Tucked away in the delightful Thames Valley, about two hours east of London, lies Abingdon, a sleepy English town which at first glance definitely doesn’t present many opportunities for sex and debauchery. But that is just a first impression”"or at least so it proved to be for me when I spent a college semester there at the age of 19. Along with my good friend Lucy, I was to spend a semester abroad living in a small rural village and attending tutorials in English literature at nearby Oxford University.
On an unusually warm September day we arrived at Heathrow Airport and subsequently boarded a bus at Victoria Station. As we took the two-hour ride through picturesque villages with stone houses built in the 16th century and thatched cottages with glass bottles of milk perched on the doorstep, I felt as though I was experiencing some sort of time warp. I had dreamed of Wuthering Heights and Heathcliff, but this felt more like Alice in Wonderland. Most of our friends who were spending semesters away from home were doing so in chic, cosmopolitan places like Paris or Rome, and here I was taking a nose dive right into medieval England.
We were met at the bus stop by Kate, the woman whose house we would be renting. She was very friendly, with a musical accent typical of southeast England. She led us on foot down the main road, pointing out the post office, the local inns and various shops, and over a very green hill which led to her house. It didn’t disappoint us it had the thatched roof, the milk bottles and even a nearby moat as an added attraction.
After stowing away our bags in the cozy double bedroom that Lucy and I would be sharing for the next three and a half months, we decided to do some exploring. We headed for the historically important Vale of White Horse. This gorgeous valley gets its name from the huge chalk horse carved into the hillside above Uffington. It has the reputation of being Britain’s oldest hillside carving, and has sparked many legends. Some say it was cut into the hill by the Saxon leader Hengist whose name signifies stallion in German , while others claim it is a monument to Alfred the Great, who was most likely born nearby. It is dated around 3000 B.C., and close to it are the Celtic earth ramparts of the Iron Age hill fort, Uffington Castle. Further afield, along the ancient trading route, there is an even older monument, this one from Stone Age times, a burial ground known as Wayland’s Smithy. These lands are all encrusted with legends, and we were beginning to feel as though we were lost in the setting of a Victorian novel, or maybe a Mel Gibson movie”"in which case, where was Mel?
Exploring the city center of Abingdon didn’t take too long, and after about 15 minutes we were having a pint of warm ale in a tavern known as “Ye Olde Fighting Cocks” the name sounded promising, at least , one of the oldest surviving pubs in England. We decided that we could understand why some Americans liken the initial taste of English beer to piss, while the English in turn disparage our ice-cold beer, complaining that it’s too cold to really taste. Along with our pint, Lucy and I shared our first ploughman sandwich, which was basically a huge platter containing a cheddar cheese sandwich, with chips and relish on the side. This was originally the staple food of the ploughman on his lunch break, which explains the name, and it makes a very hearty meal.
As we sipped our warm beer”"which did go down rather smoothly”"we asked each other whether we had done the right thing by coming here to this medieval no-man’s-land, especially considering what we had left behind”" namely, our good old faithful boyfriends. Even though we both felt that sex with them had become as boring and predictable as a commuter ride, it had still been better than nothing.
What could this English countryside we had come all this way to experience firsthand possibly offer? This wasn’t really what we had expected to find. I mean, sure, we were big Jane Austen fans, but could we really hope to find a John Darcy in Abingdon? Taking a quick look around the pub, it seemed that the only Austen-style characters available were 60-year-old grandfatherly types.
We talked about organizing an occasional excursion to London, where there might be more opportunity for adventure. We even thought of resorting to calling our boyfriends to come and visit us”"but no, that would definitely be a last resort. After all, one of our main reasons for getting away was to be on our own, to have a wild swing or two after the dullness of a mutually exclusive relationship.
Things definitely started to look our way, however, when we actually began to attend our classes at Oxford, the academic mecca of Great Britain, which was only 15 minutes away by bus.
We had our first tutorial at St. Edmund’s Hall, one of the most beautiful of Oxford’s 36 colleges. The subject was Shakespeare, and I had never thought that Shakespeare could be so titillating. The reason for this was mostly the tutor, James, who had a brilliant English sense of humor and Hugh Grant looks. His deep blue eyes and tousled black hair kept me mesmerized as he discussed some of the trickiest passages from Othello. As I looked out through the 17th-century stained glass windows, which faced a beautiful courtyard, I could already feel a tingle of excitement rush through my loins. There was life after Abingdon, after all!
I began looking forward eagerly to my tutorials with James. Sometimes he would invite a few of us back to his apartment for tea, and Lucy and I never failed to take part of these excursions. Over delicious scones with cream, we talked about the use of nudity in Shakespeare, and dreamed of the nudity of James. He always came to class wearing brownish corduroy pants and a tweed jacket over a blue shirt, the perfect academician’s uniform. When he was at home, however, he took off his jacket and revealed a wonderful physique under that blue shirt. I kept wishing for everybody to leave so that I could finally be alone with him and help him take off the rest of his clothes.
