next plate in which the pretty wench was shown on her knees in front of the mirror but this time she had been joined by a naked young man of about my age or perhaps even a year or two my junior, who stood sideways to the girl, his prick standing as stiff as a poker from out of his luxuriantly thick black bush. Over the page, the next photograph showed his cock in close up with the girl's lips closed over the rubicund helmet and her hands caressing his hairy balls. Further plates showed the couple in all sorts of sensual poses. My favourite set were those which showed them in bed, and the best of all was that of the girl on her back with her legs either side of the boy who was sliding his thick cock between the pink lips of her cunney whilst his hands squeezed her pert, rounded breasts. '“Well, that's a different way of looking at it,” as the fly said when it landed on a mirror,' I remarked as Miranda shut the book and returned it to the shelves.
She chuckled and said: 'H'm, it seems obvious that a photographer's model leads a far more exciting life than that of someone like me who poses for avant garde artists like Elisha Withington.' Then she turned round and slid her hand between my legs and giving my stiff shaft a quick rub, she said huskily: 'I'm not surprised that you're feeling horny after looking at those pictures.
My pussey is as moist as if I'd been frigging myself for the last few minutes. In fact I think I'll take off my knickers. They're so wet I'll catch a chill if I keep them on.' Miranda hitched up her skirts and in a trice her drawers were around her ankles. She looked me straight in the eye and said: 'Dear me, Henry, you're somewhat slow off the mark this morning. The door is locked so pull down your trousers and let me suck your cock – what are you waiting for?'
What indeed! In my haste, I ripped off two buttons from my flies, but then Miranda was on her knees tugging my underpants down to the ground. I growled with unslaked desire and clutched her shoulders as she swirled her darting wet tongue over my uncapped knob before licking every inch of my stiff shaft from tip to base and back again.
Delicious stabs of desire ran through my body as she sucked my cock and I moaned in frustration when I realised that the spunk was already about to shoot up from my balls. But Miranda sensed this and prudently took her sweet lips away for a few moments. Then she returned to the attack as she slicked her tongue along the sensitive underside of my aching penis, making my tool throb with an ever-increasing urgency. She clasped my cock in her fist and bobbed her head up and down my beefy shaft until I could no longer contain myself. My lusty tool pulsed in her mouth as I let out a hoarse cry and jetted spurts of salty warm jism down her throat, and Miranda continued to milk my prick to the utmost, swallowing every drop of my copious emission. She purred with satisfaction and planted a swift series of butterfly kisses along the shaft of my gleaming cock which had lost only a small proportion of its thick stiffness. “That was delicious, Henry, your manly essence has such a fresh, tangy taste. I'm afraid there's only room for what I believe is commonly known as a knee-trembler but what would you say to a quick little fuck?' 'Yes, please,' I stammered. Miranda gave a throaty chuckle. 'Good, I fancy one too,' she replied as she unhooked her skirt, Standing against a stack of books which reached up to the ceiling she pulled me towards her and sank her wicked wet tongue into my mouth. Then she slid her fist around my cock and rubbed it up till it was again standing fully erect and guided it between the lips of her hairy pussey. My senses reeled as our bodies rocked sinuously together whilst I pounded in and out of her juicy cunt, my hands clasping her delicious bum cheeks as we lost ourselves in the passion of this wild coupling. Alas, I could not wait till Miranda achieved her climax and with a low groan I flooded her honeypot with my spermatic libation. My cock was in no condition to perform a third time so I finished off the dear girl with my fingers. Also, I must confess that in the heat of the moment, we knocked over a small pile of books and a mix of my spunk and Miranda's cuntal liquids left large wet marks on the front cover of a reprint of the early eighteenth century classic, Fanny Hill. We could hardly report the damage, and as Miranda later said to me with a giggle, at least the stains were from appropriate sources! When we had dressed ourselves, I unlocked the door and we made our way back to the attendant where I gave him back the key. 'Thank you, sir. I can see it was worth the money,' he leered, looking down at my groin, Following his look, I realised with no little horror that a third button must have joined its fellows in the annexe and that although my cock was not swinging free, my drawers could be seen through the gap at the front of my trousers. Miranda was quick witted enough to come to my rescue by snatching a raincoat from a cloakstand. 'Put this on,' she ordered.
