Chapter 17: “If I sat on the floor and took my stockings off?”

Klapp Tropical camera

Journalist Edmund Molloy has asked his newspaper's photographer, Smaile, to obtain some cameras for him for an expedition to South America to look for dinosaurs. Part of Smaile's price was a photographic session with the beautiful expedition clerk Daisy Thompson, who has just spent the night with Molloy, after a three way encounter including Edith, the expedition leader's wife.


The next morning I woke to find Daisy’s sweet face gazing at me from the adjoining pillow. 

“Hello!” she said and kissed me.

“Hello, lovely Daisy!” I said.

“I’m glad you are awake as I need to piddle and didn’t want to wake you by getting out of bed!” she said.

“You should have done.  No need to make yourself uncomfortable!” She hopped out and took the pot from the nightstand.  She sat in full view once more, rather than concealing herself behind the screen. I watched her, leaning over the edge of the bed.  She grinned at me when she had finished, as she wiped herself between her legs.

“Your turn!” Daisy then watched me perform, attentively. We hopped straight back into bed afterwards.  Daisy kicked the blankets down with her feet, despite it not being that warm in the room, and slipped between my legs so she could start sucking me, as I had become erect as soon as I finished pissing, just thinking about the lovely naked girl in bed. I stroked her head and thought about my different prospects for the future.  Edith, of course, was married and twenty years older than I was.  Agnes had thrown me over and I suspected that even taking part in the expedition wouldn’t materially change her opinion of me.  But Daisy.  Daisy was perfect.  So sweet, yet so uninhibited.  Could Daisy really be my sweetheart, in reality, rather than just in her decoy role for the press?  More than that, perhaps, eventually. Would she even want to be?  Or was I just another penis for her entertainment?  She seemed quite experienced for a girl of her age.

“Kiss!” I said.  She popped off me but continued to stroke me with her hand as she wriggled up my chest and kissed me on the lips.  Her mouth was so wet and soft.  I felt her guide me inside her and then she started to rotate her hips over me.  She sat up and looked down at me, smiling, as she slowly undulated over me.  I reached up and gently grabbed her soft globes.

Mmmn!” she sighed. We continued like that for some minutes stroking and kissing and fucking.

“I’m going to come!” I warned her.  She hopped off me but slipped her mouth over my knob as I came.

“Spunk for breakfast!” she said licking her lips and laughing.

“Do you know?  I fancy bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade and tea for breakfast!” I said.

“How?” she said.

“Daisy, we’re in an hotel!”

“Oh!  Of course!  Silly me! Bacon!  We missed dinner!  Too busy eating each other!  And Edith!  What a tasty treast she was! Let’s get dressed!” she said and bounced out of bed, everything jiggling delightfully. “Do you know I had quite forgotten where we were.  My whole world had just shrunk to you and I in this bed!”

“Love at first sight!  Or lust, as Edith says!”  I stretched luxuriously.  What a gorgeous creature Daisy was!

“Love!” she said and popped back to the bedside and kissed me on the lips. “I think I would like to tie you to the bedstead and use you as my slave.  I could do it to you whenever I liked!”

“You can do it to me whenever you like, anyway!” I replied, sitting up.

“I will!  If Edith will let me!  Oh, what if this was just a single occasion!” she said. “A present from Edith and then she wants you back for herself!  That would be a bugger!” She washed herself perfunctorily with a flannel, dried herself and pulled her chemise on. 

“Not if I can help it!” I said.  I would have to talk to Edith, however.

“I wish I had a clean pair of drawers!” she said, holding hers up and inspecting them, critically. She sniffed them and frowned,

“Do what Edith does and go without!” I said standing up and watching her bustle about in her chemise.

“Good idea!  How naughty!” she said.

“What a lovely girl you are Daisy!  In every way!” I said as she sat on the bed and rolled her stockings on before tightening her garters.  I had an idea for a drawing.

“You are lovely too Edmund.  Quite the loveliest man I’ve ever known!” she looked at me and I laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” she said, standing up.

“Look at your hair!” I said.  She walked over to the dressing table and squealed after looking at herself in the mirror.

“Oh my goodness!  I can’t go down to breakfast looking like this!  I look like...like...like someone who has just been doing it all night!” she laughed and got her comb out of her bag.  She ran it through her hair and squealed again.  “Damn it! It’s full of knots.  Bugger! I need a brush!  Eventually she tied her hair up into a bun and declared that it would have to do.  “What’s the time?”

