all the love juice that was trickling down from my cunney and then his tongue found its way further until it found my ditty. He chewed on it which almost sent me off then and there but with a groan he carried me back to the bed and I lay on my back, my swollen sex lips waiting for his swollen tool. He groaned and then thrust his shaft straight in my cunt without the least difficulty. His heavy ballsack slapped against my wet bum as I wrapped my legs until he spurted his juicy froth inside me in a marvellous mutual spend.'
That was surely worth more than ten bob,' said Frank, panting slightly as Sally was now wanking both our cocks by rubbing our shafts against the soft velvety skin of her inner arms. 'You're right there, Master Frank, he pressed a pound note into my hand after we had both dressed,' she said complacently. 'You must be quite a wealthy young miss,' I said laughingly. 'Not really,' said Sally.
'I enjoy sucking and fucking but would never do it just for money. I wouldn't even have taken the presents Horace and other gentleman have given me but I'm helping my brother Tom through college. He won the Sir Louis Baum Scholarship to Oxford University last year. But he always needs money for his living expenses and there are so many books that he has to buy.' 'What is he studying?' I said, breathing in heavily as Sally had now changed her style to tossing us off more slowly by making a circle with her forefinger and thumb and rubbing up and down the length of our cocks, barely touching the skin but chafing deliciously against the ridges of our knobs. 'He's taking a degree in Politics, Philosophy and Economics. Tom's a fervent Socialist and wants to become a Member of Parliament.' 'Never mind about those members, here's a member which is about to spout cock juice!' interrupted Frank as my own prick started to jerk uncontrollably in Sally's hand. We spunked almost together and Sally leaned forward to lick one cock and then the other, licking and lapping the jism that flew out of our bursting shafts. Alas, we did not have time to repay the compliment though both of us would have appreciated a lesson in muff-diving from the gorgeous girl. But, hopefully, this would come at a later time. 'By the by, Master Rupert,' said Sally as she walked to the door. 'I couldn't help reading that lovely poem you wrote to Miss Wigmore which I saw in your exercise book. Now I don't want any money from you or Master Frank but I'd be very happy if you wrote a few verses for me to put in my scrapbook. Would you do that for me?' As I said just before, you simply cannot keep anything secret from the servants! I should have reported her to Mr. Goldhill for looking in my bedside drawer, but she had more than repaid this trifling wrongdoing! And her request for a keepsake was hardly a bothersome imposition. 'Very well, Sally, Frank and I will spend the morning composing an ode to you, on the condition that you don't show it to all and sundry in the servants' hall downstairs,' I said with a grin. 'I promise I won't, Master Rupert, never fear,' she replied as she opened the door. 'Shall I tell your Dad that you'll be down for breakfast in half an hour? You know how shirty he gets if you aren't at the table by half past eight and it's nearly twenty past eight already!' Sally was right about my father's mood when Frank and I finally came down to breakfast. 'What sort of time do you call this?' he demanded. 'Young Folkestone, I'm sure your house has finished breakfast at this late hour.' Frank nodded weakly as he helped himself to tea and toast. 'Is that all you're having? There's bacon, eggs, sausages, kedgeree and Mrs.
Randall will cook you a steak if that takes your fancy.' 'No thank you very much, sir, I rarely eat a cooked breakfast,' replied Frank politely. 'H'rumph, well, you must keep your strength up,' remarked my father and I muttered to my chum that he could have said that at least one portion of his anatomy was being kept up without any problem! My mother, who had been perusing the Manchester Guardian, looked up and said: 'Have you two boys forgotten that Mr. Nolan is making a film this morning? He left a message to say that if you are interested in seeing him at work he has gone to Knaresborough Castle.
Your father has provided him with a horse and cart and he left here about an hour ago.' Great Scott! In all the excitement of our late night and early morning escapades I had forgotten all about our American film-maker. 'Fred Nolan's a damned fine horseman,' grunted my father. 'I offered him the choice of a motor vehicle or the services of one of our coachmen but he declined, saying that he preferred to take the reins himself. But then he spent a year down in Texas as a cowboy so I suppose that's where he became such an expert.' 'Can we ride over there?' I asked.. 'Certainly not, it's only two miles and you're best to hike it. I daresay you can travel back with Mr. Nolan but a brisk morning constitutional will do you good. You both look a bit pasty round the gills this morning. Mind, I don't know why either of you should both look so tired, neither of you took any exercise yesterday.' Little did he know!
