Maudie: revelations of life in London

38
CHAPTER FOUR

Near the Barbican is a London street of which one would not expect great possibilities. All the busy city traffic roars by at the street's end, but in itself it is very unobtrusive.

There, in a large, rambling, old-fashioned house, Charlie Osmond had established what he liked to call his 'office'.

Ugly enough to look at from the outside, the 'office' was not without attractions within.

Photographs-though not so elaborate as in Maudie's own studio-were conspicuous, and the furniture, especially the two lazy divans, were very comfortable, and suggestive.

Here Tubby paid the rent, and here Charlie presided, when he was not travelling in search of his models.

Maudie had a tiny suite of rooms on the top floor, with a staircase leading on to a flat roof.

She sat there one evening, waiting for Charlie, who was due home with, she hoped, further prey.

The hum of a motor made her look over the low parapet. It was Charlie, and the closed car disgorged four little cloaked figures, and Elsie.

Maudie went down, just pausing on the way to telephone Tubby's club the one mystic word 'Tenuc', which, as all our readers possibly know, is backslang for cunt.

Charlie came into her room.

'I've got four little peaches, all from the north. The last is a hot 'un, and no mistake. She had to sit on my knee as the car was so crowded, and, oh, Lord, I have had a horn! I thought my poor John Thomas would burst.'

Maudie laid her hand lovingly on it and it sprang into being again.

'I'm sorry, dear, I can't oblige,' she said, 'because I'm unwell, and very badly unwell. I daren't when I'm like that. Shall I suck you off, or will you have Elsie?'

'Well, don't think me a beast, darling, you know how I love you. I'm so damned randy that I feel I must have a good square fuck. Oh, God, take your hand off, or I shall come in my trousers.'.

Maudie rang, and a neat little, semi-flapper maid was sent to fetch the fuck-to-be.

'Another thing, I'm expecting Tubby, and he still thinks I'm true to him, bless him.'

'On the sofa, Elsie, and quick, the poor boy's randy.'

The pretty girl put her tongue out saucily, got quickly on the broad sofa, and pulled up her clothes to the waist. 'My word, you have got pretty legs,' said Maudie; 'I believe they're more perfect than mine. Let's measure.'

She pulled up her clothes.

'Oh, for God's sake, come off it,' said Charlie. 'I haven't had a blow through for a week. Neither of your legs is as fine as this,' and he produced his throbbing member.

It certainly was a very fine one, and it had been admired all over Europe. They've got a model in clay of it in Suzette de Vries' place in the Rue Colbert. On his birthday it is hung with ribbons.

'No time for taking down trousers,' he said, and in a twinkling his arms were clasped round her shoulders, and her shapely calves were twisted round his thighs.

Maudie slipped her hand between them to see how close they were.

They might have been a single being. There was not the usual commingling of hair, for Charlie was now shaved, in deference to Maudie's wishes, and Elsie, of course, was too.

They hardly moved. Most of Maudie's friends were adepts at what she called 'thrill fucking'. That barred the rough piston-like 'in and out' thrusts, and the consummation was reached after a delicate succession of clasps and pressures and limb thrills. Elsie, her hands beneath Charlie's coat, tickled his spine. His hands massaged her back. Their eyelashes met in gentle titillation, and their tongues played softly with each other's. Maudie, sitting alongside-the couch was very broad-gently smoothed Charlie's head.

'Oh, I say, y'know, Maudie, you ought to lock the door. It's damned indecent, y'know, Maudie. I've got some fellers with me, and they might have come in, dashed awkward, y'know.'

Tubby's voice seemed quite concerned.

'Don't be jealous, fat-head, you're going to have a genial afternoon.'

'Good, oh! I say, who's the artist on top in the fuck?'

'Only me, old son,' grunted Charlie.

'Then buck up, laddie,' said the fat man, and gave his bottom a sturdy smack. 'I want to hear what's going to happen. Fuck on, Macduff, and get it over.'

Charlie finished with a deep sigh, and uncoupled.

'Now then,' said Tubby, 'I've got fellers waitin'. There's old General Fitzhugh, randy as a bull, and young Phil Learoyd, just down from Cambridge, and that poet chap with the longhair, Claude Lestrange: he's been making poetry all the way down.'

'I'll just run down and see the kids,' said Maudie. 'Charlie'll explain.'

'Buck up, old sport, then,' said Tubby; 'shove your cock in, and tell us all about it. Elsie, run along and syringe: we don't want you with your belly up.'

Charlie explained briefly that he had got some girls for more photography.

'They're all north country-Newcastle hinnies, and the eldest knows above a bit, I think. I've had some new shaped razors made for you in Sheffield. They couldn't think what the devil I wanted them for.'

