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CHAPTER 1


It was the Reverend Mr Rudloe who suggested that I should write an account of my year
with Mrs Smith. He was fucking me in the hayloft at the time. No--I tell a lie. It was
after he had fucked me in the hayloft.

What happened, you see, was this--

The year was 1875; the season, summer. I had arrived in the small country town of Tinley
by train, that morning. On the train I had a little adventure with another gentleman, who
ended up by fucking me from behind as I lay on the seat of a first-class carriage. He had
earlier bitten me most fiercely on the backside, which only goes to show that the mildest
of men can be driven almost insane by passion--but all that is quite another story which I
will record in a later chapter.

As I say, I arrived at Tinley by train. I had only a small suitcase with me, which I
handed to a porter as soon as I alighted. I left the other gentleman--he of the passionate
teeth--to calm himself and adjust his dress. Fortunately he was traveling to a station
further down the line. I say fortunately because when I left him he was still sweating
profusely and was very red in the face. He needed time to compose himself.

I knew that I was to be met at the station by the Reverend Mr Rudloe, and I had been told
by Mrs Smith that he was a young man of about twenty-five, passably handsome, and
dark-haired. But as I looked about I could not see him.

The porter guided me over the footbridge to what proved to be sole entry and exit point
from the small, rural station, and I found at once that the gentleman I was seeking had
positioned himself there to meet me.

He raised his hat in greeting--a straw hat it was, the day being warm--and smiled in
welcome. I was pleased to see that he had good teeth. If there is one thing I do like in a
gentleman it is good teeth.

Mr Rudloe introduced himself to me, and I made myself known to him. It would have, of
course, been far more proper if we had initially been introduced by a third party, but I
had noticed that Mr Smith was quite careless of some of the finer points of etiquette; and
since Mr Rudloe also knew Mrs Smith of old, we thought nothing odd in being left to our
own devices in this respect.

Mr Rudloe and I walked together to the vicarage, he carrying my suitcase. When we
arrived, he showed me to my room, and advised me that lunch would be ready in fifteen
minutes.

After I had tidied myself, I went down the stairs very quietly. I often find that it is
useful to do so, as one is inclined to hear little snippets of conversation which would
not otherwise come one`s way. So it was on this occasion.

`The Vicar`s little fucking-girl has arrived,` I heard one servant say to another. Later,
when I had got used to their voices, I realised that it was Cook talking to the lady who
came in from the village to clean.

Well, I did not much care for being called a `fucking-girl`, though it was true that I
had frequently been fucked (the last occasion being approximately forty-five minutes
earlier), and would be so again. And I was not `little` either, being of quite normal
height and weight for a young woman of nineteen.

However, I could tell from the tone of voice that the comment was not meant unkindly.

`Oh, good,` said another female voice (which actually belonged to the cleaning lady).
`Perhaps now he`ll be able to forget his troubles and cheer up a bit.` And she sounded so
worried and concerned about her dear Vicar that I quite forgave her and her companion for
referring to me in such blunt terms. They were country people, after all.

Mr Rudloe and I enjoyed a pleasant luncheon together, during which no mention was made of
his `troubles`, whatever they might be. He inquired, naturally, about the health of Mr
Smith, and we then moved on to discuss such harmless matters as the warmth of the
weather.

After a suitable pause, to allow our luncheons to settle, we went out for a walk.

I had been told by Mrs Smith that `poor Mr Rudloe`, as she called him, was a most
dedicated man of the church. However, being unmarried, he had no means of regularly
satisfying his natural desires. He therefore found, from time to time, that an urge for
the sight and touch of naked female flesh almost overwhelmed him. On such occasions, he
was apt to dispatch a desperate postcard to Mr Smith, asking her if she happened to have,
staying with her at that particular point in time, a young lady who could oblige.

