Anonymous: The Oyster, Volume IV

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 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.