Dunyazad

Cordelia Speedicut

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Cover Image: Léopold-Émile Reutlinger - Colette - “Pause Songeuse”

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* All characters herein are adults, eighteen or over. *

Appendix 1 - Dramatis personæ (roughly in order of appearance)

Part One

A knock-shop - Burton to blame - A treasure map - An education - Brandy and bones -a dream tryst - Assassins

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 bagnios 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 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, is 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’d supposed 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 believed 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 though 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 cunnie 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. Notwithstanding 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 cunnie 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 cunnie 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 arm's 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 her 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. 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.

Part Two

Death in a crypt - Aladdin’s cave - a maiden in the Catacombs - Marshal Ney’s baton - a Nubian princess - disorientation in bed - a dead end

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. Merde. 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 flagged 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 naked 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 latter 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 exotic creature prancing 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 somehow 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, as well as 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 a 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 carnal 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 club for the wealthy. Or, as my former headmaster would have it, a Den of Iniquity (although I would not be amazed to find the old hypocrite was a member). 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 show to one on our other side. Partly drawn curtain notwithstanding, we could clearly see another couch on which lay a beautiful young black girl, all exposed amidst her scattered costume of a Nubian princess. She was writhing like an eel, courtesy of a naked blonde who 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 both the food and the view right 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, who introduced herself as 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 indeed the best possible accommodation 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 onto 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 cunnie 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 - deeper than before. 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.

By now, I’d realized she was making the shaft inside me grow ever larger. Yet all I could do was ride it out, as the muscles within my pussy continued to dance wildly, alternately massaging the invading monster and then relaxing to admit more of it. I was having trouble catching my breath, but managed to gasp out 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 - and Dee’s sigh of satisfaction - 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 throes 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 only 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 if 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. Having stepped 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 most 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.

Part Three

a sizable lingam - good credit in a dress shop - sapper & sap - slippery bathers - horsetail, knife and black silken pyjamas

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 lingam,” 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 fornication, ale, and back to swiving. 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 peer. I gave her a smile of approval, and she in turn grinned with relief and anticipation as I stretched to display myself. I then picked up a sponge and carefully climbed into 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 roiling 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 lose 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 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 quite comfortable – I had never thought 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!”

Part Four

A rescue - a rape club - another naughty bath - a merger - arcane skills - The Caliph of Abbasid’s view

I suddenly found Dee could take over if she wished. Without willing it, I found I had pulled the horsetailed dildo from my belt and was driving it hard just below his sternum. As he doubled over, gasping for wind, she swung it across the back of his head and he dropped like a poled ox. The dildo-cosh was tossed aside and then she withdrew her control, her voice in my head saying, “Shall we go in?”

I stepped over the stunned doorkeeper and, after ensuring there was no one else nearby, crept down the passage that led back to the little room I had stayed in. It now seemed so long ago. The door there was ajar, and peering in I saw a scene that made my blood boil. There was Lucy, naked and bruised, huddled against the far wall. Between us were two more men – hulking brutes in black. Given their unfastened breeches, the tenor of their interrogation was clear. The further one had other sport in mind as well. He was in the act of flailing a heavy studded belt over his head, postponing the blow to savour the girl’s terror. The nearer one was more alert than I expected. He heard my approach and drew an ugly stiletto from his jacket even as he turned to face me. He stopped and his face twisted into an evil leer as he saw there was one more girl to add to their little party.

In the same moment my own knife was in my hand. Even as I threw myself inside his reach, my arm was slashing upward across his throat - with Dee’s skill and strength, but my own will and hate. He gurgled and slumped, and I was past him and crouching to leap at his partner. But now the bastard was aware of danger, and he spun to aim his blow at me. I sidestepped and let Dee take over once more. The man’s momentum threw off his balance, and, crouching low, Dee swept out his legs with one of our own. As he fell, she rose to meet him and caught him by the head. His own weight did the rest and I felt the horrible crunch as his neck snapped. I dropped him to the floor and stepped over to Lucy. The poor thing was still huddled in a ball in expectation of the belt and had seen nothing of the brief fight.

“Get dressed and gather up your things – it’s time to go,” I whispered. At that moment I felt my ring heat, but even without this clue I knew Dee had ‘stepped out’, as it were. After long hours together, I felt a sudden aching emptiness at her departure. I was on my own – and still a girl. Plus there was a certain amount of belated terror. I was soaked in blood – I remember being glad both that it wasn’t mine, and that it didn’t show much on my lovely black pyjamas. I’d never liked knives much, which was paradoxically why I carried one. Now I tucked the ghastly thing in my sash and hoped I would never need it again. Trembling slightly, I then gathered up the still confused Lucy to wrap her in a heavy black cloak that had been thrown on the bed. Its previous owner no longer had need of its warmth.

Within a few moments, there appeared at the door … me. It was Dee, of course, having assumed my old face and body to help reassure Lucy. This effect was offset by the fact she was dressed in ill-fitting pieces of same black armour as our attackers, partly concealed by one of their woollen cloaks over her shoulders. I watched Lucy go to embrace her missing lodger and then stop, as confused by the Black Mantle costume as I was.

Dee grinned at the two of us, and said in my voice, “We must go now, my lovelies!” She bent down to give Lucy a gentle kiss, and then took hold of my bum and steered us both towards the front door. On the way out, we passed the poor brute who had watched the door. He was still lying face down in the hall, but was naked now … and sporting a black tail, owing to some ten inches of plumed dildo planted in his butt.

Dee filled in the details for me later that night. It seems she had coalesced as herself behind the groggy Black Mantle who was still sitting by the front door. Having picked up her unusual truncheon, she stepped naked into his line of sight. Whether dazzled or dazed, he answered her question as to how many men were with him - just the two we had already disposed of - and then she bashed him again. She then changed her form into mine and dressed herself in his clothes, for want of other apparel. When eventually he came fully to his senses, his only recollection would be of a small girl occasionally dressed all in black. What sort of story he would actually tell was anybody’s guess.

At all odds, we three slipped past him into the street. Dee (as me, remember – I’ve said this was confusing) reassured Lucy more extensively in a doorway when we stopped several streets away. This time when they kissed, there was a good deal of heat. Looking at the couple I realized that Lucy cared for her star boarder more than she had let on. Oblivious of me, she had one thigh rubbing into her hero's groin. It was only then that I realized that Dee hadn't bothered with trousers, so that her erect peggo was sawing against Lucy's leg.

