Reproduction of 'THE OYSTER' erotic magazine published in London in 1883 VOL. 1 ch-0r5 for all erotica lovers. Part of the treasure I found in London containing classic, Age-old, Erotic books, Novels, and Magazines probably collected by my Ancestors. They are all timeless and precious. They are a must-read for all erotica lovers.
THE OYSTER- VOLUME 1 CHAPTER 5
Do You ever wonder, dear reader, who you are? Do you ever think ‘that Mr Gladstone or the dear Queen ever wonder about who they think they really are? Or the Pope? Or even the editor of this esteemed journal of quality? Obviously they know who they really are but where, I would like to know, do their minds go to during those lazy daydreaming hours?
So far as I am able to ascertain from the study of science, man is the sole animal with this extraordinary ability to while away the time in daydreaming. Occasionally, when on a journey (for my work sometimes takes me to the provinces) I look around at the silent people in my railway carriage and ponder as to where their meditations are taking them, what private thoughts are coursing through their minds and what ideas are really behind those bland, expressionless faces, what lovers, both imaginary and real, are being wooed, what triumphs and failures are being lived and relived.
We are none of us quite what we appear to be. Running parallel with our physical existence, with our mundane chores and daily habits, is another secret, ghostly character, a private companion forever commenting upon what we see and do, rewriting the manu*********** record of our lives in a manner more satisfying to us.
It is this gap between reality and fantasy, between what is and what might be or might have been which I find truly a source of endless fascination.
Will the fucking of a particular girl be an anticlimax, I wonder? Will reality be but a pale imitation of the adventures of the mind? We accept these dreams with hardly any consideration, never questioning for a moment our right to be able to leave our bodies for a while whenever the mood takes us, but for some reason, as we progress from childhood to adult fife, we become peculiarly embarrassed to admit to this. For the older we become, the less likely we are to admit to the more expansive fantasies, as grown-up, responsible citizens are supposed to have put away this childish habit. This is an impossible task, for surely in all of us there are two beings that ride through life as if on a tandem bicycle, steered by the chap in front but commented upon endlessly by the man in the back seat.
I do not discourage daydreaming for it represents perhaps the only time in life when you can be sure of playing the lead role, and in that sense, dreams are great revellers. In the vivid play that is acted out in the daydream all manner of wrongs are put right, all kinds of witty ripostes are applauded and the most beautiful of women conquered totally and without resistance.
Throughout my life I have daydreamed. As a child my fantasies were glorious, unblocked by considerations of reality, but adults dream, increasingly as the years slip away, about what might have been had their lives taken other turnings.
I must immediately confess to this kind of postmortem, especially over the critical decisions which affect us until our dying days. We are all faced with a series of crossroads that are unique to us and we can continually look back and examine the routes that we chose, for better or for worse, that have brought us to the present time.
By and large this is a fruitless and indeed even a totally futile exercise, but then since when was mere futility the servant of common sense?
What brings these musings to mind? I suppose, reader, that were I to be fully truthful, my brain is taking a much needed respite from the hard labours, of recall. Oh, do not misunderstand me, I have enjoyed penning these sexual exploits, which are all totally verifiable. If any person wishes to see proof furnished, simply write to me care of the Post Office, Sudbury, Suffolk and I will personally reply to all letters. How pleasant it is to recall that free and easy life we enjoyed as schoolboys at the Nottsgrove Academy for the Sons of Gentlefolk, and what wonderful memories I have of that giant amongst mortals, dear old Doctor White, whose wise leadership has since influenced me and all other students to such good effect. What a man! His immense learning and erudition were matched only by his cheery manner and true kindness of heart which was shown to one and all, regardless of their station in life. He was a man who won the respect of both peer and pauper. And it seems that it was but yesterday that I was sitting in his book-lined study, sipping a glass of port and discussing with the old headmaster pertinent questions of social and political affairs which had been brought up in that day’s edition of The Times.
You will see, then, how my mind has been straying far, far away on a merry trip to the lands of yesteryear whilst my body has been locked here in the admittedly splendidly comfortable present: the warm armchair in the library of my fine old friend Sir Lionel T-, himself of course a scholar and artist of great distinction.
