The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.I

by Rupert Mountjoy

  John Gibson of Edinburgh, a gentleman whose penis is reckoned to be perhaps the largest in all of Scotland.” '“Really now,” said Miss Miller. “Is Mr. Gibson still residing in Edinburgh? I plan to spend a few days there early next week and would appreciate an introduction.”

  She turned to Mr. Nolan and added: “You'll hardly credit it, Fred, but I've not had a good fuck since I came to England.” '“How terrible,” said Mr. Nolan as he took hold of the willing girl. “Let's put that right here and now! After all, we're old friends and I'm sure my companions will excuse me if I asked them to continue their stroll without me.” 'Campbell whipped out a notebook and said that he would walk on to a park bench a quarter of a mile or so up the road. I would have joined him but the fiery-haired American girl said: “Don't leave us, young man. You may learn something to your advantage.” 'Mr. Nolan looked a little dubious but then his face cleared and he said to me: “Oh yes, I quite forgot, Patsy prefers an audience whilst fucking which I suppose comes from performing so much on the stage. Come on, let's go behind the clump of trees over there. After all, you're welcome to watch, Frank, but we don't want to admit the general public-especially as they would be able to see for free!” 'I followed the couple down the hill to the place Mr. Nolan suggested and once we found an even piece of ground, I helped spread out the rug Miss Miller had brought with her and we laid it on the grass. Mr. Nolan quickly stripped off and lay down on his back, his prick waving upwards like a huge, veiny truncheon. Miss Miller laughed gaily as she stepped out of her dress and slipped off her chemise. She wore no knickers (it was because the day was so warm, she later confided) and she paraded her naked charms which gave me a stiffstander in no time. What a ravishing sight she was, Rupert, and I almost spent there and then as her firm, thrusting breasts swung gracefully as she pirouetted lightly on the balls of her feet, letting me see her delectable figure. Straightaway I recognised her pussey from the picture that had so attracted us. “The Unknown Cunt", as Campbell had called it, was none other than a clever self-portrait for there in all its glory was the pouting little crack inside the curly auburn-haired triangle which nestled between her creamy white thighs.

  'But I said nothing as she swooped down and washed Mr. Nolan's knob with her tongue. She then wrapped her rich lips around the straining shaft and sucked lustily for a little before climbing up on him with her knees on either side of his torso. She pulled open her pink cunney lips and I saw her take hold of his cock and guide it inside her. Like Mr. Nolan, Patsy Miller was an expert equestrian and this was shown as she rode his prick with great assurance, twisting her hips and bouncing merrily away, leaning forward so that he could take her cherry nipples in his mouth. 'Her face was now flushed with excitement and she turned to me and gasped: “Come on, let me see what you have to offer.” I unbuttoned my trousers and presented my cock to her. She took it in her hands and peeled back my foreskin as she massaged my shaft. “Hey, big boy, what a whopper, that looks like a prick big enough for a man twice your age. And such a fine smooth-skinned shaft, as hard and stiff as anything, yet like velvet to the touch.” 'She continued to bounce up and down Mr. Nolan's prick as she leaned forward to lick and tongue my purple knob. Then, with a practised hand, she cupped my balls in the palm of her hand and gently pulled me towards her so that she could feed all of my shaft inside her mouth. Perhaps it was the lewd sight of Patsy sucking my cock which brought Mr. Nolan off so quickly. “Are you ready for it, Patsy?” he panted as she rocked backwards and forwards on his prick in rhythm with the grand sucking to which she was treating my delighted member. I felt such delicious stabs of desire as she sucked my cock, teasing my helmet against the roof of her mouth with her tongue that I, too, soon felt the surge of a powerful spend coursing through my throbbing staff. We both spunked simultaneously and Mr. Nolan filled her cunt with his copious emission of sticky white jism whilst I drenched her mouth with my spurtings of creamy sperm. '“Thanks, boys, that was a nice brisk fuck. I really enjoyed that and I must tell you, Fred, that young Frank here has a lovely salty tang to his jism. M'mm, nothing tastes as clean and fresh as frothy spunk straight from the cock. My God, his prick is still stiff even after spunking!

