Dunyazad

By Cordelia Speedicut

Episode One

I was close to coming. Lucy was riding me, long stokes, root to tip, in an energetic Saint George. She was nearly there, too. I could see it in her face, that unfocused look she’d get. The iron headboard started to bang against the wall. So close … thump – thump – thump … and she began to cry out to the rhythm, “Yes! … Yes! … Yes!” until I drove upward to meet her in a wrenching thrust and we erupted together. Exhausted, we subsided back onto the bed, and the hot magma of our mingled fluids oozed into the spaces between us.

Whew. Only a week before, I had, at nineteen, never enjoyed more than a few furtive gropes with the fair sex. Now I lay on a lumpy bed in a broken down London knock-shop, with a naked girl sleeping on my chest, her pussy still twitching on my peggo as she dreamt. The year was 1871, and I still remember thinking that this was all Dick Burton’s fault – which in a way it was.

Not directly, of course. When I was a much younger lad at Oxford, he had come round and given us a singularly exciting talk. But it certainly wasn’t about how he had, when he himself was a boy, slipped away with his brother to spend his pocket money in the brothels of Naples. No, he’d spoken of other adventures, such as his penetration of the forbidden city of Mecca. By the time he was done speaking, I was ready to go exploring myself.

For a day or two, anyway. To be perfectly honest, the notion of entering a stronghold of enemies as Sir Richard did, wherein a misstep means death … well, really. The very thought made my knees go weak. Still does. In the event, it was some years before I’d even made it east of Reading. However, thanks to him, I discovered an interest in far-away places.

Interest turned to study, which, being that I was notably lazy, was a novelty for me. Eventually I graduated, but I soon found that a working knowledge of the people and languages of central Asia had not prepared me for the sort of stodgy employment my uncle offered in the pottery-ware industry. Which was why, on a meagre allowance and at loose ends, I soon found myself back at my college, visiting an old friend.

Roland St Clair was an elderly don who was curator of the Arthur Arbuckle Oriental Museum. This was no more than a few rooms of antiquities to which the other alumni were fond of donating oddments and oddities - mostly weapons and remarkably rude statuettes. There was so much of the stuff that poor Rollo could never seem to keep track of it all.

It was just like old times. I spent an enjoyable evening, drinking port and half-heartedly helping sort papers (well, mostly I was admiring the amazing variety of pornographic drawings and marginal graffiti). And then – and let this be a lesson to lazy lads everywhere - I, Thornton Cox, thereby secured long life and fortune. While rummaging through the hodgepodge, I noticed some loose parchments and an odd map written in Aramaic. As I slowly deciphered them I found they concerned the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon - and their lost treasure. 

The story goes that, around 1300, the King of France quarrelled with the church over both power and money. The rich Templars were accused of “licentious behaviour" and heresies. The pope himself, their patron, was taken hostage and accused of a multitude of unlikely crimes, including heresy, sorcery, and - my favourite - of “keeping a small tame demon in his ring, which would appear at night and conduct unspeakable depravities with the pontiff in the papal bed”. To make a long and nasty story short, the pope met a bad end and the Templars were broken, and the remnants of the order disappeared, along with the greater part of their gold. 

Rollo helped translate some key bits, and when we were done, we sat staring at one another. According to what we had just read, the documents had been handed from one secret Grand Master to the next, over many generations, until the chain had been broken in Paris during the Terror. They told how, when the knights first went to ground, they hid the bulk of their treasure deep under a church - in the heart of London.

Rollo fairly goggled. “I know that place. Right behind is … it’s in a little square near where …” He fell silent, and I waited, until he continued. “I met a girl there … it was years ago,” his face had reddened noticeably, “when I was a student. My friend and I found this, ah, house – it was built right up behind this very church.” He flapped the pages for emphasis. “Anyway, I fell in love there. Lola.” Another pause, then, “I went back all that summer, whenever I had the money.” His blush deepened. “I offered to marry her, but she just laughed, and said she didn’t think her mother would approve.”

I coughed, and brought him back to the matter at hand. According to the documents, a group of Templar servants (referred to as ‘Black Mantles’) were sworn to guard the treasure. Presumably, they might be doing so still, if any of this was true - and if the loot hadn’t been plundered long ago. We agreed that I should go and find out, to which end Rollo staked me some guineas. I also sold my grandfather’s gold watch to acquire a roughly used American Navy Colt, and added a Pathan knife from Rollo’s collection for my boot top. A coward knows better than most men: better safe than sorry.

Mid-morning, two days later, I was in the City, scouting out the church. It squatted in a quiet square, overlooked by time - and by the faithful, to judge by the old cleric’s small flock. The crypt was open to view, for the price of a few pence into the poor box, and I was able to give the place a close inspection. 

With a thrill, I soon found the insignificant tomb that was described as hiding the entrance. It seemed much too easy. As far as I could tell the spot was undisturbed, but it could well have been robbed four hundred years past. Or, it could all be a complicated hoax, of course. I half expected to hear from behind me the helpless laughter of one or another of my fellow ne’er-do-well graduates.

There was one way to find out, and I was actually considering opening the passage, then and there, when I heard heavy footsteps on the stone stairway. A large, rough looking individual came down into the gloom and stumped over to ask if I needed assistance.  His manner suggested that I had best be looking for help with the way out. I took the hint and hastily left both crypt and church. 

Well - the good news was that, if that brute was a guard, then there ought to be something worth guarding. I circled around by way of several winding alleys until I found what I was after. The small brothel Rollo had remembered was still there, snuggled incongruously against the north wall of the church. Our plan was that, if I were to find the church protected, I might perhaps be able to tunnel from this establishment’s basement through to the crypt. I had counted the steps when visiting that dank place, and so I knew I would have to dig downward about fifteen feet, as well as some thirty feet sideways. Quite simple, really. 

I actually hesitated at the doorway before stepping inside, having never before entered such a house. At that hour, it was as quiet inside the brothel as it had been in the church. I went up a stairway and, at the top, nearly collided with a large and amply endowed woman in her fifties, who proved to be the madam – one Lola, as it happened. As coached by Rollo I presented myself to her to as an aspiring young rake from the country. I would, I explained, require company and a modest room, away from her regular trade, during my visit to the city. Specifically, a room with private access to the cellars - so as to secure a few cases of wine, I said.

God knows what she thought of my story, but I was shown a shabby room on the ground floor. It held a low dressing table backed by a cracked mirror, and a well-worn bed in a deep alcove beyond. The room’s only merit was that, hidden behind a curtain, there was a stairway down to a windowless back storeroom. It was perfect. It took the better part of my resources to secure it, after which I immediately set out to gather digging tools. 

Returning that evening with a lamp and short handled shovel, I slipped into my room to find a young woman, clad only in a camisole shirt and bloomers, washing her hair in a basin.  Somehow I had forgotten my stated purpose for lodging in this place. The girl glanced up and smiled, and then continued on with her task, while I stood blushing. While wringing her long tresses, she introduced herself as Lucy. She was about my own age, with a pretty round face and a petite hourglass figure that had no need of corset. I could see so much of her milky skin that my cock began to harden, to my further embarrassment.

As Lucy dried her hair, her every move a tease, I fidgeted and shuffled. All the while she soberly studied my face; then at last she stated, “You’re a virgin.” 

Dear God, I thought, was it that obvious? I opened my mouth, intending to deny my innocence. Instead I said nothing. Lucy simply nodded to acknowledge my unsaid confession, and assured me she meant no offence. Stepping closer she added that she would feel privileged to relieve me of my burden. With this she tossed aside her towel and slowly unbuttoned her camisole. 

For my part I did nothing but continue to stare stupidly, while her fingers worked their way down to reveal in their wake more and more cleavage. When she was done, she looked coyly down at the four-inch gap between the linen shirt panels, and then back at me as if to ask whether I thought she should continue. I mutely nodded my assent, and she grasped the lapels of the garment and arched her back to shrug it off. I beheld at last her delightful breasts, full and capped with plump red nipples. We were still standing some feet apart, and now she beckoned me nearer, inviting me with her posture to reach out and feel them. Hesitantly I did so, ever so carefully, as though they might be damaged by my touch. She responded by thrusting herself forward so that in catching her I found myself roughly gripping two handfuls of firm flesh. She sighed, and wriggled a little. 

By that time I needed no further encouragement. I began to grope in earnest, if without skill. She pulled back. “Patience, luv!” Although she was plying her trade, she was also clearly enjoying the opportunity to tutor such a neophyte. She turned away and stepped to the bed, glancing over her shoulder to invite me along. I followed as if in a trance, and when she sat, I dropped beside her. Lifting one of her fine breasts with her hand and gazing down at it with evident approval, she suggested I now kiss it. Eagerly I bent forward and kissed that smooth flesh – and then she fell back, and I upon her, and my lust at last took command of my senses. I showered her face and chest with kisses aplenty, while she nimbly unclasped my breaches and removed her bloomers. Before I knew it, she was guiding my peggo between her legs, and I felt myself engulfed in her cunnie. I could not think of why I had not tried this sooner. Actually, I couldn’t think at all. On top of her, now, I began to thrust wildly, and, with a gentle laugh, she eased me back to a sustainable pace. 

“Slow down, Thornton. We have all night!”

And a good thing, too, for soon enough I felt the urgency of my spending swell up inside me, causing me to gasp and plunge heedlessly into the velvet depths of my new companion’s body. Then the inevitable explosion; and I lay spent upon her breast for a little time, until she heaved me clear. I hear her mutter an oath, but she was smiling warmly all the same. I know I was wearing an idiot’s grin, and when she proposed a celebratory (and restorative) toast, I struggled out of my boots and tangled breaches and found my flask of brandy to share with her. The two of us sat bare-bottomed in the middle of the bed, passing the spirits and chattering like children who have discovered a new mischief. 

“What d’you think, then?” she asked. “Was it worth your trouble?”

“Was it…? My God, it was splendid! You were splendid! Glorious! Wonderful!” Words obviously failed me.

She lifted her arms and cupped them behind her head so as to jut her chest proud for my approval. As she ran her fingers back through her hair, she said, “Care to try it again, then?”

A glance in my lap told me that another try was not possible.

“Not to worry. I reckon a young buck like yourself has another round left in him.” With this she took firm hold of my ruined tackle. “You paid for lessons, and so here’s lesson number one. It ain’t polite to be shovin’ it in, without so much as a by-your-leave. A girl has to be ready – warmed up, like.”

