The Erotic Memoirs of Ambrose Horne

by Chrissie Bentley

  He assumed what, as Horne assured him, any man would; that his companion of the evening, unable to swallow all the seed he offered her, had allowed some to dribble instead on the pillow. Then, while the Prince slept, his hair came in contact with the still-sticky mess. Mystery solved.

  Or was it? Again and again, the Prince awoke with that taste on his lips and the stain on his pillow, or his cheek or his tongue. Perplexed and not a little vexed (‘I have never loved a man and never will,’ the Prince sputtered when Horne raised that particular topic), the Prince took to noting in his diary each of the acts he performed every evening, and the woman with whom he performed them (for it was never the same girl two nights in succession).

  He passed the volume to Horne, and the detective was surprised at the sheer detail that the old man put into recording his activities ... and the wild imagination that he tapped as he did so. Clearly, the Prince had studied the arts of love at great length.

  ‘Most nights, there was a reasonable explanation. A deep kiss in the passions of the moment; the careless tongue of a keen cunnilinguist. I considered them all, but I reject them, and here is why. Among the many girls with whom I share my home, there are a few – no more than three or four – for whom the vagina and the penis have but one natural attraction, and that is one another. All other pleasures, no matter how exquisite, they deny both to me and to their own selves.’

  He waved a hand. ‘Oh, I do not mind. There are others here for whom the very scent of the male organ is sufficient to induce orgasm. The taste transports them to heaven. So all my desires are amply fulfilled. But it was after a night with one of those others that ...’

  Horne nodded. ‘I agree, that is perplexing.’ He turned to look out of the window, at the sweeping expanse of the Prince’s estate. ‘You say there are no other men here?’

  ‘Not within three miles. And none would dare, either. My guards would see to that.’

  Horne nodded. He had seen the Prince’s guards as he himself entered the grounds, vast, gorilla-like women with breasts like a battleship’s boilers, faces harder than an asphalt road, and each of them armed to the teeth. Horne wondered whether they, too, shared the Prince’s bed; and, if they did, whether the old man himself had any say in the matter. But he chose not to speak, as his host continued describing first, his own investigations, inspections and precautions; and then, the event that prompted him, finally, to write to Ambrose Horne – the night he awoke from a sound sleep, to feel a jet of hot white semen splatter across his cheek. ‘I turned on the light immediately, but only to catch the door to my chamber clicking shut.’

  ‘What about the girl you were with that night? Did she not see or hear anything?’

  The Prince sighed. ‘Ah, there my age has got the better of me. These days, I’m afraid, they must love me and leave me. I can no longer sleep soundly with another body beside me. We have our fun, and then away to their rooms.’

  ‘In which case,’ Horne said, ‘I do believe it is time I got to work. Now, if I could first have the names of the ladies whose charms may be enjoyed solely from the waist down, I believe that is where I will begin my investigations. I assume I have your permission to ...’

  ‘Do whatever you need to,’ the Prince sighed. ‘Just don’t expect me to admire your handiwork. I am a passionate man, and a jealous one, too.’

  A week had now passed and Horne had, indeed, exercised all of the privileges that the Prince made available to him, commencing his investigations with the four girls whose names he’d collected, and quickly learning that, although many points of pleasure were indeed denied him, that which remained was open, wet and wide.

  The first was Betty, the soft-spoken blonde whose silken thighs gripped him so hard that he feared her orgasm would shatter his spine, and who then massaged his limp cock back to life with the walls of her quim alone.

  Then came Clara, the dowdy redhead whose own embrace was contrarily frozen into a permanent state of disinterest ... as Horne made love to her, it was as though he was trying to poke even a glimmer of life into a barely glowing fireplace, and it took all the willpower he could muster to even fake his climax inside her dry, unyielding snatch. It was only afterwards, as she turned to leave, that Clara told him she really preferred to be ‘taken round the back.’ But the moment was gone, and so was she.