  Oh well, let's not waste any time.” She lay down on the sheet, and pulled me on top of her. I entered her easily, for her cunney was well greased from Fred's jism. I slid my full length deep into her and began to fuck her as she threw her legs around my waist. She arched upwards at every stroke, her bum cheeks coming off the sheet as she gyrated faster and faster. She wailed with ecstasy as I grabbed her breasts and brought my head down to suck those lovely red nipples. I felt her cunney contract around my cock as I thrust madly into her exquisite wetness and all too soon the sperm came bubbling up from my balls. Luckily, she reached port first, shivering and trembling as with one last push I started to spend, spurting my hot love juice inside her willing cunt. She gurgled with joy as my frothy white cream hurtled into her and she milked my prick superbly. Then Mr. Nolan showed us his expertise at bum fucking and, as requested, I tossed myself off and squirted my sperm over her titties whilst her bottom hole was being flooded by Mr. Nolan. 'So you see, Rupert, I didn't miss out too much by not joining you this afternoon at Farnham for I was absolutely shagged out and needed a rest!' 'You certainly did not,' I agreed and I asked him where Mr. Nolan might be found. Frank informed me that our guest was still engaged in developing his film so I decided to go to my bedroom and take a bath as I was feeling hot and bothered after all that exercise at Farnham.

  In my room, I took off my jacket when I suddenly remembered that our form had been set some holiday work by our English master Mr.

  Bresslaw, the task being to write a poem of not less than twelve lines, a task which I had not yet completed. 'I wonder whether Frank has remembered either,' I muttered to myself as I took out the exercise book from my bedside drawer in which I had scribbled the verse to Diana which I have reproduced earlier in this narrative.

  Perhaps it was because we had been studying Romeo and Juliet and I had been much moved by the plight of the star-crossed lovers that I decided to try and pen some lines on the joyousness of love-making. I took off my jacket and sat down on my bed, willing the muse to assist me. The first few lines came quickly:

  Tell me where are there such blisses When lips are joined in heavenly kisses When lovers both convulsive start The passion only love imparts Then, just as I was racking my brains thinking of how to continue, there was a demure knock on my door. 'Come in,' I called and Sally, our sensual servant, came in. 'What do you want, Sally, my room seems to have already been cleaned?' I said. 'I know, Master Rupert, it's been ready for you since noon,' said the blonde temptress. 'But Mr. Goldhill told me to refill all the water jugs in the bedrooms-I'm sorry if I interrupted anything important.'

  She set down the tray she was carrying with the jug on it and said: 'Are you writing another poem?' I was shocked-how the devil did she know? As if reading my mind, she said: 'I read the verses you wrote to Miss Diana in that notebook. Well, don't be cross. You shouldn't have left it around if you didn't want anyone to see it. I'm good at rhyming, perhaps I can help you with your poem.' Before I could reply, she was sitting besides me. To be honest, I did not believe for a moment that Sally would be able to complete my work. But I was wrong, dear reader, for Sally was blessed with an aptitude for versifying that put me to shame. It would bring a blush to all those of a reactionary disposition who insist that the labouring classes are incapable of anything but the most basic speech, thoughts and deeds.

  For Sally helped me greatly as I put together the following ode:

  Mutual keeping to one tether, Sweet it is to join together Throbbing, heaving, Never grieving; Thrusting, bursting, Sighing, dying! Decrepit age may beckon, teasing, Shrivelled up bodies well not abide, Vigorous youth, oh, that is pleasing, It is worth the world beside. Craving, wanting, Sobbing, panting, Throbbing, heaving, Never grieving, Thrusting, bursting, Sighing, dying! 'Sally, you have hidden talents.' I laughed
but she shrugged off what I now realise was an unintentionally patronising comment. 'Oh, we are quite capable downstairs of other things besides cleaning and cooking, you know. Mr. Goldhill, for example, is a serious student of the art of ancient Greece and on his summer vacation last year went down to London to see the Elgin Marbles.'

