The Oyster, Volume IV

1

'All our dildoes are hand-modelled from life,' said the lively little creature who led me into an ante room. She was wearing a loose-fitting smock that was somewhat spattered with evidence of her work at the potter's wheel. Her hair was piled up high on her head but the odd chestnut-tinted wisp had escaped. With a clay-stained hand, she brushed it away from her forehead. I felt a familiar stirring down below as my member began to come to life. 'Madame will be ready to receive you shortly and will take you in hand.' There was a roguish gleam in her eye as she glanced at the telltale bulge of the erection that was now rising uncontrollably inside my trousers. 'I hope you will in turn be ready for her attentions.' She drew a deep breath and I saw the outline of a pair of quite succulent breasts thrusting out against the thin material of her smock. Quickly, mimicking the curtsy of a servant, she drew up the hem of her dress, bowed her head and bent her knee. To my surprise and delight I realised that she was wearing nothing underneath that enveloping garment. For a brief, utterly tantalising instant I saw revealed the dense curls of her pussey hair. 'In summer it becomes far too hot in the pottery workshop for the wearing of more than the minimum of clothing,' she said, responding at once to my unspoken question. 'How many of you are employed here?' I asked. 'There are usually some fifteen young ladies working at the wheels and the benches,' she replied.

'Are there no male potters employed?' I said. 'Two of the senior modellers, and then there is the young lad. An apprentice, but he is presently at home under the care of a doctor,' she answered.

'What is he suffering from?' I asked. 'Exhaustion.'

'The heat?' I asked. 'The fucking,' she replied. 'The what!' I spluttered. 'The fucking. I am sure, Sir, that you are a man of the world and will therefore understand that a dozen or more young ladies have needs that have to be satisfied, even sometimes during the working day.' 'Yours is a somewhat Bohemian attitude,'

I said. 'It is true, Sir, that many of us here do not subscribe unquestioningly to the more repressive morals that society would force upon us.' 'So how will you manage to enjoy yourselves in the unfortunate absence of your apprentice?' I asked carefully, while the thought of so much eager but unsatisfied pussey caused Mr. Pego to protrude ramrod-stiff. For a moment I recalled my recent extraordinary experiences in the studio of the painter uncle of a very good friend of mine. 'I could perhaps offer my services? I am always ready to lend a hand, or in this case, some other part, in the furtherance of the artistic endeavours of our society.' 'A very kind offer, Sir,' she said, 'but Madame would be most put out if you were no longer capable of paying proper attention to her demands when she sees you shortly. Afterwards, perhaps, if you are still so inclined, I would be most happy to accept your advances. I suspect, from the evidence of my eyes, that yours will be a proud addition to our selection. But, in the meantime at least, there is always the stock awaiting collection. Every dildo we produce,' she said proudly, 'is thoroughly tested for fit and for smoothness of finish before delivery to the customer.' As she had been speaking, her hand had unconsciously strayed down and, pulling up her skirt again, she had begun to rub her finger gently along her half-hidden cleft. Then, with a faraway look, she gave a little sigh of enjoyment and slipped first one, then a second finger, inside herself. She shivered. 'Oh, I do beg your pardon, Sir, I had quite forgot myself.' 'I could, er, help,' I stuttered. 'No, Sir, you really must contain yourself,' she said sadly. 'But,' brightening up, 'possibly we might for a moment or two, join hands in a mutual endeavour?' With that, she withdrew her questing fingers, reached out and squeezed my hand. I could feel a tantalising dampness on her as she guided my hand down towards her quim. 'I think I am just about ready to accommodate two fingers along with one of my own. If you were to approach me from behind, we could possibly meet in the middle.' She turned away from me and hitched up her skirt. A mouth-wateringly plump pair of naked buttocks was flaunted in my face as she bent down. 'See,' she said with a giggle, 'I can touch my toes.' As her thighs parted I slid my hand between them, my fingers caressing the luxurious dark jungle of her truly splendid bush. 'Can you find your way?' she giggled again. My exploring finger met hers at the moist portals of her cunney. 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume?' she said, teasingly. Rubbing herself against me, she drew first one and then a second finger inside the entrance to her cave of delights. 'There,' she said. 'Like that.' The tip of one finger touched against a juicy clit. She quivered and then urged me on, using my finger to stimulate herself. I slipped my other hand under her smock and felt my way gradually up the firm flesh of her body until I encountered the soft fullness of her titties. I kissed the back of her neck and clung to her, squeezing the yielding flesh. A nipple rose, engorged, against my palm. Meanwhile her clit also had swelled irresistibly under my touch. She urged me on, sliding back and forth against my now well-lubricated fingers. 'More,' she said. 'More! Faster!'

She began to moan softly. In an instant I plunged my fingers deep into her tunnel of love. 'No,' she said. 'Later. When Madame has completed her business.' I was pressed back to my former position. Now her clit was trapped between my fingers as I squeezed and petted. Her juices were flowing copiously. 'I suppose you had better finish what you have already started,' said a strange voice. I looked up with a startled gasp. Before us stood a small but stout, bombazine-clad woman who bore a striking resemblance to Her Majesty. I froze with embarrassment and alarm. For an awful moment I thought I had been surprised by Queen Victoria herself, by the Grace of God, Defender of the Faith, Empress of India and constitutional monarch of the United Kingdom and her Colonies, with two fingers buried in the cunt of one of her loyal subjects.

'Madame,' gasped my as yet nameless companion, 'this is Mr.

