saw Polly and Michael Lewis,' the school captain coolly replied. 'And I'm extremely sorry that the story has obviously gained a wide circulation around the school. I only told one person about it and he broke his solemn word of honour that he would not divulge the information to anyone else. You can't always trust your closest friends to keep a secret, Dashwood, so I sincerely hope you'll keep your lip buttoned about Lizzie Dickerson's romps or we'll all be for the high jump.'
I blushed with concern, wishing George and I hadn't caved in to Johnny Bridges's persistent questioning. (I pray that Johnny will not succumb to the temptation to spread the news of Lizzie's private tuition.) Anyhow, wishing to hear more of Polly and Mr. Lewis's frolics, I said: 'Quite so, Clayton, but to go back to your story, did you actually see Mike Lewis have his way with Polly?' 'Oh yes, there was no doubt about it. They were rolling around stark naked on a blanket spread out on the grass and he was on top of her, nuzzling her titties. Charlotte and I saw her raise her thighs and clasp him round the waist whilst his bum went up and down as he pistoned his prick in and out of her cunney. 'We were utterly engrossed in the scene and Charlotte, sensing that I was standing behind her, all of a sudden pressed herself backwards against my thickening prick. Even through the layers of our clothing, I could feel her tight little bum rubbing against my stiff cock. I whispered that the lean, white backside we could see rising and falling in such sensuous rhythm belonged to the head of Albion Academy's geography department. '“Good heavens, surely you aren't talking about that nice Mr. Lewis? Why, he frequently bicycles over to my school to take tea with Miss Hibbert, our games mistress. I wonder if he gets up to such larks with her, she's a very attractive lady,” Charlotte exclaimed. 'With a little giggle, she now started to move her cheeks in time with Mike Lewis's buttocks which were rising and falling at a frenzied pace and I noticed Polly's hips lifting clear off the blanket so as to force his chopper even deeper inside her cunt. 'Then we heard a hoarse cry from the direction of the lusty pair and Charlotte reached back and squeezed my painfully distended shaft with her hand as she muttered: “I believe Mr. Lewis is discharging his obligations and flooding that pretty girl's pussey with his manly essence.” 'I helped her unbutton my flies and brought out my throbbing stiffie which she clutched uninhibitedly in her small hands. We watched Polly Smeeth and Mike Lewis subside into a quivering heap. When they were finally spent, Mike stood up and produced a small towel with which he wiped Polly's pussey. Polly then wrapped the towel round his prick and rubbed him dry. Mike Lewis attempted to slip on his under-shorts but Polly sat up and took his cock into her hand and kissed it gently before tucking it back into his drawers. He returned the compliment as she was about to pull on her knickers, lowering his head between her thighs and kissing her cunney before they both started to dress themselves in earnest. '“I am pleased that Mr. Lewis remembered to bring a blanket with him for grass does so stain one's clothes,” murmured Charlotte. Her busy hand now slid up and down my bursting tool and she rapidly rubbed my cock until she felt my shaft tremble as the jism forced its way up from my balls. '“Careful, I'm about to spend!” I warned her and Charlotte deftly stepped to one side and pointed my knob towards the copse just as the first spurts of spunk splashed out. Then, in the distance, I saw Dr Muttley strolling towards us. I hastily adjusted my trousers and Charlotte hid herself behind some bushes. “There was no further opportunity for Charlotte and I to spend any time together, but we have written to each other now and then and I have longed for the chance to see her again. On reflection though, I don't think she would have been amenable to any rumpy- pumpy because I have been most remiss and not answered the letter she sent me at the beginning of this term.
'So there you have it, Dashwood, I know you will keep what I have told you under your hat because I am sure that you also have designs on the sensuous Miss Harley. Well, you may as well know that I shan't be standing in your way as I now have another girl much closer to hand who is very keen on fucking. Charlotte is all yours – that is, if you can divest her of her knickers.' I was tempted to brag that I had already fucked Charlotte, but I am pleased to record that I stayed silent and shook hands with Clayton before leaving his study.
