her bum cheeks as the gorgeous girl thrusts back her bum to receive the spurts of spunk that shoot out from my cock.
Alas, she cannot stay the night and we bathe and dress for she must return home before midnight or risk the wrath of her Mama. Ah, if only I could but translate a fond fantasy into a glorious reality, at the end of my days I would enter the fields of Elysium.
Yours sincerely,
Stanley Wright
Stamford Bridge
York
September, 1892
The Editor replies: I have taken the liberty of sending your billet doux to Miss Everleigh who is spending the summer in the Lake District with Lord Goulthorpe. She asks me to convey her sincere regards but regrets that she is currently being fucked by Sir Graham Giddens and cannot entertain any further pricks until further notice. Nevertheless, she was most flattered that she was the object of desire in your spellbinding fantasy. She is in possession of your name and address, and if the occasion ever arises that she finds herself in Yorkshire, be assured that she will contact you.
Sir,
This cautionary tale will demonstrate the necessity of keeping an accurate appointments diary.
Last Thursday evening I invited three friends from my Club round to my apartments for a few rubbers of bridge. For the record, these gentlemen are probably known to many readers of The Oyster, Sir Lionel Trapes, the bon viveur and Permanent Financial Secretary at The Treasury; Captain Jock Gibson of Edinburgh and Mr. John Walsh, the noted author and critic.
As I shepherded my guests into the lounge, I instructed my man, Bacon, to put a magnum of champagne on ice and bring it in when the bottle had chilled.
'Very good, Sir,' said Bacon who then, instead of retiring with our hats and coats, laid his hand on my arm and hissed: 'Sir, I hope you will not mind my reminding you that you have a rendezvous tonight with Lady Paula Platts-Lane. I could not help but overhear your telephone conversation with her the other morning.'
'By Gad, Bacon, it had completely slipped my mind. I was going to take her to some wretched concert this evening at the Wigmore Hall. Damn, damn, damn! I can't even contact her as she's spending the afternoon with friends out of town.'
'What shall I do, Sir?'
'Well, she said she would take a Prestoncrest carriage and meet me here at eight o'clock, but if she was delayed she would simply come round here as soon as possible and we would spend the evening quietly together.'
'Let's hope she is so engrossed with her friends that she decides to forgo the pleasures of the concert,' said Bacon hopefully. 'After all it is only a charity affair tonight put on by Lady Valerie Fitzcockie of Finchley, and so long as you have bought the seats it hardly matters whether or not they are occupied.'
'That's true enough,' I said. 'Nevertheless, at best I shall still have to explain to Paula that we will be unable to dine a deux as I promised. She will be very angry, to say the least.'
'But so long as you fuck her, Sir, I am sure that she will be satisfied,' murmured Bacon.
I smiled briefly and ordered him to announce Lady Paula and to show her into the lounge whenever she made an appearance. I then followed my guests inside, mixed them some hearty drinks and we sat down to enjoy our game, though I warned them that I had forgotten my previous arrangement with my current amorata.
As it so happens, Paula did not arrive until nearly nine o'clock so that in any case we would have been unable to attend Lady Fitzcockie's concert.
Bacon brought in some sandwiches and champagne, which went down perhaps a little too well as between us we managed to finish the best part of two bottles of my best Scotch whisky even before we began to eat. I freely admit that I was having a slight problem distinguishing spades from clubs and diamonds from hearts for frankly, I have never been a great imbiber and am unable to consume the vast amounts of alcohol that Messrs Walsh and Gibson, for example, can enjoy without any apparent ill-effects.
I well remember, however, that I was dealing out the cards when Bacon threw open the door and announced the arrival of Lady Paula Platts-Lane. I rose somewhat unsteadily to greet her along with the other three gentlemen and I apologised most profusely for having double-booked the evening.
'Oh, don't worry, Larry,' said Paula brightly. 'We would never have been able to go to the concert and I'm quite tired with all the talking this afternoon. You see, some of us girls are going to start up a ladies' club in Belgravia to rival some of your wretched men-only institutions.'
'I trust you do not plan to exclude men from this new establishment,' commented John Walsh, his eyes roving over Paula's wavy brown hair, her attractive face, slim figure, well rounded, firm breasts and long, shapely legs. 'Alas, our club committee will not countenance a lady being introduced into the place.'
'No, we are not so blinkered as the members of the Rawalpindi,' smiled Paula. 'Men will be allowed inside our club, but strictly by invitation only.'
I finished dealing the cards but none of us made to pick any up. Like my three friends I was staring unashamedly at Paula's cream-coloured blouse which was made of such a flimsy material that it was quite transparent and we could easily make out the outline of her large, heavy breasts for she was wearing nothing underneath it, and despite my somewhat dazed state, my prick began to stir as I gazed upon her dark, swollen nipples that pressed against their thin covering.
Paula knew full well what we were staring at but she said nothing except to tell us to finish our game. Slowly and unwillingly we picked up our cards and tried hard to concentrate upon bridge and to banish the sight of Paula's titties from our brains. It was a most difficult feat to accomplish and Sir Lionel, who is generally considered to be amongst the best players in London, unnecessarily trumped John Walsh's winning ten of diamonds whilst I foolishly neglected to cover Jock Gibson's queen of hearts with the king. In normal circumstances such plays would have brought forth cries of rage from the wronged partners, but our minds were no longer on the game.
Indeed, play slowed to a complete halt when Paula said: 'Hasn't it been a warm day, gentlemen? Larry, you do keep this room far too warm. I do declare that you must have also forgotten to instruct Bacon not to light a fire in the hearth.'
With a gleam in his eye Sir Lionel suggested that perhaps she might like to take off some clothes. 'Some clothes, Lionel?' echoed Jock Gibson. 'All of them, more like. How about it, Paula?'
She said nothing but looked the gallant Scottish soldier straight in the eye as she undid the buttons on her blouse and slowly peeled it off. If Bacon was listening at the keyhole (a habit which is endemic in many servants) he must have heard the collective intake of breath as we were given full view of her nude breasts that jutted out proudly, the large titties pouting lasciviously as she caressed her delicious globes, rubbing the nipples up to a stalky firmness.
Then she quickly undid her ankle-length skirt and we gasped as she let it fall to the floor. She was wearing only the briefest of frilly lace knickers and after she stepped out of the skirt which lay on my Persian carpet, she sidled up to Jock and in a tantalising whisper said to him: 'Well, Jock, do you like what you see? Is your Caledonian cock rising in your drawers? If you'll pull down my knickers I'll show you that even an empty whisky bottle has its uses for a clever girl.'
'This promises to be interesting if my guess at what Paula has in mind is correct,' grinned Sir Lionel lewdly.
'Wait and see,' she replied throatily. 'Larry, be an angel and play a little light music on the piano to get me in the mood.'
You are already in the mood, Paula, I thought to myself as I acceeded to her request. What should I play? Brahms, perhaps, or maybe Lizst? No, let it be Beethoven, I decided as I knew how fond she was of his music. I struck up the chords of the beautiful Appassionata and this certainly set Paula off. She danced sensuously around
