tittie up to a fine erection.
Then, with a hoarse cry, he leaped upon her and I watched Rosamund guide his cock into the slippery entrance of her love channel. I lined up a camera to take in Maurice's quivering bum cheeks as he trembled with the emotion of his rite of passage into manhood.
However, to my surprise – and no doubt to Rosamund's – Maurice lay motionless upon the girl. Indeed I soon heard her enquire a trifle crossly: 'What's the matter, Mr. FitzAllen, don't tell me that fucking doesn't appeal to you!' 'Oh no, it's wonderful, it's what I've wanted to do for years,' he stammered nervously. 'Please don't laugh though, but I'm not certain what to do next.' Rosamund suppressed a smile and I rolled on the film to take another photograph as she replied: 'It's very easy, my dear. Just push your prick in and out of my pussey until you feel you're ready to spunk. Then you must pull out your cock immediately and spend over my tummy because this isn't the best time of the month for me to be fucked even if I had some linseed oil handy.' I snapped the couple again as she slid her hands down his back to clasp his bum cheeks and he now needed no further encouragement as her hips rose to welcome his thrusting tool. What Maurice lacked in experience, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm, bouncing up and down on Rosamund as she clutched his jerking bottom.
'Aaaagh!' gasped Maurice as he plunged deeper and deeper, delighting for the very first time in the ecstatic pleasure of having his cock being caressed inside a sticky, wet cunt. 'Slowly!
Slowly! You don't have a train to catch!' cried out Rosamund. 'Try and hold back till I'm ready to spend.' However, this set him off at an even faster pace and she was forced to cling to him, bucking her hips urgently so as not to be left behind. This will make a good snap, I muttered under my breath, as Maurice's cock popped out of her cunney and slid crazily across her belly, squirting a tribute of sticky spunk into the whorl of Rosamund's navel, just as I pressed the button to take another photograph. She grabbed hold of his spurting length, milking Maurice's cock of the last drains of white seed and said: 'That was very good for a beginner, Mr. FitzAllen. I'm glad to see your cock is still quite thick. I'm sure that if I suck your shaft it will soon be as hard as iron again. I suppose this will be a new experience for you as well?' But Maurice hung his head and said: 'Not exactly. When I was in the fourth form, Reverend Fotheringay used to lick our cocks. 'I wouldn't worry too much about what your parson did,' said Rosamund as she took Maurice's thickening tool in her hands. She hauled herself up and rested her head on his thigh and began to tease his uncapped bell-end by running the tip of her tongue around the ridges of the springy helmet, whilst at the same time she manipulated his balls through the soft wrinkled skin of his scrotum.
It was soon clear that Joshua had not been guilty of exaggeration when he had commented so favourably upon Rosamund's skills as a fellatrice. I took the last shot on my roll of film whilst I watched the chambermaid give a few hard sucks on Maurice's meaty shaft. Then she pulled it from her lips and I could see the pre-cum oozing out of his mushroomed knob whilst Rosamund delicately flicked her tongue along his shaft. His face was contorted with delicious agony as she slurped with undisguised lust upon his twitching tool and when she judged that he was ready to ejaculate a second spermatic libation, she began to swallow in anticipation. Sure enough, Maurice let out a hoarse yelp and Riled her mouth with frothy white seed. She gulped down his emission, and when she felt his shaft soften, she rolled her lips around his prick and nibbled on his knob until she released his shrunken shaft from its sweet imprisonment inside her mouth. 'We had better get dressed,' Rosamund remarked as she stepped into her knickers. 'I'm sure you have lots of books to study, and I've also got an awfully busy day ahead of me.' 'By Jove, Rosamund, thanks for reminding me about work! I must read at least two chapters of Dr Barnes' book on the British Constitution before lunch,' he replied somewhat absently whilst he picked up his underpants from the floor.
'Is that all?' said Rosamund, looking directly up in my direction and giving me a huge wink. 'I've much more than that to do this morning. Some of you young gentlemen are terribly untidy. For instance, clearing up after your friend Henry Dashwood is a real nightmare.' 'Henry Dashwood's no friend of mine,' said Maurice.
