Clearly, Corky had been right all along. The debaucheries of the Dalrymple family were not merely repellant and vulgar but unhealthy; fundamentally perverse.
Alone once more in his room, Corky was frantically repacking his steamer trunk with renewed determination to quit the household in which he had unwittingly become entangled.
Beatrice's discovery of Maggie in his bedroom may have been an unpleasant experience, but in fact it was a blessing in disguise. The shock of the experience was sufficient to startle him back into his senses. For a moment, for a bare instant, he had been in danger of succumbing to the temptations he was—
No, no! How absurd! He had never been truly tempted. The perversity, the rampant vulgarity that had been paraded before him had sickened him, disgusted him at every turn. Only physical compulsion, and then his own misplaced gallantry, had prevented him from immediate flight. Now the scales were gone from his eyes, and good sense had returned to him.
The blasted trunk would not close. Trembling with agitation, Corky dumped out the clothes once more, and began to refold them more carefully.
It was a shame that matters with Beatrice had come to such a state. He gritted his teeth thinking of how the situation had spiraled so rapidly out of control. He repented now of his lewd actions with her, perhaps even more than those with her sister. Beatrice, at least, was perhaps redeemable. Though she had encouraged, even instigated the liberties he had taken, it is the unalterable duty of the gentleman to preserve a lady's purity, even when she fails to grasp or acknowledge that obligation. He had failed her in this regard even more than he had failed her subsequently with Maggie. He realized this now, though he doubted that Beatrice ever would.
The latches on the trunk shut with a satisfying click. Corky took a deep breath, slung several bags over his shoulder, lifted the trunk, and made for the door.
It opened as he approached, the knob held by Mrs. Dalrymple. Oddly, he felt little surprise at her appearance.
"William," she said. "You're home early."
"I was feeling poorly," he explained."
"You do look a little pale," the widow admitted. "But you appear to be preparing for a journey. Pardon my saying so, William, but is travel really wise if you're unwell? And so early in the term, too?"
Corky drew in a deep breath. "M-M-Mrs. Dalrymple, I am terminating my residency here, and s-s-seeking lodging elsewhere." There. He'd said it.
His landlady's pale brow furrowed slightly. "How disappointing! You really have been a most delightful guest, and it saddens me to see you leave."
Corky, who was expecting more vigorous objections, stood awkwardly for a few moments before replying: "All the same. My mind is made up. I am determined to quit this place, and to do so at once."
Corky suppressed a flinch as Mrs. Dalrymple reached out to pat Corky's shoulder softly. "Well, I do hope you'll come to dinner soon," she said. "Have you said good-bye to the girls yet?"
Corky colored a little. "I believe they're preoccupied at the moment. I'd prefer not to disturb them."
"Oh, nonsense," Mrs. Dalrymple chided him. "Are they bickering again? I'll soon put a stop to that! You wait right here, William, and I'll fetch them at once."
Corky found himself divested of his bags and seated on a chair before he could react, and was still in the process of formulating a reply when the door closed behind Mrs. Dalrymple with a click. Corky tried anxiously to imagine the coming scenario: the red-eyed glares from Beatrice, the insolent grins from Maggie, the stiff, artificial farewells. Or else—worse yet—perhaps another scene of compulsion such as that on his first night. Mrs. Dalrymple might once again enlist her daughters in overpowering him and forcing him to submit to her depraved lusts.
Corky shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could just imagine—Maggie and Beatrice restraining him while their mother exposed her body and slaked her lascivious desires upon him. Would Beatrice still cooperate in such an endeavor? Worse still, perhaps she would turn her attention to exacting her revenge on him for the slight she had endured. With her mother's assistance, she might turn him over her knee, pull down his trousers, and beat his bare bottom until it was red! The humiliation of receiving such treatment would be nigh unendurable. Corky stood, and, readjusting his trousers, paced the room anxiously. He could imagine the dreadful scene—his eyes damp and stinging, her delicate features set in a stern expression as she struck him again and again, forcing him to beg her forgiveness for his disloyalty. Oh, the shame of it!
