Chapter 32: “We can’t keep our hands off them!”

Mrs Roger Attwood's Oldsmobile Special

Journalist Edmund Molloy is staying for a weekend at the house of fellow dinosaur expedition member. Lord Hoxton.  Although attending with his sweetheart Daisy he has been unable to resist the temptation of a house full of willing women, in what had already been a very debauched environment.  He has just copulated with one of the maids in front of the dowager Lady Hoxton and his previous lover, Edith, wife of the expedition leader, Professor Challenor.

Ruby helped us wash and dress and then Sutton arrived to take us downstairs to change into our attire for the evening.  She was dressed in her enticing harem costume of diaphanous baggy trousers and short bolero jacket which she had worn the previous night.

“Is it really necessary for James to insist you dress like an odalisque for this party, Sutton?” asked Lady Hoxton as Ruby tied my shoelaces. “You deserve more dignity!” Sutton looked down at her chest and then up at me.

“I designed it myself, Milady.  It is quite historically accurate!”

“Historically accurate based on the fevered imaginations of lubricious French painters, I am sure.  I doubt whether inhabitants of the Topkapi Place would recognise it,” said Lady Hoxton.  “I expect all the gentlemen will enjoy it, however.  You wear it confidentally and well, Sutton!”

“Thank you Milady!  It certainly aroused Mr Molloy’s interest last night!”

“Not just his interest, either, Sutton!”  I blushed and looked at Sutton’s red slipper-clad feet.  Edith laughed.

“Mrs Challenor, you will be fitted by Violet in the Turkish Salon,” said Sutton, as we trooped towards another part of the house I was not familiar with.  “Milady and Mr Molloy, we will go to the French Salon where the wardrobe is set up.” 

“When I next see you I will be suitable for the harem!” said Edith, giving me a kiss.

“Not too suitable, I hope!” I said.

“Don’t be a prude, Edmund.  You will undoubtedly see me copulating with both men and women tonight, I hope.  Perhaps at the same time! Look to your own sensual enjoyment and do not deny others theirs!”

“Well said, Edith!” said Lady Hoxton ,kissing her in turn, rather to my surprise.  “Abandonment is the only way to properly proceed tonight, Edmund!  Abandon your morals, abandon religious strictures, abandon others’ concerns, abandon embarrassment, abandon jealousy and abandon possessiveness!  Is that not so, Sutton?”

“Milady has encapsulated the desirable attitude perfectly,” said Sutton. “Don’t abandon prophylactics, however!”  Her eye twitched in what was not quite a wink. I blushed.

“You can abandon them with me, however, Edmund, " said Lady Hoxton. "Pump as much semen up me as you like!  Although perhaps not in front of James.  There is a limit to his abandonment of jealousy!”  She smiled as we watched Edith walk back towards the Turkish Salon. 

I worried about my trysts with Lady Hoxton or, more properly, what Lord Hoxton would think of my trysts with Lady Hoxton.  He might, I feared, demand Daisy as reparation. My mind was filled with an image of Daisy on her knees while Lord Hoxton took her from the rear and she moaned in pleasure. I shuddered.

“Are you alright, sir?” asked Sutton.  I realised I had stopped walking down the wood panelled corridor and was staring at a painting of some naked nymphs taunting an angry looking faun. Lady Hoxton had gone on ahead and had disappeared around a corner.

“I’m a little...” I began.

“Worried? Fearful? Apprehensive?” she asked.  I nodded.  “At least you don’t have to worry about invidious comparisons as regards exposing your manhood, unlike some gentlemen. You will have no rival in that area, sir!”  She looked at my groin.

“Well, I suppose not but...” Something about Sutton disconcerted me. However respectful her utterances I always wondered what she was actually thinking. I thought of Ruby, slurping lasciviously upon my manhood, earlier.

“And how did you find Ruby, sir.  Very abandoned, I would imagine!”  I actually thought that perhaps she was a thought reader.

“Sutton, I’m sorry but...”  I really didn’t know what to say.

“Your supposed concerns about participating in abandoned behaviour do not seem to be matched by your actual, behaviour, sir, if I may be so bold.”

“That is very bold indeed, Sutton!” I replied, annoyed.  Annoyed because she was quite right.

“Sorry, sir.  I was forgetting myself.  Perhaps I should be punished, sir!”

“You are teasing me, Sutton!” I said.  She had come to stand in front of me.  Very closely in front of me. Just eighteen inches away. We looked into each other’s eyes. I thought of Sarah being beaten with a cane the day before.

“Perhaps you are imagining me prostrate over a footstool with my trousers and drawers around my ankles while you beat me with a cane, sir!  Not that I am wearing drawers of course. Although if I resist, what then? I am used to dealing with wriggling, squealing maids, sir. Like little pigs they are, sometimes. You would not win in a wrestling match with me, sir, despite your muscles!”

“I do not doubt your strength or agility, Sutton but I have brought down bigger men than you!” I said.

“I don’t doubt you could bring me down but could you keep me immobile, sir?  Pinned? I'd surely kick and punch and scratch.  Is that what you like sir?  A struggle?  Wrestling even. A bit rough?”

“I would have to tie you, I admit.  Bind your wrists!” I thought of Daisy binding Elizabeth the previous night and tiying her to the candelabra.  “Tie you to something large, heavy and immobile."  I paused.  "Like Lord Ventnor.”  She laughed.  A spontaneous laugh of genuine amusement.  Her carefully maintained image had slipped a little.  I smiled at my small victory.  She collected herself, quickly.

“Would I be on my knees, sir.  Is that how you imagine it?”

“I imagine no such thing!” I said.

“You are imagining it now.  Me bound on my knees, naked below the waist.”

“You are quite wrong, Sutton,” I said.  In fact I had imagined her bound and on her knees but completely naked.

“We better go to get you your costume, sir. Lady Hoxton will wonder what on earth we have been up to!”

“What on earth have you two been up to?” asked Lady Hoxton as we entered a room containing several racks of exotic and colourful clothing and several standing mirrors.  "Or shouldn't I ask?  You do not seem to be pink and perspiring, however.  Sutton looks as cool and collected as ever."

“Mr Molloy thinks I have been a cheeky servant, Milady, and intends to punish me!”

“And how does he intend to do that?” asked Lady Hoxton. “Remember what I said about abandoning jealousies, Sutton!”

