The Lesser Portal

The next day, being in a state of agitation about the absent tintype, I sat down at the laboratory bench to write up notes of experiments -- a soothing activity. It was another mild but dreary day of dirty clouds and winter twilight, so I was all the more surprised when I heard a female voice singing a cheerful ditty from the back path. If I had not recognised the voice, the words (e.g., "They call 'er the farmer's daughter 'cause she's always chasin' the cocks,") would have told me it could only be Morwena.

As I slipped on my coat Doyle watched me with a disapproving shake of his head, followed it with a wry smile and returned to fractioning coal-tar naphtha.

Morwena was still approaching when I exited the back door. She continued singing as she drew near ("She calls 'im 'er fencin' master 'cause 'e give 'er a little prick,") but favoured me with a grin and a wink.

"What has occasioned your unwonted felicity, my saucy girl?" I asked, returning her smile.

She broke off singing. "Yerwasser?"

"Why so cheerful?"

"Ho, well, life at The Grange is roses an' posies on a sudden, an' all thanks to you, my lovely feller." And she put her arms about my neck to drag my cheek within kissing distance.

"Thanks to me?"

"'Sright. Acause Mrs Cargil 'as took such a shine to me, she p'suaded Mrs T she needed a second maid, and Mrs C got a young niece of 'ers in the job right away, an' a problem shared is a problem 'alved. But I got messages to run in the village, so we better keep movin'."

"But why me?"

"Acos the three of us 'ad such a delightful chat in the old summer'ouse, now the floodgates is open an' she can't keep 'er 'ands off of me fer five minutes."

"And you don't object?"

"Better 'n strummin' me own banjo, in't it?"

"I'm surprised at Mrs Cargil, all the same."

"She asks me, 'It in't legal for two men to do certin things together, is I c'rrect?' C'rrect, says I. 'So I 'spect it's the same for two ladies?' Never a bit of it, says I. An' with that she's all over me like a bucket o' whitewash."

"I suppose she's one of those people who, how can I put it...?"

"Ain't much fussed whether it's a 'ole or a stopper. Ezzackly. Result, I'm landed on me feet. What I never expected when that old 'Andscombe sent me out 'ere among the milky moo-cows."

Handscombe! The man seemed to spring up at every turn. He had lately become a fixture at the afternoon teas at the Doyle household. "How much do you know about Handscombe's life in London?" I asked.

"A bit but not much. And any'ow, we is almost in the village, so we must part, dearest darlin' Fredereek, adew adew." These last words spoken, I thought, in fancied imitation of Lydia.

"No, wait. I need to know all I can about the wretched Reverend Doctor. Maybe you and I...?"

"A council o' war? Certinly. The mistress will be entertainin' in 'er love-nest ternight."

"And I'll be working alone in the lab. Knock on the back door."

"Righty-ho. But afore I go, Mrs C's slipslit 'as got me missin' the masculine touch, so...." And with the ease of long practice she inserted her hand into my coat, down my trousers, and squeezed what she found there before trotting away with another wink.

The time has come to say more about the Rev. Dr. Leontine Handscombe. He is, in a Christian way, a romantic character, having laboured deep in Africa, where he persuaded the natives to adopt three things they least needed, to wit, trousers, the Bible, and temperance -- as recounted in his book, which has proved remarkably popular, and therefore profitable. He next ran a Mission in Limehouse, where he presumably found that, trousers being normal even among the poorest males, he had only two-thirds the work to do, and therefore could spend some of his time in Cambridge, that hotbed of Evolutionism. He is about 40 years of age, above middle height and well-muscled, and his manner has the gravity of one who has survived perils and seen shocking things. As befits a man of action, he shuns the clerical frock-coat, but he wears the collar, and often has a scholarly pair of gold pince-nez (which I believe to be purely rhetorical) dangling on a black silk ribbon against his broad clerical shirt-front. Add to this his mane of curling light-brown hair which sets off his alert sapphire-blue eyes, and a small but interesting scar on his left cheekbone, and you will perhaps understand why I detested the man from the very second I saw him.

