Part Three.
A Further Episode in the Sentimental and Erotic Education of Mr. Andrew Scott
For new readers, the story so far:
The young Mr. Andrew Scott, his schooldays at Nottsgrove Academy now behind him, has moved to London and is in lodgings in Bayswater. The house is owned by a widow, Mrs. P-, a longtime friend both of Andrew's Godfather and also, as it transpires, of his old Headmaster, Dr White. Mrs. P- is a woman of refreshingly progressive views in matters sexual, believing such activities to be both natural and healthy and to be indulged in without shame with but the one caveat: that both parties should be equally willing. Her views have been long matured through her experiences in India where her acquaintance has included Mr. Richard Burton, later to find notoriety as the translator of such Eastern classics as The Perfumed Garden and the Kama Sutra. Also resident in the house are Mrs. P-s two daughters, Becky and Hannah; the first follows the vocation of nursing, the latter is a skilled artist and designer employed at Messrs Doulton's Lambeth manufactory. The household is completed by two maids, Mary and Emily. The detailed description of Andrew's ups and downs, his ins and outs in this most liberal of establishments has been set down in previous issues of the Oyster. It remains only to add that, as our story continues, Andrew has returned that very afternoon from a trip to the West Country, whence he has escorted Mrs.
P-'s Ward, Rosie who has been peremptorily expelled from her school for offences against the school rules involving her friendship with the Art Master and her growing interest in the skills of photography.
Now read on: Dinner that evening displayed Mrs. P-s household apparently in more conventional guise. Mrs. P- presided at the head of the table. Both Hannah and Becky were present and correct.
Rosie, who had been installed in one of the two guest bedrooms, had been formally introduced to the household and now took her place with a display of maidenly decorum that would have been entirely convincing to any outsider who had not before been exposed to her wayward nature.
I was at once eagerly pressed on all sides to describe everything that had taken place on my trip to Bristol. For my part I was of course careful not to describe all that had gone on. I was only too aware that while Rosie had been placed in my care by Mrs. P-, I had at certain points discharged my duties in a way that might have seen lax or even improper by conventional standards. Thus I glossed over a great deal of what had transpired on the railway journey, in particular omitting the fact that Rosie and I had enjoyed a First Class Great Western fuck all the way from Chippenham to Swindon and mentioning only, with approval, the efficiency and punctuality of the Railway Company. Rosie for her part was reticent to the point of near silence concerning the events that had led to her summary expulsion from her Academy for Young Ladies in Somerset. Nonetheless the soup course passed pleasantly enough, although without any great incident. When this had been cleared away, a fine roast joint was brought in and placed before me to carve. (Mrs. P- was quite firm in her view that, as the only man present, I should undertake this traditional male chore). As I rose, carving knife and fork in hand, and made the first incision in the mouthwatering piece of beef in front of me, I was suddenly grabbed from under the table round the ankle by what I judged to be a small but determined hand. Startled, I looked down but could see nothing since the table's edge and the overhanging table-cloth concealed all. Saying nothing, but glancing rapidly round the table to confirm that all the family were indeed in their places and that both the maids Emily and Mary were visibly going about their duties, I manfully carried on carving while the unseen hand began to stroke and explore first my ankle and then the lower part of my calf. With what I felt was a praiseworthy determination to abide by the standards of polite society, I managed to carry on with my task while at the same time continuing a light conversation as though nothing untoward was going on. Meanwhile of course my mind was racing. Was this some typically high-spirited lark by either or both of the daughters? Discreetly I looked about me. Both Hannah and Becky were already beginning to eat with their usual gusto.
