πŸ“š the lesser portal Part 10 of 5
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The Lesser Portal Ch 10

The Lesser Portal Ch 10

by tyrnavos
15 min read
4.6 (1500 views)
adultfiction

The next time I walked to the weekly tea-party at Doyles, bunches of scarlet berries glowed like embers against the deep green of the wayside hollies -- or so I believe, for I recall nothing of the walk. I was deep in thought.

How would Handscombe move against me when I defied his threats? He was sure to reveal the incriminating tintype, but given that it was unique, he had a careful choice to make. I decided that in his mind the immediate danger must be that I would win Lydia's hand; therefore he would send it anonymously to Lydia. But I knew that, far from being shocked, she would find it very much to her liking. True, it implied unfaithfulness, but it would only take a repeat of our last, passionate encounter to put her in forgiving mood. So most likely I had nothing to fear. And his very eagerness to best me, might yet give Science a victory over superstition.

A lull in conversation during the tea-party was my opening. The whole company turned to me as I said in a good-natured tone, "You know, Reverend, you're a modest man -- I see you published your book anonymously." Privately thinking, modest be d----d, you're the vainest man I know.

"Oh well," he replied, "I tried to, but these things have a way of leaking out. Still, I think my authorship remains unknown outside of Cambridge."

I'd have wagered five pounds to a sixpence he had let it "leak out" himself, but I merely continued, "Modest indeed, but I hope that won't stop you publicly debating Evolution with me. I've rather set my heart on defeating you."

"Not at all," he replied heartily. "Though," he added with a steady, meaning look, "I rather think you'll admit defeat before you even get to the debating-chamber. Still, let us two have a chat soon about arrangements."

Meanwhile I saw Lydia, who sat beside him, gazing warmly at me -- as she had been doing discreetly from the moment I arrived.

*

It was the next day that events took an intriguing turn. Handscombe and I met at the hall in Cambridge where he gave his Christian talks. On inspection I agreed that it was suitable for our debate: I was keen to illustrate my arguments with lantern slides, while Handscombe, as it turned out, had much the same idea. He urged that we hold the debate soon, within a fortnight; clearly he was eager to impress Lydia before New Year's Day, when she was to choose between us. I raised no objections.

So far, so straightforward. After we left the hall a trivial-seeming incident occurred. We were still settling some details as we strolled along a busy footway. Handscombe stopped, reached inside his coat to fish out a silver half-hunter, consulted the dial and said, "Apologies, Jaspers, I forgot -- I should be elsewhere. I'd best take this Hansom." These words were spoken, mind you, with perfect calmness. I had not seen a Hansom, but when he mentioned it I noticed the rattle of an empty cab, coming up briskly behind us. He hailed it, called to the cabman, "The Railway Hotel if you please," and as he swung himself inside said to me, "We can settle the remaining points in just a minute or two, if you'll join me."

I had barely taken my seat beside him when Handscombe brought down the front glass to close it. I said, "Is that not Mrs Threlfall approaching, some way up ahead?" A widow in blackest mourning was in view.

"No, no," said Handscombe dismissively. I glanced at him, and saw that he was now peering out of his side-window, his face rather turned away from the woman in question. I looked at her again and realised that her strong, tall silhouette -- yet not unshapely, and in truth very different from that of the prosperous Threlfall -- was the reason she had caught my eye.

A pie- or muffin-seller with his tray on his head happened to be preceding her. He moved to cross the road, and a shorter widow by her side was disclosed. Was Handscombe's urge to absent himself caused by these ominous-looking figures? But it might equally have been caused by any of the passers-by.

The cab drew closer to the pair, and I observed a curious phenomenon. The heavy veils worn by respectable widows cannot, of course, be entirely impenetrable to light. It was one of those bright winter's afternoons when all the clouds are luminous. One would expect a blurred glimpse of pale

visage

beneath the ladies' wide, loose hoods. But -- and at the time it seemed almost uncanny -- nothing did I see. It was as if I was viewing a pair of wraiths, cloaked and draped to give form to the invisible. The which would at least explain Handscombe's urge to seek sanctuary in a cab.

By the time he disappeared through the doors of the hotel our arrangements were all agreed, and that appeared to be that. But strange to tell, from then on Handscombe, having been seen far too frequently for my taste, became exceedingly scarce. It was soon the talk of the village that, having been an almost daily caller upon Miss Lydia Courtenay, he was now -- nowhere. After a few days, to be sure, a scribbled note of apology, headed only "London, Tuesday", reached Doyle. [

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Editor's note:

Doyle being head of the household which included Lydia.] It said that Handscombe was "greatly tied up with business for the present", but further explanation came there none.

