stiffly to attention as I watched Henry's prick slew in and out of Nancy's sopping cunt. My trusty right hand flew to my cock and began frigging as Henry arched his back upwards and then crashed down upon Nancy's soft curves. We all came together and the wonderful feeling shuddered through every pore as I pumped spurt after spurt of sticky spunk over the entwined lovers, who were writhing in their own paroxyms of pleasure. Alas, as I coated the couple with sperm, Henry turned his head towards me and received a great glob of jism in his left eye which brought the proceedings to a somewhat inglorious end and after wiping ourselves down with a towel from my travelling case, we dressed ourselves and I unlocked the door of the compartment. It was just as well that we did not continue this frenetic frolic, because within only a few minutes an inspector appeared to clip our tickets and to announce that luncheon would shortly be served in the restaurant car. We trooped in to the dining car and I should mention that I was agreeably surprised by the quality of our luncheon which consisted of an excellent clear soup, after which came a generous slice of turbot with anchovy sauce, followed by a main offering of tender duckling with new potatoes and green peas.
The dessert of a gooseberry tart and cream was also first class, as was the Stilton cheese with which we concluded the meal. The service was cheerful and attentive and I was impressed with the care which had been taken to ensure that the silver service really sparkled in the sunlight which was surprisingly strong for a late autumnal day. All in all we thought the luncheon very good value even at the relatively high price of four shillings and sixpence. As I had paid for the bottle of Chardonnay we drank with our food, Henry insisted on paying for our meal and he was thanked effusively for the handsome gratuity by the two waiters. After coffee, we sauntered back to our compartment and Nancy said to me with genuine regret in her voice, 'I'm dreadfully sorry, Rupert, but would you mind waiting till this evening when perhaps we can make love before dinner? I know how frustrated you must feel after seeing Henry fuck me just now but frankly, I'm feeling so tired after that delicious lunch that I'd rather close my eyes for half an hour or so.' 'Please don't give it another thought,' I replied truthfully. 'I'd also appreciate forty winks and I'm pretty sure that Henry will be pleased to follow suit.'
'I will indeed,' said Henry, taking off his jacket and settling himself down for a nice little nap. 'Wake me up when we get near Leeds.' In less than five minutes both my companions were fast asleep, worn out too, no doubt, by their brief but intense bout of pre-prandial fucking. Although I was also feeling tired I was not actually sleepy so I decided to read for a while. Then on the seat next to Henry, my eye caught sight of the mysterious brown envelope which had been passed to him at the King's Cross bookstall. The flap was open so I carefully pulled the envelope towards me and took out the magazine which had been stuffed inside. My face crinkled into a broad smile as I saw that Henry had bought a copy of The Latest Letters and Verses of Jenny Everleigh. I eagerly thumbed through the pages, as the Everleigh horn books were highly prized both at St Lionel's and at Oxford University where even second-hand copies were sold for as much as two shillings each. It took a minute to two to fully appreciate the following verse: Come Teddy dear, lay your body down Upon your lover's naked belly white, Now raptures soon shall our embraces crown; This is the path to sheer delight. I know the lessons I have learned from you, Sweet teachings in the flowery path of love, Sure I'll remember all I must do, When I am under and you are above!
Each day upon my cunt your burning kisses fall, Each movement of your tongue gives me such bliss, Till no longer for your cock I can forbear to call! And at this point I rumbled that this poem was a clever if rude acrostic and possibly written-as Jenny had certainly been fucked by His Gracious Majesty King Edward VII during his wild years as Prince of Wales-for the King.
My suspicions were confirmed on the very next page on which was printed a love letter from Jenny to A-E-, surely Prince Albert Edward himself. As we were soon to meet the great man, I read this epistle to him with especial interest… My Dearest, If your duties allow you, come round to my Aunt Portia's house, number sixty-nine. Exhibition Road (a felicitous address in the circumstances, don't you think?) around midday on Thursday and I'll suck your noble prick whilst you are bringing me off with your tongue and then you'll fuck me with your big cock all afternoon! How I missed you last night at the soiree Lady Linda Brighton gave for Signor Marchiano, the new Italian ambassador. Not only was I bored but I had to fend off the unwanted attentions of Sir Oswald Holland and his friend Colonel Grahame-even the amusing charms of Dr Jonathan Letchmore who rescued me from the randy pair could not fill the void in my heart. What would I give to have your hands freely roaming across my nude body as they did that night after Lord Zane's ball! But I shall have to make do with my imagination and the beautiful dildo made by Monsieur Tihanyi, fashioned upon your own royal measurements.
