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.

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

Chapter 7: “I see that you have brought your drawing things!”


The Great Northern Hotel, King's Cross, London


Journalist for the Daily Courier, Edmund Molloy, goaded by his former sweetheart and wishing to impress the older Edith Challenor, wife of a famous professor of natural history, volunteers his newspaper to support an expedition to a plateau in South America which is reputedly the home of living prehistoric creatures. After Professor Challenor's revalatory lecture at the Natural History Museum, Mrs Challenor arranges an assignation the following day at the Great Northern Hotel. His friend, William Britten wants to find out the truth about Molloy's relationship with Mrs Challenor so takes him to the Babylon Exploration Society, an expensive brothel.


Britten quizzed me incessantly in the Arabian Room at the Babylon Exploration Society. Initially, about my volunteering for the Challenor expedition and how it would change my life, as I would, he maintained, become well known. The Italian girl, Claudia, poured us some Claret, as we sat. cross-legged, on some of the ornate cushions in the room; although Britten had struggled to settle himself elegantly amongst them. “Only heathens sit on cushions!” he observed, wriggling uncomfortably. I observed that, perhaps, his discomfort was because his clothes appeared to have shrunk over the last six months, which saw me receive a somewhat painful thump on my shoulder.

Claudia, was dressed in diaphanous baggy trousers so sheer that her dark, intimate hair was almost completely revealed. She wore a short, gold-embroidered bolero top which barely covered her large breasts and had no fastening whatsoever at the front. She wore bells on her ankles and wrists which jingled merrily as she saw to our culinary needs.  Neither Anna, nor, disappointingly, Hoshimi, were ‘available’ that night but Britten had been lucky and had his favourite blonde German girl, Bettina, attending on us as well. She was even less modest than the Italian, as she had left her blue silk robe completely undone, giving us regular flashes of her blonde moss and well-formed bust. She and Britten were obviously very comfortable together and both regularly caressed each other as she bustled about. He was still paying for it, though, I thought, an image of a naked Edith, her legs spread on her white linen sheets, slipping into my mind. I smiled, smugly.

Eventually, at our request, the girls left us alone and Britten, as I had expected, started to ask me about Edith Challenor. I dissembled. “Look here, Molloy,” he said after I had tried to change the subject several times, “you do not go from a situation where you have just met a lady, to having her nip your ear with her teeth in greeting and engaging in private liaisons in the darkened recesses of the Natural History Museum, within a period of thirty-six hours, without something else having occurred in the interim. There is a palpable sense of a connection between the two of you!”

“We have just become close friends quickly,” I said. “It happens sometimes!”

“Love at first sight!” said Britten, grinning.

“Not love!” I said.

“Lust then!” he answered. I blushed. “I thought so. You are a terrible liar! Look here, I cannot understand how you were quite happy to tell me the most intimate details about Agnes yet about this woman I am getting nothing from you at all!” said Britten. "It is jolly unfair!"

“She is married. It complicates things,” I said, fiddling with the stem of my glass. “And now of course I will be travelling with her husband...  All rather difficult.”

"So you will not be seeing her again in any, improper, circumstances, then?"  said Britten, I blushed.  "Excellent!  What a bounder you are!  Although the lovely Mrs Challenor is quite worth breaking a commandment for!"

"Oh dear!  I am behaving rather like a bounder aren't I?  My only defence is that this is something Edith is seeking, as her relationship with her husband is not as it should be nor as she deserves!" I said.

“I am sure the Professor will be perfectly understanding as he breaks all your limbs!" he said. "Have you kissed?” he asked, peremptorily.  I nodded. “Excellent!” He smiled and took another sip of his drink. “Have you touched her, intimately?” I thought about this and realised that I had actually kept my hands off her, as she had asked me to. I shook my head. “Has she touched you intimately?” I blushed again. “Really? Was there any nakedness involved?” I nodded again.“Come on, Molloy, I want the whole story!”  I sighed and started from the point I had heard Edith and the Professor in the throes of passion at their house. I concluded with the details of our assignation tomorrow, although, to be on the safe side, I did not reveal the hotel.“Good Lord, Molloy, when you jump, you jump with both feet don’t you?”

