The Lesser Portal Ch. 04

Rowing -- two fair passengers -- Darwinism -- a boudoir and the pleasures therein

It is well known in the village -- to the disapproval of our Sabbatarians -- that on a Sunday afternoon I generally get in some hard rowing on the Cam. Much of the year I use my own light racing skiff; but in winter, with the turbid waters bringing down tree branches and such, I borrow a neighbour's rowing boat, which does not mind a knock or two.

One mild, grey Sunday, I was walking briskly through the village towards the boathouse, dressed in my athletic "togs", when I met the widow Threlfall, veiled as ever, heading towards Reginald's house. I raised my cap, but as often, she assumed a disapproving hauteur.

Once on the water I set a good pace, and was soon aglow from my exertions. The Cam hereabouts takes a picturesque, winding course; still, I know it pretty well, and so scarcely glanced ahead of the boat until two feminine voices hailed me, "Oh, Dr Jaspers!" I twisted on the thwart, to discover Mrs Threlfall and my adored Lydia standing on a wooden jetty, waving. As I drew nearer Mrs T informed me, "Lydia is a little fatigued with walking. Is there room in your boat for two of the weaker sex?"

I was soon rowing again, now with the shapely Mrs T and her slender companion on the thwart facing me. Lydia blushed with maidenly modesty as I took them upstream towards her home, but before I could address her Mrs T said, "Moreover, Lydia, the Book of Genesis tells us plainly..." and put forth a series of arguments against the laws of evolution. I wondered whether it really was walking that had oppressed poor Lydia, and I rowed with renewed speed to shorten the lecture. I did not know then that all this was the starting-gun of a most unsporting contest that would stretch into the coming days.

The lecture only ceased as we were gliding in against the river bank to deposit Lydia. I asked Mrs T whether she had read Mr Darwin's works.

She did not reply at once, only saying, 'Lydia, take care how you step out of the boat. Please tell your father I wish him a quick recovery from the influenza.'

Plainly she expected me to take her back nearer her house, so I turned the boat, and began to make good time of it rowing with the stream.

Mrs T unveiled her handsome features, but was silent awhile. My rowing gear is cut close to my body, and the crotch of my breeches does tend to work up against my groin as I row, so that a certain bulge appears; her lips were pursed, but I saw her eyes dart towards the bulge more than once.

At length, she said briskly, "I have obtained a copy of The Descent of Man, but I find much of it abstruse. Perhaps if someone with a masculine intellect would elucidate, I might yet be able to reconcile it with the Word of God."

She had found a chink in my armour. As a scientist I feel a duty to defend the truth of natural selection. She asked whether I would come to her house to discuss the "abstruse passages" -- "And then, if you can soothe my Christian qualms," she added, "I would consider you fit company for Lydia." I needed no further inducement.

Mrs T insists that her servants do no real work on a Sunday, only lighting fires and lamps as needed, bringing in coal, cooking, laying table, washing up, and getting her clothes ready for the next day. These trivia leave them free for a portion of the afternoon, when they read pious literature in their rooms -- supposedly.

So when we entered her home, all was quiet. She lowered her voice as she said, "I recollect, I left the book upstairs." Having slipped out of her heavy winter coat, she took off her hat and veil, and hung them all from the convoluted cast-iron foliage of the hall-stand. "If you would follow me."

Mrs T is by no means corpulent, but she does have a becoming fullness of figure, and she shuns the modish "bustle". Going upstairs she lifted the front of her skirt in her hands, as women do, and so chanced to pull the figured black cloth tight over her rear, which swayed ahead of me.

She led me through a door on the landing. To my surprise -- I had pictured a room as severe as herself -- she disclosed a little scented cavern of femininity, a dressing-room profuse with drapes and frills in deep, rich patterns, and mirrored closet doors peeping between them. A bank of coals glowing in the dainty fireplace filled the room with a rosy heat.

She turned, and I realised that her coat had covered, not some sober walking-dress, but a gown of a sort made fashionable by our Queen: black indeed, but with little sleeves dropped below the shoulders, and cut low in front.