So much for yesterday afternoon – this morning's events also deserve to be noted in my diary. I found myself in the chapel, a place in which I am rarely seen if I can help it. However, this morning, Dr Muttley stopped me in the quadrangle and invited me to attend Divine Service. Before I could mouth my polite excuse, he added: 'I would deem it a favour if you did put in an appearance, Dashwood. We have a guest preacher, the Reverend Beresford Tagholm a curate from East Grinstead. He is a nephew of Smeeth, the groundsman, and I happened to discover that he was staying for a few days with his relations in their cottage. Of course, being of humble birth, the poor chap has to work extremely hard and needs to win several scholarships to further his education. He seems to be such a pleasant fellow that I persuaded Reverend Jellicoe to invite him to give a sermon this morning. I decided that there must be something in my personal aura, for after the school captain, the Headmaster now confided in me and went on: 'Between ourselves, Reverend Jellicoe was none too happy about surrendering his pulpit, but he could not refuse me. Now, I want to see far more chaps than usual in chapel this morning, not just out of politeness to our guest but also because it might help me to persuade our chaplain to cease his delivery of those fire-and-brimstone sermons which frighten our more simple-minded boys witless but do little to install a true religiosity amongst us. And I believe piety and moral strength are essential to chaps such as yourself who I believe are destined for great things after they leave us.' My father has always maintained that flattery will get you everywhere and indeed, without further ado, I yielded to Dr Muttley's request. I was chuffed to be thought of as a future leader of men, but I also reckoned that if her cousin was preaching, then Polly Smeeth would be in chapel to listen to him. There was no need for me to speak to Polly for George and I had no intention of changing the arrangements for the revelries with Lizzie Dickerson. However, I wanted to know whether the frisky Polly would be joining us in the afternoon as Lizzie had hinted.
Dr Muttley must have spoken in similar vein to several other boys, for the chapel was far more crowded than when I last attended a Sunday service. George and Johnny were both there and I managed to squeeze in a pew beside them. My parents would most certainly approve of the Reverend Beresford Tagholm, an earnest young chap of about twenty-five, who delivered an address on the need for those of us born into the upper social classes to prevent the rebuilding of our cities solely for the enrichment of speculators, town councillors and building contractors. After the sermon we sang a rousing chorus of 'Jerusalem' and when we filed out I took the opportunity to shake hands with the Reverend as I said: 'My father would have enjoyed your address, sir. As a country parson, he also speaks out strongly about the social evils of modern times, often to the discomfort of certain members of his congregation.' 'Good for him, I fear the Church has remained silent too long on these matters. Is your father's parish in this part of the country? If so, I would very much welcome the opportunity of meeting him.' 'And I am sure he would want to meet you, sir, but I'm afraid he lives many miles away in Gloucestershire,'
I said regretfully. But the curate's eyes lit up. 'Bless my soul, your father wouldn't happen to be Reverend Miles Dashwood, by any chance? He is? Well, what a happy coincidence. I had the privilege of listening to his address at a meeting of the Christian Socialist Society in Oxford, only a few weeks ago. What a wonderful man! So you must be his son, Henry, who he told me was at a boarding school in Kent.' 'You have an excellent memory for names, sir,' I smiled.
He grinned at me and said: 'One needs to have that facility in my work. But please don't “sir” me, my name is Beresford, or Berry to my friends. Henry, you probably know that I am staying with my Uncle Roger and Aunt Maud this weekend. Do join us for tea this afternoon.'
At this point I saw Polly Smeeth walking across the quadrangle towards us and I stammered out: 'Thank you, er, Berry, but I'm afraid that I have a previous engagement this afternoon.' 'Oh dear, what a shame,' he went on and as Polly was now in earshot, he added: 'I'm sure that my cousin would also have welcomed your company at tea this afternoon, wouldn't you my dear?' 'Very much so,' smiled the pretty girl surreptitiously pinching my arm as she stood beside me.
'Unfortunately, I shan't be at home this afternoon either, Berry. I have been asked to help the assistant matron with some chores.
However, I will be back by early evening.' He tut-tutted at this news and declared: 'You mustn't let yourself be put upon, Polly. My goodness, it isn't as if you are even paid a decent wage for your labours. You should speak to the housekeeper against being asked to work seven days a week.' 'This is more a labour of love,' said Polly hastily. 'Mrs. Dickerson is a most considerate employer and I want to help her out this afternoon in return for the many kindnesses she has shown me.' 'Ah, then that is a different matter altogether and far be it for me to criticise such a generous action,' said her clerical cousin. 'Look, I am staying here until Tuesday.
Henry, I hope it will be possible for us to meet again.' Dr Muttley now approached us and to the great relief of Polly and myself, shepherded the Reverend away to partake of luncheon with himself and his old friends from Appledore, Colonel and Mrs. Crabbe-Newington.