“Indeed, Milday.  You are right.  I shall just submit to him stripping half my clothes off, binding my wrists and flogging me with a cane, as he threatened!”

“I said no such thing Sutton!  You are making it all up!  Anyway, I would strip you entirely naked. Your form is far too luscious to be even partly covered!”  I heard giggling and saw Hoxton’s maids Madeleine and Ingrid in the corner of the room.

“Some women would take that as a rather appealing invitation, Sutton!” laughed Lady Hoxton.

“So they would!” said Sutton, smiling at me and then leaving the room, after a short bow to Lady Hoxton.

“Now do you see why James does not go with his staff?”  asked Lady Hoxton.  I sighed.  I really did.

The French  Salon, unlike the rest of the house, with its dark wood panelling was painted in cream with gold highlights.  There were many paintings of voluptuous naked women on the walls, Renoir and Boucher I recognised.  Possibly a Fragonard. 

"Would you like to draw us like that, sir!" asked Ingrid. Ingrid and Madeleine were both dressed in the baggy trousers as well, although they were quite sheer and clung to their posteriors most engagingly.  They both, too, wore the bolero jackets and, like Sutton, had nothing whatsoever underneath; revealing a good deal of their bosoms, especially when they moved.  Their teats were not quite visible, unless they leant forward, however and then once of twice I was offered an enticing glimpse of pink.   I tried very hard not to look at that part of their anatomy at all.

"You would be fine models," I said.  "Especially posed together!"

"Do you do the paintings, comme ci?" asked Madeleine gesturing to what looked like a Degas, which I had just noticed.

"I am not very happy with oil paint.  But this Degas appears to be a pastel, which I do have some facility with.  Watercolour too.  I don't have the patience for oils."

"You must do us before the end of the weekend!" said Ingrid.

"Oh yes, we would love to be done by you!" laughed Madeleine.   Ingrid whispered something to her and she laughed.

"The whole staff, Edmund?" laughed Lady Hoxton.

"Perhaps the costume first!" I said.

Madeleine showed me the racks of clothes and explained that most of them had actually been bought in Constantinople.  Lady Hoxton was given a rather simple ensemble consisting of a soft grey skirt, a white, intricately embroidered long sleeve blouse and a little black bolero top embroidered with gold.  She topped it off with a soft red cap, like a less rigid fez.

“That is a very simple ensemble, Lady Hoxton,” I observed.

“Very comfortable is what it is.  Why we women have to put up with corsets and voluminous underthings I do not know.  The lack of drawers and stockings is particularly liberating. Although I do know some French ladies dispense with them in summer in Provence.  I may affect Turkish dress when I return to France. It would be so much more appropriate for the climate!”

“Here, Milady.  Try this!” Madeleine handed her a bright red, yellow and gold striped sash which she tied around her waist.  It certainly brightened up her costume.

“Perfect, Madeleine.  A little panache for you, Edmund!”  She looked at herself in the large mirror which had been stood in the corner of the room.

“You look even younger,” I observed.  Indeed she did, with her long hair now untied and flowing down her back.

“I need to, what with the presence of all these young girls here!  I will barely be noticed in comparison with the likes of your lovely Daisy!”

“You more than hold your own in any company, Lady Hoxton!” I said.

“What a dear boy you are.  A liar but dear!” she came over to me and kissed me on the lips rather tenderly.  “Now it is time for me to enjoy you removing all your clothes once more, as Madeleine finds something for you to wear!”  Lady Hoxton had stripped quite unconcernedly in front of me a few minutes earlier but I had a sudden attack of shyness as she, Ingrid and Madeleine stood there looking at me, expectantly. “Don’t be shy Edmund!  You have been far from that so far!” said Lady Hoxton. Ingrid helped me out of my clothes and I concentrated very hard on not becoming aroused ,despite her fluttering fingers working, somewhat unnecessarily, over my skin.

“C’est merveilleuse!” exclaimed Madeleine as Ingrid pulled my drawers down.

“Have you had the pleasure, yet Madeleine?” asled Lady Hoxton.  “Mr Molloy is collecting the entire staff like a red Indian counting coup.”

“I seen it en érection but I not had  him...how is polite way to say?” she frowned. “Up me!”

“Well, perhaps not really that polite, dear!” laughed Lady Hoxton.

“Can I kiss it, Milady?” asked Ingrid who was kneeling in front of me, as I had just stepped out of my drawers.

“Well that is rather up to Mr Molloy but I have seen no evidence of him really resisting any such opportunity so far!”  Ingrid had started to stroke my thighs and looked up at me, her eyes twinkling.  Unfortunately my manhood decided to give a little twitch at that point (she had very soft hands for a maid).

“He say yes!” exclaimed Ingrid and promptly sucked my slightly inflated member into her soft, wet mouth.

“That is rather more than  a kiss, Ingrid!” said Lady Hoxton, smiling at me.  “Oh!  Be careful dear, don’t choke!” I really didn’t know what to do.  I was now well on the way to full tumescence as Ingrid started to slurp noisily upon me.  Fortunately she popped off and looked up at Lady Hoxton.  “Sorry Milday!  You should go first!”

“That is alright, dear.  One thing I do not do is get down on my knees in front of men, however engagingly rampant they might be!”  Ingrid resumed her oral assault as I stood there frozen and unsure what I should be doing.  She wasn’t as skilled as Ruby but she was very close to it.

“That’s enough dear!  We don’t want him spending and ruining some other lady’s experience later.  Daphne Crozier has him lined up for early in the evening, I know!”

“Sorry, Milady!” said Ingrid, standing up, to my relief.  Madeleine stepped forward instead and squeezed my throbbing manhood.  I thought that these two girls went with each other, according to Sutton.  They shouldn't be interested in me at all.  Madeleine started to frig me.

“Right, Madeleine, you had better find him some trousers!” said Lady Hoxton.  “Nous sommes en danger de devenir hypnotisé!”   All the women laughed, to my discomfort.

“Well, you have something of Sinbad about you!” said Lady Hoxton a few minutes later, after I had been dressed by Ingrid and Madeleine.  I had chosen a pair of red and white striped baggy trousers and one of the waistcoat type bolero sleeveless jackets.  Lady Hoxton had insisted that I not wear a shirt but keep my arms and much of my chest bare.  “You will induce a great deal of moistness!” she observed.