That evening brought the expected knock on the back door. Less expected was Mrs Cargil, whom I discovered passionately kissing Morwena. After I had ushered the two of them into the cosy side-room where Doyle and myself discuss our researches, my visitors removed coats and mufflers. Mrs Cargil sat on the sofa and pulled Morwena down to sit on her knee. They playfully rubbed noses, Mrs Cargil giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Now, now, Mrs C," said Morwena, abruptly struggling free to sit cross-legged beside her, "business afore pleasure." She looked up at me apologetically. "Me an' the new maid sleeps on mattresses in the attic, an' Mrs C on a creaky ol' bed in the next room. But the wall's thin, so we don't get our chances at night."

Mrs Cargil contented herself with affectionately stroking Morwena's hand.

I fancy I smiled down benignly on the two novice Sapphists for a moment before I said, "Better get to business, then. Logic suggests that the purpose of the tintype is, at this stage, simply to threaten me, which Handscombe may do pretty soon." I paced the small floor-space as I explained, "Only if that proves ineffective will he make it public, because exposure, however shaming, is the end of the blackmailer's power. Well, I won't live with a sword of Damocles over my head, so I've resolved to force his hand."

"Well done, Doc! That's the manly thing to do. Mrs C, stop distractin' me a minute." Mrs Cargil was nuzzling the back of Morwena's neck. "Stop," the girl laughed, "stop, or I shan't do that thing you likes with me thumb." Mrs Cargil calmed herself.

"Soon I intend to challenge him to a public debate on the Theory of Evolution. Remember, he doesn't know I'm aware of the tintype, which gives me a strategic advantage, since he won't be on his guard against an attempt to capture it. I have an ally who might find a pretext to lay hands on the tintype very soon, and destroy it." I was thinking of Jenny, of course. "But my chief hope is to uncover damaging information about him. Conspicuous virtue is often a mask for vice. Then I can counter-threaten him the moment he starts to blackmail me."

Morwena chuckled. "This ally -- it's not some young lady what likes you ploughin' up 'er back garden, by any chance?" I denied the charge, but Morwena narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and I sat down in the one arm-chair to cover my embarrassment.

"Morwena, you were acquainted with Handscombe before you moved here."

"Yus. But I in't got no scandal on 'im."

"Come, tell me what you know and I may be able to inquire further. You met him in Limehouse, I take it. What did he do there?"

"There was preachin', o' course, but then there was the boxin' club to teach the strappin' young sinners the rules o' manly fair play an' that." Mrs Cargil, after a moment's contemplation of Morwena's ear, commenced pushing her tongue into it. "Oh, do show a bit o' patience, Mrs C." Mrs Cargil was slapped away, but not without a consolatory kiss.

"And did he take an undue interest in the young men? Offer to towel the sweat off their sturdy young bodies, perhaps?"

Morwena laughed. "I wouldn't ha' minded that job meself, but if 'e was one o' that sort, pretty soon the boxin' club would 'a burned down mysterious in the dead o' night." No doubt my face fell. "An' then there was the 'ome for savin' fallen women."

"Ah!" I said, and, "Oh. Did you -- was that where you --?"

Morwena chuckled again. "I in't caught no diseases, mister. See, I met my Johnny at the boxin' club where I was lurkin' in a store-room, from certin people what's out to shut my mouth permanent, an' in all our lives Johnny an' me on'y ever done the rumpy-pumpy wi' each other. Well, I rubbed a few trouser-stretchers before 'is, 'cause friends is good policy when a girl's not safe, but that's all. Till Mrs T made me go astray wi' you, I mean."

I pondered on Handscombe's home for -- prostitutes, to speak plainly. "Was he a frequent visitor there? Did he perhaps spend evenings there?"

"Gossip round Lime'ouse was, 'e just give the place money an' never went in, which was a matter o' interest because of 'ow two-face a lot o' these collar-back-ter-front coves are what come bargin' inter the neighbour'ood. They say there was a printed book kept the money comin'. Someone else must 'a took charge o' the place for 'im, an' the two must 'a met time-to-time, but I don't know nothink about that. Mrs C, you got any opinions on all this?"

Mrs Cargil said, "I do have a raft o' relations in s'rvice in Cambr'dge, sir. It may be one o' them knows someone who has inf'mation on him."

"Splendid. I knew you were an asset, Mrs Cargil. Well, I think that's all I have to say for now."

Mrs Cargil put her mouth to Morwena's ear and whispered something in an enquiring tone. Morwena said, "O' course Dr Frederic won't mind. I'll ask 'im if yer like. Listen, Doc, she'd like yer to get the old bowsprit out, an' I wouldn't mind a squint at it meself."

