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From: bookgirl <bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Elizabethan Scheherazade (M/F, rom, slooooooooow) [2/?]
Date: Sun, 17 Aug 2003 20:10:05 -0400
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Elizabethan Schererazade - Chapter Two

Ā(C) Copyright 1997 - 2003, bookgirl, All rights reserved. Comments to
bookgirl-mail@yahoogroups.com

I looked back over my shoulder at the man I thought was Will
Shakesplay, the man who in fact was none other than Sir Brandon - the
Vulture! His mocking laughter still rang loudly in my ears as I was
dragged by his four henchmen back out along the darkened corridor
through which I had entered only minutes earlier. Their firm grips on
my arms held me almost suspended between them; my feet peddling in the
air trying to make solid contact with the floor. Every now and then
I'd kick out at the legs of the men, but my attempts to trip them were
futile and went completely unnoticed.

"Zenoria's Whore House?" the wizened old man guarding the stage door
entrance asked. He grinned a twisted smile as one of the burly men
carrying me confirmed the destination they had been told by Sir
Brandon to take me to. I stared helplessly at the old man, my eyes
imploring him to intervene and set me free, but he just stood aside
and watched as I was rushed out into the darkened lane way beside the
Newington Butts theater.

Once out in the street I desperately tried breaking free from the
grips the men had on me, but it was useless. "Help me!" I cried,
frantically trying to explain my plight to an ale-sodden sailor who
had stumbled out of the Chandler's Inn right in front of us. He
squinted through his bleary, jaundiced eyes and then peeled his lips
back in a broad, toothless grin. He started to dance a little jig,
tripping and stumbling as he raised an arm in a pantomimed performance
of valor - a Knight about to rescue a maiden in distress. But one of
Sir Brandon's henchmen pushed him aside by his forehead and he fell as
easily as if he'd been knocked by a feather. He was still laughing
loudly as he dropped in a crumpled, urine and ale stained heap of arms
and legs on the ground.

We rounded the corner beside the Inn and stepped up into the foyer of
a smoky den. A woman dressed in nothing more than a white satin
whalebone corset and bloomers stood casually in the doorway, smoking a
cigar and adding to the red illuminated haze of the smoke already
inside. She nodded at the Sir Brandon's men and let them past without
questioning anything. By now I was in such a state of panic I could do
nothing but stare back mutely at the woman. The licentious wink she
gave me with one of her mascara encrusted eyes made my skin crawl.

I was half-carried inside to a small room just off to one side of the
entrance hallway. Under different circumstances I might have been
enthralled by its oriental decor; the plush red and gold Persian
carpets on the floor; the exotically printed wallpapers; soft
flickering candlelight through red tinted, paneled glass lanterns. It
was in this room I was finally allowed to stand although the hulking
presence of the Sir Brandon's four henchmen remained semi-circled
around me to prevent my escape from the room.

"We have another one for you, Madam Zenoria," one of the men said on
the arrival of a buxom, apple-shaped woman. Forthright in front and
outright behind...
--
ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by
accident.

"You don -(TM)t reach Serendip by plotting a course for it. You have to set
out in good faith for elsewhere and lose your bearings
serendipitously." - The Last Voyage Of Somebody The Sailor (The
Sindbad Saga)

http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bookgirl/www

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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