'I would love to fuck you again, my love,' I replied gallantly, 'but you are right. However, you could suck me off if we go inside the pavilion.'
'No, my darling boy, I want you in peak condition for tonight's little frolic. Tell me, will Pelham be joining us?'
'I think not, unless you want him to be there.'
'Oh, no, although a good thick cock like his is always welcome. But let tonight be just for us alone.'
'And Louella,' I added. 'We must not forget her.'
'No, I won't forget her,' sighed Lucy. 'I suppose I must share your gorgeous prick with her but as they say, half a loaf is better than no bread.' And after a final little kiss of farewell we parted, as she had to correct some French papers for Doctor White and I had to bone up on some German verse that I was to be tested on in a lesson the next day.
I tried very hard to force the lewd images of the two girls from my mind as I studied, holding the book with both hands, and ignored as best I could the continual pressure of the erection that pushed up from between my legs. But after an hour I could bear it no longer and sat down on my bed, opened my trousers and let my stiff cock spring out from my trousers. I grasped the throbbing shaft, rubbing it furiously as the red-capped dome slipped its bulbous head out of the top as I played with myself until my seed shot forth in a fountain of frothy sperm. It was not an unpleasant sensation but what a difference there was between tossing myself off and enjoying a glorious fuck!
After a light meal of cold roast meats and salad (thanks to Doctor White's interest in horticulture we grew much of our fruit and vegetables in the school grounds and everyone will know how delicious home-grown produce can be), I decided to take a short walk around the quadrangle before retiring to my study for a short rest. After all, I would shortly have the honour of pleasuring two lovely, lusty girls and I would need all my vital health and strength if I were to give full satisfaction, especially as I had been hard at work during the day!
But as I was about to open the door to my study I heard my name being called. I turned round and saw a good friend and fellow sixth former, Paul Hill-Wallace, striding towards me. Paul was spending his last days at Nottsgrove as he had already gained a place at B-College, Oxford, to study philosophy. He was a brilliant chap and was still working hard at his studies when most ordinary mortals like myself would have used the spare time purely for leisure pursuits.
'I say, Andrew,' he said. 'Could you spare me a minute or two?'
'What is it, Paul?' I enquired somewhat crossly. 'I am rather busy just now.'
'This won't take long and I would appreciate five minutes, old boy. Doctor White has set me a fascinating paper to prepare for next Thursday and I would like to hear your views upon the subject.'
'I am honoured,' I said rather sarcastically. 'What can I say about any matter of substance to such a distinguished scholar as yourself?'
This was a most unkind and unwarranted remark and Paul looked a trifle hurt.
'Don't be a rotter, Andrew,' he said. 'This will take only a few minutes. Come, let me in and we'll jaw about it and then I will promise to leave you alone.'
He was such a charming fellow and I felt so ashamed at my lapse of manners that I nodded and welcomed him into my room. Paul was my age, just seventeen and a half, and he was blessed with a lean yet powerful frame. His lustrous brown hair was set upon a fresh and handsome face. I am no expert in such matters but Lucy's cool judgement may be safely relied upon here, and he was of a generous spirit. Paul was always top of the class in all subjects yet he would willingly share his store of knowledge with his friends when it came to homework and he helped make our studies far less of a chore through his good nature. I must confess that I was flattered to be asked my opinion upon a matter of scholarship by so able and clever a chap!
'Please excuse my rudeness,' I said as we settled into our chairs. 'May I offer you some refreshment? No? Well, then now, I am delighted that you should ask me to assist you. How may I help?'
'Well, the essay I must prepare deals with the role of the novelist in society. I must discuss the importance of the novelist and of fiction in the continual changing pattern of the politics of the modem nation state.'
I gulped and quickly decided upon a course of action. 'What is your opinion?' I asked, throwing back the question to him.
'I am somewhat undecided which is why I would welcome another opinion. I am sure that you will agree that it is hardly surprising for a philosopher to use the novel as one of his modes of expression. However, we must of course distinguish the novel proper, such as the works of Jane Austen or of Proust, from the novel of ideas such as Candide or the plain tale such as Moll Flanders and the modern metaphysical tale of which there are innumerable examples. The novelist proper is in his way a kind of phenomenologist for he has always implicitly understood, what the philosopher has grasped perhaps less clearly, that human reason is not a single, unitary tool, the nature of which could be discovered once and for all. The novelist has had his eye fixed upon what we do and not upon what we ought to do or must be presumed to do. He has the natural gift of a precious freedom from rationalism which the academic thinker achieves, if at all, only by a precarious discipline. The writer of fiction has always been a describer rather than an explainer. Would you not agree, Andrew, with such a hypothesis?'
I struggled for words for, truthfully, the only word I fully understood was 'tool' and in his context I knew that Paul was not using the word in its vulgar form. 'I'm sure you are right, old fellow. Do continue,' I said, settling myself down in my chair for a nap. Even during the early years of my life I had learned a simple yet important rule which was that when people asked you for advice they desired not your true opinion but, in reality, a confirmation of their own views and dear old Paul (who is now, incidentally, a distinguished don with several learned tomes to his credit which to my shame I have never perused) carried on and on until I felt my eyes drooping and within a short time I was deep in the arms of Morpheus.
I awoke when I felt my shoulder being gently shaken and a voice coming through the mists of semi- consciousness saying: 'Andrew, Andrew, wake up. Oh my, oh my!' Then I heard giggling and I woke up with a start. There in front of me were Lucy and Louella, both heartily laughing, and Paul was also standing there with a smile upon his face.
'Ladies, you must forgive me,' I blurted out. 'Paul was giving me a dissertation upon the role of the novelist when 'I, er, I…'
'Went to sleep on me!' Paul grinned and it was typical of the fellow that he had not taken offence at my rudeness. 'Now, don't worry, Andrew, Lucy has introduced me to this charming young lady and indeed has invited me to take tea with her guest. You too of course are invited and I can continue my argument if you so wish.'
I smiled weakly and stood up. I saw the volumes that Doctor White had loaned me on the table and I took hold of it. 'Lead the way,' I said. 'And it will be my turn to entertain the company with a reading from a great novelist.'
'That sounds extremely interesting,' said Lucy and I thought I detected a note of irony in her voice but I refrained from comment as we walked towards her rooms which were on the other side of the building.
After we had made ourselves comfortable, Lucy said: 'Did you really mean what you said about giving us a reading?'
'I always mean what I say,' I replied loftily and picked up the book I had taken with me.
'Who is the author?' asked Louella.
'His name is John Cleland,' I said, looking at the cover.
'He was the composer of an erotic novel called Fanny Hill but this extract is from a piece extremely appropriate for Paul as he will soon be an undergraduate at Oxford University and this is entitled Memoirs of an Oxford Scholar!'
Lucy, Louella and Paul settled down whilst I began to read:
'I released her, kissing her again, allowing my hungry lips to travel down to the warm spot in her throat where the twin pulses race in uneven tempo.
'My impatience to possess the one who had occupied my dreams impelled me to lift the dear girl, my lips still pressed upon hers, to the waiting bed. Gently, so as not to distress the tender sentiments I saw reflected in her eyes, I unloosed my Chloe's gown and, her passions keeping pace with my own, she unfastened the stays and lay back, her lovely body but barely concealed by the near-transparent shift. I made haste to remove my own shirt and breeches, and seeing Chloe's hand move towards the fastening at the bodice of her shift, I helped her to undo them and to remove the last hindrance to my first sight of that body for which I had so long suffered in denial.
'Her bosom, now bare, was rising in the warmest throbs and presented to my eyes the firm swell of young
