Voyagers caught up in an unexpected adventure have provided the circumstances for a multitude of stories, dating all the way back to Homer's Odyssey and probably beyond. The reason is not difficult to find. Away from home, away from his familiar environment and the forces therein that have shaped him, a man is more easily seen for what he really is particularly if he finds himself in a situation filled with stress. The Cruise of the New Decameron is just such a story, wherein a group of travelers are beset by modern pirates, some of whom are persuaded to join the brigands and share the adventures that follow. This story is unique in that the pirates are gentlemen, not ruffians, and that the leader is, in fact, a member of British nobility and leader of fashionable society.
It is usual, in the literary tradition from which this tale sprang, for the travelers to return to their own lives at the conclusion of the journey, but in The Cruise of the New Decameron it is not done. We are promised, instead, a future volume containing the further adventures of the crew and passengers of the New Decameron, but if such a work was ever, in fact, published, it has not come to hand at the time this volume goes to press. It is not difficult to project the activities of this group into the future, though, for the characters are clearly enough drawn to allow us to make reasonable guesses about their activities. Most of the passengers would remain with the pirates. Herr Kunst certainly would, as long as it was to his profit to do so. Miss Jepps would never be willing to relinquish the loving she found from the young and attractive men around her, and Honey . . . well, Honey might not stay, for she is young enough to want to conquer new worlds. The restricted life piracy would impose on her might not offer sufficient variety in lovers for her.
But such speculation is really fruitless, for there is no second volume, nor is there likely to be. must be taken for what it is: a delightful tale with a long literary tradition behind it. is a more modern tale, but it could, in fact, take place in any time, in any place. The drive toward incest has been recognized by psychologists for decades as one of the most strongly repressed drives within man, and so it is hardly surprising to find it as a theme for some of the greatest works of literature. One thinks most immediately of the famed Oedipus Rex, wherein a son marries his mother and is subsequently blinded when his crime is found out.
But the incest in this story is much closer to home, and is of a type probably more common than many realize. The first incestuous relationship that occurs is that between brother and sister. This book is unique, though, in the fact that they are adults, not youngsters, and they are aided by the brother's wife. Later, there is a lesbian scene between the sister and the wife, joined after a while by the brother for a troilistic interlude.
Add to this a lecherous father-in-law who catches the young wife partially dressed and engages her in anal coitus while watching brother and sister in the classic 69 position, and you have the ingredients for a fast-moving, involved story where the relationships are not always clear but the basic drive toward expression of incestuous sexuality is always there.
Both stories in this fine volume spring from a long tradition and exemplify, each in its own way, some of the mysterious workings of man's mind.
Joseph Feldman, Ph.D. Los Angeles, California August, 1968
CHAPTER ONE
It was a rough spring, and after the "Mespotamia" had passed the Statue of Liberty and cleared Sandy Hook, she stuck her nose into the Atlantic with a robust determination, which made the pursuer reflect genially that he was going to save money on the meals.
The company on the liner was varied. There was the usual complement of millionaires; some who worked, and some who belonged to the "father-made-the-money-club;" assorted Anglo-Saxon nobility; quite a number of widows, grass and otherwise, and not a few very dainty American flappers why is it that Yankee flappers are nicer than English? But, they certainly are.
Silas Ahasuerus P. Q. Silverwood stood near the stern and, as the night came down with a rush, gazed at the receding lights of New York, blinking in the gloom. It was his first visit to "Yerrup" and he was a bit nervous. He had his money sewed in the butt of his pants, and when Miss Sylvania Jepps from Jepp-ville, O., whom he had met casually at the Waldorf Astoria on the preceding evening, and, incidentally, shared sheets with, sidled up to him, he instinctively covered his ass pocket with a homey and capacious hand.
"Say," chortled Miss J., "guess did you ever hear the bright bit about the lady on the herring pond trip, and her diary."
"Naw."
"Waal, a fren' o'mine found the book. Listen to the contents."
"Jan. 1. Leave N. Y. entrusted to care of captain. Cap. very pleasant and fatherly.
"Jan. 2. Cap. more like a brother.
"Jan. 3. Cap. tries to kiss me.
"Jan. 4. Cap. makes immoral proposals to me. Refuse indignantly.
"Jan. 5. Cap. repeats proposals. Threatens if I refuse to sink the ship and the five hundred passengers. Say that I will take my honor and virginity to the bottom of the vast Atlantic rather than consent.
"Jan. 6. Cap. repeats threat, and displays tools with which to scuttle the ship.
"Jan. 7. Save ship, crew and five hundred passengers.
"Now, wasn't that real noble?" concluded Miss Jepps," and just the strange thing is that I have the life of this ship in my hands just the same."
"Well, you?" began Mr. Silverwood, in an agitated manner.
"Do you think I haven't the interests of humanity at heart? Mr. Silverwood, siree, precisely at 9:30 this evening, on my back I go, on the settee in the Captain's stateroom, open my legs, raise my skirts, and precisely what he does to the gap nature has left between them is his business, not mine and the interest of humanity."
Mr. S. began to ponder. He knew a bit about women who were not as pure as supposed, but this was a bit brazen.
"I guess I wish I was the Captain," he hazarded.
"Mr. S., they tell me you are a millionaire?"
"Waal I have dollars some."
"Mr. S., I wish to buy a new costume in Paree; my stateroom is No. 72, and it's three hours before I meet the Cap. I'll just say, au revoir."
Mr. Silverwood thought hard. He had money to spare, and Miss Jepps was very, very tempting. Very petite and dainty, she had a seventeen waist, a divine ankle, wore probably a two shoe, to the accompaniment of five and one fourth gloves, and her face, especially her eyes, were something to dream about.
Half an hour later he was swallowing a Martini cocktail, with a generous drop of absinthe therein, and chatting with the purser. The name of Miss Jepps cropped up.
"Oh, yes, she's a mermaid," said the worthy.
"A what?"
"A Mermaid; guess you know what that is?"
"You don't tell! She's really got a tail, and her legs are false?" Mr. Silverwood's eyes bulged.
"The purser laughed and squeezed a little more lemon into his cocktail.
"No, sir," he said. "It's apparent you don't know the Atlantic crossing. A mermaid; a 'merm' we call them; it is a dear, delightful dot of dimity, who doesn't exactly traverse this boundless waste of wave because she loves to, but because there are gents like you, sir, who have money to spend, and want a little occasional diversion. We've had this particular one before. The 'old man' knows her well!"
Mr. Silverwood thought a lot, and whetted his thoughts copiously. He was far too wise to want to get led on by an adventuress, but Miss J. was nice.
He left the smoking room, walked slowly down the promenade deck, and Satan gripped him.
He had more money on him than he really needed for his European tour; to say nothing of letters of credit available all over the Continent.
Stateroom No. 72 tempted him like hell.
He went towards the gangway. The phosphorous glinted on the waves; the great liner sang her way through the Atlantic. Mr. Silverwood was not altogether an ordinary millionaire. He had some romance in his ample frame, and the brain that ticked in the square, jowled head held other thoughts at times than hogs and hams and dividends.
He was an amateur of the beautiful, and his palace by the Lake outside the churning turmoil of Chicago held many art treasures. There was a "Rape of the Sabines" by Morazioff, which people would have paid hundreds to see and as for the statuettes and bits and things which were kept under lock and key, many an enterprising fellow millionaire had seriously considered a little burglarly.
The siren hooted as the "Mesopotamia" cut down her speed through a big fishing fleet. A great white yacht loomed by like a ghost and loosed her siren in return. Silverwood thought of the siren in stateroom 72. He hesitated and was lost.
Miss Jepp's door was not locked. She whistled quietly, an obvious acquiescence when the millionaire knocked and Silverwood entered.
Miss J. obviously expected her visitor, for she made no attempt to disguise the fact that she wasn't even in the middle of her toilet for dinner.
The shaded clusters of electric light Miss Jepps was not traveling cheaply shone down upon a ravishing little vision. She had her stockings and shoes on scarlet silk, both; her drawers, with scarlet silk insertions and a chemise. That was all.
Mr. Silverwood blinked; little Miss J. was very pretty, and the ankles which had made him feverish in the light on deck, were now supplemented by deliriously proportioned calves, which swelled up the graceful curves to delicately molded knees, not quite covered by the lace frills of the pantaloons. There was little bare pink flesh above each garter which made the Chicago multimillionaire delirious.
Miss J. had a very dainty china shepherdess skin tint, obviously her own; blue, and very bright eyes, naturally her own, and a mass of bronze which was open to doubt at least, so Mr. Silverwood decided as he noted the gap in the little darling's drawers which disclosed a forest on her Mount of Venus which was quite a different tint.
She caught his eye, and, with a cheeky grin, put her two bejeweled hands between her tights.
"Hullo, hullo," she giggled, "I know what you're thinking."
"Well?"
"You're thinking, either my head or my what ma's got is dyed. Well my hair on my head is tinted a bit. You know that story don't you of the girls in the car two sisters-in-law. They saw two girl friends, with beautiful auburn curls. "I'll bet you they dye,' said one. 'How do you know?' 'I go to the same Turkish Bath, Cissie,' said the one who knew."
But Mr. Silverwood didn't care whether Miss Jepp's hair was dyed or not. His whole body flamed with desire; he seemed to swell all over, and the buttons on his trousers strained at their cables. He sank on the floor by the side of Miss Jepps and flung one arm round her knees, and the other round her waist, pulling her down onto the soft carpet.
Miss Jepps made no protest. She opened her mouth to let his tongue run in between her ivory teeth, and laid her pretty, bejeweled hand on the throbbing swelling between his legs. Mr. S. nearly went mad.
He thrust his hand between her thighs, but she pushed it away.
"One minute, dear," she murmured, softly. "I want it as badly as you, but I hate to say it I make my living out of that little place you're after. Just a hundred dollars, and you shall have the fuck of your lifetime."
Mr. Silverwood did not hesitate a moment.
"Dono," he gurgled. "Open your legs."
"Take your trousers off then; I hate being scratched by buttons."
Mr. Silverwood hastened to obey, slipped off his breeches, and exposed a really remarkable member, as a ramrod and pulsating with lust.
Little Miss J. lay back and opened her legs wide, raising her knees.
"Give me the pillow for my head," she said, and, taking it from him, rested her lovely head on it.
Mr. Silverwood wasted no time. Like a duellist who meant killing his man, he rammed the steel, stiff ramrod into the soft and slippery Abode of Love.
It was all too short. She was hot, too, and when she got him with a double nip which nearly broke his shaft in two, Mr. Silverwood let fly a stream which would have done credit to a fountain in his own ornamental garden on Lakeside.
Mr. Silverwood uncoupled with a sigh and a last passionate kiss, in which he nearly choked the little darling.
"Gee, but that was bully," said the millionaire as he rose, panting.
"You know why kisses are like ham sandwiches?" queried the girl.
"No."
"Because they're both the better for a bit of tongue see."
"Guess you're a bright bit all through," said Mr. Silverwood.
"Well, I've been around some. I'm glad you liked it. I've had more hundreds than I can count, but you didn't find it too large, did you?"
"It was just a dream."
"Do you know the story of the man who married a three times widow."
"No, I don't."
"His friend met him the morning after his first, and asked him how he liked it. 'Man,' he said, 'It was like opening a window, and fucking the whole world!'"
Mr. Silverwood chuckled again. "Know any more?" he asked.
"Lots; I always make it a point to remember 'em. It pleases men. I'm a whore, I admit, but I'm nothing if not thorough. Mine is one of the oldest professions in the world and I'm not ashamed of it. Here's another on the same subject. 'A man married a widow who had had fourteen children. His pal met him and queried solicitously, 'I hope, old man, you haven't put your foot in it.' 'No, but I could.' "
Mr. Silverwood took a wad of dollar bills from his pocket and settled his little account.
"That's the best spent hundred dollars ever I remember, and it's yours again, little lady, whenever you have any spare time. But I guess you're likely to be popular this trip."
"Oh, I can manage a deal of fucking. I'll tell you some more tales next time. Now run along so I can clean up and get ready for my next trick."
Miss Jepps, left alone, filled a basin from the sea water tap, and syringed (and I may tell you, gentle and otherwise readers, that a salt water douche is a dead snip preventative.)
With a few dexterous touches, she put up her shiny, auburn locks, fixed a fillet ribbon round her white, forehead, with a single small diamond and ruby star in its midst, slightly rouged her cheeks, drew a red stick across her little Cupid's bow of a mouth, and then turned to her dressing.
Simple, but with Paquin stamped all over it, was Miss J's dinner gown. Dead black, a fine contrast to the almost scarlet hair, tiny in the waist, and Miss Jepps went easily into a seventeen corset, and very, very d�collet� indeed. In fact, the little crimson buttons which were the crowning glory of her snowy breasts narrowly escaped peeping over the rim of her corsage. She wore a spidery net over the d�colletage, which, if anything, exaggerated it's daring.
With a final twist of the skirt, and a little wriggle of the rounded shoulders she smiled approval of herself in the long cheval glass.
Mr. Silverwood walked very quickly to the smoking room, crossed straight to the bar, and drank three cocktails very quickly. Lord Reggie Cameron, son of a decadent Scots chieftain, who was also attending to his ante prandial digestion, stared in amazement.
"What, what, Laddie," he said he always began his sentences like that "you seem in need of spiritual comfort."
"So would you, Lord, if you'd had my little afternoon."
"So?"
"Yes you'll see her at dinner she's the very last thing that ever came down the Pike." Lord Reggie looked inquisitive. "Introduce me?" he queried
"Your check book, I guess, will be your best introduction."
"Dat ist right," interrupted Herr Kunst, a massive German. "It vos alvays de payments dat mit dese most liveliness womens der affections make, ain't it?"
"Right oh!" chiped in Billy Neal, the well-known English actor. "Whenever I stay at a country house, I always tell my man to put my check book in my pajamas. It does help the sacrifice to Venus."
"It vos make it less troublesome, ain't it?" assented Herr Kunst. "But der fucking in dese days of her jewelry der most expensive der great costliness vos, ain't it?"
"Oh, I don't know so much about that," said a good looking young man, who was drinking as if he wanted to put "paid" to the ship's whiskey stock before the Irish coast hove in sight. "Just listen to this story of a pal of mind."
"I'm naturally a shy chap, you know, and I'll be damned if ever I can find anything to talk about at balls and parties and things. But my pal isn't, and I just asked him how he managed about small talk."
"Oh," he said, "when I'm first left alone with a girl, I just say, casual like, you know, 'Are you fond of fucking?' "
"Good God, man," I said to the bounder, "surely you get your ears boxed a lot and get kicked out a lot of houses?"
"Well, I do, I admit," he answered, "but I get a hell of a lot of fucking."
The raconteur smiled appreciation and hastily ordered drinks for the assembled party on credit his elder brother, the heir, was meeting him at Southampton.
The party then broke up to dress for dinner, all save Herr Kunst, who was so rich that he was excused the conventionalities, and whose excuse of a "weak chest" was allowed to keep him in morning dress.
Herr Kunst sat gloomily by the fire, contemplating the ship's dog, which lay placidly asleep, and pondering over the late conversation.
He had many millions made out of a successful railway rig so was not generous, and though he loved the good things of life, he equally disliked paying for them. He stared long at the dog.
"Ach," he muttered suddenly, "you. You vos remind me of the dog of mein neighbor Schmidt in Chicago."
"Mein neighbor Schmidt and meinself, ve 'ad to der bier hall been, and after ve make a backslifings into a bad house, und, vot mit der fucking mit der Frauliens, under drinkings mit, ve vos some very much late kome 'ome."
"Schmidt he vos look at his dog."
"You," he say, "you vos only a dog, but I vish I vos you. Tonight now; it vos time to go to bed; you, you vos turn over tree times; you vos stretch yourself, and you vos asleep. Me; I have to let der cat out, I haf to lock up der place, I haf to piss in der fire so dat it more dafeness vos, I haf to undress meinself, and ven I reach mein room der vife she vos scold because I so lateness vos. Der baby vos squeal und I haf to valk mit im round der house until by der time it vos time to go to bed it vos time to get up."
"I haf to make der fire, to cook der breakfast, to dress meinself. You, you stretch tree times und you vos up. I give you your breakfast und den I haf to vork, all day."
"You, you play all day, and you ven you die, you vos dead; ven I die I haf to go to hell, ain't it?"
Herr Kunst spat venomously into the fire, and the dinner gong sounded.
They were a mixed lot in the first cabin on the Mesopotamia. Silverwood, Kunst, Miss Jepps and Lord Reggie Cameron we have already met. In addition there were the usual gang of rich Americans crossing to Europe for the early season, a number of business men of no particular interest, and Lady Felicia Tittle.
Lady Tittle was the relic of a middle-aged peer who had out run both his purse and his constitution, but had managed to leave her just a fair income, and she lived solely for pleasure.
She had been an ugly, ill-dressed girl and knew nothing of the world till she met the late lamented Tittle, who had her forced on him, with a comfortable dowry, by her and his parents.
He had to do his duty as a husband, and he taught her quite a bit.
From the gaucherie of the schoolroom Lady Felicia Tittle had developed into a really bad, middle-aged woman.
The arts of cosmetics and the acquiring of the art of dress had given her a strangely fascinating charm, especially for very young men. She loved lust and took every opportunity of gratifying that love.
With her was her flapper daughter, Honoria Honey for short "Honey soit qui maule ses pant," as a nasty young man once said as he was feeling her in the dark.
She was fifteen, deliriously pretty, and her figure, though still in the flapper mold, gave men to think a good deal.
She was still a virgin, that is to say, she hadn't actually had it in her, but she had seen a good deal of the human form divine, and only prudential motives had kept the little skin web in her vagina unpierced.
Next to her at dinner sat Moss Hell, the eminent financier. His real name had been Moses Eli. The Moses, of course, became Moss, but in casting about for a second name, when he settled down in London, he lost his temper and exclaimed, "Oh, Hell."
"Ma tear, you've got it," said little Hannibal McGregor of Smyrna, McGregor Castle, N.B., and Waren Court, arid Hell it remained, and was a pretty good prop to him, as is any eccentricity to a clever stock jobber.
Moss Hell, profiting by a lurch in the ship he knew some of the tricks of the trade twined his leg round the unprotected calf of little Honoria, apologized effusively, and was rewarded by a genial wink.
There was no question about the success of Miss Jepps. Long before the pulet des champignons Captain Russell James, R.N.R. was beginning to think a lot. too much of his 9:30 date to pay proper courtesies to his other guests.
She looked radiant; she talked with a sparkle as bright as the Pommery, and she outlooked and out-dressed every other woman at the table.
Mrs. Bunter Scrooge, who had on a dress three times as costly, and a face ten times made up, glowered her enmity.
The last of the party on the good ship "Mesopotamia" one must use the phrase -worth talking about were the "Heavenly Twins," as they were at once nicknamed, he a Yale scholar, going as a Rhodes scholar to Oxford, and she a Vassar girl going to tour Europe.
They were plum alike, and both genially nice looking, also both well versed in the ways of the genial world.
With that we will conclude our list of the characters who sat out with us on this sentimental journey. We shall pick up others all over the world.
Dinner was over about 9:15. The captain cut it a bit short; he couldn't hold himself, and he was nervous of the attention of others.
The company dispersed. Mr. Silverwood found himself looking moodily over the taffrail, by the side of Moss Hell. He was thinking of Miss Jepps and her captain.
"This vos a fine ship," said Hell. "Yes, very."
"My brother has a fine ship too. Mein father was the owner and he fell overboard. My brother had the presence of mind to call to my father as he was drowning, "Father, if you don't come up the third time, can I have the ship?"
"Yes."
"And my father, in the presence of witnesses, mark you, said, "Yes," before he sank. Otherwise, my uncle would have had the ship."
And at that moment Miss Jepps was unloosening her corsets once more, in order to get herself fucked royally well by the captain, who exercised his rights over this lovely bit of fluff whenever she chanced to be aboard. He enjoyed immensely the thrill of dragging his dirty old dong through her pink, soft, juicy cunt, and he almost came with anticipatory pleasure, just looking at her box before plunging his hot, hard meat inside.