And then, under her mother's perverse tutelage, she might remove her own garments and gratify herself upon his body. Would the hair of her motte be thick like her mother's, or sparse like that of her sister? Corky could feel the heat and moisture of her snug passage as she lowered herself upon his struggling form. With a handkerchief, he mopped at his fevered brow. This was intolerable—he would not participate in her defilement. Once more, he took up his bags, and made for the door, determined to sneak out of the house before any such scenario could come to pass.
As if on cue, the door opened and Mrs. Dalrymple appeared, grinning and bright eyed "William, you rascal, she whispered. "You're a quicker study than I realized. The girls have been having a fascinating talk about you—I happened to overhear a few words." As she spoke, she divested him once more of the packages he had taken up. "Come quickly now!" she then demanded, seizing the young man's wrist and drawing him into the corridor. "Now hush my lad," she urged him in a thrilling whisper, "and you shall see something rather fine."
She pulled the reluctant student into her darkened bedroom, and Corky steeled himself for another assault. Instead, however, she opened the door of her closet and pushed him inside, following after and drawing the door shut. The smell of violet powder and mothballs surrounded him, calling to mind childhood games of hide-and-seek, where he had crouched in his mother's clothes closet. With fabric brushing against his face, he felt an echo of the giddy tension that had characterized those games, the frightening and thrilling anticipation of being found by the child who was "it." The yielding warmth of Mrs. Dalrymple's body against him called to mind other games, which he had heard of, but never played.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed a small circle of light, from which emerged the tense voices of the two girls in the next room. A gentle shove sent him stumbling against the back of the closet, and he pressed his eye to the secret orifice presented to him.
In the next room, Beatrice was seated facing him on a bed, head in her hands, sobbing. Her sister had an arm about her shoulder, and was speaking consolingly to her.
"There, there, Beatrice," Maggie said. "It was'n't his doing. I'm sure William adores you."
"What do you mean 'it was'n't his doing?'" Beatrice sniffled. "The moment he was out of my sight, he was in the arms of another girl. Oh, I was a fool to believe that he loved me!" and she collapsed into sobs once more.
"No, no!" cried her sister. "It's my fault, Beatrice! He would never have done such a thing had I not forced him."
"Well, nearly. I used some of the methods mother taught us. And he had'n't spent with you. He was on the very verge of bursting when I started! You can hardly fault him for succumbing under such circumstances as those!"
"Perhaps not..." said Beatrice, sitting up a little straighter.
"Certainly not. Why, when he spent, it was such a quantity I thought I might drown. And so thick, too! It's small wonder indeed that the poor fellow could'n't control himself."
From his vantage point, Corky winced at Beatrice's indelicacy.
Beatrice folded her fingers together and took a deep breath, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "Thank you, Maggie. You're quite correct. I can't place the blame in poor William's lap. The situation was out of his control."
"And now it's clear what I must do next."
Maggie's brow furrowed. "Whatever is that?"
In a sudden motion, Beatrice leapt on her sister and pinned her face down to the bed. "Spank your rude lascivious fat strumpet bottom until it is black and blue!" she cried, and began pulling Maggie's petticoats up over her waist.
"You take that back! My bottom is'n't fat!" Maggie protested, struggling wildly against her sister's grip
Her posterior, whatever adjectives it merited, was soon exposed—not for the first time—to Corky's eye.
Still blotched red and pink from the previous evening's proceedings, it tensed abruptly at the first forceful blow from Beatrice's hand, as Maggie arched her back and redoubled her efforts at escape.
"Not on my poor bottom!" Maggie pleaded. "I'm still dreadfully sore!"