So I have skeltered through this brief period of my adolescent life with great joy; which leads me to suggest that if we sometimes feel prisoners of our present circumstances, this may simply be because we are blocking the escape valves of our imagination. If all adults could play the innocent game of make-believe as do our children, we would, I dare suspect, live out our lives in a fuller, more contented fashion.
Let us now return to the main theme of this narrative, and I crave again the indulgence of the reader for my digression.
****
I awoke that next morning quite bleary-eyed and indeed I was so tired that I even forwent my usual morning ritual of shrinking, my stiff prick by a vigorous tossing off. Today, however, I performed my ablutions as if in a trance and what I consumed at breakfast will forever remain a mystery as I have no recollection whatsoever of even sitting down in the dining hall that morning! Luckily, I could enjoy a free period after breakfast, which I spent taking a refreshing sleep in the library until the midmorning break bell shattered my slumbers.
After the interval I joined the rest of my sixth form colleagues in the Art Room where Doctor White was due to give his weekly lecture upon matters of culture. I sat down next to Pelham who whispered to me: ‘I say, old chap, are you quite well? You look rather tired.’
‘I am somewhat sleepy.’ I confessed. ‘I just could not get to sleep last night.’
‘Well, you are not the only one. Look at Paul sitting slumped over his desk. He also looks as pale as a ghost,’ said Pelham.
I was pleased that at this point Doctor White swept in and began his dissertation immediately, thus saving me the problem of explaining to Pelham just why Paul and I were so exhausted at a quarter past eleven in the morning!
‘My subject today is women in the arts,’ rumbled the Doctor. ‘Let us look at the status of women in society, and of the current agitation by many females to be freed from the ties of home and hearth.
‘Of course, both men and women have always needed a great deal of determination to succeed in their various professions. But historically women have needed more determination and more talent merely to keep in the race for the glittering prizes even though both sexes alike suffer from inequalities of brainpower. Let us take art and politics. This latter subject is perhaps so controversial that we will keep discussion of it until next week’s lecture. So let us today look solely at the world of art, a field in which practitioners have often been forced to suffer varying degrees of injustice.
‘Every artist suffers in this way, but for women the injustice has always been greater, which goes much of the way to explain why relatively few women artists have surfaced and why so many have failed, or why so many women have made initial headway against nude prejudices only to sink back later into obscurity.
‘Even an ardent espouser of women’s rights such as my niece Lucy will admit that no significant art movement has ever been started by a woman. But, gentlemen, we must ask ourselves why this is so. And the answer is very simple: historically there has always been a lack of educational facilities for girls and, even when they have matured, there has been a taboo against women at meeting places for artists such as bars, clubs or, heavens alive! a genuine artist’s studio! So there has been no real chance availed to them and the female artist has been left in painful solitude.
‘There are still far too many obstacles in their path and I propose that we at Nottsgrove here and now symbolically show the way forward.’
On this stirring note he strode to the door and motioned into the room a most attractive young girl of about nineteen or twenty years old. She was slightly taller than the average with a mop of bright auburn curls that set off a cheeky little face, the best features of which were a retrousse nose and large grey eyes that sparkled with promise. Her slim, athletic frame was delightfully shown off by a close-fitting dark green costume in the modern style. My tiredness vanished in a trice at the sight of this lovely girl and my eyes gazed longingly at her small but perfectly-formed breasts that jutted out like two firm apples ripe for my mouth…
‘Gentlemen, I would like to introduce Miss Agnes Carter to you. Miss Carter is a close friend of mine and…’ Doctor White looked balefully around the room as some of the fellows tittered at the thought of the headmaster having such a beautiful young female friend. I saw no reason for untoward merriment as Doctor White was certainly no mysogynist. If he was fortunate enough to find such a voluptuous companion, jolly good luck to them both!
‘Good morning, boys!’ said the young minx with a saucy smile. ‘As you heard your headmaster tell you, it is now time for women to be given their fair chance at showing their artistic prowess. Over there you will see that on the raised platform in front of the blackboard I have set up my easel. On the floor be my pencils and brushes. With your help we shall today show the world that it is the picture that matters and that the sex of the artist is immaterial.’
‘I don’t think that sex is ever immaterial!’ whispered Pelham Forbes-Mackenzie and there was another murmur of laughter.