“Quarter to eight.  Plenty of time for breakfast despite the Euston hair crises of 1912!”

“It’s not funny! It gets all knotted and it will take ages to get right.  I always brush it before bed, not just jump in with my hair still tied up!  Oh dear!  Serves me right for being a slut!”

“You look lovely!” I said.  “And you’re not a slut!”

“I don’t feel lovely.  I feel grubby and messy!” she said looking at herself in the mirror again. “And I am a slut!  A dirty, filthy, disgusting, depraved, perverted slut!  And I love it!”  I relaxed.  I didn’t want her to have some moral crisis and never let me touch her again or, worse, never let me touch her again without getting married.

“You can have a bath after breakfast. Anyway, I like you, however you are!” I said.

“Do you really?  I’m not your girl.  Mrs C is!”  I explained how Edith liked to have a man to amuse her when the Professor was away but now that I was joining him on the expedition she intended to get another man, possibly Britten.  There was no emotional tie between us. “I have done it just for fun without emotional ties, as you call it!” said Daisy. “But, and I don’t want to sound like a predatory female, with you I feel something more! Something other than your massive cock banging into the top end of my cunt anyway!”  She laughed, dirtily.  “Am I being silly?  Or off-putting?  My friend Alice says you shouldn’t get all predatory with men as it scares them off!” 

“Edith is a lady I have been enjoying intimate congress with at her request.  She is Professor Challenor’s woman, not mine”. 

“Intimate congress?  You have been fucking her senseless!” said Daisy, grinning and poking at her hair.

“I don’t have a girl to myself but I’d like you to be her if you want!  I’d be honoured in fact!” I said.

“Shared with Mrs C?  I don’t mind!  After all, maybe I am sharing her with you, now!”

“Maybe you are at that!” I agreed.  She cupped my chin with her hand and kissed me.

“You’re all bristly! If I had a razor I could give you a shave.  I’m very good at it!  I’d sit facing you, on your lap, just dressed in my stockings!”

“That sounds nice! But there is a barber just around the corner.”

“Now help me with my corset!”

We went into the Euston’s very grand dining room and did feel all eyes on us, as we waited to be shown to a table.

“Ah Mr Molloy, how nice of you to join us for breakfast,” said the maître d'hôtel.  “I heard that you stayed overnight.  And Madame, er...Molloy, is it?”

“Thompson.  Miss Thompson.  Yes?” she said.  “What of it?”

“Nothing, miss.  Please follow me!” he said. We were shown to a rather out of the way corner. where they seemed to put the guests eating on their own.

“Everyone is looking at us!” Daisy hissed. 

“Everyone is not!” I said although there had been quite a few glances our way.  “They are probably just looking at a very pretty girl and wondering who the lucky chap is with her!  Everyone loves lovers!”

“You’re so sweet!” she leant across and kissed me on the lips.  The elderly lady at the table next to us. tutted, at such a demonstration in public. “We’re lovers, you know!” Daisy said to her. “We’ve just been making love, in fact!  Upstairs!  All naked!  And we're not married!” The woman stood up and left, giving us both a withering look.

“Daisy!” I said, trying not to laugh.  “Behave!”  A man at the next table, in a nasty brown suit, winked at me.  ‘Never trust a man who wears a brown suit’, my father had said to me once, presciently.

“Some people!” she said.  “Really!  First that woman in the Strand!  Now her!  Just because no-one wants to kiss them!  Now what’s for breakfast?”  She looked at the menu.  “Goodness me!  Everything!”

“Good morning, lovebirds!” said Edith, arriving at our table forty-five minutes later.  “I thought I’d find you in here!”

“Good morning Mrs Challenor,” said Daisy very politely.

“Aren’t you a love, Daisy?  Now, are you discovering interesting things about each other?” she asked, indicating for the waiter to bring her some tea by pointing at our pot.

“I am discovering that Miss Daisy Thompson appears to have a tapeworm, given the amount she has just put away for breakfast!” I said.

“I don’t like missing dinner.  I need to be fed!  I was really hungry! ” she said.

“All that fucking, no doubt!” whispered Edith, patting Daisy’s hand.  “Now, given we are all going down to Lord Hoxton’s tomorrow we had better plan our day!  After breakfast we need to just finalise the shipping paperwork and get things sent up to Liverpool.”

