My cock began to thicken whilst I carefully shaved around Sally's puffy pink cunney lips with a safety razor. I was sporting a full-blown stiffie by the time I cleaned off the remaining hairs with a flannel and handed her a mirror to inspect my handiwork.
'Well done, sir, you've done an excellent job,' said Sally gratefully and unfortunately my good resolution not to over-tire my cock flew out of my mind when she grasped hold of my boner and led me back to the bedroom. She laid herself down on the eiderdown and stuffed a pillow under her bum to elevate her crotch as I leaped on the bed between her outstretched legs and buried my face between her thighs to chew and nibble on her cunney lips.
'Don't you find it easier to lick my pussey now?' she chuckled. It was certainly true enough that there were no stray hairs to get into my mouth whilst I sucked her sopping snatch. So I pulled my head up and panted: 'Yes, I must agree that a shaved quim tastes even better.'
Then I resumed my tonguing. Sally threshed her buxom young body from side to side as I flicked the fleshy bud of her clitty until, with a high-pitched scream of delight, she achieved her climax and filled my mouth with a flood of salty cuntal juice.
'Oooh, what a gorgeous spend! I love being brought off like that, but not many men can use their tongues as cleverly as you can, Mister Andrew,' she gasped huskily as she slid her hands underneath my shoulders and pulled me up over her. 'Now fuck me with your thick prick and fill my quim with jism.'
Naturally, I was eager to comply with this demand. When I substituted the bulbous knob of my cock for my mouth, Sally thrust her hips upwards as my throbbing tool squished its way into her clingy wet crack. She threw her legs over my back and heaved her body in time with me as we commenced a lively fuck. Despite her juicy lubrication, Sally's cunt was still exquisitely tight, holding me in such a sweet vice that I could feel my foreskin being drawn backwards and forwards with each shove as my cock slid into the folds of her shaven slit.
'Go on, sir, go on!' she beseeched me when I paused for a moment to catch my breath. 'Fuck me harder, Mister Andrew! Slam in you cock! H-a-a-r! That's it, sir, I'm there, I'm there!'
I lunged forward one last time. My balls slapped against her bum cheeks as, with a growl, I spurted a stream of spunk into her cunt. I wriggled my twitching tool around inside her quim as the creamy jism gushed out of my knob, making Sally scream out joyfully as she achieved a second delicious spend.
This lively fuck exhausted even this insatiable girl. Once she had recovered her composure, at my request she ran me a hot bath which I shared with her before we went downstairs. I read the newspaper while Sally prepared breakfast.
Afterwards I decided to catch up with some outstanding correspondence (I owed my parents the monthly letter I had promised to send them). But no sooner had I sat down at the desk in the library than Sally came in with the top buttons of her blouse undone and sat herself on my lap.
'Mr. Andrew, I'm sorry to disturb you but I still feel so randy,' she said playfully while she took hold of my hand and slipped it inside her blouse. 'Can you spare the time for just one more poke before Mister Teddy comes back from Paris?'
I wasn't angry with the lusty girl but my cock refused to rise as I cupped one of her pert breasts in my hand. I released the quivering globe and shook my head, 'I'm sorry, Sally, that won't be possible. I have some important letters to write and then I'll be going out.'
She was clearly disappointed and said anxiously as she slid off my lap: 'You're not giving me the brush-off, are you?'
'No, of course not, you can wake me up like you did this morning any time you want,' I said, thinking how foolish I had been to ignore the advice of my father which he had given me along with a ten-pound note on my last birthday. 'Never form liaisons with the servant girls, Andrew,' he had said solemnly, if for no other reason than that if you poke one, it will invariably end in tears.'
However, I was more concerned to hear what my physician, Doctor Jonathan Elstree, had to say about my prick's refusal to obey orders and I marched out into the hall to telephone his surgery. Except in cases of emergency, it was usually impossible to make an appointment on the same day but luckily there had been a cancellation and he was able to fit me in at noon. The sun was still shining so I decided to walk to the good doctor's rooms in Harley Street. However, before I left the house, I also telephoned Mr. MacArthur at Hartfield and Moser as I couldn't wait till Wednesday to see his face when he scanned the pages of Miss Abigail Wiggins's risque manuscript!
Mr. MacArthur was at a meeting but his secretary said that he would be in his office after luncheon. So I popped the manuscript into a holdall along with the single yet unopened letter for me which had arrived in the morning post. After saying good-bye to Sally, I set off to see Doctor Elstree, a physician who could certainly tell a few fascinating stories if he ever broke his Hippocratic oath and revealed the secrets of certain high-placed members of London Society.
Far from being tired from the strenuous indoor exercises with Sally, I felt fighting fit and there was a jaunty spring in my step as I mulled over the events of the morning in my mind whilst I strolled through Portman Square. However, when I arrived at Doctor Elstree's rooms almost spot on twelve o'clock, I was slightly disappointed to be informed by his receptionist that he had been called out on an emergency soon after I had spoken to him.
She looked at her watch and added: 'My apologies for the delay, Mr. Scott, but he only had to go round the corner to Devonshire Street and he telephoned just now to say he would be back in about twenty-five minutes. So if you would care to take a seat in the waiting-room, he'll be able to see you as soon as he returns because the lady he was supposed to examine at eleven-thirty didn't want to stay and made a new appointment.'
'Fair enough, I've something to read while I wait,' I said and marched through to the waiting-room. After fishing out my letter from my case, I sat myself in an armchair to read it. I opened the envelope and was pleasantly surprised to find that it had been sent by the aptly-named Hilary Pokingham, one of my first conquests with whom I had kept on friendly terms after our romance had ended some three years ago. Nevertheless, we still corresponded on an irregular basis and, as the pair of us had agreed, whenever we wrote to each other we penned in great detail all the juicy details of our current love life! So, with a grin on my face, I settled down and perused Hilary's epistle which, after asking after my health, continued in the following fashion:
As for me, Andrew, I've been bored silly these last two weeks stuck with the family in our country house in the wilds of deepest Herefordshire. However, relief came last week with the arrival for a weekend's shooting of Major William Bucknall of the Honourable Artillery Company and my ennui was shattered in a most delightful way by this gallant soldier.
Before I recount my naught adventure with Willie Bucknall, let me tell you that he is forty-four-more than twice my age-and is thus the oldest gentleman ever to have poked me. But believe me, dear Andrew, I can now say from experience that there is much truth in the saying about how the best tunes are played on old fiddles!
So now I will tell you exactly how Willie and I came to find ourselves entwined together in the nude on top of a pile of straw in our stables! He had arrived earlier than the other guests on the Thursday evening because, like myself, he is a keen water-colourist and wished to spend a day with a brush, palette and easel before going out to bag a brace of quail. So after breakfast on Friday morning I offered to take him to the banks of the River Teme where he would have a marvellous view of the beautiful rolling hills around us.
Willie thanked me and as we strolled through our grounds he regaled me with a string of fascinating anecdotes about what has been happening in London lately, for it must be admitted that Willie is not only well-connected but is also a shameless gossip. In fact, we were both roaring with laughter about a tale he had heard about the recent exploits of your friend Lord Philip Pelham at the Jim Jam Club when Willie unluckily placed his foot in some very fresh evidence of a herd of cows having passed by not long before us.