CHAPTER TWO
The "Mesopotamia" slogged her path through the Atlantic. The night had turned treacherous; the North Atlantic squadron was somewhere in the vicinity, maneuvering without lights; "Deutchland" and the Admiral Veviers" must be close behind, and the great liner was full in the highway of the ocean, but still the captain did not go on the bridge. Duty was insignificant when compared to the charms of Miss Jepps.
Captain James R.N.R., saw red not only stockings and lingerie but passion. He would have rammed a battleship rather than stop ramming Miss Jepps, and he rammed her like hell. Only after the fourth successful fuck did he call a halt.
Miss Jepps lay panting on her stateroom bed. The captain was still buttoning his braces, when there was a dull boom obviously a heavy gun fired some two miles away.
"We've run into the maneuvers," said the Captain, fiddling with his tie.
The boom was repeated. And again, obviously much closer.
There came a rapping at the door. An agitated voice said, "Is Captain James there, Miss?"
The Captain himself opened the door, and noting the pale face of the first officer who waited him, hurried the man away.
"I'm afraid there's something wrong, sir," said the man. "I thought we had only run into the maneuvers, but they, whoever they are, have signaled us to stop, and what's more, they've put a shot across our bows. What are we to do?"
The Captain, still hot and confused from the embraces of Miss Jepps, stumbled on deck, and was nearly blinded by the glare of the most powerful searchlight he had ever encountered. A shell screamed over the "Mesopotamia." There was no doubt about it; something was wrong. The passengers, by now thoroughly alarmed, were streaming on deck. The officers did their best to restrain any panic.
As the Captain reached the bridge, the searchlight shut off like a turned down gas jet, and a large gray vessel, like a cruiser, or a very heavy yacht, was plainly visible, not more than one hundred-fifty yards away, steaming knot for knot with the "Mesopotamia." Her lights blinked out the signal to "heave to."
"They've done that four times already, sir," said the first officer, "but we didn't know where to find you. It was only Lady Tittle's suggestion -"
"All right, all right, confound the impudent brute, stopping a mail boat."
"There he goes again, sir."
"Heave to, or we sink you," talked the stranger's lights to the "Mesopotamia" and a shell rang over the bridge.
The Captain gave the necessary order to acquiesce and himself telephoned the engine room to stop the engines.
The stranger curved in toward the "Mesopotamia" till both ships lay idle on the phosphorescent waters within seventy yards of each other.
There was a rattle of chains and a launch dropped from the side of the stranger. From the speed with which she approached the "Mesopotamia" she was obviously motor driven.
Captain James stood at the top of the lowered gangway; the semi-scared, semi-curious passengers crowded the bulwarks.
The launch ran smartly alongside, and three young men, in light overalls, came quickly on board.
"Captain James?" said the leader, uncovering a very carefully brushed head of hair.
"Yes, sir; and what the hell do you mean by this extraordinary behavior?"
"It's no use to bluster, sir," answered the young man suavely. "It's piracy."
"Piracy!"
"Yes, sir. Piracy on the high seas."
"But -"
"You are our prisoners, sir. It is useless to protest. I have but to whistle, and my guns will sink you. Look!"
It was obvious; the liner's searchlight showed up an ugly collection of guns on the mysterious ship. Whether she was cruiser or armed yacht, it was difficult to tell from her lines, but that a little practice with those business-like looking forty-seven gentlemen could make the existence of the "Mesopotamia" a thing of the past admitted of no doubt.
The passengers began to get a little hysterical. Women sobbed; men blustered.
The young man took a silver whistle from his pocket and fingered it; his companions leaned against the rail.
"My instructions are these. When my whistle sounds, you get a shell which, if properly aimed, removes the existence of your rudder and one at least of your screws. Before you have time to attack us and mind you, we have each two revolvers on us we shall have vaulted over the side. We are all good swimmers, and our motor boat will pick us up. Then we shall play with you until you pray for mercy. Far better save your ship, Captain."
"What do you want?"
"What do you think? Everything of value. If you agree, I shall signal for more men, and we shall go through your list of cabin passengers as quickly and delicately as possible."
His quick eye detected Lady Tittle surreptitiously placing a diamond necklace in her stocking.
"It won't do, madam. I have a female searcher in the boat below. Of course I should not be so ungallant as to go over a lady myself. We mean business; it's all got to go."
"I guess I wish we had that lady who saved the ship and the five hundred passengers," murmured Mr. Silverwood.
Herr Kunst reflected on the happiness of his friend Schmidt's dog and wished he was that animal.
Miss Jepps, who had just re-arranged her toilet, had come on deck.
Her appearance obviously impressed the young man and he bowed.
"Surely, Captain," he said, "you are not going to permit me to send so fair a flower as that to Davy Jones. Come, man, I'll only give you five minutes."
Herr Kunst stepped forward.
"Gentlemen and ladies, der passengers," he said, "is it that we all to dead put are, or that ve sacrifice some little of zis vorldly vealth and to Europe ve alive go, ain't it?"
The Captain, hectic with rage, turned to the swaying crowd.
"You are quite powerless," said the young man politely. "Ah, would you?" he had detected an angular Yankee in the act of covering him with a revolver. Without a second's hesitation he whipped his hand from behind his back and fired. The man's arm fell limply.
Consternation gripped the passengers. It was apparent to them that the pirates were quite determined.
The moments ticked on.
The young man remained unmoved, watch in hand, while the Captain canvassed the passengers.
At the end of the fifth minute he blew his whistle shrilly. Simultaneously a jet of flame leaped from his ship and a missile screamed through the air.
The great liner quivered under the impact. It was obvious that the rudder had been struck, fair and square by a dead shell. These pirates knew something about shooting.
"Well," said the young man. "You see it's useless. I can sink you whenever I like. Give it up, and save passengers."
A general groan went up, and the captain gave in.
More rattling of chains, and three more motor boats slapped into the water, and in a few minutes were alongside the "Mesopotamia."
More pirates, now some seventy in all, were massed on the liner.
"You have done an act which the laws of God and man will avenge," he hissed. "But I am in your power. Do your worst."
The worst was short of accomplishment. Sparing the second class passengers and the steerage, the pirates, all young men with "gentlemen-by-birth" unmistakably stamped all over them, went through the saloon passengers.
The young man remained by the gangway and chatted affably with Miss Jepps, who seemed quite reconciled to the worst. The Captain stood by in gloomy silence. The young man graciously spared the Captain his mails but when the majority of the pirated had returned, and Herr Kunst, reflecting that he had a considerable amount of diamonds in the rough still on him, was almost reduced to hysteria, the young man we will refer to him anonymously throughout made a proposition.
He was a pirate, he admitted, but he did not wish to become a real nuisance to civilization. If any of the first class passengers on the R. M. S. "Mesopotamia" would also like to be pirates they were welcome to join his ship, and their valuables would not be taken from them. He would not guarantee them restoration of their proper sphere of life for upwards of two years, but he did not think he should place them in any immediate danger of the gallows.
He limited the number to twelve.
Nearly all the nice young men, all wearing motor coats, were now returned from their exploration of the ship. Heavy boxes were being lowered into the boats. The "Mesopotaima" sagged rudderless in the swell, and the passengers were very nervous.
"Well," said the young man, "will twelve of you forsake a life of dull decorum, and become pirates? I make no stipulation about sex."
Herr Kunst was the first to step forward.
"If it is that my valuables so safe are, I am with you," he said, hastily adding by way of qualification. "I have in der illicit diamond business have been also it is that I have in prison been, ain't it?"
"Just our man," said the young man.
"Well, after all, piracy isn't any worse than bridge, and it seems more profitable," said Lady Tittle. "Come, Honoria. My name is Lady Tittle of Clouds Court."
"Exactly," said the young man. "I was expelled from Eton the same term as your son. Delighted, Lady Tittle, and your charming daughter."
Miss Jepps made the fourth, and was received with open eyes by the motor coated young men.
A number of passengers now came forward, confident because of the confidence of others, but the young man exercised his discretion.
Mr. Moss Hell was picked, and his friend Mr. Hannibal McGregor.
Half the dozen was thus accounted for, while the Captain fumed, and looked in vain for the searchlights of the maneuvering fleet.
Mr. Silverwood explained his position, and was accepted at once. It was the ivory gleam of Miss Jepp's neck did him.
Lord Reggie Cameron produced a visiting card in a delicate manner.
"Ah, yes," said the young man. "You were at Harrow. Do you remember Lords in '93? You know you never could play leg breaks."
"Good God, man, it's -"
"Sh, sh, sh, Captain Kidd, or any other name does for here. Welcome, Lord Reggie. We can't give you much cricket, but if you shoot as you used to, you will not be dull, and the tarpon fishing round our little home is extra."
The lights of the "Deutschland" swam out of the mist a great hotel on the waves. Captain James gave a great shout.
"It's quite useless, Captain," said the young man very quietly. "I could sink her, too, if I wanted to. But one's enough this trip. You get your steering gear repaired and get home. With luck, you'll get your mails in in time, and you'll save salvage. It comes stiff with a big liner, you know, and I shan't worry you again. I'm not working the Atlantic for years to come. Now, then, four more."
The Sisters Lovett, twin divinities of the music hall stage, were accepted at once, and Billy Neale, the English comedian, proved a certain starter.
The twelfth was a flapper friend of Honey Tittle's, a sweet little brunette with legs that almost rivalled those of Miss Jepp.
"Make it a baker's dozen, guv'nor," said a very large woman.
"Righto," and they took Madge.
Madge was stewardess of the "Mesopotamia."
A Scotch woman, she was shrewd and good looking beyond most of her country folk. She rather tumbled to the fact that the pirate ship would be more genial than the old "Mesopotamia." Besides, she was a virgin, and had some time since begun to wish she was not. Some of these aristocratic young pirates looked promising for future fucking on those long, lonely nights at sea.
When the selected baker's dozen had finally collected their gear, they were conducted into the boats.
Lady Tittle muffled herself into her sables, and with a feeling of amused curiosity, watched the young man as he switched on the ignition, and the motor launch thrilled to life.
In an incredibly short time, it seemed, there was a sea of black water between them and the crippled liner.
"Bloody fool," said the young man, sotto voce. "He will get only the Frenchman or the German back to him. They can only take his mails and send a wireless message back to Sandy Hook for help, and God help the firm when the salvage bill comes in."
The white water stood up on each bow of the launch, and Honey Tittle had already been kissed by an elegant young pirate, who smelt of some quite delicious perfume to the annoyance of Miss Jepps while Lord Reggie Cameron discovered an old friend in one of the crew, who had left the army because well he played pool too well and the clean built hull of the pirate ship loomed up above them.
As the motor headlight swept the sides of the ship, Lady Tittle noted the name.
The "New Decameron."
She began to be more than agreeably amused.
The young man handed her on to the gangway and in just a few minutes the new pirates had been escorted to the saloon, the boats swung up to the davits, the plunder temporarily stored on deck, and the hum of the turbines showed that the yacht, or whatever it was, was under way with a vengeance.
Herr Kunst rubbed his hands with some satisfaction. He had carefully secreted his most valuable packet of diamonds up his butt, and his natural instinct for robbery coincided well with the promise of this new adventure. He had been in many things worse than piracy on the high seas, and always come out top dog. "You don't go in for I.D.B. or running contraband of war for nothing," he reflected.
The young man explained briefly to the assembled twelve Madge had been given into the charge of an elderly stewardess that the nature of the cruise would be explained to them at supper, which would presently be ready. In the meantime the men were shown to their cabins, and the ladies handed over to the delightfully pretty stewardesses. When Lady Tittle and her daughter -who would rather have remained with the pirates reached their stateroom, they found Madge waiting for them.
It was a large and charming cabin. A few good water colored drawings hung on the walls. The appointments were all r ;rfect, and the comfort seemed absolute. Honey was charmed; this adventure seemed far better than going back to her convent in Belgium; nor had she forgotten that kiss in the boat.
"Supper," said Madge, "will be ready in three quarters of an hour." So she had been told by a "very nice young man," who didn't look at all like an ordinary steward. Madge further volunteered the information that "all the gentleemn seemed very much like gentlemen indeed."
Lady Tittle thought a lot. Pirates or no pirates, there might be worse jobs for her daughter Honey than to marry a pirate who had a yacht, or whatever it was, like this. Everything pointed to wealth. He might have been expelled from Eton; that happened to so many boys her own son. Well, Lady Tittle was a woman of the world, and she knew that "boys would be into boys" when he came home in the middle of the term, having been discovered "in flagrante delictu" with a pretty little boy who had the next room. She quite endorsed the theory of a one time captain of Harrow we don't mention names, but it was a very well-known one who in all seriousness suggested to the head that, considering the epidemic of sodomy at the time extant in the school, it would be better that the elder boys were allowed an occasional whore, which, if against morality, was not against the law of the coun-try.
The head didn't quite see the point, and the boy having in a moment of exasperation told him to "Oscar himself," was incontinently removed from the school.
Still, young Lord Tittle was now quite a respected member of society, and judging from the number of chorus girls he got in the family way, he couldn't have much time, or spare ammunition, to waste on members of his own sex.
"Decidedly," argued Lady Tittle, as she unscrewed the top of her field glasses made to hold one pint -and had a refreshing nip of Hennessey's twenty-six-year-old (this book does not charge for advertisements but the author can be "got at" for the next), "decidedly Honey ought to land that young man."
"He may be a duke in disguise," she reflected, trying to recollect what members of the peerage had recently disappeared, and remembering the case of the young Duke of St. Eden, who had rattled twins out of his maiden aunt.
He, the missing duke, she knew, was tattoed down the back with a representation of a fox hunt the fox was just disappearing in his Oscar's joy. It might be him. She decided to make enquiries from the elderly stewardess.
Lady Tittle was herself in evening dress, having had no time to change. Honey, of course, being only a child in years was not. Lady Tittle decided that this must be rectified. The extraordinary atmosphere of this novel situation set all the wickedness in her blood aboil. Whether there were other women on the boat besides the captives from the "Mesopotamia" she did not know; she had seen none, but there were plainly quite a number of men. With Honey she meant serious business, but for herself well, she was middle-aged and she could do with a bit of promiscuous fornication. After all, there was bound to be a sensation in Europe when this abduction was known, but who was going to know minor details?
Her legs twitched at the thought, and her drooping tits stiffened. She was a good sailor nothing made her sick and if she was going to have a successful succession of nice young pirates between her thighs, a succession of hot kisses on her still ripe, red, luscious lips, and genial dirty talk in bed well, she was game to go on being a female pirate for ever.
Picking up her skirts, she smoothed her well rounded calves, and looked at Honey, envying the child her years. Honey had all the family beauty of her father's line, and the Tittles had been famous for centuries for their looks.
John Manners Tittle, of Uppleford, in Devon, left early an orphan, and became very dissolute by reason of bad companions, came first to court in the reign of King James I. That dirty-minded old Scotch monarch soon spotted the very handsome youth, and made him a favorite. He, in common with others, had to submit to the King's caresses, and his sore butt was rewarded by a peerage. He took the family name for a title as his estates had come into the hands of the horde of Scotch money lenders who had followed James to England.
His son became a familiar of the second Charles, and on Mistress Kate Richards, the actress, giving birth to a daughter to the king, Lord Tittle was offered an earldom if his son, then a little boy, would marry the illegitimate baby. Hence came the Earl's Title of Castleford, an estate escheated from a Scotch money lender by Charle II.
The union of the handsome Lord Tittle with the child of the beautiful actress produced a race that became famous for its good looks, and the last earl was no discredit to his forbears, who had fucked and fought their way from the Stuarts to the Guelphs.
The present Lady Tittle could not boast of much win-someness herself, but Honey Honey was a veritable feast for the gods still, what about evening dress? Honey didn't have one, and Lady Tittle quite appreciated the fact that the child, though tall enough to go into one of her own, must certainly shoe her dainty little legs.
Honey was five foot to the inch, and Lady Tittle recollected in a flash of inspiration that the sisters Lov-ett, the last of captives, were practically the same size, and were possessed of many stage frocks of an exceedingly saucy and decollette nature. They would not mind lending one to the daughter of a countess.
At the bidding of Madge, the sisters were summoned, both rather flustered and untidy. It was hinted in preliminary conversation that the pirates had been gallant tres gallant. They were delighted to lend dresses, and presently a large basket, borne by two pirates, obviously gentlemen, made its appearance.
The sisters Lovett appeared principally in Paris, and their costumes were well, Parisian. Little Honey was going to make her debut very, very, very scantily clad indeed.
Lady Tittle chose a plain black silk, very low in the neck and very high in the upward part. It was tight in the waist, but Honey could go into a corset.
With the dress were delightful adjuncts of layers of frilled petticoats, and the daintiest of drawers, very short, so that the open work silk stockings had to be almost as long as the thighs.
Lady Tittle left the child alone to dress. She had a mind to investigate this ship on her own. Madge had been imperiously summoned by Miss Jepps to help make her even more fascinating.
Honey undressed stark naked. She was a very cute trick for her age, and she quite understood that she was completely in the power of these pirates. There was little also that she did not understand, about the relations of the sexes. If she was going to be fucked, which she strongly suspected might be possible, she was determined that her lingerie should be faultless. Her little head was a choc-a-block with naughty thoughts as she looked at her reflection in the long cheval glass.
It was a pretty sight. A child, Lady Godiva one might have called her for Honey could sit on her fair, naturally curly hair, which fell over her shoulders like a shower of golden rain, swelling, it seemed, lasciviously over her semi-matured breasts. She was a twentieth century Danae, and Jupiter could not have resisted her.
A faint golden down curled between her thighs, and there was a little fluff underneath each of her beautifully rounded arms.
She frankly admired herself, and was posturing a little before the glass, stretching her arms above her head, curving her back, altering the position of her legs, now standing with them tight together to see if any aperture showed between her thighs and it did not. Honey's legs were singularly perfect now standing with them well apart, muscles taut, pleased to see how the sinews rose under the milk white flesh. She went right up to the glass and kissed the reflection of her own lips, thrilling with the recollection of that kiss in the motor launch. She was rubbing her little stomach against the glass, pinching the cheeks of her bottom to see if they were firm, when the door opened suddenly and another girl stepped quickly into the room.
Honey jumped away from the glass with a scream, and instinctively clasped her hands over her most precious possession her cunt. Then she laughed.
It was only her flapper friend, Carrie Francks, a little Cuban beauty, whom she had casually met in the Waldorf Astoria before they left New York.
Carrie was being sent to Paris to complete her education. She was not a pure Cuban, as there was a lot of Yankee blood on her father's side, but she had great, lustrous Spanish eyes, which gleamed as fixed on the naked apparition of Honey. At the Waldorf, Lady Tittle having run down to Newport for the night, Honey and Carrie had shared beds for the sake of company.
Their lesbian encounter that night had taught them both a lot, for no sooner did they find themselves in bed together than Carrie had run her hand lightly over the young girl's body. Honey shivered with excitement and immediately thrust her hips in the air to encourage Carrie's hand to explore her mossy cunt. In only a few moments they were frigging away, and it was the occasion of Honey's maiden spend. Carrie, more experienced than her blonde friend, then suggested that they sixty-nine it a term Honey didn't understand until it was graphically demonstrated to her by nuzzling her olive-skinned face in the blonde's cunt hair. When her lips closed around Honey's clitoris and began a slight sucking motion, the neophyte fuckstress nearly went wild. She writhed and twisted frantically on the bed, her legs flailing the air with erotic abandon as sensations the likes of which she had never before known coursed through her.
Before she came again, though, Carrie urged her to reciprocate by licking her cunt, and though Honey was at first a little reluctant, it didn't take her long to overcome her hesitation and plunge her tongue deep into the moist groove of love. For the rest of that night, they did nothing but suck each other off, not stopping until the sun shown faintly through the blinds. And since then, they had been hot for each other's body whenever they could be alone.
But to continue.
Carrie was very dark and very slight. Her figure was really too slim to be good, but there was a feline grace in it which was very tempting. Her face lacked good features, but her full red lips, her glorious eyes, and her abundance of raven hair made up for any defects. She was a striking contrast to the pink and white beauty of golden haired Honey.
"My, but you do look a peach," she exclaimed. "Kiss me."
