So ended Frank's first fuck and for both of us, a valuable lesson in recherchi fucking. We learned much from this lusty joust, not least perhaps, the necessity to experiment until one finds one's way to best please both oneself and one's partner. This is a most important maxim which I gladly pass on to budding cocksmen both young and not-so-young who may be reading my carnal confessions.
CHAPTER THREE. A Night To Remember
All good things come to an end, as my dear mama was wont to say, and to the chagrin of Frank and myself we only managed one further hectic bout of fucking with Cecily and Diana before the girls were whisked away unexpectedly only three days later by Cecily's parents, Sir Jack and Lady Cardew, to spend the rest of the summer at the sumptuous villa of Lord Zwaig, in the heart of the Dordogne region of southern France. We cursed our luck as we were looking forward to a summer holiday like no other, spending our days exploring the multifarious joys of love-making. However, this was still to be a vintage vacation for my sturdy young cock, for the very same morning that we heard the gloomy news about the impending loss of Cecily and Diana, the weather changed as it so often does in this country and the rain fairly howled down, leaving us no alternative but to spend the entire day indoors. Frank leafed through a copy of Country Life whilst I idly explored the books in a cabinet usually kept locked but which, on this afternoon, was unaccountably open. I picked out a thick volume covered for some reason not with a cloth or leather binding but by a plain wrapping of brown paper. My curiosity was aroused and when I opened the book to my great surprise I discovered that I had chanced upon my father's bound copy of The Oyster, an anthology of stories from the most salacious of illicit magazines. I had never actually seen the publication myself but Hammond, the captain of cricket at St Lionel's, once obtained a copy from a sporting acquaintance of his father. Alas, it never reached beyond the exalted studies of the sixth form landing before it was confiscated by our housemaster, Mr. Prout, after Hammond had carelessly left it folded inside his Latin text-book. Even more surprising to me was the fact that the book began with a special introduction 'on the delights of good fucking' penned by a frequent visitor to our house, one of my father's oldest and closest friends, that famed traveller of the Indian sub-continent, Professor Grahame Johnstone of Edinburgh University. 'Frank, you must come and look at what I've found here,' I called out excitedly to my friend. 'I can hardly believe it but my pater has been keeping a copy of something really fruity in this bookcase.' “You don't say,' he said as he ambled over to see for himself. 'Gosh! What kind of book is this? I've never seen anything like this in my life!' he exclaimed as he riffled through the pages and stopped at a fully coloured illustrated photographic plate. We pored over the picture which had, as its background setting, the inside of a cobbler's shop.
In the foreground, in full view of a shocked-looking clerical gentleman peering through the window, an attractive girl was shown on her knees, her breasts bared, pleasuring a happy young fellow whose trousers and drawers were round his ankles and whose veiny cockshaft was being lustily sucked by the comely red-haired miss. The caption under the lascivious photograph was: 'She was only a cobbler's daughter but she gave the boys her awl', a jocular play on words made even more amusing by its very rude complementary illustration.
There were several other such photographic plates, all artistically hand-coloured by Michael Harper We sat engrossed by this truly superb collection of coloured plates which showed girls and boys in the nude, both singly and together, enjoying themselves in a variety of love-making positions. Even more surprising was the fact that we were certain that one of the models was Mr. Newman, the former games master at St Lionel's, who left the school only the year before to take up a similar post at Eton College. If it were another gentleman, I would have been amazed for the likeness to Mr. Newman was to the tee, even down to the small appendectomy scar on his stomach.
Frank's cock had now hardened in his trousers and he pulled out his bursting prick to relieve himself by a quick wank. 'Well, well,' I commented, laying my hand around his hot, throbbing shaft. 'What a size yours swells up to these days. It seems to have grown even bigger since your first fuck with Cecily the other day.' 'I do believe you're right, Rupert. I think it's probably about another half inch longer and probably a bit thicker too.' We then jumped out of our skins as a merry female voice suddenly broke into this lewd conversation. 'So it's Cecily Cardew who you've been having fun and games with, along with Diana Wigmore! I wondered if you'd found a partner for your friend, Master Rupert, or whether Miss Diana would be asked to share her favours!' We looked up to see who was so knowledgeable about our secret-thank goodness it was only Sally, the prettiest of our parlourmaids, whose shapely curves had been in my thoughts during many a tossing-off since she joined our household the previous November. Sally was a real smasher and I had thought that a great many of our male visitors thought so too-from the vicar, Reverend Lavery, and old Doctor Attenborough, our local medical practitioner, to my Uncle Algernon (Lord Trippett) who always seemed to find some trifling excuse or other which would involve Sally taking something up or bringing something down from his bedroom and always, come to think of it, when my Uncle was in there by himself! One could hardly blame Uncle Algy, for Sally was more than a cut above the ordinary. Her fair-skinned features were well set off by a hint of pretty freckling around her nose. Her light blue eyes sparkled gaily and her tresses of blonde hair were pinned up underneath her black maid's cap. She was perhaps taller than the average and her firm curvaceous figure promised delights galore, especially as she always wore her white blouse with the top buttons open, giving a delicious view of the swell of her proud white breasts. I was aghast though that Sally appeared to know far more than she should about what Frank and I had been up to over the previous few days. But what could I say?