  'You surprise me, Sally, I suppose you'll tell me next that Wallace the coachman is a learned authority on the art of the Dutch masters.' 'No, Master Rupert,' she grinned. 'He doesn't even know much about Dutch caps. All that interests him is cricket, football, ale and fucking-which reminds me, as I've helped you with your homework, how about a farewell fuck before you go back to school?'

  My eyes lit up. 'Now you're talking, Sally. Blow poetry and the Elgin Marbles.' 'Let me blow you instead!' she cried as she knelt before me and unbuttoned my trousers and peeled down my pants to allow my thickening bare cockshaft to emerge. My tool sprang out eagerly from its squashed state, stiffening up quickly as she cupped my balls in one hand. Coyly playing with my truncheon with the other, sliding her fingers up and down the hot, sturdy shaft, first played with my prick, then gobbled almost the whole length of my shaft inside her mouth. Her tongue played lightly at the swollen uncapped helmet of my prick as she gently but insistently squeezed my throbbing balls. Her mouth sucked hungrily up and down my rigid rod, sliding her lips up and down my rock-hard shaft, gulping noisily as my knob smoothed its way across the roof of her mouth and down towards the back of her throat. I managed to unbutton her blouse and took her proud young breasts in my hands, flicking her titties between my fingers as I thrust my cock in and out of her mouth until very soon I pumped a stream of creamy spunk between her lips which she swallowed with the same sweet urgency with which we began this encounter. Gad, is there anything more thrilling than having a pretty girl suck your cock? It adds that indefinable extra dimension to a good fuck best expressed perhaps by my old friend, Sir Loring Sayers, who commented in The Cremorne recently: 'Sucking a man's cock is the deepest, most sensitive way in which a woman can acknowledge her lover's masculinity.' I am sure this was so with Sally, who now had me in thrall. 'Now it's your turn to taste me,' she said, quickly stripping off the rest of her clothes. She lay back on my bed and the sight of her exquisitely fashioned quim with the two pink cunney lips peeping delicately through the mass of blonde hair of her pussey simply carried me away. With a hoarse cry I leaped up to join her and parted her thighs even wider. In an instant I was licking and lapping her around her dripping treasure-trove. My tongue slipped deep inside her and I could feel her clitty swell as I probed even further. There was a refreshing tang of our mixed love juices as with a soft moan of pleasure she wrapped her thighs around my neck, forcing her splendid silky bush into my face. I nipped at her clitty with the top of my tongue until she reached a delighted peak. 'I want you inside me,' she moaned, releasing my head from between her legs. I let her flop back on the bed, threshing and writhing in her own secret world of pleasure. When she had regained her composure she told me to lie on my back and she knelt over my prick which was still semi-erect. She brushed her perky titties over my knob, and this had the desired effect of making my shaft stand up to attention straightaway. She grasped my slippery shaft and rubbed it up and down until it was more than ready. Then she squatted over my twitching knob and guided it between her squishy cunney lips. My cock slid all the way up her sopping slit as I reached up to squeeze her creamy breasts. Sally began to ride me with long steady movements of her supple thighs. I began to move with her and played with her luscious red-stalked titties whilst she rode me faster and faster. This was no slow, lingering fuck. We were both so urgent in our needs that with every thrust downwards upon my prick, I rose upwards to meet her with equal vigour. Great gasps shuddered through our bodies and the tingling in my cock became stronger and stronger and I felt that first gush of spunk forcing its way up from my bollocks. My prick twitched and I jetted my first wedges of cream as her cunney quivered all round my shaft and she began to spend with me. The muscular contractions of her cunt increased my pleasure even more and I shot a tremendous flow of sperm into her gorgeous love box as she fell forwards into my arms, shaking and yelping in delight as her pussey milked my pulsing prick of every drop of spunk. We lay entwined, exhausted, sucking in great gulps of air. Neither of us could speak but she smiled up at me and puckered up her lips in a little kiss. Still inside her, I felt her cunney relax and I took out my now deflated cock. I looked sadly down at it but Sally said: 'Your tadger has worked very hard. I give him nine and a half marks out of ten which is half a mark more than I have ever awarded.' 'How about Mr. Goldhill?' I asked. 'Oh, Stanley usually scores seven or eight but I've yet to give out a ten.