“I have asked the packers to arrive at eleven!” said Daisy.

“Excellent!” said Edith.

“I will finish my latest piece for the Courier!” I said.

“I have put the typewriter on the floor next to the desk. I had to move it when sorting the packing papers this morning.  Daisy, I couldn’t reconcile your figures with the receipts and was getting very frustrated until Edmund found some more receipts on the floor!”

“I did check them three times!” she said, looking concerned.

“Yes I am sure.  They were exactly right!  Well done!” Daisy beamed.  “At eleven fifteen, you and I, Daisy, will go into the room opposite, which I have also booked for tonight and caress each other!  I am keen to try the rubbing that gives tribadism its name in France!  Edmund will remain in the main suite to deal with any problems with the packers.”

“Lovely!” said Daisy.

“Disappointing!” I said.

"We'll tell you all about it afterwards!" said Daisy.

"Some consolation, I suppose!" I said.

“At one o’clock we will all have luncheon downstairs!” continued Edith.

“At two thirty I have to go to the studio of Mr Smaile, one of our photographers, to pick up cameras and film for the expedition,” I said. “Oh, I am afraid, Daisy, I said you would pose for some more pictures for him, in order to expedite the matter!  Part of his price, really. He thinks you are an excellent model!” I had completely forgotten to tell her.

“Oh that will be fun.  I enjoiyed it before!” she smiled.

“He wants you to pose in your underthings!” I started to blush. Edith frowend at me.

“Well that will be amusing for him as I am not wearing drawers!” she said.

“Oh no!  Can’t you put your dirty ones on for the afternoon?” I asked.

“I don’t mind posing without, if you don’t mind and I am sure he won’t mind!” she said.  “I’ve posed for photographs like that before.  For my old boss.  In just my stockings, gloves and a hat with red feathers on it!”

“For one of his catalogues?” I asked, remembering she worked for an intimates clothing company.

“For him to frig himself over, I think!” she replied, cheerfully.  “Bent over, bottom out, legs apart, gripping my ankles; just so the important bits showed!”

“Did he ever...” I began.

“Molest me?  No, he was always a perfect gentleman, which was why I was happy to pose for him!  He was a lovely old man.” said Daisy buttering her fifth piece of toast. I raised an eyebrow and she paused, her buttery knife in the air.

“Doing it makes me awful hungry.  Especially when I am on top doing all the work!” she grinned at Edith and re-commenced buttering her toast.

“Quite right!  Kepp the men beneath you.  As most of them are!  Not you, Edmund! Now when do you think you will be back here after your somehat sordid sounding photographic mission?” asked Edith.

“No earlier than five, I suspect.” I said.

“Good.  You and I will then fuck, Edmund, while Daisy watches or not depending on her wishes!”

“Oh I want to watch!  Definitely!” said Daisy.

 “I will then leave at about six leaving you to do whatever you want overnight!”

“More fucking,” said Daisy.

“Lovely!” said Edith. “There.  A perfectly planned day! Now let’s get the bill!  Chop chop!  Much to do!”

After breakfast I went and got a shave outside the hotel while Edith attended to Daisy’s hair.  I later discovered that the two of them had shared a bath as well and I wished I had been there to observe that. The packers appeared precisely on time, to my surprise, and apart from outrageous flirting with the two women they had been very efficient and had removed everything by twelve thirty, taking it down to the adjoining railway station so it could be despatched to Liverpool where Marguerite was going to supervise its warehousing until the ship sailed. I carried on typing and resisted the urge to listen at the door of the bedroom opposite, to which Edith and Daisy had retired. They reappeared at just before one, looking surprisingly immaculate but slightly flushed. 

“Have fun?”  I asked.

“Very much!” said Edith. 

“It was wonderful!  I’m all tingly!” Daisy grinned at me.  “I’m also starving again!”

"I'm wondering if, perhaps, I do not need to replace you with a man, Edmund when a girl might serve just as entertainingly.  Daisy really does have the most active fingers!" said Edith, picking up the menu.

"Smell!" said Daisy, putting her hand underneath my nose.  The strong scent was unmistakable.

"Smells like someone I know!" I said.  I would have expected that Daisy would have washed her hands afterwards.  Perhaps she really was a dirty girl.  I kissed her fingers to show I didn't care. 

"Shall we have some oysters?" asked Edith.  Daisy burst into fits of giggles.

"I was going to have oxtail soup," I said.

