Chapter 11

Jim pottered around Mr Crowfoot's study. The old man had gone out, leaving Jim to his own devices. He had the choice of returning to his flat or staying and looking at some of the many items or books in the room. Jim chose the latter. He opened a cabinet and examined the collection of dildos. It was extensive with so many displayed. He smiled as he saw the winged dildo, remembering flying it around the room; the double ender that had been in both Sophie and Jenny; he went so far as to pick up the pre-historic one made of antler and wonder who had used it all those millennia ago.

What had the dildoes been used for and who by? What pleasures had they brought forth? The room itself raised a similar question. What had gone on there in the past? Mr Crowfoot had told him something of his own 'exploits' and had hinted at what his father might have done before him, though it had sounded like Mr Crowfoot did not really know.

Another cabinet, one containing many books stood adjacent to the cabinet of dildoes. Some of the books, from their titles, were clearly of a salacious nature. Jim looked at the cabinet. Well-made and solid, in a highly polished Honduras Mahogany, the shine betraying Annette's hard work. Jim smiled, Annette did more than polish the furniture, she polished Mr Crowfoot's knob as well until it shone! It would be good to get her polishing his knob but, alas, it was not her day to be cleaning the house.

Jim was a little puzzled by the thickness of one shelf; it was the bottom shelf, yet the thickness seemed structurally unnecessary. He had heard of secret compartments in furniture, recalled his mother had one in her old bureau. Could there be one here? A feeling about, a careful examination and then a click. The mechanism so cunningly hidden but there it was; the wooden front of the shelf had slid forward revealing a shallow drawer and a book resting within. A blue, leather bound book. Jim took it gingerly. What was this about? Why had it been hidden?

Opening the book revealed it was a diary, a diary handwritten in a fine flowing hand. Not a diary with dates and appointments but one in the Samuel Pepys mould. An account of day to day happenings of note, thoughts on all sorts of matter and a record of a man's life. There was no name at the front but as Jim read it became clear it was the diary of Mr Crowfoot's father; the dates somewhat revealed that fact, as did the occasional mention of 'young Archibald.' Naturally Jim was hopeful of some more explanation of the room and, as he settled himself upon the Chesterfield to read, he had hopes of reading about titillating sexual exploits. He was much more rewarded in the latter than the former. At somewhat random he began to read what looked a promising passage, Tuesday 5th May 1908:

'Today my dear wife and I entertained Mr and Mrs Gregory Soap and their daughters. Mr Soap has long confided in me his appreciation of his two sweet daughters. I am not one to condone incest, but he is excused as they came to him from a previous marriage. From all accounts Lieutenant Tranter had been a lusty young officer and his then wife, the present Mrs Soap, had no complaints in the bedroom. Her anguish on losing him on the battlefield in India -- at least not from disease - must have been great, leaving her with two twin daughters not three years old.

The Widow Tranter had fallen to Mr Soap's advances not a twelvemonth later. He too had had no complaints with his new bride in the bedroom but there had been no further issue. Boarding school and his own business had meant he had not seen much of the girls growing up but now they were very much grown and blossomed -- very much to his delight and interest. It was, most certainly, not a desire he could reveal to Mrs Soap: but it was a desire he revealed to me. Sensible fellow!

How pleasing it was to be able to offer assistance to an old friend; the more so as I could see mutual advantage in the arrangement; I expected no recompense other than the opportunity to enjoy his daughters with him. I even expressed a long-held desire to examine Mrs Soap without the encumbrances of clothing. We had a very good conversation on the subject. Very enlightening. Mr Soap was somewhat disbelieving when I revealed the magic of my chamber of delights.

My excitement was considerable. I had not met the two daughters before. Such a charming pair of young ladies, so demure and polite, so sweetly innocent -- I could tell. All of eighteen years. Dear Annabelle...'

Jim looked up from his reading. Presumably Annabelle was Mr Crowfoot Senior's wife and Mr Crowfoot's mother. He had wondered before what exactly happened to her in what Mr Crowfoot Senior, rather accurately, described as the 'Chamber of Delights;' a rather pleasing phrase. How 'in' on it all was she?

'...gave me the sweetest of smiles when they arrived. She well knew what was in my mind. I had not expected to find one girl dark and the other so fair. Immediately I wished to know whether their nether hair matched their charming heads; was immediately thinking of parting that lower hair, holding their legs apart and spreading their hairy lips to see the virginal delights within. My gaming staff swelled at the thought and I well wondered whether their dear 'papa' was similarly aroused now his lustful thoughts might come to a reality. Ha! The pearly shower! Could it be he as well as I, were both standing, with sizeable and solid cocks, taking tea with thoughts of spending across the sweet girls' fur? The prospect of standing with Soap, our twin staves pointing at the two girls as we prepared to reveal their charms so very congenial. The very thought has the same effect as I write. I must expose and stroke!

As I had requested, my dear wife took Mrs Soap from us; an entertainment had been arranged, the hansom cab ordered leaving the two girls unchaperoned. But what did that matter with their dear papa there to look after them? Indeed!

