So, since it seemed that Alice and her maid Fanny would be first upon my horizon of return and reciprocity, I made elaborate plans for welcoming my sweet fiancee. This time the Snuggery should witness billing and cooing, the sweet swooning cries of a maiden no longer a maiden but yet in her feminine estate capable of the most maidenly ecstasies of the man-myself-who would soon be her legal consort and have every right over her delectable body. This time there would be no force, no fustigation or feathering, but only sweet fucking and maybe a bit of gamahuching, for I had already discovered that sweet Alice had the most effervescent of sensual natures when lips and tongue plied that coral nook between her shapely thighs with the expert diligence of which I was capable.
So after Marion had left me and we had both pledged to each other to keep the secret of our trysting till Alice should by her own divine intuition find us out, I arranged with the elderly charwoman who did the apartments in our building to give special attention to mine, and I ordered floral displays and purchased a case of vintage champagne and another of the finest sherry (both subtle and stimulating liqueurs on which the amorous female dotes), and I paid a visit to the caterer to order a gourmet dinner on the evening when Alice and I should be reunited and each to the other affirm the intention of becoming man and wife.
During my plans and preparations, I must confess there were moments when I felt the shadow of remorse tinge my mind with a certain nostalgic regret, but I knew that to be a natural consequence of my impetuous decision to wed Alice instead of remaining the stern, aloof master of his destiny and the conqueror of sweet surrendering cunts, which role I had so ably played until now.
I told myself that it was not the sacrifice of freedom I faced, but actually the legal addition of what amounted to a clandestine little harem, all within the family: Alice and Fanny, two handmaidens blessed by Venus herself, both equally tasty morsels for a man’s bed, each endowed with divine precepts, and yet each different in her own sexual propensities as well as physique and physiognomy to gratify the most vile and demanding of lovers.
Of course I knew that as my wife Alice would naturally assume a certain legitimate jealousy toward my extramarital ambitions, though doubtless these would be mild indeed if my attentions centered on Fanny, since then my lovely Alice would have ample pretext to scold and to punish that adorable maid. I had perceived in Alice already a certain penchant for erotic sadism, just as I had done in Marion when it had been her turn to be executioner to Kay’s trembling victim. Well, even the gentlest of women has that hidden resource within her nature, and that is why we men of taste and understanding cultivate the feminine psyche just as much as we do the feminine form divine.
So, I told myself with a certain placid resignation, if I were to mourn giving up my freedom because I could no longer dominate my beautiful victims by the lash and by the feather and by the bondage which the Snuggery so comfortably offered, at least I might witness and doubtless participate in many a connubial scene of domestic “crime and punishment,” so to speak. Undoubtedly naughty Alice would often conspire with me to put Fanny in some disgrace, perhaps for dropping a dish or not dusting the table properly, or for this or that obscure reason, and forthwith sentence her to chastisement in the Snuggery.
And yet I must confess that even this prospect at moments had its lusterless side. For when one can flatly expect and predict the outcome of amorous adventure, one’s ambitions tend to slacken and one takes a smug assurance from what knowledge can anticipate. No, for me, I had to confess, the unexpected and the bizarre created the elixir of excitement in the brew of virile escapade, from which goblet I had always drunk with zest and eagerness.
In short, I was accustoming myself to feel the relatively calmer fervor of a loving husband rather than the devilish and satyr-like avidity of the perennial hunter who constantly seeks new and fresh prey to whet his carnal appetites.
And then the goddess Venus, to whom I had all my life paid such adoring tribute, smiled on me the day before my beloved Alice was due to return to London. She, of all omniscient women, could best appreciate my feelings. So perhaps it was a kind of wedding gift that she sent to my door on this somewhat rainy and bleak afternoon preceding the day of Alice’s homecoming.
I had not, of course, been expecting anyone at all, and so the day being gloomy, I had put on only my trousers, braces, and robe, socks and a pair of slippers, and made myself comfortable with one of Mr. Charles Dickens’ best novels, appropriately entitled Great Expectations. I trow that our Lady Venus, the patroness of all devoted men, must have peered down from Mount Olympus and smiled to behold the work I had selected to occupy my solitary thoughts this dreary afternoon. For I had no great expectations whatsoever, except for the morrow.
What was my surprise then to hear the peal of the bell. Frowning as I sought to recall who it was that might have taken it into his head to call upon me, and finding no answer to that question, I approached my door and opened it.
What was my further surprise to see none other than Miss Molly Bashe, in the company of a slim, haughty-faced young minx of perhaps twenty whom I had not seen before. Her sandy brown hair was most elegantly coiffed with a series of carefully artificed round curls which fell on either side of her lovely head and down to the shoulders, whilst a similar row decorated the top of her forehead and reminded me of the heroine Pamela of Richardson’s great novel of the same name.
I must confess I flushed with startled embarrassment at this second encounter with Miss Molly Bashe, and with good reason indeed! About the time I had conquered Alice, and prior to the conversion of Connie Blunt, I made the acquaintance of Lady Betty Bashe at the house of a mutual friend. This plump widow was just under forty and was busy introducing her offspring into what is called by some, with tongue in cheek, “high society,” and this worthy and consolable widow had taken it into her head that I would make a prize son-in-law. She had therefore proceeded to hunt me down persistently, and her daughter had aided and abetted her vigorously until they both had become a decided nuisance.
I had not been smitten with the charms of either mother or daughter at our first meeting. Lady Betty, as my readers who have perused the first volumes of my memoirs will recall, was a tall, robust and buxom woman who reminded one inescapably of the painter Rubens’ fleshy models. And Miss Molly was a small, dainty edition of her mother in her eighteenth year. But the two of them were affected, insincere and unscrupulous, and to find this portly widow playing the air of a juvenile and affecting the silly mannerisms and even the speech of her own daughter was enough to turn my stomach.
You will recall also that the two of them had insisted that they visit me and that they have lunch with me. Well, they had had a dessert which was rather more than they had bargained for. I had Connie and Alice and also Fanny apprised of this rude self-invitation of theirs, and all four of us had given them a most sanguine and ardent welcome. They had received their fair share of fustigation, feathering, yes, and fucking too, with the little fillip of erotic excitement which all of us procured in having mother and daughter perform the secret and mystic rituals of Lesbos. We had at last driven them off in triumph, warning them not to dare breathe a single word of what had happened, nor to seek vengeance on my three lovely aides. Nor had they. And until this very moment I had believed that Lady Bashe and her daughter had been paid off in full and were now thoroughly expunged from the slate of my life.