I began to apologise, and she shushed me. “It’s alright, luv. You hadn’t had the lesson yet, and anyway, Charlotte and me woz already … well, never mind. That’s for another time. But what I’m sayin’ is that a girl likes a bit of snugglin’ and all, before you set to grips. She wants a little warming up – like you do, right now.” A tongue in my ear and a squeeze to my already partially revived peggo accompanied this remarkable speech.

After a demonstration of ‘snuggling’, which included a good deal of kissing and tongue-play, she drew my hand to her moist cunnie and continued, “She needs to get the sap running – see?”

As I lay beside her and groped, she said, “Now here’s lesson two. It ain’t polite to leave off before a girl’s had her come.”

At this I stopped my fingering and looked up at her face. I honestly thought she was having fun of me.

“Ho! Didn’t think the ladies had ‘em, did you? Nor even does many a girl – so just think how grateful they’ll be when you show ‘em how. Be like they was virgins all over again, and nothing to regret.” She drew me on top of her, adding, “Let’s get to it then. I can feel one close.”

With this, she took hold of my now wood-hard tool and guided me to her drooling pussy. She was right – her come was near. She gasped as I drove home, and then she bounced back away to start me to pumping. I obliged, and allowed her to set the rhythm, as she continued to buck under me. “That’s it, luv. Yes! Harder, now! That’s it! Harder! Yes! Yes! Oh, Gawd!”

At this she went rigid, her hands gripping my shoulders and her cunnie clamped just as hard on my straining cock. A tremor shook right through her, and then I felt my own orgasm take hold. I had thought I had already been drained, but I was wrong. And for as long as I pumped, she wailed and writhed under me.

This time, I was permitted to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to find Lucy still nuzzled contentedly against me. Somehow I found the strength to mount her yet again. Making up for lost time, I suppose. When, afterwards, I told her how pleased I was that she was still there, she pointed out that she was included with the room. This was a shock, if a pleasant one. I had thought I had negotiated an occasional visit - only to disguise my true intentions, of course. Clearly I had paid for a good deal more.

Naturally, every bed in such a house was put to constant use. What I had supposed to be a neglected storeroom was Lucy’s place of business. She was a new arrival, and didn’t have the seniority for better. And now she shared it with me, her client. She did not seem to resent this arrangement. I think she enjoyed my company, and I certainly enjoyed hers. Over the next few days you may be sure I gave no further thought to mere gold. 

Having had only a little experience with women by that point in my life, I received an education beyond the sexual one. Briefly, I thought I was in love. Lucy saw the signs, and convinced me (mostly) that what I was feeling was merely lust. She was quite prepared to be my friend, however. Before, after and often even during our labours, I was given my lessons – varied advice about lovemaking: technique and endurance, diet and hygiene.

I was also treated to considerable chatter and gossip. It is a little disconcerting to be engaged in a strenuous fuck, and to have the object of your attention, while apparently enjoying herself, tell you about her day. I must say my patience as a listener was put to the test. 

Then again, since the kitchen was nearby, in the mornings one or another of the other girls would stop to chat with us. While not notably handsome, they were friendly and good-natured, and didn’t seem overly jaded at their work. There being no resident male (for the madam was strong enough to serve as her own bouncer), they began to treat me as confidant and confessor. I learned a great deal about the community of women in general and of whores in particular.

A week of carnal bliss passed by. Then, on the morning I lay recovering from the above-mentioned Saint George’s Cross and thinking of Burton, fate returned me to my quest. Charlotte strode into our room and tucked a letter between my limp fingers. “For Lucy – when she comes round again,” she said with a grin, and then she gave Lucy’s backside a playful slap as she retreated out the door.

“Hey!” My pretty tutor sat abruptly, my semi-soft peggo sliding out of her with a ‘plop’. I gave her the letter with a shrug and a smile. The contents revealed that her sister had just had a baby. Her family, who apparently believed she was seamstress, were hoping she could make a brief visit to her village. This brought me back to my own business. I encouraged her to go, even to giving her a present of traveling money. After another delightful fuck, as thanks, the arrangements were made. By late afternoon (having, with some regret, declined Charlotte’s kind offer of covering for her friend), I found my way downstairs to make a start on my tunnel. 

Here I was, an adventurer at last. Finally, I thought, Burton would be proud (I was still ignorant of his carnal adventures). I laid out my tools, and began to clear away some battered cupboards from the wall. Perfect. I swung my new pick - and nearly fell through the wall into the giant hole I had breached. You may imagine my shock to find, behind a layer of lathe and plaster, a ragged passage some three feet across - just where I had planned my own. Peering in to the cobwebbed depths with my lantern, I could see that it was definitely dropping in the direction of the crypt. I could just make out a large white stone, perhaps a dozen feet down. 

I sat and pondered this for a while. Someone had beaten me here, perhaps long ago. Bugger. On the other hand, the church was still being watched over by someone, so I still had to see what, if anything, was being guarded. Taking a deep swallow of brandy for courage, I took the lamp and slithered down headfirst, sweeping cobwebs out of my path. I was almost on top of the ‘stone’ before I realized that was a skull, decorated with the black shaft of an arrow sprouting from the top.

Once the terror had eased off (with the help of another awkward pull on my brandy flask) I noticed that under the bundle of rags and bones - all that remained of the mystery corpse - lay a small wooden chest. I snatched the box up and scrambled backwards, retreating to my room. My heart was still pounding when I laid it onto the dressing table. I sat looking at my haul, and tried to consider my next move. 

After a time, I filled a mug with yet more brandy, then broke the rusted lock off my box and peered inside. I was looking down at a sheet of velum, folded and sealed. It seemed at first as though my unlucky predecessor had died for a box full of letters. But … underneath! Underneath I beheld a sight that took my breath. The rest of the box was filled with a jumble of gold chains and exotically set gems. I lifted out handfuls of the stuff. It was all ancient Persian, made with exquisite workmanship. Trembling, I set this treasure back and looked again at the velum. There was a heavy lump wrapped inside, and on the back, in a strong hand, was written ‘Bonifacius Papa VIII’ – the same pope whose death had preceded the Templars downfall. I broke the seal and opened the packet, to have a gold ring fall into my palm. The thick band had an elaborate design carved right the way around. I held it close to the candle and could make out the figure of a large cat or lion stretched long in a leap, wrapped around so that it held its tail in its mouth. It caught my fancy and I slipped it on – it was still warm from the heat of the candle. 

By this time, I was getting distinctly light-headed. I pulled off my jacket and lay down for a moment. Without meaning to, I was soon asleep, but what with the day’s excitement (to say nothing of the brandy) I was troubled by strange and vivid dreams. At first, it seemed that I had woken to find all the candles relit. Then I saw Lucy, sitting naked at the mirror. Lately, I had been dreaming of her a lot. Her back to me, she was brushing out her long hair. Except that Lucy’s hair wasn’t nearly so long. But then who…? A stranger was inside my locked chambers, and she would hardly be alone! In my dream, I reached under my pillow for my knife.

At that she turned and stood, and I saw that she was not naked after all. Not exactly. She was wearing the treasure from the box - gold chains about her waist, gold bangles about her wrists, and a glorious jewelled necklace, which lay in a cascade of glittering fire between her proud breasts. Younger than Lucy, her hair was dark and lustrous, and her skin a rich olive tone. And her face! As she glided nearer, the candlelight revealed her features. She had an eastern look to match her attire – high cheekbones, a wide sensuous mouth, and penetrating almond eyes. The combination was striking.

She was at the foot of the cot when she said, in Latin, “Thou hast no need of that prickler whilst I am here, my prince. Your enemies are my enemies.”

As so often in a dream, I couldn’t move; but somehow I found my tongue. Stupidly, I repeated, in my awkward schoolboy Latin, “Your prince?”

“None but a prince has the power and strength to win me, and possess me. And Lo! You wear the leopard ring, so you have slain Benedetto, for no man would willingly part with me. Are you French?”

As she spoke, she came closer, still with her appraising stare. She seemed older, at this range, more by manner than by appearance. As in most dreams, the words made no sense. Who had I killed?  Benedetto? 

My last drowsing thoughts had been of the odd box I had opened. Benedetto, I knew from my studies, was the long departed Pope Boniface’s birth name. So now in my lust I dreamt of a Rubenesque, Latin-speaking girl who wore the jewels from the hoard – they moulded to her form as though they were made for her alone. But these were all fleeting, muddled notions, and I remained immobile.

Or nearly so - my cock was responding to the lust in her eyes and was straining to escape the bounds of my breeches. She looked precisely as one of the houris of paradise should, in the old tales. Indeed I wondered fleetingly if I had died, and was to be escorted from my rough surroundings by this beauty. I asked, again in my shaky Latin, “What is your name?”

“I am Dunyazad, my brave lord.” So saying, she set her hands upon the foot of my bed and stalked on hand and knee, catlike, up over me. Her fine body glowed in the candlelight, and in my dream I felt the heat of her, her face now close to mine. Solemn still, she looked long into my eyes. Hers were beautiful: dark and hypnotic. Abruptly she smiled, a radiant smile, and sat up. Astride me now, she stretched languorously, thrusting her fine breasts forward and causing her jewellery to dance and jingle. Then she bent down and began to open the buttons of my shirt.  Exposing my chest, she leaned closer. She blew lightly, and her moist breath was exquisite. And then she put her tongue out and touched its tip to my flesh. It was surprisingly hot, and just a little rough, like a kitten’s. She began to put it in motion, lightly laying a line of fire from my waist up my chest. She paused there to give attention to my nipples, and they stiffened as hard as were hers. Back down she went, laying a new track, her fingers releasing my trouser buttons in advance of her tongue’s arrival.

Her head now in my groin, she whispered, to my cock rather than to me, “With my lord’s permission...” Her questing tongue brushed the base of my freed member and drew up toward its tip. It was the lightest of touches, but the heat from that line of flame spread throughout my body. When she reached the head, she scooped up the first gleaming pearl of my juices. My prick was like iron. It had never felt so hard; the veins were standing out, forming a ropy net around its shaft. She took hold of it – her small hand was cool and dry - and slowly traced a path with her nimble tongue all around the ridge below its straining purple knob. It felt as though that tongue was wrapped right the way around, before she broke off with a final polishing swirl. Then, slowly, slowly, she set her lips to it and began to draw it into her mouth. Deeper and deeper it sank, and again her tongue worked its magic.