I turned down the charms of the lovely Claudia and left Britten happily with both ladies, one on each knee, when I bid them goodnight. As I closed the door on them I heard giggling and the tinkling of bells.  I almost went back into the room at that point but I was tired, emotionally drained and, I admit, thinking that I should be saving myself for Mrs Challenor, who seemed to need my companionship. I returned to my flat in Shepherd’s Bush and undressed. I did not, however, put my pyjamas on. I thought about Edith Challenor and, as I stood there naked in my bedroom, positively enjoyed my blossoming erection. I caressed my ballocks and took my manhood in hand, thinking about her ripe and rounded  body. I climbed into bed and enjoyed a long slow one, unusually, ceasing my strokes if I felt myself close. My mind was full of images of pink nipples, round buttocks and that livid pink gash between her legs, glistening with its own juices. “Edith!” I cried, spurting into my hand.




“Edith!” I cried, as I spotted her in the foyer of the Great Northern Hotel the next morning. The weather was foul and it was pouring with rain.

“Edmund, you look like a drowned rat! What a beastly day!” she said, smiling. I wanted to take her in my arms but instead shook her hand. “Just the day, in fact, for cuddling up naked somewhere warm and cozy!” she whispered, conspiratorially.  “I see that you have brought your drawing things!  I am ready to display myself for you!”

“Indeed, although whether any of my paper remains dry is to be seen!” I said, shaking my cap and stuffing it into my jacket pocket.

“The room will be ready at midday. You can buy me some tea!” she said. She was dressed in shades of blue-grey and wore a sensible felt hat which was still spotted with raindrops. We were just about to go and get some tea when a young woman approached me from across the other side of the foyer. 

“Mr Molloy?” I nodded, wondering who she was. She was a very pretty, even beautiful, brunette with striking green eyes, wearing a brown coat over a dark green ensemble and a rather rakish hat.

"Indeed, miss," I replied, quite taken with her. She nodded at Edith.

“I just wanted to say how very brave you are taking on such an expedition. I am looking forward to reading your accounts in the months to come!” She had a slight south London accent, I thought, although my perception of English accents was by no means perfect. She did not have quite the refined tones of Edith Challenor or Agnes but she wasn’t a cockney either.

“Oh!” I was surprised. I had just delivered my account of last night’s events to the Courier’s offices that morning. I had woken early, toyed with myself while thinking of Edith for a while but decided to save my essence for later. I had made some toast and sat down and typed up my story for the newspaper, as last night McCandless had said it would not make this morning’s edition and he wanted an in depth piece for the following day. “Were you at the lecture last night?” I asked her. “How did you recognise me?”

“No, Mr Molloy but I have just seen your photograph on the inside page of the Courier!”

“What?” I said, my first uncharitable thought being that McCandless had stolen my story.

“Yes, there is a copy over there on that table!” she said. I hadn’t picked up the Courier that morning. I didn’t even register the newspaper in the office, even though they were lying around there as usual. I had just deposited my story and left. Yes, some of the other staff had briefly mentioned the night before’s events but I thought that was just general office talk, not because it was in the newspaper itself. Frankly, my mind was more taken up with Edith Challenor’s ripe body than dinosaurs. The young lady had gone over to the table, which held a selection of the day’s newspapers and brought a copy of the Courier back to show me. There, taking up nearly a quarter of the third page, was the photograph of Challenor, Somersby, Hoxton, Miss Blanc and I at the museum. ‘Courier to fund dinosaur expedition!’ it said. There were just a few lines of text with the promise of ‘much more tomorrow’. Obviously they couldn’t put it on the front page at such short notice and I wondered what story had been moved to make way.

“You are national news, Mr Molloy!” said Edith, smiling.

“Do you have a pen or pencil, Mr Molloy?” asked the young lady, ignoring Edith completely, I noticed.

“A newspaperman always has a copious supply of writing instruments, miss!” I replied showing her the inside pocket of my jacket, which was, as usual, stuffed with pens and pencils.

“Would you mind signing an inscription to me, please!” she asked, indicating the white space at the top of the page, just above the photograph..

“Oh! Of course! What is your name?” I pulled out a soft black pencil as I knew that my fountain pen ink would blur on the cheap paper the Courier used.

“Daisy,” she smiled. “Daisy Thompson. Here is my card,” she said handing me a card with an address in Pimlico upon it. “I am a single lady living on my own and I intend to follow your adventures closely!”

