In the last fifty to one hundred years, an extraordinary phenomenon has occurred among literary critics and historians. The humble stories which for hundreds of years had been the property of nursemaids and children suddenly became of interest to men like Sir James George Frazer and Sigmund Freud. What the self-conscious literateur had rejected as plebian, what the comma counting critic had condemned as crude, what the degree-laden professor had dismissed as the preoccupation of childish minds, was found to be a repository of human cultural history extending back into the dim reaches of the ancient world and preserving much of human value which might else have been lost. Not only that, but as the psychiatrist read the eternal revolt of ardent youth against repressive age in the humble myth of Jack and the Bean Stalk, and as the literary critic read behind the glittering iambs of Shapespeare's Hamlet the stark psychic facts of the Oedipus Complex, it was realized that these simple myths-simple when read on the surface level-were a mine of psychic data, a compendious volume of vital information on man's deepest psychological and spiritual needs.
Now, in a newly emboldened age of publication, a second layer of human psychic and cultural history is being unearthed. Out of the dust and ill-repute of hypocritical generations which enjoyed them in private and banned them in public are emerging works of art which a repressive and life-denying spirit once condemned as obscene. Here is new data on man's cultural history, man's psychic condition. Here is a rich new store for scholar, historian, and (not least of all) the common reader who had been too long denied these vital parts of his cultural heritage.
So with the volume under consideration, The Sexual Education of Mr. Stevens. As a literary type it clearly belongs with that genre identified by Lionel Trilling as having for its defining hero the Young Man from the Provinces. James Stevens is as young as any of them, as green, as eager yet uncertain about life. And life sweeps him up, as it swept up the heroes of the old folk tales. For this genre is far older than such nineteenth century examples of it as Dickens' Great Expectations, The Education of Henry Adams, and the recently unearthed My Secret Life, or such twentieth century examples as F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. In the old myths, the hero's real mission is disguised-cleaned up for the nursery, as it were. In The Sexual Education of Mr. Stevens there is no need for the veil of an age whose nursemaids told children they had been brought by a doctor in a black bag. There is no doubt about James Steven's mission. It is sexual education he seeks: not the dry education of textbook and multiple choice exam, but the education of the world, the sweet shocks and enlightening contacts and, yes, the terrors and momentary defeats of flesh-and-blood life.
There is no nonsense here about running dragons through, or asking of the Queen of the Amazons, as Herakles did, only her golden girdle. James Stevens asks much, and much is given to him.
And who can say, despite the frowns of the narrow-minded, that such myths have not their educational and even psychotherapeutic function for our troubled young people, male and female? In any case the myths which The Sexual Education of Mr. Stevens embodies-the Myth of the Castle Dangerous, the Myth of the Jealous Guardian, the Myth of the Forbidden Fruit, the great archetypal Myth of Perpetual Rut-are far older than our current crop of book-rack browsers and guardians of the public morality. For untold ages they have served the deep, hidden, and secret needs of mankind, and doubtless will serve them for untold ages more. The Sexual Education of Mr. Stevens takes its place with the most vital of these artistic creations.
Karl Otto Pappenfus, Ph.D.
Minneapolis, Minnesota August, 1968
CHAPTER ONE
I sit before a warm fire in my study, a respectable, dignified old man now, showing no traces of a wild and, I think, quickly spent youth.
As the first snows of winter began to fall this year, with a coldly white finality, it was only natural that my thoughts were of mortality and my spirit began to long for my younger days. My younger days, when the air was mixed with wine and the nights filled with the musky scent of wonderful women. It was in those days that my body was always capable of whatever my heart willed.
I was a student then, unlearned in the ways of life and-it does not embarrass me now-the ways of love.
I arrived at the University carrying a bag full of clothes and a head full of emptiness. I was a tall, gangling boy then, cursed with a talent for stumbling into objects capable of falling over and breaking.
My first day at the University I remember very well because that day I stumbled into my first seduction. No, in an effort to be honest, I shall admit that I was the one seduced. But, considering my tender age, I think that is forgivable.
On that first day, carrying a letter of introduction from my uncle (a titled and pompous old fellow whose generosity was allowing me to continue my education) I approached the boarding house where I was to stay.
The woman who answered the door had a face like baking dough, hair that would have shamed a cur, and a body of such bulk as to endanger a barge on the Thames, had one been foolish enough to take her aboard.
"I am James Stevens," I said, gathering my courage. "I have secured lodging...."
My speech trickled off as she stared at me.
"Well, another pup to put up with," she grumbled. "By the looks of you, you don't eat much. Come in, come in and I'll show you your room."
My room was on the second floor and was fairly well appointed for the price my uncle was paying. As I was attempting to put my bag up I bumped into the wash basin, which nudged the water pitcher, which fell on the floor and shattered.
The landlady, whose name I later found to be Hutchens, attempted to kill me with a glare.
"You will, of course, have to pay for it," she said. "I will send Meg up to clean it up and bring you another one. In this house you will have to replace anything you damage."
I was being quite careful about unpacking my bag when Meg came into the room.
I was rather taken aback. Meg, who couldn't have been much older than I, had long loose hair, an elfin face and teats that threatened to burst through her haphazardly pinned blouse.
"Lord, but you're off to a good start," she said, setting her broom against the bed. "Old Hutchens is raving about clumsy boys destroying her house."
She gave me a wide smile and sat on the bed. She looked me up and down very slowly, then leaned back, resting on her elbows.
"I can't say I mind having a few boys around the house," she said. "As long as they aren't too clumsy."
She let one leg swing back and forth, tic-tock, tic-tock. My eyes followed helplessly. Knowing she had me flustered, she leaned all the way back on the bed. Her breasts rose like soft twin mountains and her leg moved back and forth, back and forth. She raised her head and looked at me.
"What's the matter, ducky? Is there something wrong with me? You're turning so red. Since you haven't done anything, it must be what you're thinking that causes you to blush so. It that it? Tell me, what are you thinking?"
I couldn't tell her anything at the moment, because my throat was so constricted that speech was impossible. How could I tell her I wanted to fuck her, that my prick was rampant and hard, longing to plunge deeply into a moist, warm cunt for the very first time?
She rose from the bed and, taking two steps, stood up against me. Her breath stirred on my lips. Her breasts pressed against me. Resisting a terrible urge, I did the only thing I could think of. I put my hands in my pockets.
"Can you guess what I'm thinking?" she asked. Looking directly into my eyes, she put her hand between my legs and began to rub. I stood there, trembling, confused and excited. Her hand slowly unbuttoned my pants, reached inside, took my organ and pulled it out.
"Lord, such a size for someone so young. So fresh-looking too. You could not have used it very often."
I did not tell her that it had never-not once-been used. But I did take my hands out of my pockets. I let one reach up and slide inside her blouse, finding purchase on a large soft breast. Gently rubbing my prick she slid her thumb over its tip, back and forth, My eyes clouded and I found it hard to breathe. I had never experienced such a sensation before. An agonizing need filled my body.
Holding her breast tightly and putting my other arm around her waist, I pulled her to the bed and brought her down on top of me. I kissed her, and to my shock her tongue darted into my mouth, sliding over my teeth, rubbing against my own tongue. Her fast moving tongue and faster moving hand caused me to do something that, until that moment, had been limited to restless dreams. My prick spurted great globs of viscous, white come all over her skirt. I was shocked and embarrassed by the misbehavior of my recalcitrant prick, but she put me at ease after her surprise passed.
"Oh love," she cried, obviously dismayed, "You are young. And you've messed my dress too. Well, never mind, I have to get downstairs anyway."
She sat up and looked at me. She began to smile.
"I'll be back tonight when everyone has gone to bed," she said. "So wait for me."
So saying she stood up, straightened her blouse, picked up her broom and left the room.
I lay on the bed weak, embarrassed and delighted. Anticipation soon gave me energy, but when I rose to clean myself I found that I had no pitcher, and the broken one was still on the floor, as shattered as, hopefully, my innocence would soon be.
I quietly left the house, stumbling on the stairway but twice, and went out to see the town. I spent the next several hours wandering about the town, but seeing nothing, as I found myself in what was fast becoming a feverish state. The women passers-by seemed to give off scents that made me sway. The hills became living mounds. And the towers of the near-by University ... well you can guess about the towers.
When the dinner hour had passed and it was dark, I made my way back to the house.
Back in my room I found the broken pitcher had been replaced. I stripped and washed and climbed into bed. The house grew quiet, and soon all I could hear was the beating of my own heart.
The door opened and Meg slipped in. In the dark I could hear her clothes fall on the floor. The bed rocked and her warm flesh touched mine. She smelled clean and fresh, me. She rolled on top of me and stretched full length, thigh to thigh, belly to belly, breast to chest. Her tongue wormed its way into my mouth as she locked her hands behind my head. She began to move her body up and down the length of mine. I slid my hands down her back, feeling silken flesh that sent a shiver of delight through me, stiffening my pego instantly. With a will of their own they moved over her marvelous bottom and took hold of her thighs. Her legs slowly parted and wrapped themselves around mine, and I could feel her crisp, curly pubic hair intermingly voluptuously with mine.
"Ah love, go slowly this time. I want to enjoy it. Suck me now, suck me hard."
I did not know what she meant until she raised herself and put a breast into my mouth. Holding with my lips I let my tongue run over her nipple. She gave a small gasp and her hips began to rotate, her stomach moving on mine, my prick caught in the joint of her legs. The friction was excruciatingly delightful, and for a moment I was afraid I would come again and spoil our fucking.
She rolled over slowly, pulling me with her. Spreading her legs wide, she took my prick and eased the tip of it into her cunt. Her legs twined themselves around my waist. Her hands grabbed me by the buttocks and pushed me into her. I had never been in such an elated state. Taking hold of her shoulders I began to pump frantically.
"Harder," she said in a husky whisper. "Harder. Oh quickly. Now, now!"
I could feel myself burst, my come spurting into her, again and again. Her fingers clawed me and her legs tightened and relaxed. She gave out a soft moan. I went limp, with my face on her neck.
"Out now," she whispered after a moment. "We have other things to do."
Turning me onto my back her fingers began to play on my chest. She kissed me on the neck, then on the chest, then the stomach. Moving down she spread my legs apart and began to kiss my thighs, then, oh marvelous creature, she began to kiss my prick. Her lips moved slowly and I could feel her teasing tongue. My pego began to stiffen and rise. Moving herself slightly, her mouth encompassed the entire purple knob of the head. Her hand started to stroke the base of it, up and down, while her tongue continued to play. Grabbing her by the hair I started to quiver. Her lips tightened and I spent myself like I never thought possible.
Dazed, I heard her say, "Good, very good. It's your turn now."
Profiting by her example, I began by kissing her breasts and slowly, very slowly, worked my way down to that wonderful valley between her legs. Lifting herself, she wrapped her legs about my neck, and taking me by the hair guided my mouth to her second set of lips. A scent arose that was too delicious to describe. Trying to use my tongue as she had hers I kissed her as she had me. Reaching up I took hold of her breasts, gripping the nipples between thumb and forefingers. I worked with all my might, and her legs clutched tighter and tighter. I worked faster. Her fingers pulled at my hair and she gave a big shiver.
Relaxing her grip she let her legs slide down to the bed.
She said, very gently, "That was nice, love. Oh that was so nice."
We rested awhile and I was stroking her body when I started to fall asleep. Meg got out of bed and gathered her clothes, leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.
"Tomorrow night," she whispered. There is so much more we can do."
After she left I lay there on the edge of sleep, astonished at the evening events and at the number of things I had learned. I had not even attended my first class at the University, but already my education had begun.
CHAPTER TWO
I was dressing the next morning when there was a knock on my door. At my bid to enter, a young man stuck his head into my room.
"Hello. Pm Christopher Morgan, a fellow prisoner in this rat-warren. You're a student too, or so Pm told."
"I will be once I enroll," I replied. "And my name is James Stevens."
Christopher was rather dark-skinned, his thick black hair combed in waves on his head. He had an intriguingly bent nose and dancing black eyes. Talking with him while I dressed and while we ate a rather meager breakfast, I learned that Christopher was in his second year at the University, had a quick wit, a biting tongue, and a complete disregard for any form of authority. This irreverance for authority showed itself as we were walking to the campus to enroll in our classes.
"Ah look," Christopher said, stopping me by the arm. "See who's coming this way. It's Mrs. Langly, the Dean's wife. What a nice thing she is. The essence of beaux yeux."
The woman approaching us made my breath quicken and caused a stirring in the pit of my stomach. Golden hair piled high on her head, cheeks fresh and reddened by the fall air. Rounded hips flowing under her full skirt, her jacket stretched tight across her full bosom.
"Good morning Mrs. Langly," Christopher said. "Lovely, ah, day, isn't it?" He smiled in a wicked way as his eyes roved over her, stopping at the more delightful places-her breasts and the hollow of her thighs, where we both knew her cunt to be.
To my surprise, she smiled back, blue eyes twinkling. She looked perhaps thirty, but in her full, smiling lips one sensed both youth and experience.
"Good morning, Mr. Morgan," she said. "Yes, it is lovely." She gave a small, easy laugh and turned her eyes to me.
"I haven't met your friend, Mr. Morgan. Would you care to introduce us?"
I didn't hear Christopher go through the formal introductions. I didn't hear much of anything. I was staring into her eyes, and she, unmoving, was looking back. I blushed at my own boldness. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, yet I could not help myself. She was beautiful beyond belief.
"New to the University?" she asked.
I nodded, afraid to try to speak.
"Then you are in for some confusing days," she said. "It will take awhile before you learn your way around."
Christopher laughed and she smiled at him, while I continued to stare at her.
"Mr. Morgan," she said, turning to Christopher, "we might aid this young man in learning the ways and customs of this school. A tableau vwant, as it were. I would be pleased if the two of you would stop for tea this afternoon. Then we could give him the information necessary to get along properly here, don't you think?"
"It would be our pleasure, Mrs. Langly," Christopher said, giving a small bow. I nodded affirmatively as he took me by the arm and pulled me away.
"Dear fellow," Christopher said as we neared the University, "directly ahead of us is the building where underclassmen are to enroll. There you will begin your formal education. And yet...." Here he stopped and laughed. "It is just possible that more of your education will take place outside a classroom than in one."
I was nervous and more than a bit flustered when Christopher pulled the doorbell at the Langly house. The house sat on the edge of the campus, a large, imposing residence, awesomely fitting for the Dean of the University.
A servant girl answered the door and, with a nod to Christopher, led us to a spacious, well-furnished drawing room. There Mrs. Langly sat on a monsterously huge couch, a tea tray and a small bottle of brandy on the table before her. Without rising, she waved Christopher and me to sit in chairs opposite her.
She wore a dark blue velvet skirt embroidered at the bottom with white lace. Her white silk blouse, also with embroidery, was unbuttoned at the top, exposing a dark smooth cleft between her two well-rounded breasts.
"Tea or brandy, Mr. Stevens?" she asked. Noticing that she had a half-filled brandy glass next to her, I bravely chose the latter. Christopher, casually lounging in his chair, declined either. As I crossed to take the glass she had poured for me, I became flustered under Mrs. Langly's frank gaze, and, struck with a terrible fear that my clumsiness would overcome me, used both hands to hold the glass as I returned to my chair.
We sat and drank and chatted about the University. Christopher and Mrs. Langly laughingly mentioned several unfamiliar names, and I felt increasingly left out. I watched Mrs. Langly as she talked, watched her red lips part over small white teeth, her tongue dancing behind. I watched her graceful figure gently relaxed on the huge couch and, as I watched, drank more brandy.
Suddenly draining her glass, Mrs. Langly stood up.
"Mr. Morgan, could I see you a moment?" she asked, and walked out of the room. Christopher quickly followed her, leaving me to sit and stare into the dark, swirling colors of my brandy.
Only a few minutes had passed before Christopher returned, his handsome face grinning and his dark hair noticeably mussed.
"James, dear fellow," he said, "I have only now remembered some pressing business. I'm sure you won't mind if I meet you later."
He gave me a wink, and without waiting for a reply turned and left the room. I sat a moment, then thinking that I had been completely abandoned, was gathering my gloves and coat when Mrs. Langly returned.
"Mr. Stevens, you're not thinking of leaving me are you?" she asked, coming back into the room. "Do sit down."
I coughed and mumbled and again seated myself. She set herself on the enormous couch and tucked her legs under her. Pouring us more brandy she began to question me about myself and my background. All the time she looked at me most unabashedly.
Finishing my latest brandy, I began to feel more relaxed and a bit braver.
Mrs. Langly suddenly emitted a small cry.
"Oh, dear. Oh, it hurts!"
"What's wrong?" I asked, frightened.
"My leg," she said. "I think it's cramped. Oh, Mr. Stevens, you'll have to help me."