I must confess that Lucy had never serviced me in this way; and yet now I was imagining vivid glimpses of a busy mouth through a curtain of tousled locks. She continued until she had enveloped my entire prick, and then she began to bob up and down on it, sucking with fierce intensity.  It felt as though my member was being pulled out of me – no pain, but a sensation of stretching, as thought it were somehow gaining length and breadth in the process.  I felt ready to explode.  I could feel myself gliding deep into her throat. When at last I brought forth my seed in a furious blast, she held her ground, drinking down the hot liquor. 

In the past I’d had nightmares where I struggled to wake, and occasionally others when I’d startled awake to find my hand on my member and warm fluids seeping through my bedding.  Now, I desperately hoped I would remain asleep just a little longer. Dunyazad lifted her face with a lick of her full lips, gave me a lusty smile and again crawled smoothly up my body. She folded my lance flat under her and slid her moist scalding notch the length of it, until it suddenly popped back up to attention behind her, as hard as ever. By now it felt as though it must resemble the yard of a pony. Her hips were over my belly and her lovely globes over my face. At that point, I at last stirred, and reached out for one of those tempting boobies. Her smile widened and she offered it to my mouth. As I suckled and nibbled that delightful flesh, she sighed deeply. Then, giggling like an innocent girl, she asked me to give similar pleasure to its sister. I gladly transferred my attention to her other teat, whilst continuing to knead the first. Soon, though, she gently pulled free of my grasp. She rocked through the upright until she was leaning back slightly, bum on my belly and her feet resting on my shoulders. My stiff cock pushed against the small of her back so strongly as to support her.

“Is my lord pleased?” she asked, though clearly she knew the answer, and she now spread her knees to give me a clear view of her cunnie. This most lovely orchid of flesh was the same deep crimson as her other, more public lips. They glistened with the dews of her lust, but also, I now saw, they glistened of gold. A fine chain of the stuff led from around her waist down past her lightly curled mound and disappeared inside her. Giggling again, she lifted her bottom slightly and pulled on the chain. Slowly there emerged what proved to be an egg sized ball of gold. And then another, and yet another. As each popped free, she gave a little tremor of satisfaction. I had seen the chain in the jewel chest and had taken it for a sort of alderman’s chain – there must have been five or six orbs strung on the thing. 

When at last this belt had been drawn free, she let it hang glistening from her side. She flashed me a salacious grin, and rose up over me so as to align her slightly gaping cunny over my straining oversized prick. This she took in one dainty fist to aim, and used her other hand to spread her moist, shining wings open to me. Again I could sense heat radiating from her, as she lowered herself to the point of impaling herself. Not withstanding what I had just seen (or rather, imagined) her do with the golden balls, she now was so tight as to require some effort to just encompass my fellow’s knob. She pushed down until all at once the head and an inch or two of shoulder, so to speak, was inside of her. There she stopped, her face suffused with lust, and I could absolutely feel her cunny twitch on me. Then she lifted slightly so that the flesh of her cunnie lips, now stretched thin, clung to the flange of my cockhead, refusing to release their intended meal. Another pause and again she delivered a heave downward. A little more disappeared this time, and again she rose until nearly clear of me. She continued in this fashion, exacting the maximum of pleasure as she settled down, engulfing me an inch at a time. It was a dream more vivid than I had ever experienced and, as I took hold of her velvet thighs and enjoyed every thrust, I again prayed I wouldn’t waken.

Once she had taken the whole of my shaft, she began to milk it with her nether lips. The sensation was amazing. I could feel the muscular ripples of her cunnie walls run the length of my cock. Almost I could swear that she had a tongue in that rude mouth of hers, working to bring me to the boil. And yet I had no trouble holding back my passion, for all that the pressure continued to build. I lay quietly, gazing up at her lovely face, her full lips parted as she panted lightly. And then she turned her huge dark eyes full upon mine. They were deep, and ageless, and full of mystery. I felt nauseous for a moment, light-headed. The room began to spin and then abruptly I was looking at my own reflection, only it was her eyes that were set in my face. Simultaneously I was aware of an enormous hot mass, plunged deep in my body. I recoiled, not in pain but in shock, and felt the mass recede. As it did so, it felt as though it was drawing me inside out. And still I looked, uncomprehendingly, at my own face grinning back under me. Under? Damn, I thought. The dream had changed for the worse. What the hell had been in that brandy?

I could hear a high keening wail, and suddenly I knew I was making it. I shifted my stunned gaze lower, and had to lean far forward to see over gold-laden breasts, until I had a clear view of a thick segment of cock-shaft between us. I flinched away and felt as well as saw the thing withdraw from my belly, the flesh of my cunnie pulling along, clinging tightly to its contents! All the while an orgasm had been building, and now it tore through me, a rushing fire of ecstasy. Without thinking, I pushed back down onto my mirror image’s iron cock. Wave after wave of rapture swept through me, and I could feel my new cunny clutching desperately at its intruder. I began to bounce madly, struggling to force the thing deeper into my hungry slit. It was more intense than I can begin to describe, and yet it all seemed perfectly natural. Up and down I rode, and in each direction I could feel every ripple and bump on that rigid fleshy pole, from flange to root, as it made its carnal journey. I felt my body grip it, knead it, suckle it within me. And still I was desperate to engulf more of that cock, somehow her cock now. My knees spread wide astride it and my fingers clawed her flanks. I humped up and down in a frenzy, thrilling to the feel of that hard length stretching me wide. I ground my buttocks hard against her thighs. And she answered in kind, gripping and moulding my breasts, and meeting my plunges with upward thrusts, until at last the body beneath me went rigid and I could feel her own orgasm begin. Her cock seemed to grow even more in its mad spasms, and then it shot its liquid fire deep within me. My own convulsion was so intense that I fainted dead away, amidst a swirl of sparks behind my eyes.

When the dream resumed, I was myself again, looking up at Dunyazad’s beautiful body astride my still hard member. She stretched her lithe arms high, and said, “Is my virile lord ready for another joust?” With this she pulled free of my glistening lance to hop nimbly up. She squirmed into a kneeling position on the foot of the bed, head down and backside high, and peeked over her shoulder at me, a cheeky young girl again. I advanced and was moved by a desire to pleasure her with my mouth as she had done for me. I set to, and to my surprise – for this too was a novelty to me, then – I enjoyed it immensely. I rolled on my back and slid under her to better access her, and she responded by driving herself onto my face, and reaching down to pull back the hood of her thumb-sized pleasure nubbin. For my part, I licked and tasted and nibbled, to her obvious satisfaction.

At length I could feel her spend, and she began to plead, in Arabic now, a coarse equivalent of ‘fuck me!’ I hastened to oblige, struggling to my knees behind her. Gripping her fine ass tightly, I marked her plump cunnie and thrust my grossly swollen prick inside her. She seemed even tighter than before, but I entered her at a stroke, and began to drive, while she grappled with her clitoris. I caught myself wondering what that could feel like - and then, without the slightest transition, my face was pressed into the pillow and I was stifling gasps of pleasure while I frigged my clit to match the long strokes of the huge member that relentlessly pounded deep inside me. Almost immediately the orgasms began, and I shook with their intensity while a deep voice chuckled behind me.

After what seemed an eternity she abruptly withdrew her pole. I gasped and pushed my buttocks up at empty space. Then I felt strong hands take hold of my hips and lift me bodily up. I was suspended upside down at arms length, but felt no concern. I simply hung limp, my legs wide, and thought, so that’s what my stones look like from below. After a long moment she drew me to her so that my thighs rested on her shoulders, and began to kiss and toy with my cunnie. Her touch was far lighter than mine had been, and immensely pleasurable.

Meanwhile, I was balanced so as to find my face nested in curls. On one side hung that chain of gold balls from my waist and on the other stood her cock, its base resting against my cheek. A new notion came to me and without any conscious thought I acted on it. By arching my back and bracing my hands against her thighs I could bring the tip of her engine to my lips. I heard snarl her pleasure -in my old voice - as I slowly enveloped the entirety of the thing. I found I could time my breathing to my strokes, as I worked back and forth. Slowly we spiralled higher into ecstasy, until she thrust hard and I felt the surging pulses of her spending run the length of her tool. I was forced to work hard to swallow before I drowned.

This last stimulus brought me to the brink. I began to shudder, and suddenly I felt her tongue glide impossibly deeply inside me. It was as though a snake had slithered into my depths. I had to pull my lips off of her cock, and I began to scream again, as her tongue squirmed and writhed, exploring my very being. I wrestled with it inside, squeezing it and sucking it. My body shook, wracked with convulsions of pleasure, until again I saw sparks, followed by oblivion.

And then I found myself, yet again, on my back and in the dream. My cock was mine again, and Dunyazad road it with obvious pleasure. Her movements were rhythmic, almost hypnotic, now, and she watched me with a look of solemn contemplation. I was as hard as ever, but the desperate intensity was replaced by a mellow pleasure. I had a sense almost of floating, even as her bum squirmed solidly against my lap.

I couldn’t tell you how long we coupled like this but, all of a sudden, she froze. I could hear a faint rustling sound at the far end of the room. And then she was spinning in the direction, pivoting on my still rampant cock. There in the shadows I saw a man. 

He was no more than a shadow, but the dagger was clear enough, even in the candlelight. Suddenly, the pressure on my cock was gone, and I was pelted by a cascade of jewellery, dropping through a fading mist above me. The assassin froze, shocked - although hardly more than I. The fog reappeared just as suddenly, between the killer and myself, and congealed into the form of a crouching leopard. At this the man justifiably shrieked and fled around the corner. I could hear latches rattle, and then the door crashed open as he leapt into the hallway beyond. With a swish of the tail, the cat stalked after and I heard another yell, muffled but far more hideous. At that I jumped to my feet. I thought I felt a surge of heat from the ring, and looked down to see that I was holding my own knife in my hand.

There was only silence, now. I stood there for a long time, trembling and soaked with sweat while the faint glow of coming day trickled past the shudders. I was most definitely alone, and fully awake at last. Whether from tainted wine or the foul air from the tunnel, I had obviously been hallucinating all night, drifting like a common opium eater on my cot, my dreams following the mingled paths of treasure, that odd letter, and my romps with Lucy. A sudden thought, and I gazed down. Yes, that was perfectly normal in size.