‘Dearest Daisy’ I wrote. ‘For my first avid follower. With kind regards, Edward Molloy. Challenor Expedition.'

“That is perfect, Mr Molloy,” she said. “I feel quite honoured! Thank you and good luck! I am sorry but I need to catch my train!” She darted forward, stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek. She nodded at a porter who picked up her small suitcase and they left the main entrance of the hotel. She gave me a shy wave as she went through the doorway.

“Dear Mr Molloy, I am a single lady living on my own. Please come to my home and ravish me! Honestly!” said Edith. “Edmund you will obviously be attracting a coterie of excited young ladies with damp parts waiting on your every word. Her palpable excitement almost excuses her lack of manners.  I could almost smell her arousal”

“Edith, you are a shocking woman!” I said.

“The best sort, surely?” she agreed. “Now, let us have tea!”

We sat and discussed last night’s events. “I have mentioned you in my story!” I said.

“Really?” she said, blowing imaginary steam from her cup.

“Yes. ‘The slides for the lecture were presented by Professor Challenor’s striking wife, Edith, who handled the process with quiet and elegant efficiency.’”

“Hah! You might as well have written, your correspondent has completely fallen in love with his expedition leader’s wife!” she said.

“No one would assume that,” I frowned. “Anyway, fallen in lust, not love; as you love the Professor!”

“Fallen in lust! Yes! A perfect description!” she said, looking around the cafe. “No unnecessary and tiresome emotional entanglements.  Just animal passion!"

"Animal passion?"  I asked.

"Indeed.  I am without drawers again today, Edmund. I am finding that it keeps me in something of a state of simmering excitement, knowing that if you were to reach under this table, pull up the hem of my skirt and slide your fingers up the inside of my stocking you would be able to access my private parts quite easily.  My moist parts, I should add!”

“Edith, you are making me quite engorged!” I laughed.

“Excellent! Now I will get even more moist than before! Last night, at the museum, I do think a drop of my intimate juice ran down the inside of my thigh. I was quite literally dripping for you! All I could think about, to be crude, was your great big, throbbing, curved cock!”  Although I was getting used to her directness, it still gave me a little frisson of excitement to hear her speak so in such a public place.

 “Does the Professor not have...?” I began the sentence and tailed off, as I realised it was a question I should not be asking.

“In fact, George, is well endowed, although, admittedly he no longer has your youthful upwards thrust. He is rather less than horizontal these days, although it still does the job perfectly well. If you want flattery, however, to boost your fragile male sense of worth, you do have a significantly larger knob and general diameter! There is, however, no competition between you and George as George has already won it by marrying me!”

“I cannot disagree with that!” I said. I really did need to learn to say less. The last thing I wanted to happen was for Edith to disappear in an offended huff.

“Well, now I really cannot wait until we go upstairs!” She stroked my thigh, under the table and I felt her fingers brush across the, now quite stretched, crotch of my trousers. “I am looking forward to wrapping my fingers around you once again! Lots of intimate contact is in prospect!”

 “But of course I would not touch you. Just as I did not yesterday!” I said. “No contact on my part!”

“Yesterday was an aperitif; a little test by me upon you, if you will. Are you a man who can control his passions when appropriate? Who won’t get sentimental or emotional and declare undying love and all that sort of nonsense? Frankly, I was assessing you to see if we might continue our intimate arrangement. You passed with flying colours, of course. And, indeed, flying semen!” she laughed and several people in the cafe looked at her. She grinned at me and winked. “Although I am, of course, wedded to George in every way, well nearly every way, I was intending some rather more mutually tactile elements to our interaction today!  Full bodily contact!”

“Now I really am stiff!” I said. “By the way, if I may ask, what was the Professor’s attitude towards your person last night!”

“Ah, I do so enjoy discussing such matters, Mr Molloy! Carnal matters. Sexual matters. I would have loved to tell you that he stripped me naked, threw me on my belly and took me violently from behind. Sadly, he did not. George was excited, of course, but his mind was more on his Iguanodons than my person. I changed into my peignoir and unbuttoned myself all the way down the front. I sat provocatively on the chair in his study, I ‘inadvertently’ rubbed myself against him at every opportunity but he did not respond. Later, I stripped off completely and went into his bedroom only to find him fast asleep and snoring, as usual. I went back to my own room and climbed into bed naked!”