Maudie met the girls in the little waiting-room near the studio. They were examining the "pictures with interest.

Charlie certainly had done well. Four sweetly pretty faces met Maudie's pleased gaze.

The eldest and tallest, a brunette, had an almost Spanish face, rich, ripe red lips, and a haughty poise. She was the relic, perhaps, of some Spanish Armada prisoner who had dropped his love-stick in a Northumberland wench.

The other three were about the same height. One had a mass of Titian red hair, and the extreme pallor of skin that goes with it.

The other two were blondes, obviously with Danish and Norse blood in them, both with clear blue eyes.

They were all daintily clad. Charlie had stopped in Manchester and seen to that. The eldest had her skirts just below the knee, but the others showed the kneecap, and a fringe of pretty frou-frou underclothes.

They were all consciously proud of their obviously unaccustomed finery.

Maudie kissed them, found out their names, made a fuss of them generally, and gave them tea.

She was alone for a moment with the eldest girl.

'Say, mum,' said the latter, 'I'm no kid, and I can see that we weren't brought here only to be pretty artist's models. Now, I'm game for anything, and I expect the others will be. They can't read or write, so I'll do the writing home to their mammas; that'll be best, won't it?'

It certainly was sensible, and Maudie was very glad. There had been times when she had been a bit nervous.

Likewise, which was very awkward, there was a little disaffection in the camp. May had fallen frankly and openly in love with Charlie, and was obviously jealous. Charlie did not reciprocate, but Maudie could not afford to have a split, and had almost to beg of him to afford her occasional embraces. If May chose to give things away in the outside world, it might be very unpleasant. They were always prepared for flight, motors in readiness, and a big steam yacht, but they did not want to have to fly.

Charlie and Tubby went down to the 'office' or studio. General Fitzhugh was tramping round the room, fiercely twisting his moustache, and ejaculating, 'Ra!' at intervals, as he spotted anything particularly tasty in the photographs.

Tubby's undergraduate friend sat meekly, rather uneasily, on a divan, and the poet wandered soulfully about, humming faintly.

'Ah, general,' said the poet to the old officer, who was very closely examining the life-size portrait of a fascinating young lady, which gave particular emphasis to her vagina, 'ah, general, a tempting subject:

How sweeter than the horrid clash of arms, The contemplation of those naked charms.'

The general sniffed: he did not like poetry, or poets. 'A dashed fine young woman, sir,' he snorted.

The poet persisted: 'Dost thou not yearn, O son of Mars, to thrust The vibrant signal of a lusting man Into yon fragrant arbour, there to place In form of sperm ambrosial, a fair child?

Dost thou not-'

But the general turned on him. 'I don't know what the hell you mean, sir, by all that tomfool nonsense, but if you've the accursed effrontery to call my cock a "vibrant signal", I'd have you know that the word cock has been good enough for the Fitzhughs for generations, sir. "Vibrant signal", indeed, you'll be calling my arsehole a railway tunnel next.'

'Oh, sir,' protested the poet, 'tis but poetic licence.'

'Then you ought to dashed well have your licence taken away and, look here, if by "fragrant arbour" you mean that young person's cunt, I'd have you know that the Fitzhughs call it cunt, sir, and always have. My father called it cunt, my mother had a cunt, I came out of a cunt, and many a cunt have I stuck my good cock into.

'''Fragrant arbour"! there's a damned good stink attached to some of them, and I like it.

'And don't you refer to my good spunk as "ambrosial sperm", or I'll toss myself off in your eye, and let you know whether it smells ambrosial or not.'

Tubby, overhearing, laughed aloud.

Directly afterwards, Maudie, followed by her flapper recruits, entered. The girls stared about them in amazement, all save the eldest, who frankly grinned, and returned the old general's ogle with interest.

Elsie entered with a friend of Maudie's, a middle-aged, Anglo-French woman, whom we have not met before in this narrative.

She was a Madame Rade, and had been an actress. Still the amount of money she had made, not at acting, had enabled her to consult her growing corpulence and retire.

She was a jolly woman, very sexy, and there was very little wickedness she was not up to, and expert at. It was she who had taught Maudie the art of the 'thrill fuck'.

With her came her adopted niece, a very typical French flapper. Her skirts were short and plaid, her boots, on her slight, delicate legs, were very high and elegant, and her rather long hair fell in two plaits down her back.

Madame was educating her for the stage, equally for a life of smart prostitution, and she was having her taught several languages.

'I have seen so much money lost by charming tarts,' she said, 'just because they could not talk any language but their own. After all, fucking is very nice indeed, but a man does like a little love chat, and a student of nature does like to be interested. There's one new brothel in Berlin where the girls have regular lessons every day.

