not disturb her until noon, she would suck his cock as soon as she had woken up, which sounded a most equitable arrangement to my way of thinking. Frank was too tired even to put on his pyjamas, let alone to retire to his own room, so we snuggled up together, quite nude, under the eiderdown. I was the first to wake, and though my balls had been emptied more times than I could remember the night before, miraculously they were full again and my cock was standing up majestically to attention. I looked down and saw that Frank's truncheon was in the same fine condition. He was still half-asleep when I took his hand and brought it down to my stiffstander, and he moved his fingers in compliance once I had moved them up and down my tingling staff. I then grasped hold of my pal's tremendous tadger and pumped away with my fist. Simultaneously we spent together, our cocks spurting their gummy essence over the sparse covering of hair around the bases of our shafts and onto our bellies.
'Damn, we've made the sheet sticky,' said Frank. I peered down and said: 'I wouldn't worry, old boy, look how stained the sheet is from last night cavortings!' But before Frank could reply, there was a brisk knock-knock at the door and in came Sally with my early morning cup of tea. Frank dived beneath the bed-clothes as she put the tray down and went over to the windows to pull open the curtains.
'Good morning, Master Rupert,' she said cheerily. 'Wake up now, it's gone eight o'clock and it's time to get up.' She moved across to the bed and of course immediately saw through Frank's inadequate camouflage. 'Who's that in bed with you, then?* she asked brightly.
'Let's have a look.' And before I could prevent it, she threw back the eiderdown to discover that it was Frank cowering besides me and that we were both naked. 'Dear me, I would have thought you two were old enough and experienced enough to prefer real fucking to playing with each other,' she said reproachfully. 'We are too,' muttered Frank, 'but I was too sleepy from all the fucking last night to go back to my room.' 'Well, it's just as well I came in here first,' commented Sally, 'for if I had gone into your room and found that the bed had not been slept in, I might have raised the alarm and then goodness knows what might have happened.' Thank goodness you didn't, Sally, we're very grateful.' I said, covering Frank and myself up with the eiderdown. 'You don't have to be shy! she said. 'I've seen what you've got to offer before, remember? I'm a bit miffed, though, that you didn't tell me that there was some fucking going on because I would have loved to have joined in. Who was with you? It couldn't have been Katie Harbottle because I saw her leave with her parents and anyhow she fancies that spry Yankee gentleman Mr. Nolan.'
You can't keep anything secret from the servants, I thought, but when Sally asked me again which girls had been sharing our bed I shook my head.*You wouldn't like it if it had been you and someone else had asked the next day,' I said reprovingly.*You're quite right.
Master Rupert. It's a right good maxim for both boys and girls never to tell your friends who you're fucking, unless they pass on the clap in which case you must tell everybody who'll listen to you.' She may have only been a humble servant-girl but her pithy, blunt words should always be remembered by those engaged in any kind of fucking.
Sally looked again and saw that some of the spunk stains on the sheet were fresh. 'Have«you two just been tossing each other off? What a pity, I'm sure you would have enjoyed it even more if you'd have let me do it for you.' 'I'm sure we would have done, Sally,' agreed Frank with a touch of sarcasm in his voice as he tried unsuccessfully to rub his tool up to its former stiffness for her approval. 'But then we didn't know you would be bringing us early morning tea let alone providing any hand relief.' 'Oh yes, I wank any gentlemen guests at Albion Towers who request my services,' said Sally as she sat down on the bed. 'I would have seen to that American Mr. Nolan but he was taking a bath when I knocked on his door and he didn't ask me to do anything for him except to shut the door behind me when I left his room.' I looked at her in disbelief. 'What about Mama's cousins, the Reverend Horace Dumpole, who stayed with us for a week earlier this year? You're surely not telling-' She laughed heartily at my naivete. The Reverend Horace? Surely you must be joking, Master Rupert. Why, he was one of the gamest boys I've ever seen. After he found out what I would do for him, every morning regular as clockwork he'd be lying naked on his bed waiting for me, fondling his shaft as if he could hardly wait. Mind, he was shy at first,' she added thoughtfully. 'What happened was that on the second day of his visit I took him his tea and when I leaned over to put down the tray, I made sure he got a good look at my breasts. I'd kept the top buttons undone, you see, and my chemise was cut so low that he could easily hardly fail to see my titties when I bent over him. I could see how excited he was because his hands were shaking so much when I gave him his tea that he spilled most of it into the saucer! Anyhow, I took the cup away and told him to take off his nightshirt as he'd spilled tea all over it and it would be best if I put it in the wash straightaway.
