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.
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.'
38
CHAPTER FOUR
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, 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.
'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.
'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.
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.