Doctor White stepped forward with a frown on his face and said: ‘Who said that? Was that you, Forbes-Mackenzie? Yes? I thought so. Very well, you have just volunteered to be Miss Carter’s model for this morning’s lesson. As for you others, I want your words of honour that you will each remain absolutely silent for the rest of this lesson which will not end until luncheon at one o’clock. Have I your words, gentlemen?’
We were abashed and readily volunteered our promise to stay silent.
‘Very well,’ grunted our dear old pedagogue. ‘Pelham, come up here on the dais. The rest of you, stay where you are. I must finish some administrative work this morning so I leave you in the very capable hands of Miss Carter. Boys! I rely on you all not to dishonour me, yourselves and the good old school.’ And with that short speech he turned on his heel and left us to the tender mercies of our new young teacher.
‘Your name is Pelharn?’ she enquired. ‘Well, I will call you Pelham and you will call me Agnes. Is that satisfactory? Good. Now, Pelham, please remove your clothes and take up the position of-‘
‘What did you say, Miss Carter?’ interrupted Pelham in astonishment.
‘You may call me Agnes,’ she replied patiently. I said take off your clothes, and then I will show you in what position I should like you to pose before I begin my work.’
We tried hard not to laugh out loud at poor Pelham’s predicament as we had given our sworn word not to break silence and all that could be heard was a muffled, choking laugh from fourteen lusty young throats.
‘Come on, Pelham, don’t be shy. Look, if it makes you feel any easier, I shall take off my jacket so all I shall be wearing is this blouse and skirt. I am kicking off these rather uncomfortable shoes-do not tell Doctor White, boys, as they were a present from him some few weeks ago on my nineteenth birthday. Now, Pelham, please do as I ask,’ pleaded Agnes. Pelham was a ripping sport and he was not that shy, especially since Lucy and I had initiated him into Varte de fare Pamour. So he sat down and removed his shoes and socks, slipped off his jacket and unbuttoned his trousers. He wriggled out of his trousers and under-drawers and stood up, covered just by a flapping white shirt which he pulled off over his head. His thick prick was dangling down but I could see the tip of his foreskin rise just a little and the head of his dome rose up too to give air, so to speak, to the little ‘eye’ in the centre though the dome itself remained capped by the skin of the shaft. He flexed his muscles and I saw that Agnes was very taken with the handsome young specimen who paraded his naked charms in front of her.
‘Yes, that’s fine, Pelham. Stand with your back to the blackboard at a slight angle to the class but facing me full on. Oh, yes, that is absolutely perfect, can you hold that position, please? Are you comfortable? Lay your hands on your thighs-good, now please keep completely still.’
Pelham complied with this gentle request and I must say that I admired his fine, manly torso. His muscular chest and flat, white belly were excellently proportioned, but of course the piece de resistance was his thick rod which dangled down with its ruby-coloured head semi-covered; though it was clear that Nature, as ever, could not bear to be denied and that his massive prick was stiffening perceptibly even though his hands remained firmly in place on his thighs.
This fact had not escaped the attention of Agnes, who licked her lips voraciously but said nothing as that massive tool rose higher and higher, uncapping the red-topped dome and swelling up to a full nine inches, standing smartly to attention against his belly.
‘My goodness, what a truly magnificent body and such a marvellously proportioned cock. It looks so powerful yet sweet enough to eat. May I be permitted to make a closer inspection?’
She moved across the dais and slipped her little hand round the monstrous shaft. Her long fingers, working as though they possessed a will of their own, began to frig the giant cock slowly, rubbing it up to an even greater height.
‘Ah! I really am naughty to do this to you. How silly I am to let myself be excited by this handsome creature and his enormous prick. But oh! oh! I cannot help it! I must! I must!’ she muttered as she drew back the skin, making its red head swell and bound in her hand. Pelham, nothing loath, remained silent as instructed by our mentor, but this did not prevent his massaging the firm little breasts that jutted out so provocatively in front of him. With her free hand Agnes unbuttoned her thin blouse to allow Pelham to pull off the offending garment from her and on this fine July day she wore nothing underneath, which gave all the boys the horn as those bouncy breasts with exquisitely swollen nipples were exposed to our view. Still holding on to the fat lollipop of a prick, she managed to unfasten her skirt and step out of it, and Pelham assisted the completion by pulling down her short cotton drawers. We feasted our gaze upon the delicious little triangle of auburn hair into which Pelham plunged his hand as their bodies crushed together in a fierce embrace. I could see his hand working inside her hairy mound, opening the large cunny lips and inserting first one and then two digits inside the moist vaginal entrance. Agnes groaned with passion. ‘Stop, Pelham, dear, you must stop. I too made a promise to Doctor White which was that I would not let myself be fucked this morning by any boy in this class.’