I let my mind slip tentatively back, sampling the mad memories, until at last the dawn cold roused me. Thank God, the nightmare was over now. I must get out for air. Dressing myself as rapidly as I could, I stepped out of the alcove – and saw the door ajar. As I knew it would be. I forced myself to look out into the hall. There was my would-be killer, his throat gone, lying in a pool of congealing gore. He was wearing a chain mail vest – small good it had done him - and he still held a wicked-looking old dagger. On his belt was an equally ancient sword and tangled under his body was a black cloak.

Nearly overcome with nausea, I slammed my door shut and forced myself to think. The man had come to murder me. He was undoubtedly a Black Mantle – a guardian of the Templar gold. If the rest of the treasure was as remarkable as my one little boxful, it must be truly astonishing. The box. The ring! I thought of the cat-creature and of the claim that the old pope kept a demon in a ring. So - I had fucked the night away with a demon. Right. And now there was a huge brute dead on my doorstep. He’d soon be missed. His friends would then come looking - any time now. My God - they were probably already watching the outer door to this place.

The only other way out was the passage to the crypt, not an appealing prospect. Into my satchel I swept the jewellery on the bed – her jewels! Then I thrust my blade and my pistol into my belt. I fancied I could already hear heavy boots on the cobbles outside when I re-bolted my door, which I blocked with furniture before I fled down the back stairway. Picking up the lamp as I went, I dove into the tunnel as though the hounds of hell were on my tail.

Episode Two

The tunnel was longer than I had guessed, and narrowed as I went, forcing me to push my small kit ahead and then squeeze myself through. The stones seemed to press from above, and then, abruptly, I came up against a wall, and I thought, Christ, I'm trapped!

When I managed to light the lantern, I found myself face to face with yet another bony grin. After a fresh rush of claustrophobic terror, I realized that I had in fact arrived at the Church’s crypt – except that I was inside a tomb.

I was inspired by the sight of my new companion to use extra caution. Belatedly it occurred to me that my would-be assassin must have come for me through this very shaft. Now he was overdue, and the lid of the tomb was closed. There was bound to be someone waiting on the other side. 

From the house behind me I could hear the distant sound of wood splintering. Shit. I shuttered my lamp, tightened my grip on the revolver, and eased the slab above me open a crack.  As I did so, I again felt a surge of heat from the ring I’d found. The room beyond was all in darkness - perhaps they were waiting to see if I would reveal the entry to the catacombs. For they were out there, well enough.

At least three, to judge by the clatter of steel, the scrabble of boots, and the gurgling yells. It was finished in moments. From my stone shelter I lifted my lamp, and there was Dunyazad, my dream lover. She was standing magnificently naked before me, wearing a cat’s-got-the-canary smile. It was strange – in spite of the several huddled corpses in the shadows, I felt such a surge of lust that I nearly jumped her then and there. Perhaps I might have, too, but by the time I had clambered out of that beastly box and started across the slippery stones toward her, there came a flicker of torchlight from behind me.

I turned to see two more black-cloaked men, already half way down the open stair. They had stopped to stare at the bloody shambles around me – and of course at the naked girl in the centre of it all. Both men were carrying muskets. Christ! They had only to level their pieces … and then I remembered the Colt I still gripped in my right fist. I lifted the weapon - too late. The leader came to his senses and fired, at the same moment as did I. Flame and smoke leapt from our muzzles - in that small space the noise was beyond deafening, stunning me as though from a blow. It took me a moment to understand that I was unhurt. He’d missed, but so had I. He was cursing now as he came on, reversing his musket as a club. Beyond him, the other was about to fire in his turn, but found himself slipping on the gore on the stairs, and again the roar of explosions as first he loosed his shot – wide, thank God - and I responded, emptying my revolver into them both. 

There followed a muffled silence, while my ears continued to ring. The place was hazy with acrid powder smoke, but I could see that they were both down. I was trembling now – this was the first time I had ever been forced to fight for my life. I turned to check on Dunyazad and was rewarded with an arched eyebrow. Evidently she was impressed.

Stunned as I was, I knew there was no time to waste. The whole neighbourhood must have heard the shocking din, and I’d left my spare cartridges behind in the brothel. We couldn’t go up – it had to be into the catacomb behind the secret door.

Luckily I’d committed the lock releases to memory. Sited on opposite sides of a smug looking effigy, they were to be triggered simultaneously. Now I saw, to my alarm, that they were too far apart to reach. I showed Dee the bit of carved marble that served as one of the catches. Success! A two-foot square of vertical marble paneling slid aside, and a puff of knight-dust drifted out of the gap. 

Dee shrugged and hopped in, shimmying her bare bum at me as she did so. It really was irresistible - I reached up to feel the cunnie she presented to me. At my touch, she pressed back to swallow my fingers and give them a friendly squeeze, before popping free and jumping forward out of sight. After a last glance back at the carnage in the crypt, I was up and through the gap myself, making sure the hidden door was closed most securely behind me. 

Safe enough for the moment, I hugged her to me. She glanced up with an odd smile, and then snuggled up comfortably. We were now in a rough-hewn stone passage, which hopefully led to treasure. After the briefest of explanations, we were off. The tunnels twisted and turned without reason, and constantly dropped deeper into the earth. The walls were riddled with niches, which were filled with jumbled bones and sightless skulls.

I led the way, lamp held high. Although the Templars had set traps, I had the benefit of the map in my pocket. Even at that, at one point Dee caught my belt just before I pitched headlong into a spike-floored pit. We edged past it on a ledge perhaps four inches wide, with our backs to the wall and her fine poonts proudly standing forth. I noticed she was smiling in a way that suggested that she was at no great risk. 

At last, we stood before an iron door. I handed Dee the lamp and threw myself against it, expecting stiff hinges, and catapulted myself ten feet beyond. This was just as well, given that a stone the size of an anvil dropped where I would have stood. As I lay winded on the flagstone floor, Dee stepped without comment over the stone and then over me, and held the lantern aloft. In the dim light I could make out a large cavern. And gold! All about us, the buttery gleam of gold. Piles of the stuff - glittering goblets and plate, and coins of every sort. It was unbelievable, like an ancient barrow, complete with stone tombs all stacked about with blackened armour and weapons. Or, if you will, like the cave of Aladdin. 

I sat up and stared in wonder, watching as my beauty skipped about, lifting and admiring various pieces. Occasionally she would lift it up for me to see, saying, “Ah – this belonged to Lord Surena,” or some such. Several times, the jewel in question was clearly already ancient when it had come into the hands of the Templars so long ago.  And then, she held out a ring not unlike the one I now wore, saying, “and look - the Seal of Sulayman.”

I blinked. No, it was impossible. She would be waving about the Holy Grail next. I’d been aware that either I was quite mad, or I had gained a most extraordinary companion. Up until now, lacking independent evidence, I had preferred to believe the latter - but this was too much.

Meanwhile Dee held up a set of gold inlaid grieves. “I saw Alexander buried in these,” she said, conversationally. “Some villain has robbed his tomb.” She glanced up mischievously. “Of course, it would have been a shame to waste them.” 

“Alexander the Great?” I asked, now quite convinced I was Bedlam bound.

“Alexander the Macedonian, yes. He was not your equal as a lover, my lord. Always his mind was on his next campaign – and on his Companions.” This information was accompanied with the hint of a smirk.

Good God, but, suppose I was not mad? Then she must be most extraordinary indeed. Just who, or what, was she? I glanced down at the golden band on my finger, and back to the beautiful creature dancing about the cave, and thought yet again about the old pope’s demonic ring. Dee didn’t look particularly devilish. In fact, she didn’t at all resemble my notions of hell spawn, nor did she remotely behave like a slave. True, she took my side in my present troubles, but she seemed to show true enthusiasm in both loving and fighting. 

So, again supposing I wasn’t crazy, I had a powerful lover - although I had no idea what her powers might be. Could weapons harm her? Could she use some sort of magic to get us out of here? Also, she referred to me as a prince, the conqueror of the previous possessor of the ring. I liked to think of myself as an adventurer, another Burton, but the reality was that I was a mere thief. No, wait – I had just shot two men. A thief and a murderer. As for the ring, I had literally found it on the ground. Somehow, this didn’t seem the time to point that out. 

As if summoned, she literally danced over to where I was now perched, on the corner of an ironbound chest. She had put on a mail shirt, each silvery link so tiny that the whole shimmered like cloth. Her flawless skin was still visible beneath, and the thing cupped her breasts. Perhaps, I thought, like the jewels, it was made for her. It hung to her knees, and she twirled like a child to show it off.  It spun up to give me another glimpse of her fine cunnie, then settled back with a cascade of musical clinks.

You can see that I was trying … no, I wanted to believe. I murmured my heart-felt admiration, but decided to broach the subject of my dilemma. Or, rather one of them. If I wasn’t a raving lunatic, then I was trapped underground with a king’s ransom and a voluptuous demon. Affecting an unconvincing nonchalance, I waved my arm about and asked, “How shall I move this lot to a safer place?”

Again the arched eyebrow - “Why, using only the most loyal of your troops, my lord!” A long pause followed while I pretended to consider this advice, and then she laughed, a light merry sound in that shadowy place. “My lovely young fool, I might add!  I know some of what is what is in your thoughts, for were we not One? You think that without a kingdom you are no king! I can tell you that I have seen many a man gain a crown with less in their purses or in their heads than you. Look around you! Here is the makings of a realm, if you but hold on to it. And – you have me!” Her lovely eyes narrowed after this speech, and she leaned in close to my face, saying, “You think also that you do not know what I am, or what I – we - can do. But were we not One? Think harder, then!”

I did, searching my foggy memory for clues. I remembered the exultation I had experienced when I saw through her eyes – and not only of the carnal sort. My peggo stiffened, regardless, and she smiled, her small hand slipping through my clothing to fondle it. Still she held my gaze, and I tried to focus my thoughts. An image of an Eden-like oasis entered my mind. I could smell the dates, the wine, the perfumed flowers. Somewhere a fountain tinkled, and there was unseen laughter, and I could feel a breeze animate silken garments against my skin. And then the tightening grip on my prick drew me back. 

“Jinniyah”, I said, using the Arabic word for the female sort of Genie – the Genies of the tales, although I could remember few of the stories beyond Aladdin and the Lamp.  Suddenly I knew these tales were just a dim reflection of an older reality.