Turning sideways on the couch she began to raise her skirt, exposing her long legs and lovely white skin. I could feel my face heat up, and I knocked my empty glass over.
"Quickly, Mr. Stevens," she said, "Please?"
Crossing to her, I knelt beside the couch.
"Here," she said, taking my hand and placing it just above her knee. Sliding it over her knee, she put it on the inside of her thigh.
"Rub here," she whispered. As I began to massage her thigh gently she put her hand beside my head, fingers playing with my ear. Her leg began to move slowly back and forth. She leaned back full length on the couch and her other hand hiked the skirt a little higher.
"A little further up, Mr. Stevens," she said.
Her voice had gone husky. Emboldened by the brandy, I slid my hand along her thigh until it rested firmly between her legs. I rubbed in small, slow circles. She gave a soft sigh and her hand tightened in a grip on my hair. Her blue eyes closed to a slit and her pink tongue slid over her lips. Her legs spread wider.
With my other hand trembling a bit, I began to unbutton her blouse. When I had unbuttoned as much as I could, she took both her hands and pulled her bodice down, slipping out of the sleeves. There before me were two silken swelling mounds, slowly heaving, with taut pink nipples reaching upwards. I pressed my face into the softness of the nearest one, taking a nipple into my mouth.
"Mr. Stevens," she whispered. "Don't forget my cramp."
With that she squeezed her legs together, trapping my hand. I flexed my fingers, feeling burning flesh beneath her now moist, silk undergarment. We continued thus for some moments, moving slightly now and then for new excitement.
"Wait," she breathed. "Now you must undress me."
She stretched out as I stood above her. Taking her dress in my hands, I pulled the velvet cloth down over her rounded hips and her now together legs. Putting the dress on the floor, I turned to look at her. Wearing only her silk undergarment, she lay on the couch, arms above her head, unpinning her golden hair.
Her breasts were high and rounded swelling up and down, up and down. There was a slight swell of her stomach, molded, abundant hips and long wonderful legs. She smiled at me.
Taking her silk panties with my forefingers I slid them down over her buttocks, away from that golden valley and over her knees. Swiftly moving her feet she kicked them away from the couch. Her hair fell over her shoulders, cascading in a circle on the couch, golden, shimmering, matching the yellow shimmer between her legs.
"Kiss me, Mr. Stevens. Kiss me all over."
Falling to my knees I began to kiss her neck, her breasts, her stomach. My hands had a life of their own, running over her thighs, under her legs, stopping briefly in the mound of her yellow cunt hair, caressing her hips.
She began to breathe more heavily and to squirm on the couch, her legs opening and closing.
"Oh, good," she said. "Oh dear, oh."
The pain in my loins was almost unbearable. Just when I thought I would not be able to stand it she grabbed my hands and sat up.
"Stand up," she commanded.
When I did she began to undo my pants. Just as quickly, I took off my shirt and stepped out of my shoes. When I was completely naked I stood before her as she knelt on the couch. Reaching out, she took my prick in her hands and began to rub it between them. My legs shook. Reaching behind me, she grasped my buttocks and pulled me to her. Bending, she took my organ between her lips and began to suck.
Her hair fell over her back and her breast rubbed against my legs. Her mouth worked in small, quick movements and I could feel the pressure as she drew air in. Shaking all over, I grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back on the couch, falling on her, legs intertwined, belly to belly. Gripping her hair in my fingers, I smothered her face with kisses.
"I must be inside you," I said. "Oh Lord, I must."
Her legs moved up and down mine, tightening, loosening, tightening.
"Yes," she said with a husky laugh. "But we must do it my way. You must fuck me the way I like, or I shan't let you fuck me at all."
She pushed me up away from her. Turning over on her face she pulled her knees under her, lifting her bottom high in the air. She spread her legs out, revealing an opening in the golden mound, a shiny gate to paradise. My organ was so stiff it pained me, but I knew where comfort could be found. Taking it in one hand I approached her, putting just the tip in. She began to wiggle backwards, but I stayed her, suddenly enjoying the anticipation. Leaning on her back I took a breast in each hand, squeezing. Her muscles around my organ tightened, went loose, tightened again. When she wiggled again I was unable to wait any longer. I drove my shaft in as far as I could, feeling my balls press against the warmth of her body.
"Oh marvelous," she groaned. "How wonderful, how...."
Back and forth I went as she rocked on her knees. Moving my hands to her waist I pulled myself in and out. Faster and faster I went until, just as she gave out a high moan, I spent ... deluging her with copious quantities of my white, sticky love-juice.
Thoroughly amazed with myself, I fell exhausted to the couch. Mrs. Langly lay beside me. Biting gently on my ear she said, "You must come again for tea, Mr. Stevens. We will arrange it soon."
She slowly rolled over me to the edge of the couch and stood up.
"The Dean will be home soon," she said. "I must hurry."
Laughing a light tinkling laugh she reached over and gave my prick a loving squeeze. Turning, she picked up her clothes and started from the room.
I watched her, a nude goddess, carved and molded for pleasure beyond the reach of mere men. But not me, a clumsy boy lying on her couch. Her long legs carried her out of the room.
I quickly dressed and quietly left the house. Once out on the street, trying to straighten my wrinkled clothes, I decided to go directly to the boarding house. I should, I thought, have a talk with Mr. Christopher Morgan.
CHAPTER THREE
Christopher was lounging on my bed when I returned to the boarding house. The late afternoon sun warmed and mellowed the room, matching my mood towards the entire world. Additional years and experience later taught me that there is nothing like an afternoon fuck on a couch to renew a man's faith in the world.
"How was it?" Christopher asked, moving his booted feet off the bed.
"You knew?" I asked slightly shocked. "I mean, when you left you ... well, you know."
He laughed and nodded.
"Of course. You, my young and callow fellow, had been selected by the high priestess of pleasure. You are now a member of a small, scattered, and highly sorry group of would-be scholars. Perhaps I should explain."
Christoper stood up and began to pace about the room, his hands gesturing as he talked.
"Mrs. Langly is a fantastic creature, a woman of such body and spirit as to make one's mouth water, along with the palms of your hands. I cannot deny it. But undeniable also is the danger involved. One should not forget how vulnerable a student is at the hands of a Dean.
"Dean Langly is a vengeful old hypocrite, who, mind you, doesn't mind playing about himself, but let him catch anyone near his wife and he puts a quick and permanent end to a young man's education.
"Don't look so startled my friend. You may say c'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre. Granted it is maginficent, I too know. But it would also be war, of a type where there can be only one loser. You."
I became very agitated. I knew well the value of an education, not only for the idealistic reasons fed to young men; the noble pursuit of knowledge, the sacred drinking from the fountain of wisdom, but also for the practical reasons of acquiring a decent living and the noble pursuit of a comfortable life. Yet I had visions of heaving, rounded breasts, creamy and taut thighs. I could taste and feel her lips, smell the odor of her warm skin.
"No," I said. "No, I cannot stop now. There must be a way I can work this out. Having tasted paradise, I cannot give it up."
"Your words sound familiar, my friend," Christopher said. "They've been said before. I decided to stay out of your way this afternoon because no one should miss the experience. But take my advice and let it go at that."
"No," I said. "I will find a way, don't worry."
Christopher sighed and let his hand fall to his side. He walked to the door and turned.
"At least I've put you on your guard," he said. "Be careful."
After Christopher left I lay on my bed, trying to grab and hold scurrying thoughts of panic that danced and mingled with images of luxurious sensuality. The day grew dark as I lay thinking, reliving the feel of silk and skin, immersed in memory of movement and touch.
I began to feel warm.
Rising from the bed I stripped and, using the new pitcher, completely washed myself. It didn't help. I was standing in the middle of the dark room when Meg opened the door and slipped in.
"James, where are you?" she asked. "My eyes aren't used to the dark."
"Over here," I answered. "Feel your way."
I was learning fast.
Meg giggled and began to move towards the sound of my voice. I let her touch me and then quickly moved away.
"Why, love," Meg whispered. "You haven't got a thing on."
"Correct," I said. "Don't you think it's unfair? With me at such a disadvantage, I mean."
"I know what you mean," Meg said, stifling a laugh. "Wait just a moment."
In the dark I heard her wiggle out of her clothes.
"There," she said. "Now we're even."
I squatted and edged forward, duck fashion, holding my arm out. When she stepped forward, she laid her little mound right into my hand.
"Ohhh," she gasped, waving her arms around. "Where are you?"
I gave a quick squeeze and stood up, moving off.
"Right here," I said. "Over here."
"Over there my sweet Aunt Tilly," she laughed. "I'm not sure where you are, but I know where you should be."
Then all was quiet. I moved a few steps and waited for her to make a noise. I was about to move again when a hand took a tight grip on my organ.
"Got you now," she said in a hoarse whisper. "Just try to get away."
Feeling her fingers flexing on my stiff organ, I really wasn't too anxious to get away. Reaching out, I pulled her to me. Wrapping my right arm all the way around her, I took a breast in my right hand, massaging slowly. My left hand slid down over her stomach and nestled in the hair between her legs. I kissed her, my tongue parting her lips and moving to meet hers. Her hand slowly moved the skin up and down on my organ. Her other hand moved down my back and stopped at my buttocks. Her fingers parted the cheeks and slipped in, gently rubbing.
We stood that way, hands moving, rubbing, massaging. She lifted my prick to her belly and began to rub it back and forth on her. My adventures earlier in the day allowed me to contain myself. I wanted to go very slowly this time.
Moving both hands around behind her I took a grip on her bottom. Pulling her against me, I lifted her off the floor. Holding her body to mine, I slowly lifted until I had my face buried in her breasts. Taking a nipple with my lips I began to suck. She put her arms around my neck and wrapped her legs around my waist.
I went into a half-squat, bracing her on my knees. Holding on with one hand, Meg reached down with the other, took my organ and placed the tip of it into her. Wiggling very slowly, legs wrapped tightly around me, she worked her way down onto my staff. When it was in all the way to the root she stopped, holding very still.
"Ah, love," she said. "If I could keep it with me all the time, just like this."
Feeling myself inside her, her muscles gripping tight, began to make me tremble. The movement excited me still further. Reaching into our mingled hair I closed my hand over her mound and slowly lifted her off. Her breathing had become quick and heavy. Taking her in my arms I carried her bed. Setting her down prone I sat straddle her, my staff resting between her breasts. Bold as I had never been before I moved forward, half sitting on her breasts, and laid the tip of my staff on her parted lips. Opening her mouth she took the end in between her teeth. Pushing forward I felt the end of it touch the roof of her mouth.
Her lips worked in little movements and her tongue slid over the tip, teasingly. Putting my hands behind me I moved her legs apart, stroking her thighs. Moving up I gently took hold of her moist little mound. Spreading the folds of skin apart I put a finger deep inside her, moving it easily. Her teeth bit down, her lips and tongue working furiously, and she moved her legs still further apart, lifting slightly. The movement of her mouth suddenly had its effect on me, and without warning I spent, long and violently. My own handiwork, coupled with my discharging organ, achieved its own effect as Meg lifted herself with stiffened legs and shuddered again and again.
Moving off, I lay beside her, stroking her breasts while her breathing subsided.
"That's the first time I've ever done that!" Meg finally said. "And I can't say I mind it at all. But we need more energy. Wait here."
She rose, slipped her dress over her head, and left the room. I lay there, quite happy I might add, until she returned. Meg came back and this time latched the door. Bouncing onto the bed she held up two mugs and a jug of wine.
"This should start us off," she giggled. "Nothing like red wine to put life back into you."
Taking a mug, I found I was extremely thirsty. I drained the mug and poured myself another. Meg, too, held hers out for more.
It wasn't long before we were both quite drunk, laughing and giggling into our hands in an attempt to keep quiet. We began to play a game with the wine. Meg would pick a spot on her body and pour a little wine on it. I would lick it off. Then it was my turn. It wasn't long before we both started to get excited and the wine fell on increasingly itimate spots.
Meg began to squirm beneath my lips, which remained on her cunt long after the wine was gone. Deciding that the shortest distance between two points, namely frustration and satisfaction, was a straight line, I was happy that I naturally came equipped with one. Moving on top of Meg, I spread her legs and slowly inserted myself.
"Yes, love," Meg sighed. "Make this a long and slow one."
We were just starting to work in unison when there was a knock on the door.
"What's going on in there?" Mrs. Hutchens called out. "I heard people laughing."
"It's Horrid Hutchens," Meg whispered. "Lord, if she finds me in here I'll be back on the street."
Neither of us moved. Lifting my head, I spoke out, trying to put tears in my voice, which wasn't hard considering that anguish isn't too far removed from fear.
"It's only me, Mrs. Hutchens," I said. "I was crying. I had a nightmare. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
There was a moment of silence, then I heard Mrs. Hutchens grunt and shuffle off down the hall.
"Oh, that was close," Meg whispered.
It was then that I discovered that my prick, still inside that lovely thing, had gone limp. I could be clumsy, yes, but this would never do. Meg was obviously aware of my problem.
"Don't move," she said. "I'll take care of it. It has simply fainted. It's not dead."
Her hands began to stroke me everywhere they could reach. Her hips began to rotate in a small circle, while her feet moved up and down the back of my legs. Pulling my head into the crook of her neck, she stuck her tongue into my ear, playing it in and out.
I started to respond. The slow gyrating of her hips, the soft rub of belly on belly, the quickening breath in my ear, all successfully combined to achieve what we both wanted; a hard, ready, weapon of love.
We started without haste, pulling apart almost to the point of separating, coming together as deeply as possible. As if by mutual agreement, we started to move faster, harder. Meg began to dig her fingers into my back, her nails sending sparks of wonderful pain through my skin. She gripped harder, her legs kicking up over my back. Simultaneously we came, quivering and spending ourselves. I could feel my fluid spurting in long, pleasurable spasms.
I let out a long sigh and rolled off. No matter how young one is, there is a point at which the body becomes completely exhausted, not caring in the least for the ideas springing from the mind. Not that my mind was springing at that point, I admit. More like a slow walk.
Meg curled up beside me and quickly went to sleep. I lay there looking into the dark, sorting out the events of the day. If this was any indication of what university life was like, I thought, then there was no question but that I should become a teacher.
Meg, lying so close, was a delightful thing, yet worlds apart from Mrs. Langly. Mrs. Langly was a woman, part of a different world and a different set of experiences. And forbidden. Yes, forbidden, and that's what made her exciting. Tell a child that he can't have a particular thing and suddenly he will want that one thing more than anything else in the world. The juice is sweetest that comes from forbidden fruit.
And I was no better. Mrs. Langly in herself was an object that would make a man foresake all other things. But add the element of danger, the threat of pulverizing thunderbolts from the hands of the Dean, and then you had a mixture that no true man could resist.
And I was truly a man. No one could deny it, not after the events of last night and today. Tonight, too. One could never forget tonight. I had made the break into manhood, had fully come into my own. Nothing could keep me from acquiring whatever I wanted. The world was mine to take.
Thinking thus, I rolled over and knocked the jug of wine and at least one mug off the bed.
My foolishness shattered along with the jug. Before dropping off to sleep I admitted to myself that I still had much to learn.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun broke bright the next morning, and I was up and dressed before the chill of the night had melted away. I must have presented a cheerful picture when I came down to breakfast.
Christopher and a few other boarders were already at the table buttering hot muffins and drinking tea. I seated myself next to him, suddenly aware of a great hunger.
"You're wearing a positively wicked smirk," Christopher said. "What the devil have you been up to?"
Between bites of hot, dripping muffins, I gave him a quick summary of the night's events. He broke into loud laughter when I reached the part where Hutchens knocked on the door. I explained how I had solved the problem.
"Clever, very clever," Christopher chuckled. "It's obvious that you're quick on your feet, or on your stomach, as the case may be. It's a good thing that you can keep your wits about you because this afternoon you're going to need them."
I asked why.
"Because today there is a reception for undergraduate students to give them a chance to meet one another, especially the new students. It's an annual affair. And it's held at Dean Langly's house."
I stopped eating. There was a nervous flutter in my stomach. I wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea. I would know a lot of students there and could hide myself in the crowd. But with my fantastic ability for self control it wouldn't be hard for me to break something, or fall on my face, which would not do much toward keeping me unnoticed. Not that I was afraid, mind you, just that I figured the less the Dean saw of me the better off I'd be. All right, maybe I was a little frightened. I explained what I was thinking to Christopher.
"You're right," he said. "But you don't have much choice. If you don't go and no one steps forward when it comes your turn to meet the Dean, your name will attract more attention than it would otherwise. I would take your place, but the Dean knows me."
I had but one road to travel, all the others being gated. The one requirement being that I carefully put one foot in front of the other, for a slip or stumble would leave me with my face in the dust.
