The Lesser Portal Ch. 05

A lightning-bolt from Lydia -- I satisfy two women -- a Christian conspiracy

Lydia and Mrs Threlfall often took a walk together, weather permitting, in the early afternoon. Therefore, the day after events in the last chapter, I rather hurried my lunch -- so much so that Doyle mildly remarked, "No worries, old fellow. I won't filch your second sandwich."

I wanted plenty of time to scout the nearby lanes for Lydia, of course.

I was raising the second sandwich to my mouth when a female voice burst out with a stream of heartfelt profanities somewhere near the back door. Doyle prompted, "Do be a fellow and see what that is. Damsel in distress and so on, but I don't want my yolks to set." He was frying eggs and bread on the stove that heated the lab.

The weather had turned overnight and the path behind the lab was hard with frost. I stepped out and discovered a few paces away, a figure in maid's black-and-white: Morwena, in fact, looking -- well, a professional mourner might have learned a good deal from her.

She explained. She had been to the village laundry to collect Mrs Threlfall's clean antimacassars, which she had been carrying back in a bundle folded in whitey-brown paper, when she had been startled by "summink like a orange dog" -- which I guessed meant a fox. As a result she had fumbled the package, spilling the laundry in the one patch of mud that had somehow resisted freezing.

I helped her pick them up, and pointed out that most were still clean.

"But what about these two, sir? An' I gotter hurry, too."

"These two" were muddy, I had to admit.

"Mrs T says I 'angs by a thread, an' one more slip an' I'll be back in Limehouse, sir, an' there's people there offerin' good money t' have me found adrift in the river slit open from windy corner to thatched cottage." A glance at her lean young face, white as the antimacassars with anxiety, told me that this was no exaggeration.

Mrs T, I knew, would accept no excuses. I looked again at the antimacassars. "Why, these are no different from the ones in Doyle's place. Wait here, girl." I took the dirty items from her and dived back into the lab -- dashed past Doyle, now sitting at a lab bench with the frying pan in front of him and a knife and a fork in his hands -- and positively burst into the village street.

As I may have mentioned, I keep myself "in trim". I scorched the few hundred yards to The Croft. There I sprinted round to the rear, where a French window was as usual unbolted. The maid was dusting in the drawing-room: I thrust the dirty cottons into her startled hands, snatched clean ones from the backs of two chairs, and ran back to the lab.

Doyle's eyes followed my trajectory from front door to back, but he merely devoured his eggs and said nothing.

As together we re-assembled the bundle of laundry, Morwena said, "You're kind, sir, an' there's things goin' on you oughter know about. All mixed up with when you done me so nice with your big toy soldier. Only right now I gotter scram." She stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek, and hurried away.

Doyle is a friend. He must have heard what Morwena said, but despite our very different views on affairs of -- well, affairs, on my return he only frowned and said, "By-the-by, we are getting low on cactus mucilage," and mopped round the frying-pan with the last of his bread.

Soon after I was donning my overcoat and muffler. I headed out into the winter sunshine, and as I strode along, I could not keep my thoughts from what I would do when Lydia and I were at last alone. Hardly the weather to ravish her quite as she wished, but I could take her round the waist -- ignore her insincere protests, which would only heighten my ardour -- press my sturdy manhood against her slender body -- seize her rear in a powerful grip -- take one of her breasts in my other hand -- print kisses on her lips...

My swelling organ, uncomfortable in my underwear, forced me to walk slowly until I reached a hazel-coppice which I knew to be a favourite haunt, where sure enough I found her with Mrs Threlfall.

After the usual politenesses, Mrs T declared, "I am finding these gloves insufficient in the frost. Do excuse me," and headed for her home.

My heart and loins were ablaze to overpower my wood-nymph among the hazel-wands. But she stilled all such urges by the cold way she shrank back from me.

"Mr Jaspers," she said, "something has occurred." She hesitated.

"Please, no suspense."

"As you know, I have attended many of Dr Handscombe's lectures."

A glance at her limpid eyes, and I was full of drear foreboding.

"Oh Mr Jaspers, if you would only listen to his lectures, you would question your godless ways! He rarely takes the Bible as his text. One time, he spoke on Miss Rossetti's Goblin Market, and drew out of it depths of Christian wisdom I never suspected."

With a sinking heart I saw where this was tending.

"Mrs Threlfall and I have taken to staying behind for private conversation with him. And -- well, he called on me at The Croft yesterday, and did me the very great honour of asking for my hand in marriage."

A thunderbolt may stun though it erupts from an ominous sky.