"You can have your oysters later!" said Edith. 

After lunch, Daisy and I set off by taxicab to Smaile’s studio.

“Cabbie, go via Queen’s Road, please!” said Daisy “I need to stop at Whiteleys.” Eventually we pulled up outside the new department store in Bayswater.  “Wait here!” Daisy disappeared inside and came out ten minutes later with a bag.

“What’s in there?” I asked. She opened the bag and showed me. It was ladies underthings, packed in pretty boxes.

“Can’t be grubby!”   She smelled slightly of the Chablis she and Edith had drunk a bottle of at lunchtime.  I hoped that she would behave at Smaile's.  We pulled up outside his studio in Hammersmith and climbed the stairs to the top floor.

“Ah, Ed! How nice to see you and, especially, Miss Thompson again.  I didn’t really expect to see you, Miss!” he said.  “Are you, indeed, ready to pose for me again, miss?”

“Indeed I am, Mr Smaile.  I have some experience in posing for saucy photographs and I have just purchased some lightweight Egyptian cotton underthings, into which I will now change!” said Daisy, removing her hat, coat and gloves. I should have helped her, I realised, but I was anxious as to her behaviour.

“Lovely!”  said Smaile leering at her as she undid her coat buttons. “I’m sure you’ll look lovely, Miss!” he added, rubbing his thighs, disgustingly.

“Cameras and films first, Smaile!” I said, as Daisy looked around the surprisingly large studio. We had been rather in and out before but there were lots of interesting looking props and clothes within it.  It was airy and bright with large windows in the ceiling.  “The Courier must be paying you too much.  This is an impressive place!”

“Hardly, Molloy.  This is all paid for by my special commissions, as it were!”

“Well, you are not going to get too special with Miss Thompson!” I said.

“We’ll see.  Remember what I told you.  I’ll bet you half a crown that she makes the running as regards over exposure!” he said, sniggering.  "Photographer's joke!" he added.  I gave him a pitying look.

“I’ll take your impertinent wager!” I said.

“Anyways, here we are.  I have obtained three cameras for you. This is a Klapp Tropical model plate camera.  It is small, as you can see.” he said, holding up the amber coloured wooden cased camera. “It will take high quality pictures, though.  Ideal for taking that picture of a dinosaur just before it eats you.  Strong enough to survive if you drop it when it closes its jaws around you!” 

“Very anusing, Smaile!”

“Here are the plates." They were about one third larger than a playing card but much thicker. "I’ll show you how it works!”  He did so and I made notes in my notebook.  “Next is this Anastigmat Demaria Frères Modele Colonial tropical camera,” he continued, holding up what looked like a small zinc suitcase.  He did not struggle over the French name, surprisingly. “French, of course, although they have a branch in London. Very popular in Indo-China, so it will work well in the jungle.”

“I am not sure what Professor Challenor will think of his expedition using a French camera,” I laughed.

“The French know their photography, Ed.  I worked in Paris a year meself, learning the craft!”  Smaile continued to surprise me. “Now, lastly, this is a Kodak folding pocket camera,” he said, showing me how the lens telescoped out from the slim case.  “It takes small photos but you can carry it in your jacket pocket, as the name indicates!  This takes film not plates so is much more robust!”  I practised with all three cameras and he showed me how to load the film and plates. "I'm getting you  a bigger plate camera with a tripod to use on the voyage and in the less perilous parts of the expedition.  It will be here first thing tomorrow."

“You’ve done well, here Smaile,” I said, grudgingly.  “These will suit our purposes perfectly and well done for getting them so quickly!”

“I had to pull in a favour or two and cancel a couple of lucrative sittings, hence my compensatory demand regarding your young friend!” he said.  “Where is she, by the way?”

I looked around the studio and Daisy had, indeed, disappeared.  

“Daisy?” I called.

“I am right here gentlemen!” she stepped out from behind a folding screen at the side of the studio.  “I have just changed for my pictures!”  She was wearing her new underthings, white cotton drawers, which seemed  a little tight, I thought, and a camisole decorated with pretty lace.  She also had new white stockings on.

“Goodness me, what a transformation!” said Smaile, rubbing his hands in glee.

“These are lightweight things from Egypt.  I do know where to obtain the nicest underthings.  If I was to join you in Brazil these are what I would wear in the heat!” she turned around so we could admire her.

“Lovely!” said Smaile.

“Yes, you really are!” I said.