Christopher and I again approached the Langly house, converging with other students towards the front door. The same servant girl was there taking coats and gloves. When I gave her mine she returned a smile and a quick wink.
We moved inside the house and joined the receiving line.
At the end of the line, repeating the names given to him and shaking hands, was Dean Langly. As we approached I had a chance to observe him carefully. He was short and round, with a bulging belly under his tight coat, the type of belly that hangs out over the belt. The fat extended up to his face where it squirted out and folded over his collar, and his cheeks hung down in heavy jowls. He had a thickly greased mustache, which attempted to offset the thin hair he had combed back over a balding head.
I gave my name to the person standing next to him while he shook hands with Christopher. It was whispered to him when Christopher moved away.
"James Stevens, is it?" he said, enveloping my hand in his. "Welcome to the University, young man. Apply yourself and you will go far. Work hard, stay out of trouble, and you will be able to serve mankind."
He released my hand and his little eyes moved to the person behind me. His sweaty hand had left mine damp. Wiping my hand on my pants, I joined Christopher, who gave me a glass of punch.
"Be careful," Christopher said. "He's as mean as he is repulsive. He delights in calling students on the carpet, making them crawl, and then letting them think they've been forgiven. It isn't until the next day that they find that they've been thrown out of school. So be very careful."
I promised him that I would, and asked if he had seen Mrs. Langly.
"She was at the punch bowl a moment ago," he said. "But she's gone now. Just stay with me and relax."
We chatted awhile, but soon Christopher was engrossed in conversation with several other students. I stood and sipped my punch, watching people mingle and talk and shout greetings. Soon the room was quite crowded.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and, turning, saw the servant girl standing there smiling.
"Would you follow me, please?" she asked.
We quickly made our way to a small side room. The girl opened the door for me to enter, then closed it behind me, leaving me by myself. Or so I thought.
"How are you today?" Mrs. Langly asked, rising from a couch that faced away from me.
She was beautiful. Her golden hair was piled high on her head in sweeps and curls. She was wearing a low-cut black dress that lifted and exposed the rolling curves of her breasts and left her shoulders bare. Her dress hugged her small waist, then billowed out over her hips.
Mrs. Langly glided towards me, holding her hand out. When I took it she stood close to me, wrapping my senses in a haze of perfume and the feel of warm skin. She held my hand tightly.
"Come," she said, "I want to show you the garden."
She led me across the room and through a set of wide veranda doors. We walked out into a large well-tended garden. Along the narrow cobblestoned paths, the plants and trees were starting to turn in upon themselves in preparation for winter. The leaves were beginning to curl and the green lifesap was being drawn back into the branches where it would be hoarded and hidden until spring.
I followed her into a small cul-de-sac that was well away from the house. It was a little grass-covered clearing that was surrounded by high, still-thick bushes, safe from all eyes.
"Well, Mr. Stevens," she said, "are you enjoying the reception?"
"Not as much as I would like to," I replied. "It seems that receptions could be very dull, if one allowed them to be."
"Ah, ennui in one so young. I can see that I mustn't let you become bored, whatever the price."
So saying she lifted my hand to her throat, then slowly sliding it down across her chest she gently thrust it inside her blouse, leaving it there to cup her warm, throbbing breast.
"Rub it," she said. "Rub it, squeeze it, feel it. Tell me you are bored, tell me that this is a dull thing."
I was anything but bored. I could feel the nipple rise and grow, tickling the palm of my hand. The breast was rising and falling as she breathed, the warm flesh pushing into my tightening fingers.
She began to unbutton her blouse down to her waist. Her breasts popped free, exposing themselves to my view. Large and taut and unencumbered, they stood before me, milky white mounds tipped with quivering rose-tinted nipples.
Bending, I put my lips to them, as if hoping to draw into my drab existence some of their sweet life. My mouth moved over them, tasting and pausing, roving between and under them, covering every inch of flesh. Putting one of my arms around her as a brace, she bent back, lifting them to my lips, offering them to me to do with as I pleased. She let one of her legs slip between mine, pushing her pelvis against the top of my thigh. Her blouse slipped completely off her shoulders, falling halfway down her arms, leaving bare all her torso down to the navel.
Putting my other hand behind her, I let it travel down into the dress, past her waist, reaching the soft mounds of her bottom. Digging my fingers in, I pushed her hard against me, pressing my leg into the spot where hers joined. It was then that I realized that she was absolutely without undergarments.
"They're such a waste of time," she whispered, her mind working in perfect unison with mine.
I laid her on the grass and pressed myself on top of her. Cupping a breast in one hand I kissed her, intertwining tongues and exchanging breath. When I started to remove her arms from the sleeves of her dress she stayed me.
"No," she said. "We must leave it so that we can be dressed quickly-Just in case."
She then rolled me onto my back and half placed herself on me. Running the fingers of one hand through my hair she kissed me about the face and neck. During a long kiss I felt her other hand swiftly undoing my belt. Her fingers crept down into the hair around my organ, giving little tugs, then closing around my throbbing staff. She played with it awhile as her lips moved over my brow and eyes and cheeks. Then completely unbuttoning my pants she pulled them down over my knees.
Moving down she pushed my knees as far apart as they would go, leaving my staff rising unaided towards the sky. Slipping away from my arms, she put her head between my legs and began to move her lips over my thighs. Soon she lifted her kisses to the hair between my legs, rubbing her cheek against my staff. Starting at the bottom of my organ she kissed her way up to the tip and finally, finally, took the end of it into her lips. Moving her lips as if nibbling a biscuit she worked it into her mouth, running her tongue around it. She continued this until she sensed that I was about to spend. Lifting her head she came up into my arms.
"There is no hurry," she said. "In fact, there is enough time for you to rest your head in my lap."
With that she sat up and guided my head to the lap of her dress. I was wondering what her purpose was, particularly since I was pulsating with excitement, when she eased her dress out, leaving my head resting on bare, warm skin.
"Perhaps the light is too bright," she laughed, and put the dress back down over me.
Shifting around so that my body was between her legs I began to copy what she had done. Kissing her legs I moved up until my mouth was resting against that warm cavity between them. Burying my nose in her golden fur I slipped my tongue into her, tasting the moisture that sprung from her flesh. My hands came up and took hold of her bottom as she moved her legs further and further apart. I continued thus until her legs began to quiver. Taking my cue from her I stopped, lifting the dress off my head.
She was on her back with her neck arched, her hands clutching her breast. With the top and bottom of her dress about her waist, her knees were in the air, spread wide apart.
"Hurry," she said, her breath coming fast. "Oh do hurry. I must have it now."
Without wasting time I moved up and, spreading her with my fingers, inserted my prick deep into her moist and juicy cunt. Her legs lifted and closed about my back as her hands came up and grabbed my arms. Raising the lower half of her completely off the ground, I moved myself in and out, twisting myself slightly from side to side. This I did until my own blood rose to an unbearable point. Then I simply fell on her and pumped with all my might. When I spent, it was as if a dam had burst and every part of me poured into her in long exquisite spasms. She gave a small sharp cry and shook, again and again.
We lay there for awhile, not moving. Her legs still gave quick, short quivers, and love bumps had risen on her flesh. I finally withdrew myself and stood, buttoning my pants.
"Mr. Stevens," she said, her voice a soft purr. I looked down at her. Her lips were parted in a smile, her breasts round and heavy, her legs still parted. Her dress lay over her belly like a piece of cloth meant to hide her intimate part, but misplaced.
"Mr. Stevens, I hope you found the reception enjoyable. And I must tell you that I would like to receive you again, soon."
She held her hand out and I lifted her from the ground. She smoothed her dress and was buttoning her front when we heard voices on the other side of the bushes.
"What do you want, Mr-Morgan?" came Dean Langly's voice, loud and angry. "You're becoming quite a pest."
"I really must talk to you," said Christopher's voice. "It's very important that I do."
"I'm busy at the moment," the Dean said harshly. "There's someone I must find. And where the devil is your friend?"
"He went home," Christopher said. "He wasn't feeling well. But I need to talk to you. It's about my future. It's so, well, uncertain. I have no idea what to do with myself, with my life. I had hoped that a man of your wisdom and experience could offer me some small guidance. I know a man of your stature has little time to spare, but I had hoped for a word or two, just enough to give a desperate student some direction."
The Dean let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Very well," he said. "Come to my study. I can see that you're smart enough to come to the right type of man, so you deserve at least a few moments. But that's all, mind you. As you said, I'm a very busy man."
Their voices faded off towards the house. I found that my legs had become filled with water, making it difficult for me to stand.
"Busy my foot," Mrs. Langly said. "He sleeps fourteen hours a day."
She finished buttoning her dress, and smiling, gave me a quick kiss.
"I really must get back to the house," she said. "He suspects me as it is. No use making it any worse. That is, unless you have something very quick in mind."
"No, Mrs. Langly," I said, "I think it would be better if you returned."
I didn't want to tell her that any second I was going to collapse into a shaking heap of frightened student.
"Very well," she agreed. "If you say so. We will get together soon, I promise you. I will send for you when I can."
She moved off through the garden, so beautiful, so desirable, and so dangerous. A Pandora's box of delight.
The bones in my legs harened a bit. Enough, if I remember correctly, to allow me to run all the way to the boarding house.
CHAPTER FIVE
I was waiting at the boarding house when Christopher finally returned. He wasn't in a very good mood.
"Do you realize what you made me go through?" he demanded. "I had to spend at least half an hour listening to old Dean Langly pontificating on the value of becoming a man like him. A rather high price to pay, I think, just to keep you from being discovered."
I couldn't help but laugh. The idea of poor Christopher trapped in a room with Dean Langly, forcing himself to listen politely, was very amusing. I apologized and, becoming grateful, told him how close it was, a matter of mere feet.
"It's a good thing I followed him," he said. "When he made for the garden I suddenly had a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that the garden was where you had gone."
Christopher sat down, his irritation gone.
"Your education came within a few feet of complete ruin today. Now perhaps you'll take my advice and seek other sources of pleasure. What do you say?"
I told him I would consider it.
"But Christopher," I said, "up until a few days ago I never had any experience whatsoever. Are you, uh, sources of pleasure that easy to find?"
"No problem at all," he replied. "Look, after dinner tonight I'll take you with me, and you can see for yourself how simple it is."
And that's what we did. After dinner Christopher and I left the house and went into the center of town. Whether the town or the University had been there first I never knew. In any case they accommodated each other very nicely. The University provided a steady turnover in students and money, and in exchange the town offered pubs, tea houses for quieter conversations, and parks for long evening strolls.
It was to one of these parks that we went, Christopher leading the way. Selecting a bench alongside the major walkway through the park, he sat down and motioned me to sit beside him.
"Rule one," he said, "is to always pick a well-situated spot to observe the prey. Some unfortunate sportsmen have gone through all the motions of the hunt, only to discover that they have caught decidedly second-hand animals, which can be a horrible experience. So remember to look carefully first."
We sat and watched people pass by; couples, some men, and a few girls walking by themselves. Then Christopher sat up straight.
Coming along the walk was a tall, extremely well-endowed young lady. She wore a wide, frilly hat with ribbons that matched the color of her dress. Very black hair peeked out from under that bonnet, dark hair that sharply contrasted with the fairness of her skin.
Christopher rose and stepped in front of her, holding his hand out.
"Ursula!" he cried. "Good Lord, Ursula! What are you doing here? Oh, this is too cruel, must you make me suffer even more?"
The young lady had stopped short, staring at this madman.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I've never seen you before. Could you please let me by?"
Christopher screwed his face into an expression of utmost agony. Clasping his hands before him, be began to wring them.
"Oh Ursula," he groaned. "Why do you do this to me? Isn't it enough that you took my heart, and uncaring, tore it apart? Do you make sport of me, too?"
The young lady was growing very perplexed, and I could see pity in her eyes.
"But my name is not Ursula," she said. "It's Laura. Laura Radburn. And I'm glad I'm not the cruel Ursula."
Christopher stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes, his face a study in wonder.
"You are right," he said. "You are not the heartless Ursula. You are even more beautiful. I thought such perfection impossible, but you are like a goddess drifting in the twilight, playing games with foolish mortals."
She laughed at that, and putting her arm through Christopher's said, "You are a wild young man, possibly insane. But I like you and your pretty words. Walk with me."
As they strolled away Christopher beckoned me to follow them, which I did, trying to appear as casual as I could.
They walked awhile, Christopher constantly whispering in her ear. Soon he had his arm about her waist and his leg rubbed hers with every step. His hand began to rove, and several times she put it back on her waist, but before long she let it travel about.
Suddenly they disappeared. I had looked away but a moment, but when I looked back they were nowhere to be seen. I stopped and listened very carefully. In a moment I heard a laugh off to the right of the pathway, so I circled around and came to the edge of a small clearing. In the middle stood Christopher and the dark-haired Laura. Quietly seating myself I began to watch the show.
Christopher was holding her close, kissing her about the face and neck. For a short time she simply permitted him to nuzzle her, but soon she started to respond, returning him kiss for kiss. His hands began to travel, pausing on her hip or breast, but only for a moment, moving on before she had a chance to protest. This continued and his hands rested on places for longer and longer periods of time. Then his hand stopped on her breast and stayed there, squeezing. I heard no objection from her. His hand slipped inside her dress and her reaction was to hold him closer, putting her arms inside his coat.
Christopher pulled her to the ground, undoing her dress. In a short time she was completely nude and using her dress as a blanket. He began to explore her, using his hands and mouth to trek the unknown regions of her body. Laura started to wiggle and squirm, her entire being responding to Christopher's manipulations. Stopping briefly, Christopher quickly removed his clothes and lay beside her.
"Sweet Laura, dear sweet Laura, what can I do to please you?"
"Kiss me," she said in a very shy voice. "Kiss me, well, you know where. Please do. It would be so nice and I enjoy it so much."
Taking her knees, Christopher spread her legs wide. "Open up," he said. "Open so I may kiss your sweet pouting mouth. That's it, ah how red and ripe you are, dear lady."
His head disappeared between her legs and her thighs closed about his neck. Her hands grasped his head and pulled him into her as her bottom began to thrust upwards. Christopher's head bobbed up and down as he applied himself to his work, quite obviously enjoying himself greatly. Soon she gave a loud gasp and worked her legs with a frenzy, wild with excitement. When she stopped Christopher lifted his head away from her and said, "How sweet you are, my dear. How delicious."
Her face flushed with delight as she pushed Christopher onto his back and her finger twined about his staff.
"I would like to return the favor," she breathed. "Please hold still."
Bending her head down she took his staff between her lips, while holding onto the root of it with the slim fingers of one hand. The other hand she let caress his hips and stomach, wandering over his skin with a light touch. Her fingers on his organ moved gently up and down, causing the skin to swell. Her mouth worked little movements, her lips tenderly loving their job. Christopher began to arch his back, straining his organ upwards. His hands grabbed her black hair and moved her head up and down, matching the thrust of his hips. Soon the staff was buried to its root between her red lips.
"Release me," he said. "Quickly, release me before it's too late."
Shaking her head no, she held tight to him and worked all the faster. Suddenly he gave a long shivering quiver. She did not move until he was completely finished.
"Was that good?" she asked, eyes bright. "Could Ursula have done as well?"
"Never," he replied. "Never has anyone done half as well. What a fantastic tongue you have! A remarkable instrument for pleasure. Almost, I might say, as enjoyable as other parts of you. But that's just a guess of course, since I would not know first hand."
"First hand?" she said. "Well, yes, first your hand and then ... then something else."
So saying she took his hand and firmly placed it between her legs. Her hand playfully took Christopher's now limp organ and began to tease it as she said, "Now, that's a problem I don't have. I never shrivel up. We'll see if we can revive the poor thing."
Christopher's reaction was quick. He began to grow as she watered it with words of love and the sunshine of her touch.
"Oh look how big it's becoming," she cried. "I'm not sure it will fit if it gets much larger. Here, let me love it awhile."
With that she swung her leg over Christopher's head, holding her sweet furball directly above his mouth. Slowly dropping it down until it touched his lips, she lay along the length of his body and once again took his staff into her mouth. Holding it with both her hands she sucked on it as one would a sweet candy. Christopher himself was not in the least inactive. They continued thusly until Laura stopped, breathing quite heavily-
"It is heavy with desire," she said. I can tell that this time it wants the real thing, as I do. Wait just a moment, dear thing, and you shall find comfort."
She reversed herself, and lying on top of Christopher began to smother him with kisses, locking her legs about him. Christopher rolled her onto her back. Moving his hands down he spread her legs far apart, knees high in the air.
"Put it in slowly," she said. "Let it feel its way in the dark, enjoying what it finds."