"Dear Frederic," she said, softening, "Know that I have not yet given him a reply. I was almost decided to accept, but seeing you now -- you have a tenderness, yet too an ardour, which he lacks. And in truth I barely know him." She sighed. "Still, I consider all romantic understanding between you and me over. I told Mrs Threlfall as much. But I will stay my final decision until the new year. On the first of January, you shall know whom I have chosen."

*

The obstacle to receiving any information from Morwena was the tight rein on which junior servants are kept, and Mrs Threlfall's servants above all. Even her housekeeper, Mrs Cargil ('Mrs' was a courtesy title, of course) lived in fear of her, though a sensible woman, as housekeepers must be. Nevertheless, after supper the very next night, a frosty full moon saw me threading the path to the ruined summerhouse, in response to a brief note pushed earlier under the back door of the lab. A note signed, as in a cheap novel, "A Friend".

The summerhouse appeared as abandoned as ever, but when I entered with my long black moon-cast shadow before me, I saw cracks of yellow light around a door at the back. This door led to a roofless, dirty and entirely empty store-room.

But when I opened the door I found that the room was now roofed with tarpaulin -- hanging lamps showed that it was clean and newly whitewashed -- while an oil-stove in one corner gave plentiful warmth. Almost all the rest was filled by an old four-poster bed, a wooden chair and a small wardrobe. Finally -- though this did not surprise me -- on the bed's floral eiderdown sat Morwena, cross-legged, wearing her maid's black dress.

There was to be a much greater surprise. However, first Morwena bounded across the bed and embraced me.

"This is where Mrs T 'as took to entertainin' 'er gent when she can't sneak 'im past us servants," she explained.

"You know about him!"

She laughed. "There's not much we servants don't see an' 'ear."

"What was it you wanted to tell me, young lady?"

"All will be revealed in the next instalment, as they says in the penny dreadfuls. Meaning," she continued cheerfully, "why don't we risk a little o' their hellfire an' damnation afore I explain?" And she bounced down from the bed, took my hand, and led me to sit next to her on the side nearest the wardrobe.

"Morwena, your pretty rump is worth all the supposed fires of Hell, but for now my own flame is extinguished. My heart's pretty near broken, to tell the truth."

She put her mouth so close to my ear that her breath sent a thrill down my backbone, and whispered, "Jus' permit me to take your mind off your sorrows, sir." She slid one hand round my waist and with the other opened my coat to reach the front of my trousers. "I'll show you 'ow we grows a carrot on a gooseberry-bush, as the saying goes." And sure enough, her expert caresses began to rouse my dormant organ.

"Now, you relax, sir, an' shortly your 'elpful servant will get it out in the fresh air. Lie back, sir." I leaned back on my elbows, enjoying the sight of her lithe hand massaging the growing mound. "No sir, right back flat." Something insistent in her tone alerted me -- to what I did not know; but I glanced around, and saw that the cupboard door was very cautiously opening a crack.

I stood up, and snatched open the door.

To discover Mrs Cargil, frozen with her eye to the crack.

I stood in astonishment, Morwena stifled her mirth, and the unfortunate Cargil slowly turned from panicked white to claret-colour.

I might as well describe Ethel Cargil while she is conveniently in a fixed position. Picture a woman of thirty-eight years or so, tending to pear-shaped, with brown hair drawn back above a broad brow, round spectacles, and an alert, rosy-cheeked face pleasant enough when she was not harassed by her mistress. Lastly, imagine a voice still with a country burr despite careful improvements to her grammar.

I tried to put her at her ease. "Emerge, Mrs Cargil. You have succumbed to a natural curiosity. No shame in that."

Mrs Cargil stepped with ruby-faced dignity out of the wardrobe. An embarrassed silence followed until Morwena said, "She's 'ad her chances with the men, sir, only servants is not allowed a beau. So o' course she'd like to see what she's missed."

Mrs Cargil said, "I alwes kept m'self v'rt'ous with my man-friend."

This drew a pitying shake of the head from Morwena, who took charge of the situation. "Now, Mrs C, let's improve your edication by studyin' a fine specimen of a athletic physique. Come on." She removed the muffler from my neck, and with a nod, encouraged "Mrs C" to slip my coat from my shoulders. Very soon, with no effort on my part, all the garments of my upper half were neatly placed on the wooden chair.

"Now, i'nt that fine, Mrs C? That broad an' manly chest. Them biceps. An' wait till you see 'is thighceps. Go on, feel 'is arms. Go on." And Mrs C hesitantly put her hand around my upper arm. "Don't stop there. Look." Morwena ran her own hand over my stomach-muscles, which I tensed. "Mm, 'ard as a cobbled street."