“What then is your wish?” she grinned.

“I don’t think you actually grant wishes,” I replied, slowly, “but ‘don’t stop’ comes to mind …”

 “I grant wishes when it pleases me.” This as she released my poor stifled member from its bonds to stand firm in my lap. I stared at her again. There was so much I didn’t yet understand, but I had found a memory, as she had said. I knew this amazing girl to be one of an ancient and legendary race. And here she was, clambering onto my thighs so as to get her plump slit above the prick she had bullied into growing to full mast. I watched, both excited and entertained by her performance, as she held her mail shirt up around her waist and bobbed down with her cunnie until she had snatched my cock-head into that hungry mouth. I felt it grip my knob tightly and she flashed me a victorious smile. Then came a long, snug glide, accompanied by the silver-ice sensation of her metallic hems dropping across my thighs and belly.  Once moored in my lap, she began nibbling at my neck. Her cunnie was doing a share of nibbling, too, and the combination was quite delightful.

So began another most memorable fuck. We locked lips and kissed for what seemed an age, while her buttocks pressed steadily down on my thighs until our pubic curls were woven tightly together between us. At first, all the movement was inside of her … both my tongue and my peggo being sucked and massaged most wonderfully.

 By and by, she threw her head back and began to bounce on my shaft, growing more and more rowdy as time went on - yet I was still in the game. Somehow I had apparently gained her women’s ability to prolong passion. Even as I thrilled to her touch, a part of my mind tried to piece together our situation … that is to say, our tactical situation, as opposed to our carnal one, which still commanded the bulk of my attention.

“If we go back … the way we came …” - I now had little doubt we could - “our battle will attract … ahhh … the rozzers ... I mean, the city guards. Mmmm … of London.” That last seemed to need adding. God knows where she had woken up over the years. 

She drew a deep breath and focused on my face. “Londinium. I have been asleep for so long …” Another cunnie clench followed, as if to make up for lost time. And then to business:  “So. Will not the black-robed men try to follow us here?”

“Nnnnn … Perhaps not.  They’re just … ahhh … soldiers. They aren’t meant to know of this place. I think. Even their leaders … Oh, God! … may not know everything after so long.” 

“You knew,” she said, pointedly.

“Ahhh, YES! … umm, yes. Well. Anyway, there was probably another way out, once … over there …” I nodded toward a bricked up doorway in the corner, which I had noticed before we had come to grips. “But they must have blocked it when … Ahhhh!! … they brought all this.”

“Well then, I shall find it,” she said, and she disappeared. It happened slower than before, a fog that began at her feet until her face alone hung smiling before me. And then I was alone in the guttering torchlight, a puddle of finest chain mail in my lap, supported by my disappointed prick.

I saw a wisp of fog disappear between the cracks at the top and then she was gone. 

In order not to spend my time pondering my sanity (or my un-satiated lust), I filled my pack with easily negotiable wealth – gold coins, mostly, and with a few simple emerald and diamond broaches. Next, I began to pull loose the topmost stones over the ‘back’ door. A few stones led to more, behind, until I had tunnelled about ten feet. The work wasn’t too difficult, only awkward, it being necessary to crawl back repeatedly with the cobble-sized pieces to dispose of them behind me.

Dee was back soon enough. As I tunnelled in the near dark, I felt a silken touch on my face, and then moments later, from the cave, came the clink of metal. I crawled back to in time to admire her beautiful breasts, as she pulled her mail shirt back over her head. While she began to choose more ornaments from the piles, she told me she had indeed found a way out.

I had only a few more feet to burrow before the way was clear. Meanwhile Dee added to her attire a woven gold belt and a thick gold chain necklace, both complete with jewelled pendants, and then crowned herself with a thin elektra diadem. Once she was ready, she led off into a fresh maze, and this time it was me following close behind, with the flickering lamp in my hand. 

By and by we came to a barred iron door. Dee shrugged, and again evaporated into smoke. This time I caught the mail shirt and some of the jewellery as it fell. The vapour that was Dee swirled around my arms and passed under the bottom of the door. A rasp of the lock and then the door groaned open, and there stood Dee in all her naked glory, giving me a mock bow. I handed her the gear I had caught, along with the belt and baubles I had recovered from the dust. I was becoming sufficiently accustomed to this performance, though, to take the opportunity to catch and squeeze a bum cheek as she dropped the shirt over her head. We were now in a deep recess alongside of yet another tunnel. This passageway was clearly well used - it was lit by oil lamps, and was altogether tidier, too – the niches had been emptied of their bony occupants. I extinguished my own lamp and left it behind the door, which I relocked – taking care to keep the key. Dee led onward to another door, this one quite ornate, which opened easily. 

We were now in a well-provisioned wine cellar.  I heard a movement from behind one of the racks and gripped the butt of my empty pistol, but it was a redheaded young woman that stepped out into the light. She had a dusty bottle cradled in her arms, and was wearing orange satin pantaloons, plus a crimson sash over one shoulder that left one pert freckled breast exposed. There was a fleur-de-lis broach on her sash, so apparently she was meant to represent Mademoiselle Liberty. I had no idea why - it was a damned odd uniform for a pantry maid.

In a strong Irish accent, she bid us good afternoon, as though she was accustomed to meeting armed strangers in her cellar. I glanced back at Dee and was shocked to see that she had had visibly matured some fifteen years – and grown about eight inches taller.  The mail shirt now barely hid her lovely cunnie, and she acknowledged my look of amazement with a faint smile and a wink she could now deliver at my own eye level.  She was still Dee, but now a voluptuous woman of the world.

I was momentarily speechless, so Dee returned the maid’s greeting.  The girl seemed not to notice our own outlandish dress – we looked like a pair of wealthy Moorish pirates – but simply asked whether perhaps we would like a tour.  A tour of what, I hadn’t the slightest idea, but Dee agreed that that would indeed be suitable, and so we followed our bare-foot Virgil up a flight of stone stairs. At the next level, we stepped into brick-walled room, which was lit only by the glow of a brazier in a distant corner. It resembled nothing so much as a dungeon, except that in the gloom I could see a number of people engaging in a surprising variety of sexual acts.

Close by the landing I could make out a woman who was kneeling with her head bobbing in the lap of a young man. He was wearing a centurion’s cuirass, and nothing else. For her part, she wore only long black hair and, seemingly, a long black tail. On closer inspection I saw that the tail grew from a sizable black phallus lodged in her bottom. Behind them on the wall hung chains and fetters - although for use or for decoration I could not tell. A little farther on, there was a selection of canes and rods on a rack, and I could see a society matron applying one to the bare bottom of a whiskered old cove who was holding on tightly to an iron ring fitted to the low ceiling.

Well, flogging’s not to my taste, but belatedly I now understood what sort of place we had discovered. It was an upper class version of the establishment at which I had spent the past several weeks - a private sex club for the wealthy. We had stumbled on its very discrete entrance. The passageway was no doubt well guarded if entered in the usual way, perhaps through the back of some respectable shop in the next street.

Our small guide led us onward, up the next set of stairs. We emerged in a large, ornately decorated parlour. There were couches and divans scattered about, with brocade curtains screening off some of the corners. There was also a well-provisioned sideboard.  I went directly over and began to gnaw on a fowl leg, no doubt enhancing my buccaneer look. Dee joined me and started in on an even bigger joint of meat, worrying it in the same fashion. Clearly after five hundred and seventy-odd years she had worked up an appetite.

As I satisfied my hunger, I began to take in more around me. There were more people here than below, although by no means was the place crowded. They were mostly drinking and chatting amiably. I couldn’t tell which, if any, were employees of the house. 

Most were richly costumed, although none would have suited the village fete back home – invariably, bits of flesh were exposed that the vicar would have felt inappropriate. Some wore masks, though whether to keep their identities secure or to complete their costumes was unclear. There were ancient Romans in togas, and medieval Turks, and wild-west Indians. Nuns and courtesans, policemen and highwaymen were all represented, as well as several corsairs - not unlike ourselves.

Nearest us, on a settee, sat a red-haired gentleman in the antique uniform of a field marshal of Napoleon’s Grand Army. He was pleasuring a woman lying next to him using a distinctly phallic ivory baton. Across from these two was a young lady, dressed in nothing but a frilly cream coloured shirt and stockings, seated astride the lap of a black-coated curate. This sweet young thing was deep in conversation with the Marshal, while the cleric was deep inside of her. I could see his member flash between her thighs as he eased her light frame rhythmically up and down.

Dee, while still demolishing her meal, nudged me with a wicked smile to direct my gaze away from this one show to another one, which was behind a partly drawn curtain on our other side. There on another couch was a beautiful young black girl, laying all exposed amidst the scattered costume of a Nubian princess. She was writhing while a naked blonde licked and nuzzled her bright pink cunnie.  The sight was intoxicating – both girls were unusually tall (or long, given their horizontal position) - and buxom. The blonde’s skin, although lit with the flush of lust, still seemed almost ivory when set against the other’s dark rich glow. Both were oblivious to our presence, aware only of their passion. The blonde began climbing atop her partner to offer her own cunnie for similar attention, and my over-stimulated member was beginning to quiver when I heard a polite cough at my elbow.

Having delivered her burden of wine, our guide asked if we wished to continue the tour.  While we were enjoying the food and the view where we were, it seemed reasonable to scout out the land, so we followed the girl to another stairway. I was last in the precession, and as we crossed the room I feasted my senses with the wide range of delectable women represented. As we passed, I nodded to acknowledge the polite smiles of ‘Marshal Ney’ and the curate’s pretty friend.

Having gained the stairs, I also gave time to admire the way our guide’s broad bottom moved within its satin sheath, before my roving eye finally focused firmly on Dee’s glorious backside.

We paused again at the landing, and the girl, whose name was Jane, told us that on this floor were day rooms, and that the top floor gave way to an atrium. I could see the sun shining through its glazing at the top of the stairs, a welcome sight after what seemed like an age underground.  Between were several floors of suites, kept by certain patrons. Her glance at Dee’s unabashed display of gold suggested that we could expect inclusion in this select company, if we so wished. 

