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!"
"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.
Notes on this chapter can be found here.