Maudie: Revelations of Life in London and an Unforeseen Denouement

[Asiaticus]

Maudie: Revelations of Life in London and an Unforeseen Denouement
By the Author of "Nemesis Hunt"

Now for the first time printed.

Imprinted for the members of the "Chatty" Club
London
1909

It can be read here:

[April]

CHAPTER ONE

THE MANSION OF MAUDIE

An awakening in a whore's bedroom is, as a rule, cheerless.

One is vague as to one's whereabouts, as a rule sore on the John Thomas, and a general feeling of having made a bloody fool of oneself is most often mixed with a wonder whose pyjamas you've got on and whether you've got the clap or possibly worse.

Charles Vernon St Just Osmond, fifth off the succession to the earldom of Osmond, very much a 'younger son', with a good deal less money even than most younger sons, turned over twice, flicked his eyes at the sunlight dribbling through the blinds, bit a tongue which felt like leather, sniffed a distinct aroma of whisky, and wondered where the hell he was, why he had done it and whom he had done it on.

He raised himself on one elbow, and looked. Then he was pleased. He had obviously not made a very drunken error. The good lady who lay by his side, in a charming silk pyjama suit with a deep Venetian lace collar, was not only pretty, but interesting. Her chestnut hair flowed over her shoulders. Her arms, bare from just above the elbows, were deliciously rounded, and her very delicate little hands were heavily be-ringed. This, Osmond (or, as we shall call him Charlie) concluded, was no ordinary tart, and the question of finance smote him suddenly. He had a vague recollection of friends and the Empire and the Continental, and he knew that he couldn't have much on him. He was just slipping out of bed to look through his pockets when she woke up and put a soft arm round his neck.

'Remember what you came here for last night and what you didn't do, darling,' she cooed.

Charlie had forgotten that. He must have been very drunk he thought to himself, and as he sat up in bed his head whirled in confirmation. The girl pulled him gently down and kissed him softly and lovingly.

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'Naughty boy to have been so drunk last night,' she purred. 'Think of me, full of lust, ready to do anything, and you went to sleep like a log. I suppose you don't remember how you got undressed?'

Charlie admitted that he didn't.

'Well, I didn't take your clothes off, but my maid did, and put you into your pyjamas. She's out of the common pretty yet with two women by you, you couldn't summon up a flicker of a stand. You've got to make up for it now, my lazy darling.'

Her little hand slipped over his stomach, undid the knot of his pyjama trousers, and played delicately with a very limp and lethargic phallus. Her other hand reached up behind her and touched a bell. Charlie sank back, dreamily anticipating some further surprise.

Almost immediately a very smart and pretty girl, dressed in a sort of comic-opera maid's costume, came in without knocking.

'This gentleman isn't well,' said Charlie's hostess; 'bring the usual remedies.'

'The usual remedies' arrived very swiftly, and a tired and dejected Charlie noted, with a relieved glance, tea, coffee, tiny caviar sandwiches, delicately cut toast, almost smokingly hot little rolls, and more severe comforts in the shape of half-bottles of champagne, and several brands of liqueurs and brandy. On a separate tray were all sorts of fruit.

'If you are very hungry, darling,' said the little fairy of the bed, 'you can have anything you like in the way of a serious breakfast, but my advice is, play about with these little things now, and when we are up and bathed and so on, we'll have a proper meal in the garden by the river; it's a beautiful morning, and the lilies are lovely.'

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'River, garden, lilies'—every evidence of wealth—Charlie began to wonder what he had struck, and to think more nervously than ever of his waistcoat pockets.

The pretty maid slipped a soft, rounded arm under Charlie's back, and raised him gently. She sat on the bed by his knee, the trays by her side on a table, and began to feed him like a baby. Charlie's delightful bedfellow lay back in amorous abandon.

'Nothing for me just yet, Elsie,' she said, smiling.

Charlie didn't quite know which way to look—both girls were so delicious. The maid's left hand lay, whether by accident or design, right on his cock, as she handed him drinks and sandwiches with her right. She had crossed her knees as she sat, and her lovely calves showed right up to the garter.

She wouldn't let him help himself, but he couldn't keep his hands idle. One toyed with her breasts, his fingers within her bodice dwelling lustfully on the swelling globes. The other hand his bedfellow had captured and it, too, was occupied. She had thrown the bedclothes aside, pulled her pyjama trousers down a little, and had Charlie's hand pressed gently on her clitoris.

Charlie ate and drank, and in a moment or two all lassitude had left him. His cock was rampant and erect, and his eyes wandered lasciviously and eagerly from one wickedly smiling face to the other.

The pretty maid gave him a long, hard-breathed kiss, which nearly set him on fire, before she left. As the door closed behind her, the other girl kissed him savagely on the neck.

'Take my things off,' she said, jerkily, to Charlie.

It was the work of a moment, and she was exposed in all her naked loveliness.

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To his surprise, Charlie noticed that her mons Veneris carried no hair whatever; it was perfectly shaved, and as his fingers strayed downwards, he felt no trace of any stubble even as he inclined his head and kissed it, he felt conscious that his chin, though he had had a late shave overnight, was far the rougher.

Charlie knew a bit; he hadn't knocked about town for nothing, and he was accustomed to pictures of the female form divine in which the hair was as conspicuously absent as the clothing, but he had never run across it in real life, and curiously, it opened up a new vista of thought to him.

He kissed the shorn vagina and tasted some strangely sweet effluvia, which contrasted attractively with the caviar and the Georges Goulet.

Charlie, hardly able to contain himself, was just turning to fuck her in the age-old Adam and Eve way when her little hand, strong with passion, pushed him back.

'Lie quiet, darling,' she said, 'I'm going to be jockey,' and delicately she knelt astride him. 'Do you want it very much, sweetheart?' she cooed, as her fingers toyed with the luxuriant hairs of his bush.

'Want it, my God! I can't hold it—be quick.'

She parted the dainty red lips of her cunt with her diamond-flashing fingers and with just a movement of her wrist guided Charlie's member in; then she sank softly down on him till her bare breasts caressed his, and their lips became as one reciprocating engine of love and lust.

It was a convulsive grappling of two naked bodies, a passionate mingling of flesh, a communion of kisses—and a good deal more a communion of souls than those two young people quite realised at that time. Charlie really thought it was the best fuck he had ever had, and yet he didn't even know the girl's name or anything at all about her.

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Somehow, though, he felt they had an affinity. As her legs twined over his bottom, and her strong, young arms grappled him to her with loving vigour, he felt somehow that he had never known the time when that red, hot, little tongue had not darted over his.

He did not quite know when he actually finished. He had half fainted; the girl's grip was loosened too; he seemed to be swimming in mid-air in a red mist. The most delicious fatigue possessed him. "When he came to, she was still on to of him, but wide-awake and alert.

'Where are we?' he hesitated. 'I expect I owe all sorts of apologies.'

'You don't remember the motor drive?'

'No.'

'Well, you're near Staines, and you'll learn all about thing when you feel a bit better. Try a little more caviar; it's extra fine, straight from a grand-duke friend of mine. You couldn't buy it in a shop.'

'Grand dukes—oh, Lord!' thought Charlie, 'what will she expect?'

She jumped up and went to a curtained door. 'The bathroom's here, dear,' she said; 'you can have it in moment,' and she was gone.

Charlie Osmond finished a glass of champagne, got hastily out of bed, and examined his pockets. One pound, fourteen and seven pence was the net—obviously useless.

He had done this sort of thing before, and subsequently paid, but there was something about this girl that made him uneasy. She was very much out of the ordinary.

He had some more champagne, and listened apprehensively to the splashing in the bathroom.

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We have to go through this book with Charlie Osmond, so our readers may just as well know a little about him.

A gentleman by birth, he had most of the right instincts and perversions. He had left Eton for the usual reason, and he regretted it. He did not want to bugger other boys, but some did, and he somehow hated to be out of the fashion. Unfortunately, he was found out.

At Oxford his career had been meteoric. He could not go to a very good college, owing to his school troubles, and his 'good allowance made him a star at—(we will suppress the name). He did many things he should not have done and his final exploit of sowing the word CUNT in mustard and cress in the grass of the front quad, which came up under the astonished eyes of the dean's daughter, led to his final exit. His defence—that he had meant the word as a moral admonition to those of the varsity who had leanings towards malpractices in the sodomitical line—was not accepted, and he went.

The homecoming was as usual—nobody to meet him at the station but the chauffeur, and father in the gunroom.

Your son's devotion to landscape gardening [ran the dean's note] is undoubtedly commendable, but we must remind you that the grass in the front quadrangle at—has for five hundred years preserved its virginity, and the word inscribed makes not only a blemish on the grass, but conveys a reflection on the locality. We are only pleased that news of the incident has not found its way to the American papers. We are, etc.,Hy. CHARTERIS (Dean)

Charlie Osmond came to town with £300 a year, and a paternal kick up the arse. He could not live on £300 a year, and he didn't try to. It cost him that in clothes and drink.

Well, it had gone on somehow for some time, but the end—Canada—or something worse—was near.

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Yet he realised that he was really a very nice young man; everyone liked him, and he liked most people, but he hadn't got a carriere, and he wanted one.

The divinity came back, and sat down on the bottom of the bed, lighting a cigarette.

We have got to know about her.

She was not a clergyman's daughter.

Her father had prospered in the nitrate market, and, until the inevitable end, had prospered exceedingly, so his children were well brought up. Maudie Stevens went to school at Eltham, in Kent, and was 'finished'—well 'finished'—at a convent near Rouen.

She had her baby in a suburb of Paris, and her family gave her money and her conge. The money was luckily tied up, so that her father's sensational end at the Old Bailey did not affect her financially.

She had a few hundred a year, a detestation of suburbia, and no morals.

She took the inevitable end quite calmly, and became a tart, pure et simple .

She was very popular, and—but we shall see.

Charlie' Osmond started bluntly.

'I don't quite know,' he blundered, 'what you think of me?' She laughed, and twisted her hair into a bewitching knot over her forehead.

'Where I am, I don't know,' he went on. 'Who you are, I don't know; and I've no money to speak of. I feel a pig.'

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'I know you well enough, Charlie Osmond. I shouldn't have picked you up, and brought you down here if I hadn't wanted you—but I did . Now make yourself at home; get into the bathroom. You'll find clean collars, and a new toothbrush and things, and we'll have breakfast and talk. I haven't exactly brought you here for nothing.'

Charlie felt considerably relieved when he found himself alone in the dainty bathroom.

Every imaginable sort of comfort was ready to hand, and he enjoyed a most elaborate scented bath. After the final cold douche, he put down a stiff ice-cold brandy and soda and was ready for anything the world might bring forth.

Maudie was dressed when he came back into the bedroom—dressed in a simple summer muslin, which made him remember with a shock that he had been in evening clothes the night before.

Maudie obviously divined his thought.

'I expect you'll find flannels to do you in the wardrobe,' she said laughingly. 'I keep several sizes.'

In a few minutes Charlie was a smart young man, in immaculate boating flannels, and as he followed his hostess through the pretty hall and across the lawn to where a breakfast table flashed its silver; glass and napery temptingly under the trees, he felt he'd like to stop here forever.

Another pretty maid, in white, and a page-boy, in white ducks, waited.

Charlie frankly made a pig of himself. A cool breeze flickering over the Thames had given him a raging appetite, and everything was so very nicely done, and the pretty eyes opposite his were so twinklingly alluring.

[April]

CHAPTER TWO

MAUDIE'S GARDEN AND STUDIO

On a little slope, very green and fresh-looking, and completely shut off from the house by the trees, a number of really sensible-sized cushions were spread. Thither, after breakfast, Maudie led the way, and flopped, making no bones about showing her lovely legs right up to the knee. Openwork stockings are distracting enough at the best of times, but when it comes to the very finest of red silk, and the tiniest of little, red morocco shoes at the end of them matching exactly the scarlet sash encircling the wearer' tapering waist, it takes a strong man to think of anything but the worst. Charlie flopped by her side, and took a kiss, whirl was only stopped by the page-boy's judicious cough. He had the daily papers and cigarettes.

'I'll ring if I want anything,' she said. 'Now see that we'll not disturbed.'

There was an electric bell fixed to one of the trees likewise a telephone extension.

'My word, you do do yourself well,' said Charlie, nestling down very comfortably, and toying idly with the little dear' knees, 'telephone and all.'

'Oh, it's very convenient. I've a lot of journalist friends who like to lie about here in the summer, and there are telephone lines to their offices. It's wonderful how inventive you can be when you've got a nice girl all over you, and a feeling of delicious laziness. These cushions could tell a bit.

'Now, you put your hand up higher, right up; nobody can possibly see us unless they go past on a boat. I want to talk a little business to you.

'First of all, you'll want some clothes. I'm sending my car up to town. My chauffeur can take my message to Half Moon Street—you see I know where you live—and get what you want. Are you on the phone?'

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'Yes.'

'Well, ring your man up; have you got a man?'

'Yes; I just, about run to that.'

'Well, get on to him now; I want the chauffeur to go soon. I'm going to keep you here tonight—unless you've got anything very important on?'

'No; and if I had I'd miss it.'

'You won't be able to sleep with me. My really best financial boy is coming, and I've got to attend to him. I think you know him, Bertie Evans-James.'

'Bertie—Tubby Bertie; oh, Lord, yes! I wonder I haven't met you.'

'I don't come up to town much. I love this place and Paris. Now you ring up and tell your man that a chauffeur called Gerstein will call with your card.'

Charlie reached up to the receiver, which was hung conveniently low.

'One minute, dear,' whispered Maudie. 'I've a wicked little fad. When any of my men pals are telephoning, I like to get on top, and just ride on it; it's ripping.'

Charlie was only too pleased, and lay back as she knelt over him and loosened his trousers.

Lord knows what came out was stiff enough! Eight good inches of it, hard as steel, and panting with hot lust.

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She bent and kissed it, first running her tongue lightly round the glans; then, with a quick movement she slipped her leg over and seemed to flick the great member into her boiling little volcano of a cunt.

It hurt Charlie a little as she thrust herself home and began to slip slowly up and down, but it was delightful pain.

His man's voice seemed strangely old, and Charlie wondered what on earth that staid personage would think if he knew exactly where his master was getting on the phone from. Suits he asked for, collars, shirts, etc., boots and ties, and at the hats he spent violently. He felt a savage bite on the neck, and collapsed with his man's voice in his ear, saying, 'Yes, sir, and your aunt's here, sir, and would like to speak to you, sir.'

Charlie gasped, but there was no way out of it; Aunt Lavinia must not be offended.

'Oh, Charlie, is that really you? What wonderful inventions these are. I feel I can almost see you—'

Charlie shuddered.

'—and I hear you're having your things sent down by motor. How nice. Do you know, I've never been in one. I shall take the chance of running down to see you; I can get back by train. See you later—goodbye'—and she hung up.

Charlie explained the situation to the girl, as she leisurely buttoned him up.

'Oh, let the old lady come,' she said 'I can behave like a lady; don't you worry. I was brought up as one. I'll put on my very best party airs, and she won't complain of her dinner, I give you my word. Does she know Bertie, by the way?'

'Oh, certain to.'

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'Very well; I'll be a foreign widow, who met Bertie in Hamburg or somewhere. I speak perfect French and German.'

Charlie weakly acquiesced.

'I'm afraid you don't quite know Aunt Lavinia,' he said; 'she's very, very mid-Victorian!'