"Bowsprit? Oh, I see." And I unfastened my trousers and drawers and eased out my engorged virility until it sprang upright into view. There was something about Mrs Cargil's new-found appetite that was wonderfully stimulating.

Mrs Cargil stared at my member a moment, and then positively hurled herself on Morwena, forcing her flat on the sofa so briskly that the girl scarcely had time to uncross her legs. After a smacking kiss from Morwena, Mrs Cargil again attended to her victim's ear with her tongue, and pretty soon she was lusting her groin against Morwena's thigh.

Our snug side-room forces sofa and chair close together. Morwena looked at me, and stretched her arm in the direction of my rampant phallus. I slid forward and her slender fingers clasped around me. Soon they were delivering an exquisite masturbation I could not have bettered myself. Meanwhile she had pulled Mrs Cargil's skirt up over her rump, exposing a pair of broad hips and naked buttocks of an interestingly plump nature, which Morwena fondled with her free hand.

Mrs Cargil's movements grew more and more excited until abruptly Morwena delivered a sharp slap that sent a quiver through one fleshy hillock. "Now Mrs C, which of us is teacher and which is pupil?"

"You are the teacher o' course, 'Wena dearest."

"Then you will do as you is told. Get offer me." Her pupil stood up. "Now, face the Doc and take off yer blouse, yer skirt an' yer shift." Soon the pupil stood before me, blushing but obedient, wearing only grey woollen knee-stockings and a cream woollen vest which she tried vainly to pull down to cover her pubis. Overall her body was a pleasing pear-shape, her legs and ankles sturdy in proportion, and her pubic hair had been trimmed and shaved to a neat triangle, no doubt for the approval of her love.

Morwena was enjoying her authority. "Now, pupil, turn about and let the gen'lman see what yer got." Mrs Cargil hesitated, reddened, and turned. "Now, now. You know the Doc is a chap what likes to trot 'is stallion up the back lane, so give 'im a proper exhibition."

Mrs Cargil leaned right forward, placed a hand on each fair rear cheek, and pulled the crack open, revealing a pink and puckered rear Portal of Venus as fair as any I had seen. She did this only briefly, though -- the display plainly embarrassed her.

"Turn back around. That's my good pupil. An' now lift up yer vest. Right up to yer chin, an' show 'im yer proud o' yer bubbas."

My eyes fixed on Mrs Cargil's breasts with great pleasure, and the fact that she blushed from pink to scarlet somehow increased my enjoyment. True, her breasts had lost their youthful spring, but that only helped me imagine their weight in my hands.

"Now, mister, you sit there an' show Mrs C 'ow much you like 'em." And so I began to toy with myself as I looked at them.

"There, y'see ol' lady, you got a pair as is goin' t' get any man's dangle up, so don't be modest about 'em."

Mrs Cargil hardly seemed to hear. She stood breathing through her mouth, her eyes fixed on my hands and my penis, with her fingers unconsciously stroking her nipples.

This little scene making a mere spectator of Morwena, however, it could not last long. "Mister, sit up straight, trousers and drawers right down, and push that bowsprit down atween yer naked thighs." The point of this puzzled me, but I trusted Morwena. "Good boy. Now Mrs C, you sit on 'im. Face me, an' don't be afeard, nobody's gonner pop yer bridal veil."

Very soon, directed by Morwena, Mrs Cargil's back was against my torso, her legs either side of mine. We leaned back in the armchair, and I was told to pinion the housekeeper's arms firmly. If she had been inclined to resist, her helplessness now made her surrender -- indeed, it put her almost in a trance, her breathing growing heavy and her head lolling sideways.

Morwena pushed my knees apart so that my male organ sprang upright again, meeting Mrs Cargil's female crack with a faint wet slap. Mrs Cargil was resting on my pelvic bones, but her well-upholstered rear was all the padding we needed for comfort.

"Perfec'," said Morwena, kneeling between my thighs. "An' now mister, rock yer arse so yer big little man rubs where she'll feel it."

I found that I could slide my hard organ up and down in short strokes in Mrs Cargil's sexual crack, but this was not enough for the lively Morwena. She drew down my foreskin and pressed her tongue firmly against the most sensitive part of all, called the frenulum, pushing my shaft harder against her lover'sclitoris(as it is properly termed).