"Come," I said to the two daughters, did they not look so sweet sitting together, "I have some picture books in my study that I think will entertain you whilst your papa and I talk of the affairs of men." The look my friend gave me was most gratifying. It was clear he understood me.

The picture book was such an exquisite shock to them. So, on their faces. It was my 'woodland book.' The pictures starting so innocently with a few prettily dressed girls and finely dressed boys in a wood having a picnic; there is dancing and then, shockingly the boys kissing the girls.'

Jim looked up. It was, it surely was, the very book Mr Crowfoot had shown him before he had gone in naked to discover Miss Rachel Redmond. That had been an unbelievable, quite remarkable experience. Walking in on his ex-teacher stark naked and sporting an erection. He had not seen all the pictures in the book but could imagine how shocking even the ones he had seen would be to such apparently innocent girls as the, as yet, unnamed daughters. And it had all happened in this very room. Upon the Chesterfield where he was sitting. To have travelled back in time and joined Messrs Crowfoot and Soap... what would they do? He read on:

'The young girls kept looking up towards us as they examined the book, but I pretended not to notice. Soon their gasps of shock turned to giggles as they turned the pages. My intention not to suggest to them that we might play the games with them so delightfully illustrated, but to encourage a natural moistening of their virgin cunnies ready for Soap and myself.

"If you find that book tedious," I said -- so pleasing to see their startled looks as I addressed them, they perhaps thought I had given them the wrong book, "do feel free to nap. The Chesterfield is comfortable. Yes, do slumber, I shall tell you when to awake." The chamber -- the wonderful chamber -- had its effect, no sooner had I said the words that both young ladies were fast asleep.

I looked at Soap. He was open mouthed at the suddenness of the slumber. I had thought he might find it more congenial to have his daughters asleep for the unveiling of their charms. I was worried he might become perturbed and unable to carry through with the plan if they were awake -- however compliant, yes willing, the chamber made them.

"How" -- he ejaculated. I smiled and said I did not know. How true that is. Grandfather Crowfoot's secret. He did not confide in me -- still less my father. Father would not have approved; he was not the old rake Grandfather was; not a single jot.'

Jim paused. So not even Mr Crowfoot Senior knew the secret of the room, it went back to Mr Crowfoot's great grandfather. How intriguing. How annoying! He had not stumbled upon the secret. He had rather been hoping he would. Maybe later in the diary. Maybe later Mr Crowfoot Senior does discover. But the present diary entry was much too interesting to race ahead. What would the two of them -- Soap and Crowfoot (senior) do with the girls? It was so like Mr Crowfoot and him with Sophie and Jenny. Jim licked his lips, for a moment imagining bringing two sisters into the room for Mr Crowfoot and he to disrobe and... Jim read on. What would they do?

The moment had come for Soap. I asked him what he wished to do. Did he wish to unbutton first; did he wish to rub his stiff sinew across their pretty faces; did he wish us to dispense with our garments before disrobing the girls; did he simply wish to raise their dresses and be at them?

"Would you prefer to be alone," I asked, "call me back at your convenience -- but call me you must!"

He demurred, he did not wish me to leave, but stood there foolishly. It seemed to me he was all unmanned by the reality of his desires coming to imminent fruition. I had no such compunction!

"Come," I insisted, "undo your buttons, bring your staff out into the light. Surely you have crept into their room at night and watched the girls asleep and extracted yourself from your nightshirt and..."

"No, never."

The fool, I thought! "Imagine you are doing just that. And you know neither Mrs Soap will disturb you, nor the girls inconveniently awake." It was obvious the idea greatly pleased him. I suggested I should fetch a nightshirt. He shook his head and reached for his trousers. I mirrored his actions. The presence of our exposed gaming pieces in the room, there with his daughters, seemed to stiffen his resolve. Ha! His resolve looked stiff enough to me! Soap approached the girls, his cock hard and pointing. I could see Mrs Soap would not have been disappointed by his prick however manly the late Lieutenant Tranter had proved to be. It was a fine fowling piece.

He stood there, above his two daughters, his knob shining and swollen, clearly relishing the moment. And then he moved, as I knew he would, to touch their lips, brush and caress them with the soft touch of his cockhead. They did not stir.

"You have done it, Soap," I said. He had passed a line.

"Yes, Crowfoot, most certainly." Soap was perspiring freely. I could see that. Clearly moved by the experience. He invited me to do the same and I was not loath! I relished it. The dear papa encouraging me to touch his daughters' lips with my bell end. Even better when I saw I was already sweetly leaking. A wetness, a glossiness appearing on their full and soft lips.

"Crowfoot! My word." I saw his prick jerk, clearly my actions had excited him. He returned to stroke again across his daughters' lips. I could well believe if Soap did not exercise restraint, he would very soon cover one or other of their faces with his spunk. Much as I would have relished the sight, it was not what we were about. Our respective ladies would not be back for some time. The intention was clear: enjoy the young girls' charms both with the eye and the cock. To me the relish of enjoying young female flesh: to Soap a worse desire.