'Never mind, I can be early Victorian. I'll be her friend for life before she's been here two hours. Now come along into the house, and I'll tell you what 1 really want you to do for me—or—it is a lovely morning, and 1 don't know whether you like swimming or not, but I do, and I've a lovely little private bathing place nearby.'

Charlie was very much ready, and after the page-boy had been sent to give the chauffeur his instructions, they wandered off, hand in hand, down a little lane to a highly palisaded backwater.

There were two big and comfortable dressing-rooms, one for men and one for women.

'Sometimes we are very respectable and wear bathing costumes and things,' Maudie explained; 'but sometimes, like this morning, for instance, we don't do anything of the sort, and you are just going to undress me, mother naked, and we'll swim about like Adam and Eve.'

It was not the first time Charlie had got into a bath with a cockstand, but it was the first time he had dived in to swim like that. When he turned over to float, the little siren Maudie swam up to him and laughingly tied a dainty handkerchief on to his rampant mast.

' Now you can show your colours,' she said. 'You look like a submarine with the periscope stuck out of the water.'

She swam like a sea-nymph, and her figure, all naked and glistening with the water as she poised herself for her dives, made Charlie forget

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all about Aunt Lavinia, tailors' bills or any worries in this world. He made an ineffective attempt to get into her while they were both floating—he had heard of such things being done—but the result was nearly a watery death for both. However, they managed to toss each other off, then Maudie called a halt, and they clambered out and on to the landing stage.

The mattresses, covered with thick towelling, were beautifully soft, and their wet bodies sank luxuriously into their embrace.

'There's a very pretty little grass slope over there,' said Maudie, 'if you prefer nature. For my part, I agree with the late lamented Oscar Wilde—Nature may be very nice to look at, but it was not intended to sit on. Let's lie here, and let the sun dry us. There are lots of little towels lying about if you want one.'

Charlie's only reply was a passionate kiss.

His hand strayed to where it shouldn't, but the girl put it gently away.

'Not just now, dear,' she said; 'we've had a good bit. Lie quiet in the sun. You can smoke if you like. You'll find cigarettes in the cupboard in the dressing-room, and all sorts of drink if you want it. Personally, I should like a little champagne cup. Yes, I should: my butler makes it to perfection. I'll phone up to the house.'

'But—he mustn't see us like this.'

'Oh, he won't; there's a sliding door opens into the back of the cupboard.'

She went to the telephone. How lovely she looked standing there in all her naked grace, quite like a Grecian goddess—and what a contrast to the very modern apparatus in her hand. Charlie longed to take a photograph of her, and the girl seemed to divine his thoughts.

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'Like to take a picture of me? There's a camera in the shed. I know you photograph.'

Charlie took six. He was an ardent and expert photographer, and he had taken many pictures from the nude, but he had never had such a model as this. He appreciated now the beauty of the shaven mount of Venus; she was shaved under the arms too.

The cup came in a beautiful old china bowl accompanied by two Venetian glasses with long silver stems, like magnified punch ladles. They squatted with the bowl between them, and sipped. It was heavenly.

'Does old—er- Tubby come to do stunts like this?' asked Charlie.

'Oh, Lord, yes; he flops about like a porpoise.'

'Lucky beggar!'

'Well, I suppose he is lucky. He spends a great deal on me, of course; you can see this house isn't run on air, but he is lucky in getting a girl a little out of the common to arrange amusements for him; you've no idea yet what we can do for you.'

'I should die;'

'Oh, no, you wouldn't. If you take lust delicately and scientifically, it hurts no one; only people who fornicate like animals, and have no thought above the actual parts of their bodies which are in contact, upset their constitutions. This is a pretty little swimming place, isn't it?'

'Ripping.'

'And the mixed bathing very much au naturel is jolly, isn't it?'

'Rather.'

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'My own idea. They used to do it, I believe, in Medmenham Abbey days. Now we'll dress and go in; I want to show you the house. Bring the camera, and we'll develop those. Take some more of me in various stages of my getting dressed, and use up the whole spool.'

Charlie, nothing loth, did. First with just her stockings and shoes on, then with a hat added to that, next with drawers, and so on through the stages till the complete, idyllic, muslin-clad river girl used up the last exposure.

They got back to the house by another route, through a somewhat severely classical garden, peopled with very excellent statues of heathen gods and goddesses.

'Tubby doesn't like this,' she said; 'he calls it the Lemprierium. I caught him one day trying to shoot the fig leaf off that Apollo with an airgun. I punished him by having him strip, gumming a great fig leaf on him, and making him walk about here for two hours: each time he passed the Apollo he had to apologise to it and kiss its behind. The others did laugh; you know what Tubby's figure is like.'

Charlie was prepared to be surprised at the house, but he was more than surprised. Very large, an old Elizabethan mansion, slightly built on to and modernised, it was from without the embodiment of stately grace while within it provided the most up-to-date comfort. Charlie remembered that Tubby's father owned many factories in Lancashire, but they must do pretty well to keep this up; the old man himself had a bit of a reputation for chorus girls.

They went cursorily through the house. It was not furnished at all like a tart's house, but rather like that of a great lady of fashion. The servants were certainly rather comic opera, and a prettier lot Charlie thought he had never seen. The menservants he encountered were French, bar the very staid old butler.

They came at last to a little boudoir overlooking garden and river.

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'Now we'll talk,' said Maudie. 'First of all, give me that camera; I'll have the pictures developed.'

The white-clad page-boy took the machine.

'Firstly, Charlie Osmond, I know all about your skill as a photographer. Well, I'm mad on it myself, and I'm pretty good, as you shall see directly.

'Now, what I want you to do is this. I know you're not too well off—pardon my being blunt. I want you to look after my photography and find my models for me. You'll have to use a lot of tact, but you'll have a thundering good time.

'Why I want you is that I must have a gentleman; I can't have an ordinary professional photographer. I couldn't stick working with him, and Tubby wouldn't like it. My great hobby is pictures of girls, in the nude, of course, and that's why I have my own pussy shaved: they have to have it done too. They are shy at first, but soon get used to it. We have quite lively parties. But come along, you shall see the studio first before you decide.'

Maudie unlocked a curtained door.

'This room I do keep under lock and key,' she said.

It was a huge octagonal room, glass roofed, with an admirable north light. One end of the octagon was a complete small theatre with, explained Maudie, a large plant of scenery and every facility for producing all classes of stage plays.

'Wait till you see some of 'em,' Maudie went on. 'We've got some pretty wits among our members—we call it a club. It's supposed to exist for the practice of the higher photographic arts, and the exhibition of real life on the stage. It is damned real, too, I can tell you.

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'Our finest bit of realism was a play which lasted, on and off, for nearly a year. It started with a courtship, rivalry, seduction—dark man, dark night, and that sort of thing, you know—of course in full view of the audience. Then he married her, and we ran through the first nine months of their life together, their lusts and their quarrels. How they both were untrue, and how she gradually became larger in condition till her belly was bang right up and she finally pupped in full view of the audience.

'Of course we were lucky in having a girl who was not only a very good actress, but happened to be like that, and was strong enough to play right through. It was Miss —,' naming a well-known celebrity.

Charlie started.

'Yes; that's how she spent her time when the papers said she was touring in Italy. Oh, she is a brazen bitch.'

But to the photography. Bar a number of photos lying on a big table on the carpeted dais at the other end of the room, there was not much evidence of photography at all. No cameras, no pictures on the walls—these were entirely covered with what seemed to be a patchwork of little curtains.

' Voila: hey, presto!' exclaimed Maudie, pressing a button at the side of the proscenium.

The walls altered as if at the touch of a fairy's wand, and a most gorgeous vista of photographic voluptuosity met Charlie's astonished and delighted eyes. Photos of every size were there, very many of them coloured, and most beautifully coloured.

There were no paintings except a life-sized oil of Maudie herself as Diana. That had been hung on the line at the Academy. Charlie remembered it well now: it was signed by a well-known French

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portrait painter, in fact the greatest of them all, and the discoverer of genius in many an Englishman.

But this picture, magnificent though it was, was quite dwarfed by the variety and beauty of the photos.

First in numbers came the nudes. They were none of them of the blatantly crude, erotic, fucking, all-ends-up type, but they were—well—not the sort that Aunt Lavinia ought to see.

There were many single nudes, very nearly always the model being Maudie herself. For this she apologised.

'You see, Charlie,' she said, 'I have a paucity of models. This GREAT IDEA is only its infancy yet; that's where I'm looking to you for help. Tubby's no good. If I left him to get me models he'd bring women like cart horses. Tubby has strange ideas of female beauty—why he is so infatuated with me, I can't think.

'No; I want more girl models for the single figures. It doesn't matter so much for the groups, as long as we have good principals.'

The single figures were very beautiful. There was a complete set of Maudie's life—Maudie in her bath — Maudie drying herself under the trees—Maudie in varying stages of dressing—Maudie riding, cycling, rowing, and in various gowns. The nearest approach to anything very suggestive was Maudie with only her stockings and shoes on, but every scrap of jewellery she possessed.

There were a number of pretty girl pictures, but with the same models again and again.

'We must have more flappers,' said Maudie, vehemently.

The groups, however, were of the more surpassing interest: very many depicted events in the world's history and biblical subjects were quite

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prevalent too. For instance, we had Susanna and the Elders. A lovely Susanna, mother naked, admiring herself in the well water, and the most lascivious-looking Elders admiring her too; in the middle distance, a charming girl and boy, quite naked, were playing prettily with each other. The scenic effects were splendid. Maudie confessed that she had the help in that line of a very well-known French actor-manager, and that an English actor-manager had put his scenic stock at her disposal.

Potiphar's wife was well treated. A naked Mrs Potiphar had just rent the garment from the fleeing Joseph, who, with one hand attempting to conceal his parts, was rushing from the room. Mrs Potiphar, who blazed with jewels, was of a pronouncedly Egyptian type, sinuous and wicked-eyed. In Joseph, Charlie had not the slightest difficulty in recognising a prominent young stock-jobber. Where had he been in London all this time, and never heard of this place and their goings-on? he wondered.

Samson and Delilah—God bless my soul—it was the famous wrestler, with very little on, and what a Delilah Maudie herself this time. In Samson Agonistes , Samson was similarly unencumbered with clothing.

In the fight between David and Goliath, the giant had been, by some ingenious photographic trick, made to look a very real giant, and his John Thomas was a thing like a quarterstaff, his balls like melons. A sweetly pretty little David stood boldly forth in the foreground, aiming the sling.

There were some pictures of the historic intimacy between David and Jonathan, which left little to the imagination.

We have missed the earlier episode of the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were very frankly naked and unashamed in several positions, and there were the dearest possible Cain and Abel.

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The scene where, after the fall (which, by the way, was realistically treated), the man and woman get themselves clothed was admirably arranged.

The strange behaviour of Lot's daughters, when they sat in turn on their poor old father's prick and got themselves in the family way, was reproduced in detail, as also was Onan's encounter with his sister-in-law, when he deliberately spilt his seed on the floor.

King David and Bathsheba on the roof, and later the same pair in bed, were fully illustrated.

Ancient Greece and Rome were imaginatively represented, especially the mythology of the former. A swan ('One of the king's from the Thames,' giggled Maudie) was on top of Leda, this time Maudie again, and Jupiter enveloped Danae in a most cunningly contrived shower of gold. The chance to show Venus anadyomene, and all the other gods, and goddesses plausibly naked, was fully utilised, but perhaps the best composition was Vulcan's revenge on the guilty lovers. Tubby figured always as a very tipsy Silenus.

In fact, everything in history of a picturesquely indelicate flavour was ruthlessly exploited.

Charlie was loud in his expressions of praise.

'This must all be very valuable,' he said.

'Tubby's papa offered me a good deal above a bit; said he wanted to present it to the Manchester Watch Committee.'

Apart from the historical groups, which, of course, included Lady Godiva, there were some very charming allegorical pictures. A humorous one was 'Fecundity', in which Tubby and a portly dame were surrounded by sons and grandsons, daughters and granddaughters, all dressed like Adam and Eve.

21

There were amusing modem pictures too—of life behind the scenes, river pleasure parties—and many clever snapshots.

'Well, that'll do for the present,' said Maudie; 'come and lunch. I'm rippingly hungry, and after lunch we'll have to get ready for Tubby and Aunt Lavinia.'

'I don't want any lunch, or Tubby, or Aunt Lavinia,' grumbled Charlie. 'I want to go to bed with you for the rest of the day.'

'Oh, you'll see lots of me in the future. I think you see the possibilities of our GREAT IDEA. This is only a penny peepshow at present. I, with your help and Tubby's money, am going to make it world-famous.'

Lunch was simple, but very delicate. After the salmon cutlets there was just a duck and salad, and a light savoury. Only hock cup and Grand Marnier with the coffee.

Two new maids Charlie had no difficulty in recognising as the originals of girls in the photographs, and in the page he recognised at once the boy David.

'Now'—Maudie lifted an admonitory finger—'this is the lie.

'Firstly, regarding your presence here. I knocked you down in Kensington last night. You were unconscious, but not bad enough for the hospital, so I brought you here.

'To Aunt Lavinia, I am the widow of a Polish count, and I knew Tubby abroad. That's all. Ah, I think I hear the car.'

The hum of the motor drew nearer, like the sound of a fury flying on the wind. Charlie fidgeted uneasily, and mechanically turned face downwards one or two very outre photographs. Aunt Lavinia mattered financially very much indeed, and could his charming hostess be trusted?

22

Maudie was perfectly calm. As the scrunch of the wheels on the gravel denoted the arrival, she gave a final little twirl to a kiss-curl, and said to Charlie: 'Kiss me for luck.'

It was Aunt Lavinia.

The door swung open, and before the footman had time to announce them, Lady Lavinia and Tubby were in the room.

[April]

CHAPTER THREE

WITH THE NATURE WORSHIPPERS AT MAUDIES MANSION

Charlie's aunt, the dowager Lady Lavinia McCree, was not a woman who 'came' into rooms, nor could she be said to 'enter' them, or even 'rush' or 'burst' or 'sweep' in. She was there all of a sudden, before you had any idea of her arrival. Charlie was kissed, and Maudie warmly shaken hands with.

'How are you, Charlie? How foolish of you to be knocked down: I'm sure it was very good of this lady to pick you up. Of course you were drunk—so like your poor father. If there'd been motorists about to knock him down and look after him, he'd never have got into the Thames at Westminster Bridge, thinking it was his bath, and caught his death.

'—And so, my dear, you are Countess Orloffsky. Of course you must be sister-in-law or something to poor Paul Orloffsky; I knew him well. He married his cook, and she poisoned him with Rough on Rats in a pate, or something, and married the butler, and they took a hotel in Switzerland and had so many children. I fear he was a sad lot, my dear—your brother-in-law, I mean, not the butler—just like Charlie's father, and Charlie—but now that he has found a friend in you, I know you will have an immensely good influence. And that dear, good Mr Evans-James, too, I do wish Charlie could see more of him—such a good influence.'

Tubby, who had been stifling a silly giggle, now almost exploded.

'So good of you, my dear, to let me use your car, such nice things, and so convenient, especially for people like Mr Evans-James, being so fat, and unable to get about for his good works. His dear mother tells me how often he has to be away from town seeing after his camp missions.'

The old lady, having rattled this out at express speed, shut up as suddenly as she had begun, and sat down.

24

When she had been borne away to tidy up, Tubby took Charlie into the smoking-room.

Tubby was a very fat little man, with an exceptionally solemn cast of countenance, except when drunk, which was not infrequent. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and he welcomed anyone who would help him spend it as a benefactor.

'I say, old chap,' he said, 'this is a go.'