And she didn't wait. She bundled Honey into her arms and smothered her with kisses. She kissed her mouth, her eyes, her ears, her glinting hair, and descending lower, ran her tongue over each delicious little breast in turn. Honey shivered with delight and wrapped her little arms around the other girl's shoulders. It was evident that she was used to this class of pastime, and when Carrie's right hand slipped down to the little downy mount between her thighs, and a deft finger was inserted into her moist little cunt. She wriggled with joy, and cooed with delight.
"Come to the bed, darling," the dark girl whispered. "I must kiss your cunny and suck you off."
Honey was on her back in a moment, and stretched her deliciously molded legs wide apart. The other girl buried her face between them, gripped her little sweetheart almost savagely around the legs, and sucked avidly. Honey's lovely face took on a beatific expression, which made her look far too angelic for the occupation she was engaged in. Her little fingers smoothed Carrie's raven locks, and her legs, folded across her lover's shoulders, twitched convulsively with joy. It was obvious that Carrie was no mean performer. The sucking noise made by her tongue proclaimed the fact that little Honey was spending copiously. Presently she pushed Carrie's head aside.
"Stop, dearie," she gasped. "Stop, and turn around. You know what I mean."
Carrie slipped off the bed, stood up and pulled her skirts up to her waist. She wore lovely underclothes her parents were wealthy Cuban people and as she climbed on top of Honey the bewildering mass of froufrou was a pretty sight. It was a soixen-neuf which ought to have been immortalized by a painter as each girl buried her face in the other's muff and began sucking avidly.
Carrie's firm bottom peeped, a little brown in color, between the slit in her drawers. Her legs were perhaps a little on the thin side, but delicately shaped-her ankle was very tiny and her instep was very high.
Honey's white arms gleamed against the black cloth of Carrie's tailor-made costume. Her dainty legs, rose tinted at knees and toes, were once more around Carrie's neck, but this time she was doing her share of the work. Only half of her lovely face was visible between Carrie's thighs, and her glorious golden hair was thrown back in abandon over Carrie's befrilled, Parisian drawers.
The two girls writhed with an ecstasy of lust, and a knock at the door passed unheeded, nor was the turning of a handle and the entrance of a man noticed by the engrossed minettes.
It was the young man. He came softly into the cabin and stood regarding the spectacle with an amused glint in his eyes.
"I've paid a good many pounds to see this done in Paris before now," he reflected. "And yet never have I seen a prettier couple. Little devils."
The young man was immaculately dressed in a slight variation of ordinary evening-dress. The color of the suit was a dark blue, with a black velvet semi-collar. The coat was cut very tight in the waist, and very full in the tails. The trousers fitted perfectly over slim, but well-formed legs. Across his breast he wore a sash, obviously belonging to some foreign order, and from a ribbon round his neck depended a glittering star. On the lapel of his coat several other orders were fixed, all of barbaric nature in design. His auburn hair was parted exactly in the center, from the middle of the forehead to the nape of the neck. Over his arm hung a dark blue overcoat, and in his hand was a semi-nautical, semi-military peaked cap, heavily gold braided.
In fact, he looked like a glorified Seymour Hicks.
After a moment's pause, feasting his eyes on the lust feast before him, he walked up to the bed and smacked Carrie lightly on the bottom. Thinking that it was Honey, the girl did not stir, only her bottom moved lasciviously. But Honey lifted her eyes and beheld the man.
With a scream she pulled Carrie's mass of frou-frou over her face and Carrie, startled, looked up.
"Well," said the young man. "You wicked children, what do you think I am going to do to you? I am master here, you know. Come, get up."
Very shamefacedly the two got up and sat on the edge of the bed, Honey hastily pulling the quilt round her naked body.
"I must apologize," he said. "But there was no answer to my knock, and I had to see that the portholes were closed, as the sea is rising. I must thank the elements for giving me the opportunity of witnessing so delightful a sight."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said. "If you are a gentleman, leave the cabin at once."
"I can quite see that gentlemen are not wanted here," laughed the young man. "But perhaps your little love affair has made you hungry. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. For the present, au revoir." And he withdrew with a bow.
"Oh, Carrie, whatever will he think?" said Honey, hysterically. "We were caught at it, weren't we?"
"Right at it, dearie," agreed the dark girl. "But it can't be helped. Besides, from what I can see, there are going to be some odd goings on on this ship. As I was coming along to see you, one of those pirates such a nice boy collared me and kissed and cuddled me till I thought I was smothered. Now, you hurry up and get dressed and we'll go to the feast."
Lady Tittle, in the course of her wanderings on the promenade deck of the "New Decameron," which was now rattling through the Atlantic billows southward, at an easy thirty knots, had drawn a sickening blank in her encounters with the various pirates scattered about the windswept deck. No one took any notice of her at all.
She swirled her silk-skirted way through the breeze, coyly scanning any man she met. It was impossible to tell whether they were officers or crew, but she met with no response till, right in the stern of the ship, she was stayed by a gruff voice asking what she wanted.
Lady Tittle replied (in the well known biblical manner of answering a question with a question) by demanding who he was.
It appeared he was the bosun, a burly, heavily mustached man in oilskins, who lured Lady Tittle into the shadow of a whale boat when he gathered she was one of the captives. He explained that he was Major Brander, late of the Black Watch, and that a little difference with the War Office, and, incidentally, with the laws of the country, had led him to join this adventure.
"I am the oldest of the crew," he said, rather sadly, "so they made me the bosun. I know nothing about bosuning. But still the ship goes on. I remember you (Lady Tittle had introduced herself), dear lady, as the belle of the Binchester hunt ball. In the sixties, I fear it was."
"Ah, me," sighed Lady Tittle, "we were children then, and love beat through our veins, eh major?"
"And does now, damme," cried the bosun major, and he boldly put his arm around Lady Tittle and kissed her.
The powerful searchlights of the "New Decameron" sweeping the sea on all quarters, made the deck of the boat seem very dark. The major, or bosun as we will call him, made no bones about his job. Pulling aside, with a firm though gentle hand, Lady Tittle's opera cloak, he brushed her bare bosom with his moustache. There was a hen coop just behind the pair, and on to that, despite the shrill cacklings of its inmates, he guided the amorous old lady.
It was a hard couch, but it served and it didn't have to serve for long. Both were very randy, and the simultaneous outpourings of their sexual organs came after the fowls beneath had been terrified for but a brief two minutes.
Lady Tittle got up with a girlish simper of glee. "Oh, what must you think of me?" she murmured. "And we've hardly even seen each other's faces yet."
"If your face is as charming as the figure I have felt, madam, I am sure it is still that of the beautiful Felicia Tittle I met years ago. Besides, this ship is
Liberty Hall. I should advise you to look after your beautiful little daughter."
"Oh, Honey can look after herself. But, tell me," whispered Lady Tittle, trying surreptitiously to wipe up the stream of semen which ran down her legs, "who is this 'young man' who seems to be captain. He says he was at Eton with my boy."
"That, my dear Felicia, is a profound secret. Most of us know, but not all."
"Well, I have my suspicions," said Lady Tittle.
At that moment a loud gong, like the war gong used to call the tribes of Burma, reverberated through the ship.
"Ah," said the bosun, in a cheery voice, "supper at last. I can promise you, Felicia, that you will at least find that the creature comforts are well attended to on this ship."
The grand salon of the "New Decameron" was a spacious place, occupying the full breadth of the ship, and brilliantly lit by clusters of electric lights.
The walls were adorned by pictures of great beauty and evident value, and one's feet sank noiselessly into the heavy carpet.
Covers were laid for about fifty, and the assembled pirates, each dressed in the evening dress uniform affected by the young man, were grouped expectantly round the walls.
The young man stood at the door to welcome his guests, who had been summoned by the steward pirates, and the elderly stewardess, who, with four pretty girls, obviously ladies, constituted all the female personnel of the pirate craft. Lady Tittle sighed when she thought of the hell of a time those four young women must have at the hands, well, well of those bonny young pirates.
She, followed by Mr. Silverwood and Miss Jepps, was the first to arrive.
Herr Kunst was flanked by the sisters Lovett, very demure, if very d�collet�, in virgin white. They were very pretty girls, and they seemed to promise competition among the pirates.
Lord Reggie Cameron entered delicately, like Agag, closely followed by Mr. Moss Hell, who surveyed the luxurious entourage with satisfaction.
Mr. Hannibal McGregor had, for some inexplicable reason, arrayed himself in the full war paint of old Gaul, and swung his kilts just in front of Mr. Neale, the actor, who was flanked by the flappers, Honey and Carrie, whose admiration he was attempting to excite, with, obviously, very little success.
The young man shook hands in a most gallant manner with each, and presented them, en masse, to his comrades. Others of the pirates conducted them to their places at the center table, at the head of which the young man took his place.
The young man made a short speech. After welcoming them to the "New Decameron," he expressed a wish that they would be comfortable, briefly explained himself and his companions.
"Compelled to sever our connection with society, owing to some of its ridiculous laws, we have had to earn our living somehow, and we have done fairly well. True, we are pirates, thieves, if you like but there are worse on the Stock Exchange." Lord Reggie sighed, and Mr. Moss Hell and Herr Kunst looked uncomfortable. "There are also thieves in society since the introduction of bridge," he continued it was Lady Tittle's turn to look uncomfortable "but while these thieves are unrecognized, we are open. We thieve in the broad light of day, and we are gently careful not to thieve from those who can't afford to lose.
"Your presence on this ship was an inspiration of one of my men. Frankly, we were getting bored. We want livening up. Liven us up, and you shall be repaid with a pleasant cruise, some possibly very exciting adventures; a sojourn in a little lotus land of an island in the Pacific; all creature comforts, and, in course of time, we hope you will leave perfectly satisfied."
The captives' faces took on interested expressions. Though so far no viands had made their appearance, the appointments of the table held out greater hopes. The snowy napery bore much valuable silver plate, and the profusion of glasses suggested much liquor.
"And now," said the young man, "to supper."
The menu cards were of ivory colored paper, surmounted with the traditional skull and cross bones.
"You will observe," said the young man, "that you will neither die of hunger or thirst."
The menu was indeed a surprise. Lord Reggie, who had cultivated his appetite all over the world, realized that he was in for a good thing. He smacked his lips in anticipation.
"Archie," he began languidly.
The young man, banged his hand on the table.
"Lord Reginald," he exclaimed, "whether you know who I am, or whether you do not, remember that here I am Captain, and nothing else. If I catch your calling me anything else, I'll clap you in irons, at once."
"I'm so sorry, Archie."
"Prendergast."
"Yes, Captain."
"Have this gentleman put in irons at once, and release him tomorrow morning for breakfast."
"Oh, Archie, I didn't mean . "
"Release him for lunch."
"Oh!"
"Young man," said Lady Tittle, "you'll be missing tomorrow's dinner if you aren't careful."
The man called Prendergast, a rotund personage of an extremely genial cast of countenance, punished a large cocktail severly, wiped his mouth leisurely, rose serenely and approached the now terrified Lord Reggie.
"Archie," exclaimed the young nobleman, "I didn't mean -"
The unfortunate young peer was led away, vainly protesting, and his exit sent swift inspiration to Lady Tittle. "Archie!" Of course, it was the young Duke of St. Eden.
Archibald Hamilton Blackmore, tenth Duke of St. Eden, and possessor of a half dozen more titles to boot, had disappeared from his own world under mysterious circumstances. His reckless extravagances had startled most of the capitols of Europe, and when the scandal about his aunt became more than whispered he had to go. Mayfair forgot, if he didn't forgive, and Lord Herbert Blackmore, his brother and heir, a dissolute young blackguard, who had the charm of manner, without the brain of the duke, reigned at Eden Place in his stead.
This, argued the astute Lady Tittle, was obviously what had happened. Always a dare-devil, the young duke had realized on his immense colliery and London estate possessions, and become a very up-to-date pirate. It was very, very interesting, and it was Honey's chance of a lifetime. The child looked deliciously fascinating, and Lady Tittle saw a very sporting chance of goodbye to musty old Clouds Court, and the dowager house at Eden Place as a very much more attractive residence. No one but herself and Lord Reggie was likely to recognize the duke. Of course, this piracy business could not last, but the young duke was clever enough to avoid detection, and within a year well, what with her own tact and Honey's beauty, the latter ought to be a duchess.
Dinner was served. A procession of pirates, wearing white aprons, attended to the wants of their comrades and guests. A distinguished looking man, indubitably
French, headed the waiters. "The Marquis deX-, " said the young man, presenting him, "our chef, a cordon bleu, if ever there was one. He had the misfortune to kill too many of his wife's lovers, hence his presence among us. He is really a first class cook, and though we have not the facilities of the Ritz, we manage to do ourselves very nicely."
"Ah, madams and misters, " exclaimed the Frenchman, visibly agitated, "I am desolated, I am on the summit of desolation. Though so beautiful a dinner I have prepared, these brigands live for their piracy, and I thought I'd keep him as hot as I can, I am delayed four hours. It is effrayante."
Still, the dinner, or supper was very good. Conversation was sparkling and bright; rather riske at times, possibly, for the sisters Lovette didn't spare the liquors, and Lady Tittle just doted on the Veuve Clicquot. She had just finished, for the third time, her story of the late Empress of and the black groom, when one of those very sudden, and very awkward, silences fell over the assembly.
It was broken by a loud and startling detonation, followed by a clicking noise like the falling of small pieces of broken glass.
Herr Kunst sprang to his feet, while all eyes turned on him. It was obvious that he had farted. Lady Tittle thought that he was about to leave the room; but no! The agitated German fell upon his knees on the floor and grabbed frantically about the carpet. The astonished company noted the glitter of diamonds. Herr Kunst over-enjoying his dinner had let a really remarkable fart, and bang had gone the diamonds from their snug retreat, thence, per his trousers, to the floor.
It was impossible not to laugh, and even the ladies joined in the general mirth, meanwhile helping Herr Kunst to recover his treasures.
"Don't you worry, mein Herr," said the young man reassuringly. "I gave my word that no valuables should be seized, and however many thousand pounds worth you may have on your er person, you can rest assured that they will be perfectly safe. Possibly my safe may prove a more secure resting place than any portion of your anatomy."
The young man had been on the Rand, and knew a bit about hiding places. He had guessed at once what had happened.
The stewards assisted Herr Kunst to recover his treasures, and with a sigh of relief, he replaced them in his pocket, exhibiting no shame for his exhibition of artillery.
The dinner did not occupy much time. The various courses were very quickly and deftly served by whiteaproned pirates. Lady Tittle thoroughly enjoyed herself, and drank far too much Veuve Clicquot led on by the pressing of the bosun, who was heading the waiters. Honey and her flapper friend were overwhelmed by the delicate attentions of the exquisite young teumours de mer, and the sisters Lovett got frankly drunk. What conversation there was became markedly lascivious, and Carrie Francks had to ward off a marauding hand from each side before the omel-lette. Honey gave herself to being surreptitiously felt, and spent copiously from the asparagus onwards.
A blue chinned, sinister looking pirate sat next to Lady Tittle, and with his second cognac, became flippant. Lady Tittle had recognized him at once as a well-known acting manager, whose wife had fucked him into society, but who had had to leave the circle of the blest because of a little aventure galant with two pennies worth of tramping trollop off Point Street.
His long, sinuous hand wandered onto Lady Tittle's knee. She snapped.
"Please remember, Mr. Forest, that this is a table cloth, and not a sheet."
There was a rustle of sh, shs. The young man intervened.
"No names, please, no names. Lady Tittle, remember, that we are all incognito here."
The dear old lady, remembering the fate of Lord Reggie, forebore, and put paid to her third cognac.
A delicately veiled glance from the young man conveyed to her ladyship that it was time for her to gather up her flock.
A smile to Miss Jepps, and a sumptuously frou-frou uprisal from that young lady gathered the women folk together.
"I will show you to the music room, my lady," murmured one of the smart stewardesses. The ladies left.
The pirates and their male guests, left alone, gathered closer together. The young man, leaning his elbow on the table and delicately balancing his glass of Punch Decameron, a delicious iced punch, made according to a recipe known only to one of the pirates, who had stolen it from Blanchard just before the knowledge reached him that a warrant was out for his arrest.
"Gentlemen," he said, "just one toast to our better acquaintance, and then I think we will go to the library."
They drank the toast of three consonants L.F.F., "Luck, Fuck and a fiver." The young man led the way to the library.
The library on the "New Decameron" would have delighted the most exquisite amateur of the arts. It was a large, lofty chamber, extending like the saloon, the entire breadth of the ship. The "New Decameron" being turbine driven, and carrying no bulky cargo, had, save her coal lockers, which were also comparatively small, owing to the fact that she carried in addition to her ordinary coal, a large quantity of compressed fuel, very large accommodation for staterooms.
Panelled entirely in very highly polished old Spanish mahogany, and lit by beautifully designed clusters of electric lights, the room presented an appearance of great comfort. The thick pile of the carpet seemed to caress the feet, and there was an indescribable odor of strange scent, which seemed to blend deliriously with the cigars and opium stained cigarettes provided by the young man. On a sheraton buffet, fitted with silver fiddles, stood a goodly regiment of bottles and glasses. As the captives and those of the pirates who had followed the young man and who were obviously the most important members of the ship's extraordinary company, settled themselves on the luxurious settees, a door behind the buffet opened, and one of the pretty waitresses entered.
She was changed. The pirates took no notice, but their captives gasped. She was stark naked, save for red morrocco slippers, with high black silk covered french heels. Mr. Silverwood's hands instinctively groped in his trouser's pocket.
The girl was very beautiful. Medium in height, she had a skin like porcelain, and her figure was absolutely correctly proportioned. Her dark, chestnut hair fell in luxuriant waves over her forehead and was gathered behind into a heavy knot, caught with a golden clasp. It seemed to kiss her pretty back with a silk caress. She was clean shaven both on her mount of Venus and under her arms, so that for her jewelry, her slippers, a gold mounted monocle, which she wore in her left eye, and some fantastic painted decorations on her beautiful body, she might have been a marble statue of a somewhat up-to-date Venus. Her nails were very highly manicured, and her fingers were heavily be-ringed. She wore diamonds and rubies only on her hands, but round her neck was a collar of pearls, black and white, with a blue enamel buckle, bearing an inscription in small brilliant points. It was almost similar to the famous collar given to the actress, Nemesis Hunt, by H.S.H., the Prince of Marsgrovia.
Clasping her waist was a very thin gold belt, from each side of which depended a fragile gold chain, which, meeting just above the delicious roundeur of her hair-bereft mountain of love, carried an open-work gold box, shaped like a heart, which, from the odor which exuded, evidently contained some rare Eastern perfume. It was surmounted by a tiny amethyst dove carrying in its beak an olive leaf of green jade.
On her stomach, on either side of her rosy tinted navel were painted twin cupids, their lips extended in the shape of a kiss. As the soft flesh heaved and fell, the pouting mouths seem to be actually kissing that delightful little dimple of a navel. It was a pretty imagine.
Her eyes were very blue and clear, her mouth full and ripe, and her winning smile showed glistening teeth. For earrings, she had ivory cupids with turquoise eyes and wings of almost transparent pearl.
As she came right into the middle of the room, Hannibal McGregor spent voluminously into his kilts. Moss Hell made a rapid calculation of his bank balance and wondered if the young man would cash a check. Mr. Silverwood determined to remain a pirate for life.
With an easy, lissom walk she approached the young man.
"Mr. Prendergast has sent me, sir, to say that the gentleman you had put in irons seems to be going mad. He certainly seems very odd."
"Did you go and see him dressed like that?"
"Yes."
"No wonder the poor devil seems odd. Well, I'll both increase and decrease his punishment. Give him a large glass of champagne, put a good dose of our island aphrodisiac in it, and an opium cigarette, and go and sit and talk to him for half an hour. He's chained up, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then we'll let him out. Just get so near to him that he can't touch you. He's a nice boy, I daresay you may have met him, before you er abandoned society."
The ravishing vision disappeared through the door, amidst unmistakable groans of disappointment from the captives.
"Oh we have others," said the young man flippantly.