"And still dreadfully wicked as well," her sister retorted, punctuating her remarks with several more stinging blows that made Maggie's rosy flesh darken further as her hips bucked frantically. "ApPARently you weren't SORE enough to reTAIN any of the LESSons mister BRANdywine attempted to TEACH you," each emphasized syllable bringing another resounding slap, and another shriek from her struggling victim.
"Oh, please, Beatrice!" Maggie sobbed. "My bottom is all aflame. Already this morning I could barely sit still!"
Beatrice laughed. "Dear sister, you can barely sit down under the best of circumstances. I do'n't see why a good spanking should have improved your abilities in that regard. Perhaps I am punishing the wrong part of you, though."
"Oh, yes," said Maggie. "Anything else, please!"
Beatrice roughly shoved Maggie's legs apart, unknowingly exposing her sister's nether lips—tinted a blushing pink scant shades lighter than her abused posterior— to Corky's concealed eye.
Mrs. Dalrymple's soft hand had stolen to the front of Corky's trousers and was pressing rhythmically against the protuberance she found there. In the back of his mind, it occurred to Corky that he really ought to do something about that indiscretion, but his attention was too caught up in the scene before him to give it much thought. This was a side of Beatrice's character that he had not seen before; though his eyes were also on a side of Maggie's physique that he had.
"It's not your bottom, after all, that gets you in such awful trouble," Beatrice mused, cupping her sister's plump genitals with one hand, "but this rude and greedy little mouth here. Why, even now I do believe it's drooling with eagerness."
"No, no!" protested her sister. "It's not that, it's just wuh..." her voice trailed off.
"It's just what?"
"It's just William's saliva, you were going to say, weren't you? More evidence of your vile lechery!" and she struck her sister's bottom once more.
"Anyway, I do'n't believe you. I say you're still deriving lecherous satisfaction even from my attempts to correct you," and she pressed Maggie's sex open and pushed two fingers inside with a liquid sound. Maggie jerked and bucked against Beatrice's hold on her waist, but this served merely to agitate the digits within her, whether by accident or design.
"Just as I thought—slick all the way up in," Beatrice declared, her eyes burning with fierce enthusiasm.
Whatever her initial intent, Maggie was now squirming against her sister's invading digits, angling for further penetration of her dewy cleft.
"What do you think?" Beatrice asked. She withdrew her fingers, eliciting a plaintive wail from her agitated sibling, which was abruptly cut off when they were thrust into her open mouth.
"Oh, you needn't make such a wry face, " Beatrice scolded her, "this is hardly the first time you've tasted your own fluids. In your expert opinion, what this flavor—saliva, or the outpourings of overly excitable twat?"
Muffled groans were her only reply.
"What's that? You need a larger sample? That can be accommodated."
Maggie gasped for breath as her mouth was vacated, then shrieked as her cunny was penetrated once more, followed by a series of staccato yelps as her sister thrust her bunched fingers repeatedly into her liquid depths. Corky's eyes jumped rapidly between the girls faces—Maggie's eyes tightly shut, mouth slack as she succumbed to the sensations washing through her, Beatrice's gaze of fierce concentration, biting her plump lower lip as she labored away at her sister's inflamed nether parts; both faces flushed with emotion as they enacted their drama.
As Maggie's cries increased in volume and timbre, the last one was once more cut off as three shining fingers were thrust between her full lips. This time she sucked ardently at the insistent fingers, moaning and twisting her hips beseechingly, so that the slack and shining mouth of her sex winked between the rosy cheeks of her bottom.
Beatrice attempted to withdraw, but her sister craned her neck, retaining her hold as her cheeks hollowed from the suction she was exerting on Beatrice's digits. Impatiently, Beatrice gripped her sister's hair with her other hand and pulled until she had extricated her damp fingers with an audible "pop." Maggie looked up beseechingly at her, her chest heaving rapidly.
"This certainly won't do," said Beatrice, her own breath noticeably short, "I'm still terribly cross with you, and you're having far too good a time.