I half expected them to couple right there in the street, but with a last quick squeeze Dee told the girl to follow me, as there was one more thing to be done. So, with what speed we could, Lucy and I returned to the Cat ... checking with care that we were not followed. By now it was past midnight. Once inside the door I remembered it was I – as Dee – who was in charge of the place, and so I ordered a very surprised Lance, who was still manning the door, to detail staff to fetch his ‘Captain’ Peter, and to then look after Lucy and find her a room. I sent her off with a hug, having reassured her that she was safe now, and told her to make herself at home.

I had begun to debate with myself as to whether I should get Peter to gather the lads and go back to cover Dee’s retreat, when the man himself appeared – Peter, that is. He began fussing over me – God knows what he made of my bloody appearance, but he made no enquiries beyond ensuring I was unhurt – and I found myself distracted by his strong jaw and his warm, concerned, no, passionate eyes ... He quickly stripped my bloody garments off me, and used his own shirt to towel me down before wrapping me in a fashionable shawl taken from the inventory of oddments left near the door.

In any event, I needn’t have worried. Even as I allowed Peter to comfort me, Dee (still styled as Thornton, naturally) appeared with Lola and her girls in tow. Charlotte and the other girls were ashen, having glimpsed the latest massacre in Lucy’s quarters, while the madam looked positively livid.

“My Lady,” Dee said to me, “This is Lola. I’ve told her everything. How you hired a soldier-of-fortune – that is to say, me,” – here she gave a little bow to our guest – “to track down and stamp out the gang of beasts who have been attacking the working girls in this neighbourhood. Of course I apologized for my misjudgement in luring the blackguards to her house and putting her and her employees at such risk. I also conveyed to her your offer of restitution.”

I tried to follow Dee’s lead as best I could. “Thank you … Thornton. And thank you, Lola, for coming.”

“Didn’t Have much bloody choice, did we? Seeing as your man sez that this ‘ere gang will be sendin’ even more of them bastards 'round. They just burst in the place and started to drubbin’ poor Lucy. Got what was comin’ to ‘em, though. Fancy there being a bloody club of rapists.” Here she paused, and gave Dee a nod acknowledging his efforts at making London safe. Then to me she said, “Anyways, milady, your offer to buy me out and to take on my girls at your own establishment was a generous one, I’ll admit.”

“You’re very welcome,” I responded, and meant it. I had a feeling Lola could probably now retire to Oxford with Rollo – who also was due for a share in the swag.

When our new recruits were suitably re-united with Lucy, Dee gave me a wink and drew me up the stairway. When we reached our quarters, I was quite ready to throw myself on my back with my legs spread wide. I was seriously aroused, having been a woman for ... had it only been a day? I had been fucked all too briefly that morning, and had since been steeped in powerful urges, not the least being the unaccustomed flush of battle. I was positively twitching with unspent energy.

Dee was more inclined to leisure, and began by stripping off the oversized cloak and the black armour hidden beneath it. And the hot sudsy bath she’d called for was probably in order after that evening’s work.

Once we finally set to, Dee managed to outdo herself. She orchestrated a symphony of teasing caresses, of galvanizing nibbles. When she entered me I was already aflame – and then! As we approached the crescendo together, her body began to … I was going to say shimmer, but that wasn’t it. It appeared almost liquid, like a mirage. As did mine. Wherever we touched – cheeks and tits, bellies and thighs - out flesh felt as firm as ever. But in the low gaslight it looked as though our flickering surfaces had actually merged. Except that she continued relentlessly to drive her cock into me. That was unquestionably hard. And the thing was that I could feel it – not just that raging shaft plunging deep inside me, but from the other side, too. As before with Jane, I was sharing in both our orgasms as they grew. But now, I could feel everything. When we peaked … at that moment I could feel each surge of essence course between us, from root to womb.

> < > < > <

The next morning I lay dozing and started awake to the sound of a gasp. I opened my eyes and saw Jane at the doorway, staring. It took me a moment (and a glance in the mirror) to see the cause. I was my old self again, alone in the bed. I was a little taken aback myself – I’d had no idea if I could go back. In fact, I was momentarily disappointed, until I reasoned that, having been a woman once, why not again?

And, at any rate, I was back in fine fettle - my staff was rampant under the silken sheet. The sight of Jane, wearing nothing but a loose shift, did nothing to settle the disturbance in my lap; but rather than flee she approached and said, “I beg your pardon, sir. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but is my mistress about?”

“Not far, I think,” I answered. Actually, I was not sure where she was, or even how far she could get from my ring - so far she'd already been upwards of half a mile off, to my certain knowledge. I knew, though, that she was elsewhere, and that I wished she wasn’t. She'd said there was much to be done. Comforting Lucy, to begin with, no doubt.

I must have said that last slightly uncharitable bit out loud, because Jane said, "Of course. My Lady is always so thoughtful!" At this a pretty round face peered around the doorframe behind her, nodding agreement. “Only I wondered," continued Jane, "that is, I hoped she would do me the honour of allowing me to introduce my sister.”

Ruth had come to meet the new madam, dressed – or rather undressed - as enticingly as her sister. She was, as befit one of the house’s star attractions, strikingly beautiful, with auburn curls and twinkling brown eyes. Where Jane’s delightful body had the fecund curves of an Irish country milkmaid, Ruth sported what I imagined to be the sinuous lines of a French courtesan and, by all accounts, a repertoire to match.

Of course I invited them in to wait for Dee, but it did feel a little awkward. Jane only knew me as her mistress/lover’s paramour, yet I had actually fucked the girl ... albeit while masquerading as Dee. And before that I had explored her body inside and out when Dee took a turn as Jane. In the course of fornication and pillow fights I had also been privy to a good number of confidences concerning Jane and Ruth both.

As I dwelt upon the above mentioned fuckage, my already aroused member began to writhe like a snake. And to grow, a little. The sheet failed to hide the turmoil in my lap, or the disproportionate size the thing reached even before it was fully erect. I was baffled, since I'd thought Dee's presence was required for such strange events. However the deeply curious attention of my guests soon brought my thoughts back to the carnal here and now.

For what seemed a long time, they simply stood by my bed and gazed at my lap, while my peggo did calisthenics under the sheet. Finally Jane said, "I remember ... things. About the past few days." She reddened and I suspected that one of those 'things' involved a glimpse of me fucking her doppelganger. "My Lady told me that you and her was illusionists - that you conjured in fairs between, ah, missions. But ... it all seemed so real." Ruth's face flushed as well, possibly because whatever it was that Jane had told her about our games was beginning to look less improbable. I had a sudden notion of my epitaph: He could make whores blush.

"Yes, well ... the thing is ..." In truth I was buying time while I considered my options. It was hard to see how Dee and I could continue to roger Jane - or her sister - without revealing a version of the truth (insofar as I knew it myself). "The thing is … My Lady was sheltering you somewhat. And ourselves, to be honest. What I am about to tell you is deeply secret," I improvised. "But we have already trusted you with our lives ..."