It began to seem that I might win our debate by default, however it would be as well to prepare for it. I devoted my spare time to sending out invitations and making lecture-notes, not neglecting, however, to visit the premises of Mr Jones, Chemist and Photographic Artist.

As I drew near the shop I saw a change. Gone was the grime from the shop-window. No longer was there a body-strewn battlefield of dead house-flies immediately within it. The alchemical coloured waters in the great glass globular bottles shone bright and pure. I entered, and the genial bell on the door seemed out of place no longer.

Behind the counter stood Mr Jones, miraculously sober, and next to him, serving a lady customer, a person in a white cotton coverall-coat, with blond hair of a masculine cut -- appropriately enough, for this was in truth a young man, albeit with a look of the peerless Mrs Jones.

Clean and pleasant though the shop now was, all the charm of it evaporated in the absence of my Jenny. Still, I explained my wants to Mr Jones, and with a polite, "Excuse me, sir," he turned away, to call down the corridor at the rear of the shop, "Customer to see the magic lanterns."

A moment later a familiar silhouette appeared down the corridor, and my heart rose, and with it to a degree my male organ, such were the pleasures I associated with my Jenny. Mr Jones said to me, "If you will follow Mrs Jones," and obligingly -- more obligingly than he knew -- he lifted the flap in the counter.

Jenny led me to a side-room. Here three gleaming brass-and-mahogany monsters stood tall on castored legs. The first was a giant with four lenses stacked one above another, making a mere cadet of the unassuming second lantern, while the third was a Cyclops of a complexity that baffled interpretation.

Jenny indicated the third, said loudly enough to be heard in the shop, "Now this is our newest, sir, just in," and before I had taken two steps into the room, started to unbutton my overcoat.

I replied, "I think the simplest will do, Mrs Jones," before I positively grabbed her, and tried to kiss her lips. I had to be content with her brow, however, for her attention was now on the first of my fly-buttons. I smiled when I saw how single-minded she was, and explained my mission.

My organ stood eagerly awaiting inspection and Jenny's fingers were on the top button of my drawers as she said, head bent as if addressing my manhood, "We can make slides from engravings in books, sir, but the finer details are bound to be lost."

I was aware of this, and said that I had chosen my illustrations to avoid fine details; meanwhile, I slid my hands behind her to knead her buttocks, just as my impatient glans emerged into view.

Jenny clearly wished to concentrate on the matter in hand -- literally in hand, for next she gripped my freshly-exposed shaft very firmly. She declared, "Let me show you some examples of slides, sir," and -- having laughingly drawn me further into the room by the convenient handle which is formed by a rigid penis -- released me for just a moment to softly close the door. I turned to face her; then, "Oh, it is so big and fine!" was her whispered exclamation as she ran both hands over my manhood. "Bigger than the men's in Mr Jones's photographs."

Having seen the photographs in question, I laughed and said, "Well, a close contest. But the question is," I continued, "what are we to do with this love-gift I have brought you?" Said gift now straining upwards under her touch as if it had ambitions to grow past my navel.

Contemplating my manhood, she sighed, "We cannot go upstairs. Indeed, we can't take long at all, or my husband will send young Mr Thorpe to ask if there's a difficulty." She looked inquiringly into my face, but did not cease a gentle stroking with her fingertips. "Perhaps -- tell me if this is very strange of me -- but the last few days, I've thought of nothing else but watching it produce its masculine liquid."

"Nothing could be more natural," I assured her, and showed my approval with a kiss. "Handle me as I tell you, and your wish will be granted."

"Is that not the sin of Onan?" She laughed. "You see, Bible-study does not always leave a girl quite so ignorant as you might suppose. But I've heard that it harms the constitution." Her attention turned to my glans, where with one licked finger she began sweetly enjoying its smooth hardness, and accidentally sending bolts of joy through the whole of my genitals.

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In a state of delight I kissed her dainty ear as I murmured, "If it was harmful I could not have become an athlete." Gentle nibbles followed the kisses, as: "No," -- nibble -- "self-pleasure is not," -- nibble -- "harmful in any way," -- nibble -- "in men or in women," -- nibble -- "you can be sure of that," -- kiss.

At these words Jenny grinned up into my face, her blue eyes dancing with glee under her slender golden eyebrows. "I shall take that as a recommendation to all us poor neglected ladies, and when you've left, I'll put your advice into practice. I've often been tempted to. But for now, teach me how to make this handsome creature spend for me." And she gave my whole penis a hearty squeeze with both her lovely hands.