CHAPTER FOUR. Captured On Camera
Frederick Nolan was a fortunate man, because the fickle English climate decided to greet our visitor from America with a morning of brilliant summer sunshine. Not even a hint of cloud could be seen in the morning sky as Frank and I trudged up the high road to Burbeck Field, whence Mr. Nolan had been directed by my parents.
Although the walk was not of a great distance, most of the journey was uphill, for Knaresborough stands on the summit of a hill overlooking the River Nidd. When we reached the outskirts it was easy to see why Mr. Nolan had been recommended to use this location, for the luxuriant woods by which the little town is surrounded, the winding river at its foot, the venerable cottages, placed tier above tier on the face of the rock, the ruined castle and the old church combine to make up a most beautiful picture. 'Take the footpath just a hundred yards up the road on our right and Burbeck Field is behind the grove of silver birch trees you can see from here,' I said to Frank as we marched up Knaresborough Road. The field itself is private land owned by Diana Wigmore's father. It is marvellously shielded by the trees, so one has a glorious view of the castle with the benefit of almost complete privacy.' We made our way through the trees and we soon saw our horse and trap. Standing in his shirtsleeves behind a camera set up on a tripod was Mr. Nolan and in front of the camera was none other than Katie Harbottle, dressed or rather undressed in a flowing white gown through which one could clearly see the curved outlines of her figure. She was standing in a classical stance, with one leg moved slightly forward and with her arms outstretched arms, a pose which pressed her breasts against the fine covering and her nipples showed up darkly through the finely spun cotton where her breasts bulged against the almost transparent material. Frank and I exchanged a knowing glance-so this was how Mr. Nolan made moving pictures of the beauties of Yorkshire! Surprisingly, the couple did not seem embarrassed in the least by our presence. In fact, Mr. Nolan greeted us with a hearty 'Hi, fellows, what's been keeping you? Katie and I have been here for nearly two hours already.' He went on to explain that he wanted to make the first tableau vivant movie 'Shall we rehearse once more, Fred?' suggested Kate. 'It will certainly help to have an audience. Although you tell me I must always look at the camera, if the boys stand with you, I can see whether they are enjoying my performance.' 'Great idea, kid,' he replied, diving behind a black cloth and making the final adjustments to the focus mechanism. 'Try it one more time and then we'll commit you to immortality on celluloid. I need the strong sunlight for a satisfactory exposure. You see, the showmen are becoming more fussy and won't now accept dark prints.' 'What do you mean by that, Mr.
Nolan?' asked Frank. 'Who are these showmen you mention?' 'I'll tell you later,' he promised. 'Okay, Katie, let's try it one more time.' On his command Kate swirled around, dancing nimbly around the relatively small area of the field which was in the range of Mr.
Nolan's camera. Then she slowed down to stand just six feet away from us and teasingly, tantalisingly let slip her robe to stand stark naked in front of us. What a voluptuous beauty was Kate and how we drank in the delights of her nudity. Her face was finely formed with dark silky hair falling down in curved ringlets onto her shoulders. Her breasts were luxuriantly large, hard and firm, as white as snow and tipped with delicately small nipples, that were already raised like two pink bullets. What a perfect picture of female pulchitrude she made!
We stood gaping whilst Fred Nolan reloaded his camera and Katie let her hands fall to brush her nipples softly and then passed them upwards to turn through her hair. The movement made her breasts lift and the flushed circles of her aureoles which ran around each nipple heightened in colour, framing the juicy tithe at die centre as if they were bulls' eyes on target boards. Frank and I were not alone in wriggling uncomfortably as our erect cocks battered against the material of our trousers. Frederick Nolan, however, was already one step ahead and was busy tugging off his braces. 'Now look here, Rupert,' said the American moving picture pioneer hurriedly, as he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. He ripped open his shirt and continued: Here's the chance of a lifetime for you to make moving picture history! I've put a new magazine of film in the camera and I want you to come over here and keep the camera pointing at the action whilst you wind this handle at a steady pace. Like this, do you understand? Now, Frank, you hold the camera steady and point the apparatus forward if Rupert asks you to when he will have to point the lens to the ground. When we begin filming, look at your watch-you have a second hand on it don't you?