Naturally both girls promised that our secrets were safe with them.

"We learned certain mysteries," I continued. "Arcane skills, in the far east. Not merely sexual in scope, you understand. Ahh ... actually, it is My Lady more than me who has mastered these things. I have not yet fully grasped the ... nuances involved."

In the event, my single-minded cock continued to put the lie to the latter statement. Firstly, because I was to all appearances displaying considerable talent in controlling said member; and secondly, the thing did seem to be mesmerizing these girls, who were slowly climbing onboard my bed as sparrows might approach a serpent. Once in range, they both looked to me for permission to pull the silk covering away. I nodded, a little uncertain myself what would be revealed.

To my relief, and I presume to theirs, my rowdy member had not acquired scales, beady eyes, nor yet a forked tongue. It was no longer even wriggling ... much. On the other hand, it was now the size and shape of a truncheon, and should have alarmed anyone not under some sort of hypnotic influence. Or blind lust - which, to be honest, I had already witnessed in Jane, but which should not be expected to overcome a professional like Ruth.

Whatever the motivation, they both closed in to fondle, and then to lave my member with their tongues. This was done with a great deal of familiarity between the sisters, who were not above stealing from one another the occasional early pearls of my seed.

Once they judged my cockstand to be sufficiently lubricated, they proceeded to take turns gripping it, starting from the root - each put her hand tight against the other’s, as though choosing who would bat first in cricket. Thus they worked their way up until Ruth took hold of my knob from above, her fingers touching the top of Jane’s nearly closed hand below.

“I win!”

“The first innings, yes,” said Jane. So saying, she helped Ruth to straddle my hips. This was a bit worrying – I knew I’d fit inside Jane before (likely thanks to a bit of Dee’s influence), and probably would again. But Ruth?

And then the girl in question said, “Get ready, my stallion,” as she pressed her cunnie to my cock. To my alarm, my body followed her lead. Even as it slid between her moist nether lips, my cock transformed itself in shape to that of a horse’s appendage. Ruth didn’t seem to notice, but Jane’s green eyes went wide with shock at the change. Only a desperate mental effort on my part prevented the thing from growing more than a few extra inches in the process.

Given the number of mirrors around us, I decided to limit the exposure to Jane alone for the moment, by sitting partway up and sweeping Ruth’s feet out behind me. The girl abruptly slid the rest of the way onto my reshaped erection, and responded by leaning back herself – “Ooh,” she said, “the Spider! One of my favourite positions!”

My first thought was, they have names? But the result was satisfactory, given my intent: lodged mons Venus to mons, she could hold me tight in her vulvic grip, and enjoy the novel sensations within ... but she could not escape to see my equine enhancement. Jane seemed to comprehend that the pony thing was our little secret, for now. She gave me a wink, and a remarkably salacious grin. Anticipating her turn, I expect.

It was then that I felt my ring heat and heard Dee in my head: “You have found entertainment in my absence, I see. Did you not miss me?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed aloud.

Both of my human lovers took this as meant for themselves, and favoured me with smouldering looks.

“Excellent, my Priapean Prince - you have been swift to learn to mould your body!” Dee took control and sent a single strong pulse of ejaculate into Ruth, who let out a gasp as her cunnie riposted with involuntary spasms along the entire length of its meaty prisoner.

Unaware of the return of her mistress, Jane set to licking and nibbling around the now leaking carnal junction between me and her sister. At the same time, she shifted her bum about until her left hip was against my ear.

“We have urgent errands,” Dee continued. “Still, I think there is time enough to see this through.”

I felt something odd happening at the tip of my already unusual prick, which was accompanied by a thin wail from Ruth; and then came the lurch I had yet to become accustomed to, that of exchanging bodies with Dee. Only this time I found myself in darkness, my head completely enclosed in hot slimy flesh, and my tongue flicking through a tightly gripping ... womb! I knew, without question, that I was experiencing the world from the end of my cock, which had been provided with a face. “The Caliph of Abbasid quite liked the view from there,” said Dee’s voice inside my new head. “And this, as well.”

I felt the coming blast of sperm deep in my roots, just before it surged up my throat and forced room for itself in the tight space around me. I could taste it, too - as it made its way over my tongue into the womb beyond.

To be honest, I was undecided about the Caliph’s chosen fantasy; but before I could form any sort of opinion on the matter, I abruptly found myself looking at the world through Ruth’s eyes. I took over her cries, too, encouraged by the horse wang (and its writhing tongue) lodged deep inside me.

It was only after I’d enjoyed one of those full-body female releases that I had so recently discovered that I thought to wonder – where’s Ruth? Since both Jane and ‘Thornton’ had both gasped loudly and briefly stopped their bucking (while the inner tonguing continued apace), I guessed that both bodies had been reoccupied. Seemingly it was a case of ‘ clean cup, move one place on’, as the Reverend Dodson would have it (in rather less rude circumstances): I had become Ruth, Ruth was now in charge of Jane’s body, and Jane’s essence had found itself with a frisky horse-cock, which was in turn personally animated by Dee. My theory was supported by the faint ‘I-told-you-so’ smile Jane-in-Thornton gave her sister as she fucked me.

And to think that I had been trying to conceal a trivial pony-style peggo, for fear of upsetting this randy pair.

After several more orgasms all around, the activity inside me ceased, and it seemed likely that the other three had switched again, because Dee’s authoritative voice came now from Jane, telling whichever girl had been re-designated as Thornton to lie back. Once that had been accomplished, Dee-in-Jane straddled ‘Thornton’s’ face, and suggested I get my feet under me so I could properly ride whichever sister was doing duty as her cock. Which I did.

It wasn’t long before I was bucked free, and I was treated to the sight of a leathery horse-cock with Jane’s shocked green eyes blinking back up at me. “Fuck me!” it gasped, and so I did – although I couldn’t say if it was a request or a simple exclamation.

After that, Dee matched her face-humping to my own bouncing, and locked lips with me, her borrowed tongue flickering deep down my throat. I have to admit that the sensations thereby achieved were marvellous ... all around, it seems. Ruth-as-Thornton (with the full bodied participation of Jane-the-prick) soon erupted inside me, and with her borrowed cunnie I tried to crush her throbbing phallic sister inside me. Meanwhile, Dee’s moans signalled her satisfaction with her handiwork.