  Perhaps we'll see if you can hit the jackpot during the Christmas vacation,' she teased. Now the flush that had suffused our bodies began to subside and we pulled on our clothes. I took my bath and changed and knocked on Frank's door. 'Frank, are you ready for dinner?' I called out. He came to the door, looking very spruce. That was well-timed,' he said. 'I've just said goodbye to Polly who came up to my room for a last fuck before I go home. I say, Rupert, this has been the jolliest vacation we've ever spent together, hasn't it?'

  'We've certainly spent a lot, old chap.' I commented and we burst out laughing as we made our way downstairs to the dining room.

  CHAPTER FIVE. Back To School

  I have always looked with pity on the man who says that 'his schooldays were the happiest days of his life'. It is an undeniable fact that, when older men meet, they tend to hanker for the joys of youth, remembering the roistering of their salad days when they would besport themselves with wine, women and song. Yet whilst I enjoy ruminating over the fun of times gone by, it is not in my nature to sigh wistfully over past pleasures. I far prefer to look forward to the opportunities afforded by the future. However, let me stress that I count myself extremely fortunate that my formative years were spent at St Lionel's Academy for the Sons of Gentlefolk, an educational establishment run on more liberal principles than the usual public school of its class. Great men have been scholars there and many sportsmen of renown have graced its playing fields. The majesty of the ancient grey buildings, set just south of the Ashdown Forest near the village of Maresfield, makes its pupils appear in their imagination to see themselves as heirs to a great tradition.

  Many, I regret to admit, were tempted to hold an unwarranted aloof sense of social superiority but Frank Folkestone and myself were amongst those who simply had a genuine love and pride for our old school. In twos and threes we strolled along the tree-lined path leading to the Great Hall, exchanging greetings and comparing holiday notes with classmates we had not seen for several weeks. 'Should we tell them what we did on our holidays?' said Frank with a cheery grin as we entered Hall. 'They will all be so envious that I bet no-one will believe we now know the joys of fucking!' I was about to reply when the deep, commanding voice of our headmaster Dr Keeleigh boomed out: 'Folkestone! Mountjoy! I would like to see you in my study at once.' Frank paled and muttered: 'Hells bells! How could the old bugger have heard me?' 'He couldn't have done, don't worry,' I reassured him but nevertheless I was still more than a mite worried as we followed the headmaster through to his large oak-panelled study. As the Bard of Avon has it, conscience makes cowards of us all! In fact, of course, Dr Keeleigh had not heard a single word of Frank's lewd remark. We entered his study and the headmaster must have been reading my mind for he put an avuncular hand on my arm and said: 'Sit down, boys, sit down. Now I don't want to burden either of you this term as it is important that you work and play as hard as you can. The Fifth Form this year is of an exceptionally high calibre and knowing your fathers as I do, if either of you don't finish well up the examination lists at the end of each term, I know you'll be for the high jump.' We smiled weakly as the headmaster added: 'But I've every confidence in you chaps and feel that your shoulders are strong enough to carry a further burden. I want your help in a matter not only important for the school but a
lso for our country.' These dramatic words had us bolt upright in our chairs. What could Dr Keeleigh mean? He saw he had captured our rapt attention and continued: 'Tomorrow, gentlemen, a very special new pupil starts at St Lionel's. Now we are not talking about the usual case of an eleven-year-old boy who would begin his life here in the First Form.

  Firstly, this new chap is sixteen years old and will start his schooling in your year. Secondly, this new chap is an Indian. His name is Prince Salman and he is the eldest son of the Rajah of Lockshenstan, a land of vital strategic importance on the North West Frontier. The Prince's father is an important ally in our fight against the Afghan irregulars and those agents of other European powers who would like nothing better than to see our position on the Indian sub-continent destablished. 'I will let you boys into a confidence. Our government has persuaded the Rajah to let Salman be educated in the Mother Country. Previously he was educated privated by British tutors in the Rajah's palace so he speaks English perfectly.