'“My God, Melanie, how did you get in here?” he gasped, hastily draping the towel round his waist. '“I wondered if I might have some private instruction in indoor games.” I said boldly, stepping towards him and pushing my body up against his. I could feel his prick rising as I reached down and pulled down the towel, letting his swollen tool jump up to stand high against his tummy. I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed them downwards. He made no resistance as we sank to the floor and I thrust my titties in his face. He sucked them up marvellously as I clasped his massive cock and began to wank him. He then worked his hands inside my knickers and rubbed my pussey with the flat of his hand before he pulled down my knickers. Then he did something that's never happened to me before… he leaned down and pushed my knickers over my ankles and then screwed them up in his hand and began rubbing the bundle against my soaking pussey! He made a sheath for his finger with the wet knickers and frigged my cunney with it. He wiggled his finger to the hilt until my knicks were saturated with my love juice. Then he eased them off his finger and frigged me with his bare fingers. 'So I wriggled myself around to bring my face up to his throbbing prick. I popped my lips over the crown of his cock and curled my tongue around his helmet, licking away whilst I cupped his tight ballsack. But I wanted him to fuck me so I only tongued the tip of his knob before lying down on my back. “Push that big dick in my cunt,” I said and he didn't need asking twice! He slipped that fat bulb in my cunney. I came straightaway and could feel the juice running out of me, clinging to my pussey hairs as his cock crashed through my love channel. He kept ramming his well-greased tool until we were both screaming in delight until he filled me with his sticky spunk. We lay together and his shaft stayed hard inside me as I felt his sperm trickle out of my cunt and down over my thighs. I would have liked to have continued but it was neither the time nor the place. I had to finish my work and Geoffrey was the duty master at breakfast so we both went into the shower to refresh ourselves and got dressed again as quickly as we could.' 'Are you going to see Mr.
Ormondroyd, oh, sorry, I mean Geoffrey, again?' 'I should say so!
We've arranged to meet in his study tomorrow night at ten o'clock, I can't wait, Dolly! It's been three months since I've had a good fuck!'
I waited for the two girls to walk away before continuing my descent. Melanie's story had given me a huge stiffstander but I took Reverend Clark's advice and went for a brisk early-morning job instead of finishing myself off with a five-knuckle shuffle. It wasn't the chaplain and his dire warnings of perdition that stopped me relieving my feelings in the time-honoured fashion, but rather a gut feeling that somehow, somewhere, I was going to be involved in fucking. Since I was a small boy, my father had always told me to trust my instincts.
I did so now, despite the total lack of credible evidence that might point to such a happy state of affairs. As it happens, such trust was not to be misplaced-though I would never have guessed in a million years just how such serendipity between fantasy and reality would be achieved! I did, however, have to wait until the next day for my dream to be realised. It all started when, as he had promised, Dr Keeleigh called Frank and myself to his study just before luncheon to meet Prince Salman-or, as the headmaster added, Salman Prince as he would be known at St Lionel's. I liked the look of Salman from the moment we met-he was a tall, powerfully built chap with a firm handshake. 'Good to meet you, Mountjoy, and you too Folkestone,' he called cheerily. 'I hope I won't be a burden and I'm really grateful if you'll show me the ropes.' At this point there was a tap on the door and, of all people, Melanie came in. 'You wanted to see me, sir,' she said and Dr Keeleigh asked her to show Salman where the laundry was situated, to explain how the household facilities of the school were run, and to take him back to the Fourth Form Common Room afterwards. After they left Dr Keeleigh sat down in his superb red leather chair (donated a few years back by the Old Lionelsians on his fiftieth birthday) and said: 'There is just one further matter about which I want to speak to you. There may be, amongst some of the more vulgar of your form-mates or indeed other boys, a feeling of prejudice against our Indian Prince on the grounds of the colour of his skin. Any such foolishness is abhorrent in my eyes and in fact amongst the very highest in the land. “Mislike me not for my complexion” says the Moor in The Merchant Of Venice and it is an unfortunate fact that there will be those who may wish to make sneering remarks about Prince behind his back. If this happens, I want you to remind the offender that no less a person than His Majesty The King himself on a visit to India twenty five years ago berated some officials of the East India Company who spoke disparagingly about the natives. He told them that because man has a dark skin there is no reason why he should be treated like a brute.' 'Very good sir, but suppose someone says something out of place directly to the Prince himself?' ventured Frank. A rare twinkled appeared in Dr Keeleigh's eyes. 'Ah, I don't think that will happen more than once,' he chuckled. 'I don't intend to broadcast the fact that Salman has taken lessons in fisticuffs from Harry Willoughby, the professional middleweight boxing champion. He showed himself to be a willing pupil!
I would rather wish you boys kept this information to yourselves and let anyone who tries to rag our new friend about his colour to find out for himself!' After the last lesson of the day we took Salman to the study which he would share with Frank and myself.
Coincidentally, we needed a third chap as our former studymate Nick Clee had left St Lionel's at the end of the summer term to join his parents in East Africa. 'I suppose this room must be a bit spartan after your father's palace,' said Frank as he busied himself with putting on the kettle for tea. 'And I bet you had something a darned sight tastier than bread and butter and a slice of cake for tea.' 'Yes, I was spoiled rotten,' agreed Salman. 'But as it says in your Bible: “Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therein.”' We looked at him in awe. 'Proverbs, Chapter 15, verse 17.' he added kindly. 'I thought you worshipped those funny statues with lots of arms and sacred cows and all that sort of thing.' I said. 'No, no, my dear Rupert, my family are Moslems and you are talking of Hinduism. I don't know too much about their religion except that the cow is regarded as a symbol of Mother Earth which is why the animal is sacred and many of my Hindu friends are vegetarians,' he explained. 'Our holy book is the Koran though we do accept much of Jewish and Christian teaching.' 'Yes, we studied Mohammed and his teachings last term. What I remember best is that men are allowed more than one wife, aren't they?' said Frank. 'If you're a glutton for punishment,' returned Salman with a smile. 'I think that like my father I shall settle for just one but keep a harem of concubines for pleasure.' I licked my lips. 'When were you allowed to… um -' 'Have my first woman?' said Salman, finishing the question for me. 'I had my first when I was thirteen. But that was quite unofficial and my father would have been furious, especially as the girl concerned was one of his favourites.' He paused and then, with a furrowed brow, he added in his perfect though slightly sing-song accented English: 'But since we're talking about this important subject, let me tell you that whilst I've been in England I have suffered from a grievous shortage of available bed-worthy females. 'But Miss Melanie, now, the girl who showed me round the school facilities before lunch, I would very much enjoy fucking her.