Indicating a divan under the window, she said, "Please be comfortable, Dr Jaspers," and sat herself on her dressing-table chair close to me. Seated, I found myself about eye-level with the furrow of her bosom, teased as it was by a glimmering jet necklace ending in a thick lozenge-shaped pendant. She tugged off her long black Astrakhan gloves, and this set the lozenge bouncing in the furrow while the two pale, alluring mounds either side quivered.

She next took the pendant in her fingers, and I saw that it was engraved with a cross, which she pressed to her full lips before smoothing the rectangle back into position. This religious gesture awoke in me feelings that were far from saintly.

Of Mr Darwin's works there was no sign, but she said, "The full title of the work is, of course, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to," she paused a moment, and her voice plunged, "Sex." This was said with a quaver which trembled her ample bosom again.

My mouth was dry and my eyes were fixed on the jet pendant, but I had still the wit to reply, "The study of courtship, as we may call it, cannot be out of bounds to the scientist."

"You mean a scientist such as your self must be free to -- oh! I did not mean such freedom, Dr Jaspers!"

The reader will assume that I had taken some liberty. Far from it. The respectable Mrs Threlfall herself had seized my head in both her hands and was crushing my face to the deep valley of delight I had been eyeing a moment before.

I at once put my own hands where her heavy bosom heaved fervently under the black fabric. "No, Dr Jaspers!" she groaned, as she ardently pressed my hands to breasts that greatly overflowed my grasp.

Her hands next went to my shoulders, and she impelled me backwards. When I was pressed to the divan her gaze flickered over my body with a gloating excitement. Then she flung herself full-length on me, plump breasts against my chest, head raised to scan my face. She licked her lips. The jet pendant dangled against my throat, and on a caprice she took it in her fingers and slipped it into her mouth -- thrust it wet into mine -- pulled it out, and next instant her tongue took its place.

Meanwhile my hands were not idle. Her black-clad rear as she walked upstairs had captivated me, and it was a joy to fondle it. Her legs lay either side of mine, and she rubbed her groin against the stout ridge inside my rowing breeches.

She withdrew her tongue, and raised herself to sit astride me, rubbing her fulcrum, so to call it, against my engorged member. She then dragged down the decollete of her dress to release the two weighty treasures within, which she cradled in her hands so that they jutted magnificently. Next she leaned right forward and guided one sturdy nipple to my mouth. I sucked as much of her softness into my mouth as was possible, gorging myself, flirting the teat with my tongue the while. From the corner of my eye I saw that she was kneading the other nipple between her fingers.

I pulled up her skirts behind, and found to my delight that she had been without drawers all the while. The skin of her luxurious buttocks was smooth as satin.

Meantime she moaned, "No, Doctor... stop, Doctor...," with a passion that belied the words. For a while she made me pleasure each of her nipples in turn with my mouth. Then she dismounted me and, kneeling beside the divan, tugged at the top of my breeches and the front of my shirt with more haste than speed. I came to her rescue by undoing the side-fastening of my breeches. A moment later the prize she sought was revealed to her hungry gaze, jutting like a stout battering-ram.

She murmured, "Even bigger than I...," and reached out a hand to grip it, as if sight alone did not assure her of its size. Her regular lover was of modest sexual dimensions, you recall.

She squeezed and stroked the shaft of my member, not neglecting to cup and fondle my testes with her other hand, her heavy-lidded eyes ablaze with hunger as she admired my size. Then she bent her head and adored the shaft with slow and sensuous kisses, her breath shuddering with emotion. With my hands I again explored the soft, weighty delights of her bosom and its firm nipples.

Her attentions to my shaft made me long for her to pleasure the head of my penis. Before I could request this she got up, turned her rear towards my face, and knelt astride my chest. She then took my manly shaft in both hands and closed her lips around the head just as if she had heard my thought.

Reader, you may be surprised to hear that this pleasure was new to me. But the fair widow who now sucked on my manhood was clearly well-practised at it, for she pulled back my foreskin, the better to lave with her tongue the whole smooth, hard surface of my glans.

