Tuesday, 10 January 2017

Chapter 10 “Now you have completely ruined my plan by choosing to accompany him!”

Reggiori's restaurant, King's Cross


“Would you mind, Edith, if I conducted an interview with you as regards your feelings regarding the Professor embarking on this expedition?” I asked her.  It was eight in the morning and we had been kissing and gently caressing each other for some time.  I just delighted in the feel of her soft, warm flesh. Something about sleeping, naked, together had transformed it into something muskily fragrant, warm and pliant.  It was not the skin of the women I had first encountered fresh from the bath in her house but something offering tangible memories of passion, as if it had absorbed, like photographic film absorbs light, the essence of our passionate coupling the night before.  “I am, of course, writing pieces about all the principal actors,”  I continued, “but there is an insatiable interest in everything to do with the expedition and so those associated with the principals are of great interest to our readers as well.  I intend to interview Mrs Somersby also,” I said. 

“Presumably you will not be asking her questions while you both lie naked in bed, her mouth upon your cock!” she said, after pulling her lips from my knob, where she had been slowly and wetly gamahuching me. 

“Indeed not. It would be very difficult for her to answer while applying her mouth to my manhood!” She prodded me in the stomach. 

“I do not think that you will find Edna Somersby quite as accommodating as myself, Edmund! Although she is always fun!  I will answer your questions but only if you are penetrating me at the same time and you only have as long as it takes for you to spend. So softly and gently this morning,  I would suggest.” She lay down next to me on her back and I positioned myself on top of her, resting on my forearms.  She guided me into her wetness. I pushed once and lodged comfortably inside her as deeply as I could. 

“There! Lovely! I find this very comforting. Ask away, Mr Molloy!” 

“Mrs Challenor,” I began, then paused. “I really need a Pitman’s stenographer to take notes!” 

“Perhaps one of Lady Caroline’s daughters might serve, although I doubt if either could do shorthand. It would be amusing to have one of them sitting in that chair while you attend to me in this manner!"  

“I am not sure whether amusing is the correct term.”  I frowned, looking at my notebook on the bedside table, where I had been entertaining Edith by writing an account of our bathroom copulation the previous night; she adding her own recollections to ensure accuracy. 

“It would be even more amusing to then watch you take her in turn!” added Edith. 

“Really?” I asked, pausing in my gentle thrusting. 

“Yes! I would love to watch you screw another woman!” 

“But, aren’t we...” I began. 

“We are not a we, Edmund. There is me and then there is you, whose role is to attend to me, sexually. If I decide I will get sexual pleasure from watching you with another woman then you will do as you are told!” she grinned and poked me in the side.  “Like a good boy!”   I told her of how Lady Caroline had asked me to invite her over to join myself, Lady Caroline and her daughters the previous evening.  A detail I had omitted when giving my account the previous night. 

“Oh! I would have gone, I think!” 

“Really?” I asked. 

“Oh yes, I rather think so. I would have sat behind you both and watched you penetrating her wet, pink parts, your lovely cock coated in her juices, your ballocks bouncing, the muscles in your buttocks flexing.  Yes. I would have sat behind you, with my lags akimbo, frigging!  I have never seen another couple do it.  I would like to very much.  It would be most arousing!  Just the sight itself and the fact that they know you are watching.  For it to be someone I have had myself would be doubly arousing!” she laughed. 

“I just assumed...”  I began, realising that her comments had aroused me into thrusting into her once more. 

“Never assume anything as far as I am concerned, Edmund!” she said.  “Now, your interview is not proceeding very well. While Lady Caroline’s ripe and juicy daughters are unlikely to be able to do shorthand I, however, can. Pass me your notebook and I will record our discussion while you pose your questions and take me at the same time!  However, I do think it will be easier if you are underneath!"  I rolled off her and grabbed my notebook, which I passed to her. I lay on my back and she sat astride my hips as I guided myself up into her wetness. She wriggled, impaled.

"There that is much better!" she said.  She held up her notebook and sat, pencil poised, looking at me expectantly.  She raised an eyebrow.  "Shall we proceed, Mr Molloy?"  I pulled my hips down and thrust up, forcefully.

"Oh!" she said and smiled. She began taking notes, as I asked her about her birthplace, her family and education. She had attended Somerville Hall, as it then was, in Oxford, I discovered, and she complained about the fact that it was not permitted for her study there to result in a degree.  There was a small digression upon the matter of women’s emancipation.  She said that she had met Professor Challenor in her early thirties, when she had started to despair of ever finding a husband. 

“And did Professor Challenor take your virginity?” I asked, giving her a particularly forceful thrust. 

“He did indeed, on our wedding night. He is quite a traditional man!” she said, rotating her hips gently.  “Although I admit to being surprised that he asked me to lie on my front with my posterior in the air. Presented, as he put it.  I had little concept of copulation but I did know enough to know that it was usually conducted face to face.   I put his request down to the fact that he had spent a great deal of time studying great apes.  I imagine that this little revelation is not going into your piece for the Courier?”  She smiled at me over my notebook and I smiled back as I gave her three quick, hard thrusts. 

“It is by way of researching character background,” I said. “It will go into my personal sexual journal!”

“How exciting! Oh! I will enjoy you reading aloud your other adventures to me in due course! Especially those concerning other women!” 

“And what would your personal sexual journal contain, Edith? 

“Many exciting and arousing episodes, Edmund.  I hope that you are not under the mistaken impression that you are the first young man I have fornicated with!” 

“I am the young man who is fornicating with you now and that, for me, is more than enough!” I replied. 

“The truth is that I like to have some physical companionship when George is away and, as I mentioned at the museum, I had lined you up for my entertainment for the ensuing months.  Now you have completely ruined my plan by choosing to accompany him.  You can have me for the remaining few weeks and then I will seek another; perhaps your friend William. He is a fine looking man!” 

“So you say.  I think he would be very amenable to such an arrangement,” I said, thinking that if it was inevitable that someone else was going to have her it might as well be my friend.

“You must arrange dinner with him before you go!” she said. 

“I will do so!” I said. “Now put my notebook and pencil down as I am going to attend to you properly, Edith!” 

“Please do so, Edmund!” she said.  I grabbed her by the hips and threw her bodily onto her back.  I climbed between her spread thighs and entered her, roughly, She clamped her legs around my hips. “As violently as you like!” I looked down at her lovely face and smiled at her. 

“You are quite gorgeous!” I said. 

“Only quite?” 

 “Completely gorgeous!” I said. 

“I am quite aware of my charms, Edmund. I am not lacking in male admirers. Now, less talking and more screwing!” she said. I shook my head at her language but set too with vigour.  We looked into each other’s eyes throughout as we became increasingly lost in our passions, enjoying almost simultaneous climaxes.

Shortly afterwards, Edith lay on her back with her hands behind her head and one knee lifted, her foot flat on the bed. I sat to one side, drawing her voluptuous form once more. “Did you mean that about watching me take another woman or were you just teasing me?” I asked, finishing my impression of the pale fluff under her arms. 

“I meant it, certainly.” 

“I am due to draw the ladies this afternoon...” 

“I could come!” she said and laughed, dirtily.  

“You could not because Lord Hoxton will be there and he is a member of your husband’s expedition as well!” I pointed out. 

“Oh yes!   How silly of me!  Bugger! I’ll have to find another woman for you, Edmund!” she laughed.  “Have you finished your drawing?” I had stopped sketching to examine it.   It had something of the eighteenth century  about it.  Perhaps even something of Boucher.   I was pleased.

 “Indeed!"  I showed her. 

“That is a particularly fine one, Edmund. You are very skilled and not just in the carnal arts!” 

“Those I am still learning Edith. I have a very good teacher!” I placed the drawing on the floor and regarded another blank sheet of paper. 

“Time for one more quick sketch, Edmund and then you must be off to the Courier!” Edith parted her thighs and placed her hand on her mound.  “I am going to frig myself and you will draw me!”   And I did. 





“Mrs Challenor will particularly miss the marital attention of her beloved husband during the long months he will be away!” read McCandless, in the office later that morning.  “I can’t print that ,Molloy!  What were you thinking, discussing such matters?  Even if she was happy to discuss such a personal issue I am sure that if he read it in the Courier the Professor would contrive to throw you down another flight of steps!  Myself too, probably. You do seem to be getting quite friendly with Mrs Challenor.  Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak away down that darkened corridor in the museum after the Professor’s lecture.  A dangerous game, laddie, a very dangerous game.  Handsome, childless women of that age can lead a young man astray!  Perhaps it is just as well that you are leaving London soon!  Speaking of which, when the Professor gets back from Liverpool I want you to get all the details of the travel arrangements so we can arrange a big send off,  Mayor of Liverpool, a band and such like!”

 “Liverpool has a Lord Mayor,” I said.

“Even better! Get on to his office right away!”

“We have a meeting of the full party the day after tomorrow, to discuss the expedition.  Lord Hoxton is arranging appropriate equipment and such and I am off to the Army and Navy store myself this afternoon!”