Mrs C pursed her lips while her curious fingers slid about my torso. The attentions of two women simultaneously did nothing to douse my excitement, a fact which Morwena noticed. She took Mrs G's hand and tried to press it to the bulge below my waist-band.

But this was too much for Mrs C, who snatched her hand away, blushing again.

"Never mind then," said Morwena cheerfully. "Jus' you sit on the bed, sir, an' let Mrs C take yer boots off." She helpfully thrust her hands against my chest and I found myself perched on the edge of the bed with my legs stretched out. Mrs C seemed happy to remove my boots, and my stockings. [I.e. socks -- editor's note] Morwena undid my belt in the meantime, while kissing my cheek with sensuous slowness. "What about you undo 'is trouser-buttons now? Or is that unbecoming to 'er ladyship?" Mrs C tutted at this impudence. Morwena assured her, "Garn, you i'nt gonner touch nuffink," whereupon housekeeperly fingers hovered undecided over the buttons -- before popping them open. This exposed the waistband of my drawers, but (my membrum virile being lodged at an angle) showed nothing to cause alarm. Now Mrs C seemed fairly to have the bit between her teeth, for she murmured, "I s'ppose I could j'st..." and tugged at my trousers, and moments later I was free of them.

Morwena slid her hand into my drawers and felt my hardness with an appreciative, "Mm. So manly! Don't you want ter test if the cucumber's fresh, Mrs C?" But Mrs C, looking up from between my feet, shook her head with a touch of panic.

While Mrs C folded my trousers and placed them on the chair, Morwena put her mouth to my ear again and murmured, "We'll get 'er there, don't you worry."

The chaste lady reader (for is there any other sort?) may be unaware that the best men's drawers are fastened with three buttons at the waist and more below. One by one Morwena undid these, watching Mrs C's face with a teasing smile. Mrs C, for her part, clapped her hands to her cheeks, but could not turn away her gaze.

When the buttons were undone, Morwena folded open my drawers to display my full length. To my gratification and Morwena's amusement, Mrs C gasped and bit her finger, eyes as round as her spectacles.

But Morwena said nonchalantly, "Garn, I've seen a bigger. Now, Mrs C, whyn't you finish the job an' remove these drawers? And then I'll demonstrate one or two facts you'll find most edifyin'."

Inhibition struggled with inquisitiveness, but after a few moments Mrs C took a deep breath, and held it while she dragged my drawers down, only letting it out as she folded them neatly to join the pile on the chair. I was now entirely naked.

"Let's be comfy, Mrs C. You get up an' sit the other side o' Dr Jaspers."

When Mrs C was sitting by me, Morwena said, "Now, eye-glasses is not a attractive adornment, so --" And she abruptly reached across me and removed Mrs C's spectacles. ("Oh," said Mrs C.) Then she leant forward to place them on the stack of my clothes. "An' now, mister --" she pushed my chest again, "lie down." I slumped on my elbows, and she sat next to me.

"Mrs C, I believe you still have a Understandin' with your follower-chap, an' a wedding-night in't out o' the question eventually. So it may be useful knowledge that the shaft o' the male organ in't that sensitive. I mean this part." Morwena slid her forefinger from the top of my scrotum up the stiff column. "In't that so, doctor?"

"The shaft is scarcely more sensitive than the back of a person's hand."

"So if you want to find out what one o' these things feels like, there's no sin in touchin' there."

Robbed of her glasses, Mrs C peered so closely at me that I could feel her breath. Then she lightly stroked the shaft with her fingertip.

"But above and below gives pleasure. Observe." Morwena slid one hand under my scrotum, which was tight as a walnut, and put the forefinger and thumb of the other around the head of my penis. Then she moved both hands up and down in rhythm, with a sensuous deftness that was almost as pleasing to watch as to feel.

Mrs C's eyes were inches from Morwena's moving hands. Pretty soon my breathing grew heavy.

"If you 'old 'im proper, you don't even 'ave to touch these parts. Jus' slidin' the skin on the shaft can be surprisin'ly effective, an' get a feller longin' for more. Why don't you try that?"

Mrs C was reluctant.

"Now, now, Mrs C, it in't touchin' anythin' you han't jist touched. Put your fingers round it."

Mrs C seemed almost hypnotised as she slowly reached out and gripped me.

"That's a girl! Don't be afeard to grab it a bit tighter."

Mrs C darted an uncertain glance at Morwena. "Like this?" She began sliding her fingers down and up, moving the skin with them.

"Ezzackly like that, an' a trifle faster."