Part Five

Entertainments - the Knights Templar - magical iron - a demon - Great Tom’s view - Perpetual Virgins - Sir Harry’s gold - unsavoury alleyways

I know I dozed, briefly, before waking to find myself as Thornton once more. The sisters were still asleep, tangled together with me on the bed; they would possibly be looking for some explanations, by and by. Something about poppy extract in their tea might serve. Not just yet, though. Dee was nearby in a long scarlet robe, busy laying out sturdy wool and leather clothing for me. A selection of tools and weapons were stacked along side. I began to carefully extricate myself from the fleshy – and slightly sticky – bounty that surrounded me.

“It is time, my lord, to secure our wealth. Get dressed!” she said with a laugh. “Last night while you slept I was busy. I reassured your Lucy of your regard for her,” – Ha! I knew it! – “And then got our Peter’s blood running before he and I prepared the deep vaults for today’s ... entertainments.”

The way she said it, I suspected that ‘entertainment’ might be a misnomer. In the event, I was right. Within the hour we were unlocking the iron door in the cellar we had come in through not so many days before. Torches in hand, we were on our way back into the catacombs beneath the city. Without Dee I would have taken an age to find the path, but as it was I was soon creeping along the top of the rubble that had been intended to block the rear entrance to our treasure. She, of course, had preferred to turn to smoke, leaving her robe a crimson puddle at my feet, rather than reduce herself to crawling.

And then I was back in that cavern - awestruck yet again at the sights within.

Not least was Dee herself, gloriously naked and wandering about looking at various baubles (which, as before, she often seemed to recognize). Stopping before one of the tombs, she beckoned me to her and pointed. ‘Jacques de Molay’ was carved into the foot of the stone. On top lay a gilded, but otherwise corroded, suit of armour. I remembered the legend – that when the trumpets called at the end of time, the Knights Templar would be resurrected fully armed and ready to serve.

“This one was grandmaster of the Order. My fat Benedetto” - that is to say, the pope who had previously been her master, or rather thought of himself as such – “once told de Molay to be sure to take my ring should he die. Fools. If Benny had made me love him, I would not have succumbed to the urge to wander away in search of pleasure, and he needn't have ever died. And Jacques failed to do as he was told, or I would not have lain here imprisoned for so very long.”

As it happened, I remembered this Templar’s name from my studies. The French had grilled the man over hot coals. It had taken him a long time to die; he should have taken the ring. How his charred remains had been recovered, brought here, and presumably decanted into this dress armour to wait for the ultimate summons, was just one more mystery.

“Not that I regret my new lord, naturally.” Perhaps I’d looked a little unsettled by the demise of her former suitors, because Dee punctuated this last comment by thrusting the points of her steely nipples against my chest. Then, with the most alarming combination of coy and wanton, she began to undress me.

“Would you like me to show you what I did to our Captain of the Guard to make the poor man pass out? Our sweet Peter, flat on his muscular back, right there amongst those emeralds – and still with his fiery spear locked tight inside me. I caught his fall thus, and held his hips up off the gem-stone strewn floor with my nutcracker.” By this time she was holding my neck and rubbing said ‘nutcracker’ against my straining cock, forcing it against my belly.

Well, what would you do? The invitation, as I understood it, was to grip her plump bum, hoist her over my eager willie, and to drop her – thereby lodging my engine deep in her belly. I accommodated her, of course - if I had learned anything in the past few weeks, it was that it was only polite to humour such requests. I marched her around the cavern for a while, and I must say that the echoes of her shrieks of delight were most impressive, if a little uncanny.

Then, as if we were conversing across a dining table, she asked, “Do you suppose your Holy Father knows about this horde?” Given the circumstances, it took me a moment to realize she meant the current pope. She answered for me, “No – because he would want it for himself.”

It was no great slur on the incumbent on the Throne of Peter to agree that it was unlikely he (or his many predecessors) could ignore such wealth.

“So,” she calmly continued. “These men we fight are indeed the successors of the Templars of old, though your books say they were broken.” I was impressed both at the extent of the library our brothel must possess and at Dee for having delved through it. “They are pursuing their own designs. Benedetto knew of their secret heresy to his faith, though it suited him to ignore it. They believed their leaders continued the bloodline of his prophet-king Christós. Perhaps it was even true – that sot Herod was never very good at tidying up after himself,” she mused, turning back to the tomb. “And all that time they kept their treasure hidden. I think perhaps their idea of resurrection is different than the one Benedetto professed.”

It was then that we heard a distant, horrible scream through the doorway that led back to the church. I shuddered at the sound, and thought of the spiked pit. Dee must have known they were coming. God knows what they made of her orgasmic yowling.

“They know you were able to make your way from that crypt to this vault,” she continued, unmoved, “and so they are finding their way here at last, after long years, either to remove this treasure, or to do as we ourselves plan – reseal this place. We’ll help them decide. Put on that armour.”

She took a hand from the back of my neck to wave toward the gear piled on de Molay’s vault. It was left to me to reluctantly lift her free of my still rampant peggo and set her on her feet. This was clear evidence of magic – fear should have wilted me when first I heard the intruders.

Of course it would have taken far too long to dress in armour, but mail shirts and grieves over my clothes gave impressive results in the gloom. The long sword I lifted was a wonderful thing, like something from the tales of King Arthur. It gleamed faintly in the torchlight. The tall shield still displayed a painted red cross that was the twin to the insignia I had seen on the equipment of the men who had tried to kill me ... and which was doubtless worn by their fellows who were still determined to do so. Have I mentioned how little I enjoy that sort of thing?

As a finishing touch, Dee lifted the helmet that lay on top of the stone, shook out some ash, and set it on my head. The thing was plainly made for such a prominent knight – a simple bucket with a small guard plate over my nose. “One last thing,” she whispered, and tilted her head to kiss me hard. “That should do,” she said with a laugh. Being Dee, she held up an obsidian mirror that had been conveniently nearby, so as to share the joke.

I couldn’t help leaping back a pace – blazing red eyes glared back at me from the skull ensconced in the time-ravaged helm. “Christ!”

“Not really,” said Dee. “Nor yet shall I be mistaken for such.” As she spoke, her body twisted and her face stretched. Soon she stood before me as a proper demon: red skinned, cat-eyed, hump backed, sharp chinned, horn topped, and fearsomely ugly. Still female, mark you – her slack dugs and sharp-toothed sex attested to that. Oh, and she sported bat wings. I fervently hoped she hadn’t transformed into her own true shape.

She pointed toward the main entrance from which we could now hear the yelling of our pursuers encouraging one another on, and said, “Now we charge.” This was accompanied by a shockingly wicked grin, and I ran – as much from her as toward our no-doubt better armed attackers.

We met them at a corner only ten yards or so beyond the treasure chamber’s doorway. It was hard to tell how many men there were, since the passage was narrow. But the blind panic we instilled in the leaders, and the confused rush to escape, were gratifying.