She sighed as her frigging hand increased the pace of its motion and Pelham’s face was now flushed, yet the stalwart fellow kept his word and not a sound passed his lips even when the sensual rubbing brought him quickly to the inevitable result and he spent copiously, the froth shooting out of his prick all over her hand and sprinkling her mossy mount and belly with spunk. But Pelham was a lively chap and his prick remained firmly upright and the hot, soft head was forcing its way between the love-lips of the naked beauty in his arms.
‘Oh, Pelham,’ she whispered. ‘I must taste that luscious sweetmeat that feels too good merely to hold in my hand.’ She knelt in front of him and slowly nibbled away at the fiery swollen dome and then she opened her mouth and sucked away noisily, massaging her breasts with one hand and plunging her other hand deep inside her own quirn.
Pelham’s legs became as weak as jelly and luckily there was a chair behind him as he sank backwards. Some of the other chaps could no longer contain themselves and I saw Simon Allingham and John Mitchell free their bursting tools from the confines of their trousers and were busy frigging away. Meanwhile, poor Pelham could no longer hold back and his body racked with convulsions as he shot a series of pulsating emissions straight into Agnes’s mouth which was like a suction pump, milking his cock of every last drop of sperm. Still the fiery girl would not release the juicy morsel that lay between her lips and within a trice she had sucked up that thick knob to almost a full erection.
‘Now I am going to explain something to you all,’ she said to the class, who by some superhuman dint of strength had managed to remain true to the vow of silence sworn to Doctor White. ‘I want to be fucked, but precious Pelham has already spunked copiously. His sperm tastes very well, too, with just the right salty tang that I crave. But as he must be somewhat tired I shall adapt the sexual position with the female on top so that he does not have to work so hard. You may wish to watch carefully for future reference if your wife or lady partner wants a fuck but you are too tired to perform as well as you would like to do.’
She motioned to Pelham to lie down on the floor which he did with his noble prick waving like a flagpole and there she sat astride him, pressing down the lips of her aching, cunny to the glowing head. She spread her cunny lips apart and directed the tip of his cock to the entrance and slowly sat down, letting Pelham feel the juices of her warm cunny clasp his raging prick. His hands slid across to her bare bottom and Agnes wriggled around to work the hard shaft of prick inside her as far up within her as possible. Agnes bounced merrily away on Pelham’s iron-hard rod and though my own prick was straining unbearably against the material of my trousers I successfully fought to retain my composure-unlike Allingham and Mitchell who were both jetting creamy spurts of white foam all over their hands and trousers (Elaine would need extra bottles of that famous stain-remover that afternoon!).
‘Notice how well this so-called female superior position works,’ gasped out Agnes. ‘I can certainly advocate it for a change in one’s regular fucking pattern, although I do not recommend it as a steady diet. It is quite exhausting and leaves the girl to do most of the work! Unless she has excellent control of her vaginal muscles, she has to lift herself up and down with her legs in a rather cramped position and this may occasionally-ooh, Pelham, what a superb thick prick you have-this may set up harmonic motions which can spoil the fuck in a most exasperating way.
‘Also, too much fucking in this position gives my cunt walls a hard pounding, especially if the boy is as well made as young thick-pricked Pelham. Oooooh, that’s good. I think this method works best for me especially when I can sit down like this and grind my arse around whilst I work my cunny muscles. This gives my clitty a good rub as well!’
She worked her bottom from side to side as Pelham jerked his hips up and down, and then she caught his rhythm and lifted herself up and down to meet his upward thrusts with downward pushes of her own.