"Come, Soap, they are your daughters, you disrobe them, I shall merely assist."

As the many pages before will testify, I have enjoyed many women in my chamber of secrets, but I confess this was an exceptional experience. I enjoy disrobing women, take a great pleasure in the slow unveiling but watching Soap gave me a particular thrill. Perhaps it was the taboo nature of what he was engaging in, though why should a father not undress his daughters? Only he was undertaking the deed, fully dressed of course with his portly stomach pushing out his watch chain, his winged colour up around his pink and perspiring neck, but with his equally pink and certainly swollen, lather maker out and most certainly and quite clearly interested in taking a turn in Cupid's alley!

Soap handed me garment after garment, and I was careful to place them in two piles. What a lot of clothing these women wear! Slowly but surely young bodies were revealed as if ready for the bath -- or for bed!

Let me describe Dorothea first and then Patience. Soap had them undressed at last, ready for the twatting. He was standing idly, stroking his creamstick, seemingly having forgotten about me and was deep in contemplation -- as if he was, indeed, standing by their bed in his nighshirt wondering what to do. What to do! I would know.

Dorothea so dark of head, whereas before all had been hidden, now her rounded bubbies were there to be appreciated; sweetly small like perfect halves of oranges. Ha! Not grapefruits; and with redcurrants not cherries for nipples. You would have thought her younger but for the most excellent dark bush growing in profusion between brown thighs. Thighs that were close together. Warm flesh against warm flesh. "Open her legs, Soap," I cried, "split her beard!"

The man came out of his reverie and did as I asked. What a wonder to behold as he eased Dorothea's thighs apart, her crack opening and not a little frilly pinkness poking through. The thought that this was all virgin territory! Should I let Soap scout ahead?

"I must taste, Soap, I really must. But after you, you be the pearl diver first."

"No, Crowfoot, I am your guest. Please, you take the first sip from the cup."

"No, I insist."

It was hot in the room. Anticipation makes the pleasure the greater. I chose to remove my trousers and free myself of any incumbrance whilst Soap stood foolishly, standing upon politeness.

Patience was different from her sister. Indeed, if one did not know, then the family resemblance would not have been obvious. Her breasts not round but full and shapely with the most delightful upturning, so like the noses of my two Pointers, though, unlike my dogs' noses, they were not yet wet, but certainly they had the look of testing the air, sniffing to see what was about. And neither were they black -- Patience was not as different from her sister as that! Taller and more the willow than her sister and, whereas her breasts were full and womanly, she did not show the pubic growth of her sister. Not the lush undergrowth but more the barren plain -- barren but for a deep valley! Not a completely denuded mons veneris; rather the plump mound was dotted with the occasional, so fair and fine, wispy curls. Soap took one leg and I the other and we opened her flower. So pale, so delicate, not the profusion of pink petals like a tea rose but more the small delicacy of a dog rose -- with morning dew resting upon them. How poetic! My book had excited Patience's young femininity. There was no mistaking that.

Soap had talked of the first sip of the cup -- but which?

Jim shook his head. What a scene. Had it happened on this very Chesterfield? Which side had Patience sat and which side Dorothea? Mr Soap with his cock out of his trousers and Mr Crowfoot without trousers. The two men so excited at the awful thing they were doing. Jim felt it appropriate to release his own cock from confinement. To join the men from long years past. It was best to stroke as he read. The account was arousing -- very arousing. His own cock was hard in his hand.

I chose Dorothea, leaving Soap the younger looking of the twin minges. The choice hardly a permanent one!

"Trousers off, Soap, don't be shy!" The man complied.

"Shall we -- shall we dine?" The delightful obscenity of it. The way Soap looked at me with his eyes sparkling and then he licked his lips. Wolfish -- yes wolfish with the early grey coming to his sideburns and his canines just showing as he his replied in the affirmative. His grey suit echoing the wolf's pelt. The man standing there without trousers and his cock, peeled and proud. We knelt, knelt between the young bare thighs.

Civilised man, no longer the cave-man tearing flesh with his teeth and bare hands, dines at table with table cloth and cutlery appropriate to the dish. He does not snuffle and growl, his face buried in the dish like the wolf, but sits upright and elevates morsels of sustenance to his mouth with decorum and grace. Soap and I were not civilised. We did not look at the other but rather at what we were 'eating,' we could hear the other; we soon could hear the licking sounds, hear the wet noises -- slurping even of what we were doing. Indeed, somewhat the Neanderthal.

My tongue began at Dorothea's knee -- ah, the smoothness of female thighs. The soft skin beneath my tongue as I made my way upwards, the young girl scent becoming stronger. To touch my nose to those soft curls, rub my cheeks against them, push my face deep into her bush and then seek the secret valley with the tip of my tongue knowing I was an explorer in virgin territory, a real Allan Quatermain. Beside me the sound of wet snuffles. Soap had not had my restraint. The wolf's chops were already at his prey.

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