I finally decided to make the first move and show him that my interest went beyond Shakespeare. In class I always sat in the front seat and looked straight into his eyes. I wore very low-cut blouses that revealed almost everything when I bent down to scribble my notes”"especially when I “forgot” to wear a bra. I made sure I had lots of interesting thoughts to write down, so that James could get a very good look at my erect pink nipples dangling right in front of him. They were just dying to be fondled by his long fingers. I even brought him an apple and placed it on his desk with a coy smile, like the perfect little schoolgirl, whispering, “It’s very juicy”"I hope you like it.”
Finally my chance came. One day, James mentioned to the class that he had some extra tickets to a big rugby match between Oxford and its archenemy, Cambridge. If any of us were interested, he said, we should give him our phone numbers and he would call us with the details. Lucy and I exchanged glances and immediately jumped up to give him our numbers. There was no way we would be missing out on this. Things were definitely starting to look up.
Late that night, as I mulled over Hamlet’s famous soliloquy changing it in my mind to: “To fuck or not to fuck, that is the question . . .” and dreamed about wild sex in the Thames Valley, the phone rang. Lucy seemed to be in a deep sleep, and I quickly picked up the receiver. I thought it might be my mom, who still didn’t have a firm grasp on the time difference between England and America, but I was wrong. The deep, sexy voice on the phone sounded so different from his usual classroom tutorial tone that for a moment I was completely clueless as to who was calling me this late at night. However, I soon realized with delight that it was my hunky tutor when he started telling me that he had been thinking about me, and asking if I would be “terribly put off’ still the English gentleman, after all if he asked me to meet him in the library the next night for a “very private tutorial.” With visions of his hopefully huge British cock filling my mind, I unhesitatingly agreed.
The next evening I told Lucy that I had to do some research in the library, and ran off in what had to be the skimpiest frock I had. We met in the section of the library where only post-graduate students were allowed to check out books, and on this Saturday night, in that dark, secluded part of the ancient building, with its lovely though extremely dusty 17th-century bookcases and stained glass, we were quite alone. This old library was housed in St. John’s College, and had been founded in 1437 by Cistercian scholars.
The place was certainly conducive to a clandestine encounter, but I was disappointed when James, instead of taking me into his arms immediately, asked me to find a certain book to help us in our “research.” He knew what he was doing, however. As it happened, the book he wanted was on a very high shelf, and required a step stool to reach it. Even standing on the stool, I had to stretch up on my tippy toes as I reached up to get it. James, English gentleman or no, did not move to help me, and I soon realized why”"he was looking up my dress, and clearly enjoying the sight. Then his hands reached out to grasp my ankles, moving slowly up along my legs to my thighs and then under my dress, until they were gently rubbing my ass cheeks. His index finger slipped under my thong and commenced a gyrating motion, until I felt as though I was about to come, right there in the Elizabethan section.
When he removed his hand he reached for mine and helped me down, and then, sitting on the stool himself, he pulled me onto his lap and lowered me right onto his hard cock, which he had quickly slipped out of his pants. Straddling him as I faced the worn, dusty shelves of books, I eagerly rode his cock up and down. From far away we could hear the bells chiming from some church tower. The loud rings kept time with our fucking at first, but the wetter I got, the quicker I seemed to slip up and down, until he had to put his arms around me and hold me down so I wouldn’t slip right off. I was that wet with excitement!
As I rode his rod, James decided to give me a history lesson. That’s another reason why it is always a good idea to fuck your tutor”"you can always learn something new that you might not get in class. The chimes, he told me, were coming from the Christ Church, founded in 1525 by Cardinal Wolsey as an ecclesiastical college for the training of cardinals. The upper part of the tower”"which was located in a courtyard called Tom Quad”"was built by Sir Christopher Wren, who began his impressive architectural career in 1663 at the young age of 31. He had a prominent role in rebuilding London after the Great Fire of 1666, and is most famous for his masterpiece, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the building of which was funded by a tax on coal.
The bell inside the tower, called Great Tom, was hung in 1648, when the college had 101 students, which is why it is rung 101 times each night at 9:05, to mark the curfew for students, although the curfew has not been enforced since 1963 . The reason it is rung at five minutes after the hour, James explained, is because night falls five minutes later at Oxford than at Greenwich. And all this had something to do with English precision and the importance of preserving tradition.
I had to wonder how many other willing schoolgirls James had brought here to engage in a little fucking and a little history among the library shelves. But what the hell”"it’s a good idea to open your mind, and if you get to open your legs at the same time, all the better. Three cheers for higher education!
I really didn’t think my English stud would last as long as he did, but as the 101st chime sounded in the distance he was still hard as a rock. I then decided to see if I could teach him a few lessons of my own by finishing him off with my mouth. I dismounted and pulled him into one of the semi-private study cubicles off to one side, so that he could sit on the table with his dick saluting the world, and I could get down on my knees and suck him leisurely to my heart’s content.
The great indescribable pleasure of a giving a royal blowjob to such a great, pink cock in such literary surroundings nearly blew my mind away. I could soon tell from the way his hands were tightening their grip on my hair that he was almost powerless to control the tidal wave of come that was about to erupt from his dick. I opened my mouth wider as I prepared to swallow the large amount of academic semen coming my way, but I almost choked anyway on the sheer quantity of educated sperm this bloke shot down my eager throat.