'He protested at first but after a little persuasion off came the nightshirt. But as he handed it to me you will never guess what I noticed lying on the bed-it was a copy of The Intimate Memoirs Of Jenny Everleigh! “My, my,” I joked. “I would have thought that this was rather a rude book for a Man of the Cloth.” He blushed a deep shade of puce and said: “Ah, yes, er, yes, well, the truth of the matter is that I borrowed this book to illustrate to my flock what kind of unsuitable material there is available at certain bookshops and how careful good people must be not to buy such publications in error when for example they might wish to purchase The Recollections of Reverend James Everleigh, the former Bishop of Swaziland, which is a very different volume indeed, I can assure you.” '“I'm sure it is, your Reverence,” I giggled, “and I'm sure it is a very worthy book as well but it wouldn't give rise to spunk stains on your sheets.”
“There aren't any spunk stains, I always use my handkerchief,” said Horace indignantly and then he clapped his hand to his mouth for he realised that he'd given the game away! '“Now, now, don't be a silly boy, there's nothing wrong at all with taking yourself in hand once in a while,” I said soothingly and lifted up the eiderdown to look for myself at what this ecclesiastical gentleman had to offer. I was pleasantly surprised to see a fine-looking specimen hanging over his thigh, while resting on the sheet below his shaft lay a very heavy pair of balls. I passed my tongue hungrily over my lips for it had been three days since I had any canoodling. Goldhill had been busy seeing to Polly as usual and my boy friend Jack the blacksmith's son had been laid up with influenza. So I took off my blouse and skirt and sat down on the bed clad only in my chemise. '“My child, what in the name of heaven are you doing?” stammered the Reverend Horace Dumpole. '“I thought you might like to hear my confession. I've got quite a few juicy stories to get off my chests,” I said.
'“Surely you mean chest,” he corrected me. '“Oh no, chests, both of them,” I chuckled, quickly slipping off the chemise and pressing my bare bubbies together which made him gasp. His trouser snake began to stir under the bedclothes. “Would you like to hear my confession or not?” I demanded, climbing up on top of him. '“I would love to, my dear, but you see I am not a Catholic,” he said regretfully. '“Well, neither am I but you can still listen to them if you like!” I said, as teasingly I dangled my breasts up and down his body, just grazing his skin with my tawny titties. Moving down, I could see his erect cock throbbing with excitement so I lowered my nipples on to his knob and just brushed it. I knew he wouldn't last long and I only had to repeat this three more times before he shot an immense white fountain of sperm up over his belly.
His cock twitched so powerfully that a few flying drops of spunk caught me on my breasts. Oooh, this did make me feel randy especially as I let my titties slide in the little pools of jism on his tummy. I lifted my nips up and licked up the sticky cream as best I could.'
Of course, by now, Frank and I both sported capital stiffstanders and Sally took hold of them in her hands as she continued: 'He was a nice chap, old Horace, and after w
hat I have just told you about he always left me half a crown on the bedside table each morning as a tip for bringing in his early morning tea to his room.' 'And of course, for his daily wank!' I commented. 'Oh no, Master Rupert, I didn't rub his prick every day,' said Sally. 'You didn't?'
'No, occasionally I would suck him off!' she chuckled. 'He gave me a ten shilling note for that which I thought was very generous. On his last morning when I came in he had already taken his bath and was sitting on the bed in his undershorts. He must have been thinking about me because I could see the purple knob of his prick had reared up above the waistband of his drawers. I set down my tray and without a word undressed until I stood naked except for my chemise. With trembling hands he pulled down the shoulder straps and caressed my titties until my pussey was as moist as anything. I pulled off his shorts and his stiff veiny shaft sprang free and I kissed the uncapped helmet whilst fondling his huge balls. 'He leaned forward and kissed my neck and he lifted me across to the dressing table. I sat on it and opened my legs and buried his face between my unresisting thighs. He sucked up all the love juice that was trickling down from my cunney and then his tongue found its way further until it found my ditty. He chewed on it which almost sent me off then and there but with a groan he carried me back to the bed and I lay on my back, my swollen sex lips waiting for his swollen tool. He groaned and then thrust his shaft straight in my cunt without the least difficulty. His heavy ballsack slapped against my wet bum as I wrapped my legs until he spurted his juicy froth inside me in a marvellous mutual spend.'