'He and his chums support Dr Barnes and the pro-Boers.' 'Well so what? Why should there be bad blood between the pair of you just because you don't agree about politics?' demanded Rosamund. To my astonishment, Maurice FitzAllen paused from the task of buttoning his shirt and said meekly: 'You're right, Rosamund, there's no reason at all. I don't agree with their political views, but Dashwood and his pals are fully entitled to their beliefs and they must think I'm a dreadful lout.' Rosamund looked up quickly at me again and continued to probe further. 'And why should they think that?' she asked gently. Maurice shrugged his shoulders. 'I led a gang of fellows to try and shout them down,' he confessed. 'I know it was wrong but people like Dashwood make me so angry. And on the evening of the freshers reception I saw him leave the college with Dr Barnes's stepsister who is the prettiest girl I've seen for years.' 'But that has nothing to do with Henry's politics,' exclaimed Rosamund. She might be only a lowly maidservant but she is blessed with genuine perception. 'You were simply jealous of him because this girl preferred his company to yours.' Maurice's face crumpled.
However, he pulled himself together and said: 'Yes, I admit it, and what made me even more furious was that I was too shy to introduce myself to her. To be brutally honest, I was angry with Dashwood and his crony not so much because they support the Boers but because they seem the type that have more success socially than I do. It's these damned spots on my face, you know, no girl could ever fancy me.'
'Don't be such a softy,' said Rosamund robustly. 'What were we doing five minutes ago-playing Ludo? Dr Barnes once told me that there was a poet called Pope who was small and slightly hunchbacked, but he always captured the attention of women at parties against competition from the most dashing and handsome young bucks because of his wicked tongue.' Maurice gave her a strange look and Rosamund giggled and said: 'Not that kind of wicked tongue, you rude thing! Pope might have been a wonderful pussey licker, but I meant that he was a great wit, and everyone likes a good laugh, you know. All right, I'm not saying that your spots look nice, but do something about them. Buy a jar of skin cream from the chemist. I'm sure that Smith's ointment will clear them up.' 'Do you really think so?' he said, brightening up for a moment. But then poor Maurice added gloomily: 'But at school we were told that spots came from, er, well, how I shall I put it-'
'Playing with yourselves,' said Rosamund, finishing his sentence for him. 'Oh, don't blush, Mr. FitzAllen, I've heard all these fairy stories before. Sometimes, the schools tell the boys they'll get spots, sometimes that they'll go blind, sometimes that they'll catch deadly diseases or worse if they don't stop tossing off. Well, all I can say is that if that were the case, the hospitals would be bloody crowded because there wouldn't be more than a handful of healthy men who could expect to reach the age of twenty-five!' 'I'll do what you say, Rosamund,' said Maurice humbly. 'And I'll tell my friends not to interrupt Dr Barnes's next lecture. We were going to rag him, but I'll stop any trouble.' 'And what about Henry Dashwood?' she demanded. Maurice gave her a smile and said: 'Well, after this morning, I don't feel so jealous of Dashwood. Actually, I rather like him and his chum Charles Farleigh-Windsor. Perhaps if I apologised for being so beastly to him and the others, we could still be friends.'
'I'm sure you could,' agreed Rosamund. When they had finished dressing they left Maurice's room and Joshua came out from behind the curtains and gave me a hand down from my perch. 'Did you get any good shots of Maurice on the job?' he asked eagerly. 'I think I'll have two or three corkers.' I scratched my head and said hesitantly: 'Yes, there are probably some saucy snaps on my film, but I don't think we should develop them just yet.' 'Ah, because of what he said to Rosamund about making up with us,' he said thoughtfully. 'Fair enough, Henry, I suppose we should give him a chance to make amends. But if we don't send any photographs to the rude magazines, I'll have to give Rosamund a fiver myself because it wouldn't be right to put her out of pocket.' When we told Charles about what had happened he readily agreed to suspend judgement on Maurice FitzAllen. 'Now the yoke of unwanted virginity has been lifted from his shoulders, I believe that Maurice will be a far nicer person,' I said. 'Now he has had his first taste of pussy, he won't be so aggressive as he'll have shaken off that dreadful inferiority complex.'
PART III. Rural Rides
Brasenose College, Oxford, October 24th, 1901 (study hour) Diary, it is now two weeks since I was precariously perched on the top of Maurice FitzAllen's wardrobe. Happily, I am able to report that it proved unnecessary to develop the shot, for Maurice did undergo a change of heart and it is now possible to debate issues of the day with him in a sensible, civilised manner. Frankly, I doubt if he will ever become close friends with political opponents but thanks to Maurice's influence, those who support the Boer War no longer snarl like animals at those in the opposite camp in the dining hall. As we had no photographs to send to The Cremorne, Joshua, Charles and myself each insisted on giving Rosamund a guinea, for her part in the lascivious affair. But, for my part, I am very
