panky. This is true of the other girls here, Alexa and Erika from Denmark, two extremely pretty twin sisters with whom Katie chummed up during her year at a finishing school in Switzerland. They are also pleasant enough and speak excellent English, but I don't have too much in common with them as their prime interest seems to be in outdoor sporting activities.
Nevertheless, I had a jolly time yesterday afternoon when I decided to walk down to the village. Upper Chagford is not a particularly exciting place although the Church is well worth a visit, being a quite interesting study in the development of Norman architecture from Early English and Decorated to Perpendicular.
I had taken my pocket camera with me and, after taking some photographs of the Church, I began to amble back to Judson Manor. However, when I reached the outskirts of the village I noticed a small shop all on its own with a selection of cameras in the front window. I stopped and looked again in surprise because it was strange to find a specialist establishment in such a quiet rural setting as distinct from an urban High Street.
Perhaps the place is run purely as a hobby by an enthusiast, I said to myself and, curious to know more, I decided to go in and buy a roll of film for my new Kodak Brownie. There were no sales staff inside the shop and, strangely, there were no goods of any description on the empty shelves nor on the counter behind which the back wall was covered by a huge blown-up photograph of the Eiffel Tower.
Then my interest was aroused further when a girl cam through a red-curtained doorway at the back of the shop and said to me brightly: 'Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?'
'May I have a roll of film for a Brownie camera, please?' I answered as I tried not to stare at this extremely pretty girl whose glossy tresses of ash-blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. She was dressed in a dark skirt and a white open-necked blouse which exposed enough cleavage to make my prick stir inside my trousers, especially when she leaned down to pick up a magazine which was lying on the floor.
'I'm sorry, sir, we don't sell photographic films,' she said politely. I scratched my head in bewilderment as I repeated blankly: 'You don't sell photographic films. That is very odd, if you don't mind me saying so, for I doubt there is any other camera shop in the entire country that doesn't stock any films.'
'Ah, but you see we don't sell cameras either,' she informed me. 'If that's what you were looking for, then I am sorry to have wasted your time. Really, the door should have been closed as we don't usually open for business until seven o'clock in the evenings unless a regular customer make a prior appointment beforehand.'
Now, of course, I was totally intrigued and I asked: 'Well, if you don't sell cameras here, what on earth do you sell?'
This question clearly amused the girl for a smile played about her lips as she replied: 'Are you just passing through Upper Chagford, Mister, ah-'
'Pethick, Ian Pethick, and no, I'm not just passing through the village. I'm staying at Judson Manor for a few days,' I said. She revealed a set of dazzling white teeth as she laughed out loud and said: 'I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Pethick, my name is Kitty Campbell. Now, in answer to your question, this domicile is not really a shop, it is a house of pleasure run by Madame Antoinette Defarge of Paris.'
I was utterly flabbergasted by her answer, for in my wildest dreams I could never have envisaged the existence of a house of pleasure run by a Frenchwoman in the heart of the English countryside. However, when Kitty saw the expression of disbelief on my face, she said: 'We don't advertise ourselves to all and sundry, Mr. Pethick, but only to discerning gentlemen like yourself. You do like girls, I take it? I can't imagine that such a masculine-looking fellow as yourself could be a nancy boy.'
'No, that's true enough, I've been called a few names in my time but never that,' I chuckled. Kitty moved round the counter and took hold of my arm as she enquired: 'Have you any film left in your camera, Ian?'
'Yes, I can take three more photographs,' I nodded. She winked at me and said: 'Well, whilst you're here why don't you take a snap of me? Don't worry, we never charge for the first visit.'
And before I could say yea or nay she pulled down a blind over the front door and locked it before turning back to me and saying: 'Now you just take off your coat and make yourself comfortable whilst I change into something more suitable.'