White. He has an appointment for eleven o'clock.' I should perhaps at this point explain to my readers exactly how I came to be present at that time and in that place. The story had started some days before. 'Andrew, you really must come and pay a visit to the dildo manufactory,' said Hannah. I had been unable to reply coherently on the instant since my head was buried between her wide-spread thighs and I was in the act of licking her to a state of ecstasy. 'Oooflll, wufflll, gluppp,' was all I could manage to say. Hannah, as I have explained in an earlier chapter of these memoirs, was the elder of the two daughters of the widow, Mrs. P-, at whose house I had lodgings. She was employed by Messrs Doulton in their art pottery in Lambeth as a painter and an expert in the application of glazes. She was also, on her own account, a student of the erotic decorative arts of the Orient and had a growing reputation in sophisticated circles for her very original urns and vases.

Privately commissioned, these depicted usually in great detail, the more abandoned activities of Antiquity. Readers may remember how she had been banished from the Bristol house of Colonel and Mrs. Moore when surprised trying to recreate, with the help of her friends, a classic Greek frieze. When I had finished my labours between her legs and withdrawn to a more conventional position-one where I could both hear and speak-she explained what she was talking about. It appeared that Hannah, along with a number of her more adventurous fellow artists, had been instrumental in setting up a discreet but now thriving business in the manufacture of dildoes. These were produced both on the potter's wheel and from wood. Many were decorated using the full range of the ceramic artist's or woodcarver's techniques.

'But are such objects in any great demand?' I asked. 'Surely there is a sufficiency of living, breathing male members to satisfy any need?' 'Andrew, you have much yet to learn, Hannah had said.

Although slightly taken aback at the dismissive note in her voice, I had to admit that the construction and use of the dildo was indeed a completely new field of human endeavour to me. 'There are many women,' she had gone on, 'women often of the highest integrity and standing in Society, who have need of such artefacts. Think, Andrew, of the number of married women who cannot count on regular service from their husbands. Many are married to men of business who have to be away from home, often for days on end. There are many Army wives who are separated from their menfolk for months on end. Such is the number and length of the various colonial skirmishes, punitive expeditions and wars these days that many military families see each other but seldom. Whilst of course the lot of the Navy wife is always to be alone for most of her life. 'It happens also,' she went on, 'that all too often, when their men do return, they are, through sickness or the general fatigue of fighting a long campaign, quite unable to resume their marital duties for a considerable while. If you add those women who have been tragically widowed and those who find that their husbands, although present, are sadly inadequate in such matters, you will begin to see, Andrew, that there is indeed a great unsatisfied demand for a discreet but effective substitute for the male member.' 'Is it not interesting,' I said, 'that the very success of the manufacturing interest in this country, itself creates the demand for yet more manufactures. As commerce thrives, demanding more journeyings, more visits to explore and satisfy new markets, so the opportunities increase for such services as you provide. Is this not a fine example of that political economy that we read about so much in the better sort of journal. Are not the workings of our mercantile system, though complex, endowed with a most intellectually satisfying symmetry?' 'Andrew, you are growing wordy again,'

Hannah interrupted, rather brutally I thought. 'What this political economy of yours adds up to is many thousands of women, many thousands of quims, that need a good rogering. So do not pontificate so much but fuck.' At this point, we did indeed fall to fucking but later resumed the discussion. 'Do not think, Andrew, that all these women are content to wait for the return of their lawfully wedded spouses. They are crying out for a handy substitute. 'So you-'

'So we supply them with a great variety of instruments of pleasure with which they can occupy themselves.' 'How do they know of your business?' I asked. 'Word travels fast amongst them.

It is a process that we can help. It happens sometimes that one of our customers will entertain a select number of her women friends in her own home. We willingly supply samples of our art and occasionally, in return for a small fee, a woman will demonstrate to her circle what they are missing.' 'So all those At Homes and embroidery afternoons are but a polite public veneer for quite other activities?'

'Surprisingly often,' Hannah answered. 'Then there are personal introductions. A lady will bring a friend to our premises who is about to be deprived of her husband's attentions for a while.' 'You have some sort of showroom?' I asked, amazed. 'Why, yes. Just like the purveyors of porcelain have always had,' she answered. 'We maintain a substantial stock, all tastefully displayed, from which something suitable can be selected. There are couches in what we call the fitting rooms where they can, so to speak, try one in for size.'

'And their husbands know nothing of this?' I asked. 'In many cases,' she answered. 'But in many cases also, husband and wife will attend together for our additional service where we model a dildo from the husband's own member.' 'This is done by measurement, I suppose,' I said, imagining the strange scene as rules and callipers were employed upon an erect prick. 'If necessary,' she said, 'but in most cases we now take a plaster cast so that an exact likeness can be created.' 'How is that done?' I asked. 'It is a process better demonstrated than described. There are technicalities that are difficult to explain to the outsider. Have you heard of the lost-wax method of moulding?' 'No,' I said. 'This is unknown territory to me.' 'You must come along to the manufactury and I will act as your guide. First I must ask Madame and an appointment must be made.'

'Madame-?' 'Madame Nettleton. She is in charge of the plaster casting.' 'Not Netty Nettleton, the recently retired diva?' I asked. 'She who was the toast of the Opera until her much lamented final season?' 'The same,' said Hannah. 'But Andrew, you must swear to keep secret everything about your visit. Although a thriving business, it is also a very private one. I may add,' she went on, 'that yours is such a splendid fellow when raised up that I feel sure that its sale in replica will represent a popular extension to our range. I can also promise you that on each such sale a small royalty payment will be made.' 'Just as though I were the author of a book!' I exclaimed. 'Imagine! The Andrew Scott Dildo, By Appointment, for Insertion into the Gentry.' But suddenly a thought struck me. 'It will not be a painful process, will it? Whilst I would be more than proud to add to the sum of human happiness by multiplying the likeness of my cock among the ladies of England and indeed those in foreign parts, I am, I must confess, somewhat averse to pain.