'Oh, I think your lady friend'll carry it off—auntie won't stop long.'

'I'm not so sure about that; she's after me and those damned camps that I've talked so much about. The place at home is full of photos of 'em. Maudie faked 'em here. There's a wonderful studio here y'know—perhaps she's shown it you?'

'She has . '

'Oh, I say, you mustn't be upset or anything—but this is a hot shop, y'know. Well, 1 thought it too hot even to ask you.

Oh, I say, did you really get knocked down by Maudie and the car? I could have sworn I saw you coming out of the Empire, boozed as a cock-bird. You didn't go and pick her up anywhere, did you?'

'Of course not; she wouldn't. She's been talking of nothing but you.'

'Bless her little heart! Well, we must make the most of it, Maudie says. You're staying the night. All the maids fuck, y'know,' he giggled fatuously. 'Try little Jessie.'

'Oh, I don't think so, old chap. I don't do much of that sort of thing.'

'No more do I; not 'cos I don't like it, y'know, but I'm so fat, and it's such a dashed sweat. Like seeing other chaps do it much better. Lots of that

25

here: oh, it is a hot shop. Pa's been here, he! he! Gad, if your old aunt cottons on! I must put Maudie up to the settlement-camps business. Well, I must go and wash. You'll have the green room—artichoke, I call it—next to ours tonight. I'll wake you tomorrow morning.'

Charlie had fully determined to take this job on. He foresaw but little trouble over the Tubby business. He would make himself so useful that he knew he would be forgiven anything.

After dinner that night he begged to be excused. Sitting alone in the little smoking-room, he began to think out his plans.

It was a great idea. With that wealth he could ransack Europe for girls. Wasn't it better than £300 a year and the secretaryship of a club—and if, in duty bound to Tubby, he mustn't go wrong with Maudie, for whom he already felt an almost ungovernable lust, there certainly would be no lack of others.

At that moment one of the pretty maids came in without knocking.

'Oh, mistress's compliments, sir, but she'd forgotten to give you the key of the wine and spirit cupboards; there they are. I'll open them.'

She brought out the necessaries, also a pile of books.

'Mistress says you might like these, too,' she giggled. 'Let me show you the best,' and she flicked over the pages of an obviously very erotic book, full of coloured plates of lust in every form. 'Saucy, aren't they? Look at this.'

It portrayed three couples, hopelessly mixed up, tongues, lips, cocks and cunts in helpless and joyful confusion.

She put her hand on Charlie's shoulder, playfully flicking his ear, and bending over kissed his forehead, pressing her breasts against the back of his head..

26

'I'm glad you've come,' she cooed; 'so are all the girls. We like you. I'm going to bring your hot water up tonight; mind you're awake.'

Charlie couldn't help it. He pulled her round on to his knee. She put his hand under her clothes herself, and wriggled. 'It's all right,' she said; 'no one will come in. This is what I'm best at,' and she slipped between his legs and undid his fly buttons with her teeth.

'You little devil!' was all Charlie could say.

A confused, gurgling noise was the only answer—his prick seemed to be half-way down her throat.

He nervously fingered her head—she had deliciously soft hair—and abandoned himself to a transport of lust.

She gently tickled his balls till his cock seemed to throb like a motorbike engine, and—well, it couldn't last forever: he spent like Niagara.

The pretty girl threw back her head and gulped it down. 'I say, old chap,' came Tubby's voice from behind, 'you're starting early, y'know, and you've got the nicest, by God, y'have, but, I say, your aunt's looking for you, and she's going to stay the night, and what the devil are we going to do, what, what!'

The pretty maid stood up, blushing, and hung her head. 'You'd better be off, my dear,’ said Tubby; 'and, for heavens sake, be careful what you do and say while that old lady's in the house.'

When they were alone, Charlie apologised..

'Oh, don't worry about that , old chap. You can do what you like to the girls, but it's your aunt—quick, for God's sake put those books away: I hear a rustle.'

27

Charlie was just in time. Lady Lavinia was in the room just as the cupboard door slammed.

She sniffed at the collection of liquors.

'As I thought, drinking—and solitary drinking. Why couldn't you be like your friend and come into the drawing room for a little music?'

'And what's this?' She picked up a maid's cap from the floor. 'One of the servant's caps! What's it doing here?'

'Oh, I suppose she must have dropped it,' answered Charlie, pettishly. 'I'll come down to the drawing-room now. It'll be bedtime in a few minutes.'

In the servants' quarters of the house, discussion as to the identity and raison d'etre of the new guests ran rife.

Young men of the world like Charlie were no new thing, but Aunt Lavinia—in such a house—well!

'Such particular instructions. I've had to clear her room of anything saucy,' said the old housekeeper, gossiping in her room with the butler and the chauffeur; 'and I'm to take 'er tea myself: let none of them 'ussies go near.

'It makes me fair nervous, it do. Not that I altogether 'old with these games 'ere, but we're all in it, with our eyes open—oh, dear, if she should see some of them pictures.'

''Twould be a to-do, and no error,' said the butler.

'And the good lady she tink Mr Bertie so good young man vos—ha! ha!' and the chauffeur laughed viciously. 'She into what you call a 'ornets' nest' as got, is it not?'

28

In the servants' hall speculation was also rife: guests seldom arrived at that house except in very large parties, motor loads at a time, as a rule. And as for mistress bringing home a single young man, she hadn't done such a thing for years.

No one had seen his condition when he arrived except the chauffeur, who had maintained a dogged silence. He had been told to do so, and his job was too good to lose.

They were a free and easy lot in the servants' hall at Maudie's, with a very large preponderance of women, mere girls, many of them, and all pretty. In fact, the house was ridiculously over-stocked with females. There was nothing for them to do save when the very big parties were on, and then they were more required for the photography than anything else.

There were only two men, both deft-handed servants and both French, and a French-American cook, who was rather a wet blanket on the general irresponsibility of the girls. There remained the page-boy, and several other young boys and girls who helped in the scullery.

The girls did not care much for the two Frenchmen, and the cook thought of nothing at all but inventing new dishes; hence the joy with which Charlie was received.

It was an appetising scene. Everything in the house was done, and the girls sprawled in varied alluring dishabilles —it was a hot night, and drawers and chemise, or chemise only, or drawers and vest, or, for one or two, vest only was the chosen attire. Two were quite naked. The room was very comfortable to lounge in, and Maudie didn't care what happened so long as she was waited on quickly. Two girls remained dressed, ready to see their mistress and Lady Lavinia to bed when rung for.

The page-boy was in general demand, fetching coffee and cigarettes, and came in for a good deal more petting than was good for him. In

29

fact, he was quite blase . The warm caress of a semi-naked divinity had no effect on him.

They disappeared to bed by degrees, till only Elsie and May were left.

'Are you going to take the new gentleman any hot water?' queried May.

'Yes,' answered Elsie.

It was she who had come into the smoking-room. 'May I follow you?'\'

'A good half-hour after me. I tell you, dear, I need something badly; I haven't had my legs opened for a week, and it's just about time. You come in later, and we'll see what the two of us can't make him do; he's got a rare big 'un.'

'Right'—and they sealed the compact with a kiss.

There are few things more engaging than the sight of two pretty women, who are both lustful, and who really care for each other, kissing as if they meant it.

* * *

Upstairs, after two whiskies and sodas, which she was not accustomed to, Aunt Lavinia became first garrulous, then sleepy. After her departure, the three culprits first looked serious, then giggled.

Maudie spoke first.

'Look here, Tubby,' she said, 'the Lord blew Charlie against my carburettor: I recognised him, and brought him here, for a purpose . That purpose I have explained to him, and will to you. I want him to supervise our photographic and theatrical sessions. What do you think?'

30

'Oh, I think he'd do admirably,' said Tubby, a little doubtfully; 'but what does Charlie think?' 'Oh, I'm game enough.'

'Then let's call it a deal right off,' said Maudie. 'I know you two boys will get on rippingly. We'll just have a nightcap, and then, like Mr Pepys, to bed.'

* * *

Tubby rolled over in bed, and grunted, then he kissed his bedfellow, and was immediately asleep. Maudie sighed. She had had a great deal too much of this of late. She thought over the events of the day, and longed for Charlie. For one wild moment she recollected how firmly Tubby slept, and contemplated making a dash for Charlie's room—but prudence prevailed. She mustn't jeopardise the future. She took up a book, Nadia , a lustful romance, and tried to read herself to sleep" but in vain. Her blood boiled, and at last she woke up Tubby roughly.

'Tubby, dear, I must and will be fucked,' she said. 'You hardly ever touch me, and yet you expect me to be true to you. Come on.'

Tubby acquiesced sadly. His extreme stoutness made it quite impossible for him to attack in the old Adam and Eve fashion. He had to do it as the beast of the field. He got out of bed and turned Maudie over its edge. Then, without seeming in the slightest enraptured by the sight of her snowy white buttocks, he deliberately plunged his sausage like machine into that gap which should only have been reserved for connoisseurs.

Of course he liked it: he was very healthy, and full of good food and wine, and his penis swelled enormously as his strokes increased in vigour. Maudie lay on her stomach, her pretty little face buried in the lace-edged pillow, and in her brain, behind her closed eyes, just a blissful vision of Charlie.

Oh! if it had only been Charlie!

31

The fact is known that sometimes women who, when madly lustful for a particular man, are forced to be carnal elsewhere, derive really more pleasure from the beatific dream of their fancied darling, who in a vision is responsible for the flesh spasms which the unseen operator brings about, than they do when the real darling is in the saddle, so to speak.

Maudie certainly loved it, and she was only just conscious enough of what had happened to bite her tongue to stop crying 'Charlie' as the last violent stroke from her fat lover sent a hard-shot torrent right up to the doors of her womb.

'My God,' she thought, 'I really believe Tubby has copped me this time.'

She hastened to syringe, a precaution she seldom took with her fat lover.

Tubby, on his part, sank exhausted into an armchair.

'You've fair whacked me this time, petlet,' he gasped. 'I've never had a fuck like that with you before. What's come over you?'

The dream was still in Maudie's brain as she answered vaguely, 'How—how can you help it, when you love so much?'

When Tubby did turn off to sleep he dreamed rapturously. Maudie, too, slept well; she was thoroughly tired at last. These physical and mental fucks combined are pretty fairly damaging to the vitality.

Lady Lavinia, when the pretty maid had helped her out of her clothes and given her a nightdress, the decorations of which ill chimed with the elderly widow, removed her wig, put her teeth in a glass, and sniffed round the room.

She could not but approve of the comfort. No detail necessary to coax comfort to the weary or lazy bed-goer was missing.

32

Maudie had put it to her very delicately that if she had neuralgia—or anything—there was 'something' in the cupboard.

She had a look, and found, in addition to the 'something', a pile of books, one of which she picked out at random.

It was prettily bound, and called Nemesis Hunt . She took it back to bed with her, had a very hearty drop of the 'something', and opened it.

A good many readers of this book may have read Nemesis Hunt , They will remember that that charming and loquacious lady somewhat lets the tail go with the hide in her confessions. A fuck is called a fuck, and there is more than fucking in the three ingenuous volumes.

Lady Lavinia's eyes dilated as she read. Once before, in the very early days of her married life, she had been shown a book like this by her husband, and she remembered now, with a sigh, what a night they had subsequently had.

Her first impulse was to throw down the book in anger—the consciousness of her position, her reputation, flashed through her brain—but curiosity prevailed, and Lady Lavinia, firmly adjusting her glasses, took another strong sip of the 'something', and started seriously in to read the first volume of The Confessions of Nemesis Hunt .

"When young, she had been very pretty, and had been much courted. She had loved admiration, and had flirted above a bit.

Her short married life with the late earl had been a long round of love and lust, and frank sexual enjoyment, but his sudden death had brought about an equally sudden revulsion of feeling.

Lady Lavinia had turned suddenly very good — mid-Victorian good. She had, mourned her husband, and put a great deal of mournfulness into other people's lives by doing so—as have other illustrious widows.

33

Now there came back a rush of something—it must have been Georgian—and she let down the drawbridge.

At the end of the fifteenth page of Nemesis Hunt's pleasant confessions, she decided to leave on the morrow, but return.

Nemesis was put under the pillow, and in that very ultra-modem house there slept what may be described as a memory of Cremome.

* * *

Charlie Osmond went to bed with mixed feelings. He had had a very good time; he had a prospect of future life in view, which he rather welcomed—but, he wanted to be with Maudie—not to be immoral; but to talk. It flatly bored him to go to bed.

Outside, the Thames valley looked very peaceful. The dogs, the chickens, everything slept, except Charlie— and Elsie and May, who, after seeing to the little wants of Lady Lavinia and Maudie, bided their time for an invasion into Charlie's room.

That worthy had his suspicions of impending events. He did not lock the door, but sat by the window in his pyjamas, and gazed peacefully out over the moonlit garden and river.

It was altogether rather too nice, too idyllic, and well- the door opened, and Elsie came in without knocking.

She was fully dressed, and carried a tray with hot water and glasses.

Charlie laughed.

'I somehow expected you,' he said; 'but do you know it's very wrong? You don't know what I am, whether I'm married or not, or what trouble this might get me into.'

34

Elsie laughed.

'Well, I've done it,' she said. 'I meant to from the first moment I saw you. Give me a cigarette and a drink, and let me come and sit in the window, and you won't be bored for the next half-hour, I can promise you.'

Elsie curled up on the comer of the window-seat, the moon full on her delicate little features, lit the proffered Albany cigarette, sipped a little of the whisky and Rosbach, and grinned, frankly grinned.

'I suppose you think it frightful cheek,' she suggested.

'Well, I can't say I don't like your cheek,' and he kissed it.

Elsie kissed him back on the lips, and took off her bodice. She had very pretty arms, and a gold bangle with a purple enamel medallion, worn just above the left elbow, did not make them less attractive.

She drank a little more of the Three Star Bushmills, stood up and slid her skirt off: then her chemise—she wore no petticoats—and to cut a long story short, her next sitting place was on Charlie's knee, and the next kiss had nothing to do with cheeks.

Charlie lifted her on to the bed. Even then, though she was exasperatingly pretty, he could not help thinking of Maudie.

She curled over him; slowly, deliberately and maliciously taking both his hands in hers, and rubbing her soft cheeks against his.

There must be something in telepathy, for at the moment, the precise moment that Charlie reconciled himself to a connection which he knew would be nice, but which he really did not want, save for the exquisite pleasure in thinking that Elsie's arms were Maudie's, that latter lady saw in a blue mist of ecstasy the image of a very loving

35

Charlie—poor Tubby being merely the engine-driver who drove the imagination of her recklessly lustful brain.

Charlie frankly let himself go. There was no light in the room at all bar the shafts of the moon, filtering through the swaying trees. The silhouetted skyline and the delightfully placid atmosphere made Charlie lazy.

He had some recollection of little tickling fingers swiftly undoing the strings of his pyjamas, little tickling fingers also playing with an already erect member, naked arms twisted round his neck, firm, plump legs twisted round his thighs, and—well- he was in—well in—and those soft cheeks were most lustfully pressed to his.

Maudie had been very loving, but—all said and done—as he felt all his love juice being sucked out of him, this, Charlie couldn't help admitting, was better still.

He came in a long rhapsody; the girl jerked the eiderdown over them, and snuggled up. He didn't know whether she meant to stay the night or not, or what the morals of this peculiar house permitted, but it was very comfortable.

He was just going to sleep when the door opened very quietly, and another girl came into the moonlight.