“You already have!” laughed Ingrid.  “You need a sash as well, sir!” she said, tying a royal blue one with gold fringing around my waist.   She reached around me, pressing herself against me as she wrapped it several times around my waist.

“It is a good thing that your trousers are so baggy, Edmund!” said Lady Hoxton, laughing.  I blushed of course as Ingrid’s touch was, indeed, starting to engage my attention once more.

“Won’t there be something of a rush in here when the other guests arrive at six?” I asked.

“Yes but the others, like Lady Hoxton, have all chosen their costumes en avance,” said Ingrid.  “We sent them the pictures and they chose the styles and sent back their measurements many months ago.”

“Good heavens!  Such attention to detail!”  I said, noticing that, indeed, most had labels on them bearing names.  “Mrs Roger Attwood,” I read.  “Not the MP’s wife?”

“Indeed yes!  A dear friend!” said Lady Hoxton.“She was very much femme du jour in the past but there was no party last year.”

“She was here last Christmas, Milady,” said Ingrid.  “Stayed a week afterwards too!”

“Very telling!” said Lady Hoxton. “Given her supposed proclivities!”

“She brought a lady friend.  Very close they seemed to be!” added Madeleine,, conspiratorially.

“James would have enjoyed that, I am sure!!” said Lady Hoxton.

Tea was served in the main Drawing Room at the front of the house and was very much, I was told, in the Turkish fashion; black, sweet and in small glasses covered in gold decoration.  Britten was already there with Sir Gerald Crozier amd Sir Jonty Smarme, both already dressed in Turkish finery, although they all wore shirts.  I was pleased to see that the general was not in evidence, They stood as Lady Hoxton and I entered the room.

“You are looking subdued in dress, Molly!” said Crozier.  “Not that you need adornment in any way!” he added.

“What lovely hair you have!” said Britten.  He much preferred women with their hair down, whereas my taste ran to it up, as I appreciated a fine neck.

“Thank you, Mr Britten!  How splendid you look too!  Like a Barbary pirate!” she replied.  Britten’s clothes were not dissimilar to mine in style, although his arms were covered.

“Did you have a good lunch?” I asked Sir Gerald.

“Indeed.  You should have come.  A quite splendid steak and ale pie!” he said, sitting back down as Sutton served tea and little honey cakes of some sort.

“Has there been any sighting of the other ladies?” asked Britten.

“Ladies in the most general term,” said Lady Hoxton.  “Edith emerged for an enjoyable lunch with Edmund and myself. She returned to the Turkish Salon to put on her costume. Otherwise we have not seen them, although there have been some curious noises emanating from the room!”

“And what did you two get up to while we are out?” asked Britten, sipping his tea and making a face.

“Mr Molloy has been drawing me in my natural state.  He is a skilled artist indeed,” she answered.

“No wonder you weren’t bothered about steak and ale pie!” said Britten to me.

“I was just helping Mr Molloy get into the atmosphere of this evening’s entertainment!” she answered, winking at Sir Gerald.  “Helping him acclimatise to the naked female form!”

“Don’t think he really needs help with that!” said Britten.

The under butler, Anderson, appeared, also now dressed like Sutton, her long blonde pigtail caressing her shapely behind, which was encased in pale blue, diaphanous trousers. “Miss Sutton, beg your pardon, but the Turkish orchestra has arrived!”

“They are late!” said Sutton. “You take over service here, Anderson, and I will see to them!” Sutton left the room.

“We will have another orchestra?” I asked. “I heard there was a string quartet.”

“Well, they are only four of them as well,” said Anderson.  “They have come from his Lordship’s home in Constantinople.  The string quartet is for dancing in the ballroom.  The Turkish orchestra is for the entertainment in the Great Hall.”

“Turkish music is something of an acquired taste!” said Sir Gerald.

“It does have a sensually exotic rhythm,” said Lady Hoxton.  "As do the ladies themselves no doubt." I frowned.  "You did not imagine James would employ a male orchestra?"  She laughed.  I blushed.

“Have you been to Lord Hoxton’s house in Turkey?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Just once. If you can imagine a large building of courtyards, tinkling fountains, cloisters, arches and pillars with exotically decorated but gloomy rooms full of reclining, mostly naked, young women, smoking, caressing each other and pleasuring themselves quite openly you would have something of the place. I am sure you would enjoy it!  Something for your artistic skills to practice upon, perhaps. Like the studio of one of those rather modern Viennese artists. Personally, I found the overwhelmingly female atmosphere rather foetid, given the strong smell of cunt, incense, and who knows what else, wafting about,” she said.  “None of the women are Turkish, I should point out, although I think he has some Circassians there. Bulgars, Romanies and from the Levant most of them.   Beautiful girls, anyway, without doubt. Quite stupid most of them but then James does not, on the whole, appreciate a clever woman.  Most men don't!"

"I do!" I said.

"Perhaps you do when you actually use your brain rather than your delightfully curved penis to do your thinking for you!"

"How do you know it's...?" began Britten and then promptly shut up. 

"And how do you know, Mr Britten?" she replied. "Brains apart, James does have fine taste in women, on the whole. Well, until recently, that is!”

“The house does sound rather splendid!  A harem!” mused Britten.  Lady Hoxton shook her head and smiled, resignedly.

The door opened and Daisy entered with Sarah and Emily.

“Lady Hoxton, Sir Gerald, Sir Jonty.  Boys!” said Daisy, grinning  We stood up and the three girls settled on the floor, oddly.  I looked at Daisy and frowned.  “We have become completely accustomed to sitting on the floor!” she explained.

“Well, on cushions on the floor anyway!” said Emily.

“Where is Edith?” I asked.

“Mummy is helping her to choose a costume for tonight,” said Sarah, “as she did not have one arranged in advance!”

“I will go next,” said Daisy. She, like the girls, were dressed in richly embroidered flowing robes with large sleeves, which I assumed were Turkish as well.

“These are not your costumes, then?” I asked.

“Of course not, silly!” said Daisy.

“These cover far too much!” said Emily, sticking her leg out from underneath her robe so as to reveal a good deal of its pale nakedness.  She smiled at Britten who smiled back. They were served tea by Anderson.  Sarah promptly spat hers back into the glass in disgust, much to Lady Hoxton’s apparent horror.

“What have you been up to all day, although your exotic eye decoration is apparent!” said Britten.  Indeed all three had outlined their eyes with kohl.