Suffering for one's Art has never had any attraction for me.' 'Do not worry, Andrew, Madame Nettleton's technique is not only highly effective but soothing and harmless as well.' Thus it was that an appointment had been made and a little over a week later I had presented myself at the Southwark premises where I now found myself surprised, hand in pussey, by this regal lookalike. At once I realised that this must be Madame herself. 'Ma'am,' I began, 'I am sorry-'

'Mr. White, if you are about to apologise, please don't. By the very nature of our trade, this cannot be a conventional establishment and it is anyway always necessary to put our gentlemen visitors in a proper frame of mind before exposing them to our ministrations. I can honestly say that in this case “We are amused”.' At this I realised that she must be well aware of her uncanny resemblance to the Widow of Windsor and of the effect that this could have, particularly on those surprised in circumstances such as these. 'However, when you are quite finished,' Madame continued, 'I will first of all show you the modelling room and then we will proceed to the substance of your visit.' The interruption having had the effect of stopping our activities in their tracks, I quickly disengaged myself from my delightful companion. As I did so a thought crossed my mind. We had never formally introduced ourselves although she knew who I was.

'I am Andrew Scott,' I said. 'Meg,' she responded. We solemnly, if somewhat stickily shook hands. 'I hope we can resume our acquaintance later,' she went on, 'but for now I must return to my labours at the wheel.' More at ease now, I turned to Madame. She had been sizing me up with a quick, professional glance. 'You appear to be in a nicely upstanding state of readiness,' she said.

'Meg can always be relied upon to manage such matters with great efficiency. A steady hand at the wheel and a warm cunney. Both such essential attributes in our business. But now let me show you around.'

I was led into a largish workshop. A dozen or so young women were seated at their pottery wheels. I looked around in fascination. As they treadled energetically, their wheels spun round and round. I watched as one took a lump of soft clay, slapped it down on to her wheel and centred it between her hands. As she squeezed, a column of pale grey clay rose at the bidding of her fingers. 'Stoneware,' said Madame. 'A much smoother material than earthenware.'

Intrigued, I saw that a veritable plantation of male members was rising up from the clay at one wheel after another. Each cylinder was carefully moulded and pressed into shape with deft, well-practised skills. Each had a burgeoning bulbous head that was rapidly plumped and smoothed into shape. A small cry of distress attracted my attention. One proud beauty had begun to wilt. 'Too much water in the mix,' said Madame. 'Harriet, don't try to revive it. You'd better start all over again.' With a cheese wire, the unfortunate Harriet sliced the collapsed clay from the wheel, then set to work to knead it again into a ball. 'It is most important to ensure that there are no air bubbles in the clay before it is used again,' said Madame. 'Otherwise, however well-shaped, it will probably crack in the firing.' Wetting her hands, Harriet now took the clay and slapped it down again on her wheel. 'Another problem we have,' said Madame, 'is that some of our over-imaginative girls will try to over-extend their handiwork. Too long and thin and it will certainly suffer a premature collapse. Too fat and it will prove too large for comfort except for our more capacious customers. What you are seeing here, of course, is the manufacture of our standard models.' 'They all seem very handsome specimens,' I said. 'On average, they are a fifth over life size. Reality unenhanced is too often a sore disappointment. But then that is true of so many aspects of life, is it not?' With this slightly depressing remark, she took me into a smaller room. 'Let's have a look at you,' she said. As she stood in front of me, I unbuttoned myself. The excitement of my meeting with Meg had died down and so with it had Mr. Pego. A rather crestfallen member flopped into view. 'Don't worry,' said Madame. 'That happens to most of our gentlemen. We'll soon have you back to a proper state of health. 'Hannah,' she called, 'Your friend needs a little attention. Can you deal with him while I prepare the plaster.'

Hannah bustled in. 'Oh, dear, Andrew! That will never do.

Let me see what I can manage.' With that she took my shrunken member in her hand. A gentle squeeze and a gentle stroke and I could feel him begin to stir. 'I am sorry,' I said, 'but the atmosphere is one of such brisk efficiency that I am not sure that I can fully oblige.' 'Andrew,' she said softly, 'just recall what you can do and where you can lodge him in a few minutes time. You are one of my favourite fucks. Just thinking of you inside me makes me feel quite damp and eager. Think also of my sister who has told me in confidence that you have more truly satisfied her than almost anyone that she has met. And Rosie. And Catherine.' As she talked so sweetly to me, a vision of their pusseys floated into my mind. I closed my eyes and a tantalising picture of quim upon quim, of sighs and cries of pleasure quite overwhelmed me. Tentatively I reached down. My hand met hers. A reassuring surge of excitement flooded through me. Mr. Pego extended and thrust forward. 'What exactly are you going to do?' I asked.

'First we will oil you,' said Hannah. 'So that the plaster doesn't stick when we come to remove it. Don't worry, Andrew, we are very experienced at this. No harm will come to you. In fact you will find that it is all rather fun.' Madame came forward with a small jar of ointment. Hannah dipped her fingers in it and then carefully rubbed a sweet smelling unguent along the full length of my prick.

Carefully she spread it over the distended head and then reached between my thighs to smooth more of the mixture over my balls.

'Our secret potion,' she said. 'It is made up specially to our own recipe.' 'Is he ready?' asked Madame. Then she looked at me.

'Splendid,' she murmured to Hannah. 'You are very lucky to have such a fine fellow at your beck and call.' Hannah stroked me, massaging the oil into my now flourishing staff. Her fingers rubbed delicately at its head. 'Oh, Andrew, I have never seen you in such an enticing state. Madame is indeed right in saying that I am very lucky.' Suddenly a surge of pride ran though me. To think that I had the means at my disposal to reduce such connoisseurs of the male member to such wide-eyed admiration. I drew myself up to my full height. 'Now!' said Madame and I was all of a sudden plunged into a container of liquid plaster. 'How does that feel?' asked Hannah.

'Cool, and wet, and rather pleasant,' I answered. 'Stay still for a minute or two and think of my cunt,' said Hannah. 'Think of it taking you in and holding you. Think of it opening eagerly to your entry and of my love juices beginning to mix with yours.'