"I'll have a better time," panted Maggie, "paying you BACK!" And with the last word, she rolled fiercely into her sister, scrambling atop her in a veritable flurry of petticoats. In a moment, she had seized Beatrice's wrists and pinned her to the bed, straddling her waist with a triumphant grin. Beatrice glared fiercely up beneath her.
"Now then," said Maggie, "Shall I spank you first, and then make you lick my cunny, or should I do it the other way around?"
"Go ahead and bring your dirty fanny to my mouth, and see what I do with it!" Beatrice snarled, baring her teeth.
"Oh dear," Maggie said, batting her eyelashes, "You don't want to taste my poor little cunny? Perhaps I'd better go to Mr. Brandywine and have him fill it up with his nice creamy spunk for you. I'm sure he'd be happy to help us—after all, he seems to appreciate my pretty little puss even if—"
Maggie shrieked as a violent tug from Beatrice freed her hands, and the two of them were rolling about on the bed once more. After a brief struggle, Beatrice ended atop her sister, with one of Maggie's arms pinned behind her. Maintaining this hold with one hand, she used the other to unfasten Maggie's dress and tug it off of one shoulder as Maggie squirmed and whimpered in discomfort. A dexterous switch, some more tugging, and Maggie's dress was off both her arms.
Beatrice pulled a sash from the bedside table and bound her sister's wrists together in front of her. After inspecting her handiwork for a moment, she drew back and coolly watched as Maggie struggled to turn over onto her back. Once she had done so, Beatrice roughly pulled her into a sitting position, and tugged her gown down about her waist as she squirmed futilely
"There," gloated Beatrice, eyeing her sister's nude bosom. "Mother always said you were a shiftless girl, and here's the proof of it. Now. Clearly, your problem is that you cannot contain your impulses, so I am going to help you with that shortcoming in your character. Place you hands on your head."
Maggie just stared at her, her chest heaving.
"Here, like this," Beatrice continued impatiently, and guided her sisters arms so that her wrists crossed atop her head. She sat back and looked at her appraisingly. Maggie's soft bare arms trembled a little, framing her still flushed and tear-streaked face. Her position revealed little tufts of ginger-colored hair beneath her arms, and caused her plump breasts to rise, the broad pink nipples puckered in the cool air.
"You do have a lovely bosom," Beatrice mused, taking the soft abundant flesh in her hands and kneading at it gently. "Now, keep your hands on your head, or else it's back to spanking your bottom. And remember that this is for your own improvement." And she kissed her sister lightly on the cheek.
"You're dreadful and cruel, Beatrice Dalrymple," Maggie muttered, but she didn't move her hands.
Beatrice grinned and took her sister's plump nipples firmly between finger and thumb of each hand. "What did you say?"
Beatrice began to pull, stretching the resilient mounds of her sister's breasts. "I thought you said something."
She turned her wrists now, twisting the nipples as she tugged at them. "Are you sure?" she taunted. "I could have sworn I heard you speak."
`I do'n't know why you're being so mean," Maggie declared, wincing, "I was just having some fun."
"Just having fun, were you?" said Beatrice fiercely, pulling at first one nipple, then the other while her sister twisted and whimpered. "And are you having fun now?
She released her sister's red and swollen teats. "Are you?" She swung one open hand downward so that the fingertips struck her sister's breast, eliciting a jerk and a sharp yelp as the resilient flesh jiggled. Maggie was silent, save for her rapid breathing.
"I know how much you like attention; well, you're getting plenty of attention now, aren't you?" She slapped at the other breast in the same manner, then followed with a series of light back-and-forth blows to the sides of her sister's pale bosom. Each impact was met with a breathy yelp as Maggie's arms strained with the effort of keeping her hands in place in the face of this torment.
At some point, Mrs. Dalrymple had undone the flies of Corky's trousers and extracted his straining member. She held it tightly now, stroking in a maddeningly slow rhythm that caused Corky to unconsciously undulate his hips in a silent plea for her to hasten her movements.