Christopher mounted her, taking his time. His hands rubbed her shoulders, her breasts, and moving under her squeezed her bottom. She began to move her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Christopher slid his hands down over her belly and traveled the inside of her thighs. Lifting her legs he pressed them forward, raising her bottom slightly off the ground and causing her knees to reach her breasts. This left him a great amount of room to maneuver. And this he did. Performing a set of contortions that astounded me, the result on Laura was one of absolute fulfillment. She went wild. Her hips arched in quick, savage movements and her hands clawed his back to such a degree that I could see drops of blood appearing. With a loud cry she held Christopher to her, unmoving, as they both obviously reached the peak of satisfaction.
Removing himself, Christopher lay beside her, stroking her body. Whispering things into her ear, his hand roamed over her, pressing, massaging and pinching here and there. She soon recovered herself and I could see her nipples once more becoming hard.
"One more time," Christopher said. "But differently. Roll onto your stomach now, and lift yourself high."
This she quickly did, and Christopher rose and looked about him. Sensing that he was looking for me I stood up. Grinning a great broad grin, he motioned me to come forward. Laura's face was to the ground and her legs were wide apart. His hand was cupping and rubbing her pleasure spot as he pointed for me to undo my pants. I will admit that my being a spectator to this remarkable show had not left me unaffected. I was quite in the mood for a bit of play.
"Don't move, my dear," Christopher said. "I will only be a moment. I want to enjoy you as much as possible."
He then stepped back and left me to do as I pleased. Falling to my knees I pressed my forehead against her round cheeks and let my tongue take in the taste of her flesh. Then quickly, for fear she might want to indulge in more games before the final moment, I placed the end of my staff between the two lips that peeked out of her dark hair. Sliding in, I took a breast in each hand and went to work. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Owing to my previous unsatisfied state of excitement it didn't take long for me to burst into a state of extreme pleasure. Putting a great deal of effort into the task at hand, I soon drew a marvelous response from Laura, who gave out a long, low sigh.
Quickly withdrawing, I stood and, holding my pants up, went back to the edge of the clearing. Christopher lifted Laura up and held her close, kissing her. Without saying a word they began to dress. When they had finished, Laura turned to Christopher and looked directly at him, smiling.
"Tell me, my heart-broken lover," she said, "Are you still mourning over the loss of your Ursula?"
Christopher laughed and took her hand. "Ursula who?" he said, walking her back to the pathway.
I waited a moment and then started back to the boarding house. I could smell the night air and the scent of dying summer blossoms drifted on the evening breeze. My blood flowed freely through my veins and my heart beat young and strong. I began to sing.
The world, I decided, was a beautiful place. Adventures and pleasures were there for the taking. The wine of hedonism needed only to be sipped, and one could become heady-drunk with life.
Mrs. Langly. Oh yes, by the gods, Mrs. Langly. I had to see her tomorrow, as soon as possible tomorrow. Right after my first classes, I said to myself. I would further my education in as many ways as I could.
CHAPTER SIX
I went to my assigned classes the next morning in a cheerful and anticipatory mood. I soon lost myself in a wonderful world of discovery. The lectures were bright and easy, the professors full of humor. But everything carried a tone of impending seriousness. The other students seemed eager to get down to the business of learning, and I knew that it would soon become hard, toilsome work.
The morning passed quickly, and before I was ready for it my classes were over. It was still early afternoon and I had nothing to do. I wanted to see Mrs. Langly, but there was too much danger in simply going to her house. I returned to the boarding house, and found a message waiting for me: 'Dear Mr. Stevens, In going over your scholastic records it has come to my attention that you have no late afternoon classes. Because education is a worthy thing it would be inexcusable to waste such an amount of time. Please see me at once about filling this void.
(signed) Madame L.
I approached the Langly house cautiously, taking care not to be seen. I pulled the doorbell and waited, rather uneasy. The servant girl opened the door and nodded me inside.
Not until years later, when I finally took time to look back on my life, did I realize how remarkable that servant girl was. She met all my comings and goings with a smile, and rarely spoke more than a few words. She must have been an invaluable asset to her mistress, and I hope she was well rewarded for all the trust that was placed in her.
I was shown to a different room this time. It was set well back in the house and the only entry was a small, thick single door. The furnishings in the room were a bit odd.
A huge pad almost covered the entire floor. At the far end of the room was a small couch, the only place to sit. Big goosefeather pillows were scattered about on the pad and piled around a low table, on which were glasses and a large brandy bottle.
I was taking a seat on the small couch when what appeared to be a wall tapestry swung aside, revealing a second entrance. A woman stood holding the curtain with one hand, the other resting on her hip.
"Mr. Stevens, I hope?" she said.
The only thing I dropped was my mouth.
She moved across the room and slid onto the couch next to me. I opened and closed my eyes several times, trying to correct whatever was wrong with my vision. She was Mrs-Langly, and yet she wasn't. The fine blonde hair was there, but it was cut short, just above the nape of her neck and falling in tight curls over her ears. The cheekbones were just as high and arrogant but the blue eyes had more of a cat quality about them, the lids taking a teardrop form. Small and large, there were differences and a sameness, like looking through a prism and discovering that a slight shift gives you the same rainbow, but with different hues.
"My name is Lucretia" she said, looking directly at me. "I'm Caryn's sister."
"Ah, you mean Mrs. Langly?" I stammered, suddenly realizing that I didn't know the first name of my lady of delights.
She laughed, a small arpeggio of heady music. "You're as precious as she said you were," Lucretia said. "I think this is going to work out just fine."
I looked at her, more than slightly stunned. She was saying something about Mrs. Langly, Caryn, and her having talked it over. She had even, white teeth and as she talked a pink, pointed tongue darted behind them, flicking and alive. Round silver earrings dangled from tiny, perfect ears. She was wearing a white silk house coat, trimmed with feathers around the neck and hem. Although the top of the gown was buttoned completely to the throat, the bottom had separated, showing her long, slim legs encased in dark stockings, the type worn by French women. Her legs were crossed, not at the knees, but high up on the thighs, leaving but a small space covered by the gown. I felt a stirring in the pit of my stomach.
She stopped talking, and I jerked my head up to find her looking at me, eyebrows arched, eyes smiling along with her lips.
"Why, you're blushing," she said, her voice a gentle mocking. "It's always the young that blush. Blushing and innocent, Mr. Stevens. May I call you James? Innocence, James, is a fragile thing, a little puffflower that stands in the still air, waiting for the wind. The wind of life, dear James, that strips it of those foolishly useless little petals and scatters its seeds, leaving it naked to grow unburdened."
She rose and paced away from me, her trim little bottom shifting under the silk gown.
"The winds of life, James," she said, turning to face me. "Caryn is just a breeze. I can be a storm."
Her hands moved up the front of the gown and then slowly parted, taking the halves of the gown with them. She stood before me, holding the house coat open, one knee slightly forward, letting my eyes feast.
I had a hard time breathing.
Her breasts were small and firm, tilted just the smallest degree upward. Her hips were tight and rounded with, a subtle hint of a curve to her stomach. The black stockings stopped at the top of her thighs. My eyes roved over the ivory of her, from the proud throat to the golden valley.
I felt my hands tremble.
"Come here James," she said.
I went. But I approached her slowly, taking full measure of the fine, proud body held before me. Standing close, I slid my arms around her, while her hands released their grip on the gown and moved to the back of my neck. I drew her close to me, tight, and placed my mouth on her full, wide lips. Her body went stiff, and pressed itself to mine with sudden, quivering urgency. Her mouth went completely soft, working with a responsive life of their own. Covered in the magic tent of her gown, my hands glided over her back and dropped to the hard mounds of her rump. I felt the muscles flex beneath my fingers, and I pressed her still harder to me.
Her mouth broke away from mine and her fast breath hissed in my ear.
"We must hurry, for Caryn is waiting. She is not the patient type, nor, my boy, am I."
She pulled away from me and standing back, let the gown fall to the floor. I started to unbutton my shirt when she said no, and indicated that I was only to undo my trousers, not even allowing me to remove my boots. Only the belt was unclasped when she pulled me to the floor, and I had a sudden insight as to the reason for the monstrous pad.
As she sank onto her back, she gently tugged me down on top of her, immediately wrapping her long legs about mine. I began to kiss her about the face and neck, but her need was such that she had no desire for any sort of preliminary steps. Drawing her legs up she tucked her toes into my trousers and, pushing down, slipped them down over my knees. I helped as much as I could, twisting and turning, as my organ throbbed with a painful need to be free. When at last I was naked from belly to shin, she locked her legs behind mine and shoved herself to me, rocking her hips in short frantic circles while her back arched off the floor.
Her body fitted itself to me in a hot demand. The heat from her legs and belly burned against me and her fingers clawed my coat into clutching fistfuls of material. Her legs were like a vise.
"Stop playing," she ordered, her voice broken into short jagged gasps. "I want it now. Now."
I lifted myself slightly and her knees went wide. Her fingers flew to my buttocks and dug into my flesh as I started to insert my prick. Squirming, she pushed me into her, wasting no time, until my staff was buried to its roots in her hot moistness. She went wild, her belly slamming its demand against mine, her fingers pulling, tearing, directing.
I suddenly became angry, feeling I was being directed to do whatever she wanted, being molded to her need, her desire, with no regard for mine. I was young, but I was a man, not a fool.
I grabbed her hands and threw them above her head, pinning them to the pad, laying my full weight on her. With an expulsion of breath I banged myself into her as hard as I could, driving with a fury. Her eyes flew open, wide. She went stiff with momentary shock. But only for an instant
"Yes," she hissed.
And her body jerked, twisted and fought in a blending of pain and desire. She matched me thrust for thrust, violence for violence, her fingers locked with mine, her body locked with mine in a pounding embrace. At the same second, the same instant, the same exploding moment in a spinning universe we burst into the awesome light of paradise, flooding ourselves, our coupled oneness, with quivering, uncontrollable pleasure. Pushed into her, not moving, I spent my spunk again and again.
We lay a moment, holding still. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, the breathing becoming softer. Twice, her entire body shook.
"James," she finally said. "James, that was, oh, so good."
I felt somewhat the same, but I had never hurt so much in my life. Every muscle and bone in my body ached, and I would not have been surprised to find myself covered with bruises. I told her so, and rolled off.
"We can take care of that," she said. "It works out just fine. But you must not say a word to Caryn. She is waiting for us and I think she's already going to be angry at the delay."
She stood and put her gown back on. I lifted my trousers up and belted them while she waited. When I had finished she moved to the tapestry that hung over the doorway. I followed.
Pushing aside the hanging rug, Lucretia revealed a fantastic scene. It was a room with polished wood walls, half-covered with mirrors. There was a table laden with combs, brushes and bottles of scent, and at the back a tall rack filled with drying cloths. In the middle of the room was the largest bathing tub I have ever seen.
Next to the tub was a stove holding kettles of hot water, but my eyes were on the large round tub itself, for floating in the warm perfumed water, hair piled high and held with pins, was Mrs. Langly.
The curve of her breasts rose above the water, the skin gleaming wet. The rest of her body was a shadow below the water, a dark shifting ripple without solidity.
"Where have you been?" she asked Lucretia, a cross note in her voice.
"I spent a little time getting to know young James," came the answer. Lucretia smiled as she said, "You might say we became familiar in a short time."
"In any case," she continued, "James says he is sore and weary of body; his muscles are in great need of relaxing. And I thought it would be good for him to take a hot tub to ease his pain."
Mrs. Langly gave a wide slow smile. "What a delightful idea," she said. I realized then that the two of them had planned this.
"Let me help you, Mr. Stevens," Mrs. Langly said, beckoning to me as she rose to stand in the tub. The water in that deep tub reached the bottom of the curve of her stomach, but the rest of her stood rich and ripe before me as I approached. Small rivulets ran off her great breasts, and one small droplet hung like a crystal jewel from a nipple. Wisps of unpinned hair, wet and curled, lay lovingly on her neck.
Reaching from the tub, her eyes locked on mine, she slipped my arms out of my coat and began to unbutton my shirt. Lucretia took a kettle from the stove and added hot water to the tub. Testing with a finger, she seemed satisfied that the water was warm enough, so she removed her gown and stepped into the tub.
The sight of these two women, displaying an unbelievable amount of wet and warm delights, available to me and me alone, caused me to shiver in sheer anticipation. With Mrs. Langly's quick-fingered help I removed the rest of my clothes and got into the tub.
I stood there a moment, the water gently lapping about my hips, looking at those two goddesses sunk to the neck in the tub. They were laughing.
Mr. Stevens," said Mrs. Langly "It knows how to swim."
"That's what they call keeping your head above water," Lucretia added, giggling.
Following their gaze I looked down and saw the tip of my staff bobbing just above the water. Realizing that the sight bothered me not in the least, I was surprised to find how utterly unself-conscious I had become. Only a short time ago I would have died of embarrassment.
"It's merely keeping an eye on things," I said, grinning so widely my jaw hurt.
"Sit down, James," Lucretia said. "Let us wash some of the soreness from you. There is nothing like a hot tub to make a man fit again."
I sat and the two of them, taking cloths and soaps and scents, began to wash me. They gently rubbed my back and arms and chest. Then, as if in agreement, each took a leg, and lifting, began to wash it. Their cloths moved from my feet to my knees. From my knees to my thighs. Together their hands slipped down to my prick, and they stayed, rubbing, squeezing and pulling.
I had a devil of a time sitting still.
My own hands were not idle by any means. They moved under the water, and every place they traveled there was something to rub, feel or pinch. The women squirmed and shifted, and I was lost in a profusion of breasts, legs, buttocks and slippery flesh. I remebered Christopher saying that his life's desire was to buy an acre of breast so he could remove his boots and spend the rest of his existence running barefoot over it. His desire seemed rather limited compared to this which I had within the mere reach of my arms.
A soft steam rose from the water and the mirrors in the room began to fog. Mrs. Langly placed her arms around my neck and swung around, so that she straddled me, her legs wrapped about my waist. Her breasts pressed against me, her face but a meter from mine. Lips parted, eyes half-closed, she was so beautiful it was painful.
Not to be outdone, Lucretia wrapped her legs around me from behind. Since she had to sit above Mrs. Langly's crossed legs, her breasts came to rest softly against the back of my head. The ladies were in a high state of excitement.
Mrs. Langly loosened her legs and floated back just a bit. Moving her arm from my neck and reaching down, her hand took possession of my prick. Adjusting herself, she worked the tip of it into her. Tightening her legs, it slid in with great ease. Lucretia, seeing what was taking place, unwrapped herself from me. With the weight of Mrs. Langly resting on me I could hardly move. Lucretia took great delight in guiding the two of us towards the edge of the tub, so that Mrs. Langly could lean back against the side of the tub and grasp the rim to brace herself. I was now on top of her, my legs free, and my hands also gripped the edge of the tub. Her legs slipped down and locked themselves around mine. Lucretia, laughing, half lay herself on my back, her furry mound rubbing against my buttocks.
"Sister dear," Lucretia said, "since there is no question now as to who goes first, please do me the favor of hurrying. I feel a monsterous need."
I doubt if Mrs. Langly heard her; at that point I don't think she could hear anything. Eyes closed, her hands in a hard grip on the tub, her hips were beginning a swift pulsing movement that slapped the water against my chest. Hard, gripping muscles encased my pego, grabbing and releasing as it moved in and out. Lucretia let her fingers trail across my back, playing, as if nothing were happening underneath her.
I soon forgot Lucretia completely, losing myself in the push and pull of Mrs. Langly's thighs, belly, and the sweet hold of her cunt. Our rocking created waves in the tub that soon were high enough to wash over my shoulders, and water splashed out onto the floor. I ignored it, Mrs. Langly began to quiver, then gasping, she gave a low moan. I knew I had satisfied her. A few short thrusts and I too reached satisfaction-short, quick and pleasurable as my spunk shot deep into her randy cunt.
I hardly had time to relax before Lucretia pulled me away.
"My turn," she said, smiling, "Are you ready?"
"Give me a moment," I pleaded. "It's not that simple. I need a bit of time."
"I know," she said. "But you're young. It won't be long."
Holding my neck as a brace she swung her legs over my shoulders, laying her wet golden mound directly under my chin. Letting go with her hands, she floated on her back. Bending my face into her hair I kissed, tasted and nuzzled. Mrs. Langly came over and moved herself under me so that I was sitting completely on her. Her hand came around and started to play with my staff. The effect soon became evident.
"He's ready, dear," Mrs. Langly said, and Lucretia released her legs. Lucretia turned around to face me. Spreading her legs wide over mine, she braced her feet on the bottom of the tub.