I could detect nothing evasive or furtive about their expressions, no sideways glances in my direction or suppressed giggles. Mrs. P- and Rosie were engrossed in an animated conversation on the merits, or lack of them, of life in the country. All was innocence and order except for the wandering hand under the table. Then as I sat down, took up knife and fork and savoured a first delicious mouthful, the hand all at once moved lightly but speedily up my leg, along my thigh and reached into my lap. There it rested for a moment but before I had had time to do more than register and then hide my renewed surprise, it moved again. Burrowing beneath my table napkin, it felt for, found and squeezed the till-then dormant length of my virile member. Mr. Pego at once responded, quite against my wishes at that moment, and began to extend into life. 'Tell me, Andrew,' said Mrs. P-, recalling my now wildly distracted attention with a jolt to the above-table world of propriety and social graces, 'Did Colonel and Mrs. Moore have the opportunity to show you the sights of Bristol?'
Determined not to allow the increasingly strange turn of events get out of hand, so to speak, I swallowed and managed manfully to carry on a polite yet, I hoped; animated conversation. Mentioning my expedition to Clifton in the company of Rosie (but drawing a discreet veil over what had happened in the darkness of the camera obscura on the Downs. I expounded on the architectural and topographical merits of the city, gave my impression of the lively hustle and bustle in the streets that betokened its commercial vitality and embarked on what I pride myself was a not-uninteresting and well-informed dissertation on the Bristol origins of the phrase 'paying on the nail'. Mrs. P- snowed every sign of interest as I continued to inform her of the present state and past history of our premier south-western seaport.
As she plied me with questions I was thankful that the good Dr White, my Headmaster at Nottsgrove Academy, had insisted that a working knowledge of Geography and the Commercial World should be instilled into his boys. But behind my mask of calm, I was becoming more and more agitated. The hidden hand had now unbuttoned me, had reached in and exposed Mr. Pego. A shrinking embarrassment at my predicament struggled with a swelling excitement as my prick was teased and stroked into life. Soon»t was standing erect and throbbing. I leaned forward, seized by the disconcerting thought that the by now fat and dampening tip of my member might actually come poking up into sight above the table. Desperately I carried on, trying to do justice to the meal before me and to keep my conversational end up. I was uncomfortably aware that the strain of appearing normal was causing me to clench my teeth at each new caress and I could feel beads of perspiration forming on my brow. Deliberately drawing a deep breath and making a great effort to relax, I had just impaled and forked a large Brussels sprout, raising it towards my mouth, when the unseen hand struck or rather stroked again. Firm fingers wrapped themselves round the now near rigid shaft of my prick, forcing it down. There was a bumping and a boring between my thighs and the unseen hand was joined by an unseen mouth. Deliciously soft lips first kissed lightly and then opened to admit my pulsating cock. Inch by inch, I was sucked in while a probing tongue began to lick its way down the underside of my shaft and towards the very root of my straining manhood. Convulsively I bit into the still steaming hot sprout, just as my invisible attachment nipped sharply at the open-eyed head of my engorged organ. I gasped as my teeth jarred painfully on the prongs of my fork and the soft inside of my mouth was scalded by boiling hot sprout. Again I gulped and tried to swallow my mouthful as at that very moment I became aware of the first rising spasm of my cum beginning to force its way up and along my distended shaft. At once a slippery wet tongue was damped firmly down on the already weeping eye of my prick, bottling up the hot tidal gush of spunk that was now moving upwards. For an instant I could feel a bursting pressure as my love juice was damned up. Just as a gardener will place his thumb over a watering hose in order to produce a more powerful jet, so my hidden succubus was engineering a veritable gusher of cum. Ecstasy and agony were mixed and I choked on my barely-chewed and burning Brussels sprout. 'Oh, dear', said Hannah. 'Something must have gone down the wrong way.' With that she got to her feet and came round behind me to pat me on the back. As I coughed, my eyes watering and my throat on fire, I was unstoppered down below and a great geyser of cum shot uncontrollably, but safely, Thank God, into a now greedily welcoming mouth. Hannah was now banging me heartily on the back as I doubled up, spluttering and drawing in great gulps of air while I was hungrily sucked and swallowed to an unforgettable climax. Shudders ran through my whole body. Mrs. P- looked at me with evident concern. Rosie and both maids all had the same idea and poured out glasses of water, pushing them or carrying them over to me.