Eyes still half-closed, I thought hard. Mr. Pego held by the soft plaster, stayed rigid with rising excitement. 'Fucking is about imagination and memory and anticipation,' said Hannah. 'Not just about fucking. That is why you are so good at it.' 'Careful,' said Madame, 'Don't get him too excited. He's beginning to move about a bit. We don't want to spoil the impression he has made.' I took a deep breath and thought of the care and control with which I had first entered Rosie, not wanting to cause her inexperienced pussey any discomfort. I thought of the lessons in self-control that I had had at the hands of Tessa on the Great Western train to Paddington and of the cool Catherine as she impaled herself upon me at the after dinner entertainment we had all enjoyed when the Scottish contingent was in Town. I stayed calm. 'That should be enough,' said Madame. I returned to the present. With a firm hand she pulled me out of the now hardening plaster. I looked down and saw the deep entry and the indentation of my balls captured in the moist material. 'That's all you have to do,' said Hannah. 'The rest is up to us.' 'What happens now?' I asked. 'Let's get you cleaned up,' said Hannah, 'while I explain the process.' Taking a soft towel, she rubbed me down and inspected me carefully. I could still catch the intriguing scent of the ointment she had anointed me with. My prick was still unbendingly rigid. I felt much relieved that I had come through my test with such outstanding success. 'That was all right?' I said with growing confidence. 'That was absolutely splendid,' Hannah said. 'I knew that you had it in you. And soon I hope to have it in me,' she went on with a provocative little giggle. 'When can I see the final result?' I asked. 'Not for some days yet,' she answered. 'First we have to wait till the plaster is completely hardened and then we have to fill the mould with liquid wax. When that is set we break open the cast and we should have an almost perfect replica of your prick. There may have to be a little smoothing and rubbing away of the ridges where the mould was broken open.' 'But a simple wax model of my private parts will not survive any repeated use,' I said. 'Of course not. We then make a second cast. We cover the wax with clay, let it set and then place it in the kiln.'

I winced a little at the idea of my member being thrust into a kiln. 'The wax of course melts in the process and we pour it away,' she went on. 'Then we have the final mould. 'When ever we need a copy or copies, we just fill it with liquid clay after oiling the mould so that the final result can be easily withdrawn. We use a type of Parian clay. You have seen models of nymphs and head-and-shoulders busts in many a drawing room I imagine. Parian ware has been the height of fashion for a good number of years. Most of the major potteries manufacture it. It is a technique that can produce the most detailed and cleanly modelled reproductions time after time.

There is a touchingly modest Parian maiden of a vaguely classical air, made by Minton, in Mother's dressing room. I will show it to you this evening.' 'But what do you then do with these Parian pricks?' I asked. 'They are fired of course,' said Hannah, 'in one of our new gas-fired kilns where we can maintain a very precise control over the temperature. When removed, they are in a state we call “biscuit", and are ready for glazing. The glazes can be coloured or plain.

Painted decoration can be added either before or after glazing. A second firing follows at a much higher temperature, and the finished object is ready for display and use.' I was still feeling curiously uneasy at the idea of my member being shoved into a high-temperature kiln and baked. 'We also from time to time use a salt-glazing process,' Hannah went on unstoppably with the true enthusiasm of an expert. 'It produces an attractive surface texture rather like orange peel. Some of our customers claim that it acts as an additional stimulus when the dildo is in situ.' As she talked, I had been tucked back inside my trousers. We went back into the main room where the girls were bent over their labours. Meg caught my eye and wriggled her bottom provocatively. Two of the other girls spotted her gesture. Knowing glances were directed in my direction.

Paint-covered hands were, as though by accident, rubbed upon smocks so that the contours of hips and titties were suddenly apparent. One member of the workforce was leaning forward and it seemed concentrating so hard on the final modelling of her creation that she had quite failed to notice that the hem of her skirt had ridden up to reveal her well-proportioned thighs. As we passed her, Hannah licked her forefinger and rubbed it lightly against the cleft of her friend's well-rounded buttocks. The object of her passing attentions raised herself slightly from her seat and for an instant the finger slipped enticingly out of sight between her cheeks. Without pausing in her efforts, she settled down again, trapping Hannah. She wriggled, looked back over her shoulder, staring me full in the face, round-eyed and innocent, and smiled so teasingly that Mr. Pego fairly leaped up again in response. 'This must be your friend Andrew,' she said to Hannah. 'The one with the truly enormous instrument.' 'We have few secrets here,' said Hannah to me. 'Polly, here, is only one of several who are anxious to make your acquaintance. But we must move on and complete our tour of the premises.' With that, she withdrew her questing finger, took me by the hand and led me out into a well-furnished show room. 'These,' said Hannah, 'are some examples of our recent work. Commissioned dildoes, The Gift to Leave Behind. That's the slogan that Becky thought up. They're all waiting to be collected.' A wonderful array of finely modelled members met my gaze. Each was nestling on a small, plump velvet cushion with a button in the middle. Some were thrusting boldly upwards, others measured their full length as though resting and awaiting their call to action. Most had been glazed with remarkably true-to-life flesh tints but others had under-or over-glaze, painted decorations, usually blue on white. One was willow pattern printed. 'Part of a matching set,' said Hannah. 'Dildo, ewer, basin, chamber pot and soap dish. A quite original addition to a lady's boudoir.' There were also two or three that had delightfully fanciful decorations: blue spots on white for one, a complicated design of diamonds and hoops, red and yellow on pale blue for another. 'Lord M-'s racing colours,' explained Hannah. 'A difficult commission. It was particularly hard to get the red glaze to fire to the correct shade.'