"You direct him, dear," Lucretia said to Mrs. Langly, whereby the lady under me took my organ and gently maneuvered it into the wide opening of the lady above me. Lucretia, bending, gave me a wet kiss on the mouth and shifted until my staff was buried all the way in her. The three of us began to work together, Lucretia and I moving apart and then together Mrs. Langly moved in the direction I did, assisting; to allow her more active participation I moved one hand under me, grabbed her between the legs, and bending my wrist, slipped one finger into her. Mrs. Langly's hands were on Lucretia's bottom, while my free hand rested on Lucretia's breast. I think Lucretia's hands, from the movement on my back, were playing with Mrs. Langly's breasts. It was confusing, cumbersome, and wonderful. Both my hand and my prick were as busy as they had ever been.
The similarity of the sisters was such that they both gave out a cry at the same moment, while my organ, weary though it was, gave such a shake and spew that I thought it would come out by the roots.
The women soon disengaged themselves and moved away, laughing and splashing water on each other. I could only float there and consider how easy it would be to let myself drown. No. No, I didn't want to die there, any place but there. All I wanted was to be out of that tub. At that moment I felt that if I ever saw another drop of water it would be much too soon. I would live on wine. I would wash myself with a slightly damp rag. I would stay indoors when it rained. I would....
"James," someone said. It was Lucretia's voice from far away. "James, aren't you going to get out of the tub?"
I opened my eyes and saw the sisters, both half-dressed, standing there with their hair wet, flesh exposed here and there, looking so fresh and alive, so full of energy. Wonderful. I hated them.
"Come, dear boy," they said, helping lift me from the tub. Standing on my feet, they were beginning to dry me when a voice came from the next room.
"Caryn, where the devil are you?"
It was Dean Langly.
As if rooted to that spot by the tub, I stood, unable to move. Later I was told that my mouth flapped open and closed like a hooked fish. My only awareness a that time was of pure, unblemished fear.
The sister's, bless them, moved surely and swiftly. Lucretia pushed me toward the tub as she removed her gown.
"Get in," she said. "Hurry now. Come on."
Back into the tub I went, banging my shins in my haste. Lucretia followed, shoving me down so that only the top of head stuck above water-She placed herself between me and the door, sitting on my legs. My nose was flat against her back.
Mrs. Langly, meanwhile, had shed her own clothes and wrapped herself in a drying cloth.
"We're in here," Mrs. Langly called, her voice full of mock sweetness. "But you'll have to wait. Lucretia is still in the tub."
As if that were a cue I heard him puff into the room, the tapestry flapping. Lucretia gave a small cry of embarrassment (real or not I never knew) and lifted her arms to cover herself. I tried to sink lower in the water, but much further down I would have had to grow gills.
"My dears," the Dean said, "I wasn't sure if you were ... I mean I thought there might be ... well, my apologies at any rate."
"Apologize all you like," Lucretia said, her voice harsh, "but do me the kindness of taking your eyes off me! Turn around, you fool, before I scream loud enough to bring the house down around your flapping ears."
I heard him cough and rumble and, as Lucretia had quieted down, I assumed that he turned his back. Mrs. Langly, however, pounced on him, hard and angry.
"How dare you," she cried, "How dare you barge in here like that? So help me, if you bother Lucretia one more time...." She let the threat dangle unfinished, all the more ominous.
"I'll wait outside," he said, quite unruffled. The anger of the women had bothered him not at all.
Lucretia quickly stood up and stepped from the tub. I followed suit, hurriedly drying and dressing. The sisters were dressing also, Mrs. Langly slowly and calmly, Lucretia still a bit put out.
"Honestly, Caryn," Lucretia said. "Sometimes it's such a trial. I mean I can take his 'accidentally' coming into my room without knocking but when he tries to paw me."
"I know, dear," Mrs. Langly said. "He's certainly not subtle, and I wouldn't ask you to put up with it, except I enjoy your visits so."
When they had finished dressing, Mrs. Langly turned to me and seemed surprised to find me crouched behind the tub.
"Come dear," she said. "We'll take the old slug to the drawing room and you can slip out the door. Take care now."
They left me, and I stood behind the tapestry, listening. When all was quiet I passed through the intervening room, out into the hallway and swiftly out the front door. My blood pumping fiercely, I fled from the house. When I stopped running my ears rang and my heart was bursting in my chest. Enough, I thought, I've had enough of that. I knew that, by virtue of the number and frequency of the risks I was taking, sooner or later I had to lose.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning, in that twilight between the darkness of sleep and the light of wakefulness, an ominous thought flitted elusively about in my mind. Unable to grasp it completely, I gave up and swung my feet over the side of the bed.
As I sat there, the thought that had been so disturbing burst full upon me. Dean Langly! Memories of yesterday and of my narrow escape gave me a deep, sudden chill.
In a gloomy and depressed state of mind, I washed and dressed. Fully realizing the extent of the danger I had been in, and how quickly my future could have crumbled to bitter dust, I should have reveled at my freedom, should have sung with happiness at being unscathed. Instead I was overcome with melancholia. The reason was obvious. Mrs. Langly. Never again would I be able to hold her, smell the warm fresh scent of her skin, feel the spun gold of her unpinned, tumbling hair. Never more could I feast my eyes on the wondrous curves of her stomach, the slow rise and swell of her breasts. Never again could I feel her taut nipples rising, her flexing thighs, her rounded pushing hips. Denied me now were the sensations I experienced as she rubbed and throbbed against me, pushing herself to me. I had never been so despondent.
I left the house, not bothering with breakfast, and went to the University. I sat through my classes, but my presence was physical only. The lectures and lessons went unheard as I embraced my misery as if it were a rare thing.
When the classes were over I wandered aimlessly back to the boarding house. It was quiet, as everyone had gone about their business. Even old Mrs. Hutchens was gone, leaving the house strangely empty and comforting.
Shock was the first thing I felt when, entering my room, I found Mrs. Langly calmly sitting on my own bed.
"You're a little late, Mr. Stevens," she said, a smile on her lips and in her voice. "Your last class was some time ago. I had begun to think that you weren't coming here at all."
I quickly closed and bolted the door, panic batting its wings against the inside of my head. The Dean, what if he should come here? What if he should come in the door and ... No. That was absurd. The Dean would never have a reason to frequent this rundown excuse for a boarding house. The very idea was mad. I tried to shut it out of my mind.
It was an easy thing to do. Mrs. Langly sat on the bed, prim and proper, her legs together and her hands folded in her lap; yet there came from her a subtle sense of fire and passion. Just sitting this way, she created in me more desire than if she had been in a lewd pose.
She removed her gloves, a gesture to indicate that she planned to spend some time in my room.
"Please quit fidgeting, Mr. Stevens," she said. "Come over here and sit by me."
I had been looking around the room for some place to sit, and the bed was the only place available. I was more than a bit nervous, after the episode with the Dean and finding her in my own room less than twenty-four hours later. This was too much. I began to explain as I sat on the bed, trying to keep from looking at her. I had gotten as far as " ... and the danger is too great...." when she stood and swung around, facing me-
"Do you mean to tell me," she said, hands on hips, "that you're turning me down? That you don't want me?"
"Surely not," I hastened to explain. "It's not that at all. It's just that I was a bit frightened and...."
"I can take care of that, Mr. Stevens," she said with a sly smile.
She lifted a foot, crossing it over her knee, reached down, and slowly removed one shoe. She repeated the procedure with the other shoe. Stepping back away from me she stopped, a few steps away, and slowly twirled around. "Watch very closely," she said. Her arms came up, her hands taking forever to reach the back of her neck. She held that pose for a moment, then her hands undid the top button of her dress. Then the next. A third. She put her hands behind her, thrusting her breasts forward. I knew she was unbuttoning the back of the dress, as the front of it became more loose. Her arms came forward and her right hand grasped the sleeve of the left. She pulled the arm out of the sleeve, holding the top of the dress to her. She did the same with the other sleeve, then stopped, bare arms crossed, the dress pressed to her bosom. With a smile she let the top half of the dress drop, exposing nothing but a ruffled slip.
Ever so slowly, consuming time as if we had forever, she wiggled the dress over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. Kicking it aside, she lifted the bottom of her slip until it reached her thighs. Lifting a bent leg she began to take off a stocking, rolling it as she went. White thigh appeared, then knee, then the whole of that long, wonderful leg. She set her foot to the floor and began to remove the other stocking. I started to squirm, wiping my moist hands on the bed cover. The room was becoming very warm.
With the dress and stockings on the floor she sat still for a moment. Then, looking me directly in the eyes, she reached up under the cloth slip and her most intimate garment, this of silk, fell about her feet. I knew that under that one last piece of cloth, covering her from breast to knee, was nothing but hot fuckable flesh. I felt a pain in my groin, and my clothes bound me like iron. Then, so quickly that I did not at once realize it, she let the top of the slip fall about her waist.
Two huge, oh so wonderful breasts stood pertly before me, rising and falling, seemingly demanding to be held, caressed, kissed. She looked at me and laughed a small, low laugh, knowing very well what she had done to me, fully aware of the desire pumping through my veins, making it difficult for me to breathe.
"Undress for me, Mr. Stevens," she said. "Will you do that for me?"
I quickly obeyed her-so quickly in fact that I tore my shirt in the process. In an astonishingly short time I stood naked before her, my staff so full of desire that it thumped against my belly.
She took the bottom of her slip and pulled it up over her head, being careful not to entangle it in her hair. Throwing it aside, she posed there revealing every inch of herself to me at last, a goddess, a product of a lustful, desire-ridden dream.
She stepped forward and took my staff in her hand, holding it as though it were a strange object totally foreign to her.
"My, my," she said. "It grows so large. Do you suppose that the more it's used the bigger it gets?"
"Perhaps," I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Shall we make it longer still?"
So saying I pulled her to me, pressing her body against mine in an insane desire to push her completely into me, to melt her flesh into mine, to make her a part of me that could never get away. She pressed her face into my neck, her hands going to my back. Her lips and tongue worked in quick secret movements. My hands explored the regions of her back, tracing the curve of her spine, testing the ripe hardness of her buttocks. Her hands followed mine as if they were one, sliding over my own ribs and hips. Together our breath grew deeper and faster, by mutual pleasure and mushrooming need.
Locked together we moved towards the bed, making our legs rub and touch each other with every movement. At the edge of the bed, I kissed her, a long, deep kiss, and slowly lowered her onto her back.
I lay on top of her for a moment, kissing and feeling her flesh on mine. She wiggled partly out from under me and spread her legs out, leaving her hot golden mound exposed to my hands and lips. Moving down, I placed my lips to her breasts and ran my hand through her moist, curly hair. Digging my fingers in the soft, abundant flesh I felt her arch, moving herself hard into my hand. Going down still further I rubbed my cheek on her stomach, then placed my head between her legs, kissing with my tongue.
She drew her feet up against her bottom, leaving her knees high and wide in the air. Drawing back I looked down on her. Her eyes were closed, her lips spread tight over her teeth. Her breasts were wide and plentiful, the nipples reaching skyward. Her belly heaved in a slow and easy motion. I experienced such a powerful burst of desire that I shook.
On my knees between her legs, I reached around her waist and pulled her up. This placed her also on her knees, her legs over mine.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
Without a word I reached down and worked the point of my staff into the crevice of her loveliness. Pushing it all the way in, I left one hand in the small of her back, while the other rested on her hip. She bent back, her bottom on her feet, her body bowed. Her hair brushed the bed. She held perfectly still while I, holding her, began to move. I pushed my hips in and out, driving for all I was worth, my entire body enveloped in unbelievable pleasure.
She quivered and rammed herself to me at the same moment that I spent myself, releasing a flood of love. When she sighed with relief, I relaxed and let myself fall on top of her.
After a moment I withdrew myself and lay beside her, my head resting on her breasts. She stroked my hair, her fingers forming it into little curls, then undoing them, idly and without thought. My cheek felt the soft rub of her skin as her breasts rose and fell with every breath.
Twisting my head the smallest degree I took a nipple between my lips and played with it, my tongue running over it in quick little movements. I put a hand on her belly, moving it is slow circles.
Her breath came just the slightest bit faster and the nipple grew hard between my lips. She shifted slightly and her hand crossed over and gripped my organ. Holding it, she squeezed gently several times and her thumb ran the length of it, up and down. It began to grow. I turned over on my back, letting my legs fall apart, and allowed pleasure to wash over me as her hand rubbed and stroked.
The idea of this divine creature, this unbelievable and wondrous woman, devoting herself to pleasing me and giving me the utmost pleasure excited me so that my staff rose hard and high. She murmured wordless approval, moving her head down and kissing my stomach, her hand all the while working its magic. Then she lifted herself to her knees and bent over, her long golden hair falling on my legs, the silken fiber brushing my skin and causing me to quiver with their touch. She lowered her head until I felt her lips touch the tip of my prick in a kiss. Lifting my head I could see her legs tucked under her and her bent back. A river of yellow hair flowed from her shoulders to my stomach. I lay my head back and closed my eyes to lose myself in all the joys of sensual gratification.
Her lips parted slightly, and she took in a little more of my staff. Then her tongue flicked wet across the end and back again. Her lips began to move up and down, as if she were trying to rub them together, and my prick went deeper. I started to squirm, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Her lips moved faster, and unable to stand it any more I gripped her head with both hands and pushed it down, forcing my staff in until her lips touched the root and the tip pushed against the back of her mouth. My hands moved her head up and down and my hips thrust my staff in and out. Her tongue went wild, running all over it, and her mouth tightened as she gave herself completely to her work. Without caring and without holding back, I spent myself in long successive bursts. She held there, lips in a loving kiss, and took all I had to offer.
I lifted her head and taking her arms pulled her up and on top of me. I simply held her there, close, not saying a word, grateful, and very, very satisfied.
Moving her head so that it rested beside mine she whispered in my ear; "I don't always see it through like that Mr. Stevens, but it isn't often I feel that a man's essence is worth having in me. You have my promise that I will never, never leave you before you want me to. Does that make you happy?"
I told her that it made me extremely happy, that I would be more than glad to make her the same promise, and offered to return the favor then and there.
"No," she said sitting up. "We must get dressed I have some place I would like to take you."
"Where?" I asked, feeling a flicker of uncertainty.
"The theatre," she replied with a wide smile. "They're doing The Frogs by Aristophanes. It's such a funny play. Come, wash and dress yourself. We'll get a bite to eat and then go to the theatre. Lucretia is to meet us there."
"But won't we be seen?"
"No, I've a private box, with curtains and all. So don't worry, there is no danger. And I want to see it so much."
At that moment I could not have denied her anything, I would have followed her through the streets, a rope about my neck, if she had asked. I am glad to say that there were few times in my life that I suffered such a complete lack of wit.
When we had both dressed and were ready, she explained that she would leave first, and I, after waiting a few minutes, would follow to a little inn that had as its specialty not any type cuisine, but privacy.
This we did, and I dined heartily on lamb and wine, finding that my fair lady was also able to demolish a large meal. We followed the same procedure in leaving the inn, and thus made our way to the theatre, where I found myself with both Mrs. Langly and Lucretia in a small curtained booth containing four seats.
"Good evening James," Lucretia said happily. "Are you ready to enjoy an evening of frolic?"
Although there could have been two meanings to her question, I assumed she referred to the play, and replied that, yes, I was ready.
The curtains around the box were hung so that we could see out, with a fine view of the stage, but no one could see in. It was the type of private seating that cost a great deal of money. The chairs were arranged so that the three of us could sit together. I made myself comfortable, sitting between the ladies, who chatted back and forth in front of me until the play began.
I soon began to enjoy the play, somewhat surprised that the Greeks had such a crude and ribald wit. The god Dionysus allows that he is feeling a pang of desire. "How big a pang," Xanthias asks. "A small one," Dionysus answers, looking at his slave. "His size."
I had warmed to the Greeks by the time the first act ended, and was still laughing when Mrs. Langly rose from her chair.
"I shall be back shortly," she said. "I must see Phillip and tell him how much I'm enjoying this. I also have other things to discuss with him." Then she left.
"Who's Phillip?" I asked, turning to Lucretia.
"Phillip is the actor playing Herakles," she replied. "You might say he and Caryn are very close."
I felt such a deep, twisting pang of jealousy that for a second I could not breathe. Of course Mrs. Langly must have other men friends, I was aware of that. But for some reason I had never stopped to think about it, had never even considered it. If not thought of, a fact is denied existence, I told myself, as I denied the existence of anyone but me in Mrs. Langly's life.
"Is something wrong?" Lucretia asked, putting her hand on mine. "You look a bit odd."
"No," I mumbled. "No, nothing's wrong. When does the second act start?"
"Shortly," she said. "But don't expect Caryn back too soon. If I know her she'll be quite a while." She squeezed my hand and gave a small sly laugh. "Dear boy, I do think you're jealous of what wicked Caryn may be doing. You must learn not to become too involved. Not so involved that your activities are limited by it." She let her hand move to my leg and stay there.
"Do you know what I mean, James?" she said with a tight smile.
