Anonymous
The Oyster Volume VI
It's the same the whole world over,
It's the poor wot gets the blame,
It's the-rich wot gets the gravy,
Ain't it all a bleedin' shame?
CHAPTER ONE. On The Town
'Never look back for the best is yet to come' is, by and large, a sensible philosophy to which I have adhered since my schooldays. Mind, I doubt if I would be able to continue to live by that maxim if I ever contracted such an unfortunate condition as my poor Uncle Bertram who, since his prick began playing him up last year, needs Aunt Rosina to stick a dildo up his arse in order to stiffen the most important muscle in his body.
However, whatever the future may hold, I shall always be able to look back fondly upon the lascivious memories of my boisterous youth, especially those of such vintage months as the autumn of 1906. It is my ardent wish that readers will find much to amuse and excite them in my candid reminiscences of those occasionally riotous times.
As it happened, that particular season of mists and mellow fruitfulness began in difficult circumstances. My dear father-Sir Radleigh Wellington Scott, Bt, O.B.E.-wanted me to take more than a passing interest in the business affairs of our sizeable country estate in Hampshire and it needed all my powers of persuasion to make him agree that I should first live in London for a spell with my chum, Teddy Carmichael.
'I know what the pair of you have in mind, my lad,' he snorted as he rose from behind his desk and glared at me. 'So let me make it crystal clear that I have no intention of allowing you to join that crowd of idle young fellows who take morning rides down Rotten Row and spend lazy afternoons at their clubs before going out to parties, theatres and what-have-you.'
I was sorely tempted to remark that I was far more interested in the what-have-you than anything else, but wisely I kept my counsel and let my father vent his feelings upon the matter. In any case, I was not totally displeased when Papa informed me that he would agree to my leaving the family home in deepest Surrey for what he termed 'The Fleshpots of the Metropolis' on the understanding that I would take up part-time employment as an editorial consultant at the old-established publishing house of Hartfield and Moser in Bloomsbury.
He growled: 'The company is owned by Lord Neumann, an old friend of your mother's family. Not that Freddie actually does anything except attend the annual directors' meeting, of course, but naturally his word is law. So you'll report to Mr. Geoffrey MacArthur, the managing editor, within a week of your arrival in London or I'll withdraw your allowance.' Nevertheless, I was happy enough to promise my compliance with this condition although as I suspected, Mr. MacArthur was hardly brimming with enthusiasm at this idea. However, we rapidly reached a most satisfactory understanding about my duties, the most important feature of which was that I was not expected to put in a daily appearance at Hartfield and Moser's offices in Bedford Square. But I did agree to keep an appointment with MacArthur's secretary every Thursday morning at eleven o'clock to pick up a bundle of unsolicited manuscripts sent in to the firm by hopeful budding authors.
'Like our fellow publishers, we call it the “slush” pile,' explained Mr. MacArthur. 'Perhaps this is because it usually consists of revoltingly sentimental novels written by genteel maiden ladies living in places like Chichester, Frinton-on-Sea or Tewkesbury.
'Still, as it is just within the bounds of possibility that a new Ouida or George Eliot may be lurking in the dross of the “slush” pile, all these stories have to be read. So I'm giving you this responsible job, Andrew. You might as well take the scripts home to read and the following week you can return those you have ploughed through to my secretary who will then send them back to their authors with a rejection slip.'
'Suppose I do come across anything which actually does have some literary merit?' I asked. He grunted: 'That would be extremely unlikely, but by all means let Miss Caughey know if you do find anything genuinely readable.'
This arrangement suited both of us down to the ground and although by late September I had not found a single decent manuscript to show to him, Mr. MacArthur nevertheless invited me to a slap-up dinner at the Savoy Hotel to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Hartfield and Moser Ltd.
Perhaps it was an over-indulgence when the excellent vintage port was passed round the table, but I didn't wake up until slightly after quarter past eight the following morning. On most days this would have been of little consequence, but today I was due to meet Lord Philip Pelham at half past ten and take a spin out of town in his new motor car with two young ladies from the chorus line of Hold Your Hand Out, Naughty Boy, the latest musical show at the Empire, Leicester Square.