‘You see, boys,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Pelham, harder, harder. Ooooh! Oooooh! A man normally enjoys this kind of fuck immensely for all he has to do is lie back and watch, although dear Pelham here is a considerate sort of chap who wants to give pleasure-oooh!-as well as simply receive it. There are lazy and self-indulgent types who like this method best, but this means that the girl becomes little more than a frigging post. So this is a good, convenient variant but as a regular way of fucking perhaps-ooh! Pelham, I’m coming, I’m coming!’
And as if by magic I saw the first gush of cream spurt out of the top of his sinewy cock as they crashed together in a glorious mutual spend. Now Doctor White had commanded silence but surely a round of applause would not be considered amiss and I began to clap heartily which was immediately taken up by the other boys, even the sticky fingered Allingham and Mitchell, and Agnes and Pelham stood up before us and bowed.
Agnes held up her hand for silence and said: ‘Boys, I hope that you have learned an important lesson which perhaps Doctor White has already given the more advanced of you lusty young men. Making love is a partnership. You may eat and drink alone. You may listen to music in solitude or read a book all by yourself. But for a proper fuck you need two people and to make it perfect there must be no holding back. Know what your partner prefers or what he or she dislikes. And you too must be frank and state what are your own preferences. Is that fully understood? Good. Now, Pelham we must return to the original purpose of this lesson. Stand as we agreed and I will draw your body. Class, you are dismissed. Please leave quietly. I am going to finish my work and then we will dress and leave. There will be no more fucking to look at so you may all rest easy!’
At luncheon I sat next to Pelham and he confirmed that Agnes had told the truth. They had not even embraced until the lesson had ended and they said a fond au revoir. She was leaving Nottsgrove for London that afternoon but was returning after a duty visit to a sick aunt within a week.
‘Jolly good,’ I said. ‘You will have a marvellous fuck when she comes back.’
‘Won’t I just!’ said Pelham. ‘All this exercise has made me ravenous. I’m going for seconds. See you after lunch!’
In fact I would not see Pelham until later in the day, as along with some five other fellows I was due to spend the rest of the afternoon in our music-room. I stopped to have a quick chat with one of the chaps about some later appointment for cricket practice, and then hurried along to the music room, where indeed I was the last man to arrive. However Professor Marchiano had not yet arrived (which was strange, as unlike most Italians he was an extremely punctual person) and I sat down with relief.
‘I say, Allingham,’ said Peter Hodgson, who was captain of cricket. ‘I saw you and Mitchell masturbating during the last lesson, You are two dirty beasts.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Allingharn crisply. ‘You just could not free your chopper before you came!’
‘That’s right!’ said Mitchell robustly. ‘I saw you and Dixon fondling each other’s bulges.’
‘Come on chaps, lay off!’ I cried. ‘Professor Marchiano will be here any moment. Indeed, I cannot think what has detained him as he is usually the first here.’
As I spoke the door opened and to my utter amazement in came Agnes Carter! What on earth was she doing here? As if she had read my thoughts she held up her hand to quell the buzz of noise that had erupted and said: ‘I know I said goodbye before luncheon but regrettably Professor Marchiano is indisposed. He has a severe cold and Doctor White has asked me to take this lesson as my train does not leave until this evening and my cases are already packed.’
‘Welcome again,’ I blurted out. ‘I am sure that this lesson will be just as stimulating.’
‘I hope so. Scott-that is your narne is it not? Very well, gentlemen, I believe that Professor Marchiano was about to deliver a lecture upon the great contemporary composer Bedrich Smetana. Would you please make yourselves comfortable and I will deliver his dissertation from the notes he would have used had he been well enough to be here.’
Life is a strange thing, is it not? A drunkard is forever being offered a glass, and for a fervent fucker like myself it seemed that temptation was again being thrown in my way. Still, I settled myself as comfortably as I could with a familiar swelling beginning in my cock as Agnes began her lecture.
‘Smetana was born in March, 1824, and he enjoyed a calm and happy childhood in the charming little town of Litornsyl in Eastern Bohemia. He began his studies seriously in Prague, but this period was marked by poverty and hardship which was only partially alleviated by giving music lessons to the sons and daughters of noble families. From dance pieces he wrote at this time he proceeded to the responsible and purposeful work of a serious composer. In 1856, to solve his difficult financial problems, he left for the Swedish seaport of Gothenburg where he gave successful concerts and worked as a teacher.
