out to the edge of the penalty area, from where our inside right, Billy Goodall, dribbled past one defender, evaded a tackle from another and then thundered an unstoppable shot into the net to give Albion Academy its first victory over our lordly rivals since 1889. As captain of the team, I found myself being chaired off the pitch by a group of cheering spectators and I was carried shoulder-high to the pavilion. Bunny Hare was waiting in the dressing-room with a beaming smile upon his face and showered us all with praise for our sterling performance.
'What a grandstand finish! It's a good thing that my heart is sound or that game would have been the death of me,' he added with a twinkle in his eye. 'And I can tell you that Dr Muttley has retired to his study and is probably executing a Red Indian war dance on the hearth rug to work off some of his exuberant spirits.' Then he came across and sat down next to me to look at my leg as I peeled off my stockings. Late in the game, I took a nasty kick on my shin from an ill-timed tackle by the Beddinghurst inside left during a melee in our penalty area, for which we were awarded the much needed relief of a free-kick. 'H'mm, that's an ugly looking gash, Dashwood. I want you to have a quick shower and then report to the sick bay before going to the slap-up tea we've laid on for both teams in Trippett's Hall,' he said as he studied the bloodied wound some three inches under my knee.
'I think it would be wise for Mrs. Dickerson to have a look at this shin of yours.' Now, whilst this instruction meant I might miss the start of the victory celebrations, I was happy enough to obey his order, even if it entailed the painful application of an iodine bandage round my shin. This is because Lizette Dickerson, the school's assistant matron and nurse, is a strikingly attractive young woman who we think is probably in her late twenties. It is no secret that she is a masturbatory fantasy for nearly every chap in the school. A distant relative of Dr Muttley, she was cruelly widowed after only eighteen months of marriage. Her husband was one of the fourteen people killed in the terrible train crash at Clapham Junction seven years ago and she was glad to accept the post which Dr Muttley kindly offered her after this tragedy. Her cheerful nature and gentle application of her medical skills, has swiftly made her a firm favourite with the masters and us boys alike. Interest in our assistant matron was recently heightened when two or three chaps who spent time in her care whilst recovering from influenza, boasted after their stay that, as a reward for their good behaviour, she had tickled their pricks and unbuttoned her blouse to show them her titties.
Frankly, I had discounted these tales as mere wishful flights of fancy. However, as Alexander Pope says, hope springs eternal in the human breast. Hence, as I hobbled along the corridor to her room, my cock began to thicken whilst I day-dreamed about how wonderful it would be if there were, after all, some faint glimmers of truth in these wild stories. With these lewd thoughts in mind, I knocked softly on her door. There was no reply so I knocked a second time, more firmly, but again to no avail. I was tempted to leave for the slap-up tea in Trippett's Hall and return later but my injured shin was getting more painful by the second and, as Bunny had suggested, it was best that Mrs. Dickerson should attend to it as soon as possible.
Perhaps she was tending to the needs of a patient, I thought to myself, whilst I made my way slowly up the spiral staircase to the sick bay bedrooms on the first floor. When I reached the landing I heard voices coming from one of the bedrooms. My head jerked back in amazement when I heard a lady, who sounded suspiciously like Mrs.