I knew what she meant. Exactly. I felt an anger growing in me like a fire, an anger directed at Mrs. Langly, at myself. If Mrs Langly treated our relationship that lightly, well, I could do the same. I'd show her. I would show them all. Lucretia's eyes lit up as she watched my face. I'd show Lucretia, too.
Casually I reached up and put my hand on Lucretia's breast and squeezed hard. Before she could move I pulled her to me, almost upsetting her chair, and kissed her savagely. Still holding tight to her breast, I twisted the fingers of my other hand in her hair. Grinding my lips to hers I forced her lips to part, and my tongue entered her mouth like a demanding animal. She responded quickly, but I didn't allow her much time. Throwing an arm around her waist I pulled her to the floor of that high-priced box seat.
I rolled on top of her and pinned her with my body, as my fingers raced over the buttons and clasps of her dress. Soon her breasts were bare and heaving. I gave them a quick hard clutch and then pulled her dress up about her waist. Her legs flashed long and white. Beneath my tense fingers the flesh was hot and inviting, her flimsy undergarment shredding into nothingness as I forced her cunt to open to me. Quickly and willingly she adjusted herself so that there was no impediment between us and the moist fact of her womanhood.
Kicking off my boots, I undid my pants and let my hard staff throb itself into the open air. With no waste of motion I inserted myself into Lucretia, and banged my staff in to the hilt with all the force I was capable of applying. She lifted her legs and began to take her own pleasure, her belly lifting and falling, trying to match the thrust of mine. I paid no heed to her desires or needs. Holding her by the buttocks, I drove myself in and out, feeling the heat and need of my staff rise, approaching the point of satisfaction. A few more thrusts and I burst, spurting the fluid fire of contentment over my legs and stomach. At that moment her legs locked around mine, and she held me inside her as she spent herself and quivered.
She was fortunate in reaching satisfaction as that point, as I had no intention of remaining. That would have required a giving, a love, on my part, and the anger in my breast had left no room for other emotions. I withdrew myself in an abrupt motion and stood to fix my pants.
She said nothing, but simply rose to adjust her own clothes. My anger was obvious after the manner in which I had taken Lucretia on the floor as you would some servant girl.
"I didn't know that you felt so deeply for Caryn," she said, not looking at me. "You took me as if you were administering a beating. Who were you fighting? Me, or Caryn, or the whole world?"
I said nothing, but sat in a chair and pretending to look through the small part of the curtain at the now-meaningless performance on the stage. I felt no guilt at having treated Lucretia in this manner. On the contrary, it afforded me a kind of satisfaction I had not previously experienced. As if I had proved my manhood, and established myself as a living, thinking, feeling creature, not a toy to be played with whenever one felt the need for amusement.
I think Lucretia understood this, because she said in a small voice, "I feel I should tell you that Caryn went down to tell that actor goodbye, that he wasn't to call on her anymore. I think you should know that she has decided that you are more than enough to keep her happy, and that she has no need of additional friends."
I turned to look at her, but her back was to me and she didn't turn around as she spoke.
"I'm sorry if I misled you about Caryn," she said. "It was a cruel trick. Will you forgive me for it?"
My heart filled with joy because Mrs. Langly had decided that I was important to her, and with compassion for Lucretia. She had harbored no harm for me, and we had known each other so intimately, with mingled desire and satisfaction, that there had been no reason for me to use her as I had.
"I too am sorry, Lucretia," I said, and she turned to me and smiled.
Mrs. Langly stepped into the box. She was so lovely and desirable, with her fine golden hair and smiling eyes, in the tight dress that set off the curves and swell of her body, that I felt my throat go dry. The idea that she cared for me, a clumsy young boy! It was hardly believable.
"I can see that your time was well spent, Lucretia," she said with laughter in her voice. "We must be careful that we don't wear out our Mr. Stevens. Admittedly there is a lot of him, but we shouldn't take any chances."
She smiled and Lucretia laughed and I felt very, very happy.
And Dean Langly stepped into the box.
I think I can say with certainty that at that moment my heart ceased beating. It must have because my mind stopped functioning, and my whole body became as rigid as a corpse.
The Dean's eyes glinted in their little holes, and his moustache gleamed with grease above his thin lips that folded into a mean smile of satisfaction.
"Well, Caryn," he said. "And Lucretia.
I thought I might stop by and see the last of the play. Who is your young friend here?" He turned and looked at me.
There was a moment of silence.
"Uh, I'm Stevens. James Stevens," I said, choking slightly. "We met at the reception. I'm a new student at the University."
"Yes," he purred. "I thought so."
"We found him standing outside the theatre," Mrs-Langly said. "He looked so lost and unhappy. It seems that he didn't have enough money to get in. So Lucretia and I thought that, since we had two empty seats, it would be a nice gesture on our part if we allowed him to use one. All in the interest of education, of course."
"I see," he said, doubt beginning to shadow his fat face. Then the smile returned, and he licked his lips. "But why, may I ask, does he have his boots off?"
I looked down momentarily surprised at the sight of my stockinged, but bootless, feet. I had forgotten to put my boots back on after the brief encounter with Lucretia. My toes curled up, as if trying to hide.
"Oh sir," I said, "not only did these kind ladies offer to let me see the play, but they were gracious enough to allow me to ease a malady I am cursed with, an ailment that causes my feet to swell under any but the most uneventful circumstances. It is an uncomfortable and distressing ailment, and I am forever indebted to the kindness of these two ladies for being tolerant of such foolishness."
"How unfortunate," he said, with not a trace of sympathy. "But then, as a student, you use your head more than your feet, do you not?"
I mumbled something affirmative, gathered up my boots, and moving to the enentrance of the box attempted thank-yous and goodbyes.
"But the play isn't over yet young man," the Dean said. "Don't you want to see how it ends?"
"Thank you, sir," I replied, "but no. My feet are in pain, and it might do them some good if I went home and soaked them in salts."
"Do that," the Dean said, "One must always take good care of his feet. All the more so if one might do a lot of walking, as do those who are too poor to afford to ride. Well, Mr. Stevens, it was a pleasure to meet again. You can be sure that we will meet again. Soon."
There was no mistaking his meaning. I murmured thanks and bowed my way out of the box. I put on my boots and left the theatre.
As I walked back to the boarding house, my thoughts piled one upon the other, confused and lost. I felt no sorrow or pain. Only numbness. I was finished. There would be no further education, no bright future, no comfortable life. "We will meet again," he said. We will meet again when I call you in to tell you that you are to attend no more classes. When I tell you to leave the University. That's what he was saying, there was no doubt about it. Finished.
I slowed my pace and, lifting my head, breathed deeply of the night air. I held my head up and squared my shoulders. If I had had a tail I would have removed it from between my legs.
"Your name is James Stevens," I said to myself. "You're a man, and you're supposed to be fairly bright. Stop acting like some whipped cur and start using your brain.
All right. You got yourself in trouble, and now you have to get out of it. If you can't find a way, you weren't smart enough to make it through the University anyway."
I told myself that over and over, and, slowly, hope returned. A plan for a way to stay at the University began to formulate, and my steps became quick and brisk.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was late when I entered the boarding house and all was quiet. The air seemed to stir with the easy breath of the sleeping, and I made my way to my room walking on my toes. Once inside I removed my coat and boots, and lay down to think.
The vague idea that had taken seed in my mind during the walk home began to flower into a clear plan. The only problem was that I needed the complete assistance of someone, and that someone had to be Meg. But would I be able to enlist her help? She was a fine girl, and seemed to like me very much, but it was possible that she might think I was asking too much. She might simply say no, and that would be that. The only thing to do was to find out. And I didn't have any time to lose.
I arose from the bed and quietly made my way into the hall. I had not the faintest notion of where Meg slept, but I was determined to find her if it took me all night. Since the servants' quarters are usually close to the kitchen, I made that my first stop.
I bumbled around in the dark for a while, and finally convinced myself that, other than the entry and a door that led outside, the rest was solid wall. There were no side rooms.
Going to the lower hall, I stopped and listened at the first doorway where I heard a loud, raucous snoring coming from inside. Whoever was making that horrible noise certainly was not Meg. I went to the next door, and hearing no sound, tried the door and found it open. I made out a male figure sleeping in the bed, so I closed the door and went to the third door, which was also unlocked. There was no mistaking the female outline on the bed, but was it Meg?
I took a deep breath and crept across the room, cautiously approaching the bed. Long hair flowed like water over her pillow. One arm, thrown out from under the cover, lay white and bare. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted, letting air slip in and out. I decided that Meg was a very beautiful girl.
I returned to the door and bolted it. Then I gently sat myself on the bed and, bending down, planted a kiss on her cheek. She stirred, then turned her face up, eyes still closed. I kissed her lips.
Her eyes popped open and she sucked in a quick, frightened breath. I placed a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming out.
"It's me, Meg," I said. "James. Please don't yell, you'll wake the whole house."
She relaxed and I knew that she was awake and aware of who was in her bed. When I took my hand away she sat up, her face close to mine.
"James," she whispered, "you frightened me something awful. Next time would you please tell me you're coming. I couldn't stand many more surprises like this."
"I'm sorry Meg," I said. "But I had to find you. And believe me, it wasn't easy."
"Dear boy," she murmured, throwing back the covers. "Now that you've found me, hurry and get in before I catch cold."
This I quickly did, and while snuggling warm against her I asked, "Who is it in the next room that sounds like he's drowning?"
"It isn't a he," Meg giggled. "It's a she. That's Mrs. Hutchens, and it does sound as if she's drowning, doesn't it? But don't worry. If she doesn't wake herself up with that thunder, nothing else will."
She quickly made it evident what she meant by 'nothing else.' She stretched out full length, laying her full, warm body to mine. Her round, ripe breasts pressed my chest, and one firm leg wrapped over my waist. I slipped an arm under her neck and put the other around her, my hand resting firmly in the small of her back. Placing my mouth over hers, I took her lower lip between my teeth and gently bit. She responded with both lips and hands. Her mouth went soft and pliable, while her hands stroked and felt, one tracing a pattern across my stomach and finally coming to rest between my legs.
She teased, touching and probing, sensations moving, drifting light as smoke. Under her quilted cover we stirred and shifted, coupling and uncoupling, taking full measure of joy from the hot touch of each other. Her nipples grew firm, emphasizing the taut muscles of her body, while from her mound of love there arose the moist scent of passion.
I rolled over on my back, and pulled her on top of me. Grasping her by the bottom I moved her up until one large breast hung above my face. I took it into my lips, allowing the nipple to rest on the end of my tongue.
When my hands began to knead and rub her ample buttocks, her desire mounted still higher, she spread her legs wide and pressed herself to me, hips moving in hard, quick circles. As she was on top of me, my staff, now stiff beyond belief, was caught between her belly and mine. Sliding down a bit, and at the same time lifting her hips, I freed my staff, which sprung into the air and quickly nestled its head into her mound, fast as a rabbit seeks its burrow.
She began to tongue my ear, in and out, while her body slowly worked its way downward, taking possession of my throbbing organ. When .the staff was buried completely, we held still for a moment, taking delight in the pleasurable sensations that coursed through our united bodies. The smallest quiver caused another, yet larger quiver, and soon we were fighting to keep from becoming completely plunged into in the thrust and plunge of love.
I started to turn over, so that Meg would be spread under me, when I realized that extreme care had to be taken so that I would not lose my place in her. She moved her legs behind mine and crossed them at the ankle, locking me in a vise of flesh. Thus secured we rolled over, her body providing the most wondrous material a man could ask to rest himself on. We rocked a moment in that manner, then, without warning, we were plunging and releasing, diving and rising, in an uncontrollable frenzy. Our playing and teasing had built a need for each other that caught us unawares, and exploded into a hot flame of desire.
Without a word we sought each other, frantically driving together, heedless of harm, trying only to release ourselves from the sudden heavy burden of need. In a few quick movements relief came in a burst of hot pleasure that seemed to wash into the very center of our beings.
We stopped, spent, and lay in each other's embrace. Still joined together we rested, listening to the quieting of our breathing.
"James. Ah, James, you must come more often," Meg whispered. "Nights like this make the others seem so empty." She paused, then, as the silence grew, added, "Thin as you are, my dear, you're becoming heavy."
I laughed, quietly of course, and removed myself from her. I felt great, and for the moment had forgotten my problem. I was totally wrapped up in the wonder and amazement of Meg.
"Yes," I said, rubbing her breasts, "I will come often. Nights like these are what make the tomorrows worthwhile, if only in anticipation of the tomorrow nights."
She sighed in agreement, and her breasts rose and fell under my hand. I played with them awhile, then went seeking new regions, feeling every curve and flow, examining the subtle contours of her body as she shifted for me, allowing my hand to travel wherever it willed. She positioned herself for me, her limbs moving at my slightest nudge. She would lift a knee if I wanted to explore a thigh, or move her legs apart if I showed an interest in more exciting areas. Her willingness, combined with the abundant, obvious charms of her body, soon served to reignite the fires of my desire. In a short time I found my breathing had become deep and fast, and my staff had grown hard and heavy with need.
Meg, too, was captured by the steady stimulation, and her body slowly stiffened. Her hands began to duplicate the movements of mine, running over my body at first with a feather-light touch, then with increasing pressure.
But desire in no way inhibited her imagination.
"James," she said. "Let's do it standing up."
I admit, although in a small amount of days I had acquired quite a bit of experience and was willing to try any venture, her suggestion left me baffled. How did one go about it standing up? She soon showed me.
Rising and standing in the bed, Meg bade me to follow suit. When I was standing, she stepped back and leaned against the wall at the head of the bed. Eagerly, she pulled me to her and held me close as we rubbed one another. My staff stiff between her legs, she parted them, bracing her back to the wall. Bending my legs slightly I was able to insert the point of my organ into her. Holding onto her hips I slowly straightened, the movement pushing me all the way into her. The pressure on the root of my organ was painful, but it was an enjoyable sort of pain, the type when pleasure and pain become so mixed it is impossible to tell one from the other. The only problem was that I was unable to move, being locked tight to Meg in such a way that any in and out action was totally out of the question.
"Bend a bit, love," Meg said. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be lower down."
So I bent at the knees while Meg arched her back, holding herself wide. This small adjustment made a great deal of difference, suddenly creating freedom with which to work. Still holding to her hips I began a slow driving movement, keeping my knees stiff while swinging just my waist back and forth.
It worked marvelously. I began to feel sensations I had never felt before, as if forces were playing on nerve-ends that had not previously be exposed. Meg's contribution to the movements were small. Her head was thrown back, mouth slightly open, and her throat was exposed and quivering. Her hands had a strong grip on my shoulders, while her legs were held stiff and wide. Her belly moved in and out just the smallest degree. I pushed myself to her, time and again, striving for the deepest reach and the greatest pleasure as I fucked her in that novel, enervating posture.
Our need grew bigger and bigger, as our movements became more urgent and demanding. I could feel Meg's legs clutch in reflex, an automatic action to lock me to her as the time came near. Then, all thought and feelings were washed away in a sudden sun-burst of heat and drenching relief, a complete release and satisfaction of the demands of our bodies.
Meg sighed and relaxed, falling against me, arms around my neck. I let my legs fold, and we both tumbled to the bed.
As a bow, strong and tightly strung, is finally released; as a falcon, chained and hooded, is ultimately freed; as a want, secret and held close, is suddenly granted; so was my heart, constricted with fear, uncaringly let free in sheer physical joy and satisfaction.
I pulled Meg to me, holding her tight, yet with tenderness. She was completely relaxed within my arms, and murmured little noises against my chest. We lay together, listening to the late night sounds, the creaking of the house, the passing of a lorry outside with the klop, klop of its horse. The stillness was broken by a loud rumbling not unlike a man going down for the third, and reputedly, last time. Mrs. Hutchens had started to snore again. Meg and I both laughed a soft, tired laugh.
"I feel good," I said. "I don't care how many problems I have. Right now I feel that things couldn't be better. And right now, I guess, will just have to do."
"I know what you mean," Meg said.
"About feeling good. But what kind of problems could you have? Lord, you're a student at the University, your future is all set, why you shouldn't have a worry in the world."
I sighed and rolled over on my stomach, placing my cheek against the warm cover, taking comfort in its roughness. I could explain to her, I would have to, if my idea was to work. But how do you tell a woman about the problems you're having with another woman? I was young, yes, but I knew instinctively that such confessions were the quickest way to have you head served on a platter. I had to take the chance though, for the morning would find me up to my thin neck in trouble.
I sat up, took Meg's hand in mine, and, holding it tightly, asked her to listen closely. Then I told her the entire story, all about Mrs. Langly and the Dean. I should say almost the entire story, for I saw no sane reason to include Lucretia. I think that would have been too much for Meg to cope with.
I told her about the theater, and what the Dean had said, and what the Dean did to young foolish men like me.
