Anonymous - The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 1

Then she licked all over his straining shaft, and for a moment or two, she took each of his balls into her mouth and lightly washed them over with her tongue. George's body went rigid and his eyes tightened as he gasped: 'My God! I'm going to spend!' His lithe body bucked to and fro as he spouted into Polly's mouth and his copious spunk dribbled out of her lips and on to her chin as she sucked and swallowed as much of his ejaculation as she could manage. George lolled back panting with exhaustion as Polly licked the remaining drops of his jism off her lips and remarked: 'Yum, yum, I do love the tangy taste of masculine seed, don't you, Lizzie?' 'Very much so,' replied our mentor. 'And yet there are some girls who prefer to spit it out at the climax and there are even those who have never sampled the delights of sucking a thick, throbbing cock.' 'Oh, I do love sucking pricks,' exclaimed Polly warmly. 'I would love to suck for much longer during a fuck but unfortunately none of the men I have ever had can hold back for more than about five minutes. Mind, it's so exciting when a boy's cock starts to quiver and his spunk squirts out of his prick and shoots down my throat, especially when it doesn't taste too salty like George's seed.' Lizzie nodded her head in agreement. 'Yes, I enjoy that too, though sometimes I stop sucking before the lad ejaculates so that his cock is as hard as a rock before I slip it into my cunt.' These lascivious thoughts so fired the delicious girl that she gave me an encouraging kiss on the lips and lay back on the bed, spreading her legs wide open to expose her glossy, dark fleece and her pink cunney lips which visibly protruded through the thick mass of pussey hair. Naturally, my cock stiffened at the sight of her delicious quim. I knelt in front of Lizzie and I pushed her legs even further apart, trailing my hand through her hirsute thatch until I found her fleshy, little clitoris and she gasped with joy as I slid my fingers around it. 'You clever boy!

Play with my clitty!' she panted as she writhed under the stimulation of my questing fingers. I can see you will soon have to move to the advanced class!' 'Thank you,' I murmured. Then I removed my fingers and, rising on top of her, plunged my prick straight into Lizzie's squelchy cunt and began fucking her in a veritable frenzy of passion. Ah, her sopping sheath was as a violin and my cock was as a bow and every stroke raised the most ravishing melody on the senses!

This time the build-up to our mutual spending was slower than when I first fucked Lizzie three days ago, and we abandoned ourselves totally in a sensuous ecstasy. Our matted, hairy triangles were both soaking with each other's juices as my trusty tool slid in and out of the folds of Lizzie's cunney and our surging cries of delight echoed around the room as we climbed up to the ultimate peak of pleasure.

'Oh, Henry! Oh-h-h! O-h-h! I'm going off, my dear,' cried Lizzie as she threw her arms and legs around me. She bit my shoulder in a frenzy of sexual passion whilst the lips of her cunney clung to my cock and she cried out: 'Shoot your spunk, you big-cocked boy!'

'Here I go,' I gasped. I began shaking like a leaf from head to toe until my body was enveloped in the blissful warmth of a tremendous spend and a stream of creamy sperm erupted from my cock and drenched Lizzie's cunt.. At the same time, the force of her own climax crackled through her limbs and she screamed with joy as my ardent ejaculation drenched her love funnel. All good things come to an end, and whilst we would all have loved to continue to participate in this orgiastic cornucopia, Lizzie reminded us that, as members of the school orchestra, our presence would soon be required in Trippett's Hall for the Sunday afternoon concert. Dr Muttley is a man of liberal persuasions and believes that, whilst Sunday should be a day of rest, there is no harm in allowing music to be performed on Sunday afternoons (though boys whose families object to entertainments on the Sabbath are excused attendance on the production of a note from their parents). George and I knew that we had no choice but to leave our two charmers. However, we made arrangements to see Lizzie and Polly again on Thursday afternoon after football practice. I did not forget to mention how keen Johnny Bridges was to join in our amusements. Lizzie considered this request and, when I informed her that his member was even thicker than mine, though of a slightly lesser size, she said that she had no objection. She then asked Polly whether she minded if Johnny participated in our secret recreations.