The faces brightened. The young man laughed. "Well," he said, "I suppose this needs some explanation. The young lady is really of good birth. In fact, she is a titled tart, but she had to leave society. Her code of signaling at bridge was more ingenuous than ingenious. Her partner came too, he is there" nodding at once of the pirate who was busy with the spirit decanters.
"My God, it's Lord -" said Mr. Silverwood.
"Quiet, man, quiet," snapped the young man. "Remember where Lord Reggie is."
Mr. Silverwood reflected that if there was going to be any naked female janitor business, things might be worse but then, he mightn't be given one, and he held his tongue.
"Please understand," the young man insisted, "that there are to be no names mentioned. Remember that there are worse punishments than putting one in irons. One of the Russian members escaped from Sibera in an open boat, and he knows a bit. He isn't as handsome as he was."
Herr Kunst shivered.
"Well, we are a community of pirates, all of whom have outraged society.
"We have a delightful island home, which by some mistake is uncharted, and we make our money this way. The idea was originated by myself. Do you remember the theft of the Reisenheimer art collection?"
"Vat," screamed Herr Kunst, "den you it is dat der Venus of Titiens, half, dat I to der collection lent, mein Gott, ain't it?"
"Correct. You shall have the opportunity of seeing it once more. Perhaps you would like to buy it back."
"Ah, veil," said Herr Kunst, "it mit much completeness insured vos, mit mein fround Isaacs, you know Isaacs; he vould so beautiful a pirate make; Isaacs he vos in his so great shop ven I call. I see der glass balls for der fire out putting.
" 'Isaacs,' I say, 'vot on earth vos in doos?' "
"I don't know vot vos in dem, he say, but der vos paraffin in dem now.' "
"He vos a great man, Isaacs, a great man. Ven der fire came all der peoples on holiday avay vos, but his mother-in-law up stairs resting vos, vile Isaacs vos see dat der vos enough paraffin. She vos burn, poor thing. Isaacs vos in der vill for tree million. He vos in der canned meat business now. His elder bruder vos found der firm, but ven von day he and Isaacs vos inspect der vats, all alone, he vos overbalance und fall in. Isaacs has all der business now. It was a coincidence, ain't it?"
The young man laughed.
CHAPTER THREE
The night was beautiful and Honey felt romantic. The vault of sky was stilllettoed by silver sparks, and the phosphorous danced on the waves cleaved by the razor bows of the "New Decameron."
In the middle distance an old tramp steamer shambled its seven and one-half knots northward. The searchlight of the "New Decameron" picked her up for a moment. Honey could see two bored-looking men on the bridge. One, with a lantern, was pouring something into a cup. "What?" she thought, "would they think of the comfort the turbines beneath her were driving?"
She turned to the brilliant electric lights of the chart house, and cuddled her mother's sables round her as a flock of foam flew up from the port bows.
The young man came softly up to the bridge, and put one hand caressingly on her neck.
"What are you doing here, little one?" he whispered. "Come into the chart house. I'll take the wheel," he said to the attendant pirate. "Tell the electrician to keep the searchlight continually to the east. Tell the chief he must be prepared to let his engines go the shortest notice all out, mind you, and notify me the moment we pick anything up."
Honey and the young man were left alone. The moon streamed through the chart house windows, illuminating her fair, delicate beauty, and she looked very alluring. The young man began to explain the compass to her, and she pressed very close to him. He curved his ankle round hers, and with semi-flapperish timidity, and semi-womanly lust, she laid her hand on his neck. The ensuing kiss was a long and luscious one.
"Would you like to try and steer, little darling?" he whispered. "She answers to a finger touch, but mind you, you mustn't let go for a minute, or we might all go to the bottom there," and he drew her in front of him and placed her dainty little hands on the wheel. "Keep her head south-southwest. I'll stand behind you and see you make no mistake."
He did stand behind her and his prick was standing too and his hands wandered. First a caress of the dainty, fluffy hair, a kiss on the slender white neck and then his hands fondled her breasts, feeling her nipples become firm and erect beneath his touch.
Honey's skirts were very short and needed little raising to let him get at her snatch. The young man caressed her daintily molded calves, felt a passionate thrill as his fingers felt her bare flesh above her stocking, and burned as they touched the intermediate summit of her thighs, where so lately the other little girl's tongue had been busily employed.
Honey's struggles, or wiggles, would perhaps be the better term, and took one hand off the wheel, as if to resist!
"No, no, you mustn't do that or the ship may go to the bottom."
She put back her hand, and his hand went once more to her bottom. His other hand was busy unfastening certain inconvenient buttons.
Honey knew what was coming. She was a virgin, but she knew a lot about fucking. Possibly in a room she would not let him, but she was romantic, and the novel situation struck her as extraordinarily appropriate for her first fuck.
"After all," she reasoned, as she let the "New Decameron" slip off a point, "it's got to come sooner or later, and this will be something to remember. But I do wish I could see him, and not have to watch this beastly compass."
It was a novel situation a mere child, with a million pounds worth of human and concrete wealth beneath her, taking the fastest ship in the world to what she knew not of, and a man, world famous, though she did not know it, breathing his hot breath on her neck, and even now pressing a hot, stiff bar of flesh between her thighs.
The tip had just touched the lips of her vagina when the telephone rang. With a muttered curse the young man sprang back.
The bell rang furiously. "Yes, yes!"
"Steamer, sir, on the port bow. Cruiser, I think."
Fumbling with his standing prick, the young man seized his glasses and rushed out on to the bridge.
It was a cruiser. Focused in the round glare of the searchlight, two ugly funnels surmounted a dark hull heading straight for the "New Decameron."
He rushed back into the chart room. He did not take Honey's little hands from the wheel. The humor of the situation, though his neck was in a potential noose, appealed to him. The little darling should keep to the helm in the hour of peril. Leaning over her shoulders, his fingers on hers, he put the wheel hard over, and with a swish of waters the "New Decameron" changed her course.
A few rapid orders through the speaking tube, and the ship was plunged in darkness; the searchlight went out with a click, and the pirate was running for what possibly might mean her existence.
It might be life or death, the young man knew, but nature was too strong for him.
"Keep her dead on that point, little darling," he whispered, "and don't be frightened. It's nothing."
Rapidly he tore his trousers open. All the bloody navies in the world can go to hell," he muttered. "I am going to fuck you."
There was no light but the dull glimmer from the compass, but the young man had the vision of the beautiful child in his mind as he pressed his cock into her little vagina. She shuddered; it hurt horribly, but she was mad with excitement and stretched her legs to the widest. The platform on which she was standing made their heights correspond, and with a few thrusts the young man had won his way through the coveted gate.
It was quick. Honey, not daring to take her eyes from the needle of the compass, after the first few pangs of agony, quivered with mad pleasure. She felt the hot kisses on her hair, her neck, her ears, her cheek, and the extraordinary sensation of that living bar of flesh within her, seemingly a part of her.
With a grip of his arms round her waist that nearly suffocated her, the young man spent. Honey could feel the mingled blood and sperm trickling down her legs, and was just wondering what on earth her mother would say, when a blinding glare of light filled the chart room. The vessel's search light had found them.
She turned her frightened little face to the young man and their lips met in a loving kiss to her dying day Honey will remember that kiss.
There was a patter of swiftly running steps on the gangway. "Get below, little darling," said the young man, snatching a final kiss, "and don't be frightened."
A ship loomed up, almost on top of them, and the young man heaved a sigh of relief. The press of a button and the "New Decameron" was once more flooded with light.
Two of the pirates came into the chart house, and at the same moment the telephone bell ran furiously.
"One of the prisoners, sir," said the attendant pirate, "must see you, and seems very excited."
Herr Kunst's voice screamed up the wire. "Der ship, der ship," he cried, "der diamond ship I know der code of der vireless: stop her, catch her; she had der millions on board in. I charge you twenty-five per cent, ain't it?
A brief message to Herr Kunst, and in two minutes the young man was in his cabin in communication with his wireless operator.
Herr Kunst joined them breathless. "I know der code, I know der code," he gasped. "Answer him, Hat-ton Garden Tiffany. He tink we receiving ship, and of himself stop make. Der damn fools below dey make so much fuckings dey der business neglect."
The young man answered, left Herr Kunst in charge and hurried to the bridge.
A very large yacht had slowed down nearly to a standstill and was rolling in the swell barely two hundred yards from the "New Decameron" obviously the cruiser's care was finished.
Herr Kunst now on the bridge, lied feverishly through the megaphone.
The pinnacle dropped from the davits of the "New Decameron" and to cut it short, this book is supposed to be more naughty than nautical in a few minutes a baker's dozen of oil skinned pirates, headed by the young man, intimated to the captain of the I.D.B. boat that he had made a fatal mistake.
"I'm damned if there's a foreskin on board," remarked one of the pirates, as the young man revolver in hand, explained to a crew of clamouring Yiddishes the exact purport of their mission.
In an hour, listening to the megaphonic instructions of Herr Kunst they had skinned 500,000 pounds worth of illicit diamonds out of Mr. Solly Joelstein's yacht.
"Ach, you Solly," he bellowed through the great tin mouthpiece, "you steal mein mine in Johannesberg, you vuck mein vife, you seduce mein daughter. You tink a vool of me you make, ain't it? Bugger you, Solly, vuck you, Solly vuck," and he emptied a revolver aimlessly across the black waters and scurried down to meet the returning pinnace.
Honey met the young man at the top of the gangway.
"Here, little darling," he said, handing her a small bag. "You shan't want for diamonds your first season in London."
"Bugger you, Solly, stick all der diamonds you have up your bleeding arsehole, Solly," floated over the waves from Herr Kunst at the staff rail of the "New Decameron," and Miss Jepps began to calculate seriously how the pirates would split up their booty.
"I'll work my cunt to the bone," she reflected, "if it's going to be a diamond job."
Meanwhile, down below, Lord Reggie Cameron sat manacled, two buttons already flown from his fly, his fascinating lady janitress, flaunted her naked charms with only a flimsy wrapper around her creamy, undulating shoulders. One of the pirates had roped Lord Reggie to his chair.
She smoked and smiled contentedly, seeming to take no notice of the clatter of feet on the iron deck above. Occasionally she cooed a casual remark to Lord Reggie, who fumed with lustful fury.
Once she crossed to him, patted his burning cheek, kissed him on the forehead, and flicked wickedly with her fingers at the volcano which throbbed in his trousers, her beautiful eyes gleaming derisively.
Lord Reggie begged to be released, declaring undying love, but the naked siren only undid what buttons on his fly remained, and disclosed a ramrod stiff penis.
"There, dear, maybe your hot little volcano will cool off a little that way," she said, laughing.
The young man, several other pirates, and the male prisoners entered. Poor Lord Reggie blushed.
"Maudie, dear, what have you done?" the young man asked.
"I was afraid the poor thing would break," was the answer.
"Well, Lord Reggie, I'm afraid your punishment is not quite enough yet. Cyril."
The pretty boy in the doorway came forward.
"Take your clothes off, Cyril, and do your duty to Maudie."
Mr. Silverwood, in an attempt to kick himself, lost his balance and fell on his butt, bringing down Moss Hell and Hannibal McGregor with a crash. Mr. Billy
Neale's eyes dilated. Herr Kunst, pencil and pad in hand, continued to calculate the amount of his twenty-five percent share.
While the pretty boy undressed, two more very smartly dressed sirens entered at the summons of a bell and busied themselves preparing more refreshments.
The fluffy-haired divinity called Maudie, removed most of her elaborate jewelry and lay back invitingly on the big couch. Once more Mr. Hannibal McGregor damned the inside of his kilts.
Little Cyril was a strikingly pretty boy. His clothes fell in a heap and he stood naked, blushing just a little. The captive Lord Reggie had vague recollections of Harrow and its menus pleisirs.
Cyril was perfectly formed, his skin very white save for his bronzed forearms, neck, and face. He wore a thin gold bracelet just above his right elbow. Between his breasts, which were well-developed, almost gurl-like, a monogram was tatooed.
His penis, quite large for his age and size, was rampant.
"En avant," said the young man clapping his hands, and en avant it was. The fair Maudie drew his naked body over hers, and kissed him lovingly. Then she drew him onto his knees between her legs. Immediately his head was buried between her thighs, and Maudie wriggled convulsively, as her delicate fingers toyed with his curly hair. A moment or two of this, and she pushed his face up, and threw herself back, legs wide open, with a sensuous sigh of expectation.
The boy was obviously no novice. A touch of Mau-die's fingers and cupid's dart was right into its fur-fringed nest. Maudie curled her little legs around his thighs, gripped his buttocks brutally, and squeezed her ripe mouth to his. You would see by the movements of their cheeks that both their tongues were busy with a glorious, humid intermingling of lust.
Little Cyril finished once, and now Maudie had him pressed on top of her. The watchers could plainly see his balls swelling as his narrow tube filled them, and the sight of his penis shooting in and out of that pink oval of lust was altogether too much for Lord Reggie. With a loud shout he spent straight up into the air, and then collapsed wearily back in the chair.
Almost simultaneously, Cyril dropped on Maudie's heaving stomach, her arms unclasped, and fell listlessly to her sides. Her tongue came out of the pretty boy's mouth with a plop, like a cow drawing its hind foot out of mud, and the fuck was over.
"Dress yourself, Cyril," said the young man patting the boy's naked shoulder, "and take Lord Reginald Cameron to his cabin. Take his manacles off there. Prendergast, give him the key."
He raised the boy's pretty face to his and kissed him on the lips. It was not exactly a father's or a brother's kiss, and once more Lord Reggie had odd memories of Harrow.
The girls hurried to refill glasses. Mr. Hannibal Mc Gregor was trying to erase with his foot the lake of semen he had deposited on the floor.
Lord Reggie, behind Cyril, shambled in his clanking irons through the door, still thinking of Harrow.
Maudie has fallen asleep.
"Dat'll be just one hundred thousand you owe me, ain't it?" said Herr Kunst, looking up from his paper. He had not taken the slightest interest in the proceedings.
"Well, you'd better get to bed, girls," said the young man, "when the glasses are all replenished, and wake up Maudie and take her with you."
But Maudie would not wake up, so two of the pirates carried her out a ravishing vision presumably to her own cabin.
"Now, boys, one toast before we turn in. Here's luck to the Jolly Roger." The young man lifted his glass high and drank deeply. Everyone drank. Mr. Moss Hell murmured, "A damn sight too much great-rogering for other people." Then he thought of the centuries of ducky beauties waiting in the island retreat and possessed his soul in peace.
The sea was a dazzling, waveless blue, as the young man climbed to the bridge. He gave a few orders, and went to the stateroom, a beautiful room, furnished with every known aid to comfort.
Over the young man's bed, was an imposing switch board furnished with numerous telephone receivers, and little metallic wires of various tones rather than harsh bells.
Directly over the bed, suspended on the ceiling, was a large swinging compass with a transparent opalescent face, illuminated by a delicately tinted electric light.
His chronometer, sextant, other nautical instruments, and his chart rack were close to his side.
The room dearly reflected the character of its owner dilletante, man of the world, sensualist, buccaneer a man who would face any danger, a man who could love fiercely, and whose hate meant death to his enemy. But all this concealed under his suave and delicate exterior.
He undressed himself quickly (no servants were allowed on the "New Decameron"), slipped into light blue pajamas, thought of Honey, rolled over and soon was asleep. He dreamed of little Honey, and that pretty child, curled in Carrie's brown arms, was dreaming of him.
But what of Lord Reggie? Cyril, laughing against his will, led him to his cabin, a small, but comfortable room, and swiftly unmanacled him. Lord Reggie sat heavily on the bed with a groan, and murmured something about whiskey and cigarettes.
Cyril left and returned in a few minutes with some brandy, a small bottle of champagne, and a box of Albany cigarettes.
"I'm afraid you've had rather a rough time, sir," said the boy as he released the cork with that delicious pop which is only really appreciated in moments of extreme duress. "Our skipper is very odd at times, and is dotty on no names being mentioned by his passengers."
"Then you collect friends often like this?" queried Lord Reggie.
"This is only the second lot, sir."
"And how in the name of all that's mortal or immortal did a boy like you get into this? Are you that young man's son?"
"Oh, no. As a matter-of-fact, I am a cousin of yours, Lord Reginald, but you wouldn't know me by sight, and I mustn't tell you my name of course."
"But why are you here?"
"I er, left Eton for the, well, usual reason, and my people wanted to send me to Canada, so I ran away, and S I mean our skipper, brought me here. It's a great sight better than learning farming."
"You seem to have learned a bit since you left Eton for the usual reason and what's your job here?"
"Well, I look after the skipper a good bit. I help him to undress sometimes when there's been a hot night and, generally, make myself useful. Shall I help you undress? You look tired."
Lord Reggie did not demur, and thought a lot more about Harrow.
The boy dexterously got him out of his clothes, took a pair of pajamas from his bag, and Lord Reggie lay back on the soft bed with a sigh of relief.
Cyril gave him a cigarette. Lord Reggie holding his hand to steady the match, felt an extraordinary, lusty thrill. The boy was so pretty, far prettier than any girls he had ever seen. He looked straight in his eyes for the moment, bent his head towards him, and they kissed. Both blushed.
"Stay here and look after me; I'm feeling uncommon rotten," said Lord Reggie.
"I will."
"Come and sit on the bed."
The boy did and to cut a long story short Lord Reggie made no bones about it. His mind went twelve years back in a flash; he was at school again. Cyril's dainty face had more fascination for him than any woman's. Even the little Miss Hefer of Pittsburgh, millionaire's daughter, to whom he was fianc�, faded from his memory.
Cyril undressed in a twinkling, got into bed, and nestled up to Lord Reggie. It had been twelve years since Lord Reggie had felt masculine fingers on his penis, and he was thrilled. Their tongues met in a tender kiss, and Lord Reggie's hand strayed over Cyril's balls and vibrating prick. Their legs entwined, and their hands met, clasping their organs together.
Lord Reggie's cock was long and very slender; it would not hurt the boy, he thought. He placed his finger gently up Cyril's rectum and got a passionate kiss in answer. "May I?" he whispered.
"Yes, dear, do it sideways, it's easier, but let me kiss it first just to soften it." He threw the bed clothes off, and knelt between Lord Reggie's legs, pressing his lips to the bursting glands of his penis, first softly licking, then sucking Lord Reggie's prick deep into his mouth.
Lord Reginald, almost bursting with lust, thrust him aside, "Now," he said, "let me bugger you."
The boy shuddered a little. It hurt at first, but after the first few strokes, it was easy.
Cyril lay his back to Lord Reggie, whose legs were clasped round his waist, and turned his face to receive hot kisses, Lord Reggie grasped his little penis and thrust it in up to the hilt.
They spent simultaneously. Little Cyril panted exhaustedly as the young nobleman's prick slipped dripping and went from its tight little home.
"I'll get you a drink," he said, when he could again breathe properly, and after a fond kiss, crossed the room to a cupboard, and brought out bottles and glasses.
"Do the others, er, do this to you?" he asked.
"Some of them. Of course, the skipper has first call. But you should see my brother, he's far prettier than I am. He'll let you have him. He's in bed now. I'll get him for you tonight, if you like, but, I say, you know those two ripping little girls that came aboard with you; couldn't you get them to come with my brother and me? You could watch. It would be topping, wouldn't it?"
Lord Reggie decided that it would, but thought he would wait.
"Make it in ten days' time," he said, "and I'll sound the kids."
The boy dressed, kissed a pretty farewell, and left. Lord Reggie turned over and slept soundly through the day, till he was awakened by Mr. Silverwod.
"Say," said the American, "you'll get no dinner if you don't rouse yourself, and they tell me it's going to be a dandy dinner with a concert afterwards. We don't need to dress, the boss tells me."
The dinner was dandy and the subsequent concert quite good. The sisters Lovett, realizing the possibilities of absolute freedom, let themselves go right out, and Miss Jepps was well above the ordinary class of amateur performers. She sang French songs which let the tail go with the hide, and her success was instantaneous. Mr. Billy Neale and Mr. Forest made for a strong male element, and several of the young pirates proved themselves comedians. One of them, a young gentleman who had won fame as an actor at Oxford, offered to write a little play as he could command so much talent. It was arranged to be performed when they reached the island, where, explained the young man there was a regular theatre.