Dee howled like a banshee, and we gave chase. Another was claimed by the spikes, but most – perhaps a dozen – were making an amazingly rapid withdrawal. I was beginning to think this was dead (as it were) easy, but when the passage widened slightly, half of the Black Mantles chose to make a stand. They abruptly turned and blocked the tunnel, with three kneeling in front of the others, proposing with their Spencers to present volley fire. Although unfamiliar with the tactic, Dee voiced approval at the courage of men facing in the gloom what they must believe to be a demon and a skeletal knight. I, on the other hand, was inclined to throw myself on the ground, but the first three bullets took me full in the chest before I could act.

There was no sensation of impact, just puffs of dust and armour splinters as the sizable rounds passed through me. They never even slowed my onward rush, and nor did the next two volleys which followed in rapid succession. It wasn't until I had closed and struck down two of their number (for they had no bayonets, or room enough to properly swing their weapons as clubs) that they broke. I daresay I looked even more like a visitation from hell at close range than from afar.

As they ran Dee just said, "Ahh - this is the place", then stopped me up by my collar. She plucked a Lucifer (appropriately enough) from my breaches pocket and bent down at the base of the wall to light a powder train which neither I nor the Black Mantles had noticed. It led to a bricked-up opening close by, and disappeared underneath into what must have been a side room packed with ... shit.

It was not actually merde behind the wall, of course. My thought process had just made the appropriate deduction when all hell broke loose with a vengeance. The brick wall vanished, to be replaced with a glimpse of fire, which in turn was followed by a hammer blow that propelled us both in the direction of the fleeing Black Mantles.

I found myself airborne and tried to catch my breath. Having last been impersonating a walking corpse, I had no breath to catch, but I hadn’t remembered that. Not that it mattered. I was hurtling down the tunnel while around me boiled turbulent fire and debris, and I thought, well that’s it then – I really am dead. No ceremonial thumbs down from the emperor of the cosmos, either, nor a grinning skeletal escort (not unlike myself, just then, but that I lacked a scythe). I would receive a fiery dispatch direct to Hades.

Except, it soon dawned on me that it didn’t hurt – no pitchforks pricking my posterior and, perhaps more to the point, no burning flesh. In fact, I was utterly formless. Barring the enveloping flames, it was more like my notion of limbo. Only a smallish improvement, you might suppose, but I could also sense the presence of Dee nearby. And even though I couldn’t actually see her, I somehow knew she was not the hell-spawn apparition that would have been right at home hereabouts, but the beauteous and lustful version. This offended my meagre grasp of theology, and it finally occurred to me that I had never wondered where she went when she vanished. I still didn’t know, but apparently I was there with her.

And therefore still of this earth, more or less. I was aware of being tumbled along the passageway with the smoke and debris of the blast, and abruptly propelled out into the grim crypt. Then, I was drawn along further by another force – Dee. The stone stairway, the upper chapel, and a crack in the grimed stain glass window passed in rapid succession, then open air and bright sunlight, rooftops and finally, the soaring heights of Saint Paul’s.

There the world shimmered slightly, and I found myself sitting naked on a stone ledge above the golden gallery – which is to say, perched on the ‘lantern’ about three hundred feet higher off the pavement than I was normally accustomed to loiter in any attire. Beside me, laughing, sat the equally undraped Dee, now restored to her beautiful human form.

In my defence, not everything terrified me; however, High Places were normally on that list. Yet my first thought (after registering that my butt was seriously cold) was to wonder if the elderly matron on the viewing balcony thirty feet below would happen to look up when I commenced to roger my lover.

Probably not - smoke was pouring from the little church several streets distant, and I could already hear the fire brigade coming. On the other hand, Dee could make a serious racket of her own, and my erection had returned along with my body. There was barely room on our ledge to manoeuvre, but I managed to grapple aboard her while keeping a leg cocked around one of a series of odd stone posts seemingly provided expressly for the purpose – that purpose being to keep both of us from going over the side.

Just as well, too. Dee was as randy as I was after the thrill of being blasted here – and consequently she thrashed and twisted and suckled with gusto. Between the precarious thrusting and grinding, and the constant swapping of bodies, it was hard to keep track of all our bits. And for what it’s worth, I’m here to tell you that spurting into the wind is no more successful than spitting – presupposing you are keen to be shed of the discharge. In the event, the extra lubrication was welcomed.

By and by, much refreshed, we put our minds to what was to be done next. Presumably the passages between the church and the treasure chamber were blocked, at least for the time being. And hopefully the chamber itself had not also collapsed. Apparently, Peter - our sapper and in-house cocksman - was reasonably sure that the destruction would be contained. So the task at hand was to remove the lolly in the midst of a seriously stirred up hornet’s nest. Obviously a convoy of covered carts leaving the neighbourhood was not going to go unnoticed.

On the shorter term, there was the question of the bitingly cold wind. We were just about to set to for another warming bout of rumpty tumpty when Great Tom began to bang out the noon hour from the nearby clock tower. The row at this range was loud enough to nearly put me over the edge after all, but Dee just laughed and ducked through an archway to an inner service stair.

Following her down, I rubbed my chilled sides and called, “Can’t you just magically conjure something?”

“Of course,” said Dee. She proceeded to crawl out of a small access doorway to the visitor’s gallery. Putting my head through, I admired Dee’s glorious bum as she unfolded herself. With a luxurious stretch, she stood tall in front of an old man who was presumably accompanying the woman I had glimpsed earlier from above. “Pardon me,” Dee said, her hair streaming in the icy wind. “I seem to have mislaid my garments.”

His eyes drifted down past her stiff nipples to her goose-bumpy thighs and back upward, lingering on her bald pubis and plump slit in both directions. Having confirmed her complete lack of raiment, he just nodded.

“I wonder, “she continued, “whether I may be so bold as to ask if I could borrow your leisure coat? Oh, and your overcoat as well, for my friend ...”

As it happened, only my head and shoulders were visible through the portal – having just been treated to a view of Dee’s magnificent arse myself (to say nothing of the tantalizing juices leaking down the inside of her thighs) I had a fresh bone and preferred not to expose it.

Not that the poor fellow even noticed me. Dazed, he stripped his coats off and handed them over. I believe he would have continued to surrender the rest - vest, tie, collar and more, but his missus appeared from around the corner. Perhaps she had glimpsed us making the two-backed beast after all. She simply smiled as she gave us good morning, then hooked her arm in that of her dazed and coatless husband and cheerfully led him away around the balcony.

Thus garbed, we slunk down the many stairs and across the transept to leave by the south doorway. The way was clear enough until we were back into the full light of day. It had been quiet enough in the cathedral, but out on the street we were far less likely to blend – or, more exactly, Dee and her gleaming bare legs would stand out.