“Excellent! Keep up the good work, Molloy, but leave Mrs Challenor alone!"

“Well, I have completed my interview with her so there is no further need to see her!”  I said, rather convincingly, I thought.

“What about that wee lassie who had you up all night the other day?  What’s become of her?” asked McCandless.

“That lady was in the nature of a transient experience!” I said, thinking of Hoshimi’s perfect porcelain doll complexion.

“Well, I hope she was clean and you didn’t pay too much for her!” he said, gruffly.

 “It wasn’t like that!” I said, even though it was.

“Nothing against it, Molloy.  Back in India we all paid for our female company!   You just have to be careful, mind!” he said.  The thought of McCandless inflicting himself on some poor Indian whore did not engender very pleasant thoughts.   He had been in the Gordon Highlanders in the Afghan War at the same time that Hoxton served.

“You know Challenor. He is a violent and aggressive man with a God-like belief in hisself. If you even look at his wife he will break every bone in your body!” said McCandless.

“I take your point, completely. I would not want that to happen at all!” I said, wishing he would drop the subject.

“Aye, well. Consider yerself warned!” he concluded.




I had agreed to meet Mrs Somersby for lunch at the Charing Cross Hotel and walked there down the Strand from the Courier’s offices. We had had no chance to speak at the lecture, as she had left immediately afterwards. She was a very different prospect from Edith but I warmed to her very quickly.  She was down to earth, amusing and obviously fond of her food.

“Do you think it would be frightfully piggy of me to have a fish course between the soup and the lamb? she asked, as the waiter stood there, expectantly.

 “The Courier is paying for everything, Mrs Somersby! Treat yourself!” She grinned like a naughty schoolgirl and ordered a Dover sole in addition to what she had ordered previously.

“Have you already interviewed Edith?” she asked.  “Despite the rather theatrical tensions between our respective husbands the two of us have always got along splendidly!”

“Yes, indeed! I spoke to her this morning!  A little more Moselle, Mrs Somersby?"

“Oh, alright, Mr Molloy!” I nodded at another waiter who went off for a second bottle. She had already demolished the best part of a bottle while eating both her and my bread rolls.

“German wine is very light, Mrs Somersby!” I said.

“Perfect for lunch times!” she laughed. “Please call me Edna!  Edna and Edith! We sound like a rather naughty music hall act. Flashing our stockings and singing dubious songs. Edith would no doubt be quite happy strutting around on stage in her unmentionables, as I saw some of the ladies in Paris do when Leon took me there for a lecture he was giving.  If I had a figure like hers I would do the same!  She giggled.  “In some of the theatres there the girls are practically naked I am told! How entertaining!”

“So I gather, although I have never been to Paris!” I said.

“You should go. Such wonderful galleries and the opera is divine!  Pretty girls too!  A handsome man like you would cause quite a fluttering of feminine Gallic hearts, I would imagine.”

“I’d love to visit the Louvre.   I studied art myself!”

“Really. How marvellous!   I would love to be able to draw!   I am very interested in botany, although I do not have the benefit of an academic training like Edith.  It would be lovely to be able to draw plants and flowers.  Do you draw flowers Mr Molloy?  Or are naked women more to your taste?”  I nearly choked on my wine.  “I see that they are!”

“I am interested in drawing many things! I am looking forward to drawing the wonders of Amazonia!” I said, trying to get the subject back onto the expedition.

“And has Edith modelled for you yet?” she asked.

“I am sorry? I don’t understand!” I said, wishing the waiter would return with the wine.

“Well, as she tells me, she likes to have a series of young men to, er, entertain her when George is away.  I think poor George thinks more of his fossils than he does of his wife’s pleasure.  I am very lucky with Leon. He is still a very virile man, despite being twenty years older than I am.  We have five children and poor Edith has none.  I think her first young man, who was American, was almost by way of seeing if the problem was down to her or, in fact, George.  She seems to enjoy foreigners, although you aren’t really that foreign, being Irish.”

“I am really not sure what you are saying, Mrs Somersby!” I said but knew I was blushing.

“Ah! So you are Edith’s new paramour!  Well she has always had good taste, apart from the single inexplicable choice of her husband!  You won’t enjoy her for long as you will be off to the jungle, vainly looking for non-existent dinosaurs!" she smiled and then a look of revelation came over her face.  "Oh, of course! You met her before the Challenor lecture did you not?  George said you had been to his house and your offer for your newspaper to fund the expedition was a spontaneous one!  Edith had obviously lined you up to be her companion while George was away.  And now you have gone and spoiled it by going too!  Poor Edith!  She will need to find another young man to fulfill her abundant passions!  No handsome young man in London will be safe!”  She laughed as the waiter returned with the Moselle and another served the soup. “Ah, would you be able to bring us some more rolls, please?” she said to the waiter. “Don’t even try to deny it, Edmund!”  So much for her being distracted.

“If what you said had even an element of veracity then it would be a most delicate matter!”  I said, carefully, having tasted the wine.

“Do not worry! I will not mention it to anyone, of course! Even my husband!”  She took a large mouthful of wine as soon as the waiter had poured it.  “Oh my goodness! George is in Liverpool isn’t he?   He telephoned Leon last night!  Are you currently, then, engaged in passionate trysts with Edith!  You said you saw her this morning! Does that mean that you were with her overnight?” I blushed even more.

 “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss your theorem any more!” I said.

“You were!  What a naughty girl!  So after lunch will you be going back to her house to ravish her?”

“She is not in her house!” I said.

“Not an hotel?  Yes!  How delightfully dubious!   How entertainingly sordid!  So as we have lunch she is probably lying on her back, naked, desperately awaiting your return!”

“Mrs Somersby, I think that...” I began, desperately trying to stem the flood of her fervent speculations.

“Oh, I know what she is like!  Her level of passion is palpable.  We have swum naked together on the Isle of Wight.  Once we lay naked on the beach in the sun for some time and dozed and I opened my eyes to find her pleasuring herself quite openly. You do know that women do that, I suppose?  perhaps she has demonstrated it for you."   I blushed again and she grinned.  When she saw that I had seen her she did not stop, as you might expect, but shamelessly continued until she reached her petit mort.  I had never really indulged in that particular activity, as Leon was always there to satisfy me in that way but I admit that from then on I did have the occasional frig.   I still do!  You look shocked, Mr Molloy!”

“You are a very singular lady!” I said, carefully. These older ladies were most surprising! Who would have guessed, when first looking at Mrs Somersby. that she would openly discuss such matters?  I looked around the restaurant to see if anyone might have heard us, as with every glass of wine her voice was getting slightly louder.

“You young men think we older ladies are dried out husks with no concept of passion and the joys of copulation.  I am not dried out at all.  I am still able to get quite moist and appropriately receptive!”  I coughed on some crumbs of bread roll that got caught in my throat. Edna grinned. “Perhaps we should now discuss my thoughts on the expedition or your editor will wonder what on earth we spoke about over this expensive lunch.  Frigging probably not being what he imagined!  Well, as we are both having lamb later, perhaps we should look at the wine list for a suitable red!”

“Indeed!” I said.

After lunch, where she gave me some amusing background on the rivalry between the professors, I bid her goodbye. “Are you off to have Edith, now?  I think I might make a nuisance of myself with Leon when I return home!  I am somewhat aroused.  We will never have been apart so long as for this forthcoming expedition. I will sorely miss his physical presence.  Perhaps I should get an additional man myself, although I am not in possession of Edith’s charms!”

“You are charming in every way, Mrs Somersby, and any man would be lucky to have you as a companion, as is the Professor in having you as his wife!”

“You are very sweet!” she said, kissing me on the lips.  She tasted of the Cognac she had had with her coffee. “Do give my regards to Edith, along with everything else you are giving her!” she said as she climbed, rather unsteadily, into a taxicab.

Women were proving to be far more complicated creatures than I had imagined. And it was a great surprise to me that older women continued to indulge in carnal activity.  I had thought that it might be something they grew out of.  I had a sudden and unpleasant vision of my parents. Surely not? Shuddering, involuntarily, I hefted my portfolio under my arm and proceeded towards Trafalgar Square, Haymarket and thence Piccadilly for my appointment with Lord Hoxton, hoping the walk would clear my head.




“Come in Molloy!  The ladies are awaiting your attentions with great excitement!” said Hoxton, as I stepped into his study once more.  Although the curtains were now open the room was not exactly bright. Albany was a rather dingy place.

 “Ah, where are they?” I said, removing my coat. It was drizzling outside and the cold wet air had, indeed, sobered me up, during my short walk from Charing Cross.

“Through here!” he said indicating a doorway.  I realised that it was the one where the ladies had emerged from yesterday. I  entered and was presented with the sight of a large bedroom. The three women were sprawled on a giant bed, which had the look of the orient about it.  It dominated the room.

“Hello Mr Molloy! We are all ready for you!” said Lady Caroline. All three were completely naked on the bed. Sarah, the youngest sister, had her legs apart and was brazenly displaying her sex. Her sister, Emily, knelt next to her, stroking Sarah’s shoulder while the mother stood up from the bed and approached me, kissing me on the lips.

