Rupert Mountjoy - The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.III

On this wistful note I left Henry and went to my own bedroom where the young footman, Frederick, whose duties also included basic valeting for my father and any male guests, had unpacked my cases, hung up some clothes in the wardrobe and had laid out my best evening suit which Mr. Rabinowitz made for me when I came down from Oxford.

The black barathea cloth was almost as smooth as the silk collar and lapels. It would set off the sparkling new stiff shirt and cuff links I had been given by Mama for my birthday which I would wear for the first time tonight. I ran a bath and enjoyed a luxurious soak before drying myself off in front of the mirror, feeling refreshed and pleased with life. As I passed the towel between my legs I thought of the grand festival of fucking that awaited my pleasure after dinner and I idly imagined how nice it would have been to have started the affair by being sucked off by Alicia and Georgina Trelford-Neil.

These lewd thoughts combined with the pressure of the towel on my cock caused my shaft to spring to life and in a trice it was standing rigidly to attention up against my belly. Now, perhaps I had not heard a knock on the bedroom door because of the swirling gurgle of the bath-water disappearing down the plug hole, but as I was lightly stroking my proud prick, I was startled to hear a discreet little cough from the bathroom doorway-and when I looked up to see who was there, I was only partially relieved to see that it was only Polly standing there, for whilst she would be pleased rather than scandalised to see my erect naked prick, on the other hand, I honestly wanted to conserve my strength for later. Though from the gleam in Polly's eyes, I could tell that her blood was up and it would be difficult to deny her a taste of her favourite lollipop! It was then with a resigned pleasure that I dropped the towel and stood with my legs slightly apart as Polly dropped to her knees and clasped her warm, soft fingers around my prick. She cupped my ballsack with her other hand as if weighing the contents in her palm whilst she frigged my swollen shaft. 'Do you like having me play with your cock and balls, Mister Rupert?' she whispered and all I could do was to nod my head as by now my heart was pounding and my whole body was thrilling to the sensations afforded by Polly's skilful fingers. 'Well, if that's the case, let's see what you think of this,' she said decisively and leaned right forward to take my throbbing cock and encase my knob inside her hot, wet mouth. Her darting tongue moved to and fro along my shaft and, as she sucked on her cocksweet, I felt my balls begin to swell and fill with sperm. Frenziedly, I thrust forwards and backwards between her lips and I must have transmitted my urgency to Polly because she began to suck harder and harder, letting my prick slide thickly against her tongue whilst she squeezed my balls. I groaned as a rush of creamy spunk sped along my stem and jetted out into her mouth. She gulped down as much of my jism as she could but Polly simply could not contend with the tremendous gush I produced. My copious emission dripped down her chin and onto her blouse and after finally milking my cock of the final drains of sticky sperm, she kissed my now flaccid staff, wiped the jism off her blouse and sucked her fingers clean. 'Goodness, my blouse is damp and I'm soaking wet between my legs,' she said. 'Look for yourself, I told you as you were leaving Miss Carrington's room that I've already taken off my knickers.' And she immediately proved the truth of this remark by pulling down her skirt and lifting her blouse and chemise to reveal the dark patch of pubic hair adorning her sweet little cunt. The sight of Polly's pussey coupled with thoughts of anticipation of what was scheduled to occur after dinner made my tadger tingle and it began to swell up again. Heroically, I passed up the opportunity for a quick knee-trembler, and I picked up the towel and wrapped it around my waist. 'Polly, there just isn't time to fuck you right now,' I said firmly. 'Please be a good girl and come back here around eleven o'clock. Then, as I've told you, I will have more time to pay your lovely cunney the close attention it richly deserves.' This little speech seemed to mollify Polly and she put her skirt back on, saying, 'Yes, we certainly don't want to rush things. After all, as Goldhill's already told you, you also have to keep Alison satisfied all night and she's a very passionate girl.' I hurried her to the door and when she closed it behind her I sank down upon the bed for a brief snooze. But I found it hard to sleep because I was very worried as to how I would be able to do my duty by Nancy, Polly, and Alison-as well as by Diana and Cecily who would soon be arriving downstairs!

Henry would put his trusty tool at my disposal but I reckoned that I still needed one more cock to ensure that none of the girls was disappointed by the arrangements for their entertainment. In the end, I did manage forty winks before it was time to change for dinner.

I walked downstairs at about half past seven to find Nancy and my parents already engaged in conversation with Diana's parents, Charles and Helene Wigmore. 'Good-evening, Rupert,' said Mrs. Wigmore, as I entered the drawing-room. 'How nice to see you again. Are you enjoying your sabbatical year in London?' 'I'll say he is, Helene,' interrupted Dr Wigmore with a short laugh. 'After all, he has nothing else to do with himself, has he?' 'You're just jealous, sir,' I smiled, accepting a cup of punch from Frederick who was serving my Mama's excellent recipe from a large silver bowl.

'You're quite right, Rupert, I admit it,' cried our neighbour and family medical practitioner, pointing towards Nancy. 'Especially when I'm told you have this charming young lady as your neighbour.'

'Well, Rupert and I are almost neighbours, I suppose, as we both live in Bedford Square,' said Nancy, coming over to us. 'But I'm also fortunate in having such a friendly gentleman living nearby.'

'Ah, my daughter has just come in,' said Dr Wigmore, as Diana and Cecily Cardew made their entrance. As always, the girls looked simply stunning together: the blonde Diana's cool, lissome beauty was exquisitely complemented by the equally pretty Cecily's wavy brown hair, rosy cheeks, large dark eyes and rich red lips. Dr Wigmore was about to introduce the girls to Nancy when Henry suddenly appeared, so I took on the job for him. Just as I had finished, Goldhill sonorously announced the arrival of Mrs. Trelford-Neil and this time my mother came across to perform a similar function for Aunt Penelope although, as my mother remarked, only Henry and Nancy were strangers to her. 'I dislike that word, Veronica,' said Aunt Penelope. 'As the Irish poet says, there are no strangers in the world, there are only new friends I have yet to meet.' Aunt Penelope was one of those people whom hostesses loved, for without hogging the limelight herself, she was often the life and soul of a party. She was adept at finding subjects of interest for lively conversation as well as for drawing out shy guests and ensuring that they were not left out in the cold. So, very soon, she had elicited the fact that both Henry and Nancy were in the market for paintings and she said to them, 'I suppose I should offer you a selection of my water-colours. My husband would probably faint clean away if I informed him that I'd actually sold one of my studies of Knaresborough Castle! But seriously, I paint solely for my own pleasure, whilst Diana here is a talented young professional artist who has a great future in front of her.' 'Mrs. Trelford-Neil is one of my staunchest fans,' explained Diana, who had glided gracefully towards us. 'In all fairness, I must tell you that her opinion of my work is hopelessly biased.' 'Nonsense,' Aunt Penelope declared.

'I confidently predict that your portrait of my husband will one day be hung in the Royal Academy.' Goldhill called us in to the dining-room and during the meal much of the conversation around my corner of the room revolved around twentieth-century art. I was glad to see that Nancy and Henry were obviously impressed by Diana's knowledge and enthusiasm which boded well for the time when they would cast critical eyes on her own canvases. 'I have just had a splendid idea,' Henry announced excitedly. 'Rupert, why don't you help Diana and myself organise an exhibition in London of the French impressionists-a mix, let us say, of famous fellows like Matisse, Van Gogh and Gaugin with equally talented artists who are not as well-known over in England. As Diana is based in Paris, we would have someone on the spot to choose paintings for us from the new avant-garde.' 'That's quite an undertaking,' I said doubtfully.