Chapter 18: “Have you seen the evening paper, Molloy?”

The Euston Hotel, London

In order to obtain some cameras for the dinosaur hunting expedition to South America  which journalist Edmund Molly is joining, he agreed with the photographe,r Smaile, that his new sweetheart, Daisy Thompson, would pose for him in her underthings.  As Smaile had predicted, however, Daisy soon removed all of her clothes for some photographs and then asked the photographer if he produced intimate photographs of couples, to Molloy's discomfort.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” I said, as we took a cab back east to Fleet Street, to drop off my latest article.

“Did what?  Posed naked for Mr Smaile or ask about being photographed with you?” asked Daisy.

“Both!” I said, looking at the cab driver to see if he had reacted to her words.

“Don’t be so dull!  The more aroused I become the more outrageous I feel.  It’s just as Mrs C says.”  She reached for my groin and tried to undo my fly buttons.

“Daisy!  Not here!”  I hissed.  She pouted but withdrew her hand.

 “I intend to let loose this weekend at Lord Hoxton’s!  You will not upbraid me about it!” she said, poking me in the midsection. “Anyway, I feel my behaviour is not quite as unsavoury as prostituting your sweetheart for three cameras and some film!”

“What?”

“It would have been nice to be asked first!” she said.  “In fact I didn’t mind but I might have!”

“It genuinely slipped my mind!” I said, wondering how bad a situation I had got myself into. “And it is four cameras.  There will be a  large plate camera as well!”

“I am so glad my body was worth even more!  I will devise a humiliating punishment!” she said with obvious relish.  “Very humiliating!  And then we will be even, once more! Here we are!” she said,brightly, jumping out before I had time to open the door for her.  She looked at the large brass nameplate carrying the name of The Daily Courier.  “How exciting!  A real newspaper office!”

“Some wouldn’t call us a real newspaper!” I said.  My father was always asking when I was going to get a job at a ‘proper newspaper’, like The Times. I followed Daisy into the Courier’s sooty stone building and we went to take the small lift to the third floor.  Daisy pressed herself against me and rubbed my groin again.

“Wouldn’t it be fun to do it in the lift!” she said.

“You would not have time, going up three floors!” I pointed out, trying to pull away from her.

“We could go to America where they have buildings dozens and dozens of floors high!  When you are rich and famous, after the expedition, you can take me to New York on the Titanic and we can find the tallest building and do it in the lift!”

“Fifty floors!” I said.  “It opened a few years ago!” I said.  “Marguerite lives in New York, perhaps she knows it.”

“I wish I had met her before she went to Liverpool.  She looks very beautiful.  Would you like to fuck her?  While I watched, of course!”  She started to rub herself against me. She really did seem to be in heat. Fortunately, we had arrived at he third floor. I opened the door and hoped that McCandless wouldn’t be there but would still be ensconced in Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, his favourite hostelry, just across the road.

“Molloy my boy!” cried McCandless as soon as we entered the main office.  Unfortunately, he was standing right inside the door.  “And this must be the beautiful Daisy Thompson, paramour of our intrepid reporter!”  Daisy charmed him by ignoring his outstretched hand and kissing his cheek instead, much to his obvious delight.  Immediately, we were surrounded by many of my erstwhile colleagues all wanting to greet Daisy too.  To give her her due, she kissed them all.

“What a lot of lovely men!” she said to them, annoyingly. Personally, I couldn’t see any other lovely men in the office, myself excepted.  I admit to having become rather vain and taking every opportunity to admire myself, naked, in the mirror.

“Have you seen the evening paper, Molloy?” asked McCandless.

“No.  Why?” I asked.

“Oh dear.  You are both mentioned in it!” he replied.  “In a none too flattering light. Especially you, Miss Thompson.  Perhaps you both better come into my office!”

“Sir, sir!  Before you go!” said Ron ‘eager’ Beaver, the deputy editor. “We have lost the story about Sir Jonty Smarme MP being seen on an illicit visit to Edinburgh!”

“Lost it?  How so?” asked McCandless.  “We had a picture of him with a young woman who wasn’t his wife, coming out of the Caledonian Hotel!  And then reports of him looking around the Castle! Affectionately arm in  arm with the same girl!  That was reported by your cousin, I believe, Beaver, so your assured me it was true, as he is studying Law".

“Turns out the lady is his daughter who is studying at the university!” said Beaver, wincing.

“And this basic piece of research was beyond you, eh Beaver?” asked McCandless.  “And now we lose a big chunk of text and a photograph from tomorrow’s edition!  Utter incompetence!  Idiocy!”  I could see the signs already.  He was winding up to what we all called ‘having a nutty’.  This would involve his countenance getting florid, erratic spastic-like movement of the arms, shouting and cursing, relapsing into Gaelic and eventually throwing objects at random targets.

“It wasn’t me sir.  I left a note on Molloy’s desk to check it out!” said Beaver taking a step back.  “Our records say his daughter is fourteen!”