‘He returned home although he visited Sweden several times afterwards. His first opera was well received, but his second opera ‘The Bartered Bride’ won international acclaim, and in 1866 he was appointed Kappelmeister of the Czech Opera, which at least allowed him to eke out a modest subsistence. In the course of the years he created several more operas but his extensive works were curtailed in 1874 when, at the age of fifty, he was suddenly struck by deafness. Nevertheless he continued his music writing despite this tremendous handicap, and soon afterwards composed his symphonic poems which were to be the first parts of his planned six-part cycle ‘My Country.’ Other operas followed of which my favourite is ‘The Kiss,’ and another opera, ‘Viola,’ sadly remained unfinished at his death three years ago. I am convinced that his work will survive his death and that he will be ranked as one of the most memorable composers of the century.’
We were all most disappointed as she droned on-then suddenly I had a most brilliant idea, and I raised my hand.
‘The influence of Smetana upon his country’s culture is certain to be-yes, Scott, why do you wish to interrupt me?’
‘I do apologise, Miss Carter, only it is most devilishly warm in here. As you know, Doctor White does not allow the windows to be opened in case the sound of music or singing disturbs others. But this means that the room becomes uncomfortably warm. May I have your permission to remove my jacket?’
‘Certainly, Scott, please feel free-and this applies to anyone else who wishes to take off a jacket. I myself will take off this cardigan,’ she said.
Of course this was a signal for all six chaps to take off their jackets. I remember the scene as if it were only an hour ago.
There were Allingham, Mitchell, Pearce, Foster-Jeffries, Wilkinson and myself, and I must confess that I was the leader in the sport that quickly followed.
‘I think I would prefer to loosen my tie,’ I said carefully.
‘Oh, very well, anyone who wishes to loosen their cravats, please do so now and perhaps we can return to our study of Smetana,’ said Agnes rather crossly.
We all took off our ties and as I decided that I could not find an excuse for removing any other garment, I simply proceeded to take off my shoes and socks and began to unbuckle my trouser belt.
‘Scott! What on earth do you think you are doing? Stop it, my goodness, stop it immediately, or I shall call for assistance,’ Agnes cried out in horror as I stepped out of my trousers and pulled off my vest, standing before her in my underdrawers with the knob of my prick clearly visible through the front vent. The other chaps realised that here was a lark indeed and quickly they all threw off all their clothes except for their drawers and we stood in a line facing the shocked girl who blushed furiously as Allingham’s large circumcised prick (the poor fellow had suffered from a tight foreskin and had been forced to undergo a painful operation) suddenly stuck out of his white cotton briefs.
‘I think you boys would prefer to fuck rather than to hear me talk about Smetana,’ she said softly. ‘Mind, you are all taking advantage of the fact that I am a new and inexperienced teacher, so I think I will show you that I can give as good as I can take! All right, just let’s all get into the mood!’
She was as good as her word. She immediately unbuttoned her blouse and skirt and pulled down her drawers to expose her gorgeous nude body to our view. Five pricks shot up into the air in salute and she responded by rapidly pulling down all our drawers so that we too were all naked. She first went over to Mitchell who possessed a fleshy, medium-sized chopper and she kissed him violently, exploring his mouth with her tongue and putting his hands on her heaving breasts. Nothing loath, he cupped them, squeezed them and rubbed the nipples up to a fine erection. She traced a delicate pattern on his chest with her long fingers and then she swooped down to grasp his straining cock which she began to frig expertly, stroking the shaft and capping and uncapping the swollen knob which bulged quite alarmingly from her fist. Mitchell was obviously raw at this game so I moved over and began to kiss Agnes’s large erect titties, and then bent my head down to suck them as I inserted a finger into her wet cunny which was already nicely juicy and ready for a good stiff prick.