I am sitting on my bed quite naked and I am looking in the mirror at the silky blonde pussey hair which curls around my crack. Now I am moving my hands slowly across my breasts, cupping the firm globes and rolling my palms over the upright red stalky nipples which have risen up to greet them. Darling, I am whispering your name softly as I close my eyes and slowly slip one hand downwards to rub my fingers against my pouting cunney lips. With the other I am fondling my breasts and, aaah, my fingertip has just entered my love channel but how much nicer it would be if it were you who was parting the soft folds of skin. My hands are now busy, forming circles over my aroused ditty, pressing my blonde bush until I can feel the thrilling flow of an approaching spend. Now my left thumb is slipping inside my moist slit, though it is a poor substitute for your majestic member, and I am pushing two fingers in my cunney to make it nice and wet. It is time now to grasp hold of your gift of the finely crafted comforter based exactly upon your noble stiffstander. Aaah, I am slowly nudging the helmet between my separated cunney lips and in the mirror I can see to the very depths inside my damp, tight honeypot. Yet as I push this ivory cock further inside my pussey, I can only think of how you dipped your prick into me gently at first and then moved harder and faster just as I am now moving my comforter, rubbing it across my erect little clitty which now throbs and tingles and my cuntal juices are already dripping out onto the sheet. I'm lifting my titties and pressing my breasts together so I can lick my hard little nips and now I'm fucking myself with the dildo at great speed… Oh! Oh! Oh! I am coming! Yes! I'm there! Aaah! Aaah! A-h-r-e! Oooh, that was nice, very nice and I'm licking the creamy cum from the dildo which I am pretending is your live, quivering cock… I won't pretend I didn't enjoy this frigging, but believe me, my dearest, nothing in the world can compare with making love to you, lying back on rumpled sheets with a soft pillow underneath my head and being thrilled to the core by the voluptuous sensations aroused by your gorgeous thick cock reaming out my juicy cunney. Unless I hear otherwise, I will expect to see you on Thursday. I am feeling so randy that I shall make you forgo your usual lobster salad at lunchtime and feed you half a dozen oysters instead! All my love, jenny Naturally, reading this racy narrative made my cock rise up again but I resisted the temptation to pull out my prick and administer manual relief to my swollen shaft by a quick five knuckle shuffle because I knew that a great deal of serious fucking awaited us all later this evening and in all probability during the next few days. So I closed my eyes and soon I joined Nancy and Henry in the Land of Nod but we woke up well in time to collect our possessions and alight at Leeds where porters took off our luggage and guided us to the platform where the local Harrogate line train had just arrived. There was only a brief wait of about ten minutes before we were on our way again and in half an hour we had arrived at our destination of Knaresborough.
At the station, Crabtree, our chauffeur, was waiting for us with my father's large Lanchester motor car and old Goldhill was also on hand to meet the party and to supervise the loading of our luggage into one of the estate's carts, with the aid of Frederick, a handsome young footman. I could see that Frederick's powerful physique, shown as he heaved the cases into the cart, had caught Nancy's attention.
On our way to Albion Towers, the seat of the Mountjoys since the sixteenth century, we passed through the high road via Starbeck and, like the American cinematographer Frederick Nolan, my guests marvelled at the superb view of the luxuriant woods, the venerable cottages, the ruined castle and the old church which make up a superb vista.
Diana Wigmore is one of many artists who have brought out their easels and painted scenes of Knaresborough from the Castle Hill,' I commented, as we trundled down the hill towards the sleepy village of Wharton. 'If we have time, I'll gladly show you round what's left of the castle which has an interesting history. It was to here that the knights fled after murdering Archbishop Becket, and John of Gaunt is believed to have built the Keep. Incidentally, given half a chance, my father will show you the secret passage he discovered twenty years ago leading from the castle yard to the moat.' 'Such a pity it was demolished,' said Nancy sadly. 'When did that happen?' In the seventeenth century, during the Civil War when it was in the hands of the Cavaliers, until Fairfax successfully besieged it after the battle of Marston Moor. Four years later it was reduced to ruins by the Roundheads,' I informed her, and Nancy murmured, 'My, that would be ancient history as far as New Yorkers are concerned.' 'Oh, but part of the Parish Church goes back to the twelfth century, the nave to the fifteenth and the tower was built in 1774, just before your Declaration of Independence,' I added, which impressed Nancy even more. Henry, who had stayed with me several times and knew Knaresborough well, chipped in, 'I'll escort you to the Church one morning if we have time, Nancy. Even an atheist like myself can appreciate the naive beauty of the two