'Those girls do score over the lassies whose conversation is limited to phrases such as, "You fuck my cat: oh, such a nice cat, only ten franc."'

Madame Rade had not let the girl go wrong yet; she wanted a big price for that precious virginity, but there was nothing the little darling didn't know. Her greeting kiss to Charlie was by no manner of means virginal.

Maudie had explained to the girls that the studies would be in the nude, and that they mustn't mind being inspected by quite a number of artists.

The assembled men were introduced as artists, and then one of the girls was told to undress. She rather timidly asked if she was to do it there, or was there a screen.

'Here, of course, darling,' said Maudie; 'you'll soon get used to that. Never mind your shoes and stockings this time. We only want to see the upper part of your figure now, so that we can tell what sort of picture you'll do for.'

Charlie had bought very pretty underlinen indeed, and as the upper garments slid away the little darling was a scrumptious sight. The poet sighed voluptuously. He was about to burst into song, when he caught the general's eye.

'Oh, one thing,' said Maudie; 'I forgot, dearie; have you any hair on your body?'

'Yes, a little, mum,' she replied.

'I'm afraid, then, dear, that you must let that be shaved off.

You see, all our pictures here are without hair. It won't hurt you: don't be frightened, and this gentleman,' pointing to Tubby, 'is quite an expert, aren't you, Tub-Tub?'

Tubby grinned; he had been examining the ingenious razors which Charlie had brought from Sheffield: no wonder the good Messrs Rogers had been surprised. They were in several shapes, and no steady hand could do any possible harm.

'Oh, yes, it must be done,' said Maudie, as the girl stood naked with a sea of frou-frou undies round her ankles. The poet could not resist it: 'Child Venus rising from the sea, No crested waves could fairer be Than those sweet frills:

Oh, daintier than-'

'Young man,' said the general, very severely, 'during the Mutiny I had men blown from the cannon's mouth for less than that.'

Maudie patted the blushing girl on her naked shoulder, and led her to a big chair, with a front extension, something like a dentist's.

She lay back, her bottom raised on a cushion, her legs wide apart.

Tubby approached with his tray of instruments. The poor girl shuddered, and involuntarily closed her legs.

This was too much for the poet. Waving his hand first towards the girl, and then the general, he declaimed: 'Back, ruthless youth, oh, spare, oh, spare, I crave, That down ethereal. Can'st thou dare to shave The rippling foliage of the Venus Hill?

Turn rather HERE, and thy vandal will On this brave warrior, used to clash of steel, HIS manly forest clip-'

'By God, damme, sir,' roared the general, 'if anyone dares to lay one finger on my bush, I'll cut off his cock and balls, and make him eat 'em, damme, I will.'

Before the poet could answer, a small voice chirped up: 'There once was a general brave Who refused his cock whiskers to shave, Till the crabs that he got Made him clip off the lot, And didn't that general rave.'

It was the young Cambridge undergraduate: the first words he had spoken.

The general did rave.

'Crabs, sir, crabs, you insolent puppy! Look here, sir,' and he ripped open his trousers, showing a flabby penis, fringed with grey-white hair; 'crabs, sir, I'll give you a thousand pounds if you can find one. '

'Oh, la! la!' ejaculated Madame Rade.

'1 apologise: I apologise, ladies,' said the general hastily. 'I had forgotten your presence.'

He put back his penis.

The young man said he had meant no offence, and giggled feebly.

The patient, consoled by Maudie, opened wide her legs once more, and Tubby operated.

First he ran lightly over the slight downy bush with a clipper, then lathered it with some sweet-scented soap.

Quickly, with a small razor, he slid off the top part of the bush-the girl had very little. Then, with rounded razors, he removed the soft, glossy down just beginning to show between her legs. When she was quite bare-shaved, Maudie and Elsie brought a basin of sweet-smelling liquid with which Tubby anointed the girl.

Maudie and Elsie withdrew a little, and Tubby was left gazing at his work.

An added pink tint to the shaved parts of the flesh seemed to accentuate the roseate beauty of the cunt itself.

A little demure debutante of a flower-bud it seemed, half shy to open, half conscious of the beauty that should spread to give its honey to the expectant bees of mankind.

The little audience was very silent; Tubby seemed to hold the key to the situation; something was expected of Tubby.

He came to life all in a second, tore off his clothes, pirouetted nakedly in front of the nymph, like a porpoise on heat, and threw his head between her thighs.

The dainty little legs curled instinctively over his neck; the watchers could see his tongue dart into the moss-bare orifice-and the watchers could also see Tubby's by no means inconsiderable penis distend itself alarmingly.