The days slipped quickly by, and aided by perfect weather, the "New Decameron" put the knots behind her at an astonishing rate. The weather became very hot, and the very lightest of costumes prevailed. The sisters Lovett initiated the custom of appearing on deck in open work chemises and nothing else, and the pirates all worked stripped to the waist. Maudie invariably came on deck naked in the mornings to be douched with the hose, an example soon followed by Honey, and Carrie.
The pirates proved to be splendid seamen, and, if debauchery was allowed a free hand in the evenings, hard work was the activity of the day. The "New Decameron" was as spick and span as the hand of man could make her, and necessary fire and boat drills were never omitted.
The love affairs of the pirates and their guests soon settled down into recognized grooves. The sisters Lovett frankly professed themselves harlots, and were openly raffled for every night. Carrie developed a sentimental affection for several of the young men, and let them share her. Little Honey stuck religiously with the young man. It had gone much further than mere lust with her now, and she was genuinely in love.
Miss Jepps considered the matter from a purely financial point, but she threw herself, heart and soul, into their games, and the various pirates got full value for their money. Her sorrow at having left nearly all her frocks behind on the "Mesopotamia" was solaced by loans from the lady pirates who had some exquisite toilettes on board.
A word regarding these lady pirates: though none so exquisite as Maudie, in their various styles they were very tempting. Connie was a brunette, quite young, petite, with a perfectly molded, supple little figure. She had laughing, hazel eyes, and most delicious feet and ankles, which she showed at every opportunity. In fact, when she sat down and crossed her legs she generally showed well above the knee, so that the pretty tan-colored flesh showed a tempting bare stream between her stockings and drawers. She fell to the lot of Mr. Silverwood. Mamie was an American widow of an English nobleman who had done something really shady on the stock exchange and shot himself. She had been implicated, but had escaped in time. She was very svelte and Gibson girlie, and she suited Mr. Moss Hell down to the ground. Lucy, an older woman, of about thirty, was very dark and Spanish, with an almost corpulent figure. Hannibal McGregor devoted his rough-and-ready Scotch method o: love-making to her.
And what of the remaining two male captives ? Herr Kunst was far too busy concocting novel schemes o: piracy, with which he bored the young man to extinction. As for Lord Reggie, he frankly dated himself back, and stuck with Cyril.
Lady Tittle was rapidly assuming command of the ship. The young man, infatuated with Honey, allowed her mother to do pretty well what she liked, and she was enjoying herself. She more than suspected her little daughter's liaison, but she winked. Her own flagrant delights with the "bosun" were so obvious that she hardly commented on her daughter's. She felt practically certain now that the young man was the Duke of St. Eden, but still pried for further evidence. Lord Reggie knew, of course, but his lips were sealed. Two days after the putting-in-irons episode, the young man sent for him.
"You know who I am, of course," he said.
"Of course, I do, Archie."
"Well, no one else does, although the old woman has her suspicions and has set the boy on to pump me. I want your word that you won't give me away. One of these days you'll know the whole story."
Lord Reggie gave his word. The two shook hands and split a pint on it. , On about the seventh day out, the young man sat in his cabin reading. Little Honey was curled up between his legs, her hand resting on his penis which pressed hard on her ear. His arm was around her head, and her hand gently caressed it. As she felt the throbbing of the young man's penis, she gently stroked it with her head, and his thoughts came down to earth with a crash. He had been thinking out a wireless telegraphy problem, which descended from his brain to the top part of his trousers. He bent down and kissed her.
Honey twisted herself around between his legs, and let her fingers slide gently over the palpitating prick in his trousers. Slowly her little fingers undid his fly buttons, till his cock sprang out and slapped her on the cheek. Her fingers played with it, tickling it gently with rosy, deftly manicured nails. She breathed her warm, sweet breath softly and sweetly on the delicate membrane of his penis, and then her tongue just touched the orifice of that 'root of all evil.'
Her hair Honey could sit on her easily fell forward over her face as she bent quickly down. Her soft tresses swam over the young man's penis, and looped around it. "By jove," he murmured, sotto voice, "this is Danae's shower the other way around, gold, gold, gold, but she shall be paid for it in white, the whitest diamonds that ever left the Rand. Corpo di Baccho what Elysian drink have the gods sent me. What a shower of gold from the mount of the gods," he said aloud.
Honey had no idea what he was talking about, but she thought it sounded nice, and she made no objection at all when the young man gathered her hair and wrapped it around his cock.
The young man, quite knowledgeable in the field of music, remembered the "Habanera" from "Carmen."
"Listen, little darling," he said, "while I sing this, and keep the movement of your head in time."
He sang, in his rich baritone voice, that fatal song. He patted little Honey's head to keep her at the correct tempo. He gave himself absolutely to music and lust, and at the last:
"And, if I love thee, then beware." The young man forgot all about the song of Bizet and would have blinded little Honey, but she knew from the kiss on her head what was coming.
It came, not on her hair, but in her mouth. Just in time, she twisted her little lips around his penis and drank the milk of lust with her thirsty little mouth.
Honey wiped her lips on her delicate lace-bordered handkerchief. The young man raised the little figure kneeling in front of him, and pulled her gently to his knee.
He poured her a glass of champagne, and she drank it. He took a glass himself, and sank back into the luxurious arm chair with the delightful exhaustion of satisfied desire.
Honey lay in his arms, her head on his shoulder. With one hand he clasped her tightly to him, with the other he softly caressed her luxurious silky tresses.
Dreamily, he closed his eyes and pictured her as the beautiful child he had seen on that first evening in the embraces of her dark skinned, little lover, naked, the perfect white flesh, the delicately molded, miniature figure, the little silky curls, just beginning to show between the dainty thighs.
As he recalled the vision, his vigor returned, and Honey felt his prick harden between her thighs, and she was happy. For she had not yet satisfied her first taste of cock which made her long to have it again, but this time she wanted it in her cunt.
She was consumed by desire, and her thighs twitched as she sat on his lap but she was not to be so easily satisfied.
The young man's hand stole over her legs, and under her tight skirts. He softly smoothed the velvety skin, and played with her firm little bottom while his fingers wandered, and gently tickled the tiny orifice.
It was too much for Honey. Raising her head, she slipped her arms around the young man's neck, gripped him tightly, and pressed her lips to his. Her tongue darted out reaching for his throat. She writhed with lascivious passion.
The young man's fingers wandered still further and entered the cleft valley, which he had but recently opened. It was already moist from the overflowing of her lust.
Honey withdrew her. lips from his, and the young man whispered, "Honey, darling, you remember that first evening when I came in and saw you with Carrie?"
Honey did not reply. She blushed and hid her face on his shoulder, and he continued. "Honey, I want to see you like that again." She raised her head and gazed at him.
"When?"
"Now," he said, and Honey slipped off his knees. She began to unfasten her dress, but he stopped her. "No, darling, let me do that." And, piece by piece, he removed her clothes.
He stopped now and then to kiss and admire her. He raised her arms to kiss the down beneath them, to inhale the perfume.
At last Honey was reduced to a silken chemise which was almost transparent. He stepped away, and watched her with intense admiration as she stood, half-ashamed, half-pleased.
Then he said, "Honey, let it fall to your feet and step out of it."
Timidly, she complied. It was not mock modesty, but her nervousness stemmed from her true love for him and her desire to please him.
He posed her in nearly every way he could think of, watching for the effect. Each time he came back and kissed her.
At last he lifted her up, as he would a child, and laid her gently on his bed.
He kissed each budding breast, toying with them with his tongue, and sometimes savagely sucking them as if he would bite off the rose-colored nipples. His kisses moved lower, his tongue traveled over her honey-sweet skin. He came to the soft little downy mount, and kissed it. He opened her lips and buried his face between them, his tongue working furiously. He knew he was hurting her and at that moment he wanted to devour her. Then his kisses moved further still down each exquisitely formed little leg to the tiny foot. He loved her delicate feet, so perfectly shaped, so pink and white He kissed them long and fervently.
Gently he turned her over and kissed her neck, her back, the beautiful rounded curves of her bottom. Then a long fervent kiss on each of her soft, white thighs.
He could stand it no longer, and roughly turned her over. Honey almost fainted in the ecstasy of her sensual passions, such as she had never felt before. As he turned her over, she instinctively opened her thighs.
The young man was on top of her immediately, inside her, and, in a few, all-too-brief seconds, it was over. Honey fell asleep in his arms.
So the voyage continued.
The weather grew colder as they reached the more southern latitudes nearing the Horn, which fortunately they were able to round without any of the terrible experiences so often met with in that region. The "New Decameron" again set herself northwards towards the goal of their voyage, which they were now rapidly approaching.
During this period of uninviting weather, the deck promenades were almost entirely deserted by the passengers, and also by as many of the crew, whose duty did not compel them to leave the warmth and comfort below.
At the speed the "New Decameron" was traveling the cold air cut one as a knife, but Mr. Silverwood braved it every day for a short while for exercise, and his example was followed by Honey and Carrie. Some of the others appeared on deck also, but not Miss Jepps. She would not jeopardize her appearance in that way, or the hold she had managed to secure on some of the apparently wealthy of the young man's supporters.
Honey and Carrie, when on deck, usually were under the young man's protection, but sometimes it happened that their escorts were the two boys, Cyril and his brother Jim. A better looking quartette it would be impossible to find.
Lord Reggie, as he watched them, thought of Cyril's suggestion and longed to see all four stripped stark naked, and their perfectly formed little bodies interwoven in the abandon of lust.
As he thought of it, his prick became rigid and swollen to bursting point, but he resisted the temptation to relieve his feelings himself. Once he got Cyril to follow him into his cabin after the morning walk. He kissed the boy passionately. Undoing the buttons of his trousers he released the boy's small but by no means insignificant prick. He played with it, rubbing it up and down against his cheek. He could not resist the temptation and let his lips encircle the little scarlet head, while his tongue gently titillated the tiny opening.
(Lord Reggie had done nothing of this kind since the old days at Harrow. Once, after his first triumph at Lor's when, despite the young man's insinuation that he could not play leg breaks, he had collected fourteen wickets for just sixty-nine, he thought the number deserved a celebration, and he just managed the average.)
He let the boy's prick slip further and further into his mouth, holding it tightly all the time. Cyril writhed, and tearing the buttons from Lord Reggie's trousers grasped his rampant member. Before Lord Reggie realized what was happening he felt the boy spending in his mouth, holding it tightly all the time. Cyril writhed, and at the same moment there shot out from him, over the boy's hand and arm, the token of the state into which he had worked himself.
Little has been said of the thirteenth member of the voluntary prisoners from the "Mesopotamia," the Scotch girl, Madge. She in common with the others thoroughly enjoyed herself. She was endowed with, if possible, more than the usual love of that nation for the "forbidden fruit" and she had organized some s�ances of lustful abandon, with the help of Connie and Mamie that the most extravagant description of imaginative erotic literature could hardly equal. They were generally assisted by five or six of the pirates, and frequently had an audience of several times that number. , The enforced confinement to the smoking room of the ship during the cold spell led to more stories after dinner.
One night the young man forced Mr. Silverwood to take his hand in the game.
"Now, Mr. Silverwood, I think it's your turn to let us have one."
Mr. Silverwood slowly responded. He wasn't exactly happy on the "New Decameron." He wanted it, and didn't get it, and he found a story to fit his mood.
The showman, he explained, after the failure of the monkeys to do anything really humorous or indelicate, took the party straight to the cage of the laughing hyena.
His lecture began thus:
"This hanimile, gents, is the laughing hyena. He's very strange, he eats only once a year, fucks only once every six years, and yet -" when there came a voice from the crowd.
"Then what the hell 'as he got to laugh at?"
The pirates joined in a hearty laugh over this.
Billy Neale then broke in.
"I was staying with one of the sub-registrars in the county of B-right up north of Scotland. He told me he'd had an enquiry from his chief as to why the north of Scotland had the reputation for so many illegitimate babies, and could he give any reason. He replied, he could not, but he might mention that in his parish there were eleven unmarried parsons."
At the end of the story, the young man's unmistakable cough gave the hint it was cabin time.
They went to bed, and Mr. Silverwood mentally rejoiced that they had got past the Horn though he hadn't lost his he tried to sleep well, and when he had overcome his horn by married labor he did.
As the weather gradually grew warmer, the deck again became the favorite haunt, and the voyage perfectly enjoyable.
Honey had got accustomed to go into the young man's cabin whenever she liked, though of course she usually knocked, but one morning, rising earlier than usual, she stole out, and cautiously made her way there. She was feeling hot and excited, she felt she wanted to be cuddled and kissed, she meant to wake him gently with a kiss, then slip into his bed beside him, and she felt sure he would be pleased to see her, and it would happen again.
When she got to the door she quietly tried the handle, and it turned. She stepped in quickly and closed it before looking at the bed. As she did so, she gave a little gasp of surprise.
The young man lay there quite naked, and on him sat Maudie with a leg on each side of his body. They had stopped all movement as the door opened.
Also on the bed was Jim, he had an arm around Maudie, and was kissing and sucking one of her breasts, his other hand was between the young man's legs under Maudie's buttocks, she could see he was playing with the young man's balls.
At first she was seized with the pangs of jealousy.
The young man noticed it, and said, "Come here, Honey, and kiss me. You must not be jealous here, you know. We are all good friends, darling."
She came over with a shade of reluctance and kissed him but the kiss he gave her in return drove all else from her head. He kept her mouth glued to his as she bent over him, and to her it felt as if he was sucking out her life's blood. His hand wandered under her delicately-shaded, simple dressing gown, and under the soft, light fabric of her night dress. It came in contact with the cool, firm flesh of her legs. An intense thrill passed over them both, and he pressed her lips even more tightly to his. His body quivered, and his buttocks rose and fell with a quick, spasmodic motion. Maudie helped him, first relieving him of her weight, then letting it press down on him as much as she could, engulfing his rigid member to the uttermost. Jim's hand slipped down from the young man's testicles, and he gently thrust a finger, moistened by the juice of life that had already escaped from Maudie, into that aperture, which was not designed by nature to receive.
The young man's thrusts grew faster and more fierce. He roughly thrust his hand between Honey's legs, and two fingers in her now quite humid sheath. With one final convulsion he spent, and for a few seconds his body became quite rigid; until the intoxicating spasm was over.
He lay quite still, keeping Honey's lips pressed to his, and not letting Maudie get off, as she had tried to.
Notwithstanding the intensity of his feeling, and the profuseness of his discharge, he continued to feel unsatisfied.
No mere physical relief could drown the craving of lust which then possessed him.
After a slight pause, he at last released Honey's lips, and drew her on the bed.
He asked her to kiss Maudie, which she did passionately; their tongues darting in and out between each other's lips. As she turned back to him, the young man took advantage, and raising her, placed her astride over his face, her beautifully rounded, little bottom just above it. When her position dawned on her she softly sank back on him, almost smothering him, but he loved it, and the movements of his body re-commenced.
One hand gently caressed Honey, the other he laid on the boy's stiff prick. Honey's hand also stole to it, while she still continued to kiss Maudie, and the sensation of their two hands meeting and touching on it was exquisite to those two. One of Maudie's hands crept around and toyed with the girl's dainty little bottom and pink opening just above the young man's eyes.
The movements grew fast and furious, sighs escaping them all, and this time all four of them simultaneously paid their tribute to the deity of love and passion.
Honey scrambled off the young man and lay down, exhausted and satisfied by his side. Maudie and Jim crept softly from the room.
The young man told Honey about his island, of his palace, of the natives and of the perfect climate.
He told her also of the sports and amusements by which they wiled away their time and kept themselves in good condition. He was lorcf and master here. His word was law as much as on his ship. They had no socialists or suffragettes in his community.
Honey could not resist the temptation to ask him if he did not at times long for the old country, and regret that now a pirate he would never be able to return. He only smiled, and then he told her, what even those nearest to him, of his subordinated had not dreamed of his plan to reinstate himself and those under his command. He was positive of his success when the proper time came, and under the most solemn pledge of secrecy, he gave her a glimpse of what it was.
It bewildered her.
These confidences led to more endearments, and this time it was Honey's turn. They did not hurry the delightful contact of their naked flesh, and Honey's rapture that the vacuum she had been sensible of was now filled and stretched to its utmost capacity, was too heavenly to be put and before Nature compelled it, but at last Nature triumphed and the co-mingling of their bodies seemed to be but part of the co-mingling of their souls.
Honey, with a passionate and fervent kiss, dressed as much as she could, and ran back to her own cabin and to Carrie. To her she told the events of that morning, except of course where her promise was concerned.
That evening there was a festive dinner, and the wine flowed freely. It was the last but one before they were due to reach their Utopian Isle.
The hard work the pirates had the following day under the keen eye of the young man in giving the "New Decameron" the final touches to paint and metal work, effectually put a stop to the love passages that had been part of the daily routine.
That night they all retired early, expecting to sight the promised land in the morning.
Herr Kunst, who had that evening indulged himself freely from the bottle, and how had spent the best part of the night looking at his diamonds and his money, and wondering what chance he would have of negotiating them, was sound asleep.
Suddenly he was aroused by a thunderous report in the cabin. He sat up instantly; his face blanched and scared. A few seconds later there was a fearful report on the ship and he felt a shiver, he knew they had been struck. He flopped out of bed, alternately cursing and praying, regardless of his costume, or rather want of it, as he had on but a very brief vest. He snatched up the life belt to which he had carefully attached his box of treasures, and then as an afterthought he seized a spare one for himself and rushed up on deck, screaming, "It vos der British Navy camn der British Navy sink der buggers, ain't it?"
The sight on deck which met his view was not quite what he had expected.
Mr. Silverwood, Lady Tittle, Honey, Carrie, Billy Neale, the sisters and Hannibal McGregor were all quietly standing on deck, grouped to one side of the ship, all dressed, and seemingly quite happy. And there, not a quarter of a mile off, over the port bow lay a most charming looking rural vista, with the exception of a faint glimpse of Cape Horn, the only land they had seen since New York.
McGregor turned and stared at Herr Kunst. "Guid gracious, man, are you thinkin on swimmin tae the shore? D'ye ken there's a canny few sharks roond aboot here?"
Herr Kunst was for the first time, on the voyage, really ashamed of himself, and scarcely looking at the land, hastened back to his cabin to don a more appropriate garb.
The guns he had heard were the salute which had been replied to by the "New Decameron."
The young man, in immaculate uniform, was on the bridge, and as the ship slowed down a long, dark object seemed to appear from the rocks themselves and come tearing towards them.
Almost as suddenly as it appeared, it stopped by the lowered gangway of the ship; three men sprang off the torpedo-like craft.
When they reached the deck the pirates who were lined up with almost naval precision saluted. The young man stepped forward and shook hands cordially with the leader, who was dressed almost identically.
Lady Tittle, who had been staring at him as if her eyes would fall out of her head, regardless of all decorum, fairly gasped and murmured, "The Earl of -" but a quick glance from the young man silenced her.
Even Lord Reggie, who just then came on deck, looked mildly surprised.
After the greeting, the young man introduced him to the party as his Vice Commander and Captain of the Island.
Lady Tittle was thinking over the dreadful case of the Earl of Wimbledon, who was caught red-handed in the most serious of moral breaches of the law, and providently, accidentally drowned before his arrest.
She was wondering how he could have come to life again.
Slowly the "New Decameron" steamed as it appeared straight for the rocks; but just as she was on them a narrow channel suddenly opened out to the left, and the "New Decameron" swung around into it.
They traversed a narrow cut right through the very cliffs off the island, sixty yards across, when suddenly they emerged on to a magnificent inland lake.
On it there lay several strange looking craft at anchor, and along one shore a miniature Venice of dazzling white buildings struck the eye.
Herr Kunst came hurriedly to the deck. Over his arm was his life belt attached to it the precious box of treasures.
Going up to the young man, he said, "Before I on the shore go, I vant my check."
The young man called him aside, and gave him the check, already made out on a San Francisco bank open of course. "I can say our local bank will cash it," he said, "and you will have plenty of opportunities of spending your money on the beauties you are going to meet. There is also, I may tell you, our Casino and the tables where you can speculate to your heart's content."
"Mein Gott," screamed Herr Kunst, "as if I vould reck mein hardt earnt peautiful monish, on ze gamble. Nein, nein, you vas all pirates."
