against the other's warm, receptive flesh.
As our lips met and opened and we lost ourselves in deep, passionate kisses, our tongues entwining and probing the deepest recesses of each other's mouths, my fingers reached out and stroked and tickled Nicole's warm pussey.
Nicole, in turn, began to manipulate my yearning womanhood, her gentle finger running back and forth along the length of my juicy slit, softly massaging my little pink clitoris until I felt I'd die from the pleasure of it. And then I felt my climax approach and gave myself up to wave upon wave of erotic abandonment, panting and tossing my blonde head this way and that in ecstasy.
Temporarily sated, I gently pushed the smiling Nicole back on to the rug, parted her incredibly long legs and buried my golden head into her raven-haired muff, which was hot and fragrant with her musky love-juice. As I lapped and sucked at her aromatic cunt I felt her sigh and tremble, her breath catching in little ragged gasps of pleasure.
And then I became aware that events were taking another, not altogether unexpected, turn. Strong male hands took hold of my womanly, upraised hips and a rampant, throbbing prick nudged urgently at the opening of my swollen cunt-which must have been enticingly visible for quite some time with my legs parted and my arse thrust proudly in the air as it was.
Suddenly, as if convinced of his directorial accuracy, Michel or Antoine-for I did not as yet know to whom the cock belonged-gave a tremendous thrust and sheathed himself fully in my tight pussey, before holding tight to my bum and pumping back and forth with enviable speed and athleticism, and no small amount of panting and moaning.
Simultaneously, on opening her mouth to take a breath, Nicole became the proud recipient of another, no less desperate weapon, and found herself licking and sucking anew on this big, manly cock which began to fuck her mouth with passion, but also with great sensitivity in order not to overcome the poor girl with its splendid length and girth.
This glorious quadruple fuck drove all four of us to the very pinnacles of earthly delight and we all-Nicole, Michel, Antoine and myself-reached our respective climaxes within seconds of each other, shooting and oozing our sex emissions into each other's welcoming mouths and cunts.
After a while we all four collapsed in a warm, satisfied, lazy heap on the sandy rug and were in danger of dropping off to sleep, until the two boys yawned, stretched and jumped up, pulling us with them, and we all rushed headlong into the sparkling water where, in the manner of lusty young people everywhere, we laughed, swam, splashed each other's naked bodies and sported like a family of happy seals.
Some time later, companionably dripping, we returned to the rug and stretched out in the sun in order to dry ourselves before getting dressed and returning to the Academy. It was as I lay there in that wonderful state that lies between sleep and wakefulness, as naked as the day I was born and more than ever aware of the feel of God's fertile earth beneath me and the sensation of the sun and the water against my skin, my mind began to wander and I found myself recalling a delightful and rustic experience I'd enjoyed a few years previously.
Convinced that my friends would take pleasure in sharing with me my delicious reverie, I began to tell them of it.
'I had been staying on my uncle's farm in Dorsetshire,' I said. 'It was harvest-time, and all the able hands from miles around were busy at work in the fields. Each day my cousin Primrose and I would stroll about the countryside, and we would often pause to watch the time-honoured rituals of harvesting, threshing and haymaking.
'At this time of year, the labourers' whole families would come out to the fields to work alongside their menfolk. Even little children of five or six could be seen, busily carrying a few handfuls of hay to the stacks, an expression of earnestness about their angelic little faces.
'Primrose introduced me to some of the families that she knew from the village. There was Old Mother Moule, famed far and wide for her skills at mending. Her gnarled old fingers were now busily engaged with baling twine, and it was extraordinary to see how deftly she could gather up a sheaf of straw and tie it round. Then there was Mrs. Knight, the laundrywoman, who had exchanged the old brass boiler of her daily trade for the scythe, while her children scampered and squabbled about her feet.
'In another field that day we met young Nick, the son of old Cave the farrier. He was a fine young man of sixteen or seventeen, tall for his years and with rich dark eyes. It was the dinner-hour, and he rose to greet us from the shade of an old blackthorn where he lay sheltering from the noonday heat of the sun.
'“'Tis fine weather for the harvest indeed,” he said in answer to our polite observations.
'“Is it going well this year?” asked Primrose.'
'“Very well indeed, so as I gather.”
'“And will you be looking forward to the harvest supper?” I asked, knowing that this was as great a highlight in the countryman's calendar as was Christmas in our own.
'Before Nick could reply, Primrose clapped a guilty hand to her mouth.
'“My goodness,” she exclaimed, anxiety strong in her voice. “I had quite forgotten! I was supposed to go with mother to make arrangements with the minister about the flowers for the harvest festival. What time is it, Rosie?”
'I took my watch from my bosom. It was nearly twenty minutes after twelve.
'“Then I must fly,” cried Primrose. “The Reverend Stitchum is a most punctilious man, and mother will be most annoyed.”
'I rose to my feet, but Primrose demurred.
'“No need for you to come, my dear friend,” she averred. “I'll go by the long pasture here, which will take me to the church gate by half-past. You can walk back to the house the way we came. Even half an hour in the company of the Reverend Stitchum,” she whispered to me, “is a penance to deter the most wicked sinner. It is a punishment I could scarcely wish on my dearest cousin. Better that you shall linger awhile with young Nick here.” And with that she tripped away across the field.
'Nick looked discomfited, perhaps embarrassed at being alone in the company of a young lady, but I quickly put the farrier's son at his ease. We talked of this and that, of life in the village and his hopes that he might in time make his way in the horse-trade for, though so young, he had already shown considerable acumen in that respect. He had found two splendid Clydesdales going cheaply at a farm some ten miles away which Uncle had subsequently purchased, his recommendation being rewarded by two equally handsome sovereigns.
'Like many countrymen, Nick showed great facility with animals. But while many of his contemporaries were interested solely in those which they might trap or hunt, he loved them for their own sake.
'I was about to be going, but Nick said he would show me something. “It's only over here, behind old Moss's barn,” he said. “The lane takes you out past the big house in any case.”
'We walked through the copse and I noticed how firm and strong his hand was as he helped me over the little tinkling stream that ran through it.
'“Here,” he said, as we approached the old barn. He pointed to a rusty piece of farm machinery, long disused and partly covered with a tarpaulin.
'“How interesting,” I murmured, wondering what he possibly thought I would find so fascinating about Messrs Ransome and Rapier's Patented “Ipswich” Seed Drill.
'He must have noticed my momentarily quizzical expression, for he laughed and drew me closer. Again I noticed the firmness of his hand on my arm.
'“No, underneath,” he said, speaking in a husky whisper which I found by no means unattractive.
'I peered past his pointing finger and there, in the gloomy cavern revealed by pulling back the tarpaulin, I saw what he had brought me to see. A fine tabby cat, around whom four delightful kittens were happily playing.
'“Oh how sweet!” I exclaimed. “Look at the little black one, with his white feet. And the ginger one-I bet he grows into a real bruiser!”
'“This one's my favourite,” said Nick, and picked up a tabby that was the image of her mother. He stroked her gently while the mother looked on anxiously. “Don't you worry, Mrs. Tibbies,” he said. “Young Rosie here won't come to no harm.”
'“Rosie?” I cried. “Why, that's my name! What a coincidence!”
'Nick laughed. “Not really,” he said. “I named her for you. I found the cat had had kittens here the day you
