and kissed me on the lips.
In a trice, her wicked tongue filled my mouth, probing and rousing. I responded in kind and, clutching each other in a passionate embrace, we staggered over to the armchair where Charlotte sat on my lap and shrugged off her blouse. Whilst we continued to kiss, she pulled out her chemise from under her skirt which enabled her to pull it over her head so that I could delight in the wondrous sight of her firmly-rounded, bared breasts. I marvelled at the delicious feel of her hard, erect nipples against my palm whilst her hands now pulled open my fly buttons and she extracted my thick, stiff cock which she held tightly in her hand. 'Quick, Henry, I want you to fuck me before you spend,' she said with great urgency and after we had stripped off the rest of our clothes, Charlotte turned her back on me and bent over the arm of the chair with her jiggling buttocks only inches away from the tip of my straining, uncapped knob. She pulled her dimpled bum cheeks apart and I could see her wrinkled, little arse-hole as well as her fleshy pussey lips which she stretched open with her hand to reveal the flushed chink of her love channel.
Now, whilst I have read about 'doggie-style' fucking in The Forbidden Texts Of Cremorne which I purchased from a pedlar at London Bridge Station last summer and I saw Julian Clayton fuck Lizzie Dickerson this way, this was my first try at this method of fucking.
Of course, I didn't mention this to Charlotte as I leaned over her, and she whimpered as she felt the smooth helmet of my cock wedge itself inside the cleft of her gorgeous backside. She turned her head round to look at me with lust blazing in her eyes and whispered fiercely: 'Press on, Henry, but don't go up my bottom unless you have some cold cream handy.' Frankly, the idea of sticking my prick up her bum had never occurred to me, and so, as I propelled my prick forward, I gasped: 'Don't worry, Mr. Pego is heading straight for your cunney.' Charlotte wiggled her bottom from side to side until my shaft had entered the supple, glistening crack of her juicy cunt. 'Oh, I'm in, how delicious,' I cried as I pushed onwards, burying my cock to the very hilt so that my balls slapped against her bum cheeks. I pulled back a fraction before yet again plunging deep inside her welcoming honeypot. 'Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!' she groaned, so fiercely, that I anxiously enquired whether I had pushed in too hard. I was relieved to find out that this was far from being the case, and Charlotte wanted me to fuck her with even more verve until she could feel every last inch of my cock inside her tingling quimmey.
'Keep going, you're doing fine, fuck the arse off me, you randy rascal!' Charlotte panted. The curvy rondeurs of her backside responded to every shove, her body rocking in a lascivious rhythm, as she pulled my arms around her and told me to rub her titties whilst I fucked her. The beautiful girl shuddered as a series of spends exploded inside her cunney whilst I continued to pump relentlessly in and out of her delicious cunt. Her love funnel was wet and yet incredibly tight so that her cunney muscles clung to my cock as, again and again, I pumped my prick in and out of her sopping slit. I felt the inexorable surge of jism building up in my balls and I croaked out that I was about to spend. Then, Charlotte let out a high-pitched yelp of triumph and shuddered to her climax, just before I gushed my copious tribute of sticky, warm spunk into her cunt. I collapsed down on top of her as we completed this blissful fuck and then I withdrew my softening shaft which was gleaming with its coating of pussey juice. Heaving myself off her soft body, I walked across to the wash-basin and pulled a towel off the rail. Then, after quickly wiping my cock, I passed it to Charlotte who dried her thighs before throwing it back to me. 'I must be going. Miss Atkinson will be furious if I'm not in the entrance hall by six o'clock,' she sighed. As we began dressing ourselves, I asked shyly: 'Will you write to me, Charlotte? Perhaps I could bicycle over to Sparsit's on a weekend half-holiday.' 'Yes, dear boy, of course I will,' she replied as she kissed my cheek. 'And I shall slip out of school somehow. I promise faithfully that I will let you know as soon as I think of a way.' We finished dressing and I had just unlocked the door when I heard footsteps in the corridor outside. Without the courtesy of a knock, the door was flung open and the muscular figure of Julian Clayton stood framed in the doorway. He looked at me through narrowed eyes as he said through gritted teeth: 'Miss Harley, your driver has returned earlier than expected and Miss Atkinson wants you to leave as soon as possible. So will you please come with me and I will escort you to the entrance hall where she and the rest of your party are waiting for you.' 'Clayton, I'll be happy to walk CharI mean Miss Harley, down to the entrance hall,' I said, but he glared at me and said that he had been asked to take her back so he would not delegate the task. His voice changed in tone as he turned to Charlotte and he gave a little bow as he went on: 'In any case, it is hardly an onerous duty and is one that I am only too pleased to carry out.' 'Thank you, sir,' smiled Charlotte, as she returned his bow with a curtsy. However, sensing the brooding antagonism between us, the sweet girl gave me a merry little wink as she continued: 'Gentlemen, I have a splendid idea, you shall both escort me back to the entrance hall.'