So on the count of three I leaped out of bed to welcome the rays of bright sunshine which were shining through the bedroom curtains. I drew them back before divesting myself of my nightshirt to stand stark naked in front of the window which I opened-only to hear a shocked giggle floating up from our small back garden.
Alas, I had forgotten that at this time young Sally, our daily domestic, might be hanging up the washing. As luck would have it, I looked down at the buxom girl just as she glanced up in my direction with a saucy smile on her face and my best shirt draped over her arm. But the grandstand view of my nude torso did not appear to bother Sally overmuch, even though my cock was standing up stiffly against my tummy (for in these youthful days I invariably woke up with a tremendous hard-on).
Nevertheless, I hastily moved away from the window, although not before my cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment when Sally called out: it's all right, Mister Andrew. Believe me, I've seen more than that on a Saturday night after a good party.'
Oh well, I said to myself as I padded across to my en suite bathroom and switched on the hot water tap, at least this accidental exposure of my prick to feminine eyes would thankfully not lead to such an unpleasant experience as had recently been suffered by my house-mate, Teddy Carmichael.
True, my closest chum had only himself to blame for his misfortune since no one else had suggested that, after a convivial evening at the Jim Jam Club, he should be so foolish as to unbutton his trousers and relieve himself against a lamp-post. Anyhow, the long and short of it was that Teddy was charged with being drunk and indecent. After an uncomfortable night in the cells at Vine Street, he was hauled up at the police court and fined five pounds.
I chuckled as I recalled Teddy's gloomy observation that being a fiver out of pocket was bad enough but that the magistrate who had inflicted this monstrous sentence to the accompaniment of some very offensive remarks was none other than his godfather. This worthy would doubtless be writing to Teddy's parents before poor Teddy could dream up an excuse for his peccadillo.
With a savage scowl on his face, my pal had added: 'To add insult to injury, less than a week later there was an announcement in the Evening News that the old bugger was about to retire from the bench. I happen to know that my beloved godfather has a nice pot of money in the bank as well as a country seat and a thousand acres down in Devon. I'm telling you, Andrew, I wouldn't be surprised if the old swine stuck to some of the fines. Let's face it, five quid here, five quid there-you can see for yourself how it would mount up over a period of time.'
In honour of my forthcoming tryst with Lord Philip Pelham and the two chorus girls, I lathered my face with Roger amp; Gallet Heliotrope Shaving Cream and carefully scraped away the facial hair from my top lip with my new Wilkinson's Safety Razor Even though moustaches are again coming back into fashion, both Teddy Carmichael and myself prefer to keep a clean shaven face. On the other hand, Phil Pelham insists that girls enjoy the feel of his 'tache against the lips of their cunnies when he takes part in his favourite sport of muff-diving.
The bath was now ready and I was about to step into the warm water when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. 'Just a moment,' I shouted out as I slipped on my dressing gown and rushed out of the bathroom to discover who wanted to speak to me. To my astonishment, my unexpected guest turned out to be none other than the pert little maid who had been out in the garden a few minutes ago.
'Hello, Sally, what can I do for you?' I gulped, feeling my cheeks colour up again. She giggled: 'Well, sir, please don't think me too forward but I was so shocked to see you standing at the window in the altogether that I've come over all hot and bothered and wondered if you would let me have a bath in your tub. The hot-water tank's full but it'll need at least two hours to heat up again so I'll need to use your bathwater after you've finished with it.'
I looked at her blankly and Sally patiently repeated her request which in the circumstances I felt unable to refuse. Two charming dimples appeared on either side of the pretty girl's rich red lips when she smiled her thanks and followed me into the bathroom.
'You can sit on my bed and read the magazine on the side table,' I said to her, but the little vixen twinkled: 'Oh, if you like, Mister Andrew, but I think I have a far better idea. My friend Ellen works at Mrs. Shackleton's Salon in Wardour Street and she says her clients really enjoy a Continental-style assisted bath. Let me give you one- Ellen's told me what I have to do and I think we would both enjoy the experience.'