“I am sorry I am late, ladies!” I said, trying to look at the sumptuous display of flesh in a neutral, objective manner. . “I was interviewing Mrs Somersby for my newspaper.”

“That is quie alright, Edmund! Y our work must come first. We have been resting after a fine lunch at the Cafe Royal!” said Lady Caroline.

“We have been caressing ourselves!” said Sarah, slipping her fingers between her pink petals, deep in her black-thatched mound.

“And each other!” added Emily, stroking one of her sister’s breasts while looking at me, as if to guauge my reaction.

“In fact, this little display by the girls neatly brings us to the subject of the first drawing I would like you to do,” said Hoxton.

“We will pose like this!” said Emily and sat up on the bed. Her sister sat next to her.  They both spread their legs and Sarah put her right thigh over her sister’s left. I took a deep breath.  The atmosphere of female arousal in the room was overpowering.  The only way to deal with the situation was to remain professional and detached.

“Would you mind placing a chair just here Lord Hoxton, while I prepare my things, please?”  He did as I asked and I took out a piece of cream coloured paper and some soft pencils. I sat down, holding my portfolio as an easel, as I had done with Edith.  I set to work immediately, trying, and largely failing, to see these two ripe young bodies as an exercise in draughtsmanship and not a sexually provocative display.  All hope of this disappeared after ten minutes when they moved their arms between each other’s legs and started to caress each other intimately.  “Ladies, please, you must keep still and you must return to your original positions!”  They did as they were told, somewhat sulkily, licking each other’s juices off their fingers before getting back into place.

“Good girls!” said their mother.  “They do enjoy caressing each other, even though it may be seen as a rather unusual thing for two sisters to do!”

“Rather,” I agreed, calmly, without displaying my complete shock at their lascivious behaviour.

“I suppose it is my fault!”continued Lady Caroline. “I taught them how to frig properly several years ago.  We all sat in front of a mirror and did it together.  Of course I had to demonstrate on them myself the correct action, at some points.”

“Of course!” I agreed, drawing the pink parts emerging from Emily’s black curly bush. I had a thought and opened my pencil box.  Inside were a number of Faber-Castell coloured pencils. I gently shaded Emily’s parts, nipples and lips in pink. It made the drawing much more lascivious in nature, which I thought Hoxton would appreciate.  The finished drawing was much admired.

“I love the touch of pink on their important bits, Molloy. Brilliantly done!” said Hoxton.  The girls stood behind me while I drew their mother, who Lord Hoxton positioned carefully on her stomach, propped across some pillows. She too had her legs spread and her sex and anus were clearly visible.

“Oh yes, do draw mummy’s shit hole!” said Sarah.

“Do try and watch your language, dear!” said her mother, slipping her middle finger inside her sex. “I am ready Mr Molloy!” she declared.  I spent several hours drawing all three women, individually or in groups.  They all happily acceded to my request to draw portraits of their intimate parts for my own collection.  Hoxton remarking that it was a capital idea and might form the basis of an exhibition at the Babylon Exploration Society. My final drawing had them sprawled in a post coital looking heap on the bed, limbs entwined, wet sex’s wantonly displayed.  I had got quite used to them pleasuring themselves in front of me during the afternoon.  Perhaps the wine at lunch had me in a more mellow mood than usual.

“This is just excellent work, Molloy. I know a couple of people who would like to commission similar pictures.  Could be a nice supplement to your income, what?”

“I would enjoy that, Lord Hoxton!” I said.

“Right.  Shall we take a sister each and then have some tea?  Don’t have much of a kitchen here but I can run to a cup of Darjeeling and slice of cook’s fruitcake. This room was originally the drawing room and my study was the dining room but I decided I only needed a bedroom and a study come drawing room. Don’t eat here. Always go out, dontchaknow?”

“I’d be happy to take tea with the sisters!” I said.

“Take ‘em first, though! Which one would you like? Sarah is only fifteen, of course, but I won’t tell if you won’t tell!”

“I’m sixteen next month!  I know how to do everything, Mr Molloy!  I won’t be a disappointment!  I’m very juicy!” said Sarah, thrusting her hips forward and cupping her mound.  "And I am very good at gamahuching!"  She looked at my crotch, pointedly.

“On second thoughts, I think I ought to go!” I said, hurriedly packing my pencils into their cedar wood box and tying up my portfolio.

“Please don’t go, Edmund,” said Emily. “Sarah and I can lie next to each other while you and Lord James take us. Then you can change places half way through.  That would be amusing!”

“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Caroline. Come along Edmund!  I do enjoy seeing my lovely girls given a good fucking!”

“Thank you,  ladies, it has been very...interesting. I have left the drawings here,” I said indicating the seat of the chair.

“I’ll let myself out!” Emily, kneeling on the bed had just slipped her hand down inside Hoxton’s black silk pyjama trousers and was patently caressing his manhood.

“Won’t you even stay for tea and fruitcake?  Cook's is splendid.  A nice topping of nuts too!” Hoxton said, as Sarah started to remove his smoking jacket.  I closed the door to his rooms behind me and fled onto Piccadilly.

"Quite enough nuts already,’ I thought.




Thinking it prudent not to be seen having dinner in the hotel I took Edith to Reggiori Brothers splendid restaurant at the end of the Euston Road, just across the road from the Great Northern.

“She actually used the word ‘fucking’?” asked an amused Edith, as we sat having dinner.  I had not used that word myself in describing the afternoon to Edith. I had said that she had used a very vulgar word describing copulation which might be heard in the London Irish changing rooms but never by a lady, even though she, indubitably, was one.

“As clear as day!” I replied, scooping up some potted shrimps.

“And Edna Somersby got drunk and told you of the time she caught me frigging myself on Compton Beach?”

“She did! She also knew perfectly well what my role was as regards you.  I think that perhaps we should stop seeing each other!”

“What a silly idea!  We just have to be a bit careful.  George is back from Liverpool tomorrow afternoon and I will go back to being a dutiful wife but I intend to keep ‘seeing you’ until you leave for South America!  After dinner I will leave you to pay the bill and we will give each other a friendly handshake.  You will have a port and a cigar.  Look, they have around forty cigars to choose from."  She indicated the back of the menu where a selection of Havana cigars were listed.

“I don’t really care for cigars that much.  I only have one if I have to for social reasons!” I said.

“I like the smell of them,” said Edith. “They remind me of my father.  George does not approve of women smoking!”

“Is your father still with us?” I asked.

“Both my mother and father are alive and well. They live in Edinburgh as my mother is Scots and my father is a professor of engineering at the University.  I visit them once or twice a year, without George, and my father always smokes a cigar after dinner while I have a cigarette.”

“You smoke cigarettes?” I asked. She certainly was a modern woman.

“Not very often. Perhaps like your partaking of cigars. An occasional treat. I do not like the smell in my clothes and so sometimes if I am away at my parents’ house I have one in the bath!  Not at home of course. George would have a fit!”

“Not something to engender!” I laughed. I was surprised at Edith admitting to smoking.   I had thought it was something you saw from the prostitutes who prowled the music halls and from market girls but that was it.  Britten had told me it was getting more popular with a certain sort of modern woman.  I imagined a room full of plotting Suffragettes, all puffing away beneath a cloud of smoke as they planned the downfall of men.

“Well, you can sit here for a quarter of an hour or so while I return to the Great Northern and prepare myself for your ardent attention!” she said, rubbing my leg under the table with her calf.

“I look forward to it, as ever,” I said.

 “We will have a night of uncontrollable passion, our naked bodies sliding across each other as we grind, thrust, sweat and spend!” she said, whispering in my ear. “Fucking! All night!”


Chapter notes on this episode can be found here.

Thursday, 13 October 2016

Chapter 9: “The dinosaur chasing journalist!"

The Rope Walk at the Albany, Piccadilly, London


Edmund Molloy, a journalist for The Daily Courier has volunteered to join an expedition to South America to look for prehistoric creatures.  He has been seduced by Edith, the wife of the expedition's leader Professor Challenor.  They have been engaged in a passionate tryst at the Great Northern Hotel.  That evening Molloy has to meet with fellow expedition member Lord Hoxton, at his residence in Piccadilly.


I arrived at the Albany, or just ‘Albany’ as the many distinguished residents tended to call it, at eight thirty. The uniformed doorman took me through the main house and out of the rear of the building along the famous Rope Walk, a covered path which is located between the double frontages of the terraced houses that made up the rest of the Albany. He led me upstairs to where Lord Hoxton’s set, as the apartments there are known, was located on the first floor and knocked on the door himself, so as to ensure that I was not some interloper. 