The young man turned from him with a contemptuous smile.
A sudden splash. The grating of chains. The anchors ran out, and the voyage of the "New Decameron" was over.
Our friends ceased to remain afloat. They were conveyed ashore on one of the strange, oil fuel, turbine boats, and the quarters provided were such that not even Lord Reggie or Mr. Silverwood, millionaire, could find fault with.
If this little history of our party of travelers meets with the approval of the reader, the author hopes some day to further narrate their experiences, both humorous and lascivious, on the uncharted island.
And how the young man won his way back for himself, and them all, to the freedom of the British Empire, and the approval of society and to what society fate befell little Honey.
So reader, for the present.
Au revoir.
BETWEEN YOU, ME AND THE BEDPOST
CHAPTER ONE
If you were to walk down Acacia Road and look up at number 27, there would be nothing special to distinguish it from the other neat but quite ordinary row of houses that make up that pleasant part of suburbia.
The small front garden, the frilled curtains, the privet, the television aerial, are all in keeping with the neighborhood and the type of people you would expect to find living there. And while what I am going to tell you of these people at number 27 may seem to be somewhat out of the ordinary or at any rate their behavior might be said to be how are we to know?
For all we know, behind several other frilly-curtained windows, beneath many of the roofs with their crest of H-aerials, there may be other folks with similar tastes, similar broad outlooks, to the young couple about whom at any rate, we do know something.
And if only they'd been aware of all those other couples with similar ideas, sharing similar tastes, what a time they all might have had, eh?
But for better or worse our story must be limited to Mr. and Mrs. W. Graham or rather Bill and Violet as they would prefer to be called, and their immediate family circle. And even on this first stroll past the house, as I have said, there would be nothing different about number 27 than say number 29 or 25.
Front door locked, milk bottles out, darkness downstairs, light on upstairs. Going to bed, perhaps . . . reading in bed, perhaps . . . ready for sleep, perhaps.
Yes, they were both ready for sleep now, after that pleasant half hour or so, and probably there were plenty of other couples, young and not so young, who at this same moment, in Acacia Road, were now at this moment pleasantly relaxed, a little warm, maybe, a little sticky maybe, panting and a bit out of breath, but, oh yes, contented.
And that's how Bill and Violet Graham are now. The covers are kicked back from the bed, cigarettes are lit, pajamas lie on the floor, and they are both relaxing there, their bodies enjoying the cool breeze from the window after their warm and exhausting contact.
"I don't mind telling you, Vi, you're as good as ever. Still as good a lay as any man would want, even though you are my trouble and strife."
"You don't do so badly yourself either, duckie, considering we've been married now for what is it? ten years, isn't it? There's life in the old dog yet!" And as if to prove her statement, her hand went out and caught hold of something which although it didn't very much resemble an old dog, at least was pretty fuckgy at its base!
"Yeah, it wouldn't take much to set it on the trail again, would it, love, though you gave it a pretty good run for its money tonight. That was a good fuck, Vi, now I come to mention it!"
"Thanks for the compliment," she smiled. "But I'm not the only one, you know. How about what we were saying only the other night? Have you still got ideas in that direction?"
"What, about our Susan, you mean? Yes, I've certainly got a hankering to see whether there's another member of the family as randy as me. And from what I've seen and heard of young Miss Susan recently, I think we're much of a pair."
"Yes, Bill I know she's your sister and all that, but it's up to you, and I certainly won't mind. I think Sue's ready for a spot of fun, and I should get a hell of a kick out of it, too. You won't be the first in the field, you know. I hear she plays the boy-market a little on her own."
"So they say. Just as well, Vi. It may seem a bit odd, coming from me, but all the same, although I really am looking forward to taking a poke at her, I wouldn't want to be the first to break the sound barrier. But I reckon I shall want your help, in case she plays hard to get."
"Don't you worry, dear, I shan't be left out of it. Auntie Vi isn't going to be out of the picture while her loving husband fucks his pretty little sister. No, sir."
"Talking about fucking, you've got me all het up again at least all this suggestion that there's a chance of getting this up Susie's cunt has gone to its head!" And Bill grinned as he indicated his tool. It was true, no longer-was it lying dormant down his leg. It had been gradually growing all this time and pulling itself up till it was now waving in an erect position, just calling attention to its reaction to the idea of exploring fresh channels.
"Come on, Vi, get those legs open again. I'm not going to sleep with a horn on me. I bet you won't say no to another taste of John Thomas."
"Darling, haven't we been through all this already? Actually, my twat's still full with the last lot, what with my own double come and the amount you pumped up into my belly . . . still, while I'm clearing that lot up, we might as well do the thing properly. I must admit there's still a bit of an itch down between my thighs. Righto . . . Back on the job again . . . There, with my legs over your shoulders you're bang on target . . . Ouch . . . do you have to bite so hard ? All right . . . two can play that game . . . Mmmmm . . . just think of your sister getting a load of this . . . aah . . . p-o-o-r Sue . . . "
"What d'you mean . . . More like lucky Sue . . . Ah, Vi, you certainly . . . can . . . draw it out . . . of a chap . . . "
"No more tonight, all the same."
And this time it wasn't long before the last lights were out at number 27. A few minutes later, before sleep finally overtook them both, there was a last whisper from Bill.
"You won't forget to ask her over pretty soon, will you, dear?"
And then silence.
CHAPTER TWO
It was a week, actually, before their plans came to anything. Violet hadn't wasted any time in asking her sister-in-law around for an evening together "a bit of a chat and perhaps a game of something" was how she had put it. Violet knew in her own mind just what she meant by that "game of something," but it is certain that Sue hadn't an inkling of the surprising shape of things to come, so she had just accepted for the first day that had come into her head.
The longer the delay, the more Vi and Bill, especially Bill, began to look forward to this evening; and yet there was always the thought that things might not go according to plan. It wasn't every day one set about seducing one's young sister, he said to himself. If Susan plays ball (or "balls" he mused) then we're in for a lot of fun. But if she cuts up rough, then goodness knows how it will all end.
Somehow the more he thought about it the more he thought she would play and in any case the more he felt he had to go through with it.
The evening itself was not a very auspicious one, for it turned out to be drizzly and chilly. It was still raining when there came a couple of short peals on the bell and the Grahams looked significantly at one another. It was Susan's usual signal.
"Come on in, Sue," greeted Violet. "What a miserable night for you to come out in. Never mind, slip your mac off and come in the living room. There's a good fire in there, and I'll draw the curtains and we'll have you comfortable in no time."
"Hello, Sue," greeted her brother. "We hoped you wouldn't let us down. We don't see enough of you," (but perhaps we shall have a better look tonight, he thought to himself!)
"Well, I wouldn't come, only I'd promised. But I didn't realize it was so cold."
"Never mind, I'll get you a drink. I think I can still find some whisky from Christmas. Okay? I know you'll have some, Vi!"
And soon he was back with the drinks, which he'd taken care to make good and strong.
Neither Bill nor Vi had missed the jiggle of the girl's breasts as she had walked into the room, nor the attractive sway of her hips, or the fascinating roll of her plump buttocks, but naturally it was Bill in particular-who was taking the most notice of these attractions of his sister, eyeing her main points and building up a very pleasing composite picture.
For Susan, despite the nature of the evening, was smartly turned out. A little under average height, she made lip for this by high heeled shoes that at the same time set off her bottom with a charming prominence. Fine nylon hose, now unfortunately rather splashed from the rain, led his eyes up to a tight black knee, and allowing him to approve the swell of a pair of shapely calves. The skirt itself formed a delightful sheath for her curvaceous thighs which rounded out to a full pair of hips and nipped into as smart a waist as you could wish for, encircled by a white leather belt which shared with a simple zip the duty of sustaining the skirt in place.
Bill's gaze didn't remain for long on the middle section, though he couldn't help licking his lips pleasurably whenever Susan turned around and he was treated to another sight of her plump bottom. So clinging was her skirt that the separate globes of her butt could be distinguished, and the tempting groove in between. The slight waist contrasted happily with the curving swell of her bosom. Although she could not boast a pair of beauties like her sister-in-law (both Bill and Vi were equally proud of her achievements in the tit line), he was perfectly satisfied at the prospect before him of a pair of well-rounded mounds that quivered enticingly in their setting of a crisp white nylon blouse.
Her only jewelry was a pair of starry earrings, which was all that pretty face needed laughing blue eyes, a generous, even sensuous mouth, and a crown of rather wind-blown blonde hair.
"Sit over here and get warm," invited her hostess. "We'll look at the TV for a bit and then see what else turns up," she added, with a knowing glance in Bill's direction.
Bill was comfortably installed in his usual chair, opposite the two girls on the settee, where he could not only see the screen, but, more interesting at present, his pretty sister. Under the influence of the warm fire and the equally warming drink, Susan was soon relaxing, and relaxing meant taking it easy. She lay back on the settee and stretched her legs a little, just as Bill had hoped she would. Her tight skirt was never meant to cover her knees in such a posture, and it crept up gradually till first her rounded knees came into view, and soon the beginnings of her nylon-clad thighs.
Bill almost cursed his wife when she asked, in all innocence, "Can you see all right over there, dear?" Sure he could see all right, but he was afraid Sue might take a hint and cover the enticing scene up, but fortunately she took no notice. Rather, her legs opened a little wider, and he was treated to the view in depth, as it were, with ony the half-light of the room preventing him from defining more closely the exact line where her stockings ended and the white of the thighs began, and it needed little imagination on his part to picture that the shadow of her skirt, in between, might just as easily have been the shadow of a hair-covered mound.
He couldn't concentrate on the screen while the thought kept running through his mind, "She's a smasher . . . wonder if she'll play . . . How are we going to manage it? Wonder if Vi's got any ideas . . . I'll, bet she'll play." he decided as he gave another glance at her vivacious face, her cheeks now flushed from fire and whisky.
It was a variety show on at the moment, and both the womenfolk were giving their attention to the programme, with its usual comics, juggles and acrobats, the latter sufficiently out of the ordinary to call for praise from each of them. But when the actors had run their course, and a play was announced, Vi switched off.
"That's enough of that," she cried. "I'd rather have another drink. Bill, do your stuff."
With rather trembling hands Bill obliged. Was he going to get his wish? He couldn't just pick the girl up and lay her on the floor and poke her, just like that. Well, perhaps he could, but he wanted to do it so that she would cooperate, and come back for more. Better leave it to Vi she'd think of a way . . .
"Talking of doing your stuff, Bill," Violet continued. "You want to get some lessons from those he-men on the television. Now they were men. Did you see the way they picked up that girl and threw her about? Catch Bill doing anything as tough as that, Susan!"
This sounded like the call to action.
"Oh, so you think I couldn't do the same. Even though you do weigh a few stones more than those kids they were performing with. You don't know what you are talking about."
"Don't talk big. Why, you couldn't do those acrobatics with a rice pudding! Just look at him, Sue."
"All right my girl, I'll show you. For a start, I'll take you up and put you across my knee. We'll see whether I can still do that!" And with a sudden grab he caught hold of her by the waist and pulled her against him. She put up a struggle and banged her fists on his back, but he took a firm grip on her and pulled her down upon the settee and bent her over his knees.
"If you want me to be tough, here goes!" Holding her down with one hand he yanked up the hem of her dress with the other, laying it over her back and starting to wield the palm of his hand on the tempting globes of her butt, now attractively revealed through her tight-clinging panties. He treated each buttock with equal impartiality smartly enough to make her yell, but more in encouragement then anything else.
"Ow, stop it, Bill! Can't you take a joke? Rescue me, Susan, come and lend me a hand. The girl was drawn into the scrum till, what with Violet's flailing legs and arms, and Bill's secret assistance, Susan's skirts weren't in a much better state than her own.
Smack . . . smack . . . smack . . . He was warming to his task, and already he could feel his tool rising in sympathy, till Vi begged him to stop.
"All right, you he-man," she cried. "I give in this time! I surrender!" Till rather reluctantly he let his arm fall, and they all began to get their breath again.
"My," exclaimed the sister." Do you often get at one another like that?"
"Not often in company," laughed Vi. "Look at the way you've messed me all up, Bill and Sue too. I say, Sue, I couldn't help noticing, are those the new panties you got from Marks and Spencers you were telling me about. Let's have a proper look. They look sweet!"
" 'Course not, Vi . . . not just now."
"Don't be silly . . . don't take any notice of Bill. He won't mind, will you, eh?"
"Chance would be something. Let's have a peek, sis."
"No, not with you around . . . it wouldn't be right."
"Silly billy, we're going to see those panties whether you want us to or not. Bill's not worried about seeing his sister's undies . . . are you, Bill?"
"Well, I used to see her getting into the bath, years ago. I'd like to see how she's developed anyway. I saw a nice pair of legs in that struggle, at least." Taking a cue from his wife, the pair of them caught hold of Sue before she could struggle away.
"Well, Sue, if you won't show us yourself, we'll have to do it for you. Hold her arms while I undo the belt."
And in a trice Violet had unpeeled the white belt and was pulling down the zipper which held the black skirt around her hips. In a second she had pulled it to the floor, and for the first time he could get a proper look at the sweetly curving legs and thighs, most of which were now in full view below the frilliest of sheer panties.
Her hands were fixed but not her tongue. "Don't be such a horrid beast," she cried. "What d'you think you're up to? Vi . . . Bill . . . for heaven's sake stop it."
But that was the last thing they would do . . "Brassiere to match, I'll be bound," commented Vi. "Have a look, Bill." With fumbling fingers he pulled the buttons of her blouse undone and peeled it from her shoulders.
"Sis, he cried hoarsely. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of . . . You're lovely. Let us have a real look at you. How you've developed from the slim kid I once knew." And with Vi's approving look on them, he bent down and stifled any further protests by pressing his mouth bruisingly on her lips in a burning kiss.
Vi made the most of her opportunity by deftly un-clipping the fastener of the bra, and a moment later, despite the assault of Sue's kicking feet, had eased the flimsy panties over the curve of the girl's hips and slid them down to her ankles. Bill felt the warmth of the girl's almost-naked body even through his own clothing, and the insistent throbbing of his prick as it pressed tight in his trousers so close to the girl's nude belly.
He drew back his head for a moment. "Why Bill . . . you mustn't . . . it isn't right . . . Vi . . . it's wicked of you . . . it isn't as if . . . "
"Don't be sore," whispered Violet. "Don't think of him as your brother . . . just think of him as a man. You'd do something to any man . . . and Bill's no angel."
Her hand caught one of Susan's and brought it down to the telltale bulge where his rampant tool bid fair to burst from its covering.
"See, you're so lovely, he can't help feeling that way." Her fingers ripped open the buttons and pulled out his prick and had it in her fingers before the girl knew what she was about.
Half-carrying her, half-dragging her, Bill got his sister over to the settee again and lay her down. The girl gave a shiver as the cool cushions met her bare body, but it was a shiver half of fear, half of anticipation. Did they really mean to carry it further? She hardly realized now what was happening, it had been so unexpected, but here she was, stripped naked by her own sister-in-law, for her own brother to . . . surely he wasn't going to . . . fuck . . . her? She must fight it . . . she must . . . And yet, Bill was something of a he-man, and hadn't she sometimes even dreamed of just such a thing happening? And in any case his great prick was right now hammering against the lips of her cunt, and, she had to admit that those lips felt moist and half-open and there was a fire burning within her that could only be quenched in one way.
She was vaguely aware of Violet bending over her, of fingers softer than a man's playing around the velvety lips of her quim, sliding up and down and spreading the plentiful lubrication around the entrance. Then those same fingers parted the lips which were already opening instinctively, when she suddenly gave a wrench backwards.
"No, you mustn't . . . " Again she protested, but there was a different note in her voice. "Don't let him . . . what if . . . he might give me a kid!"
"Don't worry, dear, I wouldn't let him do that. Didn't you feel me push something up your fanny? Just relax and enjoy it, instead. You've got something worth while when you've got this inside you!" Again she set his purple-headed shaft fair at the target.
This time there was no withdrawing, as Bill followed up his advantage with a steady pressure, and he felt his rod slide gradually into the warm moist sheath.
"This is it, Sue," he whispered hoarsely. "Just give . . . give . . . Ah, I had to do it!"
For a time she lay there, half-reluctantly, resenting this unnatural invasion; but soon the regular rhythm of his prick greasing into her put other thoughts out of her head: it was simply a case of a man's tool in her slit a slit that enjoyed having a man's tool to grip on to and in spite of herself her hips began to respond to his movements. Sensing her response, Vi was quick to follow it up, and she bent over Susan's face to kiss the girl's half-open lips, to play her tongue inside her mouth in a distracting embrace; at the same time she ran her hands over Sue's nubile curves, fondled her panting breasts and, taking the erectile nipples in her fingers, squeezed and pulled at them in a way that could only excite the girl still further.
Sue's protests had now given way to murmurs, sighs of rising pleasure, to be joined with Bill's own contribution of moans of enjoyment. His jerking loins increased their pace, his rod was now grinding right in to the hilt, then pulling out to the steaming tip, back and forward. The novelty of the situation titillated his already sensuous nature in the same way as it was now doing to Susan, and she had the added pleasure of feeling inside her a longer and thicker prick than she'd ever had before.
"Can't hold on much longer," cried Bill. There was no need. Vi knew by the way her eyes had turned up, by the expression on her face, that the girl had already spent at least once.
"Go on, Bill. It's quite safe. Give your little sister a shot of your come, show her you can flush her chimney as well as the next chap!"
Susan's eyes opened and they heard her whisper, "Yes, Bill, do it! Let me feel you spend into me . . . I can't help it. Shoot your spunk into your Sue, you dirty bugger . . . AAH. Here it comes. Ooh, Bill, right up little Sue's pussy . . . Bill . . . Vi . . . aren't we WICKED! Aah . . . but . . . it's . . . nice!"
Her head fell back into Vi's lap, while Bill lay in the saddle until the last jets of steaming come had shot into the welcoming furrow, till he too relaxed after the mounting crisis, and lay back trembling with excitement and success.
For a while neither of them spoke, overcome as they were by their senses and the significance of their act. It was Vi who broke the silence.
"Darling . . . bless you. This calls for another drink, and this time it's my turn to get it," and before the exhausted couple on the settee had quite recovered their breath she had brought over three more doubles and made them take a swig. "Susan, you didn't mind really, did you?" she said. "I'm not a bit jealous, and I want us all three to be natural together. You do understand, don't you?"
Susan, half between sobs of exhaustion and relief, managed a laugh. "Don't worry, Vi. It's over now anyway . . . and I must confess I have sometimes wondered what Bill would be like as a lover. Now I know! Oh, Bill, what can we say?"
"Nothing, sis, except I hope, here's to the next time!"
"Well, we'll see," she countered, "but not tonight Josephine. I just want to sit here and get used to the idea. Besides, it's not fair to Violet. Bill's had a lovely fuck I know he had 'cos I can still feel his sticky stuff running half out of me you filthy beast, Bill and he made me come deliciously more than once, even when I felt I didn't want to, but Violet has not had anything."
"Never you mind about that; Bill's good for another play on his flute, once I've got it in tune." And her hand went down to the so-named instrument, which, alas, was hardly in a fit state for much music at the moment. "Perhaps we can play a duet on it, Sue. Let us see!"
So, as Bill luxuriously sipped his whisky, with his wife on one side of him and his virtually naked sister on the other, he watched first Vi and then, after only a little hesitation, put their cool, comforting fingers around his slack tool.
"You've certainly taken your toll of Bill's prick," commented his wife. "There's not much room for anything else once you've got that tucked under your top, is there, Sue!"
"No, you're right. I don't suppose I'm much of an expert compared with you, but it was the biggest piece of meat I've had in my basket!"
"Oh, Susan, what a funny way of saying it. Still, it does look like a bit of meat. Especially this lump at the end. See, when I tickle it just here, he can't resist it. There, what did I tell you? Up she comes! Now you run your fingertips up and down along the blue veins, and then watch it grow."
"Oh, Vi, you're incorrigible," said Bill.