‘Let me show you how to fuck properly like a gentleman, I said to Mitchell who stepped aside to let me face Agnes. She slid down onto the floor on her back and I sat forward on my knees, and she rubbed my prick to perfection. I moved forward to tease her outer cunt lips with my swollen knob before forcefully plunging it deep inside her sopping pussy as she instinctively opened her legs to receive me. She drew her legs up either side of my body as I began to fuck her slowly with long, powerful strokes. She gyrated wildly beneath me as if her vagina had never held a cock so big before, and what with the sensation of the fucking, her nipples grazing against my chest and the hot sun beating through the closed windows, I was almost fainting away with pleasure. So to maintain our momentum I quickened my stroke as she wrapped her legs across my back so that I could fuck her even more deeply; and then I was fucking her faster and we were kissing and biting each other in a sexual frenzy as the most indescribable pleasure built up in my balls and then in my shaft, which suddenly exploded into a blistering orgasm that attacked every nerve-end in my body as I spurted jet after jet of white spunk inside the delicious slit.
We spent a couple of seconds getting our breath back and then Agnes whispered: ‘Oh, darling, that was marvellous. I came at least twice before you spunked. Now roll off and let someone else have his turn!’
Obediently I disengaged myself and Mitchell got down to join us on the rug. Agnes needed a moment or two to recover so she spent a minute kissing and fondling the handsome boy. I must admit that I was fascinated by the exposed glans of his large circumcised tool and I could see that he too became worked up by pulling her cunt lips apart and watching my sperm trickle down her thighs. He then positioned himself on top of her and slid his prick into her soaking slit, and the mix of Agnes’s own love-juices and my coating of spunk enabled his sinewy weapon to slide in and out extremely easily. Agnes lay blissfully with her legs stretched wide and Mitchell’s huge glistening cock shafting in and out; but then she whispered something that I could not hear and he withdrew his gleaming cock as Agnes rolled over onto her belly and then lifted herself on all fours so as to present her wrinkled little arsehole to Mitchell’s fat prick. He hesitated only a moment before pushing his cock into the tight, puckered little hole and Agnes drew in her breath. ‘Hold on a moment,’ I cautioned him. ‘First wet your prick with spittle, for you surely have no wish to hurt your partner.’
‘He did as I advised and pushed ahead gamely whilst I called upon Wilkinson to kneel down in front of Agnes who immediately grabbed his huge, rock-hard cock in a delirious excitement. My work as master of ceremonies was not yet over and I motioned over Pearce to place himself next to Wilkinson. Agnes took hold of his meaty prick in her other hand and began to rub it up and down. She toyed with both the cocks for a moment and then began to rub them hard as Foster-Jeffries obeyed my murmured instruction to put his finely-formed prick, which was not too large but beautifully proportioned, by Agnes’s mouth. My reading of Agnes’s desires proved to be correct as she opened her mouth and slicked mightily on his lovely cock, a sucking that was accompanied by a delicious squelching noise. I rightly believed her cunt was a little sore from the pounding I had given it, so I took hold of poor Allingham’s tool myself and frigged him to emission as there was no other way that he could be satisfied. Almost at once miniature jets of foam spurted out from her fast-moving hands as Wilkinson and Pearce climaxed in a deluge of spunk which left Agnes’s hands coated with cream. Young Foster-Jeffries came too in torrents of sperm, most of which she was able to swallow. Mitchell was still valiantly fucking her bottom, and how they panted and threshed as he slewed up and down while her bottom cheeks rose and fell. All was soon over and he pumped his spunk into her, draining his cock of the last drop until he withdrew his shrinking member out of her arse.
We all collapsed in an exhausted heap, lying awhile in the sun regaining our strength and composure, as Agnes licked the last drops of spunk from Foster-Jeffries’ prick and with a handkerchief dabbed the dribbles of juice that trickled down her glistening thighs, which were drenched with perspiration.
Soon we all dressed hurriedly, and I made the other chaps promise never to reveal a word as to what had taken place that afternoon.
‘You must all appreciate what a jolly sport Agnes has been and she is going to suck off Allingham before she leaves us tonight as he didn’t have a fuck or suck himself. Now we have all enjoyed ourselves, haven’t we, so we must all protect Agnes’s reputation amongst the more prudish members of society. There are many who would, sub rosa, have thoroughly enjoyed our delightful afternoon but would look askance at Agnes if what we all did ever came to their attention. Gentlemen, I am sure that Doctor White would want us to swear a vow of secrecy.’
They all readily agreed upon their honour as Nottsgrove scholars, when to our horror Doctor White entered the room.
‘Well, boys, how was your lecture on Smetana?’ he boomed out, and I noticed a jolly twinkle in his eye.