“Molloy! Do come in old chap! Let me get you a glass of Madeira!” said Hoxton, after thanking the doorman, who touched the brim of his top hat before retiring. Hoxton was casually dressed in a dark red smoking jacket, what looked like black silk pyjama trousers and Turkish looking slippers. I gazed around his drawing room with interest. It was in complete contrast to the chaos of Professor Challenor’s study. Everything was neatly arranged, even though the room contained a great number of objects. There were the inevitable mounted heads of wild animals, reflecting Hoxton’s reputation as a game hunter. Big cats from Africa, gazelles and antelope of many kinds. He explained that his large trophies were down in his house in Hampshire. There were several mounted fish in cases and framed collections of fishing flies, butterflies and beetles on the bottle green striped wallpaper. In one corner a stuffed cobra reared above a bristling mongoose. The lights had green shades too, giving a dim light with most of the illumination coming from a large, crackling fire. One wall was part taken up by a mahogany bookshelf stuffed with gold embossed leather volumes and the occasional small statuette of African provenance. Along the top of a marble chimney-piece was a collection of brass shell cases of different calibres, a bronze sculpture of a wading bird and a brass clock. Above the chimney-piece was a gorgeously luminous nude which was obviously by Renoir. There were several other paintings or drawings of nude women on the walls. Not as extreme as those in the Babylon Exploration Society but rather bolder than would be acceptable in mixed company. One looked like a Boucher or a Fragonard drawing of a voluptuous young girl reclining amidst soft pillows, her plump thighs guiding the eye towards an anatomically accurately rendered pubis. Another, of a girl in a tub, was certainly by Degas. Hoxton was, I knew, fabulously wealthy, so the presence of such art did not surprise me. “Here,” he said, handing me a very large glass of Madeira, “sit down and tell me about yourself!” 

“Thank you,” I said sitting down on his large russet coloured leather sofa. I seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time discussing my life of late, although the version I gave Hoxton emphasised my sporting activity rather more than my artistic. 

“I think you’ll do well, Molloy,” he said, after I had given him a brief account of my life so far, “provided you can take advice. Going up the Amazon is not like taking a skiff up the Thames. Many of the creatures in the region are very nasty if not actually deadly: jaguars, anacondas, electric eels, piranha... Deep in the interior the local tribes are often hostile and equipped with poison tipped arrows or blowpipes. Then there is the fever, the risk of physical injury and such like. And everywhere the cursed, biting insects. The jungle floor is alive with 'em. Still, you look like a robust chap. Done any boxing?” 

“Yes, at school,” I said. 

“Can you swim?” 

“I am a strong swimmer; able to swim more than a mile with little effort.” 

“Excellent. So, what with your rather top level rugger, capped for Ireland I believe this past season, I see you can take the knocks. Do you pick up colds?” 

“What? Oh no! I am lucky to possess robust health, Lord Hoxton!” I replied, conscious that he was conducting an interview far more searching than I had had at the Courier. 

“Hoxton, is enough. Lord James if you want to be friendly!” he said. “Your editor told me, at the museum last night, that you are a fine artist. Are those some of your drawings in that portfolio?” He indicated the folder which I had left by the door. 

“Yes! I mean no!” 

“Can I see them?” 

“They are personal,” I replied. “Private. Of a lady!” I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice. 

“Ah! Those sort of drawings! Well done! As you see,” he waved at the Renoir, “I am something of a collector meself. I really would like to see one!” 

“I have one where the lady’s face is not revealed. I can show you that!” I stood up. 

“Why? Am I likely to know the lady?” he sipped his Madeira and looked wolfish. 

“There is a possibility, however slight, that you may meet her!” I said, carefully flicking through the drawings. I wished I had not left the first, almost innocent, one of Edith from the rear with her in the hotel but I had given it to her and she had packed it in her case. I gingerly extracted the one of Edith sat facing the back of a chair. I hesitated, as not just her sex but her anus were clearly depicted. Her face, however, was not. I handed it to him. 

“Good Lord, Molloy! This is well done indeed! Do I take it that you are intimate with this woman?” 

“We have...an arrangement!” I said. 

“Splendid! You are a proper man and up to the task in hand no doubt! Can’t bear to travel with mealy-mouthed puritans who are squeamish about sex. Always like to add to me tally on these sorts of trips. Don’t want some God-fearing fellow telling me what is and isn’t right. Seems to me if the gel is screaming in delight and flowing like the Nile as you roger her then you can’t be doing anything wrong! Ipso facto! What?” 

“Have you, er, experienced the women of the Anazon jungle before?” I asked. I was expecting to talk to Hoxton about hunting rather than women. 

“Yes, but the gels of Amazonia are not particularly attractive by native standards. Stocky legs, barrel like bodies, not very pleasing faces. Not a patch on your Beja of the Sudan, your Polynesians, your Zulu women, my how they can go at it, and what not. Let alone the lovelies you find in the Levant and sub-continent. Some of the loveliest women in the world in India and many of them are properly trained in the arts of love. Not really natives though, I s’pose. Some of them are close to being civilised people. Still, when they are face down with their arses in the air they all feel the same, what? Just make sure you don’t roger a girl from one of the cannibal tribes. In Brazil I prefer the half chat girls. They can be spectacular but they will be in short supply once we leave Manaós. Had a couple of absolute beauties when I was there last. Sisters! Splendid! Up river a chap has to get it where he can find it. Most of the native girls near the main river will trade it for a few trinkets. Like the old days in the South Seas before all the missionaries wrecked it! Nothing like the first time you introduce a native bint to a good length of white meat. Finest feeling on Earth! Other than watching a fox torn to pieces on your first hunt!”  he took a large swig of his Madeira.

“You obviously have considerably more experience than I do, Lord Hoxton,” I said, the thought occurring that the famous hunter was equally interested in despoiling as many women as shooting creatures. 

“Yes, well. Got to get your score up. What’s yours, old boy?” 

“Score?” I replied. 

“Yes. How many bints have you had?” 

“Well to be honest, I have only had...er, four.” I decided to include Agnes and Madame Nathalie or my 'score' would be rather sorry. 

“Not too bad, old chap. Many have achieved far less. We’ll get you something to play with in Brazil I’m sure! Get you into double figures, what? Perhaps we should both have a tilt at young Miss Blanc? Damn fine looking filly, that, eh? Bit skinny for my taste, though. Like big arses, meself!” 

"I think she is a very beautiful young woman!" I ventured, meaning it.

"I say!  Here's a bit of fun!  Let's have a small wager on her. what?"

"A wager?  In what way?" I asked.

"Nothing complicated. Are you on for it?" he looked at me.  He seemed to want me to agree before agreeing the stakes.  I was worried he might propose something outrageous like five pounds.  He was looking at me carefully and I suspected that this might be another Hoxton test. Given that his skills might well be responsible for keeping me alive in the adventure ahead I decided to agree to his proposal. 

"I will take your wager, even though I do not know the object or the stakes!" I smiled and tried to look confident and like a man of the world.

"Good man!  First class!" He looked delighted and poured us both some more Madeira."Well the object of the wager is obvious!  First one to roger Mademoiselle Blanc wins!"

"Roger?" 

"Yes!  Roger!  Fuck, if you prefer!"

"It may be a difficult objective!" I said, remembering how she had cut Professor Challenor down to size at his lecture.

"That's what makes it a challenge, what?  I rate my odds about fifty fifty.  Yours a bit better!"

Really?" I said, surprised.

"Youth on your side!  Closer to her age and what have you!  Now to win there has to be pretty good evidence that the deed has taken place and, better still, a confession from the lady in question.  As to stakes.  If I win I want a drawing of your lady friend in any pose I choose!"

"Oh!  Alright!" I said, so surprised that he wasn't suggesting a large financial wager that I didn't think about how I might persuade Edith to pose in order to pay off a bet because Lord Hoxton had won a wager as to who could have Marguerite Blanc first.  She might be amused, I hope.  "And if I win?"

"Well, I've been watching you admiring me Boucher drawing, so you can have that!"

"What?" It must be worth a small fortune, I mused.

"I have just acquired another of a girl with her plump arse in the air, which is more to me taste than that one.  Rumours are that they are both of Boucher's wife.  He got her to pose provocatively and sold the drawings off to private collectors.  What a top chap!"  He stood up and we shook hands on the wager and he toasted me as well.

"Good luck Molloy!  And may the best man plunge his way up Mademoiselle Blanc's hot, dripping cunny!"

"Indeed!" I said, wondering what she would say if she knew what we were discussing.

"As I said, I think you have a fair chance at her!"

“I am already finding that a certain type of young woman is attracted to me because of my minor fame in being part of this expedition!” I added. 

“Ah, there you go! Make the most of them! I intend to spend the two weeks before our departure fucking every piece I can! Fortunately me forthcoming birthday party gives me ample opportunity to score dozens of cunnies and arseholes too. Who knows, we may have all been eaten by dinosaurs in six months time!” 

“I will hope that you will protect me from that, Lord Hoxton!” I said, surprised at his strong language although he had been in the army, I knew, in Afghanistan over thirty years previously. 

“Do me best, old chap! But you’ll need a good gun yourself. I’ll sort you one out shortly.” he smiled. “Anyway, back to your lady with the enticing arse. Every woman I meet from now on I will wonder if she is your splendidly built popsy!” He laughed and stood up. “I would like to commission you to do some similar drawings of some of me lady friends. Would you be up for that, eh? I’ll pay you ten guineas a drawing! Lots of artists can turn out a nude but not many can so lovingly reproduce the details of the pudenda and anus! I do enjoy a nice tight arsehole, what?” 