Finding Mrs Cargil now in a daze of ecstasy against my body, I released her arms and took hold of her breasts. Gripping her nipples, which were hard as coach-bolts, I squeezed and rolled them while rubbing their tips with my forefingers.

Soon groans of pleasure were emanating from the housekeeper, and she seemed spiritually on a cloud. I fought down an instinct to lift her with hands under her buttocks and impale the orifice which I knew must be wet and open for me. She would have welcomed it at the time -- but regretted it afterwards. Morwena, now pressing my shaft with one hand and moving my testes in the other, began to flicker the tip of her tongue against my frenulum. And next she commenced sucking the head vigorously. Almost at once I began to feel an ejaculation gathering in my crotch, and managed to move faster. The knowing girl placed her soft wet tongue flat against my penis-head as I rose and fell. I was on the brink of ejaculation -- somehow she knew -- the firm tip of her tongue was flickering against my frenulum -- and then I was spurting my seed as far as Mrs C's chest and unconsciously crushing her breasts in my hands, which fierce treatment seemed if anything to heighten her ecstasy.

As my tumescence subsided, Morwena took me in her mouth and sucked up the last drops of my semen while I looked down fondly at her black-brown hair. Then, holding my seed in her mouth, she sucked up the rest from Mrs Cargil's body. Next she took Mrs Cargil's head between her hands and pressed her dark lips to Mrs Cargil's paler ones. Finally she knelt upright and looked into the face of heramourwith curiosity.

By the sound of it Mrs Cargil was now savouring my semen. Meanwhile she put her hands over mine and pressed my grip to her breasts, as if this helped her concentrate. Then she swallowed, and said, "It's a liddle salt, and an odd s'rt of a taste like nothing else I can think of." She chuckled, "I won't be asking cook to flavour Mistress' porr'dge with it, that I'm sure. But knowing it's juice from a you-know-what -- well, that does so'thing nice to my woman-parts and no arg'ment."

"She wanted ter watch it come out, and also she asked me what it tasted like," Morwena explained.

I was now in that relaxed state where all seems well with the world and my company seemed the best in it, but Morwena was inclined to be brisk.

"Now, Mrs C," she said, "me an' you 'as been away from The Grange long enough. The other servants will be gossipin' if we're not back sharpish, an' we mustn't arrive back at the same time neither."

"But 'Wena dearest, I've not been satisfied," Mrs Cargil pleaded.

"No buts, pupil. Clothes on and be on yer way."

By the time Mrs Cargil was on the very threshold she was her old sensible self. She turned to me and said, "One piece of advice, sir. If you have any friends who won't des'rt you if you tell them about the tintype, tell them soon. Then they will have time to consider what to do if it all comes out, and they'll r'spect y'r honesty and courage, if nothing else."

Until Mrs Cargil had gone, Morwena remained on the sofa. Then she sat herself on my thighs with her dress pulled up to her waist. She explained, "I keeps 'er unsatisfied acos it keeps 'er biddable." She peppered my face with a few greedy kisses, and a certain wetness where she rested on me reminded me she too had not been satisfied.

"If you can stay another quarter of an hour I'd be happy to start serving you how you deserve, you extraordinary girl."

"Temptin', Doc, very. But I can see me endin' up gettin' back later'n the mistress, an' that's no good." She took my half-limp, but still enlarged, manhood in one slender light-brown hand. "Y'know, Doc, this bein' such a prize specimen is why you've a shot at beatin' the Reverend."

I laughed in puzzlement. "I dare say mine's bigger than his, but as far as I know there's no relevant class at the County Show."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I don't know whether yer ever noticed, but when a person 'as a appetite for somethin' they wants bad, they starts dreamin' o' getting' a deal of a lot of it. Yer droolin' 'ungry fer tripe-an'-onions, yer wants a washbasinful. An' all the young ladies never 'ad even a inch o' pork-piston, so they dreams of -- somethin' -- big -- as -- this." And she emphasised the last words with shakes of the organ in question. "So offer it around an' you'll make allies. But 'owever, if yer wants ter show some gratitude just now, give me pearl button a quick polish afore I go."

And so she draped her arms around me and panted in my ear while I masturbated her to a conclusion which, to judge by her gasps and whimpers at the end, was satisfactory. And then she left, and I am not ashamed to record that I felt a touch bereft, despite the great difference in our social standing.

As for "that thing with my thumb" that Mrs Cargil liked so much, I must leave it to the reader's imagination, for I never discovered any more about it.