Dickerson, squeal: 'Julian, you naughty fellow, you'll get us both into the most awful trouble with the headmaster if you carry on like this.' I could hardly believe my ears when a familiar masculine voice replied with eager passion: 'Oh hang the headmaster, Lizzie, it would be well worth being gated for the rest of term or even expelled so long as we're not interrupted for the next hour or so – and there's little chance of that happening because I've locked the door.' My heart started to pound as I leaned back against the wall. So it seemed that the rumours about Mrs. Dickerson were true after all! Naturally, I could hardly wait to confirm this for myself and I tip- toed carefully across to the closed door, behind which, I could now hear the sounds of muffled laughter. In truth, there was very little chance of anyone in the vicinity hearing me, because Mrs. Dickerson had persuaded Dr Muttley to purchase a thick carpet which was laid throughout the entire first floor so that patients could rest undisturbed by the comings and goings of any visitors or members of the domestic staff. For the first time in my life, I bent down and peered through a key-hole to see what was going on and I could not prevent myself from uttering a gasp of astonishment. For, there on the bed, were the bodies of Mrs. Dickerson and none other than that of the lordly captain of the school, the Honourable Julian Clayton, pressed together in a fierce amatory clinch. Their mouths were locked together and Julian's hands were moving over Mrs. Dickerson's voluptuous curves whilst she skillfully wriggled out of her blouse and skirt. Julian then tore off his shirt and vest whilst Mrs. Dickerson pulled her slip down over her shoulders. I was rewarded by the sight of her huge, bare breasts, crowned with large, nut-brown nipples, which Julian kissed before scrambling to his feet to unbuckle his belt. Without hesitation, he pulled off his trousers and drawers and stood naked in front of her. I noticed that whilst his chest was devoid of hair, below his belly-button there was a matted, triangular bush from which his colossal, stiff shaft was rising upwards in salute. (A far bigger sized tool than even that belonging to 'Donkey Dick' Savory whose enormous organ is prodigiously developed for a lad of his age.) Mrs. Dickerson rolled down her knickers, and I drew a sharp inward breath as I caught sight of her pussey. She stretched out her hand to clutch hold of Julian Clayton's huge prick which now stood majestically against his stomach with the top of his uncapped helmet reaching his navel. She smacked her lips and slicked her fingers up and down his truncheon and the thought crossed my mind that surely it would be well-nigh impossible for such a thick pole to fit inside her. Then she slipped down off the bed to kneel in front of him. From the theoretical knowledge I have gleaned from the well-thumbed pages of The Oyster, I guessed what she was going to do next. It was thrilling to watch her kissing and licking Julian's meaty member, especially when she took the wide dome of his knob between her generous lips and started to suck uninhibitedly upon it. My own penis was now as stiff as a poker and I tore open my flies and brought out my palpitating shaft. Just as I began to slide my trusty right hand up and down my throbbing length, Mrs. Dickerson rose to her feet and laid herself face down on the bed, sticking her superbly rounded bum cheeks high in the air. At first this puzzled me, but then I remembered the French postcards which Johnny Bridges purchased in Paris during a summer vacation in France with his parents and that were later passed surreptitiously around the dormitory. These erotic photographs showed a couple fucking 'doggie-style' and I gulped hard as I realised that I was about to witness a performance of this unconventional mode of intercourse. Sure enough, Mrs. Dickerson now rose to kneel on all fours and, brandishing his huge cock in one hand, the Honourable Julian (the younger son of Lord Garvice of Paddington) mounted her from behind. With his free hand he parted the lovely hemispheres of her backside and then he manoeuvred his cock into the cleft between them. 'Here we go, Lizzie. Here we go!' he panted and I saw the captain of the school plunge his prick inside Mrs. Dickerson's cunt. A warm wave of pleasure engulfed me and a spray of sticky spunk spurted out of my cock and splashed against the door.
Hastily, I moved backwards whilst I finished myself off. Then I rebut-toned my flies and wiped the jism off my fingers and the door with my handkerchief. I stuffed it back into my pocket as I hastily bent down again for a second look through the key-hole. However, I had only time to catch a brief glimpse of the head boy's cock pistoning a passage through the crevice between Mrs. Dickerson's bum cheeks, when I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder… To write that I was greatly startled would be an understatement! It would be more truthful to record that I was frightened out of my wits by the touch and with a yell, I sprang up to face the wrath of one of the masters or prefects. But, thank heaven, it was luckily only my chum George Nugent-Bull. 'Hello there, Henry, what's up old sport?' he enquired blithely. 'Bunny Hare was worried that you hadn't come down for tea, so he sent me round here to see if you were all right.'
I frowned at poor George and muttered an oath under my breath for there was no way in which the writhing couple behind the door could not have heard us. The thought flashed through my brain that neither of them could afford to have their liaison made public so I should be safe from any punishment. George's unwitting interruption would only mean that I would not see the conclusion of this thrilling erotic spectacle. Nevertheless, there was potential for great embarrassment for everyone concerned in this situation and I pushed George roughly towards the stairs whilst I replied: 'Yes, yes, I'm fine. Quickly now though, we must get away from here as soon as possible.' Alas, almost immediately, the bedroom door flew open and I glanced round to see Julian, clad in a khaki dressing gown and with a thunderous scowl upon on his flushed face. He slammed the door shut behind him and roared angrily at us: 'Come back here at once, you two scallywags.' I would probably have ignored him and legged it down the stairs, daring Clayton to chase us in his bare feet and – in all probability – without anything on under his dressing gown. But, having a completely clear conscience, and not wanting to give the senior prefect the opportunity to swish him for disobedience, George turned round and walked slowly back across the landing. This left me no choice but to accompany him for I could hardly let my innocent pal face the music alone. Reluctantly, I followed his footsteps to where Clayton was waiting with a look of cold fury in his eyes. 'I'll tan your hides so hard