“Ah the secrets of the harem must stay secret!” smiled Daisy. “I could show you one thing but not in front of Lady Hoxton, as it is rather intimate!”

“Don’t mind me, dear!” said Lady Hoxton.  “I was just telling the gentleman about the outrageous scenes I witnessed at James’ house in Constantinople!  Anything that you might demonstrate would not be as intimate as that!”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I disrobed?” asked Daisy, standing up.

“It is rather the point of the whole weekend.  Especially in your case, Miss Thompson, as you appear to be the naked personification of the event!” said Lady Hoxton.  “Like La Marianne is to France!”

“What do I personify, Lady Hoxton?” asked Sarah.

“A long prison sentence, dear!” said Lady Hoxton.  Sarah smirked, obviously relishing the thought.

“Well, then look, gentlemen!  Girls!” said Daisy.  Emily and Sarah stood up.  Daisy put her hands on the tie of her robe. “On the count of three!  One!”

“Two!” said Emily.

“Three!” said Sarah.  As one, the three girls shrugged out of their robes, dropping them to the floor and stood before us quite naked.  It took me a few seconds to register.

“Oh my Goodness!” I exclaimed.  All three had had every hair removed from their nether regions, leaving three smooth, protruding mounds.

“Good Lord!” said Britten.

“Wonderful!” said Sir Jonty.

“Bugger me!” said Crozier. “Apologies, Lady Hoxton!  You have adopted the Turkish custom indeed!”

“Lady Crozier has been done too!” said Emily.

“Superb!” said Sir Gerald.

“And look!” said Daisy lifting her arms above her bead to reveal equally smooth and hairless armpits.

“This is how harem girls are.  All smooth and soft.  The Turkish twins did us!” said Emily, “with a special paste.”

“Mummy too!” said Sarah.

“I hope they didn’t catch anything,” muttered Lady Hoxton.

“But not Edith?” I asked, quickly. I knew the answer to that, of course, but hoped to divert the twins attention from Lady Hoxton’s cutting comment.  The ‘paste’ must have been the concoction Edith mentioned and the reason for her leaving ths Turkish Salon erlier.

“She wanted to but wasn’t quite sure how she would explain it to the Professor!”  said Emily.

“Well, you all look very exotic!” said Britten, shifting in his chair.  I had to say the sight was having a similar effect on me, as it revealed all three girls protruding labia, although I enjoyed Daisy’s fluff.   It would grow back, I assumed, although how long that might take I wasn’t sure.

“It will grow back in a month or so!” said Daisy, answering my unspoken question.  “Much better for the tropics, eh Edmund?  Do you like it?” Daisy brushed her mound with the tips of her fingers.

“Would you like to feel?  We can’t keep our hands off them!” said Emily.

“Or each other’s!” said Sarah.  I looked at Lady Hoxton.

“For heaven’s sake!  I can see you gentlemen are desperate to give them a stroke but then it is robes back on during tea!” said Lady Hoxton.  Daisy approached me and thrust her hips forward.  I stroked it with the backs and then the tips of my fingers.  It certainly was soft!  Britten was doing the same to Emily and Crozier was stroking Sarah’s mound while Sir Jonty caressed her armpit and the side of her breast, ‘inadvertently', I noticed.

“Good God, Gerald, it makes her look even younger than the illegal age she actually is!” said Lady Hoxton.

“So soft!” he sighed.

“Imagine how it will feel to your lips and tongue!” said Sarah, rotating her hips lasciviously.  It had been the first thing that occurred to me as well.

“We’ve already had a little lick and kiss, haven’t we Daisy?” said Emily.   “It’s just lovely!”  She sat down on one of the sofas and put her feet on the seat so as to display herself.  The baldness of her mound revealing her separated labia in all their pinkness.   It was the same pose assumed by Lady Hoxton, Edith and Ruby for the photographs of their nether glories earlier,  Was she moist?

“Right!  Clothes back on, girls, Miss Thompson!  I do not need a display of twat with my cake!”  Sarah and Emily scowled but they all got dressed again. Shortly afterwards, Daisy and the two sisters disappeared to have their costumes fitted, 

"We're off to see to the distribution of the prophylactics to the Babylon girls!" said Sir Gerald, beckoning Britten.

"Would this include some sort of selective random testing as well," asked Lady Hoxton.

"Are you volunteering instead, Molly?" he asked.

"You are a bad man, Sir Gerald.  Very bad!"

 Lady Hoxton went up to her room for a rest, leaving Sir Jonty and myself in the drawing room to discuss the girls new ‘Turkish’ appearance.

“My God, I wonder if they have done Elizabeth?” he asked.

“It would be a shame to lose those coppery curls, Sir Jonty!” I ventured.

“But the softness would be enticing!” he said.  You shouldn’t be thinking about that, I thought.

Shortly afterwards there was the loud noise of a motor car horn from the drive outside the window.

“That will be Diane Attwood” said Sir Jonty. “Let’s go and meet her!” We  raced out of the drawing room and approached the front door at the same time as the sound of a screech of gravel assaulted our ears.  Just as we got there Lord Hoxton bounded down the stairs.

Mrs Roger Attwood, or Diane. as Lady Hoxton had told me her name was, had arrived, driving her own bright red American Oldsmobile Special two seater.  Mrs Attwood, who appeared to be without her MP husband, was as racy as her automobile. 

“James, you old bugger, how the bloody hell are you?” she said, striding into the entrance of Hoxton Hall, her pale tan trousers tucked into brown buckled flying boots. She wore a leather jacket and had a pair of goggles pushed back onto her head. She dropped a small leather bag onto the floor in front of her.  Her shoulder length chestnut hair was daringly short. “My God you look like a Christmas candle!” Hoxton’s splendid costume, consisted of a long white robe worn under a richly embroidered long, white, open sleeveless jacket and even a gold turban.  He certainly looked like the Sultan of a Turkish harem.  “How was Brazil?  Full of nuts, no doubt!   She stepped up to Hoxton and gave him a long wet kiss, squeezing his bottom.  “Are you still doing Nanny?  Is she here?  Love to see her again!  Is it true you’re rogering Lady Caroline and her two daughters, you old goat?”

 “Hello Sir Jonty!” She went up and kissed him on the lips too.

“Bugger me, aren’t you one of the other dinosaur hunters?” she said acknowledging me. 

