The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

Very soon I pumped a stream of creamy spunk down her throat which she swallowed with the same lip-smacking urgency with which she began this lascivious encounter. Gad, what thrilling waves of ecstasy crashed through my body as Maggie milked my cock! As Lizzie Dickerson, the Matron at Albion Academy and my first teacher in l'arte de faire l'amour used to say to me: 'Most females soon discover that sucking a boy's cock is the deepest, most sensitive way in which a girl can acknowledge her lover's masculinity.' Maggie asked me to stay the evening as her guest but I had to decline this kind invitation for I recalled that Julian had promised the nubile chambermaid who was fucked last night by Fletcher the butler, that he and I would both shag her this evening. Nevertheless, I copied Maggie's details into my address book and faithfully promised that I would keep in contact with her as soon as I had settled down in my 'digs' in Oxford. As fate would have it, when I returned to Clayton Towers this evening, I was mortified to learn that it would not be possible to fuck the girl.

Rightly, Julian had given her compassionate leave to travel to the nearby town of Winchcomb after she had received a letter from home saying that her grandfather was very poorly and not expected to last out the week. 'She was most upset that the old boy was about to croak,' explained Julian gloomily. I clicked my teeth and said: 'What a deuced shame! I was looking forward to tonight and comparing this girl's pussey with Harriets. Oh well, what did Robbie Burns say – “the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley”. Still, one shouldn't be selfish and, we still have one of Mrs. Sawyer's delicious dinners to look forward to and then we can concentrate on a real game of snooker,' I said as we settled down in our chairs for a snooze for which I was more than ready after my afternoon's exertions with Maggie Crompton!

PART II. Amorous Appetites

Brasenose College, Oxford, October 3rd, 1901 (Before breakfast) Julian and I arrived here yesterday for the start of the new University year. I shall not see him for at least another fortnight because his course in natural history began this afternoon with a two-week field trip to the Northumbrian coast. I am starting Varsity life in earnest tomorrow, albeit with some trepidation as the first seminar of my course is to be led by none other than the infamous Dr Keith Barnes, the controversial lecturer in political philosophy whose radical ideas as expressed in his book The Progress Of Democracy In England have unleashed storms of protest and calls for his dismissal in the Morning Post. As to more mundane matters, this morning a local carrier brought round from the railway station the trunks containing my clothes and books. Now that I have unpacked the box and put out some of personal possessions, my room feels more homely. Even better, I have already made the acquaintance of a nice chap named Charles Farleigh-Windsor who was educated at Bedinghurst, Albion Academy's fiercest rivals on the sports fields.