Dee without hesitation plucked a pendant stone from her necklace and slipped it in Jane’s hand, saying that such a suite would be acceptable, and that we hoped to see more of her. The girl protested that she was merely a cellar maid, and sought no reward for her small service – a remarkable speech in such a place, but evidently a sincere one. I think it even surprised Dee, who brooked no objection, of course. For my part, I was stunned by the notion of staying there. Not because of the nature of the place’s business - after all, I had just spent two happy weeks in a similar establishment. It was simply that I was still thinking only of escape. Of course, on reflection I realized I had no better plan.

We were shown into the nearby manager’s office. Dee made the arrangements, in the role of an itinerant grandee of great wealth and wantonness (all quite true). The manager was a round little fellow who resembled a banker, though of better humour. At the appropriate moment I produced a small sack of ancient gold ducats, which were accepted without comment, to be placed on account against our meals, lodging, and such other services of the house as we should desire. Dee requested that Jane attend us exclusively, which I would have supposed was of no great consequence to our new landlord. He, however, showed some hesitation, and asked the girl if she approved of such an arrangement. Upon her considered acceptance, he offered his avuncular approval and then invited her to convey us to our new lodgings. 

We were speedily brought to a suite of tasteful opulence (a difficult combination to achieve, you’ll allow). Jane set off to gather up more food, and when I turned from the door, there was Dee bounding naked on the vast bed - the original, younger version of Dee. With a double bounce she fell on her back in front of me, legs open, her breasts wobbling exuberantly. With a grin she reached down to spread her cunny wings wide, and I eagerly accepted her offer. I flung aside my breaches and climbed up to kneel between her legs. She giggled at my haste, and then gasped in spite of herself when I plunged my rigid member between her welcoming cunnie lips.

Even as I drove it home, I found myself face to face with the lithe Nubian I had fancied. It had happened in an instant, but not so fast that I couldn’t see her stretch and darken. It was dizzying, particularly as her full hair vanished so quickly that it seemed to be drawn into her head. But I was wild with lust, and it would have taken a good deal more than that to put me off such a splendid fuck. Now, in all but Dee’s merry unchanged eyes, my cock was lodged in a tall ebony-skinned beauty. She bucked and writhed under my assault, her angular hips surging up to meet mine. 

After I had ridden her to some rowdy orgasms (mine and several of hers), I nuzzled her slender neck and rolled onto my side. We continued at a more leisured pace, with one of her legs lifted over mine. And then, once again Dee changed her form, more slowly this time. With my every stroke, her skin tone faded, passing through a pleasingly full array of shades, from chocolate to coffee, through a light caramel to a pink so translucent that it glowed with her passion. At the same time her lean, sinewy form seemed to grow more padded and full. When she was done I beheld (and held!) the twin of the Nubian’s blond companion. I returned her cheeky smile – you can see that it was becoming harder to astonish me (or at least harder to divert me) – and then I rolled her on top of me and let her pleasure herself awhile astride my still rigid member – which by then, as on the night previous, felt unnaturally large.

As I gazed on her latest form, I began to wonder what had become of Jane – it didn’t seem like a good idea for her to see all this - she might just find Dee’s transformations alarming. At any rate, no sooner had the thought entered my head than, just as smoothly as before, Dee’s body was subtly redistributed. Now she was freckled all over, her breasts plump and firm, and her head and pussy both topped by flaming red curls. Said pussy was wide-split, her nether lips thinly stretched around my thick root - her belly bulged slightly to accommodate the thing. Her eyes were closed and she licked her smiling lips as her cunnie trembled lightly. And then abruptly she snapped her eyes open and we switched places. Disoriented, I began to spasm uncontrollably, impaled on my own just-relinquished prick. The thing seemed to fill me utterly, and a series of orgasms washed over me in a rolling wave.

She rose to her feet, lifting me easily as she did so. I remained threaded on her prick, and when she sat on a nearby chair I found myself on her lap, facing her. My legs hung down on either side, not quite reaching the floor, so that with every clutching tremor of my borrowed cunnie I sank yet further onto the spit. She had to brace me to keep me from slumping forward, although, impaled as I was, it was quite impossible for me to slip off. Again, I cannot easily describe how intense it was. The slightest movement triggered a fresh orgasm, but each orgasm was accompanied by a frenzy of motion. And so it went, on and on. The muscles within my pussy, too, danced wildly, alternately massaging the invading monster and then relaxing to admit more of it. I was having trouble catching my breath, and all I could manage was a series of incoherent grunts. I would on occasion reach down to check on its inexorable progress, and always find more to follow. Just as I thought I would burst, the pressure on my clitoris proved I now contained its rigid entirety.