I, on the other hand, could probably pass as a tramp (albeit one with a stolen overcoat) ... or, on closer inspection, a meat-flasher.

Dee crossed the road toward the river and ducked down a nearby lane. Stopping in front of a tiny confectioner’s shop, she swung around to study ... what, exactly?

“We’re going the wrong way,” I pointed out.

She gave me a pitying look. Which was only fair - the direct way back to The Catacomb (that is to say our newly acquired brothel, as opposed to the passageway below the church we had recently been propelled from) would have taken us past the still smoking edifice.

“If anyone survived the fire, they will tell a tale no one will believe,” Dee explained. “Regardless, our opponents will have to reassure themselves that there is no other entrance. And they know your London is riddled with shafts and tunnels. Their Lord Oakley himself has passed through our client’s entrance.”

I expect I paled visibly.

“Relax,” she said. “It is only one of many underground pathways of which they are no doubt aware. We will take a circuitous route to our staff entry. Follow me.” With which she opened the door of the shop.

“For sweets?” I asked.

“This is the establishment known in the trade as Sister Mary’s House of the Perpetual Virgins,” Dee said, nodding pleasantly to the smiling shop girl. “We have urgent business with your mistress, my dear, of mutual benefit. If you would be so kind ...?”

The girl looked us over with a professional eye, and returned Dee’s nod. “But of course, my lady. Follow me.”

We emerged an hour later, having been well fed and outfitted with such clothes as were available – reasonably well fitting shirt, vest and trousers for me (I chose not to ask how they had come to be left behind), and a prim girl’s school outfit for Dee. Even though she had subtly shifted her apparent age downward to match, her curves overfilled the costume in a manner slightly obscene. Still, she also had a matching fur-trimmed jacket, which left me both the coats acquired from our gallery friend. With the addition of a dapper walking stick under my arm, we looked more or less respectable – a young man escorting his sister, perhaps. Fresh purses had also been supplied for contingencies.

Having circled west and north, I began to notice a number of large humourless gentlemen. They stood out all the more for the wide berth the street people gave them. (In truth, Dee’s bearing even as a schoolgirl would have had created the same empty space but for the pennies she was unobtrusively distributing.) Some of these men simply scanned the streets, while others moved from door to door with notebooks in hand.

Dee had no sooner plotted a route to avoid the most of them, when an imposing man abruptly stepped into our path. He was tall and broad, but did not seem to fit the mold of the questing Black Mantles. For one thing he wore a fashionable morning coat and gloves and, while he had the bearing of a soldier, he was older than the others, perhaps fiftyish. Although darkly handsome, he also had the flushed face and leer of a man who liked his drink and women.

Dee would do him with bells on, I thought – and that mental image gave me a stiffy. I was right, too (possibly excepting the bells). Before the man could speak, she said, “Cost you a sovereign, Gov, and you’ll think it a bargain.”

Well, that provided a capital bit of misdirection with regard to our hunters; it was also a bit of fun and profit that Dee couldn’t resist. With a salacious grin and a nod to me, our new friend linked arms with her and escorted her into a nearby close. I was left to slip in behind them and watch the entrance.

Dee’s new beau didn’t even bother to draw her into an alcove; after having tendered the gold he simply released his eager peggo and hoisted her aboard. He then gave a good account of himself, marching her around the narrow cobbled courtyard … much as I had done earlier that day. For my part, I found myself both jealous and likewise envious. What was unsettling was that, having so recently stood in for Dee, these sentiments could be applied toward both parties toiling merrily away behind me.

I turned back when the man grunted in rhythm with his spermacious release, and was in time to see Dee unlock her legs and arms. She appeared to levitate in front of him – thanks presumably both to his continued stiffness and to her proven iron cunnie-grip. As his eyes widened, she said, “If yer want to have a bout on the horizontal, stop by The Catacomb some time!” Having made her point, Dee grasped his shoulders and pulled herself free, then dropped lightly to her feet. With her skirts back in place she looked as though she was stopping to chat with the vicar.

“I’ve never seen you ...” he began, speaking for the first time. “Ahh, you’re new there, aren’t you, my dear?” With that, he put a most un-ecclesiastical hand over her breast.

“Yes, indeed.” Dee abruptly levered back on his pinky finger. He winced and scowled, and she continued, “And you must be Sir Harry. The girls said you were a bit forward, but I think we shall get along quite nicely. Ask for Dunny.”

She stepped back and he looked at first as though he might try to strike her, but then (luckily for him) he noticed something beyond us and flushed. Dee and I both turned to the entrance of the tiny courtyard in time to see no less than three men, clearly Black Mantles in mufti, step in. While these specimens didn’t look bright enough to connect us with that morning’s blast, we must have aroused their suspicions – from our original encounter, they knew of a man of my build, and a whore. At any rate they spread out slightly to block the passage, and all three were reaching under their coats in a way suggesting violence was about to ensue.

Dee simply strode toward them; taking my new stick as she passed me, she whipped out the short sword I had not even been aware it concealed. In one smooth motion she swept the blade’s tip backhanded across the throat of the nearest man, then continued to swing it through an arc over her head to thrust it into the second man’s chest. Releasing her grip as he fell, she pivoted past him, her left hand now rising with the stick sheath to smash in the temple of our last assailant.

Even as the latter’s knife rattled on the cobbles, she had backtracked to extract the sword from her previous opponent. This she used to dispatch villain number one, who had been gurgling unpleasantly. And villains they were, somewhat to my relief – there was a wicked assortment of weapons scattered about by their demise.

“I can hear Sir Harry’s footsteps disappearing down that way,” said Dee, as she crouched to wipe her bloody blade clean on the cloak of one of the fallen. “We should leave by the same route.”

In the event, she had to lead me by the hand. Even after all the things I had seen – and done - I was shaken by the suddenness of events. “I’m told your queen gave that man a significant bauble named after herself. Perhaps it was for his lingam more than his valour.”

While I doubted Vicky had sampled his attributes, I was inclined to agree on general terms ... he seemed to have fled before Dee’s outburst of violence. Mind you, I was just as keen to put distance between myself and that place.

As was becoming more and more common, Dee responded to my thoughts. “Let us get well clear of here,” she said. “Hopefully Sir Harry missed the entertainment. I would hate to lose his patronage.”

We made our way through a series of unsavoury alleyways without further carnage. They were none of them as quiet as the one we had just abandoned, but the locals had a better judge of our capabilities (that is to say, Dee’s capabilities) than our late antagonists. Possibly it was the spatter of fresh blood across Dee’s white blouse. We slipped through the narrow carriage gateway and gave the appropriate knock to gain access to the place I already thought of as home.