"... and that's it," I concluded. "Tomorrow I'm going to be thrown out of the University. Shortly thereafter I'll be leaving here and returning, tail between my legs, to my uncle."
"Leave here?" Meg said. "You can't do that, James. You just can't. Not after we ... I mean, I was just beginning to...." She stopped. "What I mean is that I don't want you to go. I don't care about Mrs. Langly, as long as you don't forget about me."
"I don't have much choice," I said. "That is, not unless...."
"Unless what?" she asked.
So I told her. She listened, nodding, as I outlined my plan and her part in it.
"Of course I'll do it, you idiot," she said when I had finished. "Lord, you'd think you were asking me to do something really horrid. Don't worry. Come tomorrow, if nothing goes sour, everything will be set right."
I was a bit amazed. The girl I had boldly asked to shoulder part of my own burden was telling me not to worry. I should have been the one dispensing confidence, handing out assurances that everything would go right. I even felt slightly cheated. After all, it was my plan.
I lay back on the bed and let my muscles relax, releasing the tension that had built up during the telling of my tale. A few moments ago I had been tired and sated, on the verge of a heavy sleep. Now, however, the fear I had brought out of hiding by telling Meg left me awake and somewhat edgy.
"Don't be so nervous, love," Meg said. "I wish there was something I could do to calm you down."
"It's a pity you don't have wine," I said. "I could do with some."
Then we both laughed, remembering the last time we had gotten wine, and what had happened as a result.
"That can be taken care of," she said, slipping out of bed. "Just promise me you'll be here when I get back."
I promised, for my thirst was very great, and I had no desire to leave Meg's bed. At the moment there was no place I would rather have been. She slid into a gown, unbolted the door, and disappeared into the hall.
Meg quickly returned, holding her gown around her with one hand, while the other had a firm grip on the neck of a half bottle of wine.
"I couldn't bring any mugs," she said. "The last time old Hutchens was wondering how dirty mugs had appeared in her kitchen over night. You don't mind if we drink from the bottle do you?"
I didn't mind in the least and proved it by taking a long drink, holding the bottle high. It was a cheap red table wine, poorly made and meant to be consumed by the type of people who had to live in boarding houses. Yet for all its cheapness, it had body and the rough, rich flavor one finds in black bread and sharp bulk cheese, and similar fare with which the common man has to content himself. I enjoyed it more than I would have the most expensive of French imports.
Meg, healthy girl that she was, took long, slow draughts that almost emptied the bottle.
"I really should be getting back to my own room," I finally said to Meg. "It's late, and we have quite a day tomorrow."
"Not yet, love," she said, lying down beside me and opening her gown. "One more time wouldn't hurt, would it?"
The gown spread open as she turned on her side, facing me. Her huge breasts hung before me, inviting my touch. Her belly showed white in its gentle swell, and her long legs met and joined in that dark hollow of delight. Her body lay exposed and available ; it was more temptation than any man could resist.
I kissed her long and sweet, and rolled on top of her. I forced her legs open with mine, and squirmed myself into a comfortable position. Pressed flat against her I put my face to her neck and held still, moving only my hips and belly on hers.
After a moment I realized that nothing was happening. Body to body, flesh to flesh, I had a completely desirable woman under me, an obvious object of lust, open and willing. Yet nothing was happening. My own body was betraying me.
It had been too long a day. First Mrs. Langly, then Lucretia, then Meg. To all appearances I had worn myself out, completely and without hope. There have been few times I have been so disgusted with myself.
Meg was aware of my plight. She wasn't too happy about it either.
"There must be something we can do about it, love," she said. "It can't die before it has a proper burial."
She moved me onto my back, while she sat up.
"Relax now," she said. "From what I understand there's a method that never fails. You surely must know of it, what with all the running about you've been doing."
She lifted my feet and placed them up and apart, leaving my knees pointing towards the ceiling. She moved to the bottom of the bed and lay down with her head resting firmly on the spot where my legs joined. Her mouth brushed over my unresponding organ, and each move of her head caused her hair to lay light kisses along the insides of my legs. Her nose rubbed and pushed my skin, and her tongue began to flick, tasting and probing. Dropping her head still further, her tongue began to tease the tender skin between my buttocks, and the sensation caused a chill to run up my back. The attention she was giving my most sensitive parts was starting to make me squirm, and my staff showed a little life.
This was all she needed, for she pounced on it like a dog would a bone. Her lips never ceased their movements, loving, conjuring, always drawing additional life into the object of her supplication. Her hand entered the fray, adding its soft and urgent demand, and began a slow up-and-down movement, while her lips surrounded the tip. My staff soon had enough life to stand on its own, rising higher and higher, declaring itself willing and ready for use.
Still Meg would not forswear her task, but seemed to become more enamored with my staff in direct proportion to her success. Her hands held it firm while she played with it, appearing to be totally uninterested in the rest of me.
I, however, was interested in her. All of her. Megs's remedy had brought me completely back to life, and her continuing affections caused my desires to rise, each minute providing a base for the next minute to build on. Meg had created a demand, and Meg would be the one to satisfy it.
I sat up. When Meg lifted her head I took her under the arms, and pulled her up on top of me. I kissed her and ran my hands down her back and over her bottom. Her legs spread automatically, and my hands reached down and under, taking their grip on her warm mound. My fingers parted her, and finding room, one entered exploringly. Meg opened herself still further, obviously taking great delight in what I was doing. I continued in this way for some moments, until certain that her level of need had risen as high as mine.
Rolling her over, I kissed her on the forehead and mouth. Then holding her legs apart, I entered her, traveling the distance very slowly. We moved easily and without haste. Joined together in pleasure, we had an unspoken agreement to make that pleasure last as long as possible. With no rush we took of each other, giving and receiving in an eternity of muted delight.
The physical demands of the body soon caught up with us however, and without warning we were plunging and thrashing, intent only on gratification as quickly as possible, fucking furiously as we each sought to attain satisfaction the quickest way we could.
With a low, drawn-out moan, Meg went limp beneath me. A few strokes more and I, too, found satisfaction, experiencing that feeling that is limited to that one moment in life, and that moment alone.
This time though, it was a bit different. Even as I knew, felt, that it was over, there was no bursting expulsion of the liquid of life. I had run dry! Later in life I was to learn that a man could not spend an entire day fucking various ladies without sooner or later pumping himself dry. But at that time, I'll admit, I became a bit unnerved. Quick thoughts of my. staff having given up the ghost and dying flitted through my mind. Reasoning told me that such a thing was very un-likely, I would have at least heard boyish jokes about similar unhappiness if it existed. Yet reason many times plays a small part when a man has fears concerning his very manhood.
Meg, healthy and demanding as she was, was finally tired and satisfied. Giving me a quick kiss, she crawled under the bedcover, yawning. I stood up, put my pants on, and gathered the rest of my clothes in my arms.
"You won't forget about tomorrow will you?" I asked, thinking of her promise.
"No, love, I won't forget," she said. "Not only am I willing to help you, but it might be fun, too. Good night now, and leave quietly if you can."
I bid her good night and left, softly closing her door behind me. Meg had reminded me of my clumsiness, which had grown into a boarding house joke, so I took great care in making my way back to my room.
Once there I washed myself and lay down, trying hard to think about tomorrow, to plan, to decide what to do if something went wrong. But the more I tried to think the harder it became. My brain was weary, as drained of energy as my body. It was incapable of keeping a thought more than a few seconds, then the visions it contained would go gray, then black, hinting of its need for restful sleep.
I gave up trying to think, or plan, or even to worry. With a sigh I told myself that the morning would bring whatever it willed, that I had protected myself the best way I could and further efforts would be wasteful.
I drifted off to sleep, my mind spiraling down into deep blackness. Consciousness was far above me, a mild light that was fast fading. Then, just before I fell completely into slumber, I saw in my mind the sneering face of Dean Langly. Eyes beady bright, mouth curled, he laughed at me. Then his lips moved, though no sound came. It didn't matter that I couldn't hear him, because I knew what he was saying.
We'll meet again. Soon. The words came soundless from his mouth, over and over.
CHAPTER NINE
Meg knocked on my door early the next morning. When I let her in, the surprise I felt must have showed on my face.
"What's the matter, love?" she asked. "Did you think I couldn't get dressed up?"
'Dressed up' was an expression that hardly covered the change that Meg had undergone. The times that I had seen Meg dressed-that is, with her clothes on-I had been well aware that she was an attractive girl, but I had never been impressed by the manner in which she was outfitted. What I mean to say is that her hair was always rather wild and uncombed, the dresses she wore were rough and ill-fitting, and it never failed that a button or two was missing. A diamond hidden in the coal, so to speak.
Coming into my room that morning it was obvious that Meg knew how to 'get dressed up.' Her face was pert and shining from a recent scrubbing. Her hair was combed neat and in place, while the rest of her left me stunned. She was wearing a long black skirt with matching jacket. Under the jacket was a white silk blouse that, though cut in a low V that exposed the matching swells of her milky breasts, was elegant. Beneath the skirt two newly polished shoes peeked out. There was a scent about her of mild perfume.
The top of the skirt narrowed to the smallness of her waist, hugging her hips before falling in folds towards the floor. The over all effect was one of, paradoxically, sexual gentility.
"James, you're staring at me," Meg said, a note of smug satisfaction in her voice.
"Sorry," I said. "It's just that you're so lovely I can't believe it. Well, are you ready?"
"Yes, if you are. Have you had breakfast?"
"No, we haven't the time. I don't want to take a chance on missing the Dean." I let out a nervous sigh. "Let's go if were going."
We left the boarding house, heading for the campus. It was still early, and there was a definite chill in the air. Cold moisture clung to the walls of the buildings we passed, the dewy rear-guard of the night, soon to die under the warmth of the sun. Leaves were scattered on the ground, and as winter drew nearer more would abandon the trees to join them.
Reaching the campus we veered right toward the Dean's house. It soon appeared in all its white stateliness, looking as important as the position of the man who lived in it. Meg and I left the roadway and hid behind some bushes.
"Do you think he's still home?" she asked me. "He might have left already."
"He's there," I replied. "It's too early for him to leave yet. Even if he does have big plans for today."
We waited. The day grew a little warmer, and the minutes became long and drawn out. I was beginning to get restless when, finally, the front door opened. Dean Langly stepped out and came down the steps.
"Wish me luck, love," Meg said, and moved out onto the roadway.
I had a feeling that she wasn't going to need any luck. She was going forth armed with everything she would need. She was already walking down the road away from the house, taking her time, allowing the Dean to catch up with her.
He soon overtook her and, as I watched, struck up a conversation. They were walking side by side, talking, when they passed out of view from my place in the bushes. I cut across the road, angling through the woods to intercept their path.
I was waiting behind a large tree when they passed, and Meg chose that moment to make her play. Not that she had to do much, for the Dean was attempting to be extremely friendly.
"I'm flattered," she said, stopping and turning to face him. "The idea of you're even bothering to talk to little dumb me has turned my head. I mean, I'm just a poor working girl and here you are, the Dean of this big University, taking an interest in me. I just don't know what to say."
"You shouldn't feel that way," he said, visibly preening himself. "After all, we could have a lot in common. And I'm sure you're as capable at whatever you do for a living as I am. No one should feel inferior just because of position."
"Oh, Mr. Langly," Meg cooed. "You know how to make a girl feel at ease. And important. I feel important just being with you."
She took his hand in both of hers. He stiffened, and his face gleamed with anticipation.
Meg raised his hand and gently placed it on one breast, smiling and looking directly into his eyes. Sweat broke out on his face and he seemed to quiver throughout the length of his body.
"You're an educated man," she said. "You could teach me so much."
"I most certainly could," he choked out. I watched the hand on her breast fumble about, squeezing. The idea of this greasy old coot climbing into bed with the abundantly endowed young Meg made me slightly ill. But that same idea was obviously uppermost in his mind.
"Yes, yes I could," he said, stepping close and trying to hold her.
Meg slipped away, still holding his hand. She laughed a small laugh, then stopped and looked very serious.
"I know a place we can go," she said.
"There's a room that belongs to a friend of mine. If you want we could...."
There was no need to finish the sentence. The Dean was momentarily speechless, no doubt shocked at his unbelievably good fortune. But he was nodding his head as hard as he could.
"Very well," Meg said, tucking her arm under his. "It's just a short walk."
So, arm in arm, they set out, the Dean trying very hard to keep his pace down to a reasonably slow walk. Meg, looking happy, showed the way. She was leading him straight to my room.
Running to make up the difference in distance, I headed for the boarding house, ready to play my part in our little drama.
I was standing in the closet in my room, peeking through the curtains, when Meg and the Dean walked into my humble little home away from home.
The Dean was nervous, scuttling through the doorway like a criminal trying to escape the eyes of the law. He quickly closed the door behind him and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Don't be a silly," Meg said in a little girl voice. "No one saw us come in. And my friend won't be back for some time. Just relax."
The Dean looked at her, his eyes roving over her body, and whatever worries he had about being caught decreased in direct proportion to the ideas growing in his mind. For the first time in my life, I actually saw a man lick his lips.
He moved towards her, his hands twitching. Meg stood there, allowing him to take her in his arms. He held her, placing sloppy kisses on her face and neck. His hands moved over her back and dropped to her buttocks, grabbing hold of more dress than flesh. Pawing and rubbing, he tried to enjoy himself as much as possible, but soon became disturbed at Meg's lack of response.
"Is something the matter, my dear?" he asked, stepping back, but still keeping both hands on her.
"Not really," she said. "But I find that times like this make clothes so uncomfortable. They're such a bother."
She took his hands from her and moved away. She stepped out of her shoes, as she removed her jacket.
Meg pulled her blouse out of her skirt and left the tails hanging. She unbuttoned the top two buttons, so that the blouse parted almost half-way down the front, revealing the dark cleft between the two creamy half globes of her breasts. The Dean began to pant audibly.
She undid the rest of the buttons and let the blouse part completely, and there in all their glory stood her pulsating, marvelous breasts. The Dean moved to her so quickly he almost ran. He cupped one breast in his hand. Mumbling strange noises he lowered his head and began to kiss it, his hand fondling the one remaining. Meg did not move, but let him continue, leading me to suspect that she wasn't overly repulsed by the attention. While he was enjoying the feast with his hands and lips, Meg undid her skirt and let it slip to the floor, which left her wearing only the blouse and an undergarment.
The Dean by now had become very excited and pulled Meg to him, grinding her body to his in a burst of passion. His hands were flying everywhere. Meg reached up and gripped him between the legs. The Dean went rigid with pleasure.
"Don't you think you might get undressed now?" Meg asked.
He released her and began to take his clothes off as fast as he could. His frockcoat and shirt went first, and he removed his pants so quickly he almost ripped them.
He soon stood before her wearing only a pair of cotton shorts.
"Completely undressed," Meg ordered.
He eagerly pulled off his last garment. I almost destroyed our plan by giving away my position. I found it hard to keep from laughing.
The Dean stood there, completely naked, and his staff barely peeked out from under his fat belly! The sight of him, stripped and unequipped, was such a change from his usual arrogant, imposing manner, that I almost choked on silent laughter.
"That's better," Meg said. She approached him and took his little staff in her hand. She pulled on it, as if hoping to make it longer. The Dean clutched her to him, and becoming impatient, actually tore her undergarment from her. His breathing had grown fast and heavy, and little rivulets of sweat ran down from under his arms. His lips moved wetly over Meg's neck, while his hands poked and prodded her wherever they could reach.
Holding to him, Meg guided the two of them to the bed. Arms wrapped around him she pulled him down on top of her. She spread her legs and hooked them around his, pinning him to her.
It was my signal.
I slipped from the closet quietly moved to the door, and opened it, careful not to make any noise. Turning, I stood in the middle of the doorway, facing into the room. Directly in front of me was the Dean's fat, round, red bottom. The room was filled with the harsh sound of his panting. Everything was perfect.
"What the devil is going on!" I shouted.
And the room became deathly still. Nothing moved.
Suddenly there was a burst of activity, and the Dean scrambled off the bed. Meg rolled off in the other direction, making shrill little noises, pulling the bed covers with her in a modest attempt to cover herself.
"What are you doing in my room?" I demanded loudly. "And what are...." I stopped, and looked as shocked as I could. "Dean Langly! You? Here in my room?" I looked from him to Meg and back to him, taking in their nakedness. "Just what are you doing?" I said angrily, trying not to sound too foolish.
"We were ... I mean," Meg began. "I mean I thought you were in classes. You weren't supposed to be back until later."
"This is your friend?" the Dean asked, his voice a hissing whisper. "Him?" His face was pale, and his lips formed a thin line. Turning to me he held his hands out. "Please, please close that door."
I closed the door and looked at Meg, stern and disapproving. "Meg. How could you? I thought you were a nice girl."