 “I slept naked too, last night!” I said.

“I frigged myself and the thought of your pumping manhood spraying me with your sperm brought me over the edge once more!” she said. “Three times yesterday!” I felt her leg rub against my calf under the table.

“I spent too, thinking about your lovely body!” I admitted.

“What fun! Perhaps we were frigging ourselves at the same time; each thinking of the other! An amusing thought!”

"A distracting thought!" I said, an image of her coming into my mind. legs apart, frantically rubbing away.  She smiled at me and raised an eyebrow, obviously knowing what I was thinking.  I felt her boot rub up my calf.

We talked for another half hour and then Edith stood up. I stood too. She showed me a large brass key fob from her bag. “We are in room 204. Why don’t you settle the bill and come up in around ten minutes?”

I watched her leave the cafe, then ordered another tea and sat impatiently, constantly looking at my pocket watch. By the time I ascended the stairs and approached the door of room 204 my heart was pounding, presumably to pump as much blood as possible into my already completely engorged member. What did she mean by full body contact?  What exactly would that involve?  I rapped on the door. “Edmund?”

“Indeed,” I replied.

“Do come in!” I turned the knob and entered the room. She was standing, fully clothed, but without her hat, gloves and jacket, six feet from the door. She stepped past me and turned the key to lock the door, before turning back towards me. She held out her arms and I stepped into her embrace. She stood on tiptoe and I bent down to kiss her. This was a very different kiss from before. Long, slow and wet. I felt her hands on my behind as she pulled me close. “You are already ready for me, it seems!” she said, smiling and running the backs of her fingers across the protruding groin of my trousers. “I will undress you!” She did so quickly and efficiently, removing my garments and placing them on a chair, tidily. Professor Challenor’s untidiness must drive her to distraction, I thought, incongruously. She knelt down to attend to my socks and shoes and I stroked the back of her bare neck, below her loose chignon. Finally, she pulled down my drawers and stood up as I stepped out of them. “Your manhood has such a delightful curve, Edmund, and it is so rampant!” She reached for it and clasped it gently. “I have often wondered what it would be like to have a penis, throbbing in front of one’s person. Standing in front of some beautiful young girl, her legs spread, her parts moist and pink, while anticipating thrusting into her wetness! Being enveloped and sucked into her wet chamber. I would quite like to have a beautiful young girl like that and perhaps in other ways too! If not a penis, then a tail!” She laughed, pumping me gently. “A tail would be most entertaining. You could rub it against things, people and even yourself. I wonder whether it would be anatomically possible to have one of sufficient flexibility to penetrate oneself?”

“You would have to ask your husband about the anatomical possibilities. I have no idea how flexible a monkey tail, for example, would be!” I said. She embraced me again and I was conscious of my naked, tumescent state as she pressed against my skin with her wool skirt and white cotton blouse. I felt her fob watch, cold against my flesh.  The fact that I was naked and she was not increased my arousal, for some reason. Bravely, I reached behind her skirt and undid the buttons at her waist. She took a step back and let her skirt drop to the floor. I undid the mother of pearl buttons on her blouse. Underneath, she was, as I had discovered when I embraced her, not wearing a corset, just a petticoat and a camisole. I undid the bow at the back of her petticoat and it fell to the floor as well, leaving her dressed in just the camisole, boots and black stockings held up by pale blue garters. I pulled the camisole over her head to reveal her magnificent bosom. I stepped back to admire her. “That student was right at the lecture last night. You are a fabulous creature, Edith!”

“Thank you Edmund! Now come closer again! Remove my bbots and stockings!” I knelt down in front of her and I could smell her arousal as I gently removed her boots, garters and stockings. She lifted each delicate foot in turn, supporting herself by placing her hand on my shoulder, as I carefully rolled her stockings down and pulled them off her feet. I moved slowly and cautiously, as if not wishing to startle a bird that that landed nearby. I still rather thought that she might change her mind, tell me it had all been a terrible mistake and order me to leave. Sensing no uncertainty on her part, however, I clasped the twin globes of her buttocks and breathed in deeply, inhaling her pungent odour. “Kiss it!” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss it! I know you want to! Push your face into my sex and kiss it!” I placed my lips on her silky hair and moved them downwards until I encountered her bud and its rigid pink hood. I kissed it slowly but firmly, tickling it with just the very tip of my tongue. She gave out a little moan. “Get into bed!” she ordered, huskily. “This is not the time for delicate and tentative activity!”