  He salved his savaged pride with Rose, who rode him like a stallion to his fastest climax ever, then purred herself to her own shattering orgasm, by continuing to grind her pussy over his exhausted cock and balls. Fleetingly, as Horne felt his own juices oozing over his sticky flesh, and occasionally flicking through the air in long, viscous streamers, he wondered whether the mystery was solved. But then he remembered the Prince’s last rude awakening, the force with which that jet of come splashed across his sleeping face, and he knew he was wrong. Whatever, or whoever, was inside the Prince’s mouth that night, they were not simply smearing their spent love with wet lips and labia.

  More because he could, than because his investigations required it of him, Horne spent a few pleasurable hours with other women of the house ... he even, after a night devoted to supping the Prince’s finest brandy, took one of the guard women to his bed, and found himself marvelling, as he wallowed in her immensity, at the fantastical contortions she could weave her body into. But, so far as the matter in hand was concerned, he continued butting his head against an unyielding brick wall. There was not another cock in the entire building.

  There was just one girl left to investigate, but the minx-like Becky avoided him so studiously that, the more Horne pursued her, the more he became convinced that she held the answer to the entire conundrum. Now, however, she had succumbed, first to his attentions, and then his entreaties, and Horne was still no further along than he had been.

  Talking with the girl, the first time he found himself alone with her, he learned that her story ... how she came to be living in such unconventional circumstances ... was much the same as every other woman he’d spoken with. Briefly married in her teens, she had lost her husband to one of Britain’s many colonial wars, and was back working in her parents’ small orchard when an old friend, a girl she’d known during childhood, came to visit, and told of her own life on the Prince’s estate.

  Becky had been here ever since, taking care of the old man’s library, fetching books when he wanted to read them, and scouring the catalogues that arrived in every post, for further volumes to add to his collection. He paid her well and if, on occasion, she shared his bed, she did so willingly. ‘I have my needs, and he certainly knows how to satisfy them.’ She smiled slyly, then looked Horne in the eye. ‘And that, I assume, is why you’re here?’

  Horne was startled. The Prince had made a firm point of telling Horne that nobody, not even the girls, knew why a quarter-century-plus rule forbidding men in the house had suddenly been broken. It was only as Becky continued talking that he realised the old man had told the truth. Nobody knew why he was really there, so the rumour mill had taken over instead. And the strongest rumour was, Horne was the Prince’s last living relative, brought to the estate to acquaint himself with his eventual legacy.

  Horne laughed and lied. ‘Rumour isn’t always as stupid as it sounds,’ he said. And then, sensing an opening in the girl’s shyness, he added, ‘but will I ever get to inspect all of my jewels?’ Moments later, she was in his arms and, not long after that, he was inside her mouth. As he sat doodling at the bureau, a faint tingle in his loins still recalling the pressure of her mouth around his shaft, he wondered whether the Prince would thank him for opening up this precious new frontier? Or simply horsewhip him?

  The night passed, and the following morning too. Horne caught Becky’s eye over breakfast, and felt a violent thrill of anticipation ripple down his spine as she dipped her spoon into the morning yogurt, then trickled the thick white liquid over her tongue. He smiled as she made an exaggerated swallowing motion, and found himself wishing that bananas were still in season. The girl certainly kne
w how to tease a man, but she also knew how to avoid him as well. The library was empty when Horne visited later, and she was absent from luncheon as well.

  ‘I sent her into the town,’ the Prince explained when Horne mentioned her absence that afternoon. ‘To pick up some books, you know. But she’ll be back for dinner, and anything else you may have planned ...’ he paused and, for the first time in their acquaintance, gave Horne the kind of ribald leer that men often share when they’re discussing their sex lives. ‘Have you yet?’

  Horne looked down. ‘I’m making progress.’

  ‘Yes, Clara told me. Although you didn’t make much progress with her.’ He reached around and slapped his own behind. ‘Sometimes, you have to think outside of the box,’ he punned. ‘It’s worth every moment.’

  Horne laughed. ‘I’ll remember that if the opportunity ever arises again,’ he said. ‘But for now ...’ he rose and walked to the door. ‘I’ll see you at dinner, your Highness.’