It throbbed in time to the darts of his tongue: it was like a conductor's baton guiding the strokes of that first violin of lust- his tongue-and his buttocks heaved with it, suggestive of an accompaniment of brass and drums.

Suddenly the girl's legs tightened, a happy cry escaped her, and her fingers tattooed on Tubby's head.

For a moment he was quite quiescent, muscles flaccid-penis, even, semi-rigidly dependent.

Then he sprang up, gave a loud cry, and fell upon his penis with his own hands. Two convulsive grips, and he shot a stream of semen amongst his audience.

Then he blushed all over, tomato red from forehead to toe, and, forgetting his clothing, fled from the girl's side.

'The paean of Silenus,' murmured the poet.

Quickly Elsie sponged the nymph's cunt, wiped dry the rosy lips of love's portal, all humid with the juice of rapture, kissed her on the forehead, playfully slapped her bottom, slipped a Japanese kimono on to her, and beckoned another.

Meanwhile Tubby had hidden portions of his shame with a towel, and was endeavouring to hide his confusion amidst a whisky and soda and Charlie's loud laughter.

'Damme,' he expostulated, 'I couldn't help it, damme if I could. Those sort of things come on a fellow so damned sudden like, y'know.'

'Oh, Onan, Onan,' it was the poet's voice, 'turn'st thou in thy grave, to see thy foul example impulsed by a shave of dainty flappers' cunts-'

But Maudie shut him up.

'Quiet, now: here's another flapper for Tubby-come on, Tubby.'

Tubby went forward to the attack: his hand a little shaky perhaps, but with a determined glint in his eye.

It was the red-haired girl.

And the Titian glory that covered her head scarcely eclipsed the flaming beauty of the curls at the pit of her stomach. Her absolutely dead ivory white skin seemed literally to have burst into flame between her thighs and in her armpits.

She sat back in the chair more confidently than the first one.

'No, no, damn it, no,' cried the general, 'it's a wicked cruel shame to cut that off.'

'I agree,' said the poet, 'let, madame, let, that flame torch of love remain.'

The general opinion seemed to be the same.

'She shall be the one exception to the rule then,' said Maudie.

The pretty girl got up, seemingly a little annoyed that she had been deprived of Tubby's attentions.

The oldest of the girls, Jeannie Taylor, came next. She was more mature, and her figure was almost a woman's. "With frankly lascivious eyes she smiled on the onlookers, and lay back on the chair with a tempting wriggle.

Her skin was olive in tint, a pretty contrast to the scarlet of her nipples, scarlet which rivalled her lips. The hair on her body curled jet black, rich and luxuriant, almost covering the red lips of her cunt.

Tubby saw, as he brushed back the hair, that the moisture came trickling to the lips. As he looked into her eyes he read lust incarnate, and he could feel a throb of desire as he touched the skin.

Once more his member asserted its manhood, as he knelt, delicately razing away the hairs; it flung up its head, casting aside the guardian towel, and when, the shave completed, the hairs and the lather washed away, he looked at the now fully viewable cunt lips, pouting and swelling, almost seeming to talk to him, he promised himself more than a mere kiss this time.

He did kiss it, and had gone so far as to get one knee on the chair between hers when he was interrupted. Maudie didn't want her own particular golden-goose Tubby to get too fond of this sort of thing-with others. 'We haven't much time, my Tubby,' she cooed, 'so that'll keep for the present. Next lady forward please.'

The young undergraduate from Cambridge gave a heavy sigh of relief. That he intended to be his own bit, if possible.

'Next,' repeated Maudie.

'First lady forward, second lady pass, third lady's finger up the fourth lady's arse,' hummed the young undergraduate, Phil Learoyd, in remembrance of some alleged ballet instructions.

Tubby stepped back, and Charlie lifted the pretty girl from the couch, and left her to wander among the others, mother naked as she was.

There was no question of the fact that the absence of hair was as becoming to her olive skin as the presence of it was to the fiery-haired beauty. Charlie couldn't help thinking how lovely it would be to see soixante-neuf between the two and mentally decided that he would arrange it.

Tubby, his frustrated cockstand erectly grinning at his fat stomach, sulkily refused to shave any more, and Maudie took the last girl in hand herself.

This last had perhaps the daintiest figure of the quartet, and she was the subject of the first photograph. The magnesium flashed and the naked loveliness was transferred to the film. Once more the flash, and Charlie felt sure he had a beauty, the red-haired girl and the dark one clasped in amorous embrace, arms and legs intertwined, bodies pressed tight together, and the glorious Titian red tresses mingling with the equally voluptuous raven hair. It was only a suggestion of wild eroticism-Charlie meant to keep his soixante-neuf tit-bit till later.

The party broke up, and the word was given out to set forth for Staines and the joys of Rosedale.