Poor Thing is Mr Turpin

Moralis Turpin awoke with a start, the womanly cry that had roused him so suddenly still echoing in his thoughts. Johanna! He rushed to her room and burst the door, visions of street scum pawing at her. God knew he had made enough enemies over the years. But no, she lay in bed, sheets rumpled to be sure, nightdress in curious disarray, but alone.



"I heard a cry" he said, hesitating in the doorway. Was that the tiniest hint of a nipple in the moonlight? Her eyes where surprisingly bright and alert for such a late hour. A slight pause and with a quaver to her voice she answered.



"A dream," she said, pulling the covers up. "I just had a bad dream, that's all sir. I'm sorry to have awoken you."



He wanted to come in, comfort her but something about her manner was odd. Visions of young lovers secreted somewhere in the room swam through his head. It was all he could do not to prowl around the room, opening cupboards, flicking aside curtains and rummaging through trunks. No, impossible. The house was locked tight, her window closed.



"Would you like me to stay with you awhile?" As he moved towards her she stiffened slightly, fuelling his suspicions. She shook her head, her hair cascading around her like a halo in the moonlight.



"I'll be fine, sir, I just need to not think about such dark dreams. " She smiled. "I shall think happier thoughts."



He bade her goodnight, mind whirring like a clockwork toy. Closing the her door he remembered something from many years ago. There was a knot hole in the wall somewhere, along this side. As a child he had used it to secretly look out into the hall and check the coast was clear for his nightly ramblings…perhaps he could now use it to look in? It took some searching and a few false starts in the darkness of the hall to find which painting the knothole lay behind, but soon he found it and peered though. By squinting he could make out the window and the bed, light by a maze of moonlight and shadow..and what he saw astounded him.



As he watched she threw off her covers. Murmuring something to herself she slowly, ever so slowly, hitched her nightdress up past her thighs. His breath caught. So did hers as she traced a finger down and into herself, that secret place still hidden ever so tantalisingly by shadow. Her eyes where closed as she pleasured herself, back arching, silent screamlets forcing her pursed lips into an oh of pleasure. He found himself gently pushing against the wall with his erection and quelled the action lest he make noise enough to rouse her, and make her stop. After what seemed an eternity she succumbed to the pleasure, the silent screams becoming softly vocal till one last womanly scream wrenched itself from her, muffled in her pillow. She lay still for awhile, staring at the ceiling, then arose and washed her hands in a basin of scented water upon her dressing table.



He wrenched himself away from the knothole, breathing hard, erection straining against his clothing. God what a sight, what a show, what a surprise. His body was tense and humming with the idea of her as he snuck back to his rooms, ever so careful not to make a sound and betray his presence.