Charlie gave up. He remembered where he was, and determined to die game. The 'other- girl' apologised laughingly, and the original giggled in the sheets.

'You don't mind May, do you?' she said.

'No,' was Charlie's answer; 'but it's got to stop at May, you and May. If I've got to go through the whole personnel of the establishment, I give up.'

36

May did not answer—but she seemed to slide, just as Elsie had done, out of her clothes, and into bed.

Poor, but happy Charlie—he realised now what a squeezed lemon must feel like—but he valiantly did his duty.

May was more placid than Elsie, more tender, more caressing, perhaps, but Charlie's cock was just as stiff as he felt his balls right against the soft buttocks of his new love.

It was a long fuck and a delightful one. Elsie, wicked little devil, gave every help in her power. She flung back the clothes, and there they lay, three naked bodies in the moonlight. There was no artificial light save the glow of Elsie's cigarette end.

Elsie slipped the pillow down so that her little friend's bottom was just correctly raised, and, as Charlie knelt between May's legs, she guided his penis dexterously in.

May, of course, was shaved, in the fashion of everyone in Maudie's mansion, and Charlie began more and more to appreciate the added charm of the hairless cunt, as he thrust his fingers between their bodies and felt the soft, warm, smooth flesh.

Elsie crept right on top of them, her head between Charlie's legs, so that her tongue swept over and over his swelling balls. As his cock slipped in and out of May, her fingers played with it. May had a large cunt, and Elsie's little finger could slip in beside Charlie's cock.

Her cunt was on his backbone, and on that she frigged herself—he felt the warm love moisture much about the same time as he spent himself in May.

He didn't recollect the actual end, didn't recollect anything till a stream of daylight dazzled him into being, and he found himself alone—with a little note pinned on each side of his broad pillow.

37

Each read the same: 'Thanks so much.'

Only the handwriting and the signature were different.

One 'Elsie'—the other 'May'. He was thoroughly wakened up by the arrival of the page-boy with tea and a note.

The note simply ran: 'Get down to breakfast as quickly as you can; in the garden; Tubby's going, so's Aunt Lavinia, and we've got to talk business.'

Aunt Lavinia was 'deadly' at breakfast, but she made it plain, in no uncertain terms, that she was coming back.

Tubby, rather a weary Tubby, shovelled her into the car, and they disappeared with a toot and a cloud of dust.

'Well,' said Maudie, coughing the petrol fumes out of her throat, 'I shan't ask you what you've done with your night. I want to get to business at once. Tubby quite sees the business side of the affair.'

[April]

CHAPTER FOUR

LONDON'S LUST MARKET

Near the Barbican is a London street of which one would not expect great possibilities. All the busy city traffic roars by at the street's end, but in itself it is very unobtrusive.

There, in a large, rambling, old-fashioned house, Charlie Osmond had established what he liked to call his 'office'.

Ugly enough to look at from the outside, the 'office' was not without attractions within.

Photographs—though not so elaborate as in Maudie's own studio—were conspicuous, and the furniture, especially the two lazy divans, were very comfortable, and suggestive.

Here Tubby paid the rent, and here Charlie presided, when he was not travelling in search of his models.

Maudie had a tiny suite of rooms on the top floor, with a staircase leading on to a flat roof.

She sat there one evening, waiting for Charlie, who was due home with, she hoped, further prey.

The hum of a motor made her look over the low parapet. It was Charlie, and the closed car disgorged four little cloaked figures, and Elsie.

Maudie went down, just pausing on the way to telephone Tubby's club the one mystic word 'Tenuc', which, as all our readers possibly know, is backslang for cunt.

Charlie came into her room.

'I've got four little peaches, all from the north. The last is a hot 'un, and no mistake. She had to sit on my knee as the car was so crowded, and,

39

oh, Lord, I have had a horn! I thought my poor John Thomas would burst.'

Maudie laid her hand lovingly on it and it sprang into being again.

'I'm sorry, dear, I can't oblige,' she said, 'because I'm unwell, and very badly unwell. I daren't when I'm like that. Shall I suck you off, or will you have Elsie?'

'Well, don't think me a beast, darling, you know how I love you. I'm so damned randy that I feel I must have a good square fuck. Oh, God, take your hand off, or I shall come in my trousers.'.

Maudie rang, and a neat little, semi-flapper maid was sent to fetch the fuck-to-be.

'Another thing, I'm expecting Tubby, and he still thinks I'm true to him, bless him.'

'On the sofa, Elsie, and quick, the poor boy's randy.'

The pretty girl put her tongue out saucily, got quickly on the broad sofa, and pulled up her clothes to the waist. 'My word, you have got pretty legs,' said Maudie; 'I believe they're more perfect than mine. Let's measure.'

She pulled up her clothes.

'Oh, for God's sake, come off it,' said Charlie. 'I haven't had a blow through for a week. Neither of your legs is as fine as this,' and he produced his throbbing member.

It certainly was a very fine one, and it had been admired all over Europe. They've got a model in clay of it in Suzette de Vries' place in the Rue Colbert. On his birthday it is hung with ribbons.

40

'No time for taking down trousers,' he said, and in a twinkling his arms were clasped round her shoulders, and her shapely calves were twisted round his thighs.

Maudie slipped her hand between them to see how close they were.

They might have been a single being. There was not the usual commingling of hair, for Charlie was now shaved, in deference to Maudie's wishes, and Elsie, of course, was too.

They hardly moved. Most of Maudie's friends were adepts at what she called 'thrill fucking'. That barred the rough piston-like 'in and out' thrusts, and the consummation was reached after a delicate succession of clasps and pressures and limb thrills. Elsie, her hands beneath Charlie's coat, tickled his spine. His hands massaged her back. Their eyelashes met in gentle titillation, and their tongues played softly with each other's. Maudie, sitting alongside—the couch was very broad—gently smoothed Charlie's head.

'Oh, I say, y'know, Maudie, you ought to lock the door. It's damned indecent, y'know, Maudie. I've got some fellers with me, and they might have come in, dashed awkward, y'know.'

Tubby's voice seemed quite concerned.

'Don't be jealous, fat-head, you're going to have a genial afternoon.'

'Good, oh! I say, who's the artist on top in the fuck?'

'Only me, old son,' grunted Charlie.

'Then buck up, laddie,' said the fat man, and gave his bottom a sturdy smack. 'I want to hear what's going to happen. Fuck on, Macduff, and get it over.'

Charlie finished with a deep sigh, and uncoupled.

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'Now then,' said Tubby, 'I've got fellers waitin'. There's old General Fitzhugh, randy as a bull, and young Phil Learoyd, just down from Cambridge, and that poet chap with the longhair, Claude Lestrange: he's been making poetry all the way down.'

'I'll just run down and see the kids,' said Maudie. 'Charlie'll explain.'

'Buck up, old sport, then,' said Tubby; 'shove your cock in, and tell us all about it. Elsie, run along and syringe: we don't want you with your belly up.'

Charlie explained briefly that he had got some girls for more photography.

'They're all north country—Newcastle hinnies, and the eldest knows above a bit, I think. I've had some new shaped razors made for you in Sheffield. They couldn't think what the devil I wanted them for.'

Maudie met the girls in the little waiting-room near the studio. They were examining the "pictures with interest.

Charlie certainly had done well. Four sweetly pretty faces met Maudie's pleased gaze.

The eldest and tallest, a brunette, had an almost Spanish face, rich, ripe red lips, and a haughty poise. She was the relic, perhaps, of some Spanish Armada prisoner who had dropped his love-stick in a Northumberland wench.

The other three were about the same height. One had a mass of Titian red hair, and the extreme pallor of skin that goes with it.

The other two were blondes, obviously with Danish and Norse blood in them, both with clear blue eyes.

42

They were all daintily clad. Charlie had stopped in Manchester and seen to that. The eldest had her skirts just below the knee, but the others showed the kneecap, and a fringe of pretty frou-frou underclothes.

They were all consciously proud of their obviously unaccustomed finery.

Maudie kissed them, found out their names, made a fuss of them generally, and gave them tea.

She was alone for a moment with the eldest girl.

'Say, mum,' said the latter, 'I'm no kid, and I can see that we weren't brought here only to be pretty artist's models. Now, I'm game for anything, and I expect the others will be. They can't read or write, so I'll do the writing home to their mammas; that'll be best, won't it?'

It certainly was sensible, and Maudie was very glad. There had been times when she had been a bit nervous.

Likewise, which was very awkward, there was a little disaffection in the camp. May had fallen frankly and openly in love with Charlie, and was obviously jealous. Charlie did not reciprocate, but Maudie could not afford to have a split, and had almost to beg of him to afford her occasional embraces. If May chose to give things away in the outside world, it might be very unpleasant. They were always prepared for flight, motors in readiness, and a big steam yacht, but they did not want to have to fly.

Charlie and Tubby went down to the 'office' or studio. General Fitzhugh was tramping round the room, fiercely twisting his moustache, and ejaculating, 'Ra!' at intervals, as he spotted anything particularly tasty in the photographs.

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Tubby's undergraduate friend sat meekly, rather uneasily, on a divan, and the poet wandered soulfully about, humming faintly.

'Ah, general,' said the poet to the old officer, who was very closely examining the life-size portrait of a fascinating young lady, which gave particular emphasis to her vagina, 'ah, general, a tempting subject:

How sweeter than the horrid clash of arms,

The contemplation of those naked charms.'

The general sniffed: he did not like poetry, or poets. 'A dashed fine young woman, sir,' he snorted.

The poet persisted:

'Dost thou not yearn, O son of Mars, to thrust

The vibrant signal of a lusting man

Into yon fragrant arbour, there to place

In form of sperm ambrosial, a fair child?

Dost thou not—'

But the general turned on him. 'I don't know what the hell you mean, sir, by all that tomfool nonsense, but if you've the accursed effrontery to call my cock a "vibrant signal", I'd have you know that the word cock has been good enough for the Fitzhughs for generations, sir. "Vibrant signal", indeed, you'll be calling my arsehole a railway tunnel next.'

'Oh, sir,' protested the poet, 'tis but poetic licence.'

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'Then you ought to dashed well have your licence taken away and, look here, if by "fragrant arbour" you mean that young person's cunt, I'd have you know that the Fitzhughs call it cunt, sir, and always have. My father called it cunt, my mother had a cunt, I came out of a cunt, and many a cunt have I stuck my good cock into.

'''Fragrant arbour"! there's a damned good stink attached to some of them, and I like it.

'And don't you refer to my good spunk as "ambrosial sperm", or I'll toss myself off in your eye, and let you know whether it smells ambrosial or not.'

Tubby, overhearing, laughed aloud.

Directly afterwards, Maudie, followed by her flapper recruits, entered. The girls stared about them in amazement, all save the eldest, who frankly grinned, and returned the old general's ogle with interest.

Elsie entered with a friend of Maudie's, a middle-aged, Anglo-French woman, whom we have not met before in this narrative.

She was a Madame Rade, and had been an actress. Still the amount of money she had made, not at acting, had enabled her to consult her growing corpulence and retire.

She was a jolly woman, very sexy, and there was very little wickedness she was not up to, and expert at. It was she who had taught Maudie the art of the 'thrill fuck'.

With her came her adopted niece, a very typical French flapper. Her skirts were short and plaid, her boots, on her slight, delicate legs, were very high and elegant, and her rather long hair fell in two plaits down her back.

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Madame was educating her for the stage, equally for a life of smart prostitution, and she was having her taught several languages.

'I have seen so much money lost by charming tarts,' she said, 'just because they could not talk any language but their own. After all, fucking is very nice indeed, but a man does like a little love chat, and a student of nature does like to be interested. There's one new brothel in Berlin where the girls have regular lessons every day.

'Those girls do score over the lassies whose conversation is limited to phrases such as, "You fuck my cat: oh, such a nice cat, only ten franc."'

Madame Rade had not let the girl go wrong yet; she wanted a big price for that precious virginity, but there was nothing the little darling didn't know. Her greeting kiss to Charlie was by no manner of means virginal.

Maudie had explained to the girls that the studies would be in the nude, and that they mustn't mind being inspected by quite a number of artists.

The assembled men were introduced as artists, and then one of the girls was told to undress. She rather timidly asked if she was to do it there, or was there a screen.

'Here, of course, darling,' said Maudie; 'you'll soon get used to that. Never mind your shoes and stockings this time. We only want to see the upper part of your figure now, so that we can tell what sort of picture you'll do for.'

Charlie had bought very pretty underlinen indeed, and as the upper garments slid away the little darling was a scrumptious sight. The poet sighed voluptuously. He was about to burst into song, when he caught the general's eye.

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'Oh, one thing,' said Maudie; 'I forgot, dearie; have you any hair on your body?'

'Yes, a little, mum,' she replied.

'I'm afraid, then, dear, that you must let that be shaved off.

You see, all our pictures here are without hair. It won't hurt you: don't be frightened, and this gentleman,' pointing to Tubby, 'is quite an expert, aren't you, Tub-Tub?'

Tubby grinned; he had been examining the ingenious razors which Charlie had brought from Sheffield: no wonder the good Messrs Rogers had been surprised. They were in several shapes, and no steady hand could do any possible harm.

'Oh, yes, it must be done,' said Maudie, as the girl stood naked with a sea of frou-frou undies round her ankles. The poet could not resist it:

'Child Venus rising from the sea,

No crested waves could fairer be

Than those sweet frills:

Oh, daintier than—'

'Young man,' said the general, very severely, 'during the Mutiny I had men blown from the cannon's mouth for less than that.'

Maudie patted the blushing girl on her naked shoulder, and led her to a big chair, with a front extension, something like a dentist's.

She lay back, her bottom raised on a cushion, her legs wide apart.

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Tubby approached with his tray of instruments. The poor girl shuddered, and involuntarily closed her legs.

This was too much for the poet. Waving his hand first towards the girl, and then the general, he declaimed:

'Back, ruthless youth, oh, spare, oh, spare, I crave,

That down ethereal. Can'st thou dare to shave

The rippling foliage of the Venus Hill?

Turn rather HERE, and thy vandal will

On this brave warrior, used to clash of steel,

HIS manly forest clip—'

'By God, damme, sir,' roared the general, 'if anyone dares to lay one finger on my bush, I'll cut off his cock and balls, and make him eat 'em, damme, I will.'

Before the poet could answer, a small voice chirped up:

'There once was a general brave

Who refused his cock whiskers to shave,

Till the crabs that he got

Made him clip off the lot,

And didn't that general rave.'

It was the young Cambridge undergraduate: the first words he had spoken.

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The general did rave.

'Crabs, sir, crabs, you insolent puppy! Look here, sir,' and he ripped open his trousers, showing a flabby penis, fringed with grey-white hair; 'crabs, sir, I'll give you a thousand pounds if you can find one . '

'Oh, la! la!' ejaculated Madame Rade.

'1 apologise: I apologise, ladies,' said the general hastily. 'I had forgotten your presence.'

He put back his penis.

The young man said he had meant no offence, and giggled feebly.

The patient, consoled by Maudie, opened wide her legs once more, and Tubby operated.

First he ran lightly over the slight downy bush with a clipper, then lathered it with some sweet-scented soap.

Quickly, with a small razor, he slid off the top part of the bush—the girl had very little. Then, with rounded razors, he removed the soft, glossy down just beginning to show between her legs. When she was quite bare-shaved, Maudie and Elsie brought a basin of sweet-smelling liquid with which Tubby anointed the girl.

Maudie and Elsie withdrew a little, and Tubby was left gazing at his work.

An added pink tint to the shaved parts of the flesh seemed to accentuate the roseate beauty of the cunt itself.