“I would be happy to do so!” I said. Ten guineas a drawing! 

“Excellent! Now, need to fit you out with a gun. Wait here while I get one. I have just the thing in mind! Have some more Madeira! I’ll be a few minutes as I think it is somewhat buried under some trunks! Here look at this list,” he handed me a piece of paper with neat writing upon it. “I’ve listed pretty much everything you will need and where to get it. Army & Navy is your best place!” 

He left the room. I looked at the list and it did seem helpfully comprehensive. I folded it and put it in my jacket pocket. I stood up and poured myself another glass of Madeira. I stood in front of the fire and looked at the Renoir, closely. I wondered about attempting a painting of Edith. 

“James, what are you up to? Come back to bed!” I jumped, nearly spilling my Madeira as I turned around, looking in the direction from which the deep, sultry voice had come. I saw a handsome black haired woman. in her late thirties or early forties. emerging from a doorway. She was dressed in a man’s white shirt, black stockings with red garters and, it appeared, nothing else. The shirt was undone apart from the middle button revealing the enticing slopes of a magnificent bosom. I recognised her instantly as Hoxton’s companion from the museum lecture, Lady Caroline, a prominent socialite widow about town who hosted a salon, in the old Parisian fashion. She is a subscriber to this edition so I have ensured that my account regarding her has her approval and I am grateful for her recollections of subsequent events. “Oh! Hello, young man! And who might you be? Wait! Of course! The dinosaur chasing journalist! I am sure that I recognise you from elsewhere, however! Ah, I have it! You are the well know rugby player Mr…forgive me…” 

“Molloy. Edmund Molloy!” I said holding out my hand. She squeezed it gently and I was aware of a strong musky scent from her body. Had she just been...? 

“Of course! I think we have even spoken before, I believe. At Twickenham, wasn’t it?” 

“Your powers of recall are remarkable, Lady Caroline,” I said. She smiled at my remembering her name. I did now recall our meeting, when she had attempted to get into our dressing room, somewhat the worse for Champagne. 

“I never forget a nice pair of legs Mr Molloy!” she replied, dropping on to the arm of one of Hoxton’s red leather armchairs. She crossed her own legs and displayed her elegant limbs, including an enticing slice of naked upper thigh. 

“It is an appreciation I share, your ladyship,” I said, smiling. 

“Mr Molloy! Are you flirting with me?” she smiled back. 

“Of course not!” I stammered. I looked at her again and she was still smiling and bouncing her elegant bestockinged foot at me. She raised an elegant eyebrow. 

 “Well, perhaps a little,” I admitted. 

“Splendid! Ah James!” she said as Hoxton returned to the room carrying a gun case. “Your delightful guest is flirting with me in your absence!” 

“Is he now?” said Hoxton, placing the case on the coffee table and opening the catches. “I do like a brave man! Now, speaking of brave, do you have any experience of shooting, Molloy?” He lifted the lid on the box and took out a rifle. 

“Some rabbit hunting back in Ireland,” I said. “But I was never a very good shot!” 

“Well, if Professor Challenor is correct our targets will be rather larger than rabbits, what?” He handed me the rifle. “Winchester 94 lever action six shot thirty-thirty. Easy to use, light and reliable. Good hunting rifle and ideal for someone like yourself with limited experience. You can have this one as a gift, as I own several.” I turned it over in my hands, nervously. It was rather more potent than the Lincoln Jeffries air rifle I had used on rabbits at home. 

“You boys and your guns!” declared Lady Caroline. “I am feeling quite ignored! You can discuss dinosaur hunting another time! Now how about we get Mr Molloy to take his clothes off and join us in bed? Let’s see what his own armament is like!” 

“Oh mama what a splendid idea!” came another feminine voice. I turned towards the door, to what I assumed was Hoxton’s bedroom, and was shocked to see a girl wearing just a thigh length chemise and black stockings. Her naked upper thighs were revealed so she was obviously not wearing drawers either. She would have looked quite at home, dressed in such a manner, in the private rooms of the Babylon Exploration Society. 

“Honestly Emily, look at you disporting yourself in front of a man you haven’t even been introduced to properly!” said Lady Caroline. 

“Well, mama, you should introduce me! But I know who he is from last night!” said the girl crossing the floor and displaying no sense of embarrassment whatsoever. She had the same coal black hair as her mother. 

“Mr Edmund Molloy, may I present my eldest daughter, Emily. She has been receiving instruction from Lord Hoxton today,” said Lady Caroline. I wondered what the nature of that instruction might be but I think I knew only too well. I pride myself on the fact that I managed to deal with this extraordinary situation with some sang froid

“Enchanted, Miss Emily!” I said taking her offered hand. 

“Goodness me, Mr Molloy, you really are rather fine!” said Emily, smiling at me. 

“I would agree with that assessment entirely!” said another voice. I saw that another lovely girl had stepped into the room; this one wearing just a chemise with no stockings. She stepped up to Emily and put her arm around her waist. “I am Sarah, Emily’s sister!” I took her hand too. 

“Doubly enchanted!” I said. 

“My younger sister, I should add,” said Emily. The two were almost identical, although Emily had about two inches in height on her younger sibling. Sarah was slimmer and her bosom looked smaller than Emily’s, which appeared to have the same impressive proportions as her mother. I was not certain of their ages but under twenty I would have guessed.

“I was just suggesting that Mr Molloy, who is a well-known rugby player and extremely fit, should join us in bed, Emily. I am sure James will agree. After all he cannot really service three of us properly on his own!” 

“I thought I had been making a good show of it!” smiled Hoxton, sitting down in the chair Lady Caroline was perched upon the arm of. 

 “Indeed, as ever! But the girls need a little more ploughing I think! 

 “I’d like to be ploughed by Mr Molloy! Right this minute!” said Sarah. 

“Unfortunately, lovely as you all are!” I said. “I have my own lady friend waiting for me at an hotel!"
  
“Telephone the hotel! Invite her over here! Six is a much more symmetrical figure than five! You can take Sarah, James can take Emily and I can see if your lady has any Sapphic interest! What fun that would be! Then we can all change partners! It will be like one of your birthday parties, James! I am so looking forward to that! You should invite Mr Molloy!” 

“Indeed,” said Hoxton, smiling and stroking Lady Caroline’s hip under her shirt. 

 “Oh please stay!” said Sarah, squeezing one of her cotton-clad breasts invitingly. 

“I would like nothing more in all the world!” I said, truthfully. “But I cannot disappoint my lady. We have very little opportunity to be together and she is shy and would be intimidated by such beauties!” I stood up, trying to hide my erection behind the back of a chair. “Well said, Molloy. Look after your lady! I am sure I can handle these wildcats tonight!” said Hoxton. “Oh, ladies, Molloy is a fine artist and I have just engaged him to make some drawings of you. Show ‘em the one you showed me!” 

“Really?” I asked, hesitating. 

“Yes! It is in exactly the style that I would like of these three!” 

“Oh! Very well!” I opened my portfolio and pulled out the picture of Mrs Challenor with her bottom on display once more. 

“That is excellent, Mr Molloy! This is your lady?” asked Lady Caroline, showing the picture to her daughters. I nodded. 

“She has a very inviting fundament!” said Emily. “I should enjoy sliding my finger into it!” 

“I suspect that she would enjoy that too!” I said, thinking about her penetrating her own rectum the day before. 

“Do get her to come over!” urged Sarah. “We can lick her bottom hole together!” She put her arm around her sister. 

“I cannot, alas! I really must leave!"  I started to edge towards the door. 

"Take the Winchester!” said Hoxton, handing me the case, which fortunately had a canvas shoulder strap. “Come again tomorrow afternoon for some drawing! About three!” 

“Yes, do come!” said Sarah. 

“We intend to!” laughed Emily. 

“I will do so!” I said, not really knowing what I was letting myself in for. 

“Your lady is welcome too, of course. Is it the pretty blonde I met at the museum?” asked Hoxton. “Agnes.” 

“No. She is a friend only,” I said. 

“Excellent!” said Hoxton. When I eventually found my way onto the pavement in bustling Piccadilly once more, I stopped and took a deep breath. My mammy was right. London must be the centre of all sin of the world, as she had always maintained and I was thoroughly enjoying the fact! 




 I took the Number 14 from Piccadilly to King’s Cross and when I arrived at the Great Northern Hotel it was rather later than I had intended. I knocked on the door and heard Edith bid me enter. I closed the door behind me, dropping the heavy gun case on the floor next to my portfolio. 

“Perfect timing, Edmund, I was just about to take a bath. Do come and join me!” she was dressed in a long towelling bath robe. She had me strip naked and put on another bathrobe, handed me a towel and we stepped out into the corridor. She locked the door and we headed down it to where the bathrooms were. We looked up and down the corridor once more and, giggling like naughty schoolchildren, darted inside the bathroom and bolted the door. I turned on the taps. Edith removed her robe to reveal her naked form and I removed my robe too, wondering at the intimate familiarity with each other which we had gained so very quickly. 