That was surely worth more than ten bob,' said Frank, panting slightly as Sally was now wanking both our cocks by rubbing our shafts against the soft velvety skin of her inner arms. 'You're right there, Master Frank, he pressed a pound note into my hand after we had both dressed,' she said complacently. 'You must be quite a wealthy young miss,' I said laughingly. 'Not really,' said Sally.
'I enjoy sucking and fucking but would never do it just for money. I wouldn't even have taken the presents Horace and other gentleman have given me but I'm helping my brother Tom through college. He won the Sir Louis Baum Scholarship to Oxford University last year. But he always needs money for his living expenses and there are so many books that he has to buy.' 'What is he studying?' I said, breathing in heavily as Sally had now changed her style to tossing us off more slowly by making a circle with her forefinger and thumb and rubbing up and down the length of our cocks, barely touching the skin but chafing deliciously against the ridges of our knobs. 'He's taking a degree in Politics, Philosophy and Economics. Tom's a fervent Socialist and wants to become a Member of Parliament.' 'Never mind about those members, here's a member which is about to spout cock juice!' interrupted Frank as my own prick started to jerk uncontrollably in Sally's hand. We spunked almost together and Sally leaned forward to lick one cock and then the other, licking and lapping the jism that flew out of our bursting shafts. Alas, we did not have time to repay the compliment though both of us would have appreciated a lesson in muff-diving from the gorgeous girl. But, hopefully, this would come at a later time. 'By the by, Master Rupert,' said Sally as she walked to the door. 'I couldn't help reading that lovely poem you wrote to Miss Wigmore which I saw in your exercise book. Now I don't want any money from you or Master Frank but I'd be very happy if you wrote a few verses for me to put in my scrapbook. Would you do that for me?' As I said just before, you simply cannot keep anything secret from the servants! I should have reported her to Mr. Goldhill for looking in my bedside drawer, but she had more than repaid this trifling wrongdoing! And her request for a keepsake was hardly a bothersome imposition. 'Very well, Sally, Frank and I will spend the morning composing an ode to you, on the condition that you don't show it to all and sundry in the servants' hall downstairs,' I said with a grin. 'I promise I won't, Master Rupert, never fear,' she replied as she opened the door. 'Shall I tell your Dad that you'll be down for breakfast in half an hour? You know how shirty he gets if you aren't at the table by half past eight and it's nearly twenty past eight already!' Sally was right about my father's mood when Frank and I finally came down to breakfast. 'What sort of time do you call this?' he demanded. 'Young Folkestone, I'm sure your house has finished breakfast at this late hour.' Frank nodded weakly as he helped himself to tea and toast. 'Is that all you're having? There's bacon, eggs, sausages, kedgeree and Mrs.
Randall will cook you a steak if that takes your fancy.' 'No thank you very much, sir, I rarely eat a cooked breakfast,' replied Frank politely. 'H'rumph, well, you must keep your strength up,' remarked my father and I muttered to my chum that he could have said that at least one portion of his anatomy was being kept up without any problem! My mother, who had been perusing the Manchester Guardian, looked up and said: 'Have you two boys forgotten that Mr. Nolan is making a film this morning? He left a message to say that if you are interested in seeing him at work he has gone to Knaresborough Castle.
Your father has provided him with a horse and cart and he left here about an hour ago.' Great Scott! In all the excitement of our late night and early morning escapades I had forgotten all about our American film-maker. 'Fred Nolan's a damned fine horseman,' grunted my father. 'I offered him the choice of a motor vehicle or the services of one of our coachmen but he declined, saying that he preferred to take the reins himself. But then he spent a year down in Texas as a cowboy so I suppose that's where he became such an expert.' 'Can we ride over there?' I asked.. 'Certainly not, it's only two miles and you're best to hike it. I daresay you can travel back with Mr. Nolan but a brisk morning constitutional will do you good. You both look a bit pasty round the gills this morning. Mind, I don't know why either of you should both look so tired, neither of you took any exercise yesterday.' Little did he know!
