The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

Yes, I thought you might, it was a pretty strange thing to say. Well, Harriet's the reason for that request, because she is such a devilishly horny girl and I don't mind admitting I simply can't satisfy her just by myself. I'm not ashamed to admit this because it isn't as if she doesn't spend every time we fuck. 'To be honest, I simply cannot keep up with her any more, Henry. Four times on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday plus at least five fucks last Saturday night is too much even for such famous cocksmen as Sir Ronald Dunn or Prince Konrad Kochanski and all those other chaps I've read about in The Oyster.' I shrugged my shoulders and murmured: 'Well, old Doctor Muttley always maintained that even a gourmet can tire of caviare, lobster and champagne.' 'Maybe so, Henry, but this premise doesn't apply to me,' said Julian with an edge of irritation creeping into his voice. 'Believe me, I still adore a good poke with Harriet or any other willing wench. To be blunt, my dear chap, I just need a fresh cock to keep Harriet happy and your John Thomas was my first choice to fit the bill!' He gulped down the rest of his drink, then hauled himself out of his chair and strode quickly across to the writing desk at the window. He unlocked a drawer and brought out a photograph which he gave me on his return as he went on: 'Naturally, it goes without saying that you must not feel under any obligation in this matter. If fucking Harriet does not appeal to you, I dare say Patrick Fitz-Browne would be more than willing to help me out. But, whatever you decide, please keep mum about it for Harriet would immediately lose her situation if anyone found out what was going on.' 'Anyhow, here's a picture of Harriet which you might find of interest,' he concluded, looking intently at me whilst I studied the colour tinted photograph. One could hardly blame Julian for wanting to keep his amorata sweet for Harriet was without doubt a cut above the ordinary. She could not have been more than eighteen, and her pretty, fair-skinned features were well set off by good eyes and tresses of light hair. The top buttons of her white blouse were open giving a teasing view of the swell of her firm creamy breasts.

But what made me catch my breath was the lusty expression on her face as she looked to her right at a naked, stiff penis which she was clutching in her hand, with the uncapped knob only a few inches away from her lips! 'Hell's bells, Julian, what a smasher!' I gasped and he let out a snort of laughter and gurgled: 'Yes, isn't that the handsomest cock you've ever seen – and the girl's jolly good-looking too!' I peered at the photograph again and said: 'So it's your tadger on display, eh? So who took the photograph?' 'I did,' he said proudly. 'It was the first time I had tried this shot and it worked to perfection.' 'Isn't science wonderful?' I chuckled as I handed the photograph back to Julian who walked over to the desk and slipped it back in the drawer. 'No wonder you keep it under lock and key.' 'Absolutely, old boy,' he agreed. Knowing how from my own limited experience of l'arte de faire l'amour how foolish one can be when the blood is up, I looked up sharply at Julian and commented: 'Um, I don't wish to cast the slightest aspersion on this girl's character, but I hope she doesn't possess one of these prints?' A broad smile creased Julian's lips and he said good-humouredly: 'No, don't worry, Henry, I'm not totally daft. Giving her this photograph would be like placing a loaded gun in her hands if my mother and she ever quarrelled. Be assured, I'm well aware that fucking one of my mother's servants is not a very clever thing to do, but you must agree that Harriet is something special.' This answer relieved my disquiet and with a nod, I concurred with his estimation and said: 'She certainly is quite gorgeous, you lucky chap. Tell me, how did you know that she was fond of a bit of rumpy-pumpy?' Julian settled back in his chair and replied: 'Funnily enough it was more by accident than design. I had been out on the Cheltenham Athletic Club's paper chase. Well, I didn't win but the weather was fair and I was glad of the exercise. Anyhow, when I came home I went straight upstairs for a steaming hot bath and, after a nice long soak, I heaved myself out and wrapped myself with a towel I had taken out of the laundry-room.

'As I dried myself, it occurred to me that back at Albion Academy if Lizzie Dickerson had given the winner of the mile race a similar reward to that she gave the scorer of the winning goal against Bedinghurst, I would have broken the school record for the distance!'