The movement of the skin on my shaft moved my foreskin with it, just enough to spread delightful sensations through the head.

"An' that is what we call hoistin' the flag an' lowerin' it."

Fascinated, Mrs C seemed ready to do this indefinitely. Morwena pulled her own dress off over her head and exposed a lithe, narrow torso and a pair of small but delightful breasts with nipples the colour of cocoa. The hair of her "thatched cottage" was black and trimmed for inspection. She bent over me and took possession of my lips with hers.

After a little while I felt Mrs C stimulating me just as Morwena had done. Perhaps Morwena sensed a change in my excitement, for she glanced down my body, and broke into a smile.

"Now whyn't you show it you like it?"

Mrs C looked confused.

"Go on. A little kiss somewheres."

Mrs C gasped. "Do folk really...?"

"Course they do. Like kissin' a kitten on the nose. You'll understand when you've 'ad one o' these up inside o' you."

Mrs C inspected my hardness in her short-sighted way, thrust her head forward, and hesitantly brushed the shaft with her lips.

"Beginner's medal for Mrs C. But now I'm gettin' impatient to be filled up, an' I know that's what you most want ter see, yer ladyship."

I asked, "How should I...?"

"Jus' you pull yer arse right up on the bed, mister."

I dragged myself across the bed as directed, then Morwena knelt astride me.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I asked.

"Not a bit of it," said Morwena cheerfully. "I've got 'old of a garden syringe an' I filled my artists' entrance with Mrs T's slippery stuff while I was waitin' here. Start pushin' an' you'll gain easy admittance." She added, "Got it cleaner 'n a confessed Catholic's conscience before'and, too." She raised her rump over my groin. "Now, Mrs C, you take a-hold of General Richard there and get 'im at the angle for a rearguard action."

Mrs C placed her head inches from Morwena's rump and I felt her take hold of me again. "But how does this gurt thing go in that li'l hole?" she asked in wonderment.

"Do as yer told an' you'll see."

Mrs C held me, Morwena lowered herself, and I felt her sweet orifice against me. It was slippery, and indeed I began to slide inside rather easily, despite the usual tightness. Mrs C let out a soft breath of astonishment.

When I was deep within her Morwena laid her chest against me and lavished my face with kisses before she began to slowly slide herself up and down on the loving impaler, giving soft hums of joy the while.

I was adrift on a sea of pleasure, but Morwena showed her considerate nature by pausing and sitting upright, and turning to Mrs C. "You should get some satisfaction too, old lady. Why'nt yer sit on 'is face an' enjiy a nice tongue-washin'?"

Mrs C said severely, "The very idea!" -- but added a breathless burst of laughter.

"Mebbe keep yer frock on an' keep yerself respectable."

"I surpose if he can't see what a man must not see..." She was evidently hot to take up the suggestion, for she dashed to the far side of the bed out of my sight, I heard a rustle of clothes, and moments later she re-appeared holding a pair of cream-coloured ladies' woollen drawers and a flannel petticoat, which she hung from a hook on the door, all without exposing her legs to a masculine gaze.

Meanwhile Morwena, who had her rump pressed by gravity against my crotch, teased me by shaking the aforesaid rump from side to side in short bursts, grinning at me.

Mrs C knelt, her drab-brown skirt against my face until she adjusted it. Had she stopped to think, she might have realised that I would not be in total darkness. I saw her thighs either side of me, and above was a sight to gladden any man: a slit so wet that the tops of her thighs glistened with moisture and a slight droplet had formed on the pinkness of her inner labia, which at that moment were stuck together as a single pleat, so to speak. Her outer lips were smooth and fat, her intimate triangle but lightly haired. At centre above, her brown hair formed a solitary teasing curl. I had never suspected the staid Mrs Cargil could be so hot for pleasure.

I tilted back my head. Mrs C tentatively lowed herself until her soft parts met my upturned mouth. With my tongue I separated her inner lips, then licked about to taste her intimate nectar. She let out a long breath. Meanwhile Morwena resumed sliding herself up and down with luxurious slowness.

I was eager to lick Mrs C's "pink pearl", but try as I might I could not reach it, her body being too upright, and when I tried to pull her to a better posture with my hands on her waist, she resisted. She was moving in some way I could not account for, so I seized her firmly by the hips and lifted her upwards, peeped from under her skirt, and discovered that she was keeping her mouth passionately pressed to Morwena's while Morwena rose and fell. Mrs C's hands, Morwena now pulled to her own breasts, where they toyed with Morwena's cocoa-brown nipples. Morwena dropped her own hands to her pubis and began to fondle herself.