“Now where do you want me, Mr Smaile?”

“I will pose you here,” he said pointing at a wooden platform at the far end of the studio.  “I even have a jungle backdrop”.  Above the studio were a large number of roll down backdrops as you would find in a theatre and he counted through them before pulling down a large painted backdrop of palm trees and jungle foliage. Daisy stood in front of it, assumed a very professional looking pose with her hands neatly behind her back and smiled.

“What every under-dressed lady explorer is wearing today!” I said.  The cotton camisole seemed quite sheer.  The shape of Daisy's nipples was visible through the white fabric. Smaile switched on some large electric lamps and efficiently shot several plates of Daisy standing, kneeling and one where she was standing with her back to the lens looking over her shoulder at the camera, an enticing smile on her face.

“What a lovely ar...” began the photographer.

“Smaile!” I said, but the effect of my admonition was rather diluted by Daisy wiggling her bottom at us.

“Put this on!” said Smaile, slipping off to the area behind the folding screen, which was full of racks of clothing, and coming back with a white pith helmet.  Daisy put it on, after sniffing inside it.  “Now you look like a proper explorer!”  She went over to a rack and selected a pale blue chiffon scarf which she tied around the helmet in the manner of a puggaree; the ends of the scarf falling down her back.  He took some more pictures and I have to say that she looked very fetching in the helmet.  It seemed to emphasise her long slim neck.  “Let’s do some clothed ones!” said Smaile. somewhat to my surprise.  He found a long white skirt and a white jacket for her to put on.

“Now you really do look like an explorer!” I said.

“One more thing!” said Smaile.  He crossed the studio and came back with a rifle.

“A Winchester!” I said, recognising it.

“Spot on, Ed.  Didn’t know you knew about guns!” said Smaile, handing it to Daisy.  Daisy looked at it, then pulled the lever underneath right forward to open the chamber so she could  look inside to make sure it was empty, which also cocked the rifle.  She held it up to her shoulder and pointed it at a rather moth eaten tiger head on the wall.  She pulled the trigger so the hammer made a loud click.

“Got you, you dastardly jaguar.  That will teach you for stalking my beloved!” She laughed.

“Looks like you know about guns too, Miss!” said Smaile.

“I used to have a lov...a friend in the army. He took me to Bisley Camp in Surrey.  Do you know it?” asked Daisy, taking aim at random objects in the studio.

“Where the Olympic shooting was in oh eight,” said Smaile.

“Indeed.  I spent an afternoon shooting there.  All very contrary to regulations of course but my...friend was jolly senior so no one cared.  I had lots of lovely officers helping me with my shooting position!” she said.

“I’m sure you did, miss!” said Smaile.

“Of course I had fired a shotgun before, so they were surprised I could take the recoil of my first shot, although I didn’t let on that it hurt like buggery!”

“You have very delicate looking shoulders miss!” said Smaile.  Shoulders I was very glad were now covered by the jacket. 

“Yes.  Still, I hit the target several times.  From eight hundred yards!” she looked proud.

“Sounds like you would be better going on the expedition rather than Ed,” said Smaile.  "I'm sure Lord Hoxton would prefer you.  Can't resist a pretty girl, Lord Hoxton can't and you are rather more than pretty.  Beautiful, yes indeedy!"

“Perhaps I am better equipped!” she said. glancing down at her chest.

“You certainly are that, Miss,” said Smaile, his eyes locked on to Daisy’s bosom.  “Now, Ed, help me pull these plants across!” said Smaile pointing at some brass planters with ferns in.  I dragged them across the studio floor and wished he would stop calling me 'Ed'.  He then shot some pictures of Daisy crouching behind the ferns with her rifle at the ready. “Smithers!” called out Smaile and a youngster of about Daisy’s age appeared from a doorway at the far side of the studio.

“Take these plates and develop and print them.  Let’s see if we can get one or two done before my clients leave, eh?” Smithers looked at Daisy carefully, sniffed and disappeared again.

“It just might be possible depending on how many more we shoot. I know, let’s do a series as if you were taking off more clothes as it gets hotter!”

“Let’s not!” I said.

“Don’t be boring, Edmund!” she said, removing the skirt and jacket.  “If I sat on the floor and took my stockings off?” she asked Smaile, ignoring me completely.

“Perfect!” said Smaile.  He came over to her and sprayed her skin with water from a perfume bottle.  I shook my head as Daisy pulled the leg of her drawers up so high that the top of her stocking and a creamy slice of thigh was revealed. Smaile took a shot of her removing her stocking.