I recalled that I had seen those selfsame colours before, being carried to victory at a spring meeting at Newmarket. Dr White, my old headmaster, had taken a party of the senior boys for a day at the races. It was of course part of his philosophy of education that his pupils should be introduced to adult pleasures whilst still under his wise and understanding eye, rather than be left to find out about such things after they had left school. 'There is more to life, Andrew, then Latin Irregular Verbs,' I remember him saying. 'Not that a sound grounding in the Classics is unimportant.' That day had indeed been memorable. Not only had I backed two winners, one a promising two-year-old owned by that same Lord M-whose colours now adorned what I assumed was a replica of his thoroughbred prick-surely this must be the only dildo registered with the Jockey Club-but also because I had had the opportunity to mount a lively young filly alongside one of the Newmarket Heath gallops shortly after the last race. 'However,'

Hannah went on, 'now that we have got it just about right we have every hope of further orders, since Lord M-is well known for distributing his favours widely.' 'But what is that?' I asked, pointing to a fine specimen that appeared to have a signature running along its full length. Hannah lifted it from its velvet nest. 'A present,' she said, 'from a foreign gentleman recently in these parts who has had to return to the Continent. He ordered it as a memento of his visit, to be delivered to a Lady of Quality with whom he has spent a most satisfying two weeks. See -' She handed it to me. 'Count Johann Gewirtz,' I said slowly, finding it somewhat difficult to decipher the writing. 'A facsimile of his signature,' said Hannah.

'Look, on the other side-' 'The Gobbling Galician,' I read. 'I have a feeling that I have heard that name before. May I ask who is to be the recipient of this unusual device?' 'No,' said Hannah. 'As I have said, discretion is all if we are to continue to enjoy the trust of our customers. I shouldn't really have shown you in here.'

'I do promise very sincerely, Hannah, that I shall never mention anything of what I have seen here to anyone.' 'If you do,' said Hannah, 'One thing I can promise you is that I will never ever again let you into my confidence or my quim.' 'I solemnly swear, on the Honour of my Old School, that I shall never breathe a word to a soul.'

'I trust you,' said Hannah. 'I would not like to have to deny myself the pleasure of your cock, but just remember that there are other fish in the sea and other pricks in the pool.' At the thought of never again being able to slip my member into her wonderfully welcoming cunney, I made a mental vow to be utterly silent on the matter. 'But now,' she said, 'let us seal our sworn agreement with a quick fuck. I hope that you have recovered from the rigours of the casting couch.' With that, she knelt before me and unbuttoned me. Mr. Pego eagerly leaped out from his hiding place.

Cupping my balls in her hand, without more ado she took the whole length of my staff in her mouth. Her tongue played lightly at the swollen head of my prick as she gently but insistently squeezed my throbbing balls. Her lips sucked hungrily up and down my staff. Then she pulled back. 'You are ready,' she said. 'I can taste the oil still on your prick. Madame has been using the orange-flavoured ointment that we have sent over from France. It is quite my favourite flavour.' 'So this is a regular part of the service,' I asked.

'Of course,' she said. 'It would be most unkind to leave our customers unsatisfied, when they have so kindly donated their likeness to posterity.' 'Now you must taste me. Meg helped anoint me with another citrus flavour.' 'Oranges and lemons?' I said. 'That is for you to find out,' she said, lifting her smock. Although I had by now enjoyed her ever-generous quim many, many times, I was still quite carried away at the prospect that opened up before me. As she lay back on the carpet, I parted her thighs and in an instant was lapping at her cave of delights. My tongue slipped deep inside her, I could feel her clit swell against me as I probed ever further. There was indeed a refreshing tang to her. Lemon combined with her own natural juices. Truly here was a recipe for ecstasy. My lips sucked hungrily at hers, which seemed in turn to suck back. With a soft moan of pleasure, she parted her legs yet further, forcing her splendid bush into my face. 'Andrew,' she said urgently, 'I need to feel you inside me.' I drew back and without pause thrust my prick straight into her. She whimpered, closed her legs a little to hold me tight and began that rapid rippling contraction of her muscles that I knew so well. This was to be no slow, lingering fuck. We were both urgent in our need to spend ourselves. As I thrust into her again and again, she rose to meet me with equal vigour. Great gasps shuddered through our bodies. 'Andrew, Andrew,' she cried out, 'I am coming.

Come with me.' I needed no urging. Already I could feel that first gush of my spending forcing its way along my huge member. One wave followed another as my cum jetted out into her. Her own juices were flowing liberally in response. She seized tight hold of me and we fucked and fucked quite uncontrollably, writhing and twisting on the carpet. All too soon we were both drained. We lay entwined, exhausted, sucking in great gulps of air. Neither could speak so overcome were we. She smiled up at me and puckered up her lips in a little kiss.

Still inside her, I felt her relax. As we shared our fatigue for a few moments longer I saw the flush that had suffused her whole body begin to subside. At that moment there came a soft knocking on the door. 'Who is it?' Hannah said sleepily. 'Meg,' came the whispered reply. 'May I come in?' I looked questioningly at Hannah. 'Hadn't we better make ourselves decent?' 'There is no need,' she said. 'Come in Meg,' she called out. Then to me she said: 'It is not the first time, nor indeed the twentieth, that I have been discovered in this position. Meg is a good friend of mine. I know what it is that she wants.' The door opened and there entered the lovely little creature who had first welcomed me into Madame's salon.

'Meg, this is Andrew. I know that you have already met,' said Hannah. 'Pray, Sir, do not get up,' said our visitor. 'I know that it has been a tiring day.' Remembering the events that had taken place when Meg and I had first met, to be followed so soon by the efforts that had attended the making of my plaster cast, I could not disagree. None the less, good manners dictated that I withdrew from Hannah's still welcoming cunt. As I half rose, Meg looked down at my no longer rigid but still swollen prick. 'You are so lucky, Hannah,' she said. 'Is that not a most magnificent instrument of Mister Andrew's? I had earlier offered my services but of course, until he had been modelled, I could not accept him.' 'Meg,' said Hannah. 'I know from repeated experience that he will be capable of rising to the occasion again in a little while. In the meantime, you and the others are more than welcome to come in and enjoy your after-work sampling of our wares.' 'What is this?' I asked.