PART II
Sunday, November 11th, 1895 (before Luncheon)
I should also have recorded yesterday that Julian Clayton and myself buried the hatchet last night. After we had waved our good-byes to Charlotte and the Sparsit girls, he turned to me and muttered: 'Come with me to my study, young Dashwood, I want a few words with you in private.' Oh Lord, now I'm for it, I thought, but happily I was proved wrong. I should have known that Clayton – who is a decent, fair-minded chap at heart – would never have taken out his anger and frustration at being denied a fuck by punishing me, although I was also the cause of his coitus interruptus with Lizzie Dickerson. He pointed to a chair when we entered his study and sat down opposite me. 'Dashwood, have you studied Shakespeare's Othello yet? No? Well, Othello was driven to murder his lovely wife Desdemona by a so-called friend named Iago, who spread the lie that Desdemona has been unfaithful to him. Iago did this by mixing good advice with villainous falsehoods. At one point, he actually warned Othello: O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eye'd monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on. He paused to clear his throat and then continued: 'I must admit that I was very angry when you inadvertently interrupted my fuck with Lizzie and this anger was compounded by jealousy when you struck up a friendship with Charlotte Harley. Dr Muttley had asked me to sit with himself and Miss Atkinson, making it impossible for me to renew my own acquaintance with her. Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know that my temper has cooled and you don't have to feel you need to hide from me.' 'Thanks, Clayton, and I'm sorry if I queered your pitch this afternoon,' I said. He gave a good-natured chuckle. 'I don't think you are, especially if Charlotte was in the mood she was in when we last met.' I said I was unaware that Charlotte had visited the school before and Clayton said: 'Oh yes, I'll never forget the time she visited the school with the other Sparsit girls, a few days before the end of last term. It was a splendid summer afternoon with bright sunshine and a clear, blue sky – far too nice to spend indoors. So, during the lecture, I managed to slip out to take a walk down to Webb's Meadow. There I found Charlotte who had also broken away from the gathering. 'We sat down on a ridged mound of earth under the shade of a small tree near the banks of the River Kendal. Almost from our feet stretched tall, thick grass which dipped into a small copse beyond. I lounged on my back with my head cupped in my hands, whilst Charlotte sat up hugging her knees as she surveyed the beautiful scenery. 'Then suddenly she gasped and tugged on my shoe.
“Julian, sit up a minute and look over there to your left in the copse. Am I imagining it or is that not a couple engaging in some naughtiness?” 'Dashwood, you will hardly credit it, but when I hauled myself up and peered down towards where she pointed with a trembling finger, I did indeed see a couple who, believing themselves well hidden in the copse, were engaging in what I can only describe as a most energetic fuck.' 'Don't tell me the chap was from school,'
I blurted out. The captain of the Albion Academy nodded and gave me a cheery grin. 'Oh yes, he most certainly was, and you can probably guess the identity of the female participant who is also known to you.' 'Lizzie Dickerson,' I answered promptly but he shook his head. 'Good try but no cigar, as the Yankees say. No, it was the lovely Polly, old Smeeth's daughter, who you will soon be fucking yourself now that Lizzie's chosen you to be in her select screwing band.' 'Yes, she did mention something about Polly joining in the fun,' I said. Then, remembering the story which had circulated around the school about Polly and Mr. Lewis, the geography master, going into a public house together, I proferred: 'And I would also guess that you saw Polly being fucked by one of our learned schoolmasters that afternoon.' He looked hard at me as he confirmed my supposition, saying: 'Well, don't be coy – who are you talking about, Mr.
Hutchinson, Mr. Clee, or -' 'Mr. Lewis,' I interrupted, having to clear the names of the other members of staff, although I felt I had sneaked upon one of the most popular masters in the school. 'Because you must have heard the rumour that he was seen with Polly in The Three Tuns.' 'It's not a mere rumour, because it was I who