“I am sorry to be so late. How was your evening?” I asked. 

“Well, I went out and had tea with my friend Mabel, our alibi, which then turned into dinner. I may have had a little too much wine!” she giggled. “I telephoned George who really had very little time for me. He was off to Liverpool to meet the Booth shipping line and discuss arrangements for transporting the expedition. He will be away for two days. We could extend our illicit stay here, although given your increasing fame perhaps that may have some risk. Taking breakfast together tomorrow would probably not be wise, for example! How about you? Have you been approached by any more panting young ladies!” I laughed and described my visit to Lord Hoxton and the attention of his three lady friends. “And you were not tempted by the prospect of a mother and daughters! I would have thought that a fine prize for any lusty man about town!” she said as we climbed into the bathtub together. 

“Well, I don’t really regard myself as a lusty man about town, as you put it. Any success with the fairer sex is a rather unexpected product of the last few days, really. And, anyway, who would bother with them when I have you waiting for me!” 

“How very sweet! I very much see you as my lusty man about town, however!” she said rubbing her toes between my manhood and ballocks. Her attention meant that I did not remain flaccid for long. “You do respond so engagingly quickly, Edmund. Look at your lovely cock all stiff and throbbing! On which subject I have come to something of an epiphany this afternoon while discussing you with my friend, Mabel!” She started to rub my length between the soles of both feet which, I thought, must take some delicate muscular control. 

“Have you ever taken dance classes, Edith?” I asked, watching her leg muscles flex as her dainty feet massaged my manhood. 

“When I was a girl I did some dance. Can you tell?” 

“Once, just once, we had a pretty girl to draw in life classes and she had been a dancer at the music hall. She started in ballet, I believe. Like you, she had toned legs, a particular poise and a grace of movement which are not common!” I ventured. 

“Hah! That would be down to Madame LeClerc my French teacher at school. She also was the dance teacher and maintained that English women were like clumsy hippopotami compared with French women in matters of deportment. When she arrived at my school she made all us girls walk up and down the school hall, correcting our stance. She carried a riding whip and would use it to demonstrate our errors. “Chin up, shoulders back, chest out, posterior in!” she would cry. Many was the time I received a firm whack across my bottom because it supposedly protruded too far! I tried to explain that that was just the way I was built!” 

“You do have a particularly fine posterior,” I said. 

“Thank you! I do think it is the one part of me that George appreciates. He invariably takes me from behind, like a mare! Something I respond to, I should add. He is rather like a horse in his approach. He just jams his cock up me and starts thrusting away. Goodness I do enjoy saying ‘cock’! That is partly Mabel’s fault. Such a dirty mouth! She served as a nurse with the British Red Cross Society in the South African War. She has taught me many colourful terms over the years. If anyone had heard our conversation this evening they would have taken us for a pair Spitalfields doxies!” 

“I’d like to meet her!” I said. 

“I am sure you would although at present I would not let her anywhere near you as she would be dropping her drawers for you within a few hours, I suspect!” laughed Edith. “She is a widow of around my age and saucy as Hell!” We chatted and washed each other. “Good God, Edmund I really do think I need your cock!” she said as she stroked it. 

 “I think you have it!” I said as she gripped me firmly and began to frig me. 

“No. I want it inside me! Take me now! Rut with me!  I make only one condition,” she said standing up in the bath, water cascading off her trim body, “that you avoid the dog position. That I reserve for George. It keeps these physical relationships separate from my married life!” 

“Of course, but I thought that we were not going to engage in actual…you know!” I said.  "That was the agreement, was it not?” I had noticed that she had said ‘these relationships’. 

 “Those were my terms which I am free to modify! Look, we were so very close to actual copulation earlier and the purpose of this arrangement is for you to serve my pleasure. The issue is not one of the level of physical intimacy, it was and is, that of emotional intimacy. I had concerns that you might become some lovesick puppy dog and start demanding precedence over my husband who, I repeat, I love very much. But given your now palpable appeal to others of the opposite sex I am fairly certain that you will take this opportunity for what it is and not create any difficulties for me or my husband. That has been my epiphany today. And you may thank my friend Mabel for it! We discussed you at length. In fact, we discussed your length at length! So now, to use Mabel’s delightfully frank term, I want to screw you!” 

 And screw we did, in something of a frantic coupling. She had me lie down on my back on the bathroom tiles (that provided an initial shock, I can tell you!) and mounted me forthwith. There was no initial kissing or caressing. No stroking or fondling. She held my cock up vertically, sat down upon it and started to bounce up and down on me. I could not resist squeezing her breasts however and she smiled at me throughout the procedure. 

"Edith!" I cried, overcome by her passion as I watched, fascinated, my slick manhood disappear and remerge from her hot core. 

“Ride a cock horse!” she said, increasing the speed of her movements. She was going at it so violently that I popped out of her but she immediately stuffed me back inside and resumed. After only a short time I was starting to get close and realised it might be difficult to pull out before the vital moment, given that she was on top. 

“Edith, I need to withdraw!” I said. 

“No!” she gasped. Britten had informed me that there were women who pretended to be barren so they could become pregnant and extract money or even marriage from the man. Given Edith’s personal situation I thought this unlikely but still... I took my hands off her breasts, intending to gently push her off me. 

 “Christ, Christ, Christ!” said Edith, her unfettered bosoms now bouncing around outrageously. That sight was just so arousing that I realised it was too late and I was spurting, for the first time, deep inside a woman. 

"I can feel it!" she cried.  She kept bouncing away but her movements became slower and eventually she stopped moving, her chest heaving, her body pink and covered in perspiration.  She looked at me, smiling. 

 “I’m sorry, Edith,” I said. “I spent rather quickly. It was just so overwhelming. Next time I will ensure that you also reach your climax!” 

“You silly boy! I came twice!” She laughed as I lay there on the cold tiles, my deflating cock still lodged inside her soft wetness.


Notes on this chapter can be found here.

Saturday, 24 September 2016

Chapter 8: “What luxury to have such a beautiful woman attend to me in such an intimate manner!”

The Reform Club, Pall Mall


Edmund Molloy, a journalist for the Daily Courier, has volunteered to join an expedition run by Professor Challenor which is looking to confirm the existence of prehistoric creatures on a lost plateau in South America.  He has been seduced by the Professor's passionate wife Edith and is engaged in a tryst at the Great Northern Hotel in London's King's Cross.


Over lunch (we both took roast chicken), Edith told me of how she had first met Professor Challenor, when he had literally knocked her off her feet at a Royal Zoological Society lecture, while arriving for it late. She had inadvertently shown rather a lot of leg as she sprawled on the ground. He had said: ‘You’ll do!” and courted her for a month before asking her to marry him, just as he obtained his chair. On the whole, she had not regretted it but said that lately his interest in connubial activities had lessened enormously. She said that in the past he could always be relied on for a rough but well meant ‘seeing to’, as she described it, but these days he seemed diffident and distracted. She felt that this expedition was his last chance to invigorate what he believed to be a declining career. Unwilling to play the political games of the much more polished Somersby, she felt that he had been unfairly denigrated by his peers. He did not mind being regarded as controversial and, in fact, relished it but he hated to be ignored. 

“But if what the Professor says is true then he is about to make one of the greatest discoveries in history!” I said. 

“Indeed and in one way that would please me enormously but looking at it in another way I would lose him” she said, rubbing the rim of her water glass with a wet finger, in the manner of a glass harmonica. 

“How so,” I asked, wishing she would desist from making the annoying noise. 

“He would become so famous that he would, no doubt, be forever giving lectures, very much the thing he enjoys most, all around the world,” she answered, thankfully picking up her glass and taking a sip of water. 

“But surely you would travel with him, wherever he went?” 

“Yes as, no doubt, I would have to make all his administrative arrangements,” she said. I smiled, as that had been the phrase I had used to gain entrance to the Challenor’s house. 

“However, he has little time for me when we are travelling. His mind is too much taken up with other things. Showing off, mainly. I prefer it when he is at home writing or researching. Then he will occasionally call for me in his study and order me to remove my drawers and assume the normal position,” she played a different note on her, now, emptier glass. 

“The normal position?” 

“Yes, as I was when you visited the other day. Standing in front of his chair, bent at the waist, my forearms on the arms of the chair, my skirts up at my waist, my feet eighteen inches apart and my posterior presented. Just this process of preparation, I should tell you, gets me dripping wet, ready to receive him as he roughly thrusts into me.   Speaking of it does the same!” She wriggled on the chair and I started to become engorged at the mental image of the process. 

 “Is there no kissing or caressing?” I asked. 

“Indeed no. He does not have your enjoyably sensitive touch, Edmund! Just thrusting and then spurting although I am no longer able to actually feel his ejaculation on my vagina walls. He has but a dribble, I think!” 

“Oh!” I said. Edith looked at me in an amused manner. 