“Diane, can I introduce you to me new friend and dinosaur seeking colleague, Mr Edmund Molloy of the Daily Courier!  Edmund this is Diane Attwood!”

“Delighted, madam!”  I said, as she pulled off her leather driving gloves. 

“Aroused, Mr Molloy!   God God, look at the arms on you!  Are you some kind of boxer, although your face is far too pretty!” She shook my hand enthusiastically and crushed my fingers as she did so.

“Edmund is a well known rugger player!” said Hoxton.

“Well any time you want to grab me around the waist and wrestle me to the dirt do just go ahead, Mr Molloy!”  I knew exactly how Marguerite Blanc felt when she had described me as undressing her with my eyes.  Diane Attwood was doing the same to me.

“How is Roger?” asked Hoxton. 

“On some tedious committee to do with troops in Egypt.  I hardly ever see him, thank God.  Apparently he has a French piece up in Hampstead.   Good luck to the poor girl.  She’ll be beaten black and blue and buggered every night, no doubt.  He’s worse than you Jonty!  Now, James, I know that your plumbing is on a par with a cowshed but I’m dying for a piss and I need a bath! I went for a hack this morning and haven’t changed my blouse.  I stink like buggery!” 

“I will get Sutton to see to it.  It may take a little time to bring the hot water up from the scullery,” said Hoxton.

“ Can't wait for that. Why don’t I just have a wash in the scullery then?” she asked. 

“There is a bathtub there which the maids use,” I added, helpfully.

“Excellent!  An expert!  You can wash my back, young man!  Lead on!”

“Uh, I don’t know…” I mumbled.  I had had enough encounters with ladies in bathtubs of late.

“Don’t be silly!  Do come along!”  said Mrs Attwood.

“When were you exploring the scullery, Molloy?” asked Hoxton.

“I just happened to be down there this morning!” I said.

“And would that have coincided with the usual pre-birthday party maids’ bathtime, by any chance?”  I went bright red. “Well done Molloy!  Bit worried about you not diving in, as it were, but you are coming up trumps!  Wait until I introduce you to some of me Brazilian ladies!  Can’t beat the sensation of sliding your hands over perspiring coffee coloured skin.  Finest feeling on Earth!  Other than slitting open the belly of a pregnant sturgeon on the Caspian!”

“Have you already had a sensual episode in the scullery today, then, Mr Molloy,” asked Mrs Attwood.  "If so, I am rather jealous!"

“I..I..” I mumbled.

“Excellent!” said Mrs Attwood and patted my rear, to my surprise.

“I will get Sutton or Anderson to bring your luggage in, Diane!” said Hoxton.

“This is it!” said Mrs Attwood, prodding her leather bag with the toe of her boot.

“Oh! Is that all?” asked Hoxton.  Anderson had now appeared, as silently as Sutton.

“I intend to wear not much more than a few gold chains and a light sheen of perspiration this weekend,” said Mrs Attwood.  “Who needs clothes?” Hoxton laughed.

“Anderson, can you take Mrs Attwood’s bag to the green bedroom, please!” said Hoxton.  Anderson picked it up and looked surprised by its light weight.

“I don’t need a bedroom.  I intend to sleep in someone else’s bedroom!  Maybe yours!” she said looking at me.

“Edmund has a particulae lady friend with him.  Two, really!” said Hoxton.

“Two, eh? Greedy boy.  Well four in a bed will be fun indeed!”

“Alright, Diane, but we will put the bag upstairs anyway!” said Hoxton.  “Now don’t eat Edmund, his other ladies may be distraught!” he smiled at her.

“Just a taste, maybe!” she laughed.  “Come along, Muscles!” She was already striding towards the door down to the kitchen. 

When we arrived in the kitchen there was general squealing and an impression of half-naked bodies with women covering their bare busts as Mrs Attwood strode in. 

“Oh it’s you Mrs Attwood and Mr Molloy, again,” said Cook, putting her arms down and displaying her enormous bosom.  “We were getting changed into our Turkish togs!”

“Sorry to burst in on you, ladies but Mrs Attwood would like a hot bath!” I said. 

“And a piss!” she added.

“Will you be joining her, Mr Molloy sir?” asked Jenny the maid.

“No, I will not!” I said quickly.

“Yes he will!” said Mrs Attwood.

“Good evening, Mrs Attwood, ma’am.” said Cook, still making no attempt to cover her bust. “the party really only starts when you arrive!”

“Good evening Cook.  Nice to see you again.  Looking forward to the food tonight!”

“It is quite exotic for English tastes!” said Cook.

“People have said the same about me, Cook!” Mrs Attwood leant forward and planted a kiss on one of Cooks’ big bubbies. “What a pair, Cook!” Cook grinned.  Mrs Attwood grabbed my arm and dragged me into the scullery.  I could hear the hot water boiler in the kitchen dispensing the first jug of water.

“Have you driven far, Mrs Attwood?” I asked, not really knowing what to say, as she disrobed in front of me.  Having removed her outer clothes I was surprised to see that she was wearing men’s underthings.

“Not one to avert your gaze, eh, Muscles?” she said as she pulled a man’s sleeveless cotton vest over her head to reveal her bosoms.  They were soft looking and the body of them hung quite low on her ribcage, although they were not sagging and had a nice upwards thrust, the tips being capped by large, pale brown areolae and nicely protruding teats.  They swayed invitingly as she bent down to push her drawers over her hips and reveal a thick chestnut fleece at the apex of her thighs.

“Not one to conceal yourself from my gaze, either,” I replied, as she stood before me naked, her hands defiantly on her hips, in a pose which reminded me of Lady Hoxton’s earlier.  Modern women, I thought.  Rather terrifying.

“Ha!” she said. Ethel the scullery maid appeared with the first big jug of hot water. “Christ, it’s going to take all day!  Get some help, girl!  And I need a pot to piss in!  Hurry or I shall just let loose on the tiles!” Ethel scuttled out.

“I will leave you to enjoy your bath, Mrs Attwood.!” I said.

“I was hoping you would wash my back for me!”

“I really must find my friends!”

“You won’t escape me!  I have you in my sights!” She aimed an imaginary rifle at my groin. “Especially your cock, which is so effectively distending your Turkish trousers!  Talk about promise for the future!”  I blushed.  I had hoped that they were baggy enough to conceal my arousal at Mrs Attwood’s trim body.

“I would have thought that a lady of your reputed tastes would be not at all interested in that part of my person!” I said, cheekily.

