The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

Anyone who he caught tossing off he marched off to the chapel where the fellow had to dip his cock into a bowl of holy water and occasionally the chaplain would-' 'There's no need for you to go on,' Rosamund interrupted with a shudder of disgust and she went on: 'Obviously it's high time that you were given the opportunity to appreciate the delights of the female form.' She tore up the copy of The Chameleon and began to undo the buttons at the front of her dress. 'Now let's see which way the wind is blowing,' she said throatily as she pulled off her blouse. Seconds later Rosamund's skirt and knickers were on the floor, and after she had pulled her chemise over her head, she stood before Maurice in all her naked glory. I had felt some pity for Maurice when he had confessed his inexperience in l'arte de faire l'amour, but now these feelings were rapidly supplanted by those of envy as I peered at Rosamund's delicious nude body through the viewfinder of my camera. She stood before me like a statue crafted by a master sculptor that had come magically to life. Below her mop of tousled brown hair and pretty face, her creamy white skin looked to be of an incredible smoothness and her beautiful breasts stood out proudly. As Paul had said when he described his telling, the furry mass of curls between Rosamund's thighs contrasted perfectly with the snowy whiteness of her belly and formed a perfect veil over her long, pouting slit. Maurice gaped at the nubile, naked girl, standing stock still as if bound in a hypnotic trance. A lascivious smile formed upon Rosamund's lips and then she said softly: 'Well, as the poker player said to his opponent: “I've shown you mine, so you show me yours.'” But Maurice remained rooted to the spot, to she moved towards him and, slipping his jacket off his shoulders, kissed him on his lips. This broke the spell. Realising that he was being given a golden opportunity to lose his virginity, Maurice began to undress himself at record speed. I was so intrigued by what was happening that I had quite forgotten to take any photographs until I heard a faint-dick of a shutter from Paul Adler's direction. I adjusted the focus and when Maurice tugged down his drawers I took Kodak's advice: 'You press the button, we do the rest.' My first shot was of Maurice standing bollock naked with his cock standing stiffly upwards pointing to the ceiling. I had thought this first click would be enough for him to cotton on to the trick but he was obviously too preoccupied to notice. Frankly, his member was thick enough but was definitely on the shortish size and at best could not have measured more than five inches in length. His shaft appeared to be in fine working order but his lack of inches was clearly on his mind for he said to Rosamund in a self-pitying whine: 'This is all I have to offer, I'm afraid, go on, you can laugh at my little prick, I don't care.' She frowned as she slid her fingers round his tool and carefully inspected his stiffie. 'What's so funny about your tadger? There's nothing unusual about it as far as I can make out.'

'Oh, don't fib! I know it's bloody small. I was given the booby prize in every thick prick competition we had at St Cuthbert's from the third form onwards,' he said bitterly. Rosamund shook her head sadly. 'You are in a bad state,' she said with a sigh. 'Why are you silly men so obsessed about the size of your cocks? Like everything else in this world, it's quality, not quantity that counts, you chump. I won't deny that the sight of a whopping great cock could well make my pussey tingle. But then I've had a fair number of cocks up me and the best fuck I've ever had was from a lieutenant in the West Oxfordshire Rifles whose prick was probably smaller than yours.

As the Yankees say, it isn't the size of the ship that counts, it's the motion of the ocean!' I had to force myself to stay silent because a loud 'Hear, Hear' was already welling up in my throat. As Julian Clayton once remarked to me, ask any man if he would like another two inches of cock and out of a hundred, ninety-nine would reply in the affirmative. Still, Maurice FitzAllen was about to be shown in a practical physical manner that the size of his equipment was unimportant so long as both the people involved in the fuck are in receptive mood. 'Don't be shy,' said Rosamund as she climbed on to the bed. 'There's nothing wrong with your cock that a good fuck won't put right.' Maurice looked goggle-eyed as the salacious young miss lay naked on his eiderdown her legs spread wide open; one hand fingering her hairy muff, the other caressing her bosoms, tweaking one and then the other tawny tittie up to a fine erection.

Then, with a hoarse cry, he leaped upon her and I watched Rosamund guide his cock into the slippery entrance of her love channel. I lined up a camera to take in Maurice's quivering bum cheeks as he trembled with the emotion of his rite of passage into manhood.