It was just at that moment that I caught a motion over Dee’s shoulder and saw Jane herself enter the room. We locked eyes – Jane of course seeing her exact double, uncontrollably in the throws of ecstasy. Dee sensed the intrusion, and, just as Jane slumped to the floor in a dead faint, we abruptly switched back. Dee took over the orgasms, and, having satisfied herself there was no danger, carried on. She coped far better than I did, even going so far as to worry her pink little clit with a finger. And as her tight pussy pulled and sucked on me, I had another orgasm, of the sort with which I had more experience. I filled her with a flood of my essence, and when I opened my eyes it was to see Dee again. Grinning cheekily, she climbed off my slightly diminished pole to attend to Jane. She lifted the young woman easily onto a nearby divan and covered her with a fur rug, bestowing soothing kisses on her as she did so. Then she rejoined me, and I nodded off to a contented sleep.

~~~

I woke the next morning with a peaceful feeling of floating. Then the memories flooded back and I sat up with a start. I lay in a large feather bed, with bright sun shining in three tall windows beyond my feet. I was alone, and once again I had the nagging fear that I had descended into madness. There was an elegant breakfast set out nearby, half eaten. Strewn about were bits of exotic clothing, jewellery and weapons. Well, then, perhaps bits of it had happened – but surely not all! I had been drugged, no doubt, to become a modern, nineteenth-century hash-hashin, fighting and loving with insane intensity. I felt clearheaded and refreshed now, at any rate. Of Dee there was no sign.

Just then there was a light tap on the door. Speak of the Devil, I thought, and then remembered some of my fantasies with embarrassment. It was not Dee, however, but the redheaded maid, Jane. She bobbed a tiny curtsy and asked it there was anything we needed. She seemed slightly embarrassed herself, and I wondered how my strange recollections had been played out in reality. I asked her if she had seen my companion, and she blushed even more deeply. No, she said, she did not know where M’lady was.

Suddenly I knew that at some point in the night she and ‘My Lady’ had spent an intimate moment or three together. As to what she had seen beforehand, well, by the light of morning she would be even more confused than me.

 But now – and here I positively blushed myself – I also knew that last night I had both fucked this girl and been this girl … or, rather, I had fucked and been Dee, while masquerading in Jane’s shape.

It was all a bit much to comprehend. I decided the best thing would be to step out for a walk, both to clear my head and to determine my whereabouts. Telling Jane I would be back shortly, I pulled on my sorry clothing and boots, and stepped out onto the landing. The place was relatively quiet, with only a few cleaning maids on hand. I went down the stairs and took a dark cloak from a rack of assorted unclaimed clothes near the door (other choices included an admiral’s coat – possibly not a costume - and something with a great deal of feathers).

At the main entrance were several large gentlemen standing watch. They gave me a nod; neither of them seemed to notice my clothing, but possibly I would have got no more reaction had I worn the feathered wrap. Once past them I found myself in a small street of prosperous looking homes. There was no evidence of the enterprise behind the door through which I had just passed. 

Once I had strolled to the next street I suddenly realized where I was – much farther from the little church than I had expected. I took a notion to send a message to Rollo. The sun continued to warm my bones, and very welcome it was after my time underground. 

I was far from alert when I entered Lombard Street, and I was almost opposite the door of the post office when I noticed the policemen. One was across the road, watching a group of approaching youths, but the nearer one was a little way ahead, staring hard at me. I couldn’t see how the police would be on my trail, but I had the wit to ignore my intended destination and keep walking. Unfortunately the peeler seemed to have decided I was worth his further attention, and he began to stride toward me. 

Still between us was a gap leading to a narrow alleyway, and I turned abruptly inside with the bastard now following in hot pursuit. I immediately saw my mistake – around a bend in the passage was a dead end.

Bugger.

Episode Three

I was trapped. From behind I could hear heavy footsteps, as I desperately tried to think of a plan. And then I was distracted by a new horror … my clothing begin to crawl over my body. My cloak seemed to grow, while in contrast my shirt began to constrict my chest. My trousers grew as well, and, too late, I clutched for my crotch as I felt them drop away. Directly, the policeman was upon me, while under my now voluminous cloak I gripped empty shirttails when I should have held a handful of bollocks. What the … ?

The man stared down at me and then with a look of bafflement peered up the wall, saying, “Where did he go, little one?”

I gaped back, trying to take in what had just happened to me, and then heard Dee’s voice as thought close at hand, saying, “Answer him, fool!”

“He went up the wall!” I said in a high simper. That route was obviously impassable, so I added, “It was uncanny!”

After a glance up, the peeler took a closer look at me. I wore a similar cloak, but … no. He walked to the end of the alley looking more closely for another way out, while I hastily stepped out of the trousers which were tangled about my ankles, and out of the now oversized boots, and kicked them all aside. 

“He’s very handsome,” said the voice in my head. Damn me if I didn’t agree, though I had never been drawn to men or boys. As for the previous night, well, I myself had provided the body. This was entirely different.

“No, it is not,” said Dee. “Look at the bulge in his breeches,” she added, as he slowly returned. “He likes you!” 

“He likes you,” I retorted. And yet, while in her form I could feel her powerful urges, in spite of myself.

“Eh?” said the still baffled policeman – I must have spoken aloud. 

“I’m frightened,” I ventured – not entirely untrue. “Who was that man?”

 “Well, Miss, he’s a right villain, he is. Tore a man’s throat out with his bare hands. Foreigner, of course. We’ll catch him, though, never you fear!” – this with an arm around my shoulders – “Can’t say I’ve seen you hereabouts, before. You’re new to the game, then, are you?” He began to lead me deeper into the alley. Then he backed me against the wall, and I saw that he had released his affair from its bonds. 

“Vile toad,” said Dee’s voice, “Shall we kill him?” Somehow, I had no doubt ‘we’ could do so. “But he’s clean, and he has a sizable linga,” she mused. Under the cloak I now wore only a shirt, and my hand stole up to my borrowed cunnie. I found it wet with anticipation, and I wondered at the urges I felt.  I determined to let Dee take charge, and so absolve myself of the responsibility. Yet she would not or could not accommodate me, and so I stood stupidly motionless. 

My clean-cocked constable grew inpatient.  “Are you straight in from the country, then, girly?  Hasn’t anybody told you how to earn our protection?”

With this he pulled open my cloak and, grinning to find my legs bare, took hold of my bum cheeks and lifted me up. I was now suspended over his weapon, my back still against the wall. And, God help me, I wanted it so badly that I whimpered as he lowered me back down. He impaled me in the one movement, and then began to pound, wedging me against the wall. He clearly intended to finish his work quickly, and I suddenly realized that I was not having that. I clenched his member tightly inside me, just at its base. Very tightly - for I had inherited the knack of using Dee’s form along with her urges. As I did so, I stared into his startled eyes, and gave him a less than pleasant smile. And then, when his imminent explosion was quelled, I urged him on to satisfy me. Confused, he stepped away from the wall, and began to thrust more slowly, while I held his neck and matched his movements with enthusiastic bounces. It was now my turn to seek a quick blaze of passion. I could feel it well up in me, stronger with every passing moment. He had continued to fall back, until it was his own back to the opposite wall, and I drove myself home and milked him up and down, inside me, using the muscles of my pussy sheath. Even as we each reached our peaks together, I gathered his hair in my hands and slammed his head against the wall. He slumped slowly down until he was sitting insensibly at its base, with me still straddling him. 

“Is he dead?” I asked, aloud, but even as I did so I could feel the pulse beating in his still-hard pole, deep inside me. 

“Not dead,” agreed Dee, “but fucked witless, in so far as he has any. Mmmm … yes, quite thick, he is, my wanton lover, but time we were off!” I had without thought begun to bounce again on his still gloriously firm cock. “When he comes to his meagre senses we should be gone. He will long remember us, though – and perhaps be more cautious when accosting peasant girls!”

After several more long strokes for luck, I clambered off him, and then scooped up my breeches and boots from the shadows nearby. Folding them under my cloak, I stepped over the legs of my most undignified lover before walking back out onto the main street. The other rozzer loitering across the way stared at me with some suspicion. He was no better at his job than my new friend, for he must not have seen the initial pursuit, else he would have joined in. Probably he was left to surmise that the other had slipped away specifically to sample my charms, and had not even thought to share. I gave him a coquettish toss of hair and continued away as quickly as I might without tempting him to give chase. 

Only when I was several streets away did my pace slow. I paused and caught my reflection in a shop windowpane. Dee’s enchanting face looked back at me. Now the fog of lust and shock and fear had passed, and still here I was, against all reason, a young woman standing in a thoroughfare of London. Even after all that had gone before, I found it hard to credit. Shifting my burden slightly, I slipped a hand inside my shirt to probe my chest. I trembled as I touched a nipple and felt it harden.

“Lovely, is it not?”  Dee spoke again at last. 

“Yes!” I returned, aloud. A woman turned to give me an odd look. Until I could get the hang of responding without use of my lips, I would look like one of those unfortunate loons who wander about the town conducting heated arguments with empty air. “Yes,” I repeated, more quietly, and shook my head in awe.

I began to walk again, feeling this body from the inside – the heat of the sun on my face and the silky run of my hair on my neck - the friction of my shirt on my nipples - the roll of my hips and the stretch of my buttock and thigh muscles as I walked - the pleasant soreness of my pussy, which still ebbed warm love fluids down my bare legs - the fabric of my cloak riding my shins and ankles - and on down to my bare feet on the worn pave stones. All (well, nearly all) were sensations I had ignored for years, now made fresh and sensuous. I knew that Dee was enjoying my immersion as much as I was, but I was in no way troubled by her presence in my mind.

I was well on my way back to my new residence when Dee began to speak again. “While you were yet sleeping, my lord, I set out to learn something of our situation. I approached the church in which we fought. The placed was sealed, of course, and buzzed like a hive with angry men. I was able to lure one of them away and … press him for information.” I tried to imagine this interview and failed. “The black clad ones are desperate to lay hands on you, but the loss of eight of their number has made them careful.”

Eight? One in my hallway, and the two I’d shot - so she had destroyed even more men than I had supposed in that awful crypt. I shuddered, despite myself.

Dee politely waited for my thoughts on the matter to play out, and then continued. “The death of the first one, in your previous dwelling, they reported to the city’s prince who has dispatched his own men” - the constabulary, that would be - “with your description in hand. The streets are watched.” 

I spun around, expecting a dark figure to be at my very heels, and heard the unsettling sound of Dee’s laughter in my head. “They seek you, not me, remember? And it was you they think has disappeared up a sheer wall. They feared you enough before. If they dare search at all, it will be on the rooftops for the next while. And now,” she concluded, “we should stop here.”

I had come up to a shop of finest women’s clothes. I stepped inside, still mulling over the information she had collected, and was brought to attention by the owner’s squawk of indignation at such a ragged street urchin entering his premises. I surprised myself by dropping my bundle and casting aside my cloak, then stepping forward so that my shirt opened fully to reveal my proud breasts, and of course everything else. Lifting a small fist, still with my ornate ring, I pointed at him and I announced in the most imperious of tones, “I have been attacked and robbed, sir, and it is your privilege to re-equip me suitably.” To my even greater surprise, he averted his gaze and mumbled apologies.

I was soon trying on a dress of the latest fashion, the more elegant for the fact that it lacked the stays and supports usually added to supplement nature. Gazing at my new reflection with inordinate pleasure, I had soon modeled and selected a stack of similar garments. 

The shopkeeper brightened visibly when I gave the address to which the bulk of my purchases were to be sent, along with the clothing I had worn and carried into the shop. Clearly he felt vindicated in his response to my demands. I gathered that the ladies of that establishment (which was known as ‘The Catacomb’ for its back entrance) were regular clients, whose bills were paid a good deal more promptly than those of the local nobility.

Once outside, Dee resumed the conversation in my head, and passers-by stepped well clear of the mad, muttering girl – even if I was now fashionably attired. Dee informed me that we were now co-owners in the Catacomb. Evidently she had paid a literal fortune. She assured me that we now enjoyed the absolute loyalty of the talented little manager, whom she had promoted to become our partner.

“And you will be amazed at what George conceals under his breaches,” she added by further explanation. I felt our cunnie moisten at the thought. “The little one, Jane, is likewise entirely and without reserve at our service,” she went on.  And again a little twinge below, as I remembered Jane’s embarrassed demeanour this morning.

“Just so,” Dee agreed. “I have also improved the guard - there was a servant’s entrance that was not watched at all. Now, the big lad Peter is in command.” I was now positively leaking, as ghosts of her memories of that interview filtered across.

“Because,” she continued, “the other thing I learned from the man I questioned – before death released him - was that our foes are led by a certain Lord Oakley. It seems the man is a regular visitor to our new home.” That unpleasant news got my attention back to business. “Do not worry – as I said, you no longer fit the description of the man he seeks.” She laughed. “And our own men are now prepared. If this Lord should return, we shall dedicate the dungeon to its true use.”

Gad - she’d had a busy morning before I struggled out of bed. “There is much yet to do,” she continued. “Tomorrow we must block off every other entrance to the vault. Luckily Peter was a – how do you say it? A sapper in the army. A curious word,” she mused, “but the sap does indeed flow in him.” I could feel my cunnie positively throbbing by now. “Today he will get us the black powders with which we may collapse the tunnels.” When I failed to respond intelligently to this, she added, as though to a child, “We must block the passage which leads back to the church, to help protect our treasure. Then we will begin to move some of it.”

I hadn’t even considered that we had a tiger by the tail. Not only were the previous guardians hunting me – which was bad enough. They would also be looking to secure the trove itself. And how were we to carry away such a mass of stuff in secret? 

Dee, following my thoughts, spoke again in my head, “George tells me that the moneylenders in your London have strong vaults – we will cache some in each of them. And then – you will see what powers gold can buy!”

This was planning far beyond my own feeble horizons of sex, ale, and more sex. However, there was no time at present to explore just what powers Dee had in mind, since we had by then arrived at the main entry to our new lodgings. As she had warned me, I (having become her) was treated with full deference as employer when I stepped in the door. There were more sturdy lads at the entrance than I remembered on my way out (although I confess I now seemed to have a sharper eye for such things). As I passed one of the many mirrors I caught sight of the more mature, sophisticated Dee who was known to the staff. I hadn’t even felt the transformation. 

Jane admitted me (or, if you prefer, us) into the suite. “Good afternoon, M’lady …” followed by a faint gasp as she saw my new frock, “Oh! You look so beautiful!” She flushed, evidently thinking herself a little forward.

I laughed, and performed a spun, my skirts lofting to flash a great deal of leg. Jane clapped her hands in pleasure and I did it again, admiring myself in yet another tall mirror. It was my turn to blush – here I was behaving like a giddy schoolgirl.

Then inspiration struck me. With Jane’s help I undid various strings and stays and pulled the dress over my head. Naked now, I held it out to the girl. “I think it would look better on you,” I suggested. “Try it on.”

She hesitated only briefly, and had soon exchanged her own garment for mine.

“Perfect!” I exclaimed. “It’s yours.”

By now Jane’s face was aglow, and she scurried off, saying she would draw a bath for me. 

You will observe that I was becoming altogether too comfortable wearing this excellent body. I noticed the same thing, and wondered - perhaps it was time to switch back. But was I even able to go back?  I still knew so little - perhaps we were now one for good!  Yet the idea was somehow not so dreadful, at that. 

Dee didn’t see fit to enlighten me. Instead, her voice said, “Go ahead – she’s waiting!”

 A soak did sound inviting. I went into the bathing room, to find that I had misconstrued the situation, for Jane had set aside her new gown and boldly climbed into an already prepared bath. I could barely see her for steam and bubbles, but the freckles on the bits I saw matched the constellations on the copy of Jane whom I had rogered the night before. She bit her lip and watched me hopefully as I entered. I was aware that her relationship with Dee had developed considerably while I slept, but apparently she was still uncertain whether such innovation on her part would be accepted. 

You will say that I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but in fact I already felt like the woman I appeared. O rather, the girl. I caught sight of my reflection in the steamy mirror and found I had subtly shed years since I had re-entered the suite, and now looked like Jane’s sister. I gave her a smile of approval, and shrugged off my slip. She in turn grinned with relief and anticipation as I stretched to display myself.  I then picked up a sponge and carefully climbed in to the warm bubbles, imperiously presenting my back to be scrubbed. The regal effect was undermined when a wicked whim took me and I splashed backwards with both hands.

I was rewarded by choked laughter and then by a drizzle of warm water as Jane wrung out a sponge on my head. There was soon as much water on the tiles as in the tub, as we splashed and wrestled. The little minx was slippery and quick.

After a brief flurry of splashing and dunking we clambered out of the tub at last. We towelled one another dry and skipped naked into the adjoining salon, which Dee had already redecorated to her taste, with animal skins and soft cushions strewn about. Jane flopped back into the midst of them, landing in a sunbeam with a sigh of comfort. I slipped down beside her and as we basked in the afternoon sun, she chatted.

It seemed that she and her older sister, Ruth, were the daughters of an Irish merchant. When the old man died, the girls fell on hard times and Ruth had come to London to seek her fortune. Against all odds she had found it, by coming to work at the “Cat”. She was now one of the house’s most sought-after courtesans, with her own salon on the floor just below us. By and by she had summoned Jane to join her – the place apparently employed many extended family members. It also owned the building directly behind, which held comfortable staff accommodations above a row of shops – one of which, as I had suspected, held our discreet back entrance.

Although Jane was no virgin, she was occasionally marketed as one; however, Ruth had not brought her sister to learn her profession, but rather to provide her with marriageable skills. Given society clothes and manners, and a newly minted pedigree, many of the Cat’s girls had gone on to find a suitably wealthy match. Occasionally, a smitten patron assisted in this deception; more commonly they entered the ranks of the respectable by becoming the ward of an upright parson or retired army officer. There were a number of discrete gentlemen available to introduce their orphaned colonial-born nieces to society, taking payment for this service in bartered trade.

As we talked, the heat made us drowsy. Her story fell off to a murmur, and then stopped – I nearly nodded off myself. I let her sleep for a while, and then began to run my fingertips over her skin, just brushing the tiny hairs that were red sparks in the sunshine. She murmured as I gently traced a pattern into the abandon of freckles. Slowly, I felt her stir and respond. Her small body seemed to radiate tension as my touch rambled from place to place. Her nipples had hardened to little spikes and her thighs began to creep apart as though of their own will. I glimpsed the shimmer of dew between them and lowered my head to lap up the honey leaking from within. Fully awake now, she put her hands on my head, her fingers wrapped in my long hair to hold me in place. Her orgasm, when it came, wracked her whole body. 

She quickly recovered and insisted on returning the favour. Imperiously she pushed me back onto the pillows and hunkered down between my thighs with a show of high purpose. Then the little rogue proceeded to tease my clitoris with the point of her tongue. I played along, squirming myself closer, trying to increase the contact. She retreated at the same pace, until at last she relented and began to lick me in earnest. At the same time she reached under her chin to explore my cunnie. First one finger and then two were inside me, quite literally swirling up my passion. And then, while twisting to reposition herself, she slipped and lurched forward. Of a sudden her whole hand was inside me. Her tonguing stopped abruptly, and she gasped as my cunnie clamped tightly on her wrist. 

“Oh, Lord!  I’m so sorry,” she said, helplessly.

“No, no, it feels good – give me more!”

Tentatively she slid her thin arm deeper, until the bend of her elbow was resting against my outer lips. I was by that time well into a prolonged orgasm. At last amidst a mixture of laughter and tears I struggled out the single word: “Enough!”

She extricated her arm with some difficulty – my new cunnie being reluctant to let her free. After, we rested another long while, cradled in one another’s arms. Finally I stood and went to look about for some refreshment. Nothing seemed at hand, and I returned to see Jane sitting up and preening herself in the mirror. I laughed and snatched up a flywhisk from a nearby shelf, intending to flick her with it. I hesitated, though. The thing was unusual, with a thick black leather grip and a long fountain of hair nearly the same colour as my own. It was Jane’s turn to giggle, when she saw my confusion. 

“It’s a horse tail,” she said, “like this!” With that she hopped up and snatched it from me, then bent forward and reached behind herself to press the rude thick head of the grip to her smooth pussy lips. Only then did I recall the toy I had glimpsed the previous day in the dungeon.

 “Show me!” I said, but rather than attempt to take on the huge thing herself, she chased me about, trying to snap it against my bum. After a wild tumble about the cushions and divans, I accepted my fate and leaned forward to present my bottom to her.  She laid the thing gently to my cunnie, and its nose slid into me easily.  After a slight hesitation she gave another push, and another few inches were lodged within. It was my turn to sigh, and I began to push back myself until the entirety was rooted deep inside.  I glimpsed myself in one of the mirrors, and the effect was both foolish and strangely erotic.  I tossed my new tail and my mane of hair and capered about the room, while Jane whooped in naked pursuit.  She was laughing so hard she had to stop to catch her breath. I thought she would wet herself.

I stopped and returned to her. Standing upright now, my tail protruded downward in front of my thighs. I took her by the waist, and, for all that I was not much bigger than her, I picked her up easily. Leaning back slightly, I held her to my chest so that her legs straddled the stump of the phallus projecting out below. Our breasts were pressed tightly together. She readily wrapped her legs around my waist and rubbed her pubis against mine, while her bum shook the tail most pleasantly inside me. I could feel my clit swell until it stood slightly proud, and I shifted her up slightly so that it rubbed against and between her fleshy cunnie lips. Soon I felt the nub of it catch between her inner lips, and even as I revelled in the sensation, I knew it had grown a little more. She scraped against it until it was definitely lodged in her pussy.

By now it was the size of my thumb. I began to fuck her with it in earnest, and, as it continued its gradual expansion, her eyes grew wider and wider. Despite the shock she must have felt, she pressed forward and began to dance a lively jig on the rigid end of the thing. Her outer lips were beginning to stretch around it, just as they’d done the night before, when I had fucked Dee in her shape (and vice versa, when I had done my own turn as Jane). At the same time her motion was rattling the tail about in my own cunnie. And still my clit grew, inexorably becoming a cock, and I began to wonder at Jane’s capacity to take the thing. It had by then surpassed the normal size of mine - when I was a man - and yet still she humped and growled on the whole of it, her sweet young face a surprising mask of lust. 

And then her accommodating pussy began clutching and spasming with one orgasm after another. I felt her ecstasy wash through me, and, while not as powerful as the previous night (when I was her), we were clearly linked, body and mind. Blended together with the sensations from the shaking dildo in my own pussy, it caused me to loose what little reserve I’d had. I began to thrust with great force, while holding her bum cheeks against the blows.  Finally I felt the astonishing power of my own orgasm.  It started deep in my cunnie and then raced like fire up my restored cock as I fired a great charge of cum into Jane’s grasping slit.  She howled as her own cunnie locked tight on me to receive my volleys. Her body shuddered and lifted as if with the force of the blast within, and I knew she was sharing some measure of my own sensations. Her eyes were wide with the shock of it, and with one last cry she slumped in a dead faint against my chest.

