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

'Hello, stranger!' squealed Esme. 'We haven't seen you for so long that Beth and I decided to see for ourselves that you were still in the land of the living.' 'Or to ensure that you had not been rusticated which we thought more likely,' added Beth with a roguish grin. Oh no, I groaned inwardly, as the wise words of Mustapha Pharte, the perhaps unfortunately named Oxford-based disciple of the Indian philosopher Tagore, whose teachings were beginning to influence very many young people at this time, rushed through my brain-Take care that an overindulgence of your favourite pastime (in my case, chasing pussey) does not overtax your strength'. Now it was no* difficult to see from the glint in their eyes that both girls had not come to my rooms simply to pass the time of day, but I had spent almost all the previous night fucking Marianne and if that were not enough, pretty little Polly Castle had twice emptied my balls. Even if I agreed to comply with the wishes of these two lovely ladies, would I be physically able to do so? 'Well come on, Rupert, aren't you going to invite us to your room to show us your etchings?' said Esme impatiently. There was nothing for it but to smile and wave the girls upstairs, I reasoned, for the girls would rightly consider it the height of rudeness to spurn the offer of a freely offered fuck.

'It will be my pleasure to entertain you both,' I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Though I have no paintings to show you, perhaps I can offer you a glass of wine or some other refreshment.' 'Or maybe both?' enquired Esme wickedly, slipping her arm in mine as we walked back upstairs to my rooms. 'Don't be too impatient, Esme-we'll begin with a glass of wine,' said Beth, settling herself down on the small sofa whilst I hung up their coats and busied myself selecting a decent bottle of white wine from the icebox, which incidentally was one of the first purchases I made in Oxford and is still in full working order. 'I'm afraid that I don't keep any champagne here, Beth,' I apologised, 'but let's open this bottle of Vernaccia from Sardinia your cousin Diana Wigmore sent me after she returned from her Grand Tour this summer.' 'I'm sure it will be lovely,' said Beth. 'More and more people are coming to realise that many Italian vineyards produce wine of an excellent quality. We do not look at Italian wines as seriously as we should because the Italians regard wine as something to be drunk and enjoyed rather than talked and written about like the French, who have cleverly conjured up a mystique of unique quality about their wares, from fashion to liqueurs. 'But it's funny that you should bring up Diana's name, Rupert. I had a letter from her the other day and she asks me to send you her love. When she was in Italy this summer, you know, she took a course in painting with the famous Professor Arturo Volpe in Milan.' 'Did she really? Even I have heard of the great Arturo Volpe. He is one of the top teachers in Europe and he must have thought very highly of Diana's work to allow her to join one of his classes.' 'Yes, I suppose so,' said Beth slowly, 'though I think Diana helped matters along by offering to pose nude for his students.

She wrote to me what happened when she finished one session and all the students had filed out of the room, leaving herself together with Professor Volpe. Look, I have her letter with me-would you care to read it?' She rummaged in her bag and passed me a couple of sheets of paper from it. Good grief! I had only just finished perusing Salman's sensual epistle to Chrissie, but I was curious to read how Diana had managed to wriggle herself into one of the best master classes in Europe, so I took the letter and sat down next to Beth and began to read. I skipped through the text until she came to the incident Beth had mentioned, and readers will note that Diana indeed had used all her wiles to secure a place with the great man.

So when the last student had left, I slipped off the pedestal and made my way across to Professor Volpe who was sitting at his desk.

Luckily he speaks excellent English (for my Italian is disgracefully poor) and I asked him what time I would be required the next day, and whilst he was replying I pretended to see a coin on the floor and I bent down to pick it up. This gave him an excellent view of my bottom which was only inches away from his face. I looked up and saw that he was appreciative of the two soft globes and so when I straightened up I said that I had been mistaken. Then I affected to trip forwards and fell across him, taking good care that my breasts fell nicely into his hands. At first he was embarrassed but I quickly made clear my intentions by taking his hands and pressing them to my naked nipples.