“She is eighteen!” I said.  “I have met them both, a few months ago!  At Twickenham.  As soon as I saw the photograph I knew!”  I remembered his daughter very well, with her reddish blonde hair and I had attempted to flirt with her but she had just looked at me as if I was an annoying schoolboy, even though I was five years older than her  Another failure to engage with a women!  “The note to that effect is in your pigeonhole, Beaver!”

“Yes, I know!  I have only just discovered it! Too late! You should have told me directly not left me a note!” said Beaver.

“If you hadn’t noticed, Beaver, Mr Molloy has other things on his plate at present, including contributing to an increase in circulation of one fifth and an increase in advertising revenue of one quarter!  Now find me a story to fill the space allocated!  You have thirty minutes or by heaven, I’ll damn well...”

“Sir, lady present!” I interjected, although I knew Daisy, who seemed to have picked up her ripe language from Edith, wouldn’t care a fig.  In fact she seemed to be amused by the whole altercation.

“Not a lady according to the Standard,” said Beaver.

“What?” I said.  “What do you mean by that, Beaver?”  I had four inches on the oleaginous little squirt and stepped towards him.

“Just come into the office, Molloy. You too, missy!” said McCandless.  We stepped into his glass walled cubbyhole at the corner of the main office.  It was the only place I had ever been that was even more untidy than Professor Challenor’s study.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.  There were no chairs (McAndless insisted on everyone standing before him) but Daisy perched on the edge of McCandless’ desk, saucily displaying several inches of white stocking above her ankle boot.

“Here!” he said handing me a copy of that day’s Standard.

“Oh!” I said, having scanned the brief paragraph.

“What does it say?” asked Daisy.

“It is headlined ‘Dinosaur reporter explores forbidden region. Question mark.’”  I continued reading it out loud. “Keen followers of the preparations for the forthcoming Professor Challenor dinosaur hunting expedition to South America will be intrigued to hear that journalist Edmund Molloy, of The loathsome Daily Courier, went down to breakfast this morning, at their base at the Euston Hotel, accompanied by the very lovely Miss Daisy Thompson, described as the teams’s clerk.  ‘We are lovers!’ Miss Thompson said to an outraged guest, who described what the young lady in question then said she and Mr Molloy had been getting up to together in terms that we cannot print in a family newspaper.  A source at the hotel later confirmed that one bedroom had been booked under the expedition’s account. We are not surprised that Mr Molloy has fallen for Miss Thompson’s abundant charms and wish him well on his perilous expedition but suggest he keeps his amorous activities from being quite so public.  It is interesting to note that the behaviour of the Courier’s reporters matches the salacious tone of much of the newspaper’s reporting.  As for the gorgeous Miss Thompson, we will happily look after her in Molloy’s long absence, despite her completely ruined reputation, and will be glad to comfort her if he gets eaten by a dinosaur.”

“How horrid!” said Daisy.  “That is cruel and spiteful!”  A tear ran down her cheek.  “What does “abundant charms” mean?  Do they mean I am fat?”

“I think they are talking about a particular aspect of your body,” I said, trying not to look at her chest. I held out the paper for her to see and The Standard had run a photograph of us with the Ventnors taken at the Ritz where Daisy had worn the very revealing evening dress from Selfridges,which displayed her ‘abundant charms’ to great effect. It was one of the few photographs Ventnor had released to our rivals, as he loved appearing in his competitors’ newspapers as much as he could.

“You mean they are saying I have big titties?  Beg your pardon, Mr McCandless, but I am overwrought!” said Daisy.

“Understandable, my dear!” said McCandless, grinning and looking at her chest.

“I want to write to them!” said Daisy.

“I really wouldn’t, lassie,” McCandless advised.

“You never write horrid, spiteful things like this I hope, Edmund!” said Daisy, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.  Not under my own name, I thought.

“Is it too late to get something in tomorrow’s edition of the Courier?” asked Daisy.

“No, not at all!” I said.

“We now have a space to fill,” said McCandless. “First things first, though.  Is this true?”

“Yes, of course.  Edmund and I spent the night in bed together.  It was lovely.  But we are single people, what does it matter?” said Daisy.  “Lots of single people are at it.  My friend Alice in the flat next door is always at it with her young man.  I can hear them through the wall of my bedroom!  Moaning and groaning!”

“Yes, but most people think...” began McCandless.

“And why is my reputation ruined but not Edmund’s?  This is a typical double standard applied just to women, as usual.  Men can go with whomsoever they like, including prostitutes and they are just jolly good chaps.  Real men!  If a woman wants to satisfy her needs she is a bloody trollop, condemned by society.  It is bloody unfair!” said Daisy. “Well I don’t care what the bloody Standard thinks!  Edmund and I are in love!  Aren’t we Edmund?”

“Love at first sight!” I said, quickly.

“Exactly!” she said.  “I know! I will write a piece to that effect.  Love and sex; a modern woman’s perspective!  The double standards of society.  Women’s right to sexual enjoyment! And you can illustrate it with this photograph!”  She whipped out the picture of her in her underthings.  “If they think I am a slut, I will be a fucking slut!”  Even McCandless looked shocked.