'I think you already know, Andrew, that the employees are allowed, indeed encouraged to make use of our finished models before they are made ready for dispatch or collection. Two purposes are served. It is not reasonable to expect the staff to spend all our working hours in the creation of so fine an array of dildoes without our being able to relieve the tensions of the day by experiencing the pleasures of our handiwork. There is also the point that, however dedicated and skilled our efforts, it may be that an imperfection or two slips through. Finally, they must be delivered ready for use. Tell me Andrew, did you not play cricket when at school?' 'Of course,'

I answered, not fully understanding what she meant. 'And were you not taught that a cricket bat must be regularly oiled if you wish it to be kept in tip top condition. Linseed oil, is it not?' 'Why, yes,' I answered, understanding beginning to dawn. 'Well here we use the natural oils that are most appropriate to our product.'

As she explained this, the door opened fully and in trooped all the girls that I had earlier seen engrossed in their labours at the wheel and the painting and woodworking benches. 'Good evening, Sir,' they said brightly, one after another. For a moment embarrassment coursed through me. Hannah was still lying in an abandoned position on the carpet, carelessly revealing all her intimate parts, while I was kneeling before her with my prick hanging loose from my undergarments. However all our visitors behaved as though the sight spread out before them was the most natural thing in the world. Paying me scant attention, they hurried over to the display and one by one began to pick up the samples. There was a sudden outburst of chatter as they fell upon them, inspected them and fondled them. 'Oh please, Polly, let me try that one. I spent many long hours adding the finishing touches to it. Mr. Arbuthnot, is it not?'

'Then I must have that one. As soon as I saw it emerge from the mould I knew that I would have to sample such a tremendous thing.'

'A Member of Parliament, if I recall,' said a third. 'From one of the West Country constituencies.' 'Oooh, Harriet!' exclaimed another. 'The Rural Dean of Cleethorpes. I was amazed to see what a Man of the Cloth could have concealed beneath his clerical garb.'

'But there are three or four identical ones here,' said a slender little redhead. 'A military gentleman, posted abroad to Egypt. I understand that he is to take part in an expedition against the Mahdi in the Southern Sudan. Since he will be risking life and limb, he thought it would be prudent to leave a keepsake behind for his wife,' said Hannah. 'But four keepsakes?' I asked. 'Surely they do not wear out?' 'Well in fact,' said Hannah, 'shortly after he had paid us a visit, both the parlour maid and the cook asked, in all confidence, if they too might have copies.' 'To be followed shortly,' interposed Harriet, 'by the arrival of a message from Lady X-ordering another for herself.' 'He will be leaving a gap in several lives when he embarks for the wars,' I said. 'We were indeed a little surprised,' said Hannah, 'since in our experience, military men do not always live up to their boasts or the expectations of the ladies. They may strut and brag at their clubs and in the mess, but it seems that all too often they cannot match their words with their deeds.' 'We suspect that the tightness of their uniforms may have something to do with the matter,' said yet another of the eager workers. 'Cavalry officers are the most disappointing,' said another. 'I was most surprised, for in my experience, riding greatly stimulates the muscles.' 'That is because you do not ride side saddle as is the custom in this country,' said Hannah. 'Deirdre is from Limerick. It seems that over there women sometimes ride to hounds in a most unladylike fashion.' 'If you had once felt a well-conditioned stallion moving between your thighs,' said Deirdre, 'You would never again settle for the unnatural decorum of the position polite society decrees for the fair sex. There is nothing like a good gallop over rough country, followed by a good fuck while the blood is still flowing.' 'I have found that after a ride, I become quite sore and stiff,' said Harriet. 'That is because you wait too long. You must dismount and remount almost at once. You have no idea how exciting it is to have a vigorous tumble in the hay with a man still hot from his exertions. How I wish, sometimes, that I was back in Ireland.' 'But do you not fuck in bed in your home country?' I asked. 'Don't be so pretentious,' said Hannah.

'We fuck in bed, in the stables, out on the sweet green grass, even sometimes on the stairs,' said Deirdre. 'I have even done it in a fishing boat and whilst riding in a gig. Although there was a certain danger on that occasion.' 'What happened?' I asked. 'The pony bolted,' said Deirdre. 'We were so taken up in our exercise that we did not notice until too late. We went careering through the village street with people jumping frantically out of the way. We completely upset the local carter, totally scandalised the priest and I finally came just as we crashed into a stout blackthorn hedge.'

'You are sure that you are not indulging in that well-known Irish gift for telling tall stories?' I said. 'Look at you, kneeling there with such a solemn face on you, behaving like a Sunday School teacher, accusing me of telling tall tales. And all the time, you with your Thing hanging out like a lamb's tail at shearing time,' said Deirdre in most animated fashion. 'If we are talking of displays,' said another, Polly I believe it was, 'I suggest that Deirdre shows you some evidence of her open-air escapades.' 'That I will,' said Deirdre. She flounced round and whipped up her skirt.

Staring me in the face were a pair of the neatest, most sun-kissed buttocks that I had ever seen. 'Now you know why I am called the nut brown 'maid,' she said. 'Alas, I have been too long in London and the colour is fast fading from my cheeks. But while it lasts it is sign enough of many happy fucks in the open countryside.' 'I am sorry I doubted your word,' I said apologetically. 'Your apology is accepted,' said Deirdre, 'But to make amends fully, I challenge you to a fuck in the Park. Both of us, naked as Nature herself intended.'