“Oh I quite enjoy penises, Mr Molloy.  It’s just the men attached to them that I have never really got on with!  Use them for their intended purpose alone and don’t get attached to them and they are perfectly enjoyable.” She gave me a smile.  “A girl cannot live by pussy alone, however much she likes it!”

“Adieu, Mrs Attwood!” I said.  I turned to leave just as Madeleine appeared, holding a chamber pot, followed by Ethel with another jug of water.  I could hear voices from the kitchen and hoped that Lady Hoxton had not returned to below stairs.

“Well done, Madeleine, now get your clothes off, what there are of them,” said Mrs Attwood.  “I need someone to wash my back and Mr Molloy has been rather a disappointment in that area!”

“That is disappointing!” said Madeleine. “I was hoping he might stay and remove his clothes encore!”

“Mr Molloy!  Surely you wouldn’t be rude enough to abandon us!” said Mrs Attwood, running her hands down her naked body.  “What sort of man would do that?”

“You have no idea what sort of man I am, Mrs Attwood, with respect!” I answered, nevertheless turning back into the scullery.  Madeleine was standing on one leg and removing one of her Turkish slippers. I should have walked away.  I really should. 

“I think that perhaps you are the sort of man who likes to watch, Mr Molloy!”

“And what leads you to that rather arbitrary conclusion, Mrs Attwood!”

“Three things,Mr Molloy!” she said, as Madeleine removed her bolero jacket to reveal her bosom.

“Do elucidate!” I said, as Mrs Attwood clasped Ingrid’s bubbies and squeezed then gently while looking at me all the time.

“Firstly,” she tapped a finger of her left hand with one of her right, “You were about to leave just now until Madeleine arrived bearing a piss pot. You know my proclivities, as you describe them, so I think you suddenly thought some sort of arousing and intimate tableau may follow.  Rightly, I should add!” she picked up the pot from the tiles, held it between her toned thighs and began to piss.

“You don’t shock me Mrs Attwood.  I have seen ladies do that on many occasions!”

“Exactly.  That is my second point!” She tapped with two fingers.  “James likes a certain type of man.  Admittedly you are rather younger than his usual friends but all enjoy women who favour tribadism, bondage, orgies and watching women piss.  All largely voyeuristic pleasures!  I suspect you like paintings of naked ladies as well.”  Madeleine nodded in agreement and removed her skirt so that she was as naked as Mrs Attwood. 

“Mr Molloy is a fine artist.  He drew Lady Hoxton naked in this bath this morning!” she said, before leaving, presumably to get some more hot water. 

“Ahha!” said Mrs Attwood triumphantly.  “I wouldn’t worry about offending Lady Hoxton by disporting with me, if that is your fear.  Despite her assumed hauteur as regards the goings on here she plunges into them like a pig in shit!  Anyway, we have shared men before,  Not least James but also Gerald Crozier.” Ethel and Ruby came in carrying a large metal tub of water between them.  It sloshed around and some spilled onto the tiles as they lifted it to empty it into the bath.  They went back to the kitchen,

“Good thinking, girls!” called out Mrs Attwood.  She climbed into the bath, even though there cannot have been much water in it yet.

“Fuck me!  That’s hot!”

“I am not shocked Mrs Attwood!” I said.

“I was!” she laughed.  I grinned, despite myself. “Not so hot for the next one girls!” she shouted.  I could hear the sound of water running into the metal tub.

“And your third reason?” I asked.  She tapped with three fingers.

“Thirdly, James said you had two lady friends with you!  That means you almost certainly enjoy watching them pleasure each other and if they were happy to attend this weekend it also means that you are happy to watch them being pleasured by others.  Unless you really have not fathomed the essence of this weekend at all, Or should I say, at all, at all! You being Irish,”

“Very amusing, Mrs Attwood!”

“Most of us are here, principally, to watch each other fuck!  And get fucked ourselves, of course.”  I actually didn’t know what to say.  Much of what she said was true.  Ethel and Ruby emptied another big tub into the bath.  I felt I should have helped them. They were such slim girls and the tub full of water looked very heavy but it was not my place to assist.

“That’s better girls! Madeleine, climb in with me.  If Mr Molloy won’t wash me then you shall!”

“Yes, ma’am!” said Madeleine, stepping over the side of the bath. Mrs Attwood stood up in the bath, too.

“Un peu de performance pour lui,  peut-être,” said Mrs Attwood to Madeleine. Madeleine’s performance in washing Mrs Attwood was almost identical to her performance with Ingrid at maid’s bath time that morning.  I did wonder if it was something that they had devised as an entertainment at the Babylon Exploration Society.  Mrs Attwood stood still in the bath as Ingrid slithered around her like a snake on a tree trunk. She didn’t talk to me, just looked at me while Madeleine stood behind her and soaped her body; slowly rubbing her bosoms and tweaking her teats.  Madeleine’s hands slipped down Mrs Attwood's belly, rubbing the older woman’s flat stomach in a slow, circular motion.  Soapy lather dribbled down over her chestnut fleece and down the insides of her thighs. Madeleine placed a hand between Mrs Attwood’s legs and brought her hand up so it was cupping her mound,  She rubbed her hand backwards and forwards; soaping Mrs Attwood’s parts.  “That is lovely, Madeleine.  More like that.  I am a dirty woman and need a good scrub!” Mrs Attwood stood with her legs further apart as Madeline purported to wash her feminine parts.  In truth she was now just frigging her, the French girl’s thumb rubbing on Mrs Attwood’s bud, her fingers now deep in her parts. Mrs Attwood started to move her hips, thrusting them at me and all the time looking at me, defiantly. I was so tempted to remove my few clothes and climb into the bath with the two women.  They would welcome it, I knew but I needed to stop my lascivious behaviour.  I had already gone too far. Ethel and Ruby returned with another tub of water.  They set it down on the floor and watched as Madeleine brought Mrs Attwood to a noisy climax with her fingers.

“Oh and that is it!” she gasped, gripping Madeliene’s wrist.

“Did you enjoy that, Mrs Attwood?” I asked.  I slightly resented the fact that she assumed I would be totally seduced by her as soon as I met her.  I was showing that she hadn’t worked her black magic on me, despite my throbbing manhood.

“Very much, Mr Molloy!  Now, I have a very dirty arsehole which you could help me with!”