Her rear was presented to me. I threw her skirts over her back and kneaded her yielding globes while my eyes feasted on their milky curves. She moved her hips -- the globes loomed above me -- and next moment the moist slit of her womanhood was pressed to my mouth. I eagerly lapped at her slit, intoxicated by the salt taste and the rasp of her intimate hair. The sight of her anus only added to my excitement. All appeared of pristine cleanliness and I detected a scent of rose-soap.

Her attentions to my straining member, and the weight of her breasts hanging against my bare abdomen, dissolved every memory of my promise to Lydia, and I was ready to do anything if Mrs T would only bring me to lust's consummation in her mouth. But she ceased her attentions, raised her hips away from me -- I thought that she would ask to have my manhood fill her rearward hole -- but no, I saw her reach an arm to a drawer of her dressing-table -- she took out some objects -- handed them backwards to me -- and I found myself holding a long, sturdy candle with rose-buds moulded on its surface, plus the jar of lubricant I had seen in the ruined summerhouse.

No doubt she thought my member too stout for her favourite entrance. Her next action was to press that same puckered entrance to my mouth. So impassioned was I that, nothing loath, I kissed the portal lustfully, and even scrubbed across it with my tongue. Soon I felt it relax and open, whereupon she lifted her rump away from my face.

I dipped the candle in the lubricant. She placed a matronly hand on each of her buttocks and spread them apart, inches from my face. Having hurriedly set the jar on the floor, I pressed the candle's tip, which was smooth and rounded with the wick trimmed away, to the small opening so graciously presented to me, and with gentle force made entry.

Mrs T let out a long breath of satisfaction as the uneven surface of the candle titivated the sensitive lining of her rear passage. Then she dropped her head to my straining member again and resumed her marvellous sucking. She angled her rear, and I busied my tongue teasing the little pearl of pleasure above her nether lips while I worked the candle in her rump. Then I inserted two fingers of my free hand into her frontward entrance, and finding it much more commodious than Florence's, inserted a third and then the fourth.

The sight, touch, taste and even the sound of my activities drowned my senses. I remember that the way her anal muscle was now stretched into a ring, especially aroused me, and I knew that my climax would not be long in coming. I was so absorbed that for a moment I was surprised when her body began to be racked by spasms of ecstasy.

Her sojourn in the carnal heaven seemed unending, and made her still greedier for my sexual organ. She worked so skilfully with her mouth that I joined her in bliss before her own bliss had died away, and I was filling her mouth with my manly seed while paroxysms of joy still shook the pale globes above my face. When she had swallowed all I had to offer she fell to bombarding my genitals with a volley of grateful kisses.

This phase, however, did not last long. Satisfied, she dismounted.

She showed no sense of sin. When she had smoothed her dress she ushered me briskly down to the front door, where I received one last rapacious kiss from her full lips. A moment later I heard Morwena's voice approaching -- "Oh Mrs Threlfall, Ma'am."

Mrs T thrust me away and said loudly, 'Thank you so much for your attention to those passages. I really did not know what Mr Darwin was driving at. I'm sure that Lydia will benefit from your erudite company. Goodbye."

As my feet crunched the gravel of Mrs T's carriage-sweep I reflected that, firstly, I had been the one driving at certain passages, and secondly, that she had made a pretty clear promise to leave Lydia and me alone together. I dare say my face bore a hopeful smile.

All the murk of a winter's late-afternoon shrouded the rhododendrons either side, and the gate to Mrs T's house is shaded by two old yew-trees. I was entering their shadow when I heard hooves and the crunch of wheels on the road. A Hansom cab -- a rare sight in the village -- came into view. The passenger's face was a blur in the gloom, and it was a moment before I recognised the Reverend Dr Handscombe. I stopped, expecting the cab to set him down, he being well-acquainted with Mrs Threlfall. But he merely tipped his hat to me and continued into the village proper. As the sounds died away I felt a dank foreboding.