A little demure debutante of a flower-bud it seemed, half shy to open, half conscious of the beauty that should spread to give its honey to the expectant bees of mankind.

49

The little audience was very silent; Tubby seemed to hold the key to the situation; something was expected of Tubby.

He came to life all in a second, tore off his clothes, pirouetted nakedly in front of the nymph, like a porpoise on heat, and threw his head between her thighs.

The dainty little legs curled instinctively over his neck; the watchers could see his tongue dart into the moss-bare orifice—and the watchers could also see Tubby's by no means inconsiderable penis distend itself alarmingly.

It throbbed in time to the darts of his tongue: it was like a conductor's baton guiding the strokes of that first violin of lust- his tongue—and his buttocks heaved with it, suggestive of an accompaniment of brass and drums.

Suddenly the girl's legs tightened, a happy cry escaped her, and her fingers tattooed on Tubby's head.

For a moment he was quite quiescent, muscles flaccid—penis, even, semi-rigidly dependent.

Then he sprang up, gave a loud cry, and fell upon his penis with his own hands. Two convulsive grips, and he shot a stream of semen amongst his audience.

Then he blushed all over, tomato red from forehead to toe, and, forgetting his clothing, fled from the girl's side.

'The paean of Silenus,' murmured the poet.

Quickly Elsie sponged the nymph's cunt, wiped dry the rosy lips of love's portal, all humid with the juice of rapture, kissed her on the forehead, playfully slapped her bottom, slipped a Japanese kimono on to her, and beckoned another.

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Meanwhile Tubby had hidden portions of his shame with a towel, and was endeavouring to hide his confusion amidst a whisky and soda and Charlie's loud laughter.

'Damme,' he expostulated, 'I couldn't help it, damme if I could. Those sort of things come on a fellow so damned sudden like, y'know.'

'Oh, Onan, Onan,' it was the poet's voice, 'turn'st thou in thy grave, to see thy foul example impulsed by a shave of dainty flappers' cunts—'

But Maudie shut him up.

'Quiet, now: here's another flapper for Tubby—come on, Tubby.'

Tubby went forward to the attack: his hand a little shaky perhaps, but with a determined glint in his eye.

It was the red-haired girl.

And the Titian glory that covered her head scarcely eclipsed the flaming beauty of the curls at the pit of her stomach. Her absolutely dead ivory white skin seemed literally to have burst into flame between her thighs and in her armpits.

She sat back in the chair more confidently than the first one.

'No, no, damn it, no,' cried the general, 'it's a wicked cruel shame to cut that off.'

'I agree,' said the poet, 'let, madame, let, that flame torch of love remain.'

The general opinion seemed to be the same.

'She shall be the one exception to the rule then,' said Maudie.

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The pretty girl got up, seemingly a little annoyed that she had been deprived of Tubby's attentions.

The oldest of the girls, Jeannie Taylor, came next. She was more mature, and her figure was almost a woman's. "With frankly lascivious eyes she smiled on the onlookers, and lay back on the chair with a tempting wriggle.

Her skin was olive in tint, a pretty contrast to the scarlet of her nipples, scarlet which rivalled her lips. The hair on her body curled jet black, rich and luxuriant, almost covering the red lips of her cunt.

Tubby saw, as he brushed back the hair, that the moisture came trickling to the lips. As he looked into her eyes he read lust incarnate, and he could feel a throb of desire as he touched the skin.

Once more his member asserted its manhood, as he knelt, delicately razing away the hairs; it flung up its head, casting aside the guardian towel, and when, the shave completed, the hairs and the lather washed away, he looked at the now fully viewable cunt lips, pouting and swelling, almost seeming to talk to him, he promised himself more than a mere kiss this time.

He did kiss it, and had gone so far as to get one knee on the chair between hers when he was interrupted. Maudie didn't want her own particular golden-goose Tubby to get too fond of this sort of thing—with others. 'We haven't much time, my Tubby,' she cooed, 'so that'll keep for the present. Next lady forward please.'

The young undergraduate from Cambridge gave a heavy sigh of relief. That he intended to be his own bit, if possible.

'Next,' repeated Maudie.

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'First lady forward, second lady pass, third lady's finger up the fourth lady's arse,' hummed the young undergraduate, Phil Learoyd, in remembrance of some alleged ballet instructions.

Tubby stepped back, and Charlie lifted the pretty girl from the couch, and left her to wander among the others, mother naked as she was.

There was no question of the fact that the absence of hair was as becoming to her olive skin as the presence of it was to the fiery-haired beauty. Charlie couldn't help thinking how lovely it would be to see soixante-neuf between the two and mentally decided that he would arrange it.

Tubby, his frustrated cockstand erectly grinning at his fat stomach, sulkily refused to shave any more, and Maudie took the last girl in hand herself.

This last had perhaps the daintiest figure of the quartet, and she was the subject of the first photograph. The magnesium flashed and the naked loveliness was transferred to the film. Once more the flash, and Charlie felt sure he had a beauty, the red-haired girl and the dark one clasped in amorous embrace, arms and legs intertwined, bodies pressed tight together, and the glorious Titian red tresses mingling with the equally voluptuous raven hair. It was only a suggestion of wild eroticism—Charlie meant to keep his soixante-neuf tit-bit till later.

The party broke up, and the word was given out to set forth for Staines and the joys of Rosedale.

[April]

CHAPTER FIVE

'PHIL'S FUCK'

The journey was to be made by motor, but there was not quite enough room, and young Phil, Tubby's undergraduate friend, had a stroke of genius. He volunteered to take Jeannie in a taxi.

They all thought him too young to be harmful, and taxi it was for Jeannie and him.

London, and such things as taxis, were revelations to Jeannie. Of course she had seen plenty of motors up north but she had never been in one. She hadn't much idea where she was going. Phil Learoyd, her young companion, explained that it was a long way, but she felt deliciously comfortable.

He wasn't quite certain what to do. There was time to do a good bit before Staines.

'Had any dinner'?' he said.

'Not yet,' the lady said, 'I expect we'll eat when we get there; where is "there", by the way?'

'Oh, it's a jolly place. You'll love it: every sort of comfort, but it's a bit hot, you know.'

'I guessed that: I'm not quite silly, though I haven't been to Lunnon before.'

He took her to Frascati's, expecting her to be wide-eyed. 'Marvellous, isn't it?' he queried.

'It isn't the Midland at Manchester,' she answered. 'Mr Osmond took us there, and we had a lovely time, such lovely bedrooms.'

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So Charlie had done his little charges pretty well, Phil thought. 'Did you sleep alone?'

'Ah, that would be telling.'

But the second glass of champagne loosened her tongue.

When he repeated the question, she admitted, with a good many blushes, that she 'hadn't exactly '.

'He was an actor,' she said, 'awfully good-looking, and he sat opposite us at dinner, and Mr Osmond took us to the theatre, and he was just lovely , and I saw him again in the winter garden, and I heard him ask the waiter who we were, and I saw him give the waiter something, so I suppose he got the number of my room. At any rate, about one I heard a tapping and, well, I didn't know whether it mightn't be Mr Osmond, so I opened the door—and he shut it behind him, and locked it, and put the key in his pyjama pocket before I knew what he was doing.'

'What infernal cheek!'

'He was awfully nice about it.'

'Did he?'

'Of course he did four times.'

'You little devil!'

'Yes, and he gave me a fiver, and told me he'd take me on, at once, in his company, if I'd go. Of course I'd promised Mr Osmond, but I should have liked it. That wasn't my first time, you know.'

'What!'

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'No—the first was the timekeeper at the works. He forced me, and then got me the sack because I told father. He was a beast. Then there was an old man who used to deal with father—father's a dog-stealer—I mean a dog-dealer. He took me to Blythe for the night. I think father knew—he seemed to have more money than usual just after that. I only got a new frock. He was a nasty old man, used to make me run round the room, naked, and smack my bottom.

'He was good to us, though; when father got into trouble over the prize bulldog that got lost, he kept all of us.

'Then there was a Japanese sailor officer, over for building a ship.

'And the actor in Manchester was the next and last.'

'And who's going to be the next?'

The girl sipped her champagne, looked Phil straight in the eyes, and grinned.

* * *

The taxi swung through the West End, and into the Hammersmith Road.

Jeannie was on his knees, a little excitedly intoxicated, and very loving.

She was commenting on the way the twopences jumped up on the meter, when Phil took the initiative.

He put his hand right up her clothes, and met with no opposition.

'Am I to be the next?'

'Of course, you silly.'

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'Well, I've got an idea. You sit on it, and watch the meter. You sit absolutely still, with your arms round me, and every time it changes you jump up and down once, and every time you do that you get five bob; it ought to take me about five miles to fuck you at that rate, or more. That's £1 a mile: is that a bet?'

'Of course, dear; it's a lovely idea.'

He put her on, she had to sit with her back to him, and every quarter of a mile till Hounslow Heath she bobbed deliciously. It worked out at about £7.

Phil came rapturously. He had never enjoyed a fuck so much before—the flashing lights that passed them (it was getting dusk), the whole novelty of the thing, and the obvious enjoyment of the girl, coupled with her extreme prettiness, made it a thing always to be remembered.

Thus originated 'Phil's Fuck', which subsequently became almost world famous.

Throughout the big cities of the continent of Europe, of America, and even of Asia, young men and old patronised the taxi, and ran bumping races with nature. With some it came very expensive. London to Brighton costs a bit when the prices per quarter mile are not so moderate as Phil's.

They pulled up in the swelling moonlight at the little village of Bedfont for a drink, and to repair disorders—Phil's trousers were drenched. The charm of the tiny hamlet, its old church and oddly-cut, bird-shaped trees made them both absurdly romantic—Phil especially—and he nearly threw his heart, hand, very considerable fortune and chance of an earldom at the feet of a dissolute little Newcastle 'hinny'.

Jeannie, to digress a little, had in the time to come a very interesting career. She became a sort of second Otero, the toast of Europe, and

57

married—well, you'll have to wait for subsequent volumes of Nemesis Hunt and Pleasure Bound for that. It first amazed, then scandalised, and ended up by delighting the civilised world.

But to go back. Phil kept himself under control; he thought of his mother and father— and the family solicitor.

Maudie's house, Rosedale—had I forgotten to mention the name before?—was ablaze with light when the taxi swept up the drive. Phil felt, somehow, as he paid the fare, that the jumped-up twopences were dear in comparison to Jeannie's five-bob jerks. He lied glibly to Maudie, and they found they were in time for dinner after all.

Jeannie was hurried upstairs to find a flapper evening dress; the other girls were already dressed.

The dinner company was oddly assorted. All our friends, of course. Maudie in a sumptuously dazzling evening gown, her friend Madame Rade very décolleté and Parisienne, Elsie and May once more in the role of servants.

The poet and the general had stopped en route to get evening clothes—Phil was excused.

Charlie looked very distinguished and handsome, and wore an order of barbaric design. It had been conferred on him by an Asiatic potentate for swapping a Scotch girl he had acquired for a flower of the sultan's harem. Madame: Rade's niece wore a quaintly babyish frock, and talked to the poet in outrageously indelicate Parisian argot.

Maudie's beautiful dining-room was softly, delicately and eccentrically lighted. Apart from a great cluster of electric globes dependent from the carved ceiling, and very heavily shaded, little electric lights appeared from the most unexpected places. In one corner a tall statue of Venus showed pin pricks of light from the

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nipples. A large bronze of the Manikin Pis diffused some sweet-smelling scent into a crystal basin before him.

The waiting was very deft and quick, and the meal was not elaborate, so its course was quick. Short though dinner was, Maudie had not forgotten to see that the viands served a lust-compelling purpose, and the wines were chosen to heat the blood, leading carefully up to the ultimate aphrodisiac, champagne.

Madame Rade was the wit of the table; Maudie didn't talk much, she was thinking too much of her new charges, also of Charlie whom, she began to fear, she had rather too sneaking a regard for.

After dinner the big studio-cum-theatre was sought. The blinds rolled back from the great skylights showed the star fretted sky, and a bright half-moon competed with the green-shaded lamps of the great room. Here all was green, in contrast to the rose of the dining-room.

The guests sat about on divans, or reposed on cushions and rugs on the floor, and there was music, very soft and suggestive. Maudie did not intend tonight to go in for any very elaborate entertainment. There was to be a little dance of Charlie's, a semi-proper one, later—meanwhile the guests could get to know each other better, and enjoy themselves.

The old general paired off with one of the pretty servants, who seemed to enjoy the joint role of servant and convive . She lit his cigar for him, brought his coffee and liqueur, and reclined on the great divan by his side, boldly showing her leg well up to the frill of the drawers.

She did not stir an inch when the general passed his old hand lustfully right up her leg, and on to her cunt. She promised softly to come to his room late that night, where he might do whatever he liked.

Young Phil had been undone in his competition for Jeannie by the poet, but found consolation in the red-haired girl. They wandered from

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the house to the moonlit garden, and by the riverside he first kissed her, and then felt her. She told him she was a virgin, but had been sick of her quiet life in the north, and had been tempted. She didn't quite know what was going to happen to her, but could guess.

Phil found her very loving, and considered himself lucky when they found the private bathing shed, and its electric light switch. She looked very lovely, and Phil, though he had earlier been romantic with Jeannie, felt he had full room enough in his heart for two.

The night was so very warm that even in this semi-out-of doors it was pleasant to undress. Phil made her do it, made her stand in her naked beauty in the moonlight, then lifted her back on to the cushions in the shed and found she really was a virgin.

Poor Phil, a little weary after his taxi-fuck, had a painful struggle, and the girl cried for pain, but when the fatal barrier was passed and the last twisting ecstasy of painful pleasure over—it was all joy.

Phil rummaged about the shed, and found that hot water was actually laid on from the house, and that every washing convenience was available: it was indeed a beautifully complete maison de la chair . He bathed her hot little cunt—it had bled very little—and had a short swim himself. They walked back to the house happily, hand in hand. More people were in the studio when they returned. A motor had brought a little party from London—two very smart girls and two irreproachable young men about town.

The blinds were drawn, and the lights turned on full. The company was obviously expecting something.

It came in the shape of a 'semi-proper' dance.

It was called 'The Dance of Emancipation'.

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First the dainty little trottin of the Boulevards—band-box on arm, tripping rather than dancing, gaily irresponsible, round the stage, all in pantomime—pursued by the elderly admirer.

Scene II- The smart horizontal in all her glory, dancing, semi-naked, to her own reflection in the cheval glass.

Scene III. The dance begins to imply, as you would expect, impending death. She is in bed. The room is not so smart. To her come dancing, grinningly, the clown, Harlequin, Pantaloon and the doctor—and Columbine. She raises herself; she fears, she stumbles from bed, her hair is awry, she dances awkwardly; Columbine pirouettes mockingly—one expects always the end but Harlequin smacks his wand across the doctor's chest. The doctor starts: he gives the girl the phial—in a moment all in her is life again. She flicks her fingers, and she is still dancing, quite her old self, as the lights fade gradually away and in utter and absolute darkness you hear the gay flutes. That was all.

The audience woke from its hush and took very resolutely a little late supper.

[April]

CHAPTER SIX

MADAME RADES IDEA

Supper over—a cheery, chatty little supper—there came the necessary sorting out of the visitors for bed.

Maudie did not mean to thrust couples upon each other so she gave each man a separate room. She herself slept, of course, with Tubby, but she put Charlie on his own. Jeanni, alone of the flappers she put in a room by herself, delicately insinuating to Phil that his room was adjoining, and had a communicating door. The other three flappers were together next to the general. Next to him was the little page boy. The rest of the personnel of the house were in a separate wing, among them the poet, who had begged to be nearest the sky—so he went up to a daintily furnished garret facing four ways to the skies.