'I am not sure that Nature ever intended anyone to be naked in the English climate,' I replied. 'You will not get out of it so easily,' said Deirdre. 'For doubting a lady's word, I consider the penalty is very fair. And believe me, when I get going with you, you'll not notice the weather. Why I remember one time in Killarney, I was fucking with a fine big lad, Michael his name was, and the most terrible storm broke out. But we were too far gone in our coming to notice a thing until I happened to look over his shoulder and there were hail stones, big as pigeon's eggs, fairly bouncing and leaping off his bum. A terrible bombardment, like the Siege of Derry, but he never felt a thing. And another time, dawn was breaking and we were lying, quite exhausted on the dew-soaked lawn in front of the priest's house, when this great cockerel leaped up onto his bum and started crowing its head off, fit to wake the dead. And as it stamped up and down Michael just lifted his head from between my breasts and said “Would you do that again, Deirdre!” Then there was the time with a great gale sweeping in from the Atlantic and didn't it just tear the very clothes from our backs, and us not realising a thing. That was a great wind. Pulled the boots clean off his feet -' 'All right, all right,' I said. 'I believe you. I believe you. An outdoor fuck it shall be. But is not the Park a little too public a place?' 'You must learn to live more daringly,' she said. 'Deirdre, you are perhaps being a trifle unfair,' said Hannah. 'Andrew has come a long way since we first met and has learned to cope with many new experiences.' I was considerably relieved to have someone come to my defence against the wild Deirdre. I remembered some of those recent new experiences. How I had been taken by surprise by Rosie the errant schoolgirl in the camera obscura on Clifton Downs. I recalled the strange encounter under the dinner table and our energetic blindfold games of Pursue the Pussey. But while Hannah and I had been distracted by Deirdre with her tales of Irish life, strange events had begun to unfold across the room. One after another, the girls had begun to embark upon a veritable orgy of dildo sampling. As I looked around, I spotted the relic of the Rural Dean of Cleethorpes being grasped firmly in the hands of a well-endowed beauty. In an instant the Venerable gentleman had been processed forward with clerical deliberation through the porch and up the aisle of her cunney. Now he was moving at ever quickening pace towards the very sanctuary and altar of her desire. Next my eye lit upon Mr.

Arbuthnot slipping rapidly out of sight up Polly's cavern. 'She comes from the Mendips, in Somerset,' said Hannah. 'We call her “The Wookey Hole” when we wish to tease her.' The willow-patterned monster was to-ing and fro-ing with great vigour in the hands of another unknown beauty. The quartet of identical military machines had been shared out between four others who were wheeling them into the firing position with the precision of a well-drilled artillery battery. The member of Parliament, standing unflinchingly for continual erection, was being greeted with cries of popular acclaim from two parties who were taking it in turns to introduce him into their chambers. Meg was plying Count Johann with such vigour that I feared that his signature would soon be rubbed clean away. A chorus of squeals and sighs rose up on all sides.

Pussies of all shades and capacities were spread out before me. Thighs were parted, buttocks heaved. Garments were being discarded and duties shared. As cries of abandoned delight rang out, I was the barely noticed observer of a positive riot of frigging. 'Does this happen every evening?' I asked Hannah. 'More often than not,' she replied. 'Many of those employed here are living with their families and will shortly have to pass evenings of complete tedium, sitting demurely at the dinner table, making polite conversation and then withdrawing dutifully at the meal's end so that the men can settle down to the drinking of port and brandy. It is not easy when one has spent the working day creating, shaping and finishing off the likenesses of the male member, immediately to resume the attitudes of modesty.' 'Nor is it an occupation that can be openly discussed at table,' I said. 'How true,' said Hannah. 'When asked how one has spent the day, it is not advisable to reply “In the modelling of pricks”.' 'How long will this activity continue?' I asked. 'Most of them will be happily satisfied in a short while,' Hannah replied.

'Do you not join in?' I asked. 'Sometimes,' she said. 'But of course my need is not so great as theirs since I know that the real thing is waiting for me when I get home. But I do get involved. For instance, help may be needed.' 'What sort of help?' I asked.

'Look, over there,' she responded. 'See, that is Annette. She gets so overwhelmed in her need that often she can hardly hold on to the instrument of her pleasure.' As I turned to follow her gaze I saw a golden-haired creature who was indeed twisting and bucking with such abandon that her dildo kept slipping from her grasp. Her eyes were wide open, staring into space and her cries, though soft, had an urgency that betokened one who was completely unconscious of anything but the need to bring herself to the point of her coming. Hannah leading, we crawled across to her. Annette's back was arched and her hands clawing at the carpet. The dildo she was using was protruding from her quim, locked into place as she ground her hips and twisted her head from side to side. Suddenly it slipped out and she gave a moan of distress. 'Take her arms and hold her down,' said Hannah.

'Ssshhh,' she said soothingly. 'It's all right, Annette. We're here to help you.' Rapidly she retrieved the missing dildo, brushed some fluff off it and slid it easily back into her friend's desperate cunt.

I was sitting, holding Annette under the arms, her head in my lap.

Hannah was between her legs, sliding the dildo, one of the polka-dotted specimens, in and out, taking care that it rubbed firmly against her clit at every stroke. Annette had surrendered herself to our control, responding hungrily to every thrust. Hannah at first slowed her pace, then increased it. Annette's pussey lips were gaping and flushed. Her cries became more regular in time with the plunging of the instrument. She lifted her legs, bringing them back so that her quim was offered up to Hannah's loving touch. A series of short rapid strokes alternated with slower, deep ones. Now I noticed that Annette's own body was dictating the pace, Hannah responding with only slight movements as the shaft sank out of sight, then reappeared, glistening with her juices. The tension had gone from her arms and shoulders. She was drawing great heaving breaths. All her energy was concentrated on the clasping and unclasping of the muscles of her channel of desire. The outside world had long since ceased to exist for her. There was a change of pace and suddenly I could feel the waves of her coming trembling through all her body. She cried out 'Love, Love, Love' and gave one last heave. 'Annette, Annette,'

Hannah cried out. 'That's it. You've done it. Wonderful, wonderful.'