'As soon as we get back to your rooms, you can change and then come straight back here and return the raincoat to its rightful owner. If necessary, you can always apologise and say that you slipped it on by mistake. But with any luck, he'll never even know that you've borrowed it.' And she was right. Thankfully, the gentleman whose raincoat I filched from the Bodleian Library never knew that his garment had been borrowed for a mission of mercy. No accusing hand was laid on my shoulder after I hung up the coat again on the stand and with a huge sigh of relief, I ran back to Miranda who was waiting for me in the quadrangle. 'Mission accomplished, ma'am,' I grinned. There was just time for me to take Miranda to Mrs. Clark's Tea Rooms for a celebratory fight luncheon of mulligatawny soup, cold roast beef and salad and a rhubarb tart, for I had no wish to miss a minute of her stepbrothers' first lecture of the term. 'You must hurry back to college, Henry,' said Miranda as we rose from our table. 'But I'm in no hurry so I shall visit the Sheldonian Theatre which is only two minutes' away from here. Then I'm very happy to stroll back to the hotel by myself.' 'Very well, but can we meet again this evening?' I asked. But she shook her head. 'I'm afraid not, my dear, Kit is squiring me to some important party. However, I'm free tomorrow night, and I insist that you come to dinner at the Randolph as my guest. I'll send a note round confirming this later today.
Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy Kit's lecture, you must tell me all about it tomorrow might.'*** Diary, it did not immediately strike me what a novel idea Miranda was proposing – after all, who has ever heard of a girl taking a boy out for a meal! Anyhow, I have accepted her offer and am greatly anticipating the 'dessert'.
Brasenose College, Oxford, October 4th, 1901 (After breakfast) There was a buzz of excitement in the air when Kit Barnes walked into the lecture room to meet his batch of first year undergraduates who were taking his course in current political philosophy. I arrived ten minutes early to bag a seat in the front row and I noticed that two groups had formed around the tall, spotty-faced youth (to whom I readily admit I have already taken an instant dislike) and the burly, blond chap. They are clearly the leaders of the factions who are respectively in favour and against the continuation of the Boer War. Charles Farleigh-Windsor sat down next to me and whispered: 'Hello there, Henry. Where have you been, old bean? The atmosphere hasn't really cooled down since earlier, but I'm damned if I'm getting involved again if some bloody idiots start any trouble. 'You can see for yourself how Maurice FitzAllen and his cohorts from the Imperialist Society are already spoiling for a fight, and that fair-faired fellow Johnny Tomlinson and the pro-Boers won't run from one either. Johnny was the vice-captain of the English Schoolboys rugby team and the bloke with the goatee beard on his right is Paul Adler, the son of the Liberal MP for Whitechapel, who I know has already been pencilled in to represent Oxford in the Universities boxing tournament.' “The boxing ring would be a far more suitable venue to settle their disagreements if they cannot debate the issue like civilised human beings,' I commented sourly, for at heart I am a peaceable soul and dislike violence so much that I never even swished any of the cheeky young fags during my year as a house prefect at Albion Academy. Here let me digress briefly to state that I agree whole-heartedly with the American idea of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and I make no apology in stating that I am allied to a philosophy of live and let live. My unashamedly hedonistic happiness lies in good food, jolly companions – and as many pretty girls as possible who I can persuade to share my bed! I said as much to Charles who chuckled and said: 'So you think if only we all looked after own business and didn't interfere with others, the world would be a better place, h'm? This might not sound unreasonable at first sight, but I'm afraid I can't agree with you. For a start, not everyone is as easy-going and kind as you, and if everyone followed your path, too many people would duck out of their obligations towards their fellow citizens.' It was not to my credit that I sarcastically observed: 'My goodness, this is a somewhat strange, socialistic argument to be propounded by a scion of the Farleigh-Windsors, one of the oldest and respected families in the county of Herefordshire.' Indeed, I was then going to apologise for the unfair comment when Dr Barnes entered the room and the buzz of conversation died down as he strode to the lectern. There was a collective intake of breath as Dr Barnes cleared his throat, but he began mildly enough and opened by welcoming us to his course. Truth to tell his fifty minute lecture on conventions of the unwritten British Constitution caused not a murmur of discontent from his audience.
However, the fireworks began when he asked if there were any questions we wished to put to him. Maurice FitzAllen rose to his feet and said in a sneering voice: 'And just what are your views on our brave soldiers fighting the Boer terrorists in South Africa?' Dr Barnes looked hard at the pimply-faced youth with barely concealed contempt and then said: 'I'll answer the question and ignore the impolite manner in which it was asked and despite the fact that the matter has little to do with the subject of my lecture. But I will answer it on a once and for all