Completely spent, we made our way back to the library entrance and walked out into the balmy Oxford night. James offered to drive me back to Abingdon, which was really fantastic, as I wasn’t ready to call it a night. Besides, I felt a little guilty about Lucy, and planned to let her in on some of the fun. After all, she deserved some of the perks of the academic life as well. I was just hoping that James was game.
During the 20-minute ride back I casually mentioned to James that Lucy would really like to get to know him better. From the way he took one hand off the wheel and slid it under my dress, his middle finger moving deep into my cunt, I kind of figured he was excited at the prospect of a threesome. That finger kept me warm all the way home. After pulling into my driveway and switching off the engine, he turned toward me. He still had his middle finger deep inside me, while the other digits gently stroked the quivering lips of my pussy. With his other hand he opened up my loosely buttoned shirt and eased my breast out of my bra. “Mmmm, it’s just like a succulent melon,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to it and licked the nipple as though it was a dripping ice cream cone on a hot day.
Now I was the one who was having trouble controlling myself, and was very close to orgasm. But I told myself not to be selfish, and to share the newfound pleasures of the academic life with my friend. I told James that we should finish this up inside and, with the Beatles’ “With a Little Help from My Friends” running through my mind, I led him into the cottage.
Lucy was watching a documentary on bees, which may have been fascinating, but not as fascinating as what was about to happen to her. Her look of surprise at seeing James turned to one of immense pleasure as I took her aside and told her our plans for the night.
After a couple of gin and tonics I asked James if he would like to see our bedroom. We brought our drinks up with us, all of us smiling at the delightful turn of events which had brought us together in this bedroom, tucked away under a thatched roof in sweet old medieval Abingdon.
Lucy and I had been roommates our freshman year, and had often had guys spend the night, sometimes singly, sometimes together. So we had obviously seen each other naked before, and had even enjoyed voyeuristic sex on occasion. But we had held out on having a threesome, perhaps saving it for a rainy day. Well, that rainy day was here, and there was no stopping us now.
These thoughts were running through my head as I watched James take Lucy into his arms and rub his body up against hers, swaying to the music from the radio, which was playing a soft ballad by Chris Rhea. Watching the two of them bump and grind in the dimly lit room was making my pussy ache for a little more of that academic-style loving, but I decided to be generous and let the two of them get it on for awhile.
The gin and tonics had definitely had the desired effect on Lucy, whose clothes quickly came off until she was left bare-bottomed, with only a push-up bra which was pushing her deliciously voluptuous breasts not only up but out, and a pair of high-heeled shoes. She looked extremely erotic, and was acting the part, going down on her knees and pulling down James’s zipper with her teeth, giggling somewhat drunkenly as she did so. James had an incredible hard-on, which popped out of his pants to strain up towards the ceiling. He obviously couldn’t wait to ram it up inside her, but hot as Lucy was, she was going to make him work a little for his pleasure.
She sat down on the very edge of the bed, still wearing her bra and heels, and opened her legs wide. James had enough control left to take off all his clothes. It was the first time I had seen him completely naked, and what a sight it was! He moved toward her then and went to his knees between her legs. After all the speaking I had heard him do in his tutorials, I guess it should have been no surprise that he was a pro at this oral exercise as well. Gripping both her thighs tightly, he started licking Lucy’s pretty pussy as though his life depended on it. It was truly a beautiful vision, Lucy arching her back, spreading her legs even wider, trying to take his tongue deeper inside her as he licked teasingly this way and that.
When she started to scream out for something more, James pulled her off the bed and positioned her on all fours on the carpeted floor. Crouching behind her, he spread her knees wide apart with his hands, till her glistening, squirming pussy was gaping wide for him, virtually begging his bulging cock to fill it up. James teased her for a few moments longer, stroking her luscious rump and giving each cheek a playful whack or two, while reaching around to tweak her nipples with his other hand. Her moans were getting louder and louder as she dug her nails into the legs of the chair she was holding onto.
Finally James decided the time was ripe, and he drove his cock deep inside her wet cunt from behind, lowering his nude torso onto her sweaty back. Their bodies were soon heaving and rocking back and forth as he cupped his hands over her breasts, which had now fallen completely out of her bra. His fingers rubbed over her nipples, pinching and tweaking them as they became larger with each moan she uttered.
When she turned to look at me with her glazed eyes, I took it as an invitation to join them, and I didn’t need much persuasion. I stripped down in a flash and moved toward them. James looked as though he had his hands full for the moment, so I sat down in front of Lucy with my legs wide open. With a moan she lowered her head to my crotch.
With each thrust from behind, Lucy’s tongue plunged forward, licking furiously at my cunt. I was so wet and turned on already that I felt as if I was about to come any minute. But it was James who came first, and his spasming climax provoked an unstoppable pleasure-filled chain reaction of orgasms, which left us all in a naked, sweaty heap on the floor. The room quickly filled up with the sweet smell of come, which lingered for days afterward, and was definitely a boost on those rainy, homesick nights when Lucy and I would discuss the English weather, Elizabethan literature and our sexy, naked tutor. Not necessarily in that order.