Mum. Maggie Longbottom.

Maggie Longbottom sat in the last pew at church between Claudine and Justyna. Though the three women wore plain, sober dresses, each of them was crowned by a fashionably decorated hat. The Continental girls who were her millinery apprentices had been to Mass early in the morning, but for the sake of their hat shop, rather than their souls, Maggie compelled them to attend the High Church where their best customers were found.

In furtherance of their trade, Maggie had picked out the new plumes to adorn their Sunday hats, showing their customers what would be in fashion next season. Thursday last, Claudine's aunt had sent an fluidogram with intelligence of the à la mode hats, and now Claudine was wearing Maggie's rendering of the newest Paris style. On her greying waves, Maggie wore an update of the refined decorations suitable for a matriarch who wanted to appear neither a **** to fashion nor a dusty captive of tradition. Justyna's garland of silk flowers spoke of youth and gaiety.

The girls shifted in their seats, or perhaps wiggled would better describe it. Maggie settled them down. One must keep up appearances. There would be time enough for wiggling after church, when they returned to their apartments above the shop. Yes, much wiggling. Since leaving Netherwood and Lord Jeremy, Miss Longbottom had been satisfied to be well quit of the masculine sort of caller, except as paying customer at her hat shop. She was an earnest devotee of practical Sapphism, which spoke French and Italian, frigged clit, licked cunt and spent, where literary, romantic Sapphism spoke Greek and Latin, worshipped the Feminine Principle and swooned. Maggie was pleased by her apprentices' devotions to herself and one another, but watchful in case some charming gent might weasel his way into the young ladies' drawers.

At noon, the three of them returned to the flat above Maggie's hat shop for a light luncheon and the beginning of what looked to be a luxurious Sunday afternoon as the rain pattered against the windows.

The three-quarter-hour chime found Maggie with her face deep in Claudine's luscious French cunnie. On the narrow bed an arm's reach away, Justyna dozed, the young Polish blonde having been first to gain Miss Longbottom's ardent and intimate kisses. Justyna had been giddy after taking wine with luncheon, and when she had displayed her pale pink-tipped breasts to Claudine and Maggie, Sunday afternoon moved along in its usual course. The wine combined with the after-effects of Justyna's multi-paroxysmal climactic release to render her all but insensible. Claudine had served well by seating her auburn-bushed cunnie upon Justyna's mouth, so her screams of joy were muffled in wet female flesh, serving only to excite Claudine's desire.

And now Claudine's desire was being satisfied by Maggie Longbottom's clever and persistent tongue, in all but a single point.

"Madame, je vais jouir, madame, mon cul!" Claudine pleaded.

Claudine was enraptured with la postillionage. Claudine's aunt had the same desire. Maggie wetted a finger in Claudine's slippery juices and slid it down her cleft until it touched her springy, twitching little bum hole.

Maggie laid a wet kiss on the throbbing point of Claudine's cunnie and lifted her head to admire the deep wet pink swollen beauty of her sex, surrounded by thick chestnut-colored hair.

"Of course, my precious little daughter of Sodom," Maggie teased. "Here."

"Ouh!" Claudine called out as Maggie penetrated her bum. "Oui, mon cul!"

"Spend, darling, do," Maggie coaxed. One hand worked on Claudine's swollen vulva, thumb to her prominent clit. The other fingered Claudine's bum, stitching quickly in and out like a sewing machine.

"Madame! Oui je jouiiiiiiiiiiiiis!" Claudine moaned as Maggie's finger juddered in and out of her ass.

Spurt! Squirt! Splash! Claudine's fountain of tribute to Venus Enculatrix sprayed Maggie's face.

Eventually Claudine's spasms subsided. Maggie withdrew her hands and moved up to kiss Claudine's fever-bright cheek.

Claudine babbled her thanks to her mistress and offered that she'd never known a better lover, never.

Miss Longbottom smiled broadly, proud of bringing pleasure to her girls. They could have no better mistress than herself. She rose, draping Claudine with a coverlet, and went to her dressing table, turning over the seat to reveal the Italian dildo that was a steadier, more faithful and reliable ally in her pleasure than any man ever had been. Maggie mounted herself upon her most discreet and loyal assistant and began posting herself up and down, watching herself in the mirror with her debauched nymphs behind her, overcome by pleasure. Justyna was snoring. Claudine was watching as Maggie rode, filling herself again and again with that firm, beautiful fullness. At length Maggie's shoulders and hips began to quiver with her own growing pleasure. Claudine slipped out of her bed and knelt behind her mistress.

"Madame, madame, puis-je vous baiser la cul?" Claudine pleaded.

"Please yourself. Claudine," Maggie said, her breaths coming quickly. Very like her aunt.

Claudine's wet tongue darted between Maggie's buttocks and licked greedily at her mistress's asshole.

I feel like a queen, Maggie thought, rocking between dildo and tongue. All serve my pleasure.

"Plus profond, Claudine! Deeper!" Maggie cried.

Claudine answered with a deep thrust of her naughty little tongue.

"Yes!" Maggie called out. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling Claudine's tongue sawing in and out. "Right up my arse, my precious French tart."

Maggie seized her pearl between forefinger and thumb and worried it up and down, firing the engine of pleasure that she had stoked to its height. Pleasured in pearl, womb, and bum, Maggie cried out her joy to the dim garret as rain beaded the windows on that Sunday afternoon.

Maggie's daughter Lucy, now styled Lady Downs by the lately unsealed codicil to Jeremy Netherwood's will, made her way towards her mother's abode seeking advice on the good fortune that had turned her world upside down.