“That is a particularly fine photograph,” said McCandless, recovering his composure.  “One of Smaile’s?”  I nodded.  “He is a talented portraitist but I nearly had to fire him when he asked my wee daughter to pose for him in her nightdress!”

“But Heather is only thirteen!” I said, shocked.

“She wasn’t quite that when he asked, although she is an unusually mature young lady!” said McCandless.  “She told him to bugger off!”

Heather and her mother sometimes visited the Courier’s office and most of the chaps there thought Heather was a little cracker, age notwithstanding. We all wondered how someone as unprepossessing as McCandless, who had married a younger woman, could have produced someone quite so lovely, with her long red hair in its waist length braid and her flashing green eyes.  The general view was that the McCandless family must live on a street with a particularly handsome red headed milkman.

“The Courier supports the women’s movement!  It’s a risk but why not?  No riskier than dinosaurs!” said McCandless.

“The Courier takes on different dinosaurs!” said Daisy.

Hah!” said McCandless.  “I’ll have to run it past Lord Ventnor but he is due in here in...oh here he is now!”

“Molloy,” said Ventnor, nodding at me, as he came into the office.  “And the lovely Miss Thompson!”  Daisy kissed both his cheeks.  “Have you seen the Standard?  Attacking one of my reporters like that!  Calling my newspaper loathsome? The scoundrels!”  I kept quiet over the fact that the Courier spent a good deal of its time digging up dirt on all and sundry.  McCandless, with contributions from Daisy, explained that rather than issuing a denial they would take on the double standard in the piece and make the Standard look old fashioned and out of touch.  Ventnor nodded, looking pleased. “And this photograph you have?”  Daisy handed it to him. 

“It shows the modern, practical underthings for a woman travelling to tropical parts.  The underpinnings of the women supporting the Empire!”

“Daisy used to work in the women’s intimates industry,” I explained.

“My, they do fit you well, Miss Thompson!” said Ventnor, looking fascinated. “It’s a lovely photograph!  It says to me, here I am, part of the vital support team for the most exciting expedition in the world and yet underneath I am all woman. We women can do much that men can, yet retain our femininity!  Are those roses embroidered down the back of your stockings?”

“Yes!  Look!” said Daisy pulling her skirt up to her knee and showing him.

“Good heavens!  Such detail!  Did you buy these in London?”

“This morning, at Whiteleys!”

“Let’s get onto them now!”  He looked at his fob watch.  “Ten to five!  Telephone them and get someone to persuade them to buy an advertisement.  We will put it on the same page!” said Ventnor.  “Miss Thompson and Molloy, get that piece written now!  He looked at the picture again.  I want this cropped and down the length of one side of the page.  We will put it on page three!”

“We better leave a message for Edith!” I said to Daisy.  “She is expecting us.  I will telephone the Euston.”

Daisy and I sat together at my desk working on the piece together.  “You have a talent for writing, Daisy,” I said “but you cannot use the word “sex” in the sense of connubial relations!” 

“How about fucking?” she grinned.  I shook my head and noticed the whole rest of the office watching us and sniggering.  Eventually we had finished and we let Ventnor and McCandless read it,

“Bold stuff, Miss Thompson,” said Ventnor, when it was finished and he had read it.

“Please call me Daisy, Lord Ventnor,” she replied.  “We are friends now, I think!”  He smiled.

“Well, we could offend half of our readers or we could have an unexpected success on our hands.  But this newspaper has a reputation for being bold. I like that line about the ‘backwards looking, nineteenth century views of the Standard’, by the way! Yours, Molloy?”

“Mine, Lord Ventnor,” said Daisy.

“Splendid!  Call me John!  Not you Molloy!” he said, laughing.  He handed the copy to Arkwright to get it down to the typesetters.  The picture had already been taken down to the basement.  “Did Smaile take any other photographs we could use, as a follow on, Molloy?”

“Yes, quite a few!” I said.

“But in most of them I am quite naked!” said Daisy.

“Probably won’t be able to use those, unfortunately,” said Ventnor, looking Daisy up and down. “We’ll need to commission some more!”

“We are going to his studio to pick them up first thing but then we are going down to Hampshire of course!” said Daisy. “I expect that you will see much more of me at the weekend!” said Daisy.

“By Jove, I do hope so!” said Ventnor, not quite leering.  I was now having serious second thoughts about taking an obvious exhibitionist like Daisy to Hoxton’s. 

“Oh, Molloy!” said McCandless.  “I nearly forgot!  Smaile telephoned and wants you to get to his studio at eight thirty tomorrow, not ten as you agreed!"

“Eight thirty.  Alright!” I said.  That was a bugger as I was hoping to sleep in with Daisy and Edith. I would have to leave the hotel at around seven thirty, now.

“Well, young Daisy!” said Lord Ventnor.  “Best be off.  Got dinner at White’s.  Enjoy your last quiet evening because tomorrow you are going to be the most famous woman in Britain!”

“Infamous, don’t you mean?” she said.

“For all practical pusposes, as regards selling newspapers, they are the same!” said Ventnor, patting Daisy on the bottom, to my annoyance. She grinned up at him, even more annoyingly.  He headed for the door.

“You may have to go into hiding,” said McCandless.

“Do you know what?  I have a better idea!” said Ventnor, turning back towards us, just as he was about to leave the office.  “You sail for Brazil next Wednesday, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. "From Liverpool."

“Why don’t we pay for Daisy to accompany you as far as Manaós,” said Ventnor. “She can write some pieces from a women’s perspective.  Get a photograph of you two having a tearful farewell on some jetty with the Amazon and palm trees in the background!”

“A last embrace for intrepid reporter before he plunges from the civilised world into the verdurous glooms of the unknown jungle, leaving all that he holds dear behind him.  That sort of thing?” asked Daisy.

“Daisy, you are a natural!  I like the touch of Keats!” said Ventnor. “We could give you a weekly column on women’s issues.  What hat to buy for Ascot. What’s new in fancy biscuits. The latest from the fashion department at Selfridge’s!”

“When are women getting the vote? Why should abortion be punishable with a lifetime of penal servitude?  When will women get equal pay for equal work?” said Daisy.

“I am sure we can find some middle ground,” said Ventnor, smoothly.  “So, Daisy?  How do you fancy testing your tropical underthings in Brazil?”

“Oh, Lord Ventnor!  James, I mean!  What a wonderful opportunity!  Although, if it is really hot.  I will probably dispense with my drawers altogether!” I wished she would stop flirting with Ventnor, I thought.  He must be more than three times her age.  It was faintly disgusting.

“Quite! Splendid!  Well, that’s sorted.  If you can make the booking, Daisy, but get the bill sent here to the Courier, as it shouldn’t come out of the joint expedition account.  Separate cabin from Molloy, please.  Even if you don’t use it” He winked at her. “Best to be safe.  First Class, though, we don’t want to look cheap!”

“Of course, John,” said Daisy. 

“You have one opportunity of a lifetime with this expedition, Molloy!” said Lord Ventnor to me. “You have another with, Miss Thompson!” 

“Don’t bugger it up!” said McCandless.  “Beg your pardon, Miss Thompson!”

When we returned to the Euston hotel, at seven forty-five, we were surprised to find Edith still there.

“I do hope that you got my message!” I said.

“Indeed.  Thank-you.  I have seen the piece in the Standard.  How very grubby of them!  I gather you have been composing a rebuttal.”

“Not exactly, Mrs C.  It is more in the nature of a call for women’s choices not to be pilloried and disgraced when the same standards do not apply to men.  Why, the writer of the piece virtually intimated he would take over Edmund’s position after he left for Brazil and obviously thought that this would not result in his own reputation being ruined!!” said Daisy.

“Well said, Daisy!  Well, I have some news too!  George, I have discovered, has left for Liverpool a day early so we can have dinner here, if you feel able to face the restaurant!”

“An excellent suggestion!” I said.  “Daisy and I have something to tell you!”

“Oh! Are congratulations in order?  Quick work, Edmund!” said Edith, looking a little surprised, I thought.

“No!  Not that!  Not yet anyway!” I said, looking at Daisy who gave me a heart melting smile.

“Let’s go downstairs.  I could murder a cocktail!” said Daisy.

“Well, this is a development I had not foreseen!” said Edith, frowning, after Daisy had told her of Lord Ventnor’s offer for her to travel on the SS Hildebrand to Brazil.  “It seems that every new friend I make is to be taken from me and sent to the jungle.”

“I am sorry, Edith, but as you had offered me a post as your household clerk I will of course honour that commitment, as I am so grateful for what you have done for me!  Although I have never been on any sort of boat!” said Daisy, looking rather wistful.

“Daisy, my dear, I could not possibly stand in the way of such an opportunity for you!  To cross the Atlantic on a liner and sail up the Amazon!  What an experience!  Of course you shall go.  Why, if you return on the Hildebrand immediately, you will probably only be away for a couple of months!”

“Oh thank you, Mrs C!  I am so excited to be able to have such an adventure!” she said.

“You would not wish to join the expedition as a full member, if that were possible?  I could have a word with George, although I suspect I know his answer!” said Edith.

“No, no, no!  It all sounds rather arduous and I have no desire to be eaten by a dinosaur!” said Daisy.

“No one is going to get eaten by a dinosaur!” I said.

“What about that poor daughter of Mr Blanc?  Marguerite’s cousin.  It sounds like she met an unpleasant end!” said Edith. 

“Perhaps she is living happily on the plateau, just waiting to be rescued, like Robinson Crusoe!” said Daisy.

“Perhaps she is,” said Edith, looking doubtful.  I had a mental image of the girl held aloft in the jaws of some terrible lizard, her arms and legs flailing in vain as the creature bit down and spilled her intestines.  I shuddered.  If there really were dinosaurs on the plateau we would be little physical challemge to them.  I would keep very close to Hoxton at all times, I vowed.

“Do we need to discuss our...approach, for want of a better word, to Lord Hoxton’s birthday weekend?” I asked, changing the subject.  I had a vision of a group of rampant old goats from the House of Lords, led by Ventnor, lining up to take Daisy in turn. The worst thing was that I could imagine Daisy smiling in glee at the prospect.

“Approach?” asked Daisy.

“I think what Edmund is alluding to is to what extent we may have to participate in any sexual activities?” explained Edith.

“Isn’t that why we are going?  To participate in sexual activities?” asked Daisy.  “In public?”

I looked round the crowded dining room.  “Perhaps this is a discussion to have in private!” I said, not wanting another salacious story to appear in the Standard.

“I think you are right,” said Edith.  “I have booked a room for myself tonight here and I have been sent some personal items from home for proprieties sake, largely.  However, if you both agree, I had hoped that the three of us might sleep together tonight, in every sense of the word!”

“Although that sounds lovely!” said Daisy. “I don’t know if Edmund deserves such a treat!”  She was obviously not going to let me forget about the Smaile incident, I realised. “In fact, I promised him a humiliating punishment!”

“Daisy, perhaps we should retire and have a brief discussion!” said Edith.

After a late supper we proceeded upstairs, past a pretty dark-haied maid on the stairs who looked at me and then winked at Edith.  We retired to the bedroom in which Daisy and I had spent the previous night.  I sensed from the two women, something had been planned.  They had disappeared together at the end of the meal and reappeared some fifteen minutes later, looking conspiratorial. Now we were stood in the room looking at each other, rather awkwardly.

“What is it ladies?” I asked.  “You look...I don’t know...”  I had, perhaps, thought that as soon as we had passed through the doorway we would be tearing each other’s clothes off in passion but instead Daisy and Edith stood apart from me, looking at me as if I was one of Professor Challenor’s biological specimens.

“Do you want to start, Daisy or shall I” asked Edith.

“You start, Mrs C.  You were first, after all!” said Daisy.

“Start what?”  I asked.  “I sense a conspiracy!  At my expense!”

“You, Edmund need to relax and just accede to our instructions!” said Edith. She came over to me and started to unbutton my jacket.  I tried to kiss her but she wagged her finger at me and told me to wait.  Having helped me out of it and hung it up in the wardrobe, Daisy took her place and removed my waistcoat. The two women proceeded with removing all my clothes; taking it in turn for each item.  Tie, Braces, collar, shirt, trousers, shoes, socks and undershirt.  With each garment removal I received a nice smile, so my fears gradually disappeared, along with my clothes.  It was Edith who finally removed my drawers, leaving me naked, with my manhood flooding with blood.

“Such a lovely one!” said Daisy, looking over her shoulder as she pulled the bedclothes off completely, leaving just the white sheet upon the mattress.

“Now, Edmund, lie on your back in the centre of the bed while we attend to you!”  I grinned, my process of throbbing tumescence thoroughly complete.

“Spread your legs and put your hands above your head!” ordered Daisy as I climbed into bed.  I did so.  She went to the corner of the room and fumbled in her Whiteley’s bag and then pulled out some skeins of red, silken rope.

“What is that for?” I asked, although I knew.

“It is for tying back curtains, of course!” said Daisy, walking to the head of the bed and taking my left wrist.  Well, I have always struggled with knots somewhat.  My uncles in Ireland despaired of me, when I went fishing with them and soon learned not to entrust me with any knot that we would need to rely on.  Daisy, however, soon had my hand bound to the brass bedstead in the manner of a worker at Chatham Dockyard. Within a minute I was bound head and foot to the bed.  I had some movement in my arms but hardly any in my legs where she had tied my ankles to the rail at the foot of the bed.

“You are an expert at knots, Daisy!” said Edith.

“I was taught by an expert!” she said, enigmatically.

“That is for sure!” I said, experimentally tugging at my bonds, to no avail.

“Do you remember how, this morning, I said that I would like to tie you up and take you whenever I liked!” asked Daisy.

“Indeed so!” I answered; my somewhat deflated manhood beginning to recover at the thought.

“And with two ladies here, what amusement we could have with you, Edmund!” said Edith.  “I really do wonder why I never contemplated binding my men before!”

“Unfortunately,” said Daisy.  “You have, rather unfeelingly, prostituted me out to that photographer in exchange for some cameras and film!”

“I had to pay him!” I said, worried as to where this might be going.  “You were just...”

“A what?  A sweetener? An additional little bauble?” asked Daisy.  “If he had wanted to have fucked me, what would you have said, then?  ‘Oh, alright Smaile, but be quick as I have to get her back for another session with the married woman I am carrying on with?’”

“Now, Daisy, you know it wasn’t like that...and anyway you enjoyed it!” I said.

“I enjoyed it?  What if I had enjoyed being fucked by Mr Smaile?  What if I might enjoy being fucked by Lord Hoxton?  Or William?  Or Lord Ventnor?  I like older, powerful men!” said Daisy.  “And it’s Miss Thompson from you, now!”

“Edith!” I implored.

“Of dear, Edmund.” she said. “You do seem to have behaved very reprehensibly.  Women are not your possessions, whose favours you can give out as you see fit.  What you should have done is turned down the photographer’s rather disreputable demand at once and then told Daisy that you had done so.  It then becomes up to her to say, if she so wishes, ‘actualy Edmund, to help the expedition, I do not mind at all!’”

“Which I would have done!  If asked,” added Daisy.

“But you did not object when I told you about it on the way!” I said, exasperated.

“By then the damage had been done!  I kindly acceded as I knew it was important.  The crime was not in arranging the actual act but in failing to ask my permission, first!” said Daisy.  She and Edith were stood either side of the bed, with their arms folded. I turned my head to look at one then the other but they looked fierce and unforgiving.

“I am sorry!  So sorry!  I was completely wrong and didn’t think!” I mumbled, defeated,

“Because you are a very stupid Irishman!” said Edith,

“Indeed!” I said.

“What are you, Mr Molloy?” asked Daisy.

“A very stupid Irishman!” I said.

“Exactly!”  said Edith.  “And as a punishment we will ignore you for the rest of the evening!  Come along Daisy, let us go and have a bath together!”

“How lovely Mrs C!” said Daisy.  “We can kiss and caress!” I watched disconsolately, as the two women took two bath robes from the wardrobe and left the room.  I was left alone, as I heard them lock the door.  Tied up and miserable.  I thought of Hoxton's warning that when having sexual adventures with two women they might discover that they preferred each other's company and abandon you. This was not the evening I had planned.

I lay there for well over an hour, shivering, as the room got colder and colder.  I started to tug at my bonds and managed to shake the bedstead but I remained tightly bound.  I wondered how long the women would be.  My bladder was becoming very uncomfortable. I had drunk a lot of water at dinner to offset some rather salty potatoes.  There was a knock on the door.  I said nothing, fearing it was a member of staff.

“Maid service, sir!” came a chirpy cockney voice.

“I am quite alright, thank you!” I called out.

“Would you like me to set the fire, sir?  It’s turned awful cold this evening!”

“No, thank you!  I can do it myself!” I said.

“Well only if you smash up the furniture, sir as there is no kindling in the room, as yet. My fault sir.  Should have done it at dinner time but I got caught on another job.”

“No it is  alright.  I am quite warm!” I lied.

“Oh sir, I must set the fire.  If Elsie comes in tomorrow morning and there ain’t no sign of a fire she’ll tell Mr Benson and I’ll be right for it, I will!  Please.  I could lose my job!"

“I am undressed!” I said.

“I’ll wait while you put something on, sir!” she said.

“I cannot!” I said.

“Please sir!” she implored.  “I’m coming in sir!  Best cover yerself!” I heard the key turn.  There was nothing I could do.

“Oh sir!” said the maid, the pretty dark-haired, dark eyed little thing who had winked at Edith earlier, all neat in her black and white uniform.  “You seem to be in a right pickle, you do!”

“I’m sorry to expose myself in this way but I am somewhat tied up!” I said blushing.  I had hoped she might be some middle aged old hag but she was a lovely thing.  Just the sort of girl I would have tried to impress a few months ago.

“Don’t worry sir.  I see lots of naked people in my job!  I won’t look!  She put a large brass bucket of twigs next to the fireplace and started to make up the fire.  “Soon have you nice and warm! You must be freezing your stones off, If I may be so bold!”

“Once you have finished I would be most grateful if you could untie me, please!”

“Who tied you up, sir?  Was it a burglar?  Shall I call the police?”

“No! No!  Just some friends.  As a joke!”

“Not a very funny joke, if you ask me!  Not very nice friends!”

“I am starting to think the same!”  She soon had the fire going, to my relief.  

“Please, miss...”

“Bobbie, sir.  My real name is Roberta but everyone calls me Bobbie!” She stood up and looked at me, taking in my vulnerable naked state in a slow inspection.

“Please, Bobbie, could you untie me now!  I will give you half a crown!” I said.

“You have a very nice body, sir.   Oh!  Wait!  You are Edmund Molloy!  The journalist!  I been reading all your articles about dinosaurs. You’re all based ‘ere, ain’t you?  You are the rugby player, too!”  I had a horrible thought that my current predicament would be outlined in detail in tomorrow’s Standard.

“Yes, that is me!” I said.  “Now about the ropes...”

“Didn’t really clock your face, sir.  I was distracted, like!”  She looked at my groin and licked her lips.

“Yes, I can imagine.  If you can just free my hands...”

“What a big wallows, you’ve got, sir!”

“A what?”

“Wallows, sir.  That’s what I called me brother’s thing when I was a nipper.”

“Yes, well.  The ropes?”

“Well I don’t know, sir.  If your friends did it, I don’t know whether I should spoil their game!”

“Yes, Bobbie.  You really should.  It’s a horrible game! Just deal with the wrists and then I can do my ankles!”

“I don’t know.  I might get in trouble!  Was it them pretty ladies did this to you?  'ave you upset 'em?"

“Ten shillings is what you will get, Bobbie!”

“Ten shillings ain’t much for me job if I get caught touching a naked guest!” she mused.

“A pound!” I said, desperately. “But you mustn’t tell anybody!”

“I dunno, sir.  I really like this job.  Much better than being a cleaner at Bart’s Hospital, it is!”

“Five pounds!” I said. That would be over a week’s wages for the girl.  “No-one will ever know!”

“Except the friends who tied you up!”

“I can say that I freed myself!”  She came over and inspected the knots.

“You’d have to be bleedin’ ‘oudini, sir, pardon me language!  Tight as a suffragette’s arse, if you ask me.   Done by an expert.  I know a bit about knots, I do!”

“Well I am a strong man...”

“I can see that, sir!  Lovely muscles you got!”

“Thank you, Bobbie.  So how about it?”

“Trouble is, sir, I’ve made the fire so they will know I been in ‘ere, won’t they?  They’ll know I did it for you!  Such trouble I’ll be in!”

“Please, Bobbie!  For a start I am desperate to relieve myself!”

“’ow long you been ‘ere, then?”

“Over an hour and I haven’t been for ages!”

“I know!  I could bring you the pot!  She went over to the nightstand and opened the door to remove the pot.  She slammed the door, noisily.

“If you just free me I can do that myself!

“That’s alright, sir.  Sometimes at the ‘ospital I had to help out with the pots.  My job to empty them anyway.  Not afraid of a bit of piss!”  She came to the bedside and placed the pot between my legs. She pressed the rim against my ballocks. “Oh dear.  It’s not quite right.  Don’t want you wetting the mattress! I’ll 'ave to hold your wallows up a bit.  Please don’t tell!”

“Please just untie me!” I said.  “Then all of this can be avoided!”  Her fingers had already wrapped around me and lifted me, so my tip was over the edge of the pot.

“Right you are sir!  I won’t look if you are embarrassed!” she turned her face away.  My bladder was really hurting but as much as I pushed, nothing came out. It was worse than being next to Mr Churchill!

“Oh dear, sir!” said Bobbie, looking down at the empty pot.  “You frozen, eh?  Happens to men, dunnit?  Sometimes.  If we ‘ad a tap I could run it.  That helps, dunnit?”  I continued to push, in desperation but the harder I tried the more tense I became.  I was not helped by Bobbie starting to massage me.  Despite my painful bladder I couldn’t help it.  I started to grow.  I expected the girl to leap back in alarm but she just kept stroking me, very skilfully, I realised, with just the right amount of pressure.  

“Please!  Just untie me!” I begged, miserably.  Who would have thought that I could ever feel so miserable when lying in bed having my manhood massaged by a very pretty girl.

“Bloody ‘ell, Mr Molloy.  It just gets bigger and bigger, dunnit?”

“What is all this about not touching the guests?  Have you forgotten?” I said, even more embarrassed.

Suddenly, I heard the door open, as Bobbie had left it unlocked, but there was nothing I could do.  In walked Edith and Daisy, dressed in their long towelling bathrobes and holding their clothes and shoes in neat stacked bundles.

“Edmund!  What are you doing!” asked Edith.

“Trying to piss!” I replied, defiantly.

“That’s not what it looks like at all!” said Edith.

“This poor girl!  How disgusting for her!  How could you ask her to do such a thing!” said Daisy. “But at least she was asked, I assume!”

“It’s alright, miss, ‘e’s paying me a fiver!” said Bobbie.

“No, I wasn’t paying for that!” I said.

“What was he paying you to do, young lady?” asked Edith.

“We ‘adn’t exactly discussed the detail of the services, yet, ma’am!” said Bobbie, thankfully letting go of me.  My manhood bounced back to lie flat against my belly.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” said Bobbie, staring at my manhood.  “I mean FUCKin’ ell!  Pardon me, ladies!”

“That was my initial reaction as well!” said Edith.  “Although I didn’t quite express it in that manner!"  She laughed.  "Probably now I would!"

“Sorry, ma’am.  Now about the services for Mr Molloy...”

“Bobbie, we didn’t discuss any services other than you untying me!  You naughty girl!” I said.

“We ain’t discussed the detail of the naughtiness, though, ‘ad we sir?” said Bobbie, still staring at me. “Other than me holding your wallows!”

“Bobbie, please!” I said.  I jerked at my bonds again.

 “Ooh look at you, Mr Molloy, all stiff and throbbing.  Bugger me, you're massive!”

“Bobbie, you may leave us now!  Take your five pounds from Mr Molloy’s wallet, there.  You can have ten shillings, as we agreed, from my purse!”

“As we agreed?” I asked. “What about your job, Bobbie?”

“I was doing it!” she said.

“She isn’t a maid, Edmund!” said Edith.

“She’s a toffer!” said Daisy, laughing.  “A real one!  As we discovered!”

“I use the uniform to move about unnoticed,” she said.  “Hotel don’t appreciate the likes of me lurking around, although the gentlemen guests do!”

“But you had a key!” I said.

“She had our key!” laughed Edith.

“But how did you...”  I was totally confused.

“Well, we’ll tell you all about it if you behave!” said Edith.  Bobbie gave me a cheery wave after extracting her money from my wallet and Edith’s purse.

“I don’t do men for nothing, Mr Molloy, but if you ever need some fun I’d give you a big discount on account of your big wallows!  Tied up or not, as you like!”

“Don’t even contemplate it!” said Daisy.

“You can have a night off!” said Edith, as Bobbie picked up the brass bucket of kindling.

“That’s alright! I’m all worked up now! Need one up me!  I’ll find someone else.  Thanks for the fun, ladies!  Thanks for the fun too, Mr Molloy!  Good luck on your expedition.  Hope you don’t get eaten by a dinosaur, although I’d gobble you up in a trice!”  Her accent had lost its cockney twang, I noticed.  She left the room, leaving me still tied to the bed with a raging erection.

“Are you going to untie me now?” I asked, I really am sorry, Daisy!  How could I take such a lovely girl for granted!”  There was much more heartfelt grovelling on my part but I do not wish to recall the demeaning utterances I felt compelled to issue.  

Neither women gave me so much as a glance. Edith shrugged out of her bathrobe to reveal her naked body.  Daisy did the same.  They started to kiss and caress each other, over by the fire.  Of course, given that sight and Bobbie’s previous ministrations I stayed erect, despite the almost overwhelming pressure in my bladder.  Daisy knelt down in front of Edith and started licking her parts. Edith had placed one foot up on the seat of a chair, giving Daisy better access to her sex.  They were positioned in such a way that I could see the tip of Daisy’s tongue flicking Edith’s bud. Edith gripped Daisy’s shoulders and moaned with pleasure. Eventually Edith spent, as Daisy gripped the older woman’s buttocks. Daisy stood up and they embraced, Edith licking her juices off Daisy’s mouth and chin.

“What wonderful women you are!” I said.  “Only a complete cad would offend such beauties!” I carried on, in vain, begging for release.

“Sit in the chair, Daisy!  I will fuck you!” said Edith.  Daisy sat down, slipped forward to the edge of the seat and spread her lovely thighs.  Edith started to service her with her tongue before inserting two fingers into her and starting to thrust energetically.  I writhed in frustration and pulled, uselessly, against my bonds.

“Fucked! Fucked! Fucked!” cried Daisy, her hips gyrating as Edith carried on.  She had now knelt between Daisy/s legs so her hand was at her groin and she was thrusting her pelvis as a man would, her fingers substituting for a penis.

“Who needs men?” said Edith.

“Not me! Not me!  Oh Edith!” cried Daisy, lifting her bottom from the chair, before dropping into it once more.  Edith gently removed her fingers and licked them, one after another.  They collapsed onto the rug in front of the fire, kissing and stroking.

“What more do I have to do!” I implored.  “Please!”  Had I really lost these two gorgeous women because of my behaviour?   Had they really arranged a prostitute just to humiliate me and make me feel miserable?

“I really, really need to piss!” I said.

“Do you know?  I really, really need to piss!” said Edith to Daisy. 

“Shall I fetch the pot?” asked Daisy, looking at where Bobbie had left it on the sheet next to me.

“How kind!  But I will fetch it myself!”  Edith came over to the bed and picked up the pot.  She gave me a wink, which induced a burst of hope within me as it was a rare acknowledgement of my presence. Edith stood facing me, with her legs apart, holding the pot between her thighs.  She began to piss, copiously.

“Ah!  That is so good!” she cried.  “Such relief!  To feel the water draining from my body!  The painful pressure diminishing!”  She moaned with pleasure.

“Stop, please?” I begged.

“My turn!” said Daisy,

“Shall I hold it for you?” asked Edith.

“I couldn’t possibly ask such a demeaning thing!” said Daisy.  “Who would ask a friend to demean themselves in such a way?”

“How many times do I have to say sorry?” I said.

“No but it is quite different when someone offers, rather than being told, to do something without consultation, is it not?” asked Edith.

“In that case!” said Daisy.  Edith held the pot and Daisy began to piss in it.  “Oh that’s lovely!”

“Alright!  Alright!  Please stop!” I begged.

“Oh I can’t now!  It’s pouring out of me like a fountain!  Like a waterfall!  Flooding and flooding!” said Daisy. "What joy!"

“Lovely!” said Edith and actually put her fingers into Daisy’s stream.  “Such a warm, liquid cascade!” She put her fingers into her mouth.  “What a delightful, salty treat!”

The mistake I made was to try to pull my internal muscles back to relieve the pressure.  A few seconds of respite was followed, as I relaxed again, by a dribble then a trickle and then a flood.

“Edmund!  Are you pissing yourself?  In the bed?” said Daisy, triumphantly.  I admit that a tear rolled down my cheek.  My humiliation was complete!