"Your bosom is turning a lovely pink," Beatrice observed. The soft globes that she was striking were blushing angrily, but a more delicate tone also suffused the upper reaches of Maggie's chest, up to her delicate throat. "I think it's high time you gave me pleasure, to repay me for the pain you've caused me."
"And what if I do'n't want to?" sniffled Maggie.
Beatrice leaned in close. "Then I shall tie you to the bed, straddle your face, and use your wicked mouth for my pleasure whether you like it or no," she said in a low tone.
Maggie gasped. "Yes, yes, Beatrice! Force me, please?"
"First you must unfasten me," Beatrice said, turning about. Maggie raised her bound hands and dexterously opened the clasps on her sister's dress. Beatrice stood and, with her back to the peephole, removed her gown, rapidly followed by her stays and chemise. Corky beheld for the first time her slim hips and round little bottom, atop long legs. With catlike grace, she sprang onto her sister, who struggled and squirmed as she tied her hands at the bed's foot, and tied each straining foot to a corner of the head, giving Corky tantalizing glances of Maggie's ankles and even her calves beneath her skirts.
Gently, Beatrice adjusted her sister's head so that Maggie's unbound hair hung to the ground in russet waves. "Are you ready to suck me?" Beatrice asked, stroking the line of her sister's jaw. "As you can see, I'm dripping with excitement already."
Maggie shook her head and pressed her lips together firmly. Corky saw Beatrice press her thumbs against the girl's chin until her jaw was reluctantly pried open, her lips slowly parting; and then the view was obscured, as Beatrice's slender buttocks blocked the sight of her sister's face. Groans and faint gulping noises came from the bound sibling, as Beatrice worked her hips slowly, and then faster over Maggie's face.
In the closet, Mrs. Dalrymple removed one hand from gently stirring Corky's swollen cods to grip his hair and bring his ear down to her mouth.
"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" she whispered.
He tore his eyes from the bewitching sight in the other room to look at her in confusion. She pointed with her chin, and he looked back at the two girls in sensual congress.
"Ah," Beatrice murmured to her sister, "your hot mouth feels so good, Maggie." She withdrew her hips, and there was a popping sound. "Do you want more?"
"Please, please," Maggie whimpered, "I want to feel it in my throat."
Corky's brow furrowed at this puzzling dialogue. Just then Mrs. Dalrymple stamped her foot sharply on the ground, and, without pausing in her manual ministrations, covered his mouth firmly with her hand.
At the sound, Beatrice jerked away from her sister, and turned about in alarm. "What was that?" she cried.
Corky's cry of surprise at what he saw then was suppressed by the cunning widow's fingers.
"More," begged Maggie, as she writhed sensually in her bonds, her bosoms heaving as she twisted one way and the other. A trail of fluid ran down one freckled cheek.
Mrs. Dalrymple put her lips to Corky's ear once again. "Isn't her cock lovely?" she whispered. "Look it bobbing there, so rigid and slender, shiny with Maggie's saliva. Look at her dear little cods, bunched tight and eager, between her stockings. Bewitching, isn't she?"
Overcome with emotion Corky, eyes wide, whimpered behind the widow's cool little hand. Beatrice's slightly altered angle now allowed him to glimpse as she bent her straining cock down and slid it once more into her sister's anxious mouth. Groans and gulping noise were once again emerging from Maggie's throat, but the lascivious writhing of her torso betokened an overwhelming enjoyment of this unnatural union.
Corky's stomach convulsed, and the first spurt of his semen struck the thin barrier of the closet with a hollow sound like great drops of summer rain on a window. Another followed with similar force as the boarder's eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming sensation. Several more spurts of lesser force splattered to the ground before him before he slumped to the floor of the closet, quite unconscious.
END Chapter 6, version A