“I will see you later, no doubt, Mrs Attwood!”

“I’ll catch you later, Molloy!” called out Mrs Attwood as I crossed through the empty kitchen.  I heard one of the girls behind me squeal.

Upstairs, the other maids and some of the Babylon girls were running about carrying flowers, bottles and all manner of other things.  I gave Violet, the Crozier’s maid a friendly wave.  I saw Susan, Hoxton's chauffeur, in her uniform in the entrance hall, lifting a suitcase through the front door.

"Hello Susan.  Busy time?"

"Yes sir, I'll be back and forward to the station for the rest of the day.  We'll even be using the Babylon Exploration Society bus!"

"Will you be driving that?"

"No, thank goodness.  Big heavy bugger!  One of the black fellows will be doing it that came down from the Society, sir."  I assumed  it might be Jacob, the society's steward, who I had seen earlier. 

"I'll leave you to it, then.  Hope to see you later. Will you be dressing..."

"Like a Turkish harem girl?  Sorry to disappoint you.  It's bad enough fending off the gentlemen who like to see a lady in uniform!"  She nodded at one of the suits of amour.  "That might be my best choice!"  I laughed and she went back outside to the drive.

I really wanted to speak to Daisy but the Turkish Salon was empty and had been restored to the pristine state it had been in the previous evening.  There was no sign of it having been inhabited by a dozen women for most of the day.  I decided to go upstairs to my bedroom, reasoning that it was likely that Daisy would be up there. The room was empty.  That was the trouble with Hoxton Hall, you could hide a regiment in it.  That thought suddenly made me think of the general.  Where was he?  Was Daisy with him?  I couldn’t very well search all the bedrooms; who knew what I might discover?  The more I worried about Daisy the more I was ashamed of my behaviour that day.  How could I criticise Daisy for her lewd behaviour, given my own?  I decided to eschew any further physical engagement with any of the ladies I had already been with, at least.  Should my time for the rest of the weekend see me act like the reporter and sit on the sidelines, observing?  Perhaps I  could tell Lord Hoxton that I intended to write an account of the weekend for the new Babylon Exploration Society magazine.  I could lurk at the edges of the action; writing and drawing. But should I stay close to Daisy and ensure that no-one else went near her?  The vision of her fellating Britten and frigging the general were burned into my mind.  What else had she done when I was not in the room? She seemed to show no shame or unwillingness.  In fact she seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed both experiences and not worried about what I might think, as she had performed before my very eyes. Had this driven my lubricious behaviour that day? Daisy’s views on sexual equality were well known.  It then occurred to me that all the other men arriving tonight would have likely read her piece in the Courier and seen her picture.  Their views on her nature would no doubt be very clear.  I wondered if, even at this late stage, I might persuade her to leave with me. 

I stayed in the room and wrote a few notes in my journal, hoping that Daisy would appear.  After a few minutes the door crashed open.  It was not Daisy, however, but Britten and Emily, tumbling through the door, kissing and caressing.  Emily was wearing one of the bolero jackets and a long skirt that was low on her hips.  She had small bells around her ankles which jingled merrily as she moved.

“Oh!  Sorry old chap!” said Britten, as Emily pulled him towards the bed.

“Don’t worry!  I am just leaving!” I said.

“You could draw us!” said Emily.  “At it!”

“I really need to find Daisy!” I said.

“Haven’t seen her!” said Britten, removing his jacket.  “Perhaps she is with the general.  Oh! Sorry, old chap! I angrily snapped my journal shut and left immediately, although Britten and Emily did not cease their passion and as I left he was kissing her bubbies and she had her hand down the waistband of his trousers.  Britten was enjoying his weekend at least.

 

As I descended the stairs I was hailed by Lord Hoxton, who was standing with another man dressed in baggy red trousers, a royal blue embroidered shirt and a red fez.  Hoxton really did look a little like a candle, I thought.

“What ho, Molloy!” called out Hoxton. “Here is the chap I told you about! Edmund Molloy meet Johnny Dupont!”  We shook hands.  Johnny Dupont was the Anglo-French publisher Hoxton had mentioned to me before. Hoxton led us both to his study, which I had not seen before.  It faced the gardens at the rear of the house and was quite the most desirable room I had ever seen. Constructed on two floors the top floor consisted of a gallery lined with books and accessed by an iron spiral staircase. The ground floor had an enormous desk and a large green leather chair behind it. On the desk was an ornate silver inkwell decorated with  a crouching lion.  Next to it, was a brass desk lamp with a green shade, similar to what Hoxton had in his set at Albany. There was an ivory letter opener with a handle in the shape of an antelope.  A leather blotting pad sat in the centre of the desk and on the corner of the desk was a bronze sculpture depicting a woman gamahuching another.  I wondered where on earth he had got such a salacious piece.  The walls had several ancient and exotic looking rifles on them.  ‘Waziri’ Hoxton had said. There were no game trophies, to my surprise but what there were were a series of extraordinarily graphic pictures of groups of copulating people.  None featured couples; all had three, four or more people entwined and in the acts of intimate congress.  Women’s private parts and men’s erect manhoods were clearly displayed. “Get these done by a chap in Paris.  A Monsieur Avril.  Top hole illustrator!” On the floor was a huge tiger skin rug (‘shot it meself from the back of an elephant in Mysore’), there were some palms in brass planters and a wooden cabinet holding an aquarium populated by orange goldfish. Over the crackling fire hung a delightful painting of two voluptuours women standing naked, amongst bushes by the seashore, which was by a Swedish painter, Hoxton told me, called Zorn.  I was surprised that the artist had accurately rendered the women’s intimate hair rather than employing the usual smooth pudenda seen in such paintings in Britain.  Several military helmets were displayed along another large mahogany bureau and there were a number of swords and spears affixed to the walls. The most shocking exhibit was another bronze on a table against the wall. It was perhaps two and a half feet wide and some eighteen inches tall.  It depicted a kneeling naked woman, her bottom in the air presented to a standing male nude behind her.  The male figure possessed a rampant manhood which was, oddly, much shinier than the rest of the sculpture, He looked like he was about to drop to his knees and penetrate her. 

“Gosh!” I said.  It was a beautifully sculpted piece and had none of the poor anatomy that erotic works sometime possess.

