Although I was totally inexperienced in cunnilingual practices, immediately my tongue started to flutter along her pussey.
Laura's crack opened out like the petals of a flower and she cooed with ecstatic joy as with long, powerful strokes I slid my tongue through the pink pussey lips and licked between the grooves of her love channel. I rolled my tongue around her clitty and soon Laura spent profusely over my nose and lips as she cried out with a convulsive shudder: 'Susie! You lovely girl, you're reaming me out beautifully! Oh! Oh! Oh! What a divine cum! A-h-r-r-r-e!' I raised myself up and placed a warning finger upon her lips although I thought it inconceivable that Miss Archer had not heard the cacophony of our sensuous moans and groans. And indeed, after we had scrambled to our feet and wrapped our towels around our naked bodies, I was almost certain that I saw the fleeting shadow of a figure against the wall of the passage leading from the bathrooms. 'You're probably just imagining it,' said Laura whilst we hastily dried ourselves and slipped our drawers back on before walking back to the changing rooms.
However, I don't believe that I was mistaken, because as we finished dressing ourselves I said to Laura that I would pop into Miss Archer's office and wish her good-night. The door of the office was slightly ajar and I could see the games mistress sitting on her chair, her face flushed, her skirts thrown up and her knickers round her ankles. Perhaps it was as well that Miss Archer was so busy frigging herself that she had not heard my footsteps and I decided not to interrupt her but simply walked back silently to Laura and told her what I had seen. Later that evening we continued our lesbian love-making in bed, but the next morning, a worrying question struck me and I hope you will be able to put my mind to rest. Mr. Editor, I wish to pose this question to you – after reading this candid confession, are you of the opinion that I am an out-and-out tribade or might I outgrow these lesbian love sessions for normal fucking with a young man of my choice. I await your comments with interest, and remain, Sir, Your humble servant, Miss Susie V Looking at my pocket watch, it has taken me a good hour to transcribe this letter. The editor must have known it would have good effect on his readers to publish it in full. My prick is sticking up as if it had been liberally powdered with yeast and I have been forced to put down the magazine across my legs to hide my raging erection. Unfortunately the waitress is hovering nearby again. I have ordered coffee and shall attempt to copy down the editor's reply.
My dear girl, Perish the thought that you are doomed never to experience the joys of copulation! Once you have left school, there should be ample opportunities for you to sample the delights afforded by the first lusty young-fellow-me-lad who will be lucky enough to sheath his stiff shaft inside your sweet little quim.
Have no fears because you took part in a sexual liaison on the borders of the established norms. In the wise words of Sir Robert Dunwell, who has devoted his life to a lifelong practical study of human sexuality in all its forms: I strongly maintain that the entire experience of a grand fuck is greater than the sum of its parts, though every part has its pleasure and every pleasure its part! After all, in love-play, anything can happen – and usually does sooner or later.
Yours confidently The Editor A sound enough philosophy, I shall put the magazine back into its brown paper bag and pay my bill. I'm sure the waitress is expecting a generous tip. Clayton Towers, October 1st, 1901 (Before retiring) Today is the first day of a new month and marks my last day of repose at Clayton Towers before taking up my position at Oxford. But before I muse on what delights lie in store for me, let me finish recounting the remarkable events of yesterday afternoon which were initiated by my asking my pretty waitress to pay her compliments to the chef. The girl blushed a little and suggested that I might like to thank the cook in person as she would be extremely pleased with the compliment. There seem to be an increasing number of females in the work force these days, which I can only think is a good thing if I am to have such delectably sweet encounters every time I dine out. 'I'll do just that,' I said, wiping my mouth with my napkin as I rose to my feet and following the waitress's pointed finger, marched through a pair of swing doors into the kitchen. However, there were no staff to be seen and as the time was now approaching four o'clock, it appeared as though the cook and her assistants had left the kitchen for a well deserved rest. I was about to leave when I heard low moaning noise coining from inside the scullery at the far end of the room, followed by what to my ears sounded very much like that arousing squelchy sound of a thick stiff cock sliding in and out of a juicy wet cunney! I decided to make a further investigation for on the other hand, I might be mistaken and the groans could be those of a lady in distress. So I tip-toed towards the scullery and poked my head around the door to see exactly what was going on in there. Fortunately, one glance was enough to confirm that my initial conjecture was correct for the sight which met my eyes was of a couple heavily engaged in a full-blown fuck! A buxom wench was leaning back against the wall with her skirts up and her frilly drawers around her ankles being shagged by a curly-haired young commis chef who had discarded his shirt, trousers and pants which were lying in a rumpled pile on the floor beside them and was clad only in a cotton vest. His taut buttocks jerked to and fro as he pumped his prick in and out of his paramour's pussey at a great pace.