  Becky came to his room shortly after six. Horne had just taken a bath, and settled down at the bureau again to review his notes. He was so preoccupied that he did not even hear her knock – it startled him as her hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up to see her smiling at the doodles with which he had covered his writing pad, the line upon line of roughly scrawled cocks, asses and breasts that his subconscious mind automatically spilled out as he wrestled with a problem. ‘They help me relax,’ he began to explain, then gasped as Becky’s hand grabbed for his groin. ‘Well, this has had me extremely unrelaxed all day,’ she replied. ‘So let me tell you what I dreamed.’

  Naked, they lay on the bed. Her breathing was hard, her body pressed against his, her head an almost dead weight on his stomach muscles. ‘I dreamed you were hard ... yes, like this ... my eyes were closed, but I could sense you, smell you, so close to my face. I flicked out my tongue ...’ every sentence was accompanied by an echoing gesture ... ‘lightly, grazing the flesh of your proud percy. I move closer ... or maybe it moves closer to me; the very crest is dancing on my lips, and I open them slightly ...’

  Her voice was muffled for a moment, as his glans probed the moist opening ... ‘taste you. I want more; I feel the heat rising inside me, but I ignore it as I take you between my lips again, and suck lightly ...’ Again, her words were lost, but her meaning was as clear as ever, as her head sank over Horne’s lap, his thick cock disappearing into her warm mouth. He felt her tongue coiling beneath his shaft as he penetrated deeper into that welcoming darkness, and her fingers first scratching, then squeezing at his balls.

  She broke away. ‘I try to take you all, but my mouth is too small. I grab your hands and place them on the back of my head, willing you to press me down further.’ Horne obeyed, hoping that her gag reflex wouldn’t kick in, then relaxing as he felt her lips brush his stomach. Her head was moving faster now, up and down his shaft, a glistening stream of saliva cooling the flesh as she worked her magic friction on it. And then it happened – as Horne turned his head to one side, to gauge his own mouth’s distance from the pussy whose musky scent was so bedevilling his nostrils, he saw ... for a moment, he didn’t know what he saw ... a giant clitoris, standing proudly erect? Or a tiny penis, pushing through the bush of public hair that surrounded it? There was only one way to find out for sure.

  Horne had read of, but never encountered, such a condition before – children that are born, as the medical profession puts it, neither one way nor another, but both at the same time. The ignorant called them hermaphrodites, but that was wrong. Far more accurate was the designation ‘she-male,’ for both male and female genitalia were present and correct, to greater or lesser proportions.

  Becky was one of those for whom the greatness lay in her female organs, while the male counterparts were minuscule. There were others, Horne had read, in whom the penis and testicles are as any man’s, and it is the vagina that has to be diligently sought out.

  But hard documentation was very difficult to come by, simply because so few of these miraculous creatures ever left the birthing room in their natural state. A good midwife, one who knew the parents and their situation, and who had some elementary medical expertise, usually made the decision for nature herself. If the family had dreamed of having a boy, a boy they would have, and a few sutures disguised any other mysteries below; if a girl was called for, then a quick slice of the scalpel, and all was as it should be. Just occasionally, however, a careless eye or an inexperienced nurse can allow the occasional child to slip through unnoticed – or, at least, unidentified; a boy with a very small penis, or a girl with a rather large clitoris.

  Later in life, of course, things might become difficult, but a loving relationship can overcome most problems, and a little sexual modesty can disguise those that remain. Horne wondered if Becky, her mouth still locked lovingly around his cock while one finger stroked his anus, had any idea that her secret, quite literally, was out ... And how she would react when she knew that it was.

  Moving swiftly, Horne grabbed at her hips and pulled her towards him, simultaneously feeling her body freeze in solid resistance. But he was too fast for her, fastening his mouth over that tiny protuberance, sucking as hard as he could and savouring not only the sweet taste of both of her sexes, but the even sweeter taste of victory as well. The mystery, he breathed, as the diminutive dick twitched on his tongue, was solved.