“Have I shocked you again, Edmund?” 

 “No. Yes. Well I have never heard a woman use the word vagina before! I mean. Good Lord.” I said. It was not quite true. Madame Nathalie had referred to that part of a woman’s body the other evening but she had called it a cunt which, oddly, seemed less shocking given we were naked in a brothel than this very proper lady using the medical term in a busy restaurant. 

“I want you to know about George and my carnal activities. You need to be reminded that you have no exclusivity over my person in that area. After I have finished with you here I might, for example, go straight home and molest him under his desk!” 

“You have intimate relations under his desk?” I asked. It was a large desk, I recalled, but not that large. 

“Sometimes when George is sitting and reading I crawl under his desk, unbutton him and gamahuche him. I never quite know his reaction. Usually he tells me to ‘desist, woman’ but never quite pushes me away. Until recently, anyway.  He used to just lean back in his chair and let me give him a really wet one, dribbling all over his stones. Goodness, Edmund, I am getting quite wet thinking about it. After lunch I will fellate you again too, I think!” 

“I am already looking forward to it!” I said. We lingered over lunch and were the last diners in the room. “When do you have to leave?” I asked. I waved at the waiter for the bill and shuddered at the prospect of what the total might be. I remembered Britten’s comment about men having to pay for sex indirectly and wondered whether I would have to pay for the hotel bill too. Probably, I thought. A woman was not likely to pay and neither should she, I supposed. I felt mean and ungrateful as to my initial thoughts. Perhaps McCandless might at least give me a pay rise now. I was famous after all! 

“Eleven,” answered Edith. “I must leave at eleven!” It was nearly three in the afternoon. 

“We have some hours at least!” I said.

 “More than that. Eleven tomorrow morning! George thinks that I am staying with my friend Mabel in Reigate. We can spend the night together!” 

“Oh!” I answered, thinking that that took our little arrangement to a new level of intimacy. “Doesn’t that carry some risk?” I asked. 

“Hardly at all! George does not know exactly where Mabel lives and he regards anywhere south of Battersea as distant as Morocco. In fact, I have promised her tea here later, in exchange for being an alibi, as she will be in town. She thinks it is perfectly normal for anyone married to George to have a little fling, as she puts it! She doesn’t know him. He can be like a big old bear!” she smiled fondly and in a way it made me feel less guilty as to what I was doing.

“I am having dinner with Britten. I have to meet Lord Hoxton tonight in Piccadilly for an hour or two, also.” I said. “It never occurred to me that we might have a night together! I had better check in with my editor, too. I really do not wish to be apart from you that long!” She looked at the fob watch pinned to her blouse.

 “We have an hour and a half before Mabel arrives!” “A little time apart will just build our mutual desire for each other later on. Now let’s go upstairs again for more carnal intimacy and then afterwards you can run your errands and I can have tea with Mable. You can do some more drawings!”




After lunch we arrived back at our room just as a maid emerged, having changed the chamber pot. She gave me a knowing look and winked impertinently. “And here is a nice clean pot to christen!” said Edith. 

 “You could just use the bathroom down the corridor!” I pointed out. 

“How boring! We lovers must not be shy about our bodily functions! All can be a source of carnal pleasure!” she said hiking up her skirt and squatting over the pot which she had just removed from the nightstand. I turned away. “No! Watch me! Watch me pee for you!” I did, as she relieved herself of her share of two bottles of Hock and a jug of water. I took my turn and put the pot away, washing my hands in the bowl. When I came out from behind the screen she was naked apart from her stockings. 

“How did you get undressed so quickly?” I asked, removing my jacket. 

“By abandoning my underthings completely. I was just wearing my blouse and skirt at lunch!” she laughed. Although I then noticed she was still wearing her boots. 

“Soon you will be walking the streets quite naked!” I said, shrugging my braces off my shoulders. 

“And wouldn’t that be wonderful?” she said, pulling the covers down on the bed. “If we could all walk around naked!” 

“Not everyone’s naked form is as aesthetically pleasing as yours!” I said, thinking about Professor Challenor, as I unbuttoned my shirt. I grimaced at the thought. 

“You are thinking about George, aren’t you?” she said, laughing and stretching her body again, her hands above her head, her breasts lifting enticingly.

“Well some things should, perhaps remain covered!” I said, dropping down and untying my own shoes. I removed my socks too. Madame Nathalie had observed that men who removed their clothes and left their shoes and socks until last looked ridiculous. 

“Perhaps we need a committee to decide who can walk around naked and who should remain covered up. Like the Royal Academy hanging committee. It should consist of three men and three women and they should vote.” 

“Do the men vote for the women and the women for the men or do they all vote on both?” I asked, taking my undershirt off. 

“Both. I am sure I have just as good an appreciation of the naked female form as of the male!” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and removing her boots. 

“If there is a tie?” I asked. 

“I, as president of the committee would have the casting vote!” she said. 

“You would need a lot of time if we were to vote on every person in London. Rather more people than pictures submitted to the Summer Exhibition I would think!” I said. 

“Yes, that is true. We would need multiple committees; one for each borough. I would have to rush around voting on special cases. Perhaps using a hands on approach to assess them! Speaking of which, come over here!” I had pulled my drawers off and walked over to the bed, naked. “Now how would I assess you?” she said. “Hmm, legs really rather top grade. Nine out of ten!” she said stroking my thighs. Torso? Oh yes! Very fine. Perhaps even superior to the classical ideal of the Ancient Greeks. Nine out of ten also.” 

“Only nine?” I asked. 

“Vain boy!” she slid her hands over my buttocks and squeezed. “Posterior? Hmm. Such packed muscle here, such sharply defined gluteal insertions. Built for thrusting I think! Certainly ten out of ten!” 

“I’m glad you score my bottom so highly!” I said. 

 “And now to get to the point. Your masculine equipment!” she cupped my ballocks. “Such very big stones, with a nice downy coating of red gold hair. Most pleasing! And the cock! There it goes, lifting upwards. So curved! So rampant. So delicious looking!” she leant forward and popped her mouth over my bulb. “Mmm, mmm!” she mumbled as she slowly gamahuched me. She pulled off after about ten movements. “Bloody marvellous! Eleven out of ten!” 

“Eleven! I am flattered!” 

“Get into bed!” she kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed and began caressing my manhood with her hand. “Such a lovely big one!” 

“How do you know that mine is big, medium or small?” I asked, pointedly. 

“You silly boy! You do not think that George’s and your phalluses, or is it phalloi, are the only ones I have contemplated or, indeed, touched?” 

“I, ah, suppose not!” I said. Was I just the next in a long line of diversions? Although she intimated that the lack of marital attention from the Professor had been quite recent. Or had I just imagined that? Would I be discarded next week? Or next day? Anyway, we were soon kissing and caressing each other, her hand on my member and gently massaging me. I slipped my hand between her legs and gently stroked her hot, wet parts, slipping a finger inside her once more. 

“Get on top of me,” she suggested. I did so, conscious of her tiny frame but supporting myself on my elbows as I had done with Hoshimi. She took hold of my manhood and pushed it down so that it was close against her parts but pointing downwards, with my tip pressed against the sheet. I pulled my hips up so that my manhood rubbed against her bud and her wet folds below. I had noticed that her sex was some way between Madame Nathalie’s fleshy protuberances and Hoshimi’s neat slit. I pondered putting together an album just of drawings of women’s parts. Anyway, as I slowly slid myself up and down against her sex I realised that it was as close to the act of copulation as you could get without actual penetration and the sensation was very similar, with my member sliding against her wet parts. She was gasping now and cursing. “Bloody hell!” she cried and “damn” more than once. Her hands were grasping my posterior. “Oh God!” she cried at last and I could feel another flood of hot liquid on my shaft. I kept thrusting and soon I was spending once more. This time I soaked the sheet with my emissions. 

“Edith! Edith” I cried. I collapsed on top of her, our bodies slippery with perspiration. “Edmund!” she said and kissed me. “That was lovely!” I kissed her back and we gently kissed and caressed each other for some time. I rolled off her and went to piss again. She hopped out of bed after me and insisted on kneeling and holding the pot for me. 

“What luxury to have such a beautiful woman attend to me in such an intimate manner!” I said, ruffling her hair as she knelt in front of me like a woman of the harem. 

“What pleasure for me to have such a splendid cock rubbing against my vulva!” She laughed. “Now, would you like to draw me once again?” 

“If it does not sound like an odd request I would really like to do a portrait of your intimate parts!” I said. 

“Of course! If only I had the ability to draw then I could reciprocate! Now how would you like me?” I had her on lie on the floor with her legs spread and drew the treasure between her thighs. I did another drawing of her, sat facing the back of the chair, her bottom presented, including her puckered anus. A view, I thought, wryly, her husband would probably appreciate. 

