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

The Reform Club, Pall Mall, London.  The saloon

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 late for the lecture. 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 be forever giving lectures, very much the thing he enjoys most, no doubt 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 may, 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.  Sometime he just leans back in his chair and lets 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 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, mm!” 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, she had tuned down earlier, 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 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 hotel bill 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, Molloy!”

 “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?  She looked faintly familiar.”

“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 saloon 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 just excellent!” 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 other 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.