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

'I may only be an unworldly curate, but if the boot were on the other foot, I would feel exactly the same way about the money. Alas, my dear, we must wait, unless some kind money. Alas, my dear, we must wait, unless some kind and clever soul like Lizzie Dickerson can persuade your father to drop his objections to our engagement.'

He sneezed and Nancy said: 'Sweetheart, we had better get dressed very soon. I don't know for how long Lizzie has managed to head off Papa but he might be at the door at any moment.' 'You don't think it might have been your father knocking on the door some ten minutes ago?' enquired Beresford. Nancy chuckled and said: 'Oh no, if it had been Papa, he would not have simply gone away but would have stood outside bellowing like a bull for me to come out and drive home with him 'this instant, my girl,' she concluded, giving a good imitation of her father's gruff, angry manner. 'Well, we can always pray for a change of heart by your father,' sighed Beresford. He gave a short laugh and went on: 'And we must have faith that this could happen, although it has been some nineteen hundred years since Our Lord performed his wonders! On the other hand, God helps those who help themselves, so we had better get dressed as you say, and try to fathom a way out of our problem.' Like the Bedouin Arab who folds his tents and steals silently away, I buttoned up my trousers and walked noiselessly to the front door. I hastily scribbled out the note and silently placed it in the rack. Then, with great care, I turned the door handle and opened the door just enough to enable me to slip through on to the porch. Once outside, I banged on it with some force three or four times, then I ran back towards the safety of the school drive. As I walked along the drive, the bell started to toll for the evening roll call, about which I had quite forgotten, but I had time in hand to present myself at the fifth-form assembly point where Davidson, the duty prefect, ticked my name off on the register.

Johnny and George were larking about with some other fellows and they invited me to join in a tug-of-war match in the common room.

'Sorry chaps, I don't think I'm up to it,' I said, making the excuse that my shin was playing up so I would take a rest in the library and see them in half an hour's time for supper. Of course, this was, shall we say, a terminological inexactitude, for the truth was that I was curious to know what, if anything, might be going on in Mr.

Hutchinson's study! Stealthily, I made my way to my form-master's study, making as sure as I could that I was not seen and, when I reached my destination, I put my ear to the keyhole which, sadly, was blocked by the key. I could hear grunts and groans coming from behind the door and longed to know what was going on. Then I had a fine brainwave – the study faces the third-form classroom across the yard and, so long as Mr. Hutchinson had not drawn the curtains, and the lights were on, I could see what was going on between Freda and the General from there and perhaps better so with the aid of my new Danziger amp; Seligsohn German binoculars. (A birthday present from my dear Mama, who sent them to me with a note suggesting that they would be useful for nature watches.) Well, in the widest sense of the term, I was on a nature watch. I hurried back to my study to collect my binoculars and then to the third-form classroom. I offered up a prayer of thanks, for Mr. Hutchinson had not drawn his curtains or turned out the lights and I could see the outlines of an amazing scene unfolding. Everything became crystal clear when I used the binoculars, which, having adjustable focusing, magnified my vision so perfectly, that not even the smallest detail was hidden from me. It was difficult to prevent my hands from shaking slightly as I trained my glasses upon Mr. Hutchinson's table which had been cleared of books and papers, but was not empty. For, lying across it, flat on his back and stark naked was none other than General Bulstrode! His chest was covered with dark, matted hair and his corpulent belly sagged over the sides of the table without the restriction imposed by his clothes to keep his body in shape. However, his throbbing tool stood up smartly enough, a thick, twitching truncheon which was being manipulated in expert fashion by Freda Prestwich who was dressed, or rather half-undressed, in her black housemaid's uniform. Assisted no doubt by the gallant General, she had taken off her blouse and her large, hare breasts were swinging voluptuously from side to side, looking mouth-wateringly ripe for a touch of lips or fingers. My hand flew to my fly buttons, and for the second time in less than an hour, I pulled out my palpitating prick and began to slide my fist up and down my swollen shaft whilst General Bulstrode fondled Freda's breasts. Of course I couldn't hear what she then whispered in his ear, but it must have been along the lines of 'Now I want you to fuck me' because he heaved himself up from the table and helped Freda to unhook her skirt and slip off the garment together with her drawers. When she too was completely nude, Freda obligingly bent over the table with her back to the window so that I could see her full, sumptuous bum cheeks and she pulled them apart herself, inviting the General to plunge his prick between them. When he appeared to hesitate, I assumed that he was merely debating, like a billiards player, whether he should go for the pink or the brown. I wondered in which of Freda's warm, wet orifices he would slide his stiff shaft. But when he continued to stand by Freda's side with a forlorn expression on his countenance, I trained my glasses on his groin and noticed that the gallant soldier's equipment had malfunctioned and that his flaccid shaft was flapping limply between his thighs. Freda turned her head, presumably to ask why the General had not taken up position behind her. Then, after a brief, animated conversation, to my astonishment, the couple changed positions and the General sprawled himself over the table, lifting his buttocks high in the air. For a moment, Freda disappeared from view, but she soon returned to the scene having picked up Mr. Hutchinson's cane which he keeps resting against the wall in the far corner of his study. She gripped the cane and smoothed the stick across his arse – but even then I could hardly believe that she was actually going to swish General Bulstrode for not being able to maintain his hard-on!

And, funnily enough, Freda also seemed unsure as to whether she should carry on with this punishment for she appeared to ask the General whether he really wanted her to continue. He must have answered in the affirmative because he nodded vigorously in answer to her question.

Freda shrugged her shoulders and positioned herself ready to lay six of the best upon his chubby posterior. She raised her arm and brought down the cane with no little force across his bottom and, when she raised in for a second stroke, I could make out an angry red line across his bum cheeks. Nevertheless, General Bulstrode must have derived some queer pleasure from being whopped for he clenched and unclenched his buttocks in what I assumed was a further invitation to Freda to continue. She did so so skillfully that I suspected this was not the first time she had chastised the General in this manner.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Even though I could not hear the sounds I still winced at the sight. Freda laid on with a will, delivering the cuts with equal force, one below the other, so that the red stripes were imprinted on the General's backside at regular distances whilst he wriggled and writhed. She finished the flogging with an almost vicious snap to the deep crease of his arse. Then the General hauled himself up off the table and I could see why he had requested Freda to cane him – for now his rod was standing rigidly to attention.

The girl now knelt on her hands and knees whilst General Bulstrode guided his stiff shaft between the lovely cheeks of her bottom. From the expressions of delight on their flushed faces, I guessed that he had buried his tool deep inside her clinging sheath and I noted that he slipped his hand around her waist to handle her luxuriously-covered mound, sliding his fingers into her cunt to join his veiny love truncheon. My own cock now jerked and twitched in my fist and my whole body shuddered. Spurts of sticky spunk erupted from my knob as I gave myself up to the joys of a long and copious climax, spraying the window with my powerful jets of jism. As I wiped myself with my handkerchief, which was already coated with spunk from the result of my tossing off whilst I watched the glorious fucking of Nancy Bulstrode by the Reverend Beresford Tagholm, I saw the General collapse down upon Freda, doubtless having discharged his seed inside her cunney. As I squeezed my shrunken shaft back into my drawers and buttoned my trousers, I reflected that it would still be some time before General Bulstrode was ready to continue his search for his daughter. Meanwhile, Lizzie Dickerson would be entertaining Mr.