As I said earlier, this was nominally a staff entry, although occasionally it was used to discretely remove patrons who were rendered hors de combat by drink and other excess. Hence the variety of abandoned clothing I had made use of the first time I had sallied onto the streets. Now I was positively furtive as we entered ... not so Dee, of course. She stepped in as the regal owner of the premises, and grew in stature to match. This resulted in some overstressing of her poor costume, which now failed utterly to contain her. Still, even with her proud breasts breaching over the top and a seam split at her hips, there was no question of who was in command as she set her minions to her bidding: doubling the guard at all entries and putting the rest on alert, and fetching us hot food and baths.

“Sir Harry has greased a fine path for you, my Master. Shall we fuck while we wait for our food?”

Part Six

A coincidence regarding two lupinaria - the function of catacombs - a date - a vanishing act - the plausibility of magic - the pressure of thighs and as it concerns the body’s memory - an abduction - a reappearing act

In my brief experience with Dee, I had found that being called ‘lord’ or ‘master’ was a trifle disingenuous. It not only lacked any sense of sincerity, but also presaged my being asked to do something I would not normally touch with a barge pole. Still, things started out well enough that afternoon. As promised, we proceeded to have a romp in an alcove off the main parlor, while the staff set up for the evening’s festivities.

Even as we settled down to grips, though, I found my mind whirling over the events of the day – not to mention the past week. Not that it was easy to concentrate, obviously. Feeling your lover’s uterus fiercely gum your knob tends to distract from any other matters. Finally I managed to ask the most relevant question: “What is coming next?”

“You and I, naturally,” was her response, and her innermost mouth began to engulf all of the cock it could reach – which at that moment was quite a lot.

Her prediction was accurate, naturally; but once blinding lust began to ebb, she began to plan – without releasing my peggo, I might add.

“We know that it will take some time for the church entrance to be cleared. They know we exist, if not who or what we are, and that somewhere there is another way into the treasure vault. They will know of their lost searchers by now – perhaps they will waste a little time examining the alley.

“But remember I learned that they were led by a man who is a patron here, this Lord Oakley. He has used our client entry passage and will recall it has side gates and doors. Although he is no doubt aware of other tunnels - even the Metropolitan Railway has been delving not so very far from here - the irrelevant linkage between the two lupinaria means he is sure to come for a personal inspection – probably tonight.”

I daresay I might have got up and run around the room, had I not still been so tightly gripped. Also, it took me a moment to recognize the Latin for ‘brothels’, given it rarely seemed to come up during my lessons. “What can we do?”

“Oh ... kill him,” said Dee, meditatively.

“And what are we to do with his body?”

“Bodies,” clarified Dee with a shrug. “He will be accompanied by his friends.”

I followed her gaze to see Jane, bearing a platter to bring us wine and the dates and cheeses of which Dee was so fond. Unperturbed, the girl lifted an eyebrow and helpfully answered my question for her. “Deep in the catacombs,” she said. “That is, after all, what they were for.”

This drained the last of the starch out of my peggo, but Dee retained her hold in it, and proceeded to do what she could to revive it. Taking one of the dates, she reached under Jane’s gossamer shift to lodge the fruit in the girl’s plump notch. Since she was astride my wilting pecker at the time, I had an excellent view of this performance – which only improved as she leaned back between Jane’s thighs to extract the date with her remarkable tongue.

Even as my cock-stand returned, I admired Jane’s remarkable composure. She shifted her stance to improve access, but spilled not a drop of her liquid cargo. Meaning the wine, of course … the vintage residing within her cunnie had been released when Dee popped the date free, and flavoured the morsel even as it was dropping into her mistress’s waiting mouth. Her spending continued to flow until Dee thrust her tongue back into the girl’s breech.

Jane’s response to this new assault was to carefully manoeuvre her tray downward to where I was obviously expected to collect it. I reached up but even as my fingers closed on its edge, my perspective lurched and I nearly dropped the thing … largely due to the lingual stimulation in my newly borrowed cunnie. Simultaneously, I heard my voice gasp from below - “Mother of God!” - as Jane experienced the similar, if opposite, sensation of a new body and of a cock gripped fiercely by Dee’s voracious portal of Venus.

In the event, I concentrated on my tenacious borrowed twat, at the expense of the wine - I had just enough presence of mind left to toss the tray clear before I lurched down hard on the questing tongue and beautiful, sticky face beneath me. Another girl was quick to clear up the broken glass - I recognized her as a pretty mother of three, who had transferred from active duty to the cleaning crew. It seemed only fair to gasp out an apology on Jane’s behalf, which was acknowledged with a knowing smile.

The clatter attracted several other onlookers. One was my old friend Lucy, who spotted my partially neglected form under Dee. She felt inspired to deliver some sloppy kisses, to which Jane, as custodian of my body, responded eagerly - on my behalf, no doubt. Quite eagerly, I noted, when I glimpsed a male hand glide under Lucy’s skirts.

A short time later, our audience had moved on, and shocking sucking noises were now emanating from Lucy (at either end). Dee chose that opportunity to perform a new-to-me trick. She disappeared again, but this time she melted away in a fashion that slowly dropped me … until she was gone and an oversized Thornton-cock was plugged directly into my borrowed belly.

It had been somewhat alarming to watch, but Lucy and Jane were oblivious, being preoccupied with their grappling underneath me. And, as fine as Dee’s swirling tongue had been, I was thrilled to be filled with man-meat again. (Which, I’ll admit, was not something I was quite ready to say out loud.) I rode hard until we came together, the hot cum surging inside me.

I knew it was time to look around for Dee - but I thought it only polite to first massage the peggo within me in readiness for Lucy. Having accomplished this welcome task, I lifted myself free (while Lacy manoeuvred herself to take my place) and then leaned down to nibble a Thornton-ear … mostly to whisper to Jane that I wouldn’t take her body far, or use it in a way she wouldn’t. I took her vacant grin as assent, or possibly another impending orgasm, and wandered off to the kitchens. Having been soundly sucked, fucked, and flooded, I walked carefully for fear of leaving a trail of semen behind me. And yet I was still hungry - and not just for the meat pies I would find.

Luck was with me - I found Ruth there, stacking a plate with sausage and cheese. Jane’s sister was one of the few people on her list of romp-partners. “Jane sends her regards,” I said, with a wiggle of my hips.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then, having glanced around to ensure there was no one within earshot, said, “Come up to my rooms, Master Thornton.”

She had been party to Dee’s dizzying romps, but I’d thought the opium-eater story would trump the truth. Perhaps magic was well within the scope of an Irish girl’s beliefs; at any rate she guessed my surprise at being found out and simply added, “You need to practice walking.”