"I am," Meg said, lips quivering and tears appearing in her eyes. "I am. He made me do it. He forced me."
"What?" The Dean yelled, voice high and unbelieving. "How can you say that. You were the one that...." the sentence trailed off. He looked lost and trapped.
"You made me," Meg insisted. "And that's what I'll tell anyone who asks. I'm not the type of girl who would do it willingly. I'm a good girl. Besides, you even tore my clothes."
"Meg, get dressed," I said. Turning to the Dean I added; "You too, sir. Maybe we should have a little talk."
The Dean quickly put his clothes on, but Meg continued to hold the bed cover around her. When the Dean was completely dressed I began.
"I know how embarrassing this must be for you, sir," I said. "I know a man of your position must be extra careful about his reputation. If word got out about this, well, I could just imagine what would happen. I just want you to know, sir, that if no harm has come to the young lady, you can trust me to keep silent about this unfortunate matter."
A wave of emotion passed over Dean's face. Shock, then relief, then doubt. Then, very controlled, a hint of anger. He was beginning to think he had been deliberately trapped, but he was not sure.
"James, shame on you," Meg said. "This man forced me to his will, and tore my pretty clothes. Aren't you going to do something about it?"
"No, Meg," I replied. "Why, a word about this could ruin Dean Langly. What would people say if they knew their children were being taught and guided by a man who couldn't control himself? No, we mustn't breath a word about this. Unless, of course, it becomes necessary."
He knew what I meant. There was no doubt that my silence would depend on how long I stayed at the University. I had a weapon to fight back with now, a weapon more deadly than his. And he knew it.
"Very well, Mr. Stevens," he said. "I'm grateful that you're willing to be a gentleman about it. And young man, I have a feeling that you are going to have a successful stay at the University.
"If you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do today," he added as he went to the door. Opening it, he looked first at me, then at Meg. His gaze was one of mixed emotions, chiefly regret. I wasn't sure if he regreted getting trapped in the first place, or was sorry that he hadn't finished what he started. He left, closing the door behind him.
Meg began to giggle. "I don't think he knows for sure if this was planned or not," she said. "But one thing he is sure of, he can't kick you out of school now."
I let out a long, wavering breath. I hadn't realized how tense I had been, and now that it was all over the relief left me so weak I could hardly stand. I was saved, and Meg was the one that made my salvation possible. Dear, sweet, lovable Meg. Very lovable Meg. Images of her unbuttoning her blouse returned to my mind. Visions of her breasts peering from under the silk began to cloud my thinking. I looked at her, still holding the bed cover to her body, and her hot eyes stared back at me.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked. "That little play-acting with the Dean left me a bit warm." When she got a small nod for a reply she said, "Come here, James."
I crossed the room and enfolded her in an eager embrace. She kissed me, long and openly, and let the bed cover fall to the floor. I removed her blouse, which, incongruously, was the only thing she had left on. A fantastic amount of warm flesh was available and responding beneath my searching fingers.
I lifted her and placed her on the bed. She stretched out, purring and smiling, while I began to remove my clothes. Her eyes held mine as I removed my coat, shirt, and boots. As I was struggling out of my pants Meg opened her legs wide, held out her arms, and gestured with her hands for me to come to her.
When finally out of the frustrating confines of my garments, I knelt on the bed beside her, looking down into her soft smile. She put her hands behind my neck and locked them together.
"You should be on the stage, Meg," I said. "Not only because you're a talented actress, but also because every man in the country would pay to see you."
"Really, James?" she said, very pleased.
"Yes, really. And you know what they say about people on the stage. They lead very wicked lives."
"I'd enjoy that," she said, pulling me down. "Leading a wicked life, I mean."
She started to prove it. Wrapping herself around me, legs and arms twining in unbelievable ways, she began to twist and squirm, and soon had me quite excited. Turning me on my back, she took my staff in her hand.
"This is certainly a lot more pleasing than the last one I saw," she laughed. "It's a lot more everything."
Dropping down, she put her head on my chest, arms around me. She started to slide down, kissing my chest and stomach as she went. She finally reached my staff, which after sliding under breasts and neck, popped up like a released spring. She rubbed her cheek along it, and kissed the root.
"Meg, would you please hurry up?" I pleaded, unable to wait any longer.
She laughed at me, but was more than happy to grant my request, and promptly took my staff into her mouth. Shaking with delight, I felt her lips and tongue perform their little tricks; pulling, pushing, teasing, until I thought I would sit straight up and yell for joy. It was difficult to hold still, and every time I moved she took it as a sign to be more vigorous and energetic in her work.
"Meg, I won't last long," I said, knowing that at any moment I would reach my peak and spend myself. "I'll come in your mouth if you're not careful."
As a reply she swung herself around, throwing one leg over me, and backing up just a little, presented her sweet little mound to my mouth. I reached up and grabbed her buttocks, bring it down to me. Parting it with my tongue I took my pleasure, bending every effort to give her as much satisfaction as she was giving me. The first drop of moisture she released served as a trigger, and sent me off into a ripping whirlwind of jerking spending. She held on, riding out the storm with clinging lips, and returned the compliment by letting go a flood of her own. I, determined to please her, left my lips where they were and continued until she was finished.
Such an explosion of passion might have left most people satisfied, but Meg lost no time in going on to the next game. She lay beside me, playing and rubbing, just long enough to revive my physical interest.
It has always bothered me that the mind never tires of such things, and is ever-ready to continue, while the body requires time in which to prepare itself before mounting another attack. When I think of all the time wasted because of this, time that could have been well spent, it strikes me as being a terrible waste.
At any rate, as soon as Meg could see that she had revived my interest, she wanted to try something different.
"I want you to fuck me, James," she said. "But I want you to use a different entrance this time."
Giving me a kiss, she turned over on her stomach and presented me with her beautiful, well-contoured bottom. I was willing to attempt this method, since I had never tried it.
"Go easy," Meg said. "I think it might be a tight fit, so take your time."
Kneeling behind her, I spread her cheeks and looked at the small opening. As I mounted her and put the tip of my staff in, I could feel her muscles tense and relax, tense and relax. To my surprise, and Meg's too I think, it turned out to be easy. Once in I laid myself on her back and reached around to take hold of her breasts. To me it was not much different than the standard way. I missed the grip of Meg's strong legs, but she seemed to become excited, twisting and moving, and making little noises. She was really enjoying it. Before long the sheer movements of Meg under me caused me to swell, and soon I spent myself again.
Meg too was happy with the results, and didn't mind when I removed myself.
"It's too bad you can't experience that," Meg said to me. "But then, if I were able to do that sort of thing, you wouldn't be very happy about it."
"I like you just as you are, thank you," I said. "Speaking of which, would it be too much trouble to have you the standard way? Just so I won't forget what it's like, I mean."
Meg giggled. In answer she opened her legs and said, "That would be nice. Yes, let's do that."
I wasn't in the best of shape, but in the attempt to get my flagging staff in I responded with all the desire I needed. I slipped in and made myself comfortable before starting. When I did start I took my time, with slow and easy strokes, Meg holding herself back, so that it wasn't over too quickly. Ultimately we spent, drawing even that out as long as we could. We were beginning to have a very understanding relationship, reaching a point where we knew each other's want and needs without having to speak a word. There comes a time in a relationship when, if both parties make a conscious effort, casualness does not harm but enhances the amount of enjoyment.
Thus it was beginning to be with Meg and me.
After resting awhile, Meg rose and began to dress. She ignored her torn undergarment, and slipped into her skirt and blouse. It was as much fun watching her dress, (well, almost) as watching her undress.
"You've missed your classes and I'm to catch it for not starting to work sooner," Meg said. "But it was worth it, don't you think?"
I had not the slightest doubt that it was worth it. One day of classes I could afford to miss, if it meant that I could continue to go to classes for the rest of the year. A small price to pay! The romp with Meg wasn't a bad bonus, either. Yes, it was worth it.
I started to thank Meg for all she had done, and tried to tell her how grateful I was, but she waved her hand and wouldn't let me finish.
"Don't bother, James," she said. "It was worth it, if it means keeping you around. You don't owe me anything, not with the way we get along."
So she left, and I lay on my bed, smiling at the ceiling. The world had begun to look brighter, and I allowed a small amount of confidence to creep into me. Bit by bit, I reviewed the morning's events, and decided that, yes, it had worked, and I was at the University to stay.
I went to sleep, and awoke late that afternoon feeling well-rested and happy. I washed and dressed, and decided to go out for a meal to fill my rumbling stomach.
As I started out, I noticed that a letter had been slipped under the door of my room. The handwriting on the outside was familiar, as was the scent of perfume. It was from Mrs. Langly.
Dear Mr. Stevens, In the matter of the latest class you have added to your schedule; will you be able to continue it? Please advise as soon as possible.
With hope, M.L.
Yes, Madame Langly, I thought, I will be able to continue that particular class along with my regular ones. And won't you be suprised to hear it? I decided that, after lunch, I should tell her personally that I was here to stay.
CHAPTER TEN
I dined in one of the best restaurants in town, spending an entire month's pocket money in celebration. I had prime rib, good English beans with butter and a huge baked potato. This was topped off with halved peaches floating in wine.
I was completely rested and restored when I called at the Langly house. I shouldn't say 'called' at the Langly house, because I didn't exactly present myself at the front door. I was feeling good, not foolish. I left the roadway before reaching the house, and went through the woods, coming up on the house from the back. Carefully going from window to window, I peeped into the house, attempting to find out who was home and who wasn't.
I saw Mrs. Langly through the drawing room window. She was sitting at a table, a cup of tea beside her, writing a letter. When I gently tapped on the window, she turned and saw me. She came to the window and opened it, saying; "There's a side door just around the corner, go there and I'll let you in."
I was waiting when she opened the door. Her face was worried and drawn, and she grabbed my hands, leading me into the house.
"Oh, James, I'm so sorry," she said. "It was foolish of me to get you involved without warning you exactly how dangerous it could be. And now you have to pay the price for my stupidity. Oh, I wish I could tell you how guilty I've felt since last night."
It took a moment for me to realize that she was calling me 'James' and not 'Mr. Stevens.' That in itself was an indication of how worried she had been.
"There's no cause for you to worry, Caryn," I said, her first name rolling off my tongue with great ease. "Everything is all right."
"How can that be?" she asked. "Certainly you saw the Dean today, didn't you?"
"Now that you mention it, yes I did," I answered. I really didn't mean to prolong her worry, but I couldn't help myself. I was feeling the pangs of budding manhood, and it was the first time I had had a chance to strut a bit.
"Well?" she said. "Didn't he throw you out of the University? Didn't he tell you that...." she stopped when I broke out laughing.
Because she looked puzzled and a little hurt, I hastened to tell her the story of the morning's events, leaving out no details except, of course, what happened after the Dean left my room. I explained that Meg had helped because she was a friend of Christopher, and he had persuaded her to aid me.
She was visibly impressed with the way I had handled things and sighed with relief when I told her that the Dean and I had reached an unspoken mutual agreement about the length of my stay at the University.
"Thank goodness," she said. "You have no idea how much better that makes me feel, James."
"I think I know," I said. "If my own feelings are any indication. Would it be much of a bother if I asked for a glass of brandy?"
"No, not at all James. Forgive me for being such a poor hostess, but worry has crowded everything else out of my mind. And now the relief has left me rather dazed."
By this time we were in the drawing room where she opened a low cabinet and took out a bottle and two glasses. After pouring the brandy we seated ourselves, she on the couch, I in a chair facing her.
Caryn was wearing a loose-fitting smock, the type that women wear only around the house. Though it hid most of her supple body, it clung suggestively here and there. Her long golden hair had not been done up, but fell in loose curls over her shoulders. Her face had relaxed, and her expression was one of casual beauty.
"Well, James," she said. "You seem to have proved yourself capable of handling any situation. You've turned out to be competent in more ways than one. I only hope you can keep me satisfied, after all this trouble."
I took a sip of my brandy and made no reply. She looked at me, waiting for an outpouring of assurances that I would try to keep her happy, that I would do my feeble best to please her.
I said nothing. She crossed her legs and leaned back fully aware of the suggestiveness in her pose. The smock, now tight around her hips and jutting breasts, was pulled up just over her knees.
"Come over here and sit beside me," she said, patting the couch. "You look so alone and far away over there."
I rose and crossed to the couch, taking my glass with me. I sat next to her, stretched out my legs and was very relaxed. Caryn appeared to be annoyed by my composure.
"Is something wrong with you, James?" she said. "You aren't acting like yourself."
"No, nothing is wrong," I said. "Everything is just fine, and I feel good because of it. Things couldn't be better."
"I see," she said coolly. "James, you still have a lot to learn. And I'm the one who can best teach you."
She lifted herself up and tucked her legs under her. She took the brandy glass from my hand and set it, along with hers on the floor. Then, in one smooth motion, she pressed her body against mine and held her hands to my head, kissing me hard, as she forced me down on the couch and laid herself on top of me. As she inserted her tongue into my mouth I brought my hands around and took a double fistful of firm buttocks. She kept her body in motion, pivoting from the hips. Her legs crawled over mine, and she locked her fingers in my hair.
My own fingers curled into the material of her smock and pulled it up around her waist. She lifted herself slightly to allow it to slide unhampered.
I pulled it up still further, slipping my hand under and up, cupping a firm, ripe breast. The other hand crept into her undergarment, sliding over warm skin, testing the roundness of her bottom, then reached further down and fingered the rise of her mound. We continued thusly for some moments, and I never allowed my hands to cease their steady movements.
She was determined to get me excited, but in a short time it was Caryn herself whose blood was pounding. Her breath was hot in my ear, she quivered at every touch of my hands. There was no doubt that her passion was mercurial, and it didn't take much to set her off in a paroxysm of desire.
I raised the smock up over her breasts and, without hesitation, she slipped her arms out and pulled it over her head. I moved her undergarment down over her thighs until it reached her knees; she lifted one leg up until her foot was clear, then repeated the movement with her other leg. She was now completely naked.
It was her turn, and still kissing and rubbing, she began to undo my clothes. I kicked off my boots as she removed my coat and shirt. Her hand moved over my stomach in circles, and worked its way to my belt, which she undid then, lifting herself, pulled my pants off. When I too was naked she lay herself back on me, pressing every possible part of her against me. I wrapped my legs around hers and buried my face in her breasts. Taking a nipple in my mouth I pulled hard on it, and she let out a gasp.
I rolled her over and placed myself on top of her. I wanted to take her quickly, have her with no waste of time. But I made myself slow down, intending to derive as much pleasure as possible. Because I was on top I turned myself around, putting my knees next to her head, and hung my stiff staff over her face. The sight of this huge organ dangling in front of her must have excited her still further, since with no encouragement she lifted her head and took it into her mouth. I lowered myself, my belly resting on her breasts, and dipped my head between her legs. This release of weight forced her head down on the couch, and drove my staff deep in her mouth. My tongue sought out its mission, and took its own satisfaction. She parted her legs as wide as possible, going so far as to rest one foot on the floor.
When I had had enough of this, and her gulping mouth was drawing me dangerously near to completion, I removed myself from her completely.
"Roll over," I told her. "This time should be the same as the first time."
This she eagerly did, pulling her knees under her and lifting her buttocks high in the air. On my knees I advanced from the rear, holding my staff in one hand, and placed the tip of it into her. Her response was a quick opening of her entrance, as if she made the muscles pull apart. I drove the shaft all the way in, sparing no power. A few strokes and she gasped and shuddered, then relaxed. I, however, was not through, so I held her while I continued. Taking my time, I eventually satisfied myself and withdrew.
She stretched out full length and turned over on her back, looking up at me.
"I have to admit that I'm satisfied," she said. "How about you? Was I good for you too?"
"Yes, you're capable of handling the situation," I said. "If you try hard you may be able to keep me happy."
She didn't look as surprised as I thought she would. Instead, she seemed to understand what I meant.
"Yes James," she said, her voice low. "We'll try to be good for each other."
With that I lay down beside her, and we spent a long and happy afternoon together.
* * *
The fire in my study has died down now, and only glowing coals remain. Memories of Caryn, and Meg, and Lucretia, fill my mind and comfort me in my old age. It was during that time that I lost my clumsy manners, and experienced the budding of manhood. I sit here and smile my youth to the wall, remembering how wild I was when the world was young and full of pain and laughter.
Later I became more polished and sure of myself. I took my education and my life very seriously. I learned many important things during that first year at the University, most importantly that I had a lot to learn.
I wish I had the time to relate to you some of my later experiences, and perhaps entertain you with interesting tales and astounding facts. But I am tired, and must go to bed. Before I put my pen down however, let me add this:
I lullaby my wanton will;
Let reason's rule now reign my thought;
Since all too late I find by skill.
How dear I have my fancies bought;
For trust to this, if thou be still, My body too easy obeys my will.