'An assisted bath, eh?' I queried in all innocence. 'But isn't this a service for elderly sufferers from rheumatic complaints who find it too difficult to stand up and sit down by themselves?'
'Oh no, sir, it's nothing like that,' she answered with a broad smile. 'What happens is that I soap you down and sponge off the suds before drying you off with a nice warm towel. Then you lie down and I give you a very special massage.'
'H'm, I must say that all sounds very nice, but why are you unbuttoning your blouse?' I asked her. Sally replied. 'Well, I have to undress, Mister Andrew, or my clothes will get soaking wet.'
She shrugged off her blouse and not surprisingly my cock began to thicken at the sight of the firm swell of her creamy breasts and I could also see the dark outline of her nipples thrusting against the fine white cotton of her chemise.
But this was just a foretaste of what was to come. I drew a sharp intake of breath when Sally unhooked her skirt which fell to the ground. She fleetingly exposed her luscious backside when she turned and lifted the chemise to her hips in order to yank down her knickers which she rolled down to her feet.
The frisky miss swiftly wriggled the flimsy garment off as she turned round again. Not surprisingly I found it quite impossible to avert my eyes from either her heaving breasts or the dark patch of hair I could make out between her exquisitely formed thighs before she lowered her chemise.
'Come on, sir, get into the bath and I can start work,' she said briskly. So I slipped off my dressing gown and stepped into the bath. I was about to kneel down in the tub when to my astonishment Sally took hold of her chemise again, lifting it high over her head before she threw it gracefully behind her. I watched it flutter to the floor as she joined me in the tub, standing in front of me with a sensual smile on her face. Naturally my shaft shot up to its full height, twitching wildly against my tummy as I drank in the thrilling naked charms of Sally's supple young body.
Her bare breasts jiggled delightfully as she rubbed a bar of soap over the honeycombed natural sponge. Her red-berried nipples jutted out proudly towards me as she smoothed the soapy sponge over my torso, dropping the cleansing item into the water after brushing it across the pit of my stomach.
Then she squeezed my stiffie, sliding her fist up and down the rock-hard shaft as she murmured: 'My, aren't you a big boy, Mister Andrew. Your prick must be near enough two inches longer than my boyfriend's and it's much thicker too.'
'Thank you very much,' I said modestly. 'But as I always say to any envious chaps in the dressing room after a game of footer, dimensions don't matter, it's how you use your equipment that counts.'
'That's true enough,' agreed Sally, cupping my balls in her hand and jiggling them up and down in her grasp. 'Still, I must admit that a nice big cock like yours does make me feel very naughty.'
Without further ado she went down on her knees and planted a slurping wet kiss on my knob. Then she washed me all over and, after soaping herself down with the sponge, we rinsed off the water and towelled ourselves dry. We used two of the set of luxuriously soft blanket towels I had purchased from the Army and Navy Stores, an admitted extravagance at 19/2'/4d but I do enjoy wrapping myself up in a large towel after a bath or shower.
When we had finished, I was about to shake a little Johnson's Powder over my body when Sally said hastily: 'No, no, don't do that, Andrew, come into the bedroom with me.'
I had no objection to this request although, quite frankly, I had no choice but to obey her command. For, gripping my erect tool tightly in her hand, Sally pulled me out of the bathroom before instructing me to lie down on my bed. Nothing loath, I lay on my back with my head on the pillow. I discovered instantly why Sally had not wanted me to dust my body with talcum for the feisty vixen now knelt down beside me and began to lick my toes. This was the first time any girl had done this to me and the sensation was truly incredible! Sally worked her way slowly up my legs, twirling her teasing tongue along my thighs until she reached my groin. She glanced upwards and gave me a wide, voluptuous smile as she brought my uncapped ruby helmet to her waiting lips.
I let out a hoarse groan as this ravishing naked creature proceeded to give me a most delightful sucking-off, beginning by tracing hot wet kisses all over my cock and balls, pushing me to the very edge of a spend. Then she swirled her magic tongue around my knob, savouring its firm texture as she sucked me in between her luscious lips, gobbling my shaft from top to base and back again, sending almost unbearable waves of pleasure coursing throughout my entire body. Every time Sally sensed I was on the verge of a cum, she would take my cock out of her mouth for a moment or two to prolong our mutual pleasure which was reaching ever higher peaks of ecstatic delight.
