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.
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.'
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 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.'
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.
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.