“Mr Smaile do you do photographs of ladies completely undressed?” asked Daisy.

“All the time, Miss.  Naked ladies are just another object to me. Photographed hundreds in Paris.  My job is to make them as pretty as possible!”

“Daisy!” I warned, seeing my half crown disappear before my eyes as Daisy pulled her camisole over her head and dropped it onto a chair. She looked at me challengingly, her magnificent bust on display, standing there in just her drawers.

I expected a lewd comment from Smaile but he just guided Daisy into a couple of poses.  “That’s right, Miss! Kneeling down, leaning forward a little!  Squeeze your arms together a bit!” Her breasts thrust forward, outrageously.  Her pink nipples were completely erect, I noticed. “Now on all fours as if you are hiding from a scary creature!”  Her breasts hung down, distractingly, as she pulled some terrified faces.

“How about I take everything off so we can take a picture for Edmund to take into the jungle to remember me by?”  Before Smaile could even answer she was pushing her drawers down over her hips and revealing her soft, brown floss.

“Can’t think he will have any problems remembering you, miss.  I know I won’t!” said Smaile.  I took a sideways glance at his groin to see if there was any evidence of impure thought but I couldn’t see anything.  Perhaps he really did see Daisy as just another photographic exercise.  Daisy went through a series of standing poses of the artistic variety I had seen on French postcards. Hands on her hips, hands above her head revealing the pale hair under her rarms, hands coyly held in front of her groin.

“You’re not to show any of these to anyone!” I said to him.

“Of course not, Ed.  They are just for me!  I have something of a collection!"  

“I am sure you do!” I said.

"Well I hope we can have some too!" said Daisy.

"Of course! Now one last one, Daisy.  Turn around and look over your shoulder for me,” said Smaile. "like the one you did when dressed."

"Like this? Is that alright, Mr Smaile!"

“Alright?  Superb is the word, Daisy!"

"Miss Thompson, to you, Smaile," I said.

"Daisy is perfectly acceptable, Mr Smaile!" she said, giving me a triumphant look.

"There! All done!” said Smaile, after having released the shutter one final time.

 “That was fun!  When can we see the pictures?” said Daisy.

“I can start immediately.  I should have some done by the early evening."  said Smaile, never taking his eyes off Daisy as she got dressed.  She did not disappear behind the screen to get dressed, I noticed, unlike the life models we had used at art school.  I expected her to put her drawers on first, to cover herself, but she sat in the chair and spent what seemed like an inordinate amount of time putting her stockings on. She kept looking at Smaile and grinning.  He grabbed the Klapp tropical and took a shot of Daisy tightening her garter. "Better check it works, eh Ed?  Shall I have the pictuires sent to the Courier?” 

“Very funny, Smaile!” I said. “Can I collect them first thing tomorrow!  About ten?” I asked.

“Perfect!” he said..  “Thank you, Miss. You are a very good model.  If you ever want to supplement your income by posing for some more pictures, then let me know.  Show as much as you want!”

“That’s enough Smaile!” I said.

“Do you take photographs of couples, Mr Smaile?” asked Daisy.

“Wedding photographs you mean?  When’s the happy day?”

“We are not quite at that stage yet!” I said, wondering if we might one day, be so.

“I was thinking of more intimate pictures," said Daisy.  "Pictures that a couple might enjoy of themselves in a private, personal, situation!  Pictures where their passion for each other is graphically demonstrable!”

“Daisy!” I said.

“If you won’t be shocked Miss, I could show you some!” Smaile disappeared to the edge of the studio and returned with a large black, embossed leather album. “Be prepared, Miss!” he said, setting the album down on a cluttered table.  Daisy opened a page at random.  

“Oh my goodness!” she said.  “Edmund!  Look!  They are actually fu... I mean, well they’re.. well they are fucking, excuse my language Mr Smaile!”

“No offense taken, Miss.  It is a precise description!” said Smaile, looking delighted. 

“Doing it! For the camera. What a thing!” said Daisy.  And doing it the couple in the photograph were.  The man sat on a chair the woman astride him, looking over her shoulder at the photographer.  The man’s member entering her just below her clearly displayed anus.

