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