`He will fuck like a rabbit for two days,` Mrs Smith had advised me. `Possibly three.
Then it will all subside and he will lose interest for a while. Usually about three
months. But he`s a very sweet fellow. Keep him company for a couple of days, Amanda. And
do be nice to him.`

Having now made the acquaintance of the reverend gentleman, and having come to the view
that he was indeed a very sweet fellow, I resolved that I would be as nice as pie.

Much as he would have liked to, Mr Rudloe obviously could not have led me upstairs at the
vicarage. Not with servants in the house. So instead he now led me, as rapidly as he
decently could, towards a barn on a neighboring farm.

I say a barn. It may have been a stable. I regret to say that my knowledge of agriculture
is severely limited. Anyway, it was a wooden building, and the ground floor looked as if
it was used for housing horses, though there were none there at the time.

At one end of the building there were stairs to what I believe is called a hayloft.

`Let us go up here, my dear Miss Mentmore,` said Mr Rudloe. `It is quiet, and private,
and no one will disturb us while we talk of personal matters.`

`By all means,` I agreed.

Upstairs, the floor was covered with a foot or so of hay. Or straw. Or whatever. To tell
the truth it was prickly stuff, whatever it was, and I might have wished for a more
comfortable base on which to rest myself. But needs must, and Mr Rudloe was in a hurry.

He took off his jacket.

`It is a most warm afternoon, Miss Mentmore,` he said. `I do hope you will not be alarmed
if I take off my jacket.`

`Well,` I said, `if you are going to fuck me, Mr Rudloe, I think we had better take off
everything, don`t you? I always find it is much more satisfactory to do so.`

And do you know, the dear fellow actually blushed! Not much, it`s true, but just a
little.

`Well, yes, indeed,` he said with a smile.

I led the way in disrobing, and it was such a warm afternoon, and the air in the barn was
so sultry, that I was very glad to be rid of what I wore.

As I stripped off, Mr Rudloe spread out a blanket over the straw. He had found it hanging
on a peg, and it was none too new or clean, but any sort of covering was, I suspect, to be
preferred to the straw itself.

I had pretty well slipped out of all my things before he had finished preparing the
marital bed so to speak. I did, however, retain my shoes, as I did not fancy walking
barefoot and getting that yellow stuff between my toes. I didn`t fancy getting it in any
other crevice either, but I was obviously going to have to take my chances on that.

When I was stripped I stretched myself luxuriously, rather as a cat does. My arms went
up, my head bent back, and I stood with my legs a little apart.

Mr Rudloe stared at me for a moment. And then he lunged at me--yes, he did, he really
lunged, making me for a second, quite alarmed--and he took me into his arms.

He began to kiss me passionately all over my face and neck, clutching me to him most
tightly and running his hands all up and down my bare back. And as he groped and stroked
and kissed and nibbled and panted, he made urgent grunting and groaning noises.

`Mmmm, yes, mmmh, ah, yes mmm,` he went. And his hands roamed everywhere: down my back,
deep into the crack of my bum, round the front, both bosoms firmly gripped and groped, and
then a gasping ecstatic plunge downwards to feel the full furry heat of my pussy.

Dear, dear me, I thought. Mrs Smith was absolutely right. The reverend gentleman had been
without female company for far too long.

After a moment he broke free and began to pull off his own clothing with a reckless
disregard for the welfare of buttons and the preservation of appropriate creases. In a
moment or two, he had discarded everything and stood about three feet away from me, as
naked as the day he was born.

His cock stood out firm and proud and he made a most pleasing image to the eye. Not that
there was anything very unusual about him--but he was, as Mr Smith had described, a
passably handsome gentleman with a good six inches of tool. He had a black bush, and fine
round balls. Big ones, I was pleased to see. Very possibly a little swollen on account of
the hot weather.

I have noticed that gentlemen`s balls are a pretty good guide as to the temperature on
any given day. On hot, humid afternoons they hang heavy and low. When the winter comes
they seek refuge in the warmth of the body. And if you dip them in the cold, cold
sea--why, then they panic and disappear entirely.