“Lovely couple they are.  She is a seamstress and he is a coalman.  Husband and wife, well, unofficially anyway. They earn good money posing for these.  They are made into postcards in Paris!” said Smaile, getting rather too close to Daisy for my liking, as she flipped through the pages. “The French girls are nice but I love to find some English roses for my clients in Paris.  Patriotic I am.  Flying the flag for the Empire!”

“Ooh!  Sucking!” said Daisy at the picture of a blonde doing just that.  “And girls together!” she said.  “These are lovely!  Would you be able to do some of Edmund and I?”

“What?  I don’t think so!”  I spluttered.

“So it is acceptable to have me pose naked for Mr Smaile but you won’t do it yourself?” asked Daisy, sharply.

“It was your choice to remove all your clothes!” I said.

“Perhaps Mr Smaile could do some of Edith and I!” said Daisy, turning the pages carefully.  As she lifted the tissue from each page I could not guess what uninhibited poses would be displayed next.

“Do you know of a place called the Babylon Exploration Society,” I asked.  As I looked at a man taking a girl from behind in dog position, while a second girl appeared to be licking up between the cheeks of his buttocks.

“Ah!  One of me best clients! You a member?” asked Smaile.

“No, no,” I added quickly as Daisy looked at me quizzically.

“And what is the Babylon Exploration Sociey, precisely?”

“Oh, something Lord Hoxton mentioned,” I lied.

“Gentleman’s club,” said Smaile.

“I see,” said Daisy. “Do you have any photographs of two men together, Mr Smaile?”

“Daisy!  No!” I said.

“You don’t have to look, Edmund!” said Daisy.

“Well if I did that would be conspiring to facilitate a completely illegal act, Miss.  Go to prison I would!” he said.

“And these are not illegal?” asked Daisy looking at a group of three couples all servicing each other in a complex heap.

“Yes, I’d be in big trouble if the police found these,” he admitted.

“So...?” asked Daisy.

“Wait here Miss!” He disappeared again through a door to what looked like an office.

“Daisy, what are you doing?” I hissed.  “We should leave, not linger here looking at this...this, pornography!”

“Don’t be so Irish, Edmund.  I am getting quite excited looking at this.  You will benefit from it later!”  Smaile returned with another leather-bound album, this one in dark red leather.

“Be prepared, miss!” said Smaile.  Daisy bit her lip, gave me a naughty glance and opened the album.

“Bugger me!” she gasped.

“Technically, Miss, he is buggering the other fellow!” said Smaile.

“Look Edmund!  Look!” said Daisy.

“No thank you.  I am not interested in looking at this perverted behaviour!” I said, tuning away.

“More common than you might think, Ed.  Can charge three time the price too!” said Smaile

“Oh look!” said Daisy.  “I want one like that of you, Edmund. Except yours is bigger!”  I glanced over and saw a photograph of the midsection of a man displaying his erect phallus.  I turned away.

“Don’t worry, Mr Molloy.  My confidentiality is assured.  No word of the identity of my subjects ever gets out. Why, this very weekend I am going to a great country house to photograph all manner of goings on.  I have done so for some years!  Pays very well indeed.  Enables me to travel to Cannes for the summer and take photos there.  Lovely girls in Cannes.  Any scandal or revelation on my part would be a disaster.  Wouldn’t want to risk that.  No, indeedy!”

“This country house wouldn’t be in Hampshire would it?” I said, feeling sick.

“It might be.  It might not!”

“It wouldn’t be the house of someone with whom I currently have a close association” I asked.

“Well, as I say, I never reveal such information!” said Smaile.

“Well perhaps we may see you at the weekend,” said Daisy.

“Perhaps you will, Miss!”

I paid Smaile for the cameras and the films and added my half crown for a bet well and truly lost.  Just as we were about to leave Smithers reappeared, holding a large print on card in a brown mount.

“I miss me mum!” he said to Daisy, mournfully.

“Poor Smithers is the son of my cousin.  She died two years ago and I have taken him in.  He is a bit slow but is a truly excellent printmaker!” said Smaile.

“That is very kind of you, Mr Smaile,” said Daisy.

“Now which one have you chosen, Smithers?” said Smaile.  Ah! Perfect choice!”  It was the one of Daisy in her underthings looking over her shoulder at the camera, smiling, with her drawers tight across her posterior.

“Lovely arse!” said Smithers.

“Thank you Smithers!  How kind!” said Daisy.  The boy beamed and picked his nose. We left the studio to head to the Courier's offices on Fleet Street.