CHAPTER FOUR. Captured On Camera
Frederick Nolan was a fortunate man, because the fickle English climate decided to greet our visitor from America with a morning of brilliant summer sunshine. Not even a hint of cloud could be seen in the morning sky as Frank and I trudged up the high road to Burbeck Field, whence Mr. Nolan had been directed by my parents.
Although the walk was not of a great distance, most of the journey was uphill, for Knaresborough stands on the summit of a hill overlooking the River Nidd. When we reached the outskirts it was easy to see why Mr. Nolan had been recommended to use this location, for the luxuriant woods by which the little town is surrounded, the winding river at its foot, the venerable cottages, placed tier above tier on the face of the rock, the ruined castle and the old church combine to make up a most beautiful picture. 'Take the footpath just a hundred yards up the road on our right and Burbeck Field is behind the grove of silver birch trees you can see from here,' I said to Frank as we marched up Knaresborough Road. The field itself is private land owned by Diana Wigmore's father. It is marvellously shielded by the trees, so one has a glorious view of the castle with the benefit of almost complete privacy.' We made our way through the trees and we soon saw our horse and trap. Standing in his shirtsleeves behind a camera set up on a tripod was Mr. Nolan and in front of the camera was none other than Katie Harbottle, dressed or rather undressed in a flowing white gown through which one could clearly see the curved outlines of her figure. She was standing in a classical stance, with one leg moved slightly forward and with her arms outstretched arms, a pose which pressed her breasts against the fine covering and her nipples showed up darkly through the finely spun cotton where her breasts bulged against the almost transparent material. Frank and I exchanged a knowing glance-so this was how Mr. Nolan made moving pictures of the beauties of Yorkshire! Surprisingly, the couple did not seem embarrassed in the least by our presence. In fact, Mr. Nolan greeted us with a hearty 'Hi, fellows, what's been keeping you? Katie and I have been here for nearly two hours already.' He went on to explain that he wanted to make the first tableau vivant movie 'Shall we rehearse once more, Fred?' suggested Kate. 'It will certainly help to have an audience. Although you tell me I must always look at the camera, if the
boys stand with you, I can see whether they are enjoying my performance.' 'Great idea, kid,' he replied, diving behind a black cloth and making the final adjustments to the focus mechanism. 'Try it one more time and then we'll commit you to immortality on celluloid. I need the strong sunlight for a satisfactory exposure. You see, the showmen are becoming more fussy and won't now accept dark prints.' 'What do you mean by that, Mr.
Nolan?' asked Frank. 'Who are these showmen you mention?' 'I'll tell you later,' he promised. 'Okay, Katie, let's try it one more time.' On his command Kate swirled around, dancing nimbly around the relatively small area of the field which was in the range of Mr.
Nolan's camera. Then she slowed down to stand just six feet away from us and teasingly, tantalisingly let slip her robe to stand stark naked in front of us. What a voluptuous beauty was Kate and how we drank in the delights of her nudity. Her face was finely formed with dark silky hair falling down in curved ringlets onto her shoulders. Her breasts were luxuriantly large, hard and firm, as white as snow and tipped with delicately small nipples, that were already raised like two pink bullets. What a perfect picture of female pulchitrude she made!
We stood gaping whilst Fred Nolan reloaded his camera and Katie let her hands fall to brush her nipples softly and then passed them upwards to turn through her hair. The movement made her breasts lift and the flushed circles of her aureoles which ran around each nipple heightened in colour, framing the juicy tithe at die centre as if they were bulls' eyes on target boards. Frank and I were not alone in wriggling uncomfortably as our erect cocks battered against the material of our trousers. Frederick Nolan, however, was already one step ahead and was busy tugging off his braces. 'Now look here, Rupert,' said the American moving picture pioneer hurriedly, as he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. He ripped open his shirt and continued: Here's the chance of a lifetime for you to make moving picture history! I've put a new magazine of film in the camera and I want you to come over here and keep the camera pointing at the action whilst you wind this handle at a steady pace. Like this, do you understand? Now, Frank, you hold the camera steady and point the apparatus forward if Rupert asks you to when he will have to point the lens to the ground. When we begin filming, look at your watch-you have a second hand on it don't you? Good, now three minutes after Rupert begins turning the handle you call “cur”. Rupert then knows we have come to the end of the picture, so I will reload the camera. Get it?
The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.I Page 9