All the tension drained out of her as though some great tide had been undammed. Her hands reached down to fondle the shaft. Hannah half fell forward, kissing her pussey and navel, taking her into her arms, cradling her now. The weight of the two of them was on me and I found myself cuddling her and Hannah at the same time. We lay entwined until Annette's breathing slowly subsided to normal. She was still barely aware of her surroundings but managed a weak little smile. Then she stirred and half curled up, her eyes closed as though she was going to sleep. She didn't say anything but from time to time she murmured something I couldn't quite catch. I eased myself from under her as I became aware of a sharp stab of cramp. She lay on her side while Hannah and I sat beside her, Hannah holding her hand. 'How long is it since you came like that?' asked Hannah gently. 'Weeks isn't it?

Just lie still for a while. 'Annette has been missing her dearest friend. They are engaged unofficially to be married but he has been sent abroad by his family who do not approve of the match. They have to stay apart for a year on pain of his losing his inheritance. The family own a large estate in Yorkshire and they believe that Arthur, who is their oldest son, has been entrapped by an adventuress. Annette is half Danish and they cannot accept the idea that she might one day be Mistress of much of the land between Thirsk and Northallerton, and that they will have to move out of the big house. 'It is so unfair. Annette is so sweet and so talented. She is determined to stay faithful so this is the only release that she has. I want to invite her to dinner, maybe even for a weekend, so you need to know this Andrew. She must be treated with respect. You will have to keep your prick under control as far as she is concerned.' 'I promise,' I said, 'although she is a most enticing creature.' 'Don't worry too much,' she went on. 'Between Becky and myself, not to mention Rosie, we should be able to keep you well drained of any excess energy.' 'You don't trust me?' I asked. 'Not altogether,' she said. 'I swear that that Thing of yours has a life of its own.'

'Colonel Moore told me in Bristol that the holy men out East are adept at practising complete self-control, often for years on end.'

'All you'll have to manage is a couple of days, and then only as far as Annette is concerned.' 'As long as I don't have to sit on a bed of nails in some complicated position.' 'Not during dinner anyway,' said Hannah. 'It would be most distracting for the rest of us.' By now all the frenzied activity across the room had died down. The sighs and groans had been replaced with the normal hum of conversation as smocks were removed and day dresses fetched from a cloakroom. The furniture was being restored to its correct position and everyone prepared to go home. Shortly Madame Nettleton entered. 'Time to finish,' she said. 'Be sure that all the stock is replaced and all made neat.' 'She counts the dildoes every evening before she goes home,' whispered Hannah. 'There was something of a scandal two months ago when it was discovered that the Marquis of H-was missing. He had, by mischance, drooped slightly while rising on the wheel and his glaze had cracked in the oven. One of the staff had made the discovery that the resulting object was especially suitable for stimulating her rather blase clit and had taken him home. He was due to be collected two days later and a great fuss ensued. We could hardly call in the police so we had to undertake the interrogation ourselves. The culprit was soon discovered and the Marquis' facsimile was returned safe and sound. Unfortunately we had not noticed that he had sustained a crack in the course of his adventures.' 'What happened?' I asked. 'He fractured while in use,' Hannah replied.

'And was brought back in two parts by a most irate wife who threatened to spread the word that our wares were unsafe. In the meantime the Marquis had left the country to take part in some delicate diplomatic negotiations with one of the Rhineland Principalities.' 'What did you do?' I asked. 'Being unable to replace his likeness with another, we had to ask the Marchioness to take her pick of one of a series that had been commissioned by the widow of a Man of Business from one of the cotton towns of Lancashire. The Marchioness selected a huge example, moulded if I recall aright from one of the mill hands.'

'And she was satisfied?' I asked. 'Very much so. She admitted later that she had actually been thoroughly satisfied for the first time in her life and asked if we could disclose the name of the originator of the truly enormous engine of pleasure. It was then discovered that the man had recently emigrated to the United States of America.' 'How sad for her,' I said. 'In fact all ended well,' said Hannah. 'A substantial sum was telegraphed to Boston and the man returned First Class on the next Cunard sailing. He was met at the dockside by the Marchioness' carriage and delivered safe, sound and in full vigour to the family seat where he is proving a great success in his new position.' 'A happy ending, indeed,' I said.

'And your reputation as purveyors of high quality goods is intact.'

'But it was touch and go,' said Hannah. 'In matters of commerce one has to be so careful.' 'And in fucking,' I added. 'And in fucking,' she agreed. 'But now it is time to go home. I hope that you have enjoyed your day.' 'Very much so,' I replied. 'There is one piece of unfinished business, though,' said Hannah. 'What is that?' I asked. 'Meg,' Hannah replied. 'You did not fuck Meg. I do not like to have my friends disappointed.' 'What should I do about it?' I asked. 'There is no time now. Everyone is going home and I know that your mother wanted dinner to be prompt tonight since Colonel Moore is in town again and is coming to dine with us.'

'You will have to come back later in the week.' 'Should I make an appointment?' I asked. 'No,' said Hannah. 'I know Meg well enough to be sure that she will be very happy to be fucked at any time. Indeed, if you do not return within the next two or three days, she will begin to pester me to bring you back. One word of advice, she particularly loves to be entered from behind. Be careful though that she does not take you into her mouth when she is well aroused.'

'Why not?' I asked. 'She bites. She does not intend any harm but she can get so carried away that what she intends as a slight nip can turn out to be more of an all-out crunch.' 'Oooh!' I flinched at the idea of sustaining such an injury. 'There have been a couple of unfortunate incidents, one taking place on the premises, where a doctor has had to be called out. So stick to her quim. It is an enticingly juicy receptacle and I can promise you a thoroughly enjoyable experience.' 'You speak from experience?' I asked.

She said nothing, but by way of an answer, stuck out her tongue to its full extent, letting my imagination run riot.