'Not as such,' she replied pertly. 'Though this will mean there will be only two cunnies for three cocks and, as we are all aware, three into two won't go. However, I have often wondered what it would be like to have a boy fuck me whilst I was sucking off another lad, so by all means let Johnny join in our fun and I will be able to satisfy my curiosity.' We gave Johnny the good news as we hurried into Trippett's Hall (named incidentally in honour of Albion Academy's great eponymous benefactor who studied here between 1862 and 1868).

'My God I can hardly wait till Thursday afternoon,' exclaimed Johnny, rubbing his hands in glee. George winked at me as he said: 'Well, that's all very well, but don't start thinking about it and get a stiffie or you might get expelled for tossing off during the Sunday concert!' Johnny took the teasing in good part and we heartily applauded Dr Muttley when he walked on to the stage with Sir Nicholas Webster, a gentleman farmer whose country seat and one hundred acre estate lies only three miles away. According to Mr.

Moore, Albion Academy's head of music, he is one of the most talented amateur violinists in the country. Dr Muttley thanked Sir Nicholas for giving up his weekend for our benefit and the baronet then introduced the three other members of the string quartet who would play for us – the second violinist, Professor Nicholas Clay of the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London and two most attractive ladies, Miss Angela Brendan-Sykes and the charmingly-named cellist, Miss Laura Lightly. 'Hello Henry', said a cheerful voice from behind me during the first interval. I turned round to see that the sprightly figure of the Reverend Beresford Tagholm was sitting behind us, next to an exquisitely pretty girl who I had never seen before. 'We meet again. Are you enjoying the concert Sir?'

'Very much so,' he replied. I introduced my study-mates to the amiable young curate and, in turn, he introduced his companion, saying: 'And let me introduce Miss Nancy Bulstrode, my fiancee. Nancy lives with her papa at nearby Bulstrode Towers, and is the reason I have availed myself of my uncle's hospitality this weekend.' 'How nice to meet you, Henry,' said this lovely creature in a delightfully soft voice. I returned the warm, friendly smile she bestowed upon me whilst I hoped that my face did not betray my shock – for old General Bulstrode is a fearsome martinet of a country squire, a local magistrate who would happily hang, draw and quarter any poacher who trespasses upon his or any other local landowner's estate. It is even rumoured that he bribed one of the warders to ensure his presence at any flogging of miscreants at Maidstone gaol. Incidentally, the General's wife, Mrs. Gertrude Bulstrode, is rarely to be seen as she is always away visiting friends, seemingly to get as far away from her husband as possible. I was staggered to think that this beautiful girl could have a father so unlike her in looks and temperament.

However, the musicians were now ready to play the next piece in the programme and I put the matter of Nancy's parentage to one side.

The concert ended with an inspiring interpretation of Schubert's 'Quartet in D Minor', a wonderful piece of music which I have studied with Mr. Moore. I listened with intense enjoyment as Sir Nicholas effortlessly played the lovely melody of the Allegro and there were tears in my eyes at the end of the performance. Whilst every person around me rose to afford the musicians a deserved ovation, I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief to dab my eyes and, as I did so, I noticed that Nancy Bulstrode had been similarly affected by the melancholy beauty of the music and tiny rivulets of water were cascading down her cheeks. She gave me a grateful smile when I proferred my handkerchief and, after Dr Muttley had again thanked Sir Nicholas and his fellow musicians for the wonderful entertainment, she gave it to me back and said gratefully: 'Thank you so much, I know it must appear foolish to cry so during a concert, but I find Schubert's music so emotional, especially such a sad theme as in the second movement.' 'It isn't foolish at all,' I said stoutly. 'Especially when one thinks how much marvellous music he composed during his brief life. Anyhow, the second movement is supposed to be sad.' 'Quite so, it is based upon his song 'Death And The Maiden', said the Reverend Tagholm as he took Nancy's arm. 'Although it does upset me to see you cry, dear! I see you too were much affected by the music, Henry. It's as well you didn't take up my offer of afternoon tea.