Anonymous - The Oyster Volume VI

However, Susie said that she would be pleased to stroll round the gardens with Ian and they left us shortly afterwards. Then Alexa and Erika announced that they planned to go upstairs to rest in their room. Teddy made his way to the library where he planned to sit down and finish the novel he had been reading on the train, although he added that he would probably fall asleep inside ten minutes.

'Oh, poor Andrew! It looks as if you're going to be left all on your own,' exclaimed Katie. I hastened to say that this did not trouble me and that I would take the opportunity of writing a short letter to my parents. 'Then, perhaps, we could take a short walk together,' I added hopefully and was delighted when Katie readily assented to this proposal, saying that she would meet me in the hall at half-past three.

On this note the party broke up. I sauntered into the drawing-room and was about to sink down into a comfortable armchair when I noticed a copy of The Sporting Life lying on a small table. I remembered that I had quite forgotten all about the wager I had made a couple of days before after bumping into Sid Cohen, the Jim Jam Clubs bookmaker. I picked up the paper and scanned the results from Kemptoh Park race meeting. I let out a triumphant burst of laughter and punched the air in glee as I read that I was now twenty-five pounds to the good because What a Cracker had won the Headline Stakes by a short head from Fletcher's Folly, the horse on which Teddy Carmichael had laid five pounds to win with Sid. I was sorry for my pal although he enjoyed a generous enough allowance from his father and would scarcely miss the fiver. Still, I made a mental note to buy him a slap-up dinner at the Jim Jam when we returned to London.

However, as I was about the throw The Sporting Life back onto the table, I saw that the newspaper had been covering three sheets of notepaper which had also been left lying there. Now, I would be the first to agree that only cads read other people's correspondence but in my defence I had at least to scan part of the letter to find out who had written it. And furthermore, in this case I can state in all honesty that, once I had ascertained the identity of the scribe and gathered the gist of his raunchy essay, it really didn't matter a jot whether or not I read the uninhibited epistle through to the bitter end.

I glanced underneath the final paragraph and discovered that the author was none other than Ian Pethick and that he was writing to a close friend named Cuthbert about the jolly time he was having at Judson Manor. In fact, as will later be recorded, this letter was never sent but I reproduce it here as it forms a minor but important part of this story. After enquiring about the health of Cuthbert's family, Ian's letter continued as follows:

I must tell you, old chap, that I am having a spiffing time at Judson Manor. Katie is a marvellous hostess and her entrancing young cousin Susie is an equally delightful companion. Sadly, though, neither Jack (the other fellow who had already arrived for the weekend) nor myself have found them responsive to any suggestions of hanky-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.