Anonymous - The Oyster, Volume III

Smoothing my skirt I stood up, glaring haughtily at him and then realising that my stance was less than impressive, since I was still naked to the waist. Angrily I reached down to drag my dress up over my bosom. Gwendolen came forward, hugged me and calmed me. Next she deftly covered my embarrassment, slipping my arms back into my sleeves and buttoning me up at the back. For a quick instant she reached inside my dress to fondle and caress my titties before they were finally hidden from view. We kissed gently and she pushed a stray lock of my hair back into place. 'There, there,' she said. 'Cousin Algernon was only teasing. You must remember that he has just had a very teasing time himself.' As Babette solicitously linked her arm in Cousin Algernon's and whispered something in his ear, Gwendolen released me and went across to poor George who was standing there looking somewhat crestfallen, unmindful of the fact that his trousers were still lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. 'George,' she said, 'You have played your part manfully. Now we must all get dressed and ready to go home but I do hope that you will in turn entertain me with that same part in the very near future.' As she helped him into his trousers, tucking his now pliable prick back inside and making all secure, she kissed him also with friendly affection. He brightened up, glad that the little spat had passed. 'Thank you, Miss Cecily,' he said gravely. 'That was the most magnificent fuck that I have enjoyed in a very long time.' 'Next time, I hope that we can enjoy it for an even longer time,' I said with a quick smile so that he could see that I was no longer annoyed. 'I was quite beside myself with the need to fuck.' 'So endeth the art lesson,' Cousin Algernon. 'We must finish the decanter.' So saying he poured out the last of the claret. 'A toast,' he said as we raised our glasses, 'To the Muse of Painting.' 'And of Fucking,' said Gwendolen.

'I don't believe there is one,' said Cousin Algernon.'

'Gwendolen's grasp of the Classics is not so secure as her grasp of anatomy,' I replied. 'Never mind. Let us drink to the missing Muse,' said George. 'To practical matters,' I said. 'I am in need of a bath and a change of clothes. George, would you escort me home in a cab. I had not intended my exposure to the world of the artist to be so prolonged or so complete. I have to dine with my Great Aunt Tabitha tonight where we will doubtless talk, of her scheme to establish a Home for Aged Horses.' Hurriedly I made arrangements to call on Gwendolen the following afternoon. Babette bade us Goodbye. 'I had not intended your first lesson in posing to be so active,' she said, 'but you are, cordially welcome to return, possibly to Algernon's studio, in the near future, when we might continue your course of instruction. Gwendolen, I hope that you will accompany your friend, and George also.' 'I believe that I am developing a taste for such things,' I responded. We kissed all round and George and I went out into the evening.

A Further Episode in the Sentimental and Erotic Education of Mr. Andrew Scott

For new readers, the story so far:

The young Mr. Andrew Scott, his schooldays at Nottsgrove Academy now behind him, has moved to London and is in lodgings in Bayswater. The house is owned by a widow, Mrs. P-, a longtime friend both of Andrew's Godfather and also, as it transpires, of his old Headmaster, Dr White. Mrs. P- is a woman of refreshingly progressive views in matters sexual, believing such activities to be both natural and healthy and to be indulged in without shame with but the one caveat: that both parties should be equally willing. Her views have been long matured through her experiences in India where her acquaintance has included Mr. Richard Burton, later to find notoriety as the translator of such Eastern classics as The Perfumed Garden and the Kama Sutra. Also resident in the house are Mrs. P-s two daughters, Becky and Hannah; the first follows the vocation of nursing, the latter is a skilled artist and designer employed at Messrs Doulton's Lambeth manufactory. The household is completed by two maids, Mary and Emily. The detailed description of Andrew's ups and downs, his ins and outs in this most liberal of establishments has been set down in previous issues of the Oyster. It remains only to add that, as our story continues, Andrew has returned that very afternoon from a trip to the West Country, whence he has escorted Mrs.

P-'s Ward, Rosie who has been peremptorily expelled from her school for offences against the school rules involving her friendship with the Art Master and her growing interest in the skills of photography.

Now read on: Dinner that evening displayed Mrs. P-s household apparently in more conventional guise. Mrs. P- presided at the head of the table. Both Hannah and Becky were present and correct.

Rosie, who had been installed in one of the two guest bedrooms, had been formally introduced to the household and now took her place with a display of maidenly decorum that would have been entirely convincing to any outsider who had not before been exposed to her wayward nature.

I was at once eagerly pressed on all sides to describe everything that had taken place on my trip to Bristol. For my part I was of course careful not to describe all that had gone on. I was only too aware that while Rosie had been placed in my care by Mrs. P-, I had at certain points discharged my duties in a way that might have seen lax or even improper by conventional standards. Thus I glossed over a great deal of what had transpired on the railway journey, in particular omitting the fact that Rosie and I had enjoyed a First Class Great Western fuck all the way from Chippenham to Swindon and mentioning only, with approval, the efficiency and punctuality of the Railway Company. Rosie for her part was reticent to the point of near silence concerning the events that had led to her summary expulsion from her Academy for Young Ladies in Somerset. Nonetheless the soup course passed pleasantly enough, although without any great incident. When this had been cleared away, a fine roast joint was brought in and placed before me to carve. (Mrs. P- was quite firm in her view that, as the only man present, I should undertake this traditional male chore). As I rose, carving knife and fork in hand, and made the first incision in the mouthwatering piece of beef in front of me, I was suddenly grabbed from under the table round the ankle by what I judged to be a small but determined hand. Startled, I looked down but could see nothing since the table's edge and the overhanging table-cloth concealed all. Saying nothing, but glancing rapidly round the table to confirm that all the family were indeed in their places and that both the maids Emily and Mary were visibly going about their duties, I manfully carried on carving while the unseen hand began to stroke and explore first my ankle and then the lower part of my calf. With what I felt was a praiseworthy determination to abide by the standards of polite society, I managed to carry on with my task while at the same time continuing a light conversation as though nothing untoward was going on. Meanwhile of course my mind was racing. Was this some typically high-spirited lark by either or both of the daughters? Discreetly I looked about me. Both Hannah and Becky were already beginning to eat with their usual gusto.

I could detect nothing evasive or furtive about their expressions, no sideways glances in my direction or suppressed giggles. Mrs. P- and Rosie were engrossed in an animated conversation on the merits, or lack of them, of life in the country. All was innocence and order except for the wandering hand under the table. Then as I sat down, took up knife and fork and savoured a first delicious mouthful, the hand all at once moved lightly but speedily up my leg, along my thigh and reached into my lap. There it rested for a moment but before I had had time to do more than register and then hide my renewed surprise, it moved again. Burrowing beneath my table napkin, it felt for, found and squeezed the till-then dormant length of my virile member. Mr. Pego at once responded, quite against my wishes at that moment, and began to extend into life. 'Tell me, Andrew,' said Mrs. P-, recalling my now wildly distracted attention with a jolt to the above-table world of propriety and social graces, 'Did Colonel and Mrs. Moore have the opportunity to show you the sights of Bristol?'