The tip of Mr Rudloe`s knob glistened with a mixture of passion and sweat. It was red and
seemed to bulge with accumulated spunk, and I could see that the first fuck was not going
to last long. Never mind.

I sank to my knees then lay back on the blanket, my arms by my side, my legs still
together. Then, looking at him directly, I licked my lips slowly and allowed my knees to
move apart.

With a choked cry of anguish Mr Rudloe almost fell upon me.

I would have liked, of course, to have allowed some time to enable us to get to know each
other physically. A slow, gentle exploration of each other`s bodies would not have been
out of place. A few whispered intimacies about what we liked and did not like would not
have gone amiss. But, while Mr Rudloe did not disgrace himself, Mrs Smith`s prediction
that he would fuck with some urgency proved to be correct.

I had, it is true, given every indication, both by word and by action, that I would like
him to enter my person, and enter it he did. He lay down between my legs, shuffled a
little to ensure that he was in the right position for the target, and then thrust
forward.

Even though I was ready and willing, he went in with such vigor that I gasped. He took
this for a sign of pleasure and went to work with a will. He thrust in deeper with every
stroke, encircling me with his arms, his head lying beside mine, his panting breaths
hoarse in my ear, his heart beating ever more frantically against my chest.

In--in--in--ever harder and quicker he went. The gathered-up passion of all those months
without the sweetness of a feminine frame to lie on took command of his body. Any chance
he might have had of controlling himself was lost in the first few instants of our
coupling. He was, for the moment, the victim of nature, the prisoner of the reproductive
urge which is found in all animals. He fucked me, his whole frame driving his cock into my
cunt, his balls hot in my groin, our sweat mingling and grinding.

In perhaps a minute it was all over. He gave one huge, monumental heave, pushing me
upward and backward to the top of the pile of hay, and I felt his cock pump in spasms of
joy as the hot sperm flooded into me. He thrust onward, as men do, finishing off the
pleasure of his coming, ensuring that the creamy fluid was splattered as far into me as
possible. And I squeezed him tight with my legs, stroking his back and his bum to speed
the release of his tension.

He lay for a moment, his whole weight upon me, his heart pounding to recover from the
effort of spending with such eagerness. Then he lifted himself slowly on his hands, and,
after the briefest of pauses, slid his cock out of my opening. He groaned and flopped down
on the straw beside me.

`Oh! Oh, Miss Mentmore,` he gasped. `Whatever must you think of me?`

`Well, Mr Rudloe,` I said, lifting myself on one elbow to look at his flushed
countenance, `what I think of you is that you are a promisingly capable lover if only we
can control this schoolboy impetuosity of yours. Anybody would think that sexual
intercourse was going to be banned in two minutes` time.`

`Oh, my dear Miss Mentmore,` panted the embarrassed Vicar, `I am most dreadfully sorry.
It was incredibly selfish of me--I do see that now. But at the time, you see, I just
couldn`t stop myself.`

I relented. `Oh, say no more about it,` I told him, flicking him playfully with a length
of straw. `I managed to give myself a few little thrills while you were thrashing about,
even if I didn`t come quite as hard as you did.`

`Oh, thank goodness for that,` said my companion.

We lay still for a few minutes, each of us needing time to return to a relaxed state.

Now my situation, dear Reader, if I may refresh your memory, was that I had already been
worked on by one man in the morning, on the train. The carriage was first class but the
love-making wasn`t, and I had been left feeling aroused, but with capacity in hand. (Plus
a bite on my bum, which I was hoping the Vicar would not notice.) Now a second gentleman
had shot his load into me, and I was ready for a third helping. And this third round, if I
had anything to do with it, would be longer, slower, and altogether more satisfying from
my point of view.

I decided that Mr Rudloe was fully capable of supplying my needs in due course, provided
I gave him time, so I determined to encourage him to further efforts. When his breathing
returned to the normal rate, and I leaned over and began gently to squeeze his cock.