“Now I really must get dressed for tea with Mabel,” she said, after I had gamahuched her again as she sat astride the chair. I knelt behind her and licked her presented parts from the rear causing her to spend once more. As she came I even kissed her rosy anus in appreciation. I was stiff as a barber’s pole of course so she got me to frig myself as I knelt astride her hips. I ejaculated over her belly and she rubbed my spend into her skin. What a delightfully wanton woman she was. Professor Challenor must be a very odd fellow indeed to ignore such a passionate beauty. It was not surprising she sought entertainment elsewhere.




An hour later I was in McCandless’ office. “We have been looking for you everywhere!” he said.

“Lots to do!” I said. “I am due to see Lord Hoxton this evening!”

“I am sure! Hoxton told me last night that there is a liner leaving for Manaós in a couple of weeks, which he wants the expedition to be ready to join. Anyway, Lord Ventnor is delighted with your piece and there is huge interest in the expedition already. We have had so many telephone calls today! I thought that you had taken leave of what senses you had, when you stood up last night but we are already planning a thirty percent larger run for tomorrow’s edition. Now, you will need some expenses to buy the clothing and equipment you need. “Lord Ventnor does not want to stint and was having lunch with Hoxton and Miss Blanc today to discuss potential costs! Here is a hundred pounds.” He always pronounced it as ‘poonds’. “Lord Ventnor has told me that you mustn’t worry about the receipts, we have opened a special expedition account and anything left over you can have as a sort of bonus!” Well that was a phrase I never thought I would hear him say! “I am not for this lax allocation of money willy-nilly, myself. I like everything properly accounted for but if you want to buy your wee lassie a present, on account of being away so long, that would be quite acceptable.” I could have kissed my editor as he passed me the bundle of five pound notes. Less than five per cent of this would easily settle the bill at the Great Northern Hotel and still leave more than enough for my needs. I folded the large notes up and put them in my jacket pocket. It was amusing that he thought I had acquired a ‘wee lassie’ based on my happy mood following my experience with Hoshimi. Of course, since then I had acquired Edith as my ‘wee lassie’ or, rather, she had acquired me, to be more precise.

“I will write up a pen portrait of Lord Hoxton tomorrow morning,” I said. “I already have a lot of detail about his life from the notes I gathered for his obituary, so I will just get some good quotes this evening.”

“Excellent, laddie!” 

“I thought a profile of every member of the expedition would be a good idea. We can keep the stories going until we leave. Then a piece on the equipment we need to gather, how we will get to our destination, what we will eat, etcetera!” I said, thinking I should really be writing all this down, rather than spending time in bed with Edith.

“Well done, laddie! I have been wrong about you Molloy! You did, as you told me, just need the right opportunity! Lord Ventnor has authorised you a ten percent pay rise and you will earn another twenty percent over that for the duration of the expedition! Oh, and we will need details of your next of kin. And while you are about it write up your own obituary, in case you are eaten by a dinosaur. Not too long, mind, as no one will care that much, except a few followers of rugger, perhaps! And your wee lassie no doubt!” I laughed but was starting to have doubts about the perils of the expedition. Even if there were no dinosaurs, a trip up the Amazon, the last great unexplored region on earth, was not exactly a row across the Serpentine.

“Thank you sir! And please thank Lord Ventnor!” I stood up, as I had arranged to get some dinner with Britten before heading off to the Albany. Edith had suggested that dinner together in a public place that evening might not be wise, anyway and she intended to ask her friend Mabel if she might be able to stay in town a little longer. “Molloy you have a real chance here! A real chance to be the most famous journalist in the world since Henry Morton Stanley, d’you ken? Don’t bugger it up!”

“I will not, sir. Oh, these are from Mrs Challenor!” Edith had given me them just before I kissed her goodbye. “Some of the slides from last night’s presentation so that we can use them in the article!”

“Bloody well done, Molloy. You are on fire my boy! Damn fine looking woman that Mrs Challenor. Too good for that aggressive ape of a man!”

“I believe that they are very close, nonetheless!”

“What a shame!” said McCandless. “See if you can get an interview with her too. And Mrs Somersby!”

 “The sad state of the anxious women left behind as their men folk plunge headlong into an unknown whirlpool of jungles, snakes, head hunters and creatures from another time!” I said.

“You have it exactly, Molloy!” He thumped me on the shoulder and nearly sent me flying. “Find out if Hoxton has a particular woman at present. Who was that handsome creature he was with at the museum, with the pretty daughters?”

“Lady Caroline? I don’t know how public their relationship is,” I said, already thinking that interviewing her would be a very pleasant task indeed. I would have to ask Hoxton later. I left the office and hopped onto the Number 9 omnibus towards Trafalgar Square.




“So how did your assignation go with the lovely Mrs Challenor?” asked Britten, getting straight to the point, as we climbed the stairs to the gallery in the Reform.

“I drew some pictures of her!” I said indicating the portfolio under my arm.

“Really? What sort of pictures?” he asked as we headed towards his favourite table.

“What sort do you think?”

“I am hoping they are of Mrs Challenor in a state of undress!” he said.

“Then you are quite correct!” I said. “Now, tonight, I am going to pay for our drinks. I have just been given a pay rise and a rather large sum for expenses for the expedition. I would like to spend some of that on you, my dear William, as you are the progenitor of my new found confidence with women!”

“Well, if you insist, but everything goes on a chit here so...”

“I will pay you the equivalent sum. I do insist!” We sat down.

 “Mr Britten, sir and the famous Mr Molloy!” said the waiter. “We have seen your photograph on the front page of the Courier today, not that it is a newspaper we habitually provide for our members, of course. The club had hoped that you would favour us with your presence again tonight. Everything you wish for this evening will be provided by the club!”

“Goodness me, Molloy. Your fame spreads and your money is safe!” laughed Britten.

“May I suggest a bottle of Pol Roger to start with, sir?” said the waiter, knowing Britten’s tastes, obviously.

“That would be most agreeable!” I said. He withdrew.

“Right. It’s quiet,” said Britten, looking up and down the gallery, once the waiter had gone. “I insist you show me those drawings now!” I untied the folder and produced the one I had done of Edith kneeling in profile by the fire. “Good Lord!” said Britten. “You are a better artist than I remember. Or perhaps you just need the right subject. I showed him the other pictures I had done, concluding with ones I had done after lunch; with her astride a chair, facing the back, her bottom and nether regions proudly displayed and the portrait of her private parts.

“Bugger me!” said Britten. “I mean, bugger me!”

“She thought that you might enjoy these!” I said.

“Bugger me!” said Britten. “Perhaps you should draw some of the girls at the Babylon like this. I’d love one of Bettina and Anna. Perhaps one of the two of them together. Displaying their cunnies! Of course, if Challenor sees even one of these you are a dead man!”

“That, I realise. That is why I rely on your discretion, old chap!”

“You have it! I will insist on seeing them again, though. I don’t suppose you could do me one, could you? Do you think she would agree if she knew it were for me?”

 “I will certainly ask!” I replied, suspecting that she would agree with alacrity, so decided not to ask her. I put the drawings away as a small group of senior Reform members approached our table and Britten introduced me. We chatted about the expedition and I informed them I would be mentioning the club in my account of the preparations.

“Do we support dinosaurs or are we opposed to them?” asked one whiskery gent.

“We support those who chase them!” said another. “I think.”

“You must put Mr Molloy up for membership, old boy!” said one of the other club grandees to Britten.

“If he returns without having being eaten by a dinosaur, I will do just that!” said Britten.

 “I doubt I could afford the fees!” I said as they tottered off, cigar smoke trailing in their wake like a transatlantic liner at speed.

“I suspect, if you successfully achieve the aims of this expedition, Molloy, you will not have too many problems with money. You will be able to write a book about your experiences. Or perhaps a fictionalised novel  version, featuring your handsome friend and the inspiration he provided you to take such an adventurous leap of faith. Better still you can write a privately published edition featuring lots of sexual adventures with the native girls, let alone the lovely Miss Blanc! There is a Babylon Exploration Society member who produces limited editions of such erotic books. The Society members always subscribe. The rewards are financially handsome for both publisher and author.

“That is a coincidence,” I said. “I have just started to record my new sexual adventures in a sort of journal. Starting with Agnes and continuing with the Babylon girls and now Mrs Challenor!”

“I must introduce you to the chap!” said Britten. “He is half French but we shouldn’t hold that against him too much! He doesn’t have a froggy accent or any such disturbing Continental traits. Never smelled any garlic on him or anything, either. His Frenchness is just an unfortunate accident of birth. Went to Winchester and New College, Oxford. Not that dreadful French university, The Sorbet.” I smiled. We polished off the first bottle of Pol Roger in short order and were well into the second. “So, if your account of your activities with Mrs Challenor is to be believed, and I have no reason not to, then you were really just an inch from penetrating her! You could have just slipped it in!”

“It certainly felt like that!” I agreed, amused at his specific interest.

“Do you think you will proceed to the act itself? Perhaps tonight?”

“I do not know. She sets the pace and may feel that is too much of a betrayal of her husband. I am perfectly happy with the status quo!” I said, while already wondering what it would be like to slide myself up inside Edith Challenor’s hot cunny.


Notes on this chapter can be found here.