I pulled down the sheet and blankets and lay on my back. She lay on top of me, my manhood pressed against one of her soft thighs. We kissed again and I boldly caressed her back and behind. Her skin was beautifully soft, like warm silk. Her own hands stroked my arms, flanks and the side of my legs. I felt her lasciviously open her thighs so that she straddled my hips and I felt her intimate hair against my shaft. Although I knew that I was being very forward I took a risk and slipped my hand over her bottom and cupped her hot sex. She did not object but just wriggled sensuously, so I ran a finger between her wet folds. “Oh that is very nice!” she sighed. “I have an idea! Sit up!” she said climbing off me and sitting on the white sheet, her legs apart, her sex boldly displayed.

“Are we going to frig ourselves again?” I asked. “No, we are going to frig each other!” she said, reaching across and beginning to caress my manhood once more. “Oh!” I said. Her touch was marvellous.

“Now, you stroke my parts!” she said. I slid my hand over her belly and my fingertips, slipped through her curls and found her wet parts. She smiled at me as I caressed her folds and she pumped my erection. “Slip them inside!” she said and I slid two fingers up inside her, gently moving them in and out. She leant forward and kissed me once again. She was being much more forward in touching and kissing than she had been the previous day. I touched the side of one breast as I slid my left hand down her soft arm, thrillingly catching her erect nipple with the underside of my forearm as I did so. I looked at her face at this point. She smiled, encouragingly. “Do you want to caress them? Lick them?” At this answer I thought I might well give forth there and then. The anticipation of feeling those lovely ripe bubbies was almost too much.

“That would be lovely, Edith! Really lovely!” She smiled again and shifted so she was kneeling between my thighs, although she did not stop her gentle pumping of my member at any point. I extracted my fingers from her entrance. Kneeling up, astride my hips, she pushed her bosom forward until those big succulent fruits were just six inches from my face. Given what she had said earlier, I thought that the time to be tentative had passed so I slipped my hands up to cup them from the underside, lifting and squeezing gently as I did so. “Damn!” I exclaimed under my breath. “Sorry!” I apologised immediately, hoping I hadn’t soured the moment. She grinned. I stroked her thimble like nipples with my thumbs and then took one into my mouth, licking and sucking it as I squeezed the breast from below.

“Christ!” she muttered. My confidence rising, I gently pushed her over onto her back positioning myself next to her. I began to lick her breasts once more. “No! Head to tail!” she said. I frowned, not quite understanding her meaning. “Like this!” She pressed me back onto the sheet and then knelt astride my shoulders her head over my groin. “And now we will perform what the French call soixante-neuf!”

 “Really?” I said, as she resumed pumping my member and then I felt her tongue upon it. My vision was filled with the sight of her pink sex and puckered anus, surrounded by stray brown hairs.

 “Lick it!” she ordered. I gingerly slid the tip of my tongue between her swollen lips and tasted her hot, musky, salty sex. I felt her mouth envelop me. I reached down and placed my hand gently on the back of her head as she bobbed up and down. My nose now pressed into her arsehole, I started to lick her in earnest as her juices dribbled all over my lips and tongue. It was like jamming my mouth into a plump Galway Bay oyster. “Mmm!” she murmured as I moved my tongue lower to tickle her bud. She flinched when I went for the tip itself and seemed to prefer me flicking my tongue across the shaft. “Every woman likes different things,” Madame Nathalie had said to me. ‘Finding out what those are, early in your physical relationship, will put you in good stead.’ I put my hands under her dangling breasts so that her hard nipples rubbed against the palms of my hand as she continued to gamahuche me. “Oh God!” she sighed, popping off me. “I am coming, Edmund! I am coming!” I felt a hot wet flood over my tongue and dribbling down my chin, as her parts poured forth copiously. After a few moments of stillness she took my knob into her soft mouth once more, whereupon I spent almost immediately. I felt her mouth sucking on me as she took in my emissions. At last she pulled off me and swivelled around so that she was kneeling next to me. “Good Lord, Edmund, I did not mean to go quite so far, so quickly. I was quite overcome!”

“Come and lie with me!” I said. She lay atop my body, both of us perspiring slightly. There was a fire burning in the hotel room. She kissed me again. And again. “It is just lust, not love!” she said, uncertainly.

