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