'H-a-a-r! H-a-a-r! Oooh, Maggie, I'm going to spunk, I can't stop!' he choked and with a cry he jetted his jism inside her love channel. Then, to my alarm, he slowly slid down and collapsed in a heap at his lover's feet. 'Are you all right, Jack?' she enquired as she squatted down beside him. The lad did look in a bad way and I thought they might need some help. I stepped forward and offered my services. When she saw me the cook gave a tiny scream and I hurriedly explained that I was not spying upon her but had only come into the kitchen to offer my congratulations on her excellent cuisine.
'What exactly is he suffering from? Nothing serious, I trust,' I asked her. 'The heat?' I continued. She shrugged her shoulders and answered: 'Not really, it's more from fucking.'
'From fucking!' I spluttered. 'Yes, sir, the fucking,' chuckled the cook and as she moved closer I detected the smell of alcohol upon her breath. 'You look like a man of the world, sir, and I'm sure you understand that a culinary artist like myself who finds herself in a dump like this after working under the finest chef in Europe needs something to prop herself up during the day. Young Colin down there has a nice thick cock but he always spends too quickly for me and so we have to start again until he manages to wait for me to finish. “The problem is that if he doesn't get it right after two spunkings, he isn't in any fit state to continue so I have to find another way to satisfy my needs.' 'So I see,' I said, casting a meaningful glance at a half-empty bottle of Old Jamaica rum and a liqueur glass on the scullery table. She followed the direction of my eyes and said: 'Oh, I'm really not a great tippler, sir. I only take an occasional nip whilst I'm on duty. Otherwise I couldn't prepare my food properly – and thank you very much, Mr., er 'Dash wood, Henry Dash wood. And your name is…?' 'Maggie Crompton, at your service, Mr. Dashwood,' she said as we shook hands.
'I'm so glad you enjoyed my cuisine. Monsieur Escoffier himself taught me how to prepare all the dishes I know.' As she spoke, the young man on the floor groaned and I suggested that a glass of rum might revive him. 'Well maybe, but only a small one,' she agreed hesitantly as I moved across to the table and poured out a small measure for the lad. 'Otherwise he'll fall asleep and there's a heck of a lot of washing up for him to get through before he starts peeling the potatoes for dinner.' Happily, a swig of the dark sweet spirit did the trick for Colin, although he still looked groggy as he scrambled to his feet and of course his cock had shrivelled up and was dangling loosely between his thighs. On Maggie's advice, he pulled on his clothes and staggered upstairs to lie down for half an hour's rest before coming back to tackle the pile of dirty dishes which were stacked up in the sink. After he left us, Maggie Crompton slipped her knickers into a drawer and then produced two more glasses and a bottle of Hennessy's three star cognac and insisted that I joined her in a drink. Now I am no gourmet but I pride myself on being able to appreciate good brandy. Therefore I was pleased to accept her offer, although I eyed with some trepidation the large measure she handed to me. So Maggie and I enjoyed a nice chat, during which she told me of her exciting days working with the great Monsieur Escoffier at a Paris hotel. After a time she formed a liaison there with an Italian sous-chef with whom she left for London and then Cheltenham where they purchased the Montpellier Restaurant with the idea to provide a high-quality eating house for the citizens of and many visitors to the city. Alas, they found that the burghers of Cheltenham were suspicious of anything except plain English fare and Arturo Volpe, her partner in the venture, soon sloped off to Turin leaving Maggie to run the restaurant single-handed. 'Oh, I could manage in the kitchen well enough without him,' she remarked when I said that these must have been dreadfully difficult times for her.