He looked startled for a moment but then he responded and we were soon engaged in a long, lingering kiss. I felt for his cock but there seemed nothing stirring in his lap so I slid off him and stood directly in front of him. Then I opened my legs and I began to stroke my cunney through the blonde silky bush of my mound. I slipped a finger into the moistening crack and started to rub myself off.

Professor Volpe obviously enjoyed watching me masturbate as I caressed my breasts seductively with one hand, tweaking my titties lasciviously, whilst finger-fucking myself with the other. He unbuckled his trousers and pulled them down to reveal his now hard, stiffstanding shaft. I looked down at his prick which was of no great size but of quite a thick girth and decided to stop the show. Instead, I dropped to my knees to suck upon his knob and run my fingernails lightly up and down the veiny length. He groaned with delight when I switched to his ballsack which with one gulp I had in my mouth, and I massaged his thick staff up to its throbbing, twitching peak whilst I sucked his heavy balls. Before long we found ourselves on the couch upon which I had been reclining for the students and I moved round, my lips still around his cock, so that my cunney was above his head, and as I lowered myself down he wiggled his tongue all around my dripping slit. By this time we were both moaning with genuine pleasure and I urged him to move round and get on top of me. When he was in position I took his shaft in my hands and guided him into my longing love-channel. He fucked me very nicely for about a couple of minutes until he shot a great spurt of spunk into my honeypot. I didn't spend myself but this pleasant little fuck was very enjoyable and certainly did the trick as far as getting me into his classes was concerned. In fact, I would never have let anyone fuck me simply to further myself in some way. If Professor Volpe had asked me to suck his cock, I would have been delighted to comply with such or any other erotic request as I regarded it as an honour to be fucked by the great man.

I passed the letter back to Beth who looked at me curiously and said: 'Rupert, you look somewhat pale and tense. Are you feeling unwell?' 'Yes, I'm quite fit, thank you, but I do feel a little tired even though I overslept this morning and truthfully, I'm also getting very worried about all the work which I have to plough through and how I am going to fit it all in with my social arrangements.' 'Oh, you must never let business interfere with pleasure,' chirped up Esme. 'You're probably just feeling out of sorts because you woke up late. My granny always says if you lose an hour in the morning you'll spend the rest of the day looking for it.' But Beth could see that I was really out of sorts and after we had drunk our wine she whispered something to Esme who nodded her head and smiled at me, saying: 'I have a couple of small errands to perform, Rupert. Will you excuse me for an hour or so? But Beth will stay and she'll help you relax.' What was all this about? Beth soon answered my unspoken question by taking me by the hand and guiding me onto the bed. 'No, I don't want you to fuck me,' she said. 'At least, not until I've managed to clear your mind and refresh your body by giving you an Oriental massage. I've always been a great believer in the principle of mens sana in corpore sano and I promise you that you'll feel so much better afterwards. I hope you'll let me try this out on you because you don't look your usual sparkling self.' 'I do need toning up in some way,' I admitted sheepishly, 'so I'd be more than grateful if you'd give me, a what did you call it?' 'An Oriental massage, Rupert. I was shown the secrets of the art by a friend who has spent several years in Hong Kong and if I say so myself, I picked up the technique extremely well.' 'I'm sure you have, Beth. So how do we start the ball rolling?' 'Lie down and let me help you undress,' she instructed as she sat down on the bed and unlaced my shoes. I unbuttoned my shirt and unbuckled my belt whilst she pulled off my shoes and socks. I arched my back to allow her to ease my trousers and drawers over my bottom and in a trice I was naked as nature intended. 'Now it's my turn,' she said softly, stepping out of her shoes. Then she slipped off her blouse before unhooking her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. She sat on the bed and peeled off her stockings and lifted her chemise over her head to reveal her bouncy white breasts with their pert ripe nipples which almost appeared to be stiffening as she wriggled out of her knickers.