Robert Cummings, a prospective student

It was late in the afternoon when Robert and his father entered the Lake District, having driven there from their home in Cardiff.

Coming from a home with a strong academic tradition, his father was a professor of history at the Cardiff University while his mother was an author, Robert had adapted his parents' views on education and knowledge at an early age, first attempting to read Herodotus "The Histories" at age nine. As a result, he had become a bit bookish, and he and his friends could hardly be labelled as being the cool kids.

Having turned eighteen just three days earlier, on the 25th of July, Robert had experienced the closest thing to a proper sexual encounter that he had ever had at the party that his mates had thrown for him, by getting to finger Sally Jones. Of course, that wasn't much to brag about, since Sally was popular not on account of her looks or her personality, but simply because she was easy. It was, to Robert's mind, a rather sad reason for being popular.

Now, Robert was going to an interview with the school that his father had attended in the last stretch of his adolescence. It was undoubtedly a good school, since his father had gone on to study history at Oxford, and he seemed to hold fond memories of it, although he rarely spoke about it and would content himself with sporting a warm, somewhat dreamlike smile whenever his time there happened to be mentioned in their home.

Robert had held some dim expectations of the interview taking place either in a city office or at the school itself, not at the mansion in front of which his father now parked the car. No sign had declared that the one-lane road that they had been travelling up for the last few minutes was leading to a school, and the mansion consisted of little more than the main building itself and a small stable-building placed a good distance to the right of the main building, so this could hardly be the school.

Telling him little about what to expect and brushing aside whatever questions that he might have, Robert's father had simply told him to pack a bag and prepare to spend a few days away from home.

By the time that Robert had managed to produce his sports-bag from the car's trunk, a male figure had appeared through the mansion's doors.

The man walking across the wide, bombastic steps leading down from the main entry to the driveway looked to be the size of a smaller barn, with a wrinkled, craggy face dominated by a nose which looked as if it had been punched flat, and the man's flowing locks of blonde hair and curly beard strengthened the impression that he might have come straight from the Middle Ages. His narrow eyes were however graced with an intelligent sheen.

Robert's father and the stranger greeted each other by first shaking hands and then embracing and patting each other's backs under cheerful exclamations.

Then the man stretched out one massive hand for Robert to shake, while his father informed him that the semi-giant was one "David Campbell", who was "an old friend" and "a teacher at the school".

Before long and after a short but reassuring talk with his son, Robert's father drove of down the narrow road again, leaving his son on his own in this strange location. Nervous about what was going, despite his father's repeated assurances that everything would be fine, Robert asked Mr. Campbell if he was the one who would carry out the interview.

"Oh no!" Mr. Campbell apparently found Robert's question hilarious, because he laughed so hard that his massive frame shook quite visibly as he led Robert into the mansion's lofty hall and up the t-shaped set of wide marble staircases that led to the second floor.

Saying little since he had no idea of what to say or ask, Robert was led down a spacey corridor lined with old paintings, large mirrors and the odd set of armour.

"Alright," Mr. Campbell spoke as he led Robert through a door, "this'll be your room." Patting Robert's right shoulder, and nearly knocking the young man over in the process, Mr. Campbell then began walking down the corridor again, leaving Robert all on his own.

The room in which Robert was now standing, unsure of what to do and still in the dark on who even owned the mansion, was decorated in a style which could best be described as somewhat similar to but far more tasteful than art deco, with a set of chairs and a large couch and a king-sized bed lurking in the background.

Curious to get a look at the area at the back of the mansion while waiting for the interviewer to turn up, Robert dropped his bag on the bed and stepped out through the glassdoors onto the room's iron-railed balcony.

Below him, Robert could see an outdoor swimming pool with a patio surrounding it. At the far end of the pool, there was a circular, open cabana which looked as though it served as a bar. Sitting in front of the rounded outdoor bar was a woman, her shins dangling in the clear water of the rectangular pool. The woman's hair consisted of thick, lustrous tresses of honey blonde. Due to the distance to where the woman was seated being just in excess of one-hundred feet, Robert found it impossible to make out the features of the woman's face, but he could determine that she had the single most impressive pair of boobs that he had ever seen; two massively sized and impossibly firm orbs of luscious titflesh which seemed to stay up perfectly, without any hints whatsoever of any sagging, in spite of there being nothing to support them.

Of course, Robert was only too aware of the fact that the blonde was moving her body slowly and delicately, no doubt doing so as a response to what the brunette woman standing in the pool was doing with her mouth, which was lodged between the blonde's thighs. Since the brunette was facing away from him, Robert couldn't get as good a look at her as he had of her blonde friend, but he nonetheless managed to determine that she had a fabulous ass, and tits which looked about as big as the blonde's, judging from the way in which they spilled over her sides as she stood leaning forwards in the pool.

He also noticed that neither of the women was wearing any clothing, unless the sunglasses that the blonde had on would count as a garment.

In the time that it had taken Robert to get a first look at his new accommodations and get out onto the balcony, Mr. Campbell had apparently managed to get downstairs and out onto the patio, because he was now walking across the latter, steering towards the two buck-naked vixens while simultaneously pulling his black t-shirt over his head to reveal his barrel-like chest and massively thick arms.

Kicking off his sandals with such **** that they went flying all over the lush, neatly fixed garden that surrounded the patio, Mr. Campbell then set to work removing his worn jeans.

Noticing Robert standing up on the balcony, Mr. Campbell seemed to lunge the right side of his body forwards while waving his left arm in the air as a greeting to the young man, who sheepishly and weakly responded with a discrete waving motion of his right hand.

Now, the door to the room swung open, and Robert turned to find himself looking at a thoroughly awe-inspiring example of womanhood.

The salacious blonde that now stood in the doorway was clad in a black business suit, although the skirt was much shorter than what Robert would have thought to be normal, barely providing cover for her crotch and would have left most of her firm, muscular thighs uncovered if not for the sheer black stockings which she was wearing. Also, Robert would have guessed that a blouse would usually be worn under the suit jacket, rather than the dark green halter top that this woman was wearing, cut-off as it was to leave her hard midriff exposed and with the words "Fuck Me!" printed onto it in bold pink letters. The hot gaze which she sent him was nearly enough to make Robert loose his bearings and go tumbling down from the balcony, but he managed to remain upright through clasping hold of the railing.

As she sauntered into the room with a look of serene calm of her surreally gorgeous face, the boldly shaped heels of her black shoes left muted clacks behind them as they smacked against the carpeted floor.

"Mr. Cummings?" The woman's voice was every bit as cool and dipped in sexiness as she was, "I'm Laura Hart, and I'm here to find out if you've got what it takes to join our school."

Still out on the balcony, Robert could do little but stammer out a "Right," and move his right arm near his leg in a twitching manner.

"Now, if you're done ogling the other girls, would you please come inside?" Miss Hart went on, noting with an amused smirk the size of the bulge at the front of Robert's trousers.

Again, Robert's response was a weak "Right," as he stumbled inside from the balcony.

Before long, Robert had allowed himself to be guided by Miss Hart to the large sofa, the soft padding of which he could now feel himself slowly sinking down into, while Miss Hart seated herself in a nearby cushioned chair.

Still dazed by what he had suddenly found himself dipped into, Robert soon however became more comfortable as the conversation that he carried out with Miss Hart became similar to the standard one which he had had with student councillors on numerous occasions.

It was when Miss Hart asked "So Robert, have you ever had sex?" that the calm which Robert had managed to muster was shot to pieces.

[Contains writer's Notes]