She disappeared behind the red curtain whilst, as if in a trance, I slipped off my coat and jacket and clicked open the shutter of my Brownie. Within a couple of minutes, Kitty came back clad in only a negligee of such fine silk that it was almost transparent. It was evident that she was wearing nothing underneath the flimsy garment because I could make out the outline of the rounded globes of her bottom as she executed a graceful pirouette in front of me. My cock now tented out my trousers as I observed her large nipples push out provocatively from their translucent covering.
Kitty glanced down at the bulge between my thighs as she smoothed her hands over her breasts and said softly: 'Ian, does your girlfriend have sensitive titties?' Unable to answer, I simply stood stock still as she moved closer towards me and whispered: 'I wonder if they are as sensitive as mine. Wouldn I you like to find out for yourself?'
She giggled while she pulled me over to a chair and pushed me down upon it. Then she unbuttoned the negligee and let it slip from her shoulders as I threw my left arm around her waist. With my right hand I fondled Kitty's jutting bare breasts which were topped by nut-brown nipples which I tweaked between my fingers.
'Suck my titties, Ian,' she moaned and I eagerly complied, nibbling gently on one nipple and then the other as the luscious wench squirmed in delicious agony. Now, in my experience, rubbing a girl's titties is a prelude to the main event but Kitty needed no further stimulation as, shaking all over, she spent with a happy yelp of ecstasy.
'Now it's your turn, my dear! breathed Kitty as she slid off my lap and knelt down in front of me. She quickly unbuttoned me and pulled out my prick which she held in both hands. She proceeded to wash her talented tongue all over my knob before closing her lips over my purple bell-end and sliding my thick shaft down her throat in one fluid gulp. Then she eased back, licking the underside of my shaft until she reached my balls which she sucked into her mouth, swishing them around before releasing them to lick all the way back up to my knob.
This was a sucking-off par excellence for Kitty now eased her lips over my helmet and slowly took my shaft between her lips whilst her hands busily circled themselves around my balls, gently caressing the wrinkly pink sack as her head began to bob up and down over my throbbing tool. My own hand automatically shot out to the back of her head as she gobbled more of my quivering cock into her mouth. Her tongue darted along the sensitive underside and I jerked my hips upwards as she sensually sucked on my chopper. Thrilling spasms of pure delight swirled through my body until I croaked out that I was about to cum.
With her mouth still filled with my hot, wet cock, Kitty nodded. She carefully squeezed my balls as I shot a stream of creamy jism down her throat. A wonderful orgasmic wave of release swept through me as she swallowed every drop of my gushing emission, draining my shaft of its salty essence. Then Kitty pulled my fast-deflating shaft out of her mouth and, raising her head, she smacked her lips and said: 'Wasn't that nice, Ian? Now how would you like to fuck my little wet cunney? I've a free afternoon tomorrow and it won't cost very much, only six guineas for two whole hours.'
Frankly, I was tempted to take up Kitty's offer. But I'm sure that Katie had made arrangements for her guests so I reluctantly declined, although I paid her a sovereign to let me take some naughty photographs of her which I promise to show you, although I will have to develop the film myself: I certainly cannot take it to Boots!
I must close now as Jack Dennison and I are off to the Dog and Duck for a drink before luncheon and the other two gentlemen who are making up the numbers for the weekend festivities have just arrived. I could be wrong but I have a sneaking feeling that Katie is carrying a torch for one of them, a chap named Andrew Scott.
Give my best regards to your parents and-
Here the manuscript ended, no doubt when the aforementioned Jack Dennison had called Ian away to the public house. With a chuckle, I placed the sheets of the letter back on the table where they had been so carelessly left by its author.
Well, the old saying might observe that eavesdroppers will never hear good of themselves but I was buoyed up to read that in Ian's opinion Katie was keen on me. Teddy, too, would be very happy to know that Susie had not succumbed to the charms of either Ian or Jack. I heaved myself out of my chair and strolled towards the door which I opened to find none other than Ian Pethick standing in front of me.
I gave a short cry and stepped back a pace as I gasped: 'Hallo there, Ian. Goodness, you startled me! I thought that you were taking a stroll in the garden with Susie.'