Sally's cheeks bulged as she virtually devoured my cock, sucking my shaft with gusto whilst Iran my hands through her shiny brown hair. All too soon I felt the seed boiling up in my balls (though I would have defied even noted connoisseurs of l'arte de faire l'amour such as Lord Dunn of Stamford Bridge or Sir Robert Bladen to have lasted any longer) and I filled her eager mouth with spurt after spurt of salty spunk which she gulped down with relish, licking her lips as she milked my prick of every last drop of my copious emission.
'Now will you be kind enough to return the compliment, Mister Andrew?' breathed Sally as she swung herself over me and squatted on my face with her hairy quim pressing down upon my face.
'By all means, you dear girl, one good turn deserves another,' I murmured, kissing her pussey before taking her protruding clitty between my lips and sucking on it for all I was worth.
'Oooh, that feels so good,' Sally groaned as I lapped up the jaunty lass's love juice which was dribbling out of her juicy quim. She clamped her thighs around my head and squealed with delight when I began to finger-fuck her sopping slit with my thumb, her lusty moans growing louder and louder until her pussey walls spasmed around my thumb and a spray of spend came shooting out of her cunt as if from the nozzle of a hose.
Then Sally reached back with her hand and raised her eyebrows when she discovered that my sturdy shaft had fully recovered and was again standing as stiff as a poker. 'My word, you are a randy lad, aren't you?' she said with an appreciative little chuckle.
'Well, waste not, want not,' she went on and hauled herself backwards until she was sitting on my thighs and my throbbing tool was pushing against her slick, wet crack. I took her jutting breasts in my hands, lifting the firm globes and marvelling at their lightness whilst I rubbed the pointed tawny nipples between my fingers. Sally lifted herself slightly, taking hold of my straining shaft and pushing herself down upon it, her slippery cunt effortlessly stretching to accommodate its rampant fleshy visitor.
'H-a-r-g-h! H-a-r-g-h! H-a-r-g-h!' gasped my feisty partner as she rocked upon my cock which was buried to the hilt inside her. I soon caught the insatiable girl's rhythm, lifting her up and pulling her down as she threw back her head and hunched her dripping cunney up and down the length of my twitching love truncheon.
Oh, how we both enjoyed this magnificent ride, for my big cock filled Sally's narrow sheath to the full and she squeezed the muscles of her cunt so expertly around my tool that I was swiftly transported to the seventh heaven of delight. We spent simultaneously shortly after she began moving her hips even faster, her delicious cunney gripping and releasing my cock so exquisitely that a gush of frothy white spunk soon shot up into the furthest recesses of her sticky honeypot, flooding her snatch and trickling down in tiny rivulets onto her thighs.
We fell back exhausted onto the bed in a tangled flurry of limbs. Perhaps it was just as well that Sally had several urgent domestic duties to perform before Mrs. Pelgram, our cook-housekeeper, arrived to prepare our meals because, given half a chance, I would rather have waited for my cock to recover from its delicious exercise and fucked Sally once more than been on time for my appointment with Lord Philip Pelham.
However, the opportunity to choose between these alternatives did not arise for after a minute or two Sally swung her shapely legs over the side of the bed and padded into the bathroom to pick up her clothes. I followed her and was greatly tempted to slide my thickening todger between her beautifully rounded bum cheeks when she bent down to pick up her knickers. But I managed to resist this ungentlemanly urge and instead towelled the perspiration from my face as it occurred to me that my flatmate was spending a week in Paris with his Uncle Gerald and that I had the maisonette to myself. So I asked Sally whether she would like to return to the house this evening for a light supper and some further frolics.
'Mister Teddy won't be back from his trip to Paris till tomorrow afternoon and I'll tell Mrs. Pelgram that she can leave after she has prepared a nice cold collation for us,' I said. But she shook her head and replied: 'Not tonight I can't, sir, because my boyfriend promised to take me to the first house at the Tivoli and actually I'm really looking forward to it because Harry Tate's top of the bill and he always makes me laugh.