"Maybe, but you love it, you know. There, I told you. Now look at it, Sue, sticking right up at us randy as ever, as if it hadn't had a fuck for a week. Oh, Sue, you're right . . . it isn't fair, you two have had all the fun so far. Come on, Bill now give your wife a taste of that meat in her basket!"
And jumping up, she hastily pulled open the buttons that fastened her frock from hem to neck and threw it on the floor. Her petticoat, such as it was, quickly followed, and before Sue could help her Vi had peeled off the frail garments that were doing duty for panties. The rest, she decided, didn't matter.
"Move over, Sue," she cried. "Come on, Bill, show your little sister how you've been treating me these last ten years we've been married."
"Ah, and a few good years before then, I'll bet," commented the girl.
Bill needed no second invitation. In any case, the sight of his wife, brazenly lying back on the settee, her thighs as wide open as they would go, knees drawn up, would have put steel into any blade. This time there were no preliminaries. Placing the tip of his rosy instrument fairly on its mark, he thrust home good and hard till Violet caught her breath ecstatically.
She was ready for him. Knowing each other so well, their routine was at the same time familiar yet always thrilling; more thrilling tonight when with one hand Sue sharpened their pleasure by taking Bill's generous balls in one hand and pinching them maddeningly, and with the other sending a questing finger beneath Vi's bouncing bottom to send it as deeply as she could into the tight rear entrance.
Their climax could not long be delayed. With skill brought from long practice husband and wife gave a perfect demonstration of a joint spend, each working in harmony with the other down their love juices, to bathe and flood their heated parts and come and come again till their emotions were once more assuaged.
"All square at the second hole," said Bill quietly, when he could once more talk coherently.
"Yes, and enough for one night, too," said Vi. "This young lady has got to get home this evening, once she can recover her legs, and I must get her something to take the odor of drink away."
"Better," agreed Susan. "Dad's very tolerant, but I don't want to spoil things. Besides, I must get cleaned up somehow. Look what a mess I'm in." She laughed as she pointed to the tell-tale, glistening lines down her thighs.
"Okay love, come along with me to the bathroom; we can both do with a cleaning. Bill, you can tidy the room up when you feel like it!"
Ten minutes later the pair of them reappeared, dressed once more.
"Now I think you'd better go, Sue," Vi was saying, "but you will come again . . . for another . . . television show, shall we say?"
"Mm, perhaps I will," said Sue. "Goodnight Vi . . . "Goodnight, Bill, and, with a wink, "thanks for the buggy ride!"
CHAPTER THREE
It was quite a while before they saw anything of Susan at Acacia Road. Violet had telephoned once or twice to try to make another date, but without success. The truth was that, after that first memorable evening together, when her own brother had not only poked her in the presence of his wife, but she had actually enjoyed the experience and finally encouraged him, the girl was feeling the pangs of remorse.
Her head was full of this new turn of events when she made her way home that night, and her body relaxed after that initial encounter. As she went to bed she had felt excited, stimulated, by the knowledge that her brother and sister-in-law not only thought of her as a fuckable relative, but had put their feelings into practice.
But the next day doubts had clouded her mind. Her body was quite ready to try it again, but her conscience held her back. For a time she ignored the messages she got from Violet to go around there. Finally she made up her mind that perhaps it would be best if she saw Violet on her own and talked the thing out. "I'm all mixed up about it, sis," she had confessed. "You were ever so nice, both of you, but somehow I don't feel we ought to do it again you took me by surprise, after all. All right, I will come around and see you, but only if Bill isn't going to be there!"
So they arranged that she should go around the following Wednesday. Bill, of course, heard all about it. He had been pestering his wife to arrange another date so that he could try his strength again, as he put it, and if he'd had his way he would have been in the house, perhaps behind a curtain in the room while Susan talked her heart out. But Violet said that would not be fair. She's promised Susan, and she'd keep to her word. All the same, she didn't see what there was to stop Bill coming in after Sue had arrived. Give her a bit of time with the girl, and chance what might happen next.
After that first time, Bill had enough confidence in Violet's ability to leave it at that, and on the evening in question he made it his business to be out of the way in good time.
In due course, Susan entered. She was obviously rather tense and ill at ease, so Vi produced the inevitable cup of tea and sat her down on the settee that same settee where she had wrapped her legs so willingly around her brother's back, and gave her, her head.
"Oh, Vi, I've been thinking over what happened . . . last time . . . you know, and I really have felt awful. I can't think what came over me . . . or any of us."
"You mustn't let it worry you, dear. We're both terribly fond of you can't you see that now. It just followed naturally enough."
It didn't seem that Sue was going to be comforted merely by words. Violet put her arm around the girl and drew her closer to her, as she sat by her side. Sue nestled her head against Vi's chest comfortably. "There now," Vi said, "just relax, love."
"You're ever so kind, and I don't want to make a fool of myself. I suppose other people have done the same," mused Susan. "Perhaps it isn't so serious after all. I wish I knew."
"Well, we all enjoyed it, didn't we?" said Violet, to the point. "And no consequences. I promise you, Bill and I won't let you down. You just lie there for a bit. I tell you, Bill likes to get his head down there sometimes. He says it's nice and soothing. Trouble is, it usually doesn't stop there. I could surprise you if I told you the use that Bill puts my titties to when he wants to."
"How? How do you mean? I must admit, they're lovely to let my cheek lie against. Your breasts do feel nice, Vi . . . I wish mine were better developed and swelled out like yours, and yet I wouldn't like them to be soft and droopy."
"But why should they? You say you like mine here, they're not soft or droopy, are they, now?" Quickly Vi unbuttoned her dress, right down to the belted waist, and unfastening the clasp of her brassiere, let her glorious mounds project into view. It was true, though they quivered as they moved, in no sense did they sag, rather jut out proud of their swelling magnificence.
"Just feel them. Tell me if they feel soft," and she brought Sue's hand down to take in the ripe flesh within her palm. For Susan to test properly was for her to pass her hand, first over one snowy breast, then the other. To satisfy herself thoroughly she had also to investigate them to the very tips, touching with her fingertips the browny red crinkly ring and especially the ripe nipples that sprang into life as her cool hand contacted them, jutting out flinty hard and rosy.
"I . . . wouldn't mind if my titties grew like these," whispered Susan. "Big but lovely and springy. I know the boys love it when they see a pair, and when you bend over you can feel their eyes trying to peep down the top of your dress. I suppose we can't help it, being made the way we are, the men liking us like that."
"Too true, and Bill adores mine. He doesn't need any excuse to massage them and he says that sucking them makes the tips grow harder."
"Like . . . this?" asked Susan hesitantly, and she brought her head down till her lips were brushing against the beautiful globes.
"Go on," urged her sister-in-law, and she put her hand behind the girl's head so that her lips made contact with the tingling nipples themselves. Her slight encouragement soon had the girl greedily sucking and nibbling at the tempting morsels, and she showed no sign when Violet carefully peeled off her blouse from her shoulders, and as she was innocent of a bra, began to squeeze and mold her slighter, but nevertheless attractive breastworks.
"Bill calls them his United Dairies," said Violet with a little laugh," and he told me the other day . . . after . . . afterwards . . . how nice he thought yours were, too."
Sue drew her lips away, serious again. "Yes, Bill of course -"
"Tell me, dear, you're not still worried about that. He wasn't the first man, after all, was he? I bet you are quite an experienced performer, really. Can't you tell me something about it?"
"Well, perhaps . . . Not about the first time or so, because I hated that, and besides, there are some things I must keep a secret. There was one chap though, you wouldn't know him, I met at holiday camp last year. I wish I could meet a few more chaps like him!"
"Tell me!"
"Well, this fellow, Reg., we got to know one another pretty well after the first few days you know I liked him so much, I guessed it would soon get beyond the usual stage of kissing and all that. I'd already let him feel and see my titties, and somehow, when he had put his hand up my legs and let his fingers grope about among my hairs till they reached my pussy, I didn't mind like the way some boys had done. He seemed different, somehow, and instead of stopping him, I moved one leg to make it easier, and it wasn't very long before he'd got his fingers to the lips of my cunt and was working them up and down the lips till they were all wet and beginning to open. And when he reached up to the little knob and began to twitch it between his finger and thumb, I knew that if there was anything else he wanted to do I could not stop him.
"Well, as I say, he soon had my blouse open and my bra undipped, and my skirt was all wrinkled and up to my thighs. Reg begged me to get undressed, and I was too thrilled and excited to say no. He made me feel different from the way I'd felt with some of the local fellows, and I was really randy by this time.
"I would willingly have peeled off my things for him, but somehow I wanted to make it last, so I told him he would have to undress me instead. Was I very awful?"
"Go on, Sue. I know exactly how you were feeling."
"Well, as you can guess, he was hugging and kissing me, and taking my breasts in his hands, stroking them so tenderly not like these brutes I've met around here. They're in such a hurry and they hurt you so. He kissed my nipples until they were almost sore. Then he unfastened my skirt and pulled it off and made me lie on my back. He left my panties on for a little longer, so that he could go back to my tits again they can't be so bad. He liked them OK, anyway . . .
"He gave me such a hot kiss on the lips first with our tongues meeting you know then first one breast, then the other, taking the tip full in his mouth and rolling his tongue around it and sucking away. Oh, it was lovely . . . "
"It's lovely when you do it to me, too, Sue, but I want to hear the rest of it," said Violet.
"Well, he let his lips trace all over my body as far as he could go, and I loved it. I could feel shivers run through me, and when he reached my waist he looked up at me with such an expression. I knew just what he was asking, and he could tell I meant yes.
Though Sue's story was preventing her from carrying out her own kissing and sucking of Vi's responsive globes, her hands had resumed their attentions, and in response she thrilled to the touch of Vi's experienced fingers on her own steely-tipped breasts. Vi's left hand was around her shoulders, and now the other, which for a few moments had been as if accidentally smoothing down the girl's linen skirt, paused for a while at the hem where it lay well above her knees, and retraced its passage up her leg again, but this time along the cool smoothness of her nylon-stockinged thighs, beneath the rustling petticoat, to the contact with the bare flesh itself.
If Susan noticed, if she objected, she gave no sign. Rather, with this encouragement, she continued her story.
"Well, after that, his fingers went to the elastic waist of my panties, and began to ease them down, and he didn't even have to ask me to help him as I eased myself up to let him slide them over my hips. Oh, Vi, it was a beautiful sensation to see and feel him uncovering me there before his very eyes, till finally he had taken them all the way down and pulled them over my shoes. Then he stood back as if to take in the picture properly. He let his eyes take me all in, as I lay there, with nothing on except my stockings. I couldn't help it, Vi,,I let my legs fall apart so that he could see even more right up in between my thighs to my hairy pussy and up to my quim. I didn't care, I wanted him to see everything. And I knew he could see it, too. Just to look at his trouser front, and the great bulge sticking out. He watched as I opened my legs a bit wider, and I could see the thing move."
Vi's hand was moving too. It had crept up and up Susan's thighs till it was contacting the beginnings of the crisp hair, till it had eased still further to the warm haven itself, searching through the curly tangle to where its very warmth betrayed the girl's sex, pulsating again as it had done as she lay before her boy friend.
Dearly Vi would have loved to have felt a similar hand stealing up to her own cunt, so agape and moist and expectant, but she did not want to break the spell. If the girl volunteered it, well and good. Otherwise she must be patient. Bill would be home soon, and surely her patience would be rewarded.
"It was a good thing he didn't stand there like that much longer, or I would have wanted to take his things off him in return. Much more quickly than he had undressed me, he was stripped, tearing the things off and getting down to me so that I didn't have time to get a proper view of the thing that I had caused to grow so tremendously.
"I felt his body against me, throbbing with eagerness, as I was. I felt his weapon lying between us, pressing against my body. His mouth was covering mine again, his tongue darting between my lips. His hands were running over my naked body, and I had to touch his tool, I had to. It was as big as any I had ever felt, and so lovely and smooth, as I let my fingers slide up and down its great length.
"While he was once again nibbling and sucking at my tits, I had drawn the skin back over his swollen knob, and had felt underneath for the big bag among the thick growth of hair. I can't tell you who taught me the trick, but with the tip of my finger I just tickled the top of his tool where the opening is. He gave such a shudder and stopped playing with my tits.
"I couldn't wait any longer. I drew my legs up under me, ready for him, and I started it myself, I kept hold of his weapon and rubbed the end of it up and down my quim a few times. It was all wet and sticky, and then he pressed forward. He seemed to be right up me before I knew what was happening. I was so wet myself it was easy enough. I could feel it tunneling inside me, and my cunt seemed to give way to it and then grip it again. How we had both been longing for this moment, and how quickly it was over, we were so het up.
"I'd never done it before, but this time I wanted to take him right in as far as possible, and I got my legs over his back and gripped him there, like you did Bill . . . that night. It was all over far too soon, the best fuck I ever had. As soon as I felt him stiffen I began to jerk my bottom up and down to meet his bumps. Then his hot spunk shot into me, and I let myself go too. We just jerked away against each other till I reckon we drained each other dry. Oh, Vi . . . it was lovely . . . "
They lay there together for a few minutes, Susan's head against Vi's chest. Vi's fingers still contacting her quim. Then Susan spoke again.
"Oh, Vi why did you let me tell you all this ? All my secrets . . . And just look at us lying here . . . "
"Darling, I'm glad you did. It must have been lovely, and you made it so exciting, I couldn't help letting my hand see for itself. You've made me feel so hot, too. I was hoping . . . "
"Yes?"
For answer Vi caught hold of Sue's hand and, tossing back her dress, placed it firmly between her legs. Patience be blowed, they were both too worked up to worry any longer; from the state of affairs in Vi's slit where her fingers were playing eagerly over the juice-moistened lips of her open cunt, Susan wasn't in a condition to object if she demonstrated that a little reciprocal treatment would be welcomed.
Besides, she was pretty sure she had heard the front door quietly open and close, which meant Bill had come home, and this time, she felt sure there would be no resistance on the part of the girl.
Nor was there. Once she found her hand inside the flimsy protection of Vi's inadequate panties she responded willingly, sliding quickly to the focal spot and greasing over the quivering flesh that lay gaping open for her caresses. As their hands moved feverishly up and down over each other's mounds they began to wriggle and heave about to attain the greatest possible contact.
Vi caught Susan's head and drew it around until her mouth was opposite her own, and their lips met in a burning kiss. Their tongues touched silently, they pressed their bodies together till the points of Vi's breasts were crushed against Susan's own mounds.
For a while it was heaven just to lie there. And for
Violet there was the added satisfaction that she felt sure Susan had been won for good, for the enjoyment of both Bill and herself. And there was the knowledge that Bill was here, in this house again, and that this present enjoyment would soon be heightened by the fun of a third party that this response of woman to woman would be stimulated, varied, but the addition of a man's company, a man's rougher hands, and above all, his throbbing, vital organ.
But with all these thoughts passing through her mind, she was still not content to leave things as they were.
This game of playing with her sister-in-law, this leading of her on to a point where there could be no return, well, for a start she had embarked on it largely to please her husband. There was nothing missing from their own sexual relationship nothing but they were both of them open to experiment, and when Bill had dropped the first hints, she had agreed to do what she could to set things in motion.
For a start it had been for Bill's sake, although that first evening had certainly been fun for them all.
And again tonight, when she had promised to try and win Susan over for good and all, it had been rather in the way of a challenge than anything else. But now, with the two of them on their own together, the game developing into something more. For a while she had been in complete control of the situation. But Susan had begun by playing right into her hands, even supposing she had ever been likely to be awkward a second time.
But, what with that more or less innocent interest in each other's breasts, and then this getting Susan to tell her story certainly in a more graphic and titillating way than she had thought or hoped for, Violet was now finding herself awakened to a state that could not wait for Bill, or any other man, for that matter, to assuage.
The action of playing with Susan's twat, the liveliness of her anecdote, fairly routine and ordinary though it had been, had kindled her own sexual instincts, never sublimated, it is true, till once aroused, they were all demanding. The very fact that for so long she had refrained from asking Susan to play with her own sex to compensate with what she herself was doing had brought her to a higher pitch of emotion.
In a way, Susan had begun all this, and Susan must finish off. As they broke from their torrid embrace and lay back for a moment, Vi followed up the girl's reaction by putting her hand on her head and gently but firmly pressing it down.
She opened her legs to their widest extent, pulled up the dress to her waist so that her shapely thighs warmly curving above her nylon hose were displayed to the point where the brief panties scarcely covered the heaving mound of her sex. And she bent the girl's head down and with a hoarse, strange voice whispered, "Kiss me there . . . "
Whether Susan was any stranger to lesbian exchanges she did not know, but she was thankful to realize that, far from reacting against this invitation, the girl was quickly on her knees between her sister-in-law's wide open legs and had in a moment yanked down the last barrier between her and the older woman's musk-scented sex.
The touch of the girl's lips, the contact of her hands as they felt their way to the vital spot, at the same time brought to Violet some relief, yet acted as a further flame to the heat which centered on her sex. As Susan's mouth pressed against the open cunt lips, sliding juicily over the wet, eager surface, Violet realized to her joy that the girl was no novice to this so personal a pleasure as her tongue darted out and penetrated inside her quim and ran up and down the opening of her slit she felt she could relax and savor to the full this sensuous delight; no longer did she fear that the girl might be afraid or embarrassed by this open invitation, and comforted by the thought, she put her hands on Susan's head to hold it in place.
At that moment the handle of the door turned and Bill quietly entered the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
For a minute or two the two women were unaware of his presence. He stood there in silence, feasting his eyes on the stimulating scene: his wife on the settee, her head thrown right back, her eyes closed in enjoyment of Susan's caresses, her magnificent breasts bare, heaving up and down as she caught her breath although the sight of them was so familiar he could not help still be proud of the twin globes, or note how vigorously the purply-brown nipples jutted out from the dark surrounding circles, as if they had just been receiving special treatment.
Her heels were now lodged on the edge of the settee, her thighs splayed wide apart, her dress in a bunch around her waist. And Susan his sister was squatting on the floor, her head fixed between Vi's legs, her face pressed against his wife's grateful sex.
He could picture the situation which had led up to this tableau and realize how Vi's sensuous nature had got the better of her, and he noted gratefully that if Susan had any hesitation about a second visit, her inhibitions seemed to have completely vanished.
The silence of the room was disturbed only by Vi's sharp breathing and sighs of pleasure, and the succulent noise of Susan's lips against Vi's cunny.
But Bill could not remain a passive spectator of this scene. As quietly as he could he slipped off his jacket and undid the belt of his trousers -but the sound was enough to disturb the pair of love-birds on the settee. Vi opened her eyes with a start for a moment she had forgotten Bill's presence in the house. Then Sue's wet face was turned around in a guilty rather frightened look.
"So that's the way you go on when my back's turned," laughed Bill. "Like a couple of dirty bitches."
Susan hoped he was only joking, and Vi knew him too well to think he was doing anything else. "Please," she begged, "don't stop now. I'm so randy, Bill, and she's so sweet. Sue, darling please lick me again suck my cunny till I come I . . . want . . . to come . . . in . . . your . . . mouth.
"Fair enough," said Bill. "But I'm not being left out of this. There's enough of Sue on view for us both to have our fun. How about it, sis? Are you going to let your brother take a poke at you? I bet your quim wouldn't mind a little diddling on its own account."
"Oh, yes, Bill . . . if you want to."
"But no regrets this time, young lady," he went on, kneeling down behind her and raising her buttocks with the palms of his hands.
"No, not again. From now on, I shan't mind what you do either of you!"
If she had wanted to say any more she could not. Brusquely Vi had seized her head again and squashed her face to her cunt. To show her acceptance of the situation, Susan turned her attention to the throbbing clitoris, which under her stimulation had grown into independent life. She began to lick the little button and nibble at it till Violet moaned with delight.
Bill's approach wasn't made any easier with Susan's position, but as he thought to himself, he'd been in tighter holes before now. The length of his prick grooved along the furrow between Susan's buttocks, and for a moment Bill was tempted to try a direct assault on the rear entrance, but thought he had better play safe for the moment.
