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

Goldhill,' she said apologetically. 'Goldhill?' I echoed blankly.

'Are you telling me that our butler has been fucking my Aunt?'

'Well, yes, I'm surprised you never knew. I've a shrewd suspicion that your mother has guessed what's been going on over the last couple of years.' She yawned and snuggled back down against the small of Henry's back. 'Come on, let's get back to sleep,' she muttered, but my curiosity was aroused. I slipped out of bed, put on a dressing gown and tip-toed upstairs to the servants' quarters. Was old Goldhill really slewing his gnarled old truncheon in and out of my Aunt's juicy pussey? I scoffed at the thought, but seeing is believing. When silently I opened his bedroom door, with my own eyes I saw our faithful old retainer and Aunt Penelope together in each other's arms, with her hand clasped round his cock even though they were both fast asleep. I closed the door as silently as I had opened it and made my way back to my own room. At first I was irritated by the fact that our servant had fucked an honorary member of the Mountjoy family but I soon came to realise that this was an unworthy thought. After all.

Aunt Penelope must have wanted the liaison, so in fact our butler had only been doing his duty! Why, it would serve Uncle Stephen right for leaving her alone so often – I remember my mother saying once that she was certain that he could cut down his trips to our capital city if he so wished. 'I can't think why he wants to go to London so often,' she had said to my father, 'and why doesn't he ever take Penelope with him? For instance, he only went to a meeting at his club last week.'

As my more radical female friends are wont to say these days, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, which would explain why even if she had guessed what was going on, my mother had decided that it served Stephen right if his wife was forced to look elsewhere for her intimate needs. With that in mind, I settled down to go back to sleep. But Polly had other ideas and she grabbed hold of my prick as soon as I returned to bed. 'Now you've woken me up, I can't get back to sleep,' she complained, stroking my shaft so sensuously that it immediately swelled and bounded in her hand.

'Polly, you've got to be up at six o'clock as usual,' I warned her but she pouted her lips and continued to frig my cock and begged me to thread her juicy cunney. 'It's my day off tomorrow so I'd love a quick little fuck,' she pleaded as she kissed my uncapped knob, 'then I'll be able to fall asleep.' Well, how caddish it would be to refuse a request from a damsel in distress? I followed her as she slipped out of bed and lay on the carpet, leaning back and raising her knees, spreading them invitingly as I moved across her and planted her legs on top of my shoulders. 'We must be quiet and not disturb the others,' I said softly as I rubbed the tip of my cock against her soaking crack and slowly sank my shaft inside her wet cunt. I pulled out and re-entered, and her slick love channel clasped my cock lovingly with each long, slow stroke. Although this was as enjoyable as ever, the hour was too late for a prolonged bout and as soon as my balls began rhythmically to slap against her backside, I let myself go and unleashed a flood of hot spunk inside her luscious love nest which caused her to shiver all over and spend profusely. Polly was as good as her word for almost as soon as we had climbed back into bed, she snuggled down again and was asleep within minutes. But I lay awake for a while musing on the morrow. This coming day we were all travelling to York for the evening reception for His Gracious Majesty King Edward VII. I was looking forward to meeting the Merry Monarch who was, from all accounts, a man after my own heart, who enjoyed life to the full. I would go to York with a sore cock after this wild night's fucking, which was not yet over, for the girls would doubtless demand that Henry and I perform again when they woke up. But I would also have a light heart as the main mission-to help Diana Wigmore's career progress-had been accomplished and brewing in the back of my mind was a happy intuition that in the next few days I would be taking part in some further lusty bedroom adventures. Was I to be proved right? I will tell all, dear reader, in frank, uncensored detail, in the next volume of my memoirs. to be continued…