'But I can be here half an hour earlier tomorrow morning, if that would be convenient,' she said with a wink which caused the cloud of disappointment to disappear from my face. I returned the wink and remarked that this was a splendid idea.
When Sally had finished dressing herself she hurried out to prepare my breakfast and fifteen minutes later when I strolled into the dining room I was greeted by the appetizing aroma of frying bacon. 'Two eggs enough for you, Mister Andrew?' called out Sally. I replied in the affirmative as I poured out a cup of tea from the silver pot which she had placed on a tiny spirit lamp on the sideboard and helped myself to a slice of toast from the rack on the table.
I scanned through the headlines in the Daily Chronicle, then picked up the clutch of letters by my plate and put aside unopened the bills from local tradesmen which would be settled at the end of the month. But I slit open the envelope with an Irish postmark for I rightly surmised that this contained a letter from Lady 'Madcap Molly' Southard, the outrageous daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Hampshire who had told me that she was spending a few weeks with her relations in Killarney. Molly was a close acquaintance of both Teddy and myself, although I hasten to state that neither of us had made love to the extremely pretty girl. In fact, I doubt if any man had ever graced Molly's bed for her sapphic propensities were well-known to all the young blades in London.
Be that as it may, Molly was a great correspondent-as one of her three brothers wittily wrote back to her in Tennysonian parody:
Such newsy letters you send each week
To Mother, Clive and Trevor
At fifteen sheets most ladies end,
But you go on for ever!
Nevertheless, it was always a pleasure to receive one of Molly's multi-page missives and after I had tucked in to my plate of bacon and eggs I poured myself another cup of tea and sat back to peruse Molly's uninhibited letter, which began innocently enough by praising the beauties of the countryside around Killarney. She continued as follows:
I suppose the principal charm of the place lies in its magical variety. There is no monotonous perfection but an ever-changing fascination which every mist that sleeps on its waters, every ray that glances on its mountain tops, every season that clothes its woods in different garb, exhibits under a fresh aspect of loveliness, imbued afresh with a thousand prismatic colours.
My principal companion has been my second cousin Geraldine, a shapely nineteen-year-old blonde girl with whom I had only corresponded and had never actually met before this trip. I fell in love with her from the first, for what a lovely girl she was, with soft honey-blonde hair that shone like gold, large melting eyes of the lightest blue and cheeks tinted with the softest brush of the rose. Within only hours of seeing Gerry (as she preferred to be called) I knew I had to fuck this gorgeous girl or go out of my mind frigging myself every night as I lay in bed thinking of her.
Luckily, I soon discovered that my pretty young cousin and I shared the same sexual propensities. My chance came after a picnic tea one afternoon on my Uncle Clarence's estate. The weather was exceptionally warm and Gerry and I decided to cool ourselves off by bathing in a pool which was hidden from general view by a surrounding clump of beech trees.
'It's far more fun swimming in the nude, don't you think?' I observed as I unbuttoned my dress whilst I watched Gerry pull her chemise over her head to reveal her lithe, supple figure. Her breasts were small but perfectly rounded with large dark red areolae in the middle of which were placed delicious berry-like nipples which I longed to tweak between my fingers.
'Oh yes, I just love the feel of the rays of warm sunshine on my body,' Gerry replied and a wave of desire swept through my entire body when she rolled down her silk knickers to reveal a golden thatch of fluffy pussey hair between her slender thighs.
I quickly finished undressing. Hand in hand we waded into the pool and playfully splashed each other with the cool, clear water. We had not brought any towels so when we came out of the water we spread the tablecloth which we had used for our picnic on a patch of grass and laid ourselves down on it to dry off in the sun. I confess that it took all my willpower to stop myself from throwing my arms around the dear girl there and then.