‘I’m afraid we didn’t get much further than a brief biographical sketch,’ laughed Agnes, and I looked puzzled. Surely I had not misjudged the situation?
‘They behaved exquisitely,’ she went on. ‘Young Andrew Scott here was everything you said-a born leader who showed every courtesy to me as well as ensuring that as many boys as possible enjoyed my favours.’
‘Excellent,’ said Doctor White, stroking his curly beard. ‘Boys, I think you deserve an explanation. May I present to you not Miss Agnes Carter but Miss Agnes Wilson, currently of the Alhambra Theatre, Holborn. She enjoys fucking young men and I well knew that none of you would mind helping to satisfy her needs. I further took this opportunity to devise my own test of initiative and I must congratulate you, Andrew, for your performance. Forbes-Mackenzie also deserves credit for his sterling work this morning. Agnes, my dear friend, I hope you are satisfied with our labours?’
‘Oh, indeed I am, Doctor. How can I ever thank you? My cunny is rather sore just now but it was well worth the ache to have those iron-hard young rods inside my orifices. To mark this auspicious occasion I have asked my patron, Lord Paddington to donate two hundred guineas for the establishment of a scholarship that will allow boys from poorer homes with the necessary academic qualifications to study here at your wonderful establishment.’
‘How very kind of you,’ replied the good Doctor.
‘Merciful heavens, Doctor White, I do assure you most wholeheartedly that the pleasure was quite a mutual affair. Now I must thank all your wonderful pupils again for a glorious bout of fucking that has afforded me much enjoyment.’
‘Is there no way by which we can repay you?’
‘Oh, I suppose there is perhaps one favour you may do for me. I would be most grateful if Allingham could be excused from his studies this afternoon as I have promised to suck him off-he has never enjoyed the sensation before now and I have no wish to break my promise, particularly to such a strapping young fellow who has such a fine, upstanding prick!’
Doctor White laughed and said: ‘But of course you must not break your word. Allingham, you lucky young pup, you arc excused for the rest of this afternoon. Everyone else, back to your labours im-mediately, please, as we have much work to get through before the end of this, term and I don’t want anyone falling behind. Agnes, my dear, once again, au revoir, and do come back to visit us again as soon as you can.’
I led the chaps in a rousing chorus of ‘For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow’ and we trudged back to the classroom to complete the day’s studies which for us all was a most disappointing anti-climax! Indeed, I can hardly recall what we were studying, but as my mind fetches forth these happy memories from the store of my recollections, I am put in mind of those famous words of the Bard of Avon as so wittily changed by Lord Byron who wrote:
1. During my visit to London for studies where we had an Old Ancestral Home, I stumbled on a family treasure. Apart from other things I also found a hump of books, diaries, and notes in the treasure which contained classic, Age-old, Erotic books, Novels, and Magazines probably collected by my Ancestors. They are all timeless and precious. They are a must-read for all erotica lovers.
2. The Original Authors of most of these Stories/Letters or Articles are long dead or Anonymous.
3. The "Other" Classic Victorian Magazine of Erotica. No one wrote erotica better than the Victorians. Classic celebrations of the senses like Fanny Hill, My Secret Life, and Venus in Furs just flowed from their pens. The most celebrated erotic journal of the Victorian era was the justly famous, The Pearl, whose once banned pages introduced many an erotic masterpiece to the world. The Pearl's fame is rivaled only by that of its successor. For, according to the apparently authoritative and comprehensive Introduction by Antoinette Hillman-Straus, when The Pearl went out of business, a new publication rose to fill the gap, The Oyster. Displaying a totally uninhibited and delightfully erotic style, the Oyster was written anonymously and privately distributed. The Oyster was largely forgotten until an obscure edition was rediscovered in the 1980s, in the wake of the success of revived editions of The Pearl. Like its predecessor, the revive Oyster went on to become a bestseller in our time, a classic work whose style and de***********ions are so frank they still have the power to shock and compel 21st-century readers.
4. Out of the aforesaid collection, presenting 'The Oyster: The Scandalous Victorian Magazine of Erotica Volume 1.'
5. The Oyster was an erotic magazine published in London in 1883 by William Lazenby, a continuation of The Pearl Unlike its predecessor the emphasis was mainly on heterosexual pornography