“Me of course! About to bugger the sculptress; a self portrait on her part.  If you look carefully you can see how she has managed to model her arsehole beautifully.  Lovely woman, Geneviève.  A really talented sculptress.  Met her in Bordeaux.  An amateur at the time but really such skill.  We had a wonderful couple of weeks and she made this one and its companion for me later.

“Where is the other one?” I asked.

“Up in me bedroom!  Shows me in full fuck, as it were!  She did the one of the two girls on me desk, too.  Couple of gypsy girls.  What fun I had watching them being modelled for that!”

“That sounds like a good story for your memoirs!” I said, looking at the statue, admiringly.  “Why is your...” I hesitated.

“Todger so shiny?  The girls in the house like touching it for good luck!  As you can see, in those days I was rather more rampant than I am now.  Rather more elevation, what?  Like you, young feller!”

“Were all her works like this?  She would not be able to get them exhibited, if so!”  I said.

“Indeed so,” said M Dupont.  “She makes a good living producing these for rich collectors. James helped publicise her work and now it would cost you five hundred guineas if you want one!”  It was more than I earned in a year.

“She should do one of you and your Daisy!  Molloy has a cracking todger!” said Hoxton. “Don’t bow to many chaps in that area but Molloy has me bested!”  I blushed.

“Impressive indeed!” said Dupont.  He had not a trace of a French accent but his pencil mustache gave him a decidedly Gallic air.

“I am always impressed by those who can sculpt,” I said, moving to examine the sapphic couple on the desk and just avoiding tripping over the tiger’s head as I did so.  “Putting lines on paper is one thing but creating an accurate three dimensional shape is to me astonishing!”

“Molloy is a good artist as well. Hold on a tick!” Hoxton crossed to another bureau, opened a droor and pulled out a leather folder.  “These are Molloy’s!” He placed several of the drawings I had done of Lady Caroline and her daughters on the desk.

“Rather more than a good artist, I think, James,” said Dupont.  “Mr Molloy I must congratulate you.  These are very fine indeed.  I would like to publish a portfolio of prints of your drawings, I think!”

“Oh!  Thank you!” I said. “I am still in awe of your sculptress friend, however!  I would have loved to have met her and discussed the process.” Hoxton looked at the ornate turquoise coloured French clock over the chimney piece.

“Well she should be here within the hour so you can do so!”  Hoxton laughed at my expression of utter surprise and delight.

“Now let us discuss your proposal, James,” said Dupont.  “I am now very excited about the prospect of working with Mr Molloy.”  We discussed the publication of Hoxton’s erotic memoirs and then the account of my sexual adventures.  Dupont wanted to hear some of my prose.  I went upstairs to get one of my notebooks, where I had started to put down my accounts in a more finished version.  I brought it back down, to find Sutton serving Champagne and despite some embarrassment, began to read my account of my first bath with Edith Challenor which was very much as you have read it here.  Sutton, I noticed, lingered in the corner to listen to it and Hoxton did not dismiss her from the room, surprisingly.

“This is very good stuff, Molloy!” said Dupont.  “It’s not all just rogering and spanking like much of what I have to look at.  The added frisson of you taking part in the Challenor expedition will just add to the appeal, so I would very much like to publish your erotic memoirs indeed!  Hopefully, with James’ guidance these might continue on your ocean voyage and into Brazil too, especially as I gather your young lady, Daisy, is accompanying you.”  How did he know about Daisy, I wondered?

“But how will we ensure that no-one knows who I am writing about?  We can’t use people’s real names and there aren’t likely to be any other dinosaur hunting expeditions to provide anonymity!” I said.

“Not to worry, young feller!” said Hoxton.  “There will be no noms de plume here, except possibly for Lady Caroline's  girls because of their age, although I am pretty sure that everyone will know exactly who they are!”

“But I can’t use Edith Challenor’s name and without her there will be a terrible hole in the narrative!” I said.

“Well you must understand, Mr Molloy, that this is not going to be a book that goes on general sale.  Members of the public will have no access to it. It will be a subscription volume solely available to the members of the Babylon Exploration Society.  There is something of a tradition for these sorts of volumes over the last few years and a great appreciation of them.  Frankly, Mr Molloy I can promise you that everyone who buys a copy will be personally known to both Lord Hoxton and myself.  These people are the soul of discretion, as their own reputations rely on it.  Many are here this weekend.  No one is going to reveal your story to Professor Challenor.  He is not a member of the society!  These books are expensive.  You will not be able to buy one for five shillings.  Given you are such a fine artist as regards the female form, if I include, say, twenty reproductions of drawings by yourself I will aim to sell them at twenty five guineas apiece!”

“Twenty five guineas?” I gasped.

“The members are happy to pay such a sum for exclusivity!  They are beautifully produced.” said Dupont.  “You, as author and artist would receive fourteen pounds per volume sold.  I am not a greedy man!”

“And how many would you print in this limited edition?” I asked.

“We usually print one hundred to one hundred and fifty copies. For your story I would think almost everyone in the Society would want one, so, let us say two hundred copies!”

“But that would be two thousand eight hundred guineas for myself!” I said, amazed.

“Potentially.  If we sold all the copies.  Yes!” said Dupont.  “And for Lord Hoxton’s memoirs, although you will receive a smaller sum, there will be many more copies sold.  We will use invented names in that so that we can sell them more widely, although I might produce a separate de luxe edition for the Society.  We can discuss a French translation as well!”

“Mother of God!” I said.  “I could buy a house!”

“Thought I’d call me memoirs ‘Women I have fucked’,” said Hoxton.  Dupont winced.

“How about ‘The adventures of a gentleman hunter’" I suggested.

“Much better, Mr Molloy!” said Dupont. Hoxton laughed. 

“Top fellow Molloy is!” said Hoxton.  “Going to get his score up this weekend, Johnny.  Although he has already had two of me staff!”  I wondered how he knew about Sutton, unless Lady Hoxton had told him.  Perhaps she did so to draw suspicion away from herself.  I realised that copulating with her and, of course, being photographed doing so, were very big mistakes indeed.

“I would also like to publish the conventional account of your journey too and that would be on sale to the public, of course.  You would get half a crown for every copy sold!  I tell you what, here is a hundred and fifty pounds as an advance!” He pulled out his wallet and unfolded three fifty pound notes.   Each one was worth more than my monthly salary.

“You are going to become quite rich!” said Hoxton.

“If you do not get eaten by a dinosaur!” said Dupont.  Hoxton laughed uproariously.