Thither he was shown by a plump semi-flapper servant of whom he had hopes but who banged the door and hurried away.

Sorrowfully he undressed, regretfully surveyed his slim naked form in the long cheval glass, and mournfully stared out at and over the moon-swept Thames valley. It was very beautiful, but the poet was not inspired, his thoughts were mundanely carnal. His penis stood up in mockery; he gazed at the lights of the windows in the opposite wing, and distinctly saw the silhouettes of two figures in close and rapt embrace. He could stand it no longer; firmly grasping his staff of love, he gazed wistfully at the moon and brazenly tossed himself off on the lawn below.

Then with a sigh he got into his very elaborate flowered silk pyjamas, sprayed himself liberally with some perfume which smelt like honey, and sank back into the luxurious bed.

It was very comfortable. The lights were all that could be wished for night reading. Drinks were at his hand, and Maudie had given him a little key which she said opened a cupboard of erotic books.

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He found a full selection. He felt that as a poet—and several society weekly papers had said so—he ought to have chosen Catullus or Verlaine, but he didn't. His fingers lingered for a while over a little volume called Fucksome Frolics , but they ended up with that dear, delightful work, The Confessions of Nemesis Hunt . With a violently wicked scene between 'Nemmy' and her foreign-prince lover we will leave him, the scented breath of a cigarette mingling pleasantly with the fumes of whisky and a solid determination on his part not to stay another night alone in this house.

Madame Rade undressed her niece, unplaited the pretty hair, and looked at her for a moment or so. The naked form was very sweet.

'Eh bien, Tanta, que penses tu?' said the child.

'Les betises,' answered the older woman, 'Toinette, cherie, il t'en faut un homme, et un homme riche, riche it millions.

Attends, petite chatte. Ce sant ici des hommes tres comme il faut richismes, galants et genereux au bout des ongles. Il faut choisir ma mie, avec beaucoup de soin.' Then, breaking into English 'You must promise, child, not to let a man absolutely have you unless I give my consent. Let him do anything else if you like, lead him on, fondle him, let him kiss you, but he must not put it in.'

Toinette, smiling roguishly, intimated that she understood.

'In this house,' went on Madame Rade, meditatively, 'there are, firstly, the little fat man, Tubby: he is the richest but he belongs to madame, our hostess; then the poet: he is also rich, but more fond of himself than women; then General Fitzhugh, very rich, but old, very old.'

'And M. Charlie?' queried the child, interestedly.

'Charlie, oh yes, very charming, but poor, poor, very poor is Charlie—you must not look there.'

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'Two nice men motored down tonight.'

'Them I do not know, but each has his madame.'

'One is Mr Flowers, of Flowers and Grapes' — Madam Rade gasped—'and the other is Lord Saxeholme. One of the girls told me.'

'My child,' murmured Madame Rade maternally, 'they are both millionaires. Now go to bed'—and she bundled the little darling into her bed by the window and sat down to think.

She had not been to Maudie's house before, and had no idea quite what wealth it represented.

It was now or never, she decided, with Toinette. The child was now sixteen. She herself, though fairly well off, could not give her a big dot . Besides she wanted her kept , not married.

The pretty girl lay peacefully asleep in her little bed. Madame decided to consult Maudie.

She had been told she could ring all night. She did. A maid was immediately on the spot, and very shortly a message came that Maudie would see her.

Madame Rade hurried down the corridor; she was a little nervous, and she narrowly escaped the general, who was lying in wait.

'Maudie,' she said, when the latter had explained that it didn't matter about Tubby, that nothing short of physical violence woke him up, 'Maudie, I want to talk to you about Toinette. If she stops here much she'll get raped somehow, but I don't intend to have it done for nothing. 'What am I to do?

'Now, dear, you know I need money. 'What about a race with the girl's maidenhead as a prize? These rich men would enter, and then, if the

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one who wins it, wants to keep her—well and good. Make it a running handicap, and put the girl on a pedestal as a prize, eh?'

Maudie agreed readily.

'I'm going to have the sports after the photography, the day after tomorrow,' she said. 'I'll guarantee there's a rattling good entrance fee. We women will frame the handicap. I envy the man who gets that little bit of love for the first go.'

The general was no longer waiting to pounce. He had. He had rung the bell without thinking, and a pretty girl came. It was a simple, businesslike proceeding, but the old gentleman did better than he expected, and enjoyed the best sleep he had had for some time.

[April]

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE 'KANGAROO FUCK'

Notes were sent round in the morning that guests could lunch and breakfast when they liked, but that everyone w: requested to be in the big studio at 1:30. The earliness of the hour was because of the light.

The session to come was to consist of the proper shaving of the other flappers, and the subsequent photographing of them. There were also a few boys, mostly Italian, who had also to go through the ordeal.

Charlie, as soon as he had disposed of his aunt, had sent for Jeannie. He decided she would be invaluable as leader of the flapper lot. He was sitting rather moodily in his room vaguely annoyed about May, and about his Aunt Lavinia when Jeannie came in. He had scarcely noticed before how really very pretty the girl was.

She came up to him, and bent down her face to be kissed, in the most natural manner. The kiss ended with the girl on his knee, and his hand up her clothes. He could feel that there was a little bristle already, even only one day after shaving.

'There's going to be some fun today, ain't there?' she queried.

'Yes, dear, very funny fun.'

'Oh, I do hope so.'

She wriggled her cunt right over his finger. He had never had that done to him before.

'Where did you learn that, you little monkey, where did you learn that ?' as her cunt contracted in a vice-like grip.

'Oh, I had a Japanese lover.'

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She told him the story we have heard before, and then he asked for more Japanese tricks.

'Clothes'll be in the way; come on, I'll undress you.'

She had his shirt and flannel trousers and slippers—he was still in his bathing rig—off in a jiffy, and playfully smacked his great rigid tool.

She wouldn't let Charlie help her, but slid out of her light summer frock like a practised quick-change artist.

'Have you ever tried a kangaroo fuck?'

'No.'

'Well, it is rather difficult, but very nice, and as I'm very light, and you're so big and strong, we ought to manage.

'I take a little run, and jump for your neck, throwing my legs open to go right round your waist. If you're clever you catch me just under the armpits, and my cunt fits perfectly over your cock. If you don't catch me properly, I get a nasty blow in the stomach from that stiff ramrod of yours. Are you game?'

Charlie was game, and at once. He stood waiting for the spring like a wrestler waiting for his adversary. His muscles stood up under his white skin, and his penis seemed almost bursting, so tense were the veins.

Jeannie kissed him lightly once, her tongue just brushing his lips, gave him one sounding smack on the buttocks, and retired about seven feet.

She clapped her hands, gave what seemed to Charlie a few kangaroo-like bounds, and was in his arms—and not only his arms, for he had judged her spring to perfection, and the soft pulsating walls of her cunt were throbbing round his staff of very much life. He was almost brutal

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to the girl—something made him forget his great strength, like 'Gurt Jan Ridd'—and he almost crushed the little dear.

'Carry me round the room, dear,' she whispered hotly his ear, 'and get very, very slowly on your back on the sofa but for heaven's sake, don't jerk it out, and keep it tight so that there isn't a bit of an inch to show between us—and then I'll show you how to finish a fuck.'

He got down, very gently indeed.

'Lie quiet, now,' she said, and sat up, ' quite quiet,' for Charlie was wriggling. She smacked his face to emphasise her words.

'Now, I don't suppose you've had it this way, you fucking sod,' she muttered—she was mad with lust now—'and if you come before I want you to, or let your cock get just one little bit loose—I'm going to use it as a lever—you'll never fuck, me again.'

Very slowly she lifted up her legs till they were almost parallel with the flanks of her soft, vibrating body, clasped them round with her arms, and twisted her little finger behind her curly-haired head.

Then she began to sway—it was a wonderful rhythmic movement, and it appeared almost marvellous that the girl could keep her balance.

Once or twice Charlie lifted his hands, fearful she would fall, but with a clench of the lips and a flash of the eyes, she bade him put them down.

'Now—now!' she said, dreamily, 'as I put my legs very slowly down, just let your—your spunk drift down till my knees are on the bed, and we'll just come wonderfully together. Stare straight into my eyes, darling, and by our eyes we can gauge the final spasm to the absolute tick of a second—now watch me.'

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There was something snake-like in the fascination of her stare, as she gradually brought her legs down. It seemed to Charlie at first almost a superhuman effort to keep from madly clutching her and crushing her on to his stomach.

But gradually he came under the magnetism of her devilish eyes—he could almost feel that she was pumping the semen up his cock—a cock that to him now seemed almost a detached thing—he was fucking with his brain not his penis—with the power from her eyes informing her brain.

At last her knees touched the bed. She threw her arms straight above her head, clapped her hands, screamed some strange Japanese-sounding jargon—and—Charlie shut his eyes, while a mist of wondrous colours floated across the cinematograph sheet of his brain—a mist illumined with—well, when the present writer asked Charlie to describe it, Charlie frankly admitted that he could not. It was a dream of lovely women, and always eyes, eyes, eyes of lust, he was being fucked by eyes .

Jeannie's voice brought him to his senses. She was standing by his side, her hands on her hips, looking down quizzically.

'Well?' she queried.

'God Almighty,' groaned Charlie, 'if there are any more home like you in Newcastle, that's where I want to die.'

'You're to thank Tokyo, and a little innate impulse for that, darling,' she said; 'but it's mainly Jap— and your cock: very few men could have kept me up like that—and now I've gone and fallen in love with you.'

Charlie didn't dare answer except by a shower of kisses all over her body, which she returned with interest. She kissed what remained of the semen from his glans, and he greedily fed on the white stream which slipped down her thighs.

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Charlie might have forgotten everything but for the whistle of the speaking tube, and the admonition from his employer, Maudie, that the time had come for the performance to begin.

'Get the other girls together, dear,' he whispered. 'May'll look after you all, but I'm relying a lot on you. We're going to take 'em in batches.'

They were to begin with the boys, and Charlie, somewhat foolishly from the really erotic standpoint, had produced his bunne bouche first.

The drawn curtain presented a young Sicilian, about sixteen, and almost matured. He was very beautiful in a girlish way as far as his face was concerned, but his figure was that of an athlete, upright as a dart. His black hair curled crisply over his temples; his eyes were very large and passionate; his lips were like a cleft rose.

He was quite naked, save for sandals, and a cloth round his loins. A hum of appreciation went round the spectators.

No word was spoken, but a concealed band was heard playing soft, dreamy music.

Tubby came forward with his little tray of razors, and bowed, first to the audience, then to Charlie, and then to the boy. Charlie removed the cloth, and it was seen at once that Tubby had a fine subject to work on.

The boy's tool, semi-erect, was surrounded by a forest of luxuriantly curling bush. It seemed a shame to cleave the 'love-mane' from the young Narcissus—but is not the human form, male or female, more perfect in entire nudity of hirsute growth? I think so, my readers, and so did the 'clean-shave' devotees of Rosedale house.

There was a chair, similar to that in the London studio, and gently Charlie placed the boy, who was half laughing, half shyly blushing, in position.

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Tubby, looking ridiculously modern in his lounge suit, faultlessly cut, beside this young naked god, stepped up and laid his hand on the quivering penis.

Instantly it shot into life—the poet bit his thumb, lustful longing filled the eyes of the women.

Quickly Tubby lathered the rolling curls with some soap, which drifted a delicious aroma into the nostrils of all. As he followed the action of the brush by a rub of his fingers, the boy's eyes became dreamy, his phallus was stiffly erect, a mighty one for a youth, and his arms hung listlessly over the edges of the chair.

One of the girls, dressed in a black skin-tight maillot, with red sleeves, a female Mephisto en effete , handed Tubby a razor. Deftly the fat young man played round that staff of eager love. One curiously shaped instrument after another he called for, till the last curl had fallen.

He bowed in reply to the plaudits of the audience.

A girl, one of the smallest, not quite naked, but very suggestively half-dressed, came forth with a tray of unguents and powders. A boy, fully dressed in Lord Fauntleroy style, held a basin, a third girl, quite naked, brought a cut-glass bottle of scent.

Tubby, his work completed, stepped back, and Maudie, pouring the scent into the silver bowl of water till a dense, but delicate, aroma filled the room, softly sponged the remaining lather from the boy.

That done, she rubbed the virgin skin with an unguent, and followed with powder.

It was a pretty sight, a contrast again of the old world and the new—for Maudie was still in her light summer frock, just the 'river girl' in

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excelsis , and this young Narcissus made a beautiful foil. And all the time his ramrod was stiffly rigid.

* * *

During these proceedings the poet had behaved in a very odd manner. Being conveniently distant from the general, he had ventured to hum one or two 'little unconsidered trifles', such as:

'See how the ruthless scythesman reaps

His cruel harvest with relentless sweeps

Of Sheffield steel.

Oh! lovely youth, oh! sweetly formed Apollo,

Thy forest falls to Roger's best ground hollow.'

He paused. And, when the final act of desecration had been performed, and Charlie had raised the lad, still soulful-eyed, still prick erect, to his' sandaled feet, the poet displayed his true nature.

Bounding to his feet, he rushed upon the boy and flung his arms round him, raining kisses on his lips.

Charlie was at first disposed to interfere, but Maudie restrained him.

'This is delightfully unexpected,' she said.

The poet awoke to lights, faces, subdued music, a general tobu bobu of clatter, laughter and applause.

The naked youth turned over to him and kissed him. The poet got up, and, with as much bravado as he could muster, swaggered back among the spectators.

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He passed the general, humming, 'A wandering minstrel I—a thing of—'

'Wandering minstrel, my arse, sir,' thundered the general.

'You're a bugger, sir, a goddamned bugger, and you ought to have an umbrella stuck up your arse, and opened inside, sir. Isn't a cunt good enough for you?'

Very brilliant limes focused a large patch of the stage, and on to that were hurried the four latest virgins, 'Jeannie's little lot', as Charlie announced; prominent amongst them was the red-haired flapper whose bush had been spared because of its flamboyant beauty. 'The burning bush,' as the poet had termed it.

After that little interlude, done because Charlie wanted Jeannie's turn over so that she could help him, the boys were proceeded with.

None was so beautiful as the first Sicilian, but they were all very pretty lads. No English, but a brace of young Highlanders whose parents had sold them for the Sassenach's gold, and a red-headed Irish youngster, rather on the plump side, who thoroughly enjoyed the proceedings.

Each of the youths in his turn was quickly operated on, but the poet made no spring. It was an enthralling rather than an 'erotic' exhibition—that is from the lust-compelling point of view of the word. Minds, however sensual, when compelled more to a rapt admiration of the beauty of the naked human form, than a passionate longing to do anything to it.

Charlie's choice had been very admirable. North, south east and west he had gone; and were there to be no question whatever of immorality—per se—there was opportunity enough, and more than enough, for the most eclectic photographic panoramas of the nude.

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With the girls, Maudie—now no more the Maudie of the demure 'summer girl' costume, but Maudie radiant in her glorious, flaunting nakedness—took up the razors.

She was quick, almost brutally quick, with them all, and as each nymph was clean cunted, brushed her aside, till, as she rose from the task with a pant, she had a flock of little naked loves giggling and blushing around her.

'Now,' said Maudie, as she stood up, triumphant, 'we have, decided not to have the sports till tomorrow; there is so much to arrange. In the meantime, remember, all of you that this is absolutely Liberty Hall. You can do anything you like.'