  Horne and Becky came together, his come washing down her throat in a tidal wave of joy; hers ... in truth he was surprised at how much juice he drew from such a little pump. Now, as they lay together in the afterglow, he pieced together the tale that had so baffled the Prince for so long – how the old man would fuck her with every skill he had mustered, until her entire body ached for one final release, but how her own secret desires could never be fulfilled ... never had, not by the boys she had groped with in her teens, not by her husband, who thought sex was a sprint, and certainly not by the Prince, to whom she had forbidden all but the most basic of positions.

  Horne was puzzled. ‘I can understand you not wanting him to love you in that fashion, because of what he might uncover,’ he asked, ‘but why would you not ...’

  Becky blushed. ‘I told you before. For fear ... but not, as you are probably thinking, for fear of what I was doing, but of what it might make me want to do. There is no more intimate act than taking a man in your mouth and, so far as I am concerned, nothing is more exciting. I feared, if I gave in to that urge, I might not be able to control any others. And so ...’ she kissed Horne gently; ‘and so it proved.’

  ‘But surely you gained relief somehow?’ Horne asked, and Becky laughed.

  ‘Yes, But you must promise never to tell a soul.’

  Horne agreed. There were so many other secrets in this house that one more certainly would not over-burden him. And this one, he admiringly thought, was a magnificent one.

  One night, after a long session of lovemaking with the Prince, Becky had crept back into his room, intending simply to watch him sleep. As she listened to him breathe, however, she heard in her head the persuasive whispers with which he assailed her while they fucked, how much he wanted to lick her pussy ... she had never let him; how much he needed to feel her suck him ... she never had. And, as she listened, so she felt the pressure building, so relentless, so powerful and, ultimately, so irresistible.

  Carefully she raised herself over his face; scarcely daring to breathe, she lowered her sex to his mouth, smearing the Prince’s lips with her scent until she could stand it no more and, pulling away at the very last moment, her juices splashed across his pillow.

  Three, four, five times over the next few months, she did the same thing, carefully timing her visits for those nights that the Prince spent with the girls who’d go for anything (there were no secrets in the harem). But, with time she grew careless; then more careless still; until the night, not so long ago, when the Prince almost caught her ... ‘and certainly caught a face full,’ laughed Horne. ‘And that’s when he contacted me. To
ask me to discover how such a thing could have happened.’

  ‘So you’re not a royal prince?’ Becky sounded shocked.

  ‘No, I’m just a humble detective,’ Horne replied. ‘Although I must say that you made me feel like a king ...’ He hoped the weak joke might dispel the look of concern that creased the girl’s face, but her voice was weighed down with fear. ‘Are you going to ...’

  ‘Tell the Prince? No, I’m not. I’ll go to him tomorrow, and explain that I’ve exhausted every avenue of inquiry, and that I need to return to London to continue researching the case in my medical files, to see if perhaps the answer lies in some barely-known case study.’ He paused. ‘You could come with me, if you want?’

  Becky kissed him, but shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here. I wasn’t quite truthful when I told you that you’re the only person who knows about me; one of the other girls, the one who brought me here in the first place, knows as well. We’ve never ... you know, done anything, but I do believe we would both enjoy it if we did.’ She paused. ‘I think I’ll stay here and see what develops in that direction.’

  Horne kissed her and, still intoxicated by his discovery, placed his hand in her lap, one finger sliding inside her pussy, while his thumb gently rubbed the slowly hardening nub of a knob. ‘I must say, I’ve solved a lot of mysteries over the years,’ he told her as he leaned slowly towards her twin attractions. ‘But this is the first time I’ve ever been truly introduced into one. Now tell me, which would you like me to pay attention to, first?’

  She pushed his head down firmly. ‘I think both at once ... Mmmmmmm, yes, definitely both at once.’

  The Strange Case of the Poisoned Under-garments

  ‘And you believe that, one day, women will queue to discard their faithful corsets, and wear these ungainly objects instead?’

  Ambrose Horne nodded thoughtfully. ‘I guarantee it.’