The opportunity to find out whether she had any similar desires came when I recalled that I had brought a small pot of Professor Pethick's Skin Care cream with me. I reached over for my handbag and brought it out as I said: 'Gerry, we should rub some of this stuff on us to protect ourselves from the sun. If you'll slide over onto your tummy I'll rub some on your back and then perhaps you would do the same for me.'
The sweet girl thanked me as she obediently turned herself over to lie on her front and I smoothed the cream onto the upper parts of her back with my fingertips. Then I looked down at her dimpled peaches of her bum cheeks and said huskily: 'Now I'd better put some on your botty. It's all white and will burn if you're not careful.'
My pussey was already damp when I massaged Gerry's beautiful bottom and my heart began to pound when, without my asking, she moved her legs slightly apart to enable my fingertips to dip between her thighs and lightly graze the edge of her pussey bush. However, I made no attempt to proceed further and gnawing my lower lip in frustration I merely gulped: 'Good girl, now turn over and I'll finish you off.
She swung herself round to lie on her back and I smeared the cream on her breasts, lightly cupping the gorgeous globes as I said with a smile: 'Well, we mustn't let these pretties become red and sore.'
Frankly, I was soon carried away as I began kneading her superb bosoms and finding it impossible to contain myself any longer, I shamelessly let my fingers stray Over her hardening nipples. To my immense relief, Gerry did not push my hand away but sensually wriggled her body and whispered: 'You may kiss them if you like, Molly.'
I needed no further invitation and a tiny whimper escaped from Gerry's lips as my lips fastened on one of her rubbery nipples whilst I rolled the other between the fingers of my right hand. I sucked greedily on the stiffening nipple whilst my hand dropped down until my fingers were entangled in the delicate fluffy hair which lightly covered the swell of her mound. My finger gently probed lower until it lightly grazed the lips of her pussey and now Gerry gasped and pulled me on top of her, seizing my hand in her own as she guided two of my fingers into her sticky wetness.
With mounting excitement I finger-fucked the delicious girl and Gerry had no qualms about making my hand the instrument of her pleasure, rubbing her clitty against it until it protruded beyond her outer cunney lips. I squeezed the fleshy love button between my fingers and she drove me on with increasing urgency as I frigged her faster and faster.
Then I dropped my head downwards, fastening my lips onto Gerry's dripping love funnel as my tongue flicked inside her cunt. I sucked in her tangy love juice whilst she jerked up and down in a frenzy of salacious excitement. I varied the cuntal stimulation by opening her velvety folds and stroking her twitching clitty which sent fresh tremors of ecstasy coursing through her body from the epicentre of pleasure between her legs.
'Have you come, darling?' I enquired, lifting my mouth from her sopping slit when Gerry screamed out her pleasure. Her blissful sigh was answer enough and so I now rolled over on my back, my thighs spread wide and my legs raised as I massaged my own auburn-haired pussey, my left hand moving rapidly over my already swollen clitty and two fingers of my right hand working in and out of my cunt from which trickles of love juice were already dribbling down my thighs.
'Wait for me!' cried Gerry, throwing herself on top of me. Taking my face in her hands, she pressed her lips against mine. We exchanged a fiery open-mouthed kiss, our tongues waggling in each other's mouths until Gerry withdrew to slide her mouth downwards, breaking her journey first to one nipple and then the other before slipping down my trembling belly to my thick brown bush.
'Ahhh, that's so lovely,' I murmured as my delectable cousin carefully moistened my inner thighs and then teased the tip of her tongue along the length of my tingling love slit before gently inserting two of her long fingers between my pouting pussey lips. She brought me off quite beautifully with her thumb and fingers pressed together, stroking, circling and then plunging in and out of my clinging quim. I writhed from side to side in the most delicious agony as Gerry slurped the cuntal juice which was now freely flowing out of my hairy snatch as I shuddered my way to a wonderful orgasm.
'You clever darling, you've made me spend,' I panted as I fought to regain my breath. 'Can you feel my juices running over your face?'
'Oh, I think you can cum again,' she muttered. I fairly screamed with delight as the impudent girl slipped her hand underneath me and frigged my arsehole with the tip of her little finger as she continued to lick and lap inside my dripping honeypot, flicking her tongue around my erect clitty.