The poet began to think.

A maid brought Maudie a peignoir elaborately designed with flowers. She left the great room with her graceful, lissom walk, followed by hungrily lustful eyes.

Tubby announced that he was going for a motor drive, and Charlie said he would go too. They collected Madame Rade and her niece and went.

The old general, when he heard the hum of the departing car, began to think. Even at his age, he was very lustful, and he did want Maudie. He was safe now, with both her young men out of the way, and he knew her room.

He risked it, found the door unlocked, and walked straight in. He found Maudie lying quite naked on the bed, the sunrays glorifying the ivory whiteness of her flesh. He made a cheap excuse about 'Wrong room, my mistake,' etc., and paused.

'Oh, don't go, general,' said Maudie, pleasantly. 'Stop and chat; I'm all alone.'

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He sat on the edge of the bed, and caressed her naked knee. She stroked his cheek softly.

The general was a fine-looking old man. Many years of active service had given him a figure upright as a dart. His eyes were clear and bright, and in his trousers there thrilled a lusty cock..

'You must think this place a bit thick, general,' said Maudie.

'Madame,' answered the old soldier, 'I have fought and fucked all over the world, and I have seen most things, though nothing to equal your beauty.'

Maudie was pleased. The general was old, but still he was a distinguished man and a VC. She had had pretty well every variety of young and middle-aged man, but this old hero, who had listened with the stricken prisoners of Cawnpore to the distant skid of the approaching pipes, was a novelty. She thought she'd like it, but she left it to him to ask.

He tarried. He sat closer to her, toyed with her shapely legs and beautifully moulded breasts, kissed her ears, her eyes, her lips, but still was a little nervous to ask so much loveliness to give all of herself to him.

She made him tell her of his fucks and fights. He related how when he was in Constantinople on leave from the Crimea, he had found a Turkish officer whose life he had saved in the trenches, and how he and an invalided French Zouave had been invited by the grateful Turk to see his harem, and do what they damned pleased.

It appears they 'damned pleased a lot', and the old warrior described it all vivaciously.

'I was only a boy then, my dear girl,' he began, 'and by God I loved the girls, bless' em. I believe I was the only English officer in the war invited

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to get into a really swagger harem—and this chap, Ramuz Pasha, was so grateful that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

'We went into a luxuriously-got-up set of rooms, with about thirty women, some mere children, lying about reading, sewing or smoking, or playing with the little tots children who pottered about the marble floors.

'Well, the pasha bet Sous Lieutenant D'Alberique at myself £100 English that we wouldn't account for the lot them between us.

'My Gad, my dear, we did, and I won another £25 off D' Alberique as a side bet. I was seven ahead. Oh, it was lovely. Those warm, smooth Eastern beauties, their breath smelling of strange spices, their lazy, languorous lust, and the delicate vice of their actions. Lord, they did know how to fuck. "When Ramus told' em I had saved his life they nearly ate me. I never faltered. Between each fuck I jumped into the great bath in the middle of the big room. The water was warmed exactly right, perfumed, and strengthened with some pick-me-up mixture. The slaves brought us coffee, liqueurs, sweets and cigarettes, and it was one triumphant carnival of vice. If there had been any more I could have gone on.

'D'Alberique and I lay back on couches, and looked at our assembled victims—lovely, lustful-eyed Circassians, Greeks, Roumanians, Herzegovinians and Turks—there were even two English girls. And after that, my dear, when I went back to the hotel I found an English society lady on her way out to the front to see her husband, and what a night I had with her. Yet, when I looked out of the window in the morning over the sparkling waters of the Bosphorus I felt like a lion.'

Maudie was interested.

'Were you ever wounded, general?' she asked.

'Only once, madame, and rather badly. I have the scar still.

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'Oh, do show me.'

'It's in rather an awkward place.'

'"What odds; do I mind your seeing me naked? Come on. I'm sure it wasn't behind.'

'Madame!'

The old soldier quickly took down his trousers, and there, just below his balls, was a long vicious looking scar. Above it his balls were swollen, and his cock stiff as an iron rod.

'How dreadful,' said Maudie, 'and supposing it had been a little higher, why you might have lost this,' and she fingered his cock.

That did it. The general read assent in her eyes and almost rent his clothes oft:

He was a fine naked figure, upright as a dart, muscular and clear of skin, and he gripped Maudie in an embrace which she certainly did not expect from a man of seventy odd.

Their bodies writhed in unison as Maudie gently put the general's cock into her greedy little cunt. It was big and the entrance was difficult at first, and painful, but the pain was the pain which you and I, readers of both sexes, know to be the perfect poetry of pain.

'Oh! oh! general,' Maudie gasped.

'My dear girl,' said the old soldier, 'in one part of South Africa where I was quartered, the maidens were sewn up damme, just before they were married, and if the mar couldn't get in, he was considered no man.'

The struggle was over, the pass passed, and the general was right in, his grey hairs pressed against Maudie's clean shaved mount of Venus.

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Maudie took it as a 'dream fuck', possibly the very best form of fuck there is. With tightly closed eyes she imagined the old man who held her in his impassioned embrace whose finger strokes made her back boil with pleasure, and whose prick seemed to be drawing every atom of strength out of her, as a young soldier of early Victorian days fucking his tearful girl on the eve of his departure for the Crimea. She imagined him, bearded, begrimed, and half-frozen in the trenches. She could see him carrying the wounded Turk to safety under the fire of the Russian guns. She thought of the harem episode, thought too of the honours of the Mutiny. Of the triumphal return and of the pinning of the VC on his breast by the Queen herself. Kabul, Burma, Egypt, Majuba—they all rushed like cinematograph pictures across her brain.

In fact she fucked herself through fifty odd years of history and, as the rumble of the returning car warned them, they woke out of their lust dream and spent in unison.

'Dress quick, you old darling,' whispered Maudie. 'Tubby mustn't know.'

He was into his clothes with the speed of a practised old campaigner, and met Tubby at the end of the passage with Madame Rade.

'Rippin' drive,' said the fat young man, 'took Madame Rade's kid too—she's going to arrange about sports now, see you later.'

Maudie had sponged herself, but was still naked when the two came into her room. She made Tubby be lady's maid massage her a little, find her clothes, and put her into them. Then she gave him her keys, and asked for all her jewels.

It was a large order, for Maudie had not made love for peanuts all her young life.

Tray after tray Tubby lifted out of the great jewel chest. Every variety of precious stone glinted there, and Maudie got on all she could, bar

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the tiaras. Somehow her unexpected act of lust with the veteran servant of Mars, and the cloud visions of the gorgeous and gory scenes she had pictured, made her want to show off, to be extravagantly overdressed. She would be Ninon de l'Enclos—in ultramodern clothes.

The result was very dazzling, and as Tubby secured the last hook, and stood back to look, he gasped.

So did Madame Rade.

'Cherie,' she said, 'you look like a modiste's and jeweller's window combined, turned into a rainbow.'

Maudie did not answer. She was in the thralls of the full sensual rapture of jewels. As she looked in the glass at her fingers, her arms, her breasts, her waist, her throat, she read stories of love and lust, of battle and murder, of every unrestrained crime committed for the sake of a woman's kiss.

"With a click of her tongue she rang down the curtain on her dreams. 'Now,' she said, 'for the great handicap race for Toinette. I think I have got it right. It's a hundred yards.

'Charlie, of course, is scratch. Phil I've given five yards, he's a bit of an athlete, and the poet has long enough legs and I think eight is fair mark. Tuberino mio , you get fifteen, and old General Fitzhugh must have thirty-five. He'll hardly last. Now, there's old Rosenberg, an immensely wealthy stockbroker, whose coming down tonight. He takes fifteen, also, and Sandy McPhail, the Paisley-shawl merchant, is a ten-yard man. He'll be here tomorrow.'

Tubby rather grudgingly assented. He had set his heart on winning the race. He coveted little Toinette, and he meant to prove his manhood by taking her maidenhead properly.

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'It's going to be £250 apiece,' Maudie added—'you may as well whack up now, Tubby.'

Tubby wrote a cheque. 'But,' he said, 'Charlie may not—'

'That's all right,' Maudie interrupted. 'I owe him a bit for a job he's going to do for me. That'll be £1,750 in all.'

Madame Rade heaved a happy sigh; £1,750—for that she didn't care who broke that little wisp of skin which guarded Toinette's womb.

Tubby went, and she stayed with Maudie to smoke and chat.

[April]

CHAPTER EIGHT

TOINETTE'S TRIAL

Charlie, strolling from his room, came upon MIle Rade standing at the door of a bedroom a few yards down the corridor.

He had scarcely even spoken to the fascinating French girl before the motor ride, but he had noted her delicate petite airs and graces.

' Tanta has gone to Miss Maudie,' she volunteered. 'Everybody's gone out; I'm supposed to stay here learning lessons. I feel so lonely.'

Charlie suggested that he might keep her company.

'Oh, do,' she answered, 'come in here. It's a bedroom, but it doesn't matter.'

Charlie was nothing loth: she was as pretty as a little bit of Dresden china—and he longed for a kiss, just a tiny playful toying with her lips.

He followed her in.

MIle Rade—dear, sweet, diminutive Toinette—had not her hair now in plaits, but fluffed out over her forehead, and luxuriantly flowing over her shoulders.

She was still very short frocked, her skirts well above her knee. She was not high-booted as when we first met her, but the daintiest little shoes gave every chance for effective display to her ankles.

She curled up on the bed, and Charlie, a little nervously, sat down beside her, and, a little more nervously, kissed her ear. He got a sweet, thrilling kiss back, right on the lips, and, without further hesitation, drew her over his lap and ran his hand up her legs.

She let his hand go right to its goal, then slid her fingers after it.

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'Listen, you great big darling,' she said, 'you must do just as I tell you. Understand, I am little and young, and I mustn't have it an—just yet. Tanta says I may do everything except exactly "it"—that is "fuck"—it makes me blush to say it'—it really made Charlie blush to hear it from those petite lips—'and—well—play with me as much as you like—oh, do: I love it so: I know I shall be terrible when I grow older and Tanta lets me.'

She slid from his lap, and lay with her legs wide open. Her eyes glittered as they twinkled invitingly into his. 'Get all naked, dear,' she said, and ran her fingers over his fly buttons.

He did, and lay by the girl's side; she was still fully dressed. His cock was very stiff, and when her tongue touched its end, and her fingers toyed with his balls, he knew that she could taste a drop of semen. She could hardly get her mouth over the whole glans—Charlie was very largely made—but she licked ecstatically.

Charlie experienced a curious sensation: he felt he wanted this dainty little darling always, and an almost overmastering lust to disregard her request and rape her came over him! Little by little he undressed her, while she still sucked him, and he had the greatest difficulty to keep from spending. She had just managed to get all the tip in now.

Charlie couldn't bear it any more. Gently he pushed the little darling's head from his cock, and lustfully he grasped her to him, smothering her throbbing lips with kisses. As her tiny, red-hot tongue darted in and out of his mouth, he felt a thrill of lust all over him which he never remembered before. Then he took what little clothing was left from her, and buried his head between her legs. It was delicious, divine. His tongue must have touched her maidenhead, for she shuddered a little with pain, and he felt her fingers clutch on his head.

The girl lay back, her eyes closed, in an ecstasy of lust. She too had a mad longing to be really properly fucked, to have this great, strong, handsome young man clasp her to him with all his strength, and thrust

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that throbbing tool of his up, right up, no matter how it hurt. The tongue was lovely, but oh! the thought of the other, the real thing. But she wouldn't disobey her aunt. She knew that her maidenhead was for sale; she knew too that it would probably fall to the lot of some horrid, rich old man, who would pay a fabulous price for it—and oh! wouldn't she be untrue to him afterwards. But the first she did want with a man she was in love with. She wavered a little and heaven knows what might have happened—for Charlie, his lips all wet with the sweet moisture flowing from those red-hot cunt lips was almost mad with lust—had there not been an interruption.

Both were so wholly carried away with the lust tremors which gripped them from head to toe that they had lost consciousness of all else.

Charlie, when he felt a smack on his bottom, thought at first it was Toinette—but still there were both her hands on his head. She couldn't have three hands.

A voice brought-him back to life.

'So Mister Charlie, it is so you play with my little niece. It is so, missie, that you would learn your lesson. Fie, fie!'

Charlie got up—and did feel a fool. Stark naked, with a rampant cockstand, he stood in the presence of this ultra Parisian lady, who, to his immense relief, seemed to view the situation as a little humorous.

Little naked Toinette sat up, feebly giggling.

Madame Rade was plump, but she was very pretty. In her stage days in Paris she had been a very noted beauty. Even now, though she was nearer forty than thirty, she was a tasty dish.

'Well, ma petite ,' she said, 'have you enjoyed your lesson from Monsieur Charlie?'

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'It was divine, Tanta ,' answered the child, now unabashed and smiling.

'An apt teacher, hein ?'

Charlie was blushing all over, but regaining his composure, now he saw that he was not blamed.

'One thing, Mister Charlie, I must ask you,' continued Madame, 'you have not deflowered la petite ?'

'On my word, no, madame; your niece said you didn't mind her going just as far as that, but no further. Perhaps it's as well you did come in. I was madly randy, and I don't know what might have happened.'

'Poor boy,' and she laid her jewelled hand on his great stiff cock. 'Poor boy, would you like it satisfied? I'm not a little girl now, but there are worse, n'est ce pas ?'

'Oh do, Charlie,' said the girl- 'oh do fuck Tanta . I have read a great deal, and I have seen pictures, but I have never seen it really done. Oh Tanta , darling, do it quick.'

'Well,' said Madame Rade, 'veux tu ?'

Charlie did not speak, but the kiss that Madame Rade got made her sting with lust.

'Do you know, you dear, delightfully bad boy, that I haven't done it for six whole months. Now, ma mignonne this is going to be your lesson. Undress me, Charlie darling.

She wore a pretty shimmery summer frock of forest green with red roses in her belt, and more roses beneath the great drooping brim of her hat. The skirt was short and fully displayed a very dainty ankle and tiny foot—how often plump women have such deliciously tiny feet and hands, and what an especial charm therein lies.

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She was dressed to correspond right through. The rose and the forest leaf dominated everything, but there were two shades in each colour; the soft rose of love, and the scarlet of passion. A gilded thread tied her chemise and her drawers—the note of avarice.

It was the woman's nature encapsulated in a dress poem. She stood at last naked, save for her scarlet stockings — the upward note in the confection—plump, piquante, ravissante . The girl lay on the bed, wide-eyed, intently curious.

What was to follow, Charlie thought, ought to be done in a deep forest glade. Satyrs ought to be there, grinning their lust, nymphs 'idly wandering, cupids half ashamed, the great god Pan himself, and Orpheus with his lute, and—and—but it was only a bedroom in an ultramodern riverside house, and he still felt the vibration of the motor wheel in his fingers, and motors and mythology don't quite synchronise.

The bed was roomy, and there was a space for Toinette to lie at the side while Charlie lifted plump, pimpante Madame Rade on to the soft mattress.

They were both nervous. Charlie felt that he was expected to give a lesson to the doll-like divinity by his side; Madame felt the same. Before the eyes of this critic both were abashed.

The end was rather vulgar.

Charlie felt a warm hand delicately placing his phallus in its home—and then his brain walked down his spine to his balls. He became an engine; even his unceasingly kissing lips were engines. Madame Rade was the same, and the couple spent simultaneously just as 'Arry and 'Arriet might have done behind a bush on Hampstead Heath.