So the rigid shaft pressed further forward, to find that Susan's cranny, like his wife's, was ready to welcome a visitor. Dewdrops had long been forming inside Susan's quim and by now the entrance was bathed in her distillation so that the head of his tool was eased gently into position. He gripped the fleshy cheeks of her butt more firmly and raised her up as far as he could without dislodging her from her preoccupation with his wife. In this way he was able to press his tool further in. Despite its length he could not thrust it in to the depths, as he dearly wanted to do, but he had the satisfaction of feeling the ridge of his rigid tool rubbing against Susan's clitoris, and the significant wriggle she gave her ass told him he was on target.
Of course the girl couldn't give voice to the pleasure this assault was giving her, for her mouth was crammed full of hair and sex-odor and Violet's generous spendings, but Violet was sighing and moaning for both of them, and Bill managed to bring himself to a not very satisfactory spend as he felt Susan gush her come down over his tool.
Not until she had drawn down the last drop of pearly dew from her sister-in-law's crevice did Susan give up, to flop back on the rag and relax in full enjoyment of this unexpected triple charge.
When they finally rallied and were sitting back with a welcome sherry and cigarette apiece, Violet asked Susan, "Well, Sue, you really are one of us now."
"Of course I am, darling. I won't be silly again. I am looking forward to lots of fun with you both."
"I should great well think so. And before this night's out too."
"Well," said Bill, pointing down to his crestfallen pintle. "This thing may be down and out at the moment, but I'm good for another round very soon. I reckon Sue got more out of that last cockfight than I did! And I'm going to leave it to you girls to put me in the mood. The thought of relaxing while the pair of you put some lead back in my pencil appeals to me."
"I knew it would, darling," said Vi. "We'll be giving you the treatment in a little while, but just let's finish this cigarette first."
It wasn't long before Susan had picked up the threads again. She remembered something Vi had said earlier, when she was admiring Violet's tits. What was it now . . . something about what he loved to do with them . . .
"Vi," she said at last, "you know what you were saying just now about Bill and your tits . . . about something he did to them, or you did with them . . . Now he's here, can't you tell me, or better still, show me."
"Good for you, sis," answered her brother instead. "Better still, I've got two pairs of beauties laid bare for my delight tonight. How about it, Vi, why not give my prick a double milk shake, as a special treat?"
This was obviously an idea that appealed to his wife as much as to himself. "Come on then, you lazy old so-and-so. You come over here on this settee and sit down and relax. Sue and I will give you a stand in no time. You just see how he likes this, Sue."
And she settled him to his satisfaction, then piled up some cushions on either side of his legs so that she was kneeling on one side and Susan on the other. Then, holding one of her quivering, outswelling beauties in each hand, she brought them up against the sagging prick that lay upon Bill's thigh.
"You can join us in a minute," she said to Susan. "Just watch the way it responds when it feels my titty brush against it," and she suited her action to words. It was true: as soon as he felt the touch of the satiny skin of her breast against his tool it gave first a little movement, then up a little further; and as she followed its movements with the point of her nipple, it gradually swayed higher and higher till soon it was proudly standing out at a respectable angle to his belly again.
"Now you have a go, sis," she said, and Susan, all too willing for this new form of titillation, cupped one of her own, less generous, though still appreciable breasts and directed the swollen tip to the top of Bill's weapon. It is questionable whether his appreciation of this most sensuous caress, especially as administered by his own sister, was any greater than hers, as she watched his tool grow still longer and felt shivers of delight run from her flint-hard nipple through her body.
Meanwhile Violet, still employing only the appetizing strawberries that crowned her bosom, was tickling first one of them, then the other, further down the ever-growing shaft, not neglecting the generous bag of balls itself.
"Oh look," exclaimed Susan delightedly. "I'm milking him, instead of him milking us!" It was true: the first bead had appeared on the end of Bill's prick, and the action of her handling of her titties was spreading this moist tribute over the now naked bulb of his shaft, and also to her nipple itself, where there was soon a circle of dew which glistened in the light.
"That means he's ready for the next stage," murmured Violet. "Sorry, Sue, not room for both of us this time. Still you can tickle his bull shit. He loves that."
Bill just lay back in deep satisfaction, thrilled to the sight of these two young women arousing his manliness solely by the contact of their breasts against his cock. What more luxury could a man have?
Now Susan realized the truth of Vi's remark, as she watched entranced while her sister-in-law straddled over her husband and with a look that showed her own enjoyment of the arrangement, brought her breasts together around his stiff, hard prick till it was warmly held in her satiny smooth embrace.
Then slowly she slid the fleshy mounds up and down the column, every now and then drawing a nipple over to rub the sensitive slit in his tool with it. Susan stared in fascination as the violet-red tip appeared and disappeared in turn from the top of its pinky-white nest. She had abandoned Violet's instructions for the pleasure of concentrating on this new experience. Soon it was not sufficient for Vi to be making all the running. She realized that Bill was now agitating himself up and down off the edge of the settee, so that in effect he was fucking himself off between her tits.
And it was obvious that the crisis wasn't far away.
"Good old Vi . . . Oh, darling, it's heaven . . . Well, Sue . . . what do you think of our titlark, eh? Oh, it's a lazy way of tossing a guy off, but . . . mmm, sorry, but I . . . must.. . let . . . go AAH!"
Vi gave an extra polish of his rod and all three of them were greeted by the outburst of the first jet of creamy come which arabesqued into the air and hit Vi fair and square on the chin.
"Oh, Bill . . . what a waste," protested Susan. "Let me have it, Vi," and she bent her head over and sank her mouth down on his fountaining prick before any more of his rocket of come could be lost. It was all Vi could do to stay in place, as Susan's lips just managed to close over the spunking knob. She sucked and swallowed, gulped and licked, till every trace of the glutinous tribute had disappeared down her throat, not forgetting the first contribution which Vi had received.
"Oh, Bill! Oh, Vi, that was heaven," she panted when at last she could talk coherently. "Fancy letting all that good stuff go begging. Mm, so that's what you call a titlark. I'm in favor of them!"
"Well, it doesn't always end like that," admitted Vi. "But, I say, where did you learn to suck a prick off like that? You're a regular dark horse, isn't she, Bill? All your talents are coming out now."
"Yes, sis, we guessed you knew what's what, but you might tell us a bit more. Where did you learn the trick?"
"Oh, no. Vi knows some of my secrets, but that I'm saying no more about. As long as I can get my lips around Bill's horny tool now and again, leave it at that.
"And I promise you both, no more silly behavior from now on. You won't have to talk me into it again, Vi, but, all the same, it was fun all of it. What with the pair of you, I shan't need much supper tonight . . . "
"But I wouldn't mind another sherry!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Well, you may think Acacia Road hasn't done badly number 27 at any rate, to show what may be going on behind an innocent-looking facade. A family threesome, eh? Well, they say, two's company, three's a crowd; in that case, what does four make?
Perhaps we shall see.
Oh this particular night Bill was out somewhere gone to see a guy about a motorbike or something so he had told Violet. She was on her own, at any rate.
At any rate, until there was an unexpected ring at the door, and she opened it to find Pa Graham standing there her father-in-law.
"Come on in, Dad? What brings you round?"
"Well, I tried to ring you, but our phone seems dead, and there was a programme on the television that I specially wanted to see. I know you've always said I could come round if I wanted, but I haven't liked to bother you much."
"Don't be silly. You're always welcome. Bill's out just now, but that doesn't make any difference. Come in the lounge."
It wasn't long before she had him installed in Bill's comfortable chair and he was sitting back to enjoy the programme that meant so much to him, though Vi couldn't see for the life of her why it should. She was used to it.
When it was over there was the invitation to the inevitable cup of tea, and Dad was welcome to join her in that, so she went off to the kitchen. Dad was young enough not only to enjoy a nice bit of cleavage on the screen (perhaps that was what he'd asked himself round for, she wondered), but was a pretty good judge of woman flesh in person.
At any rate she could feel his eyes appraising her as she walked out of the room, and father-in-law or not, it was nice, and she was quite prepared to give her bottom an extra wiggle, and sway those hips till her buttocks filled out the thin material of her dress.
No harm in being friendly.
Dad sat back, looking at the evening paper, when his interest in the racing results was interrupted by a crash and a yell from the direction of the kitchen. He hurried out to see what had happened, and there was Vi, on one knee, picking up the pieces of a cup.
"Butterfingers, eh? Let me help you."
He bent down to help pick up the bits. This was quite a sensible move anyway, because, as he realized, the neck of her dress was billowing forward and he could without difficulty peep inside and glimpse the swelling curves of those breasts that he had long admired, though perhaps at a greater distance.
Not only that, but with one leg tucked under her, the hem of her dress had ridden up to the top of her nylon stockings, and his attention was torn between the chance of actually catching sight of the nipples that could not be far out of sight, and the thought of the short distance between the top of her hose and a cunt that, as Bill in his cups had once boasted, was a bit of all right.
Just then Vi gave another squeal and jumped up again, and the man thought his luck was out.
"Bother," she said, "I've not only broken the blasted thing, but spilled tea all down my dress. Look at the mess."
And she drew the thin material to her to show off the annoying stain, in a way that, to his intense satisfaction, molded her full figure excitingly.
"Sorry, Dad. You'll have to wait for that tea. I must run upstairs and get changed. It's soaking right through." She shot off out of the room.
She was such a long time gone, and in any case he wanted to pay a call, so after a time he made his way upstairs. But the thought of his original purpose went completely out of his head, at the vision that met his eyes.
Through the open door of her bedroom, reflected in the mirror, was Vi a seductive Vi, luscious and tempting. For her dress, tea-stained, was now discarded, and she was smoothing down with her hands the sheer sleekness of a set of black undies, and pausing to adjust the suspender straps and tighten them. They too were of black, and her beautiful body contrasted perfectly with her attractive get-up.
So thought Dad at any rate. He stopped, engrossed in this delightful scene. It might almost have been put on for his benefit . . . as indeed it probably was. At any rate, he couldn't resist calling her name.
"Vi," he cried, in a strange, hoarse voice, and no longer pausing, he made his way into the room. "My, but you're smashing!" Before she could stop him, if indeed she had any intention of doing so, he had taken her in his arms and was pressing his mouth cruelly on her half-open lips, holding her in his embrace, while his hands wandered wantonly over her thinly-clad body.
At last, both breathless, he released her. "Sorry, my dear, I shouldn't have done that, I guess."
"Perhaps not," was all Vi ventured to reply.
"Now I know why Bill raves about you. You may be his wife, but you certainly knocked me back then. Why, I . . . "
But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a sound downstairs. Vi recognized it as Bill's key turning in the lock. Though Bill was prepared to tolerate most things, she didn't quite know how he would act up to finding his father in her room, while she was dressed up in her most expensive and revealing set of undies. So quickly she turned off the light, and signalled to him to keep out of sight which he had every intention of doing.
Then the situation changed for all of them, when they heard not only Bill's voice, but a light feminine one as well . . . easily recognized as Susan's.
"Don't know where Vi can be, sis," they heard. "Probably getting supper ready. You'll have some, won't you? What a bit of luck, me bumping into you on your way round here."
"Tell you what," she said. "Let's give her a surprise. I'll slip off my things upstairs in the spare room, and we'll be all ready for whatever the three of us can think up for tonight."
"I'm all for it, but if there's any slipping off of garments, I'm going to be in on it," said Bill, and they heard the pair of them quietly tiptoeing up the stairs and into the room on the opposite side of the landing.
How lucky Vi turned off the light in time; and how lucky that through the crack in the open door, they had a pretty fair view of what was going on between Bill and Susan.
For it soon became obvious that they weren't going to be content with just slipping a few things off before joining Vi downstairs. Dad and Vi heard the rustle of a dress and a flouncy petticoat as Susan began to peel off, and then her voice.
"Oh, Bill, I can't wait. Let me see that great thing of yours again. It seems such an age since I had it last, and if I know you it's probably all ready for me."
"Oh, Sis, your incorrigible. But you're right. Look, all sticking up and eager to go."
"Just let me get my mouth at it first. I haven't forgotten the last time I quenched my thirst on your horny, spunky great tool."
It started off as a plain sucking session on Susan's part, but Bill wasn't going to be content with the passive part, and with a deft movement, and without dislodging her hold on his prick, he had gently laid her on the bed, and turned himself about to place his head between her crotch, and soon a sweet 69 was in progress only a yard or so from Vi and her father-in-law.
All this wasn't a very great surprise to Vi, of course, though at first she did have a pang of jealousy that they couldn't even wait for her tonight, but it soon passed. Dad took a little longer to take in this unexpected development. He knew himself to be a randy bugger, he thought to himself, and so it wasn't surprising after all that both his kids were similarly inclined, but he hadn't thought of both of them getting together . . . Perhaps, though, it wasn't so strange after all.
But the knowledge of what was going on, and the close proximity of the semi, naked Vi, as the pair of them crouched behind the bedroom door, gave rise to a heat that was demanding its own satisfaction. Especially the way they were at the moment. Violet was kneeling, peeping through the crack in the door, and
Dad was just behind her, his body pressing close up to hers.
He put his arms around her and his hands went luxuriously to those breasts that had so attracted him earlier. Now he could indulge them without fear of contradiction. He knew Vi would not want to stop him or the others in the room opposite, by calling out, so he had things all his own way. And it was clear that after all Violet was not averse to this older man's caresses, to the rough touch of his hands on her tits, to the way they squeezed and molded her nipples and felt the weight of the swelling mounds appraisingly.
She seemed to press her body closer to his, and his quickly risen tool was now butting firmly against her behind. The opportunity was too good to be missed. With one hand he continued his mammary massage, with the other he unleashed the rampant tool from his trousers. Then it was the work of a moment to pull the flimsy black panties to one side to bring the bare flesh of her ample bottom into contact.
Still no outcry. How could there be? Rather, a sensual wriggle of her butt as if in silent encouragement. So he took it anyway. Abandoning for the moment the forward field, he concentrated in preparing the way for a rear assault. He began to tickle the little hole of her ass, parting the mounds of her bottom with his hands, and easing his finger into the hole to explore the possibilities. They were favorable. He guessed that Bill would be no son of his if he hadn't already made many journeys along this forbidden passage.
So much the better for Dad. A little saliva would help all the same, and this he applied both to the acorn-like head of his prick and the area around Vi's butt hole. No reaction on her part meant approval, he felt sure, and when he began to ease the tip of his prick into the little opening, and she seemed to strain her bottom apart to make things easier for both of them, he was sure.
All this time Susan and Bill were getting along famously with their head to tail act, and though they couldn't see as much of the play as they would have liked, they were fully aware of the progress of the comedy by the sound of sucking lips and grunting, panting sighs, which left them in no doubt how the pair of them were thoroughly enjoying the mutual sucking match.
All this was added stimulus to the older man and his transfixed daughter-in-law, for he had found no great difficulty in pressing home his attack till the better part of his shaft had entered her. Now he was properly lodged, he returned to his first delight and clasped her tits and handled them almost aggressively, though, he could tell, to Violet's intense delight, for her bottom was now working in response to the surges of his prick. She had turned her head and they managed a torrid kiss as he bent forward over her, till soon their own sighs as finally he spent into her, while she climaxed her own pent-up feeling by briskly rubbing her cunt, must surely have been heard by the young couple, if they too had not been too far gone in a glorious double mouth-spend.
For a while after that there was comparative peace in both camps, and finally it was Vi who chose to interrupt it. Wriggling free of Dad's constant embrace, she got up and slipped on a wrap before tiptoeing over the landing to the other pair.
The cry of surprise and temporary embarrassment was amusing to her, and their explanations and apologies, too.
"Luckily for you, I can't say too much this time, as you'll see yourselves. Here, Dad, come on in." To their amazement, Dad strolled across the passage to gaze at their half-stripped steaming figures.
"Here," cried Bill, "what's all this about?"
"Nothing, son, except that now I know for myself that what you've told me about your missus is all true. But this time I've been able to judge for myself!"
"Well, I'll be damned. My own father, too."
"Look, Bill, I don't think you're in a very good position to criticize, after all I've just seen and heard."
"What's it matter now, anyway?" said Violet, not wishing anyone to have hard feelings. "We're all in this together. You don't really care, do you, Bill?"
"I guess not, not as long as Susan will be around from time to time to do what she's just done, and then we will all get on famously. She's certainly an expert sucker-off, Dad, this sister of mine."
"I know."
"You what what d'you mean? What's it all about, Sue?"
"Well, you remember the other day you asked where I had my training. I couldn't very well tell you then, could I? You explain, Dad."
"Simple enough, now we're all together and happy. You know, when your Ma died, all those years ago, it was my job to bring your sister up. I was fairly strict with her, too, wasn't I, Sue? If she came in later than I thought was right, I used to give her a great good spanking.
"For a good while it just ended at that, but gradually I began to enjoy the process, and it used to make my tool rise."
"He put me across his knee and I could feel it jerking up and down while he whammed his hand on my bottom," added Susan.
"Well," Dad went on. "I don't know just how it started, but I needed some relief. At first I used to wait till she had gone to her room, to finish myself off. But somehow she cottoned on to the idea that I needed a friendly hand, and this business of punishing her turned into something else, with first of all her taking my tool in her hand and rubbing me up and, later . . .
"I thought of it first," interrupted Susan proudly.
"You did, too. She began to suck me off, until, as you say, she's quite the expert now. But I never suspected that she had got to work on Bill too. What a family!"
"Don't worry, Dad, at least it's all in the family, and more fun at that," said Vi. "But how do you like it, Bill? She's been two-timing us after all, with your old man, too!"
'It's not quite true . . . I never did any more than let him spank me, and play with his old man," protested Susan.
"And the least the pair of you can do," went on Bill, "is to treat Vi and me to a demonstration, and we shan't mind if it goes further than that tonight . . . nor will you, eh, Dad?"
"With Susan trotting around with naught on, and Vi in her underpants, it'll take a lot to keep me from it tonight!"
And they soon had the older man installed on the edge of the bed, and he made a grab at his young daughter and laid her over his knee. This time it was not a question of whacking his hand down on a skirt or even on a pair of well-filled panties. There was nothing but good, honest bottom to take the flat of his hand, and he laid it on good and proper . . . with the girl squirming in appreciation more than anything else.
And it wasn't a question either of dealing with his cock after the spanking was over. Vi wasn't happy till she had caught Dad's prick and guided it between the responsive lips of her sister-in-law's cunt, and as the girl jerked her bottom up and down to escape or meet the old man's hand, they had the pleasure of watching this pair, father and daughter enjoying, before their very eyes, their first incestuous fuck.
But it wasn't likely that either Bill or Violet would remain for very long mere spectators of this attractive spectacle. Bill made the first move.
"Well," he said, "if I've got to take turns now with Dad when it comes to poking your front door, I'll have to take pot luck with what's left." He addressed himself solidly with what was left a bucking bottom temptingly gyrating about just in front of his iron hard shaft. "Hold on, sis. Here we go!
The girl gave a yell when she felt the hard flesh penetrate her own resistant flesh, but she was too far gone in lustful delights to do more than accept this fresh invasion. She could feel her father's tool, about ready to burst, and the walls of her cunt gripped it spasmodically as the muscles of her butt reacted to Bill.
For a minute or so Vi had watched them. She had had some satisfaction from being buggered earlier on by the old man, but her cunt demanded its own share in the proceedings. For a while she had stood in front of the trio, then, first her hand went down to it and she began to frig herself wildly, till a better solution came to her.
Somehow or other she managed to clamber on the bed without disturbing the balance of nature, then, straddling one leg on either side of Dad, she maneuvered herself so that her juicy cunt was right opposite his head. He was no man to turn down an invitation like that.
Still keeping up his bastinado on Susan's bottom, though more weakly now as his attention was diverted, and still enjoying the pressure of her quim on his tool, he nevertheless managed to draw her closer to his face with the other arm, and press her cunt to his mouth, where it needed very little attention on the part of his lips and tongue to bring her spending down, and so the chain reaction ran through them all, come and spunk, sap and flow, in jet and dribble, till, in a limb-entangled heap, the four of them flopped together on the bed in an incoherent, sated heap of bodies, sweating and dripping, but happy in the culmination of a newfound experience for them all.
Still, to the casual passer-by, number 27 Acacia Road bore all the signs of respectable ordinariness.
Who knows behind what other doors, in a score of roads, similar scenes of family life, similar climaxes too, were being experienced? We shall never know.