The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

'Isn't she absolutely gorgeous?' remarked Miranda. I grunted my agreement whilst my cock swiftly swelled up to a steel-like hardness as I scrutinised the girl's firm, ripe breasts. Her erect nipples looked particularly succulent but my cock started to throb to bursting point when I switched my gaze to the thatch of hair around her prominent pussey lips. Thickly curled, the hirsute fleece had grown into a delicious triangle over her mound, so neatly formed that I wondered whether she had trimmed it. Miranda turned the page and we both gasped when we looked at the next plate in which the pretty wench was shown on her knees in front of the mirror but this time she had been joined by a naked young man of about my age or perhaps even a year or two my junior, who stood sideways to the girl, his prick standing as stiff as a poker from out of his luxuriantly thick black bush. Over the page, the next photograph showed his cock in close up with the girl's lips closed over the rubicund helmet and her hands caressing his hairy balls. Further plates showed the couple in all sorts of sensual poses. My favourite set were those which showed them in bed, and the best of all was that of the girl on her back with her legs either side of the boy who was sliding his thick cock between the pink lips of her cunney whilst his hands squeezed her pert, rounded breasts. '“Well, that's a different way of looking at it,” as the fly said when it landed on a mirror,' I remarked as Miranda shut the book and returned it to the shelves.

She chuckled and said: 'H'm, it seems obvious that a photographer's model leads a far more exciting life than that of someone like me who poses for avant garde artists like Elisha Withington.' Then she turned round and slid her hand between my legs and giving my stiff shaft a quick rub, she said huskily: 'I'm not surprised that you're feeling horny after looking at those pictures.

My pussey is as moist as if I'd been frigging myself for the last few minutes. In fact I think I'll take off my knickers. They're so wet I'll catch a chill if I keep them on.' Miranda hitched up her skirts and in a trice her drawers were around her ankles. She looked me straight in the eye and said: 'Dear me, Henry, you're somewhat slow off the mark this morning. The door is locked so pull down your trousers and let me suck your cock – what are you waiting for?'

What indeed! In my haste, I ripped off two buttons from my flies, but then Miranda was on her knees tugging my underpants down to the ground. I growled with unslaked desire and clutched her shoulders as she swirled her darting wet tongue over my uncapped knob before licking every inch of my stiff shaft from tip to base and back again.