Madame, as Charlie slid from her, turned to her niece.

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'Eh bien, ma mid'

'J'ai vue chiens en rode,’ was the simple reply.

Charlie got back to his own room with thoughts about the philosophy of Onan.

[April]

CHAPTER NINE

THE GAMES—AND FLIGHT

Charlie, wakening a little heavy-eyed, sought solace in the bathing pool. Maudie was there before him, and—well- he couldn't help it; he satisfied his lust on the green sward 'midst the song of the breeze and the birds in the boughs.

When he came back to his room he found Jeannie there, prettily posed on the edge of the bed.

Charlie kissed her, and felt her, and pressed his face languorously against her soft, hot cheeks, but beyond that he dared not go. He had fucked Maudie by the waterside, and it had been lovely—Maudie improved every time, and took more out of him every time, but what this day might bring about, and what might be expected of him he could only conjecture. He knew it would be pretty hot, and he felt he must keep fit.

Little Jeannie shuddered convulsively in his arms, and finally openly begged him to fuck her. He had only been in his shirt when he came in, and she lifted it right up to his breasts, looking lovingly and longingly at his cock.

'Darling, darling,' she implored, 'do, do fuck me. I shall be ill, horribly ill, if you don't. I know you've been at it already but can't you spare just a little bit for me, just a very quick one?'

'Dear girl,' answered the perplexed Charlie, wanting it, and yet wanting not to want it, 'I have been at it, and I want you again, you know I do'—it was obvious, his cock was gun-barrel stiff—'but I shall kill myself if l go on like this.'

She dropped on her knees before him, and snatched a kiss on the glans. That settled Charlie. It had to be.

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'Very well, you little devil,' he said, 'I give in, but it's got to be a very wicked one. Run quick, and fetch Luigi.'

Luigi came, rather wondering-eyed, and very picturesque in the Sicilian peasant's costume which he always wore now. Charlie banged the door and locked it: this was to be entirely a séance a trois .

His eyes gleamed in a way which rather frightened Jeannie, and as he took a birch made of dried seaweed from a cupboard, she began to be scared.

'You've got to go through it,' he said, roughly. 'Luigi, undress her and beat her.'

It did seem a shame, when that ravishing body was all naked, that scarlet lines must be traced across the pretty olive skin, but Charlie felt like that. He was half genuinely angry that the girl should have tempted him, and half lustfully cruel. It was going to be sadism and blunt, brutal wish to punish combined.

'You, too, Luigi, get yourself stark.'

The boy obeyed.

They made a handsome couple, and Charlie's lust was for a moment overcome by his artistic sense.

He took a hand camera, found a position for it on the top of the commode stand, and posed the two. It was difficult to avoid the boy's very rigid cockstand, but clever draping did this, and with a plain grey screen behind them, they were naked shepherd and shepherdess to the life, and the shutter clicked.

His artistic thoughts had tamed his lust for the moment: his member was no longer rampant, and he was thinking more of breakfast than

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fucking—but then the timid bending of the pretty girl over the bed, her bottom raised, shiveringly expectant of the stroke, fired him again.

'Give her five, Luigi, quick,' he cried.

The boy, savage-eyed also now, flicked the stinging twigs with a sharp twist of the wrist over the girl's flesh. Twice, thrice, he struck, and at the fourth blow the blood came.

'That'll do,' cried Charlie; 'come here, Luigi, and suck me.'

Poor Jeannie stared aghast—was she to have nothing then?

This was sadism with a vengeance, and Charlie revelled in it as he saw the girl's pitiful eyes, while he felt the warm embrace of the boy's lips on his penis.

He spent very quickly, but he hardly felt any actual sensual pleasure. His delight was in watching the girl's pain. Her skin must be smarting badly now, he knew, from the after-sting of the blows'—but more than that, what must she be suffering from the lust she felt, and the sight of its object being stolen from her by another?

'Keep it in,' he ordered, and he filled the boy's mouth with the hot juice, 'close your teeth on it. Now, Jeannie, kiss him, and drink my love juice from him.'

The girl did. She kissed the handsome boy with a long tenacious kiss, and she sucked all the sperm from his mouth, her eyes longingly and expectantly fixed on Charlie all the time.

Finished, she threw back her head with a jerk and gulped it. 'There,' she cried, 'my health to you.'

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'Well, you've had what you wanted, my spunk in you. You can't say I haven't given you my fluid of life. Now you can dress yourself and go. Luigi, stop here and shave me.'

There was an evil glint in the girl's eyes, but she said no word and dressed hastily. Charlie did not even turn his head to look at her as she left the room.

Outside she cursed him deeply and bitterly and long. What should be her revenge she could not quite decide.

The sports were to be early. They didn't want any unexpected visitors from town, and the company was strictly limited to the people we have met already—with one exception.

A strange young man with an engaging manner managed somehow to get into the grounds and recalled himself to Tubby as an old school friend. Tubby had only a hazy recollection, but the man was so nice and seemed such a sport, and seemed to know so many people Tubby knew; Tubby was flustered and hadn't the heart to turn him out.

Maudie's lawn, as we have before met it, ran down to the river, and was fairly visible to passing water traffic, but there was a portion, a long green alley between great trees, which was completely shut off from any possibility of observation. It was admirably suited for the great race.

First came a pretty flapper race. The girls had to run fifty yards, undress fully and race back. It was won very easily by the Titian-haired nymph whose Venusberg had been preserved intact. She led at the turn, her clothes came of her in a trice and she raced back laughing, her red locks floating behind her.

There was a bicycle handicap for the boys and the flappers, all nude—it is surprising how sexy a naked girl looks on the saddle of a bicycle—and a match between May and Elsie. They had to run twenty-five

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yards, toss off the two menservants—a judge was present to see it properly done—and run back. Elsie won easily.

Then came the event: the contest for the flower of Toinette.

It was nicely stage-managed.

In a great china bowl, full of heavy-scented dried rose petals, sat Toinette, fully dressed, in a dead black costume relieved only by a silver belt, silver garters below the knees and a silver collar. In her hand she held a laurel wreath. Her hair was straightly and severely brushed, and for ornament she wore only a silver butterfly, streaked with crème de menthe green.

Quite close to her was the young man who had introduced himself as Tubby's friend. He had a camera in his hand.

One hundred yards away the runners waited. All, even the general, wore proper running clothes—a hasty motel expedition to Windsor had secured them.

From the start the general made the pace hot. He had put half a bottle of Martell Three Star down him, and reckoned that would just carry him through. Tubby panted in his rear; the poet galloped rather than ran; the two strangers were quickly outclassed; and Phil and Charlie were closing with the leaders.

With ten yards to go, Tubby had the general beat, but he could almost feel Charlie's breath on his shoulders. A superhuman effort flung him across the tape, a bare foot ahead of Charlie, the general beating Phil for place money by inches.

Tubby's friend clicked his camera shutter once more, grinned, and went.

Outside the gates he met a friend with a low-slung racing car.

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'Well?' said the friend, as the photographer climbed in.

'First stop, Carmelite House, and you can put the Agapemone scoop inside this.'

Whilst the general was being violently ill among the trees, Tubby carried his little black and silver trophy, all vibrant with emotion—she had prayed for Charlie's victory—back to the pavilion.

There was a throne for her there, a black velvet dais, and there she sat while Maudie presented her with £1,750 in a plain oaken casket, with the name Toinette set in opals fringed with diamonds.

It was up to Tubby. He had 'doped' himself before the race, and helped himself very considerably to Martell and Mumm afterwards.

Toinette was his. After the ceremony of health drinking, she slipped her little black-gloved hand through his arm, and smiled up at him. He waggled as he walked back to the house with her. She made no pause, but led him straight to her bedroom.

Tubby walked rather sheepishly and vacuously to the window. He heard the girl click the key in the lock.

She turned on him with a radiant smile—she was sorrowful at heart that it had not been Charlie, but at any rate she was going to get rid of this tiresome maidenhead at last. She supposed it would hurt, but she was no coward, and she knew that ever afterwards it would be nice.

'Aren't you going to kiss me? I'm all yours for the present, you know.'

Tubby kissed her rather awkwardly, he wasn't much used to vice with such a young girl, and this very up-to-date, chic little Parisian flapper rather scared him. Also he was a little drunk, and he was painfully conscious that it was odds on he would be impotent.

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However, he was as gallant as possible. He played with the little darling's still-stockinged legs, long silk stockings which came very near to the place of joy itself; he fingered her cunt, and he put his head up her clothes and kissed it, before he started to undress her. He tried all he knew to get randy, but he couldn't.

He would have given pounds to have been downstairs in a comfortable smoking-room chair with a brandy and soda.

She was all bubbling with lust, and shook with anticipation as he undressed. The naked beauty of the girl as she lay back eager-eyed on the bed should have roused any man to a state of frenzied lust, but Tubby's cock when he took off his trousers and revealed it, was a pitiable object, and Toinette stared in horrified amazement.

Blushing and ashamed, Tubby sank on the bed beside his victim designate, and tried by kissing and embracing to stimulate some passion. With the deft aid of the girl's fingers something in the nature of a cockstand appeared. Little Toinette gave every help: smoothed his head, his limbs, darted her hot tongue in his mouth, and eventually the end of his cock was guided into a hot, juicy little cunt.

Once it was in Tubby felt a flicker of sensuality, but soon realised it was hopeless, and resorted to strategy. Attempting some vigorous strokes which didn't get his flaccid battering ram near the expectant gate, he crushed the little darling in his arms, and made belief that he had come, and she was deflowered.

Toinette had her doubts. There had been no pain, and where was the expected blood?

Tubby elaborately sponged her, and told her what she thought was a lie, but what was really the truth, that she was the first virgin he had ever been into. Then he made a cheap excuse to go, and fled to solace himself in drink.

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He was greeted with rounds of applause by the other contestants. He told a few lies about his prowess, and got rapidly drunk.

Little Toinette, vaguely disappointed, dressed, and wandered out to the garden, where she found Charlie alone, reading Candide.

He was delighted to see her and they strolled down to the bathing place.

She told Charlie she didn't think much of being seduced. 'However, it may be better next time, and I can have anyone now.'

It was a direct invitation, and Charlie made no bones about it. Like lightning he stripped himself and the child, and the two naked bodies rolled in ecstasy on the soft mattresses.

Charlie's cock was so stiff that it was almost painful. They didn't waste time on preliminaries. Her eyes wild, almost savage, with passion, she guided it in, and Charlie gave a great thrust.

'Oh, oh!' she shrieked, 'you are killing me; it's awful; it wasn't like this with Tubby.'

Charlie took no notice. He thrust brutally on, till at last he felt that the obstacle had vanished. Toinette's maidenhead was fairly and squarely broken. She had borne the pain bravely, but her eyes were streaming with tears as Charlie withdrew a penis dripping with blood.

'Why, the damned fool never seduced you at all,' he cried.

'I have been the first, the very first, my darling.'

He wiped the blood from her tom little cunt—she had bled freely—and fetched her champagne.

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Arriving back, they found the house in turmoil. Servants rushed hither and thither, the old general fussed and fumed, Maudie was hysterical, and Tubby had collapsed.

'Whatever's the matter?' cried Charlie.

'Matter, good God, man,' answered young Phil Learoyd, 'that young stranger at the sports was a Daily Mirror reporter and photographer. I was motoring up to town and found him broken down. He didn't recognise me in my goggles, and I overheard his talk to his pal. He's got photos of everything , and what's worse, he knows what we were racing for, and he means to publish it.'

'There's only one way out,' said Maudie tearfully. 'Luckily, I've always been prepared. The yacht is in full commission; I've just telephoned to Southampton to get steam up. The motors are all ready, and we've got to bundle into' em and be off. A few months' cruise for the benefit of our health won't do us any harm. The motors'll carry all the baggage we want, and there are plenty of spare clothes on board.'

It was a hurried night. The great cars tore down the pleasant road to Southampton, to find Tubby's magnificent steam yacht, the Lesbia , with steam full up and everything ready. By dinner time they were well out at sea.

The stockbroker could not possibly leave England, and Maudie had arranged for him to go to Land's End and pick them up on the wireless with news as to what was in the papers.

At four o'clock on the following day the message came through.

It was worse than expected.

Both the Daily Mail and Mirror had full accounts, only hinting, of course, at the naked-flapper events, but hinting strongly that there had been scenes of unmentionable depravity. The race, of course, was

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described in full detail, and the fact that the prize was a young woman's virtue was severely commented on. Each article ended with an impassioned appeal to the powers that be and the British public to rise up and destroy this hell, this monstrosity, this blot upon 'England.

'The Mirror, ' ran the message, 'has got two pages of photos, and states that they have others, too indecent to print, which they will gladly supply for purposes of prosecution.'

There was a general chorus of groans.

'I should like to see those photos,' said Charlie.

'So should I,' said Tubby.

'Well,' said Maudie, 'we'll risk it. We'll hang off the Land's End, and Phil can nip into Penzance this evening in the motor launch and get the papers.'

Phil returned that night with a sheaf of papers.

'1 kept my goggles on,' he said, 'and my collar up, as I thought my face might be in the pictures, and by God it is. I've bought all I could. Lord, there is a rush for 'em. I popped into one or two bars, still keeping my goggles on, and the place is ringing with it, probably all England is now. The general opinion is that burning is too good for us.'

The papers were eagerly scanned; it was awful. The Mirror had four photos of the big race, an especially good one of the finish, in which the faces of all the runners were distinct, and an excellent one of Tubby leading off his little prize. There was a picture of the house, 'Hell Castle', as the writer dubbed it, and snapshots of Maudie, Madame Rade, and several other individuals. The groups taken before the race began included nearly everyone.

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There were no names, but at the bottom of the page was an appeal to the public to come forward and identify the characters.

'Oh Lord,' gasped the general, 'this means a long cruise for us.'

'We're very heavily victualed,' said Maudie. 'I vote we make for the islands in the Pacific.'

Accordingly, a course was set. But before they had made the Horn, one dark night a large vessel overhauled them and signalled them to stop.

'Full steam ahead,' said Charlie, 'we've got the heels of anything but a destroyer.'

But the strange vessel seemed to steam two to their one, and the message came, 'Stop or we sink you.'

A moment later a shell screamed overhead, followed by two more placed neatly to port and starboard.

After a hurried council they gave up. The strange vessel came close alongside, and dropped a launch. In a few moments several elegant young men and a young girl dressed as a middy were on deck.

'What does this mean?' spluttered Tubby.

'Piracy, my dear sir, piracy—simple, unabashed piracy . Why, it's Tubby. Well, Tubby, we can't even spare our friends in this business. Fork out.'

Charlie came forward.

'Look here, St Ed—'

'No names, please,' snapped the young man.

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'Well, I don't know what your game is, but look here, old chap, we're fugitives from justice too, and if you collar all we've got, God knows what'll happen to us.'

'Tell me,' he said.

For answer Charlie took him into the chart-room and showed him the papers.

The young man was deeply interested.

'That alters the circumstances altogether,' he said, 'and it's a dashed good job for you you ran against me. I've got an island no one in the world bar ourselves knows of: we could do with some more congenial inhabitants. It's obvious you can't go back to England, so you come with me. I'll send you a couple of steersmen on board to give you your course. You pop over and have dinner with me, and we'll talk things over. You know who I am, and why I left England. We're all in the same boat over there, all gentlemen. You'll have good time.'

Well, it was arranged, to the immense relief of the passengers of the Lesbia , and the two yachts set off in company, southward bound.

THE END