The Oxford and County Secretarial College, to give it the full name that nobody ever used, was always known as the Ox and Cow and it provided generations of Oxford men with easy pokes. In theory it was all about turning home counties gels into secretaries, but in practise it was a glorified marriage agency for the terminally thick. As a student in the early 1980s I did my bit to ensure that any Oxford Cowgirl who came within reach of my paws was given a thorough training in the horizontal arts - not that many of them needed all that much training since they could perform tricks that a Liverpool whore would blush at, but I am sure that you take my point.
Charlotte was one such cowgirl. Just eighteen years old when I knew her, she had long brown hair that fell in delicious waves to the middle of her back, breasts that were eye-poppers and one A-level in English. That latter achievement was the reason why her father agreed to pay the Ox & Cow's ludicrously high fees because in those days nobody ever thought that the likes of Charlotte even needed to go into higher education so off they went to become secretaries and husband hunt an executive.
You are not really interested in knowing how we met are you? I thought not - as you can tell I am starting to get to know you - so I will just tell you that it was at a party and the next day we met up for afternoon tea in Browns, of course, and one thing led to another and we ended up in the Bird and Baby in the early evening.
Charlotte kept going on about the Pre-Raphaelites, and at first I just assumed that she had done a half hour art appreciation course at the Ox & Cow, but then I realised that the little darling had dropped a serious clanger as far as I was concerned. She thought that I was a student at the John Ruskin School of Art, whereas in fact I was a member of Ruskin College.
Obviously I didn't want to overtax her poor little mind by trying to explain why Oxford has two colleges named after the same fellow, besides I was more interested in getting her knickers down. That I duly did once I had got her back to my room in college with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of squealing. Charlotte's dress soon followed her frillies as did her matching bra - in case you are wondering the set was cream with light blue polka dots, what a good memory I have that I can remember these things after so many years.
Having completed the preliminaries I grabbed a good handful of bouncer and proceeded on my merry way down below. The moment my tongue had parted her labia the little darling let out a yell that I was sure had woken the dead or at least the members of my college which probably amounted to the same thing. Not being a man easily put off his stride I turned my head to the right so that my lips ran parallel with hers, as it were, and then I just let my tongue enter her body before moving it up and down in a side to side motion. I will never forget that she bucked like a bronco and grabbed my hair as if she wanted to prevent me from leaving her pussy lips - as if I wanted to.
Eventually I moved back up above and Charlotte took the opportunity to grab hold of my cock and began to give it a vigorous pulling.
"Careful you don't fire it by accident," I told her.
"What do you mean? I told you that these girls were not very bright, didn't I? Anyway I explained it all to her and she began to giggle.
"Gosh - me doing that with my hand. Sounds wonderful!"
Clearly the only way to shut Charlotte up was to fuck her, or so I thought, so I climbed into the saddle and began to ride my chosen filly.
No comments:
Post a Comment