"Well, first I politely request that you squeeze me like that again." Needless to say she did so very merrily. "And then I ask that you slip a hand in my drawers and hold my testicles. My balls, as we call them."

"This part here?"

"Ouch! Careful, young lady."

Jenny was too engrossed in her anatomical studies to apologise, but she did slacken her grip, and, almost as if playing on the keys of a piano, pressed my testes with her fingers. This gave a tingle of pleasure, and I told her so. Then I slipped my hand under hers and adjusted her grip so that she thrilled me yet more. I took her other hand and positioned it to hold the head of my organ. Then I set both her hands to work on testes and head, up and down in unison, with luxurious slowness. An action I have always found especially pleasurable.

In a little while she glanced up at me with a smile and said, "I think ladies should be taught this as a social grace, it would be more useful than all the watercolour classes in the world. Oh, I see that I'm not such a bad student." For my eyes were half-closed and my breath was deepened by my pleasure.

While she looked up I seized the opportunity to kiss her sweet lips, but her mind was all on my manhood, and she soon looked down again. Then I murmured amidst my excitation, "Please, make the head wet." I thought she would let some of her saliva drip on it, but she dropped to her knees and tasted my head lavishly with her eager wet tongue, pulling back my foreskin to savour the whole of the glans. I almost let fly at once, but I diverted my thoughts and the crescendo subsided.

However, when the lovely girl licked her lips, then took the glans in her wide-opened mouth, moving her head and tongue so as to

slurp

me (I know no other word to describe it), and slurp me with a most healthy appetite, indeed -- and then closed her pretty lips tight on me and sucked as greedily as if she was sucking on a giant humbug -- still a-licking away, her bright blue eyes turned up to look into mine -- why, then all restraint was impossible. In no time pleasure in my penis-head turned to bliss flooding from tip to balls, then bliss turned to a rapture that drove all else from my mind, and very soon rapture rose to the moment of "trembling on the brink". For that briefest moment I was aware of the luscious sounds of tongue on glans, and next moment I began to spirt. And I doubt the most seasoned whore in Limehouse could have sucked me to a climax so quickly as my novice Jenny, and we both fully clothed too.

My spirts at length died down. She drew away and looked up at me with mischievous eyes, lips pursed to let no drop of my seed escape, savouring it on her palate. When she came to swallow it, she did not force it at a gulp, but let it slip down with a smile. Next she ran a languid tongue across her lips before saying, "You know, it tastes strange, and feels queer in my mouth, but still, it is so deliciously exciting I'd rather drink it than the finest wine." And then she gave a laugh with her hand to her mouth, saying, "But oh dear, this was not at all the plan."

Now, it is usual with me (I cannot speak for the male sex in general) that my organ loses rigidity quickly after it has completed its performance; but for Jenny it barely softened. I told her that with a little manual attention it would perform an encore, but she shook her head with a return of her old sad smile, and got up from her knees. "My beautiful man," said she, "If we only had the time, I would play with your cock -- oh, I've heard Mr Thorpe say that word, have I used it right? -- I would play with it all day long and half the night." She saw that a few belated drops were running down from the tip onto my shaft, and swept them up with her finger, and examined them with a scientific curiosity. Then she shyly put her finger to my lips. "Please -- will you taste it too? I think I should like that."

I put out my tongue, and pleased her with a lick and a swallow, which I do not think I would have done for any other woman. Then I said, "Let that seal a pact between us, to bring happiness to each other's bodies whenever we can."

Jenny reminded me again that we had best hurry, so I returned to business by reserving the smallest of the three lanterns for the debate. We fixed for Mr Thorpe to come and operate the lantern, bringing with him my slides, which prompted me to ask, "Who is this Thorpe? He seems to have brought a revolution to the establishment."

"I find Mr Thorpe pleasant enough. I think I told you Mr Jones was in love with a man? That was Mr Thorpe, and after much persuading he agreed they should be lovers if Mr Jones mended his drunken ways."

"And what does the enchanting Mrs Jones think about that?"

"Oh, I welcome it on the whole. My back-passage is let alone and I don't suffer my husband's ill-temper. I may be lonely at times in these workrooms, making up medicines and developing photographs, but still, the work is teaching me chemistry."

And with that and all too few kisses, we parted, with a promise on my part that she should watch my masculine essence spirt forth sometime, while on her part she promised she would get a message to me if she had news about the errant Reverend Handscombe.

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