He started to perk up a little. He opened both eyes and looked at me thoughtfully.

`Tell me, Miss Mentmore,` he said, `is it true that Mrs Smith punishes her young ladies
by birching them on the bare bottom?`

Now, this was a very naughty question indeed. For several reasons.

First, I knew for a certain fact that Mr Rudloe had been acquainted with Mrs Smith for
some years. Second, I was not the first of her pupils to have visited Mr Rudloe. And
third, I could not believe that the other girls had not given him a full and frank account
of Mr Smith`s disciplinary methods.

So what the worthy Vicar meant by his question was this: `My dear Miss Mentmore, I very
much enjoy hearing about pretty girls being stripped naked and beaten, and I would be much
obliged if you would tell me an entertaining story of that kind, with the aim of making my
cock even stiffer the next time, than it was the first.`

And why he couldn`t say so directly I really don`t know. However, I forgave Mr Rudloe for
approaching the subject from an angle, and I answered his question as if I had no idea
what his ulterior motive was.

`Oh yes indeed it is true, Mr Rudloe,` I replied. `Mrs Smith has made quite a reputation
for herself by taking on difficult and intractable girls, whom no one else can control,
and turning them into well-behaved young ladies who can be taken anywhere with no fear
that they will disgrace themselves.`

`Really?` replied the scheming Vicar.

`Yes indeed,` I said. `And of course she could not effect this improvement in conduct and
character if she did not punish any bad behaviour most severely.`

`With the birch?` he inquired.

`Well actually with a cane, nine times out of ten. Though she uses other implements from
time to time.`

I realised that Mr Rudloe had probably heard quite a lot about Mr Smith from other young
ladies, so I decided to tell him about someone else instead.

`As a matter of fact,` I said, `our little academy had a visit a while ago from a sort of
Scottish equivalent of Mr Smith. A Mr MacIntyre. He makes a specialism of giving tuition
to young men who are seeking to get into university.`

`Oh really?` said the Vicar politely. But I could tell from his tone of voice that he
could not possibly have been less interested in the tuition of young men. The manufacture
of pagan statuettes by the natives of New Guinea would evidently have been of greater
concern to him than the education of mere boys.

`Yes,` I continued. `And Mr MacIntyre proved to be a most famous beater of young ladies
himself.`

Ah. Mr Rudloe`s prick gave a little leap of excitement in my hand. What had formerly been
limp and soft, though very pleasant to the touch, began to swell and raise its naughty
head again.

`Oh yes,` I said. `Mr MacIntyre brought with him two young men aged about eighteen. They
came down from Edinburgh on the train, all three of them wearing kilts with absolutely
nothing on underneath--I do think that`s a most barbaric custom--and on the afternoon of
the second day, Mr Smith took away the two lads for a private lecture on how to conduct
oneself at fashionable dinner parties, while Mr MacIntyre took Charlotte and me up to the
punishment room.`

`I say! Whatever had you done?`

`Well, that`s what we wondered, Mr Rudloe, I don`t mind telling you.`

`And who is this Charlotte?`

`Oh, a young lady very much like myself. Eighteen, with quite a buxom figure and freckled
face. Comes from a very well-born family, and was in severe danger of causing it scandal
before Mr Smith took her in hand. And in fact she is Lady Charlotte if we are to be formal
about it. She is not beautiful, but is saucy given the opportunity.`

`I see. And Mr MacIntyre was deputed to teach you the error of your ways, was he?`

`Well, after a fashion. And a very curious fashion it was too.`

Mr Rudloe`s member was now quite pleasingly plump, and I gently rolled the foreskin
upwards with my thumb, noticing with satisfaction the little flicker of his eyelids as I
did so. To return the favor, he reached down between my legs and began to stroke my hairy
pussy.

I then proceeded to give Mr Rudloe a detailed account of my encounter with Mr MacIntyre.
What happened was this: