I fondled her breasts. They were so different from Claire's. Julie reminded me so much of Odette. I bent my head to suck her nipples. She adored it. She moaned at the feel of my lips at her breasts.
Then at last I made her lie at the edge of the bed. I opened her thighs, kissed her knees, her thighs, her nest, and finally her sex. She moaned softly as I probed with my tongue. She was still a virgin. Her liquor flowed in abundance. I nibbled at the plump lips of her sex. I sucked at the open flesh, at the bud of her clitoris. Her fur tickled my nose. I worked my tongue in her trench, reveling in the flood of thick syrup. Finally she spent. A groan, a shudder, her thighs pressing against my head.
“Edward, darling…”
“I won't hear any regrets.”
She laughed, a soft, bubbling laugh. “I don't have any. But I do want the same. I want you in my mouth.”
I quickly stripped my clothes away. She rose to sit at the edge of the bed. She smiled at my swollen state. She fondled my testicles, then my root. Yes, a demi-vierge. Like her sister. There was knowledge in the fondling. Clever fingers lifting my balls. Then her fruity lips opening to engulf my knob. A moment of unbelief. I had my root in the mouth of my wife's sister. First the mother, then Claire, and now Julie. Three Fontan women sucking at my penis. Julie's mouth was the most divine. Ardent but still fresh. Her eyes closed as she slid the ring of her lips back and forth along the length of my tool. Her fingers continued to squeeze my stones. I wondered what Dallow was doing at that moment. Sailing in one of his silly balloons? Before long I shuddered and spent in Julie's mouth.
We left the hotel after that. She would go to John Dallow a virgin. A month later Dallow and Julie were betrothed. Two months after that they were married in Vincennes in the same church in which Claire and I had taken our vows.
After the ceremony, Julie smiled at me. I gazed at her smiling mouth. I amused myself with the memory of that hotel in Rue Vaugirard.
A few months later the four of us were at my ancestral manor house in Surrey. John and Julie had taken up residence in London. We invited them to stay with us in Surrey during the month of September. The weather was mild, the days clear, the afternoons almost balmy. I thought Claire was sometimes unkind to Julie. Claire seemed pleased that John's income was not as large as my own. On occasion she belittled Julie's attempts to give an affluent impression. Julie would blush and remain silent. Did they hate each other? I thought they did. But then at other times a true sisterly affection between them was quite obvious. I did not know what to make of it. One never knows what to make of such things.
Then one afternoon, as we sat alone on the lawn, Claire told me I might watch John and Julie if I liked. “If you want to, darling. It can be done if you want to.”
“Watch them? Watch them at what?”
Claire laughed. “Watch them together, of course. Watch him cover my sister.”
“Where?”
“In the wood near the Jerrold farm. They go riding there. They have a spot in the wood where they do it and I've seen them at it twice. It's fun, really.”
“Good Lord.”
“Don't you want to?”
She coaxed me into joining her. Yes, I did want to see it. We had the horses saddled and we rode off. When we passed the Jerrold farm, Claire insisted we dismount and leave the horses. We crept through the tall grass towards the wood like a pair of poachers. I was amused, sweating in the heat. I'd finished an entire bottle of wine at lunch and now the sun made me dizzy. We soon passed their horses where they'd been left at a post. Claire led me along, cautioning me to step carefully inside the wood. Then finally we saw them in a small clearing. Julie was bent over a stump with her gown raised and John had already mounted her from the rear. He had his riding breeches down at his boots, his white rump moving as he slowly poked her.
Claire's excitement was intense. She trembled against me. I moved behind her and covered her breasts with my hands. She leaned against me as we watched them. She whispered at me. “He always takes her like that.”
I raised Claire's dress to expose her bottom. She murmured a protest as I fondled her globes. But then she yielded. She bent forward. She used the trunk of the tree beside us to support herself. I found her grotto drenched. I penetrated quickly. A sound of pleasure came out of Claire's throat. The other's were too far to hear it. I pushed Claire's gown and chemise to her waist to completely expose her buttocks. I gazed down at the sliding of my tool in and out of her hairy cleft. My pleasure was keen. I was amused at my victory over John: first having Julie in Paris and now watching them together in Surrey. Claire squirmed as I poked her. She rolled her hips and whispered: “Hurry, darling.”
I spent lavishly. It was glorious. And there in the clearing I could see John was also at the end of it. Almost a brotherly touch. How amusing it was to have the sisters at the same time and in the same way.
Ah yes, the amusement of it. And John's amusement? About a year later I saw them together in Tottenham Court Road. Claire and John. I remember the shock of it. She held his arm as they walked. I followed them. I watched them enter a small hotel. One of those places that make rooms available for an hour or two. My wife and my brother-in-law. Was I truly surprised? I hadn't thought Claire would be so daring with her sister's husband. Poor Edward. I have the misfortune of always being surprised by people. I walked down towards Oxford Street. Claire had long ceased to be an obsession. Now that I'd seen her with John, my hatred was fervent. The next day I visited the office of a private detective, a Mr. Cutter. I issued instructions to obtain evidence concerning Claire's doings in London. After a few weeks, Mr. Cutter provided a thorough report to me in person. Mrs. Ransom was certainly seeing Mr. Dallow surreptitiously and in circumstances leading one to believe the obvious. Tawdry little hotels in Bloomsbury. Mr. Cutter also reported that Mrs. Ransom was frequently in the home of an actress named Lily Graham. “A bit of a reputation, sir.”
“Reputation?”
“She's one of those that likes the ladies.”
Was there mockery in his eyes? I paid Mr. Cutter's bill and dismissed him. I went directly to my club and drank myself into a stupor. Around me in the club they were still talking of shares and plantations. Well, I couldn't blame John Dallow for Lily Graham, could I? The red wine soaked into my brain.
A few days later I found myself alone with Claire in the house and I cajoled her into bed. It was late afternoon, hardly the time when she appreciated my advances. But I persisted. I amused myself by thinking I'd upset a rendezvous somewhere. Claire seemed pliant as I fondled her thighs. I felt a mixture of desire and hatred. She granted my wish to look at her bottom. She posed on her bed with her gown at her waist and her buttocks naked. “Is that what you want?”
I kissed and fondled her bottom-cheeks. She purred with approval as I licked in the furrow. I tickled her rose-hole with my tongue. I sucked at it. I bathed in it a flood of saliva. Claire made sounds of pleasure as she moved her bottom against my face. She did not suspect my intention. Then I rose to mount her. The target beckoned to me. I first touched the lips of her sex to deflect her attention. I rubbed her clitoris and probed her sex with my fingers. Then I pushed my knob at the smaller hole. She was caught by surprise. She uttered a cry. She froze as I pushed in. “Edward, no!”
I pushed further. This was the first time, my first entry into a place I was certain had been breached by others. In the past she'd never allowed it to me. Now I ignored her pleading. She cried out but I showed no mercy. I thought of her with John. I imagined his tool stretching her bottom-hole. At last her cries ceased when she realized they were useless. She held still as I moved my root in and out of her fundament. I told her I had the impression she liked it. “You ought to be truthful.”
“It's awful.”
“I don't believe that.”