~~~~~

This time I woke gradually, feeling a soft warm mattress moulded under me, and soft warm flesh draped on top. Jane – I remembered rogering her senseless. And then, having revived her with kisses, I had marched around the room bouncing her on my still rigid pole, while loudly singing some daft drinking song from my school days. After another noisy spending, we had tumbled onto the big bed and slept.

But there was another detail seeping into my memory. I opened my eyes carefully. There was still a bit of daylight coming in the big windows, but my view was partially obscured by a tangle of loose curls across my face. I brought my free hand up to shift some of the hair aside. Ah. The hair was my own. Jane was snoring gently, her body pressed tight to my side, with one leg and one arm sprawled over me. Her head was pillowed on my left breast and her fist lay in my crotch. She clearly no longer gripped … whatever it had been that I had fucked her with.

So - whatever had just happened, I was still a girl.

As I shifted my right arm to grip the globe of Jane’s outboard ass cheek, I remembered the writhing girls I’d seen yesterday – the Nubian and her partner. They had managed to pleasure each other simultaneously. I was just considering that it was time to try this out with Jane, when I heard Dee’s voice:

“Not just now, my lord. We have work to do. There is the matter of a treasure to secure. But, before that, you may wish to try and rescue your young friend at the little brothel – or have you forgotten her?” 

She managed to startle me – she must have been lurking quietly in my head the entire afternoon, sharing in my carnal activities. As for Lucy, well, I had forgotten her. In my defence, I can only point out that my experiences with Dee (and as Dee) had been rather intense. And, being an Englishman (in spite of present appearances), I hadn’t supposed Lucy was in any danger. Who would harm a woman? You would imagine I had never learned anything of the world at all. Dee knew better. Lucy would soon be forced to tell what she knew about me, and it would be of no help her that she knew nothing. Probably that would only infuriate her inquisitors.

Dee would perhaps not have concerned herself of the matter, except that she knew that I had left many other clues behind. And, too, she knew how shattered I would be to learn, after the fact, the fate I had visited on the girl.

Soon I was wearing a set of black silken pyjamas that Dee had borrowed from one of the girls. It looked rather odd, but it was very comfortable – I had never though much about silk until I had felt it drawn across my sensitive nipples. She had me tuck the horsetail phallus in my sash. I raised an eyebrow, but she offered no explanation. Then she had me pick through the package containing my old clothes, which had already been delivered by the dressmaker. I found my knife still in my boot and slipped it into my sash as well. With a dark cloak to cover all I supposed I wouldn’t attract too much attention.

On the way out she helpfully suggested I have a look at the crotch of the burly young man watching the door. Actually, I no longer needed her encouragement. Once outside we started in the direction of the old church and its licentious back neighbour, while Dee finally explained what she had in mind. Which was little enough, as it turned out – a rather open ended plan which amounted to getting in, grabbing Lucy, and getting out.

When once we reached the place, all was quiet. Perhaps Dee’s suspicions would be unfounded. I stepped into the entry passage, and was suddenly confronted by the bulk of a man in monastic black cloak, who had evidently been set to stand guard in the porter’s box.

He growled a surly warning – “Clear out, we’re closed!” But then he realized I was not a customer, just a smallish girl. He must have been feeling left out of any festivities within, for he reached out and grasped my arm with one paw and one of my silk-clad breasts with the other. I was dragged bodily into the porter’s lodge.

“On second thought, come on in!”

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