Dearest Rupert, First, the bad news; I cannot meet you as planned this morning because I have to attend a lecture which has been brought forward from four o'clock this afternoon. But this leaves me free from one o'clock and at the risk of sounding over-forward I would like to suggest that we meet for a late luncheon at Carlo's Restaurant which is in Woodstock Road just before the junction with Little Clarendon Street. If the weather is good we could take a bus or train to Woodstock and see Blenheim Palace. On the other hand, if it's raining, we could go back to my house as, like yesterday, my room-mates will be away until at least six o'clock.
Somehow, even if the sun is shining brightly, I think I can speculate what you would prefer to do and oh, Rupert, to be honest, I wouldn't be too disappointed if we went to Blenheim Palace on another day!
For if I were forced to make a choice between viewing the marvellous Blenheim gardens laid out by Capability Brown and sucking your cock, I would always plump for the latter. I do love sucking a fat juicy prick, caressing the red mushroomed crown with my lips and then washing it with my tongue. It is so thrilling when the shaft trembles in my mouth and so exciting when the frothy cream shoots out of the tiny hole and I can spread the sticky jism all around the knob with my tongue. I love swallowing mouthfuls of tangy spunk too and cannot think of anything that tastes so fine and clean. Enough now, for writing this frank confession is making my pussey damp and soon it will be crying out for relief which I can only partially satisfy by frigging myself. Only a proud, throbbing stiffstander like yours will be able to quench my voracious sensual desires… If you aren't free this, afternoon, leave a note at my house. Otherwise, I'll be at Carlo's restaurant at around twenty past one this afternoon and look forward to seeing you there. Love, Gillian Well, dear reader, I doubt whether you would have to ponder for more than a second about a choice between walking round Blenheim Palace or fucking Gillian Headleigh! The only problem facing me now was how to collect my thoughts for Professor Simon Webb's tutorial which would begin in ten minutes' time. Somehow I managed to concentrate upon my work and after what seemed an eternity the hands of the clock finally came together at noon. I gathered my books up in a rush and was about to fly out the room when the Professor beckoned me. 'Mr. Mountjoy, a quick word if you have a moment,' he said and though I could hardly wait to get back to my room to change I could hardly refuse to listen to a senior lecturer. 'I am inviting a few undergraduates over for an after dinner soiree in my quarters tomorrow night and I wonder whether you would care to join us at about half past eight?' This was an honour indeed and I accepted his invitation with sincere pleasure, especially as he had not, as I had reared, engaged in further discussion upon our work, which was just as well because already I had little time to spruce myself up before my appointment with the lovely Gillian at Carlo's Restaurant. In fact I arrived at Carlo's in good time and was welcomed effusively by the eponymous owner, Signor Carlo Justini, who has of course since found fame and fortune as the proprietor of the Trattoria d'Argento in Piccadilly which is patronised by the creme de la creme of London Society. 'Come this way, sir. Miss 'Eadleigh has booked a table in a private room upstairs. Perhaps you would like a glass of wine whilst you wait for her?' he suggested, but before I could even answer him Gillian had entered the restaurant and I greeted her. In front of Carlo we exchanged a formal handshake, though once he had brought us a bottle of chilled white wine and taken our order, I leaned over the table and kissed her firmly on the lips. Thank you for your lovely letter,' I said as I resumed my seat, 'but you win no prizes for guessing what I prefer to do after luncheon.' 'You mean then that I shall have to wait for another occasion to walk round Blenheim Palace,' she said, returning my smile. 'Well, I think I can live with this disappointment so long as you can provide me with an equally pleasurable entertainment this afternoon.' 'Gillian, I promise you that will prove to be no problem,' I assured her as our eyes met in a knowing glance and, when I felt her foot rub sinuously against my ankle, I knew that this sensuous girl was feeling just as randy as me!
But there was no huge hurry for we had until six o'clock to ourselves and we first enjoyed a delicious luncheon, the highlight of which was grilled chicken with a panzanella bread salad of plum tomatoes and parsley. We both ate sparingly for we knew that fucking on a full stomach is not a practice to be recommended. As we sipped our grappa, the little minx must have slipped off her shoes for I felt her silk-clad foot move up between my legs under the cover of the sparkling white linen tablecloth. Gillian giggled as Signor Justini bustled in with a fresh pot of coffee and she stroked the stiff length of my shaft with her toes. Have you ever fucked in a restaurant, Rupert?' she whispered throatily as her toes continued to stroke my stiffstander. 'No, but I'm more than willing to try out the experience,' I replied. Gillian leaned forward and as she was wearing a jacket with a low neckline, I was given a clear view of her firm, ripe breasts. 'Well, it's very nice to repair to a couch immediately after leaving the table, but as there is a nice, comfortable bed waiting round the corner, perhaps it would be as well to wait until another time. I do have a fondness for such sport you see, because it was in a private dining-room such as this at the Cafe Clive that I became a woman. 'Yes, Rupert,' she continued. I was first fucked by Sir Andrew Stuck, perhaps the randiest rogue in all London.' 'I hope he did not take advantage of you,' I commented, for even then I knew that an extra bottle of champagne often led to a remorseful morning. 'Oh no, I was more than willing to surrender my virginity to him. I was like the Lady of Kent in the limerick:
There was a young Lady of Kent, Who said that she knew what it meant When men asked her to dine And also to wine, She knew what it meant-but she went!'
I was keenly interested to hear more but Signor Justini knocked on the door and presented us with the bill. As I busied myself writing out a cheque, Gillian muttered: 'I'll tell you more about it when we get home, although you must fuck me first.'
'Your wish is my command,' I replied quietly as Signor Justini and his staff ushered us out into the street. It was less than five minutes' walk to Gillian's rooms and, as she had promised in her letter, none of the other girls in the house were present. We ran straight up to the bedroom and in an inkling we had shucked off our clothes and embraced each other's naked body as we rolled around on the soft mattress. 'My darling boy! Tell me how you are going to fuck me,' she cried. I thought for a moment and said: 'How am I going to fuck you, Gillian? Well, first I am going to roll you over on your back and then I shall mount you as I decide which way we shall first take our pleasure. To begin with, perhaps I shall simply lie on your belly and slowly insert my long, thick cock into your inviting little wet snatch. Then I'll push forward until my shaft is fully inside your velvety sheath before I pull it out and then tease the lips of your pussey with my knob. Then I'll crash my cock back inside your cunney and pump away, increasing the tempo gradually until I'm pistoning such hard, deep thrusts that my balls crack against your thighs. Then we'll come together, my throbbing tool spewing out a sea of sperm whilst your pussey creams itself with the sweet love juices from your hairy honeypot.' 'What a magnificent fuck that sounds!