“And very nice it was, although to have a completely successful physical experience like that then at least some affection is called for,” I ventured.

“Affection. Indeed! George refuses to gamahuche me!” she said and stroked my face.

“I enjoyed it!” I said, feeling superior to the Professor. “You taste lovely! Like oysters!” She then licked her juices off my chin. “I do rather, don’t I! I do keep telling George to lose that horrific beard! It is becoming unfashionable these days. It does not enhance his looks!”  She kissed my cheek and stood up. “I need to attend to something!” She crossed the floor and went behind the screen where the nightstand was. There was no avoiding the sound of her micturating as she squirted noisily into the pot. I heard her rinse her hands using the jug and ewer. She emerged from behind the screen. “Do you need to go? George always needs to go after he spends.”

“Er, yes! Also, I had quite a lot of tea earlier!” I said, getting out of bed. I stepped behind the screen and looked down at the pot which she had left in front of the nightstand, the bottom covered with her pale yellow offering.  I picked it up and held it by the handle below my prick. I was very conscious, however, of Edith’s presence just the other side of the screen and was unable to pass water. I remember being similarly frozen when I found myself stood at a urinal next to Mr Winston Churchill, the Home Secretary, during a visit to the Houses of Parliament earlier that year. I took a deep breath and consciously relaxed.  After a few seconds I was able to emit a short squirt before proceeding as normal.  I was in full flow when she appeared from behind the screen.  There was nothing I could do but continue. I started to try and gently turn away from her but she matched my movement.

 “Don’t be shy, Edmund!” she said, "I want to watch!"  Eventually, I finished and delicately shook myself.  “That was very special! I have never seen a man do that before! Not even my husband! What fun! Another reason to have a penis!” She carefully took the pot from me and replaced it in the cupboard at the bottom of the nightstand. “Our waters are combined! Such are the shared intimacies of lovers,” she said. “Not so much the nakedness, the stroking and the kissing. Not so much the penetration, the thrusting, the grinding of one’s hips, the wetness and the ejaculation. It is the simple intimacy of being comfortable in being together when one pees! Next time, perhaps, you can watch me!” She gave another girlish laugh. She crossed the floor and sat down in front of the fire, after stretching luxuriously, her delicate fingers pointing towards the ceiling, the soft pale hair under her arms displayed. “How lovely to be able to sit naked in front of a fire with an equally naked man in attendance!” she mused to the dancing flames. She turned and looked over her shoulder at me. “Come and sit by me!”

“I have a better idea! Stay there Edith! I will draw you!” I got up and opened my portfolio which, fortunately, had not become wet inside, after all. I took out a piece of cream paper and sitting cross -legged, with the portfolio on my lap, started to draw her with a soft pencil. Although I had not drawn a figure for some years the technique soon came back to me. “You are an excellent model, Edith. Most find it difficult to keep perfectly still, as you are doing!” When I finished I showed her the drawing.

“But that is remarkable, Edmund! You have real talent! May I keep it?” She looked genuinely delighted,

“Yes, of course but you must ensure the professor does not see it!” I said. I was concerned that Edith was so unconventional that she might just show it to him and I was very attached to my teeth. “I will. Although I suspect I could frame it and put it on the wall of his bedroom and he would only notice it if you added a drawing of an Allosaurus to the background! Now, shall I pose for a drawing which you can keep?” I had her kneeling down and drew her in profile, which highlighted her fine nose, round behind and her jutting breasts. I did several more sketches, one of which, daringly, included a hint of her sex protruding from her pale brown moss. “I have a final pose for you!” she said and sat on the wooden chair, her feet on the seat her sex boldly displayed, her face peering over her knees. I took particular care over this one and drew the folds of her sex in detail. “Perfect! One to show your friend, William, I think! Now let us get dressed and go down to lunch. I am quite famished!” She kissed me on the lips.“You can leave first and I will follow.”

 I got dressed and left her in the room, as she dressed herself. As I went down to the dining room I nodded at various people in greeting who all ignored me. I have always been a friendly chap and find Londoners very cold and reserved. If only they knew that a beautiful, married woman had just posed naked for me, exposing her sex quite brazenly.  I wondered what secrets they all had.  


Notes on this chapter can be found here.