Probably, having accepted my presence, Ruth was excited by the novelty of a man inhabiting her sister’s body. And I accommodated her expectations at first, starting out by groping, if not outright mauling, her breasts.

But she was only partly right about my needing practice. Once we learn to walk, we leave our legs to carry on about their business - we simply choose where to go. I had logged enough miles in Dee’s body to walk her walk. Now, with Jane, I’d already begun to repeat the stage where I felt every roll of her hips, every pull of her thighs … and all the sensations from her busy cunnie back when those thighs were alternately squeezing and stretching their phallic prize between.

And, too, I’d received a lesson from Rollo (of all people), who would occasionally invite me to his rooms to share his hookah and hemp. This had been accompanied by exercises in relaxation, courtesy of some Eastern philosophy or another. The only part I retained was the ability to relax deeply … which I discovered to be invaluable now, when transported into another form. If I let it, that flesh would know its own way.

So after we’d settled into a soixante-neuf, I let Jane’s body have its head, as it were. It knew when to suck hard on Ruth’s clitoris, while three thin fingers were slipped inside to massage a spot somewhere behind said nubbin. This quickly brought her sister to several thundering orgasms. It wasn’t until I found myself humming an Irish lullaby, as I lay with my head on Ruth’s chest, that I remembered it was Jane’s name she’d cried out, not my own.

> < > < > <

I’m not sure how long I dozed, but we were both woken by a loud row from below - raised voices and what sounded like the breakage of furnishings. Shit!

In my haste I reverted largely to Thornton, inasmuch as I pulled on the nearest trousers and boots (silk pantaloons and Persian slippers, to be exact), plus a heavy candlestick for a weapon, and ran out of the room, my borrowed boobies bouncing. Several girls passed me on the stairs, making for our safe room. They were followed briskly by Sir Harry, who must have guessed their destination. He leered at my dancing chest, and I remember thinking he had a capital plan - to bolt himself in with females in need of consoling and comforting. And yet I continued on, making it obvious that I wasn’t entirely my former self. (I speak to my behaviour, of course - although at that moment only Dee and two Irish romps knew I wasn’t Jane.)

Chaos reigned in the main parlor. The most apparent issue was the dead Black Mantle in the middle of the worst wreckage - he seemed to have a bread knife driven into his left eye. Lucy was huddled nearby, weeping. She seemed uninjured, and I briefly thought she had taken down the man; but our Nubian temptress, who knew my fondness for Thornton (as Jane, to say nothing of myself), answered my unspoken question, saying, “The Master killed him, but … there were others … a scarred man … they’ve taken him!” For emphasis she pointed to the entry hall, now decorated with the prone bodies of several of our guards. So Jane was one who could improvise deadly weapons - good to know.

“Send for your Mistress!” It was left to me to start things rolling. “You there,” this to another girl I recognized - “See what can be done for the guards!”

And then I successfully forced a swap back into my own body.

My world instantly went black - it took a moment to realize there was sacking over my head. Jane must have been struggling since, thanks to my abrupt limp arrival, the men holding me lurched into one another. I tried to take advantage of their loss of balance, but their response may already have been on its way in the form of a club to the back of my head.

> < > < > <

I swam to consciousness to find myself stripped naked and, more alarmingly, lashed tightly to a chair. Not just my head ached – either I had been dragged over rough ground or I had been unnecessarily beaten while I was out. I sat in the middle of an expanse of rough wood planking, in what appeared to be a warehouse loft; and an elegantly dressed gentleman sat close at hand opposite me. Near him stood an India-rubber-faced lieutenant in black whose function, apparently, was doling out pain. Another man stood by to assist in this task; however rubber-face seemed keen to take care of it himself – he jabbed my bruised shoulder, twice, with the butt of a stout cudgel as soon as I focused my eyes on him. Beyond this tableau, by the doorway, stood a tall man who wore both a long scar and a look of disgust on his face.

“Thank you, Charles,” said a man who was clearly Lord Oakley, and then to me, “Ah, Mr. Cox – awake at last. You have caused me no end of trouble, you know.” He actually twisted his fingers on a tip of his long moustache (well before this had become a cliché). “I have spent many men - eleven just for today’s little diversion in your tunnels. Still, there would be no need for this, but that you still have information I lack. Where, precisely, is my treasure?”

I tried to clench my throbbing right hand – my fingers were either dislocated or broken, and the ring was gone. I winced, both in pain and in despair. And yet this man didn’t wear the ring, nor did he know the way to the loot.

Oakley sensed my thoughts, and continued, “Oh, yes, your demon-sorceress. Luckily, when you were … indisposed, she was unable to act in your defence. A tricky thing, that ring. Pity to waste such power, but too risky, don’t you think? We tried to break it and couldn’t. So here we all are. This place is a foundry, my young friend. My scarred associate here tells me the furnace will destroy ring and demon together. Appropriate, don’t you think? She’ll soon be dispatched back to hell.”

He favoured me with a wicked gloating grin, which suddenly dropped slack. Thank God, I thought, he can see it, too - for the entire floor beneath us had started to transform into a lake of seething white light, formless and violent. I had a moment of horror, and then I jerked, my bonds straining, as though I had been struck by lightning. There was a roaring in my ears, and then my body began to take on Dee’s familiar form – the ageless, queenly version. I heard myself speak, “She’s here ….” And then, in a harsh, huge voice that seemed to rattle the walls: “I’M HERE!”

I – we – grew larger in the eerie light, and the thick ropes around me simply burst apart. I stood, now a menacing two heads taller than anyone in the room. With arms crossed under my naked jutting chest and bare legs planted wide, I glared silently around the room. The pause was terrifying even from my perspective – I can’t imagine what the others thought. Oakley, his lieutenant and the lackey fell back, rubber-face having raised his stick between himself and the threat.

The voice again, low and grating, now, “Free of that prison at long last – and I have you to thank …” - this to Oakley. It was all she uttered.

I had never before seen a man spontaneously combust, nor do I ever hope to see it again. Oakley, and then the two others nearest me - I had only to turn my gaze on each in turn, and they turned into human torches. Over by the door, Scar Face, to his credit, stood in awe. I myself would have been haring it for the horizon, however futile the attempt.

“Ah – a brave one. Long ago, the North-men esteemed such men – they considered it an honour to slay them.”

The man actually twitched a smile. He was a bold one – he was facing a Djinni, the very ‘demon-sorceress’ his employer had sought to destroy ... a creature who had immolated everyone else in the room and who, quite possibly, still had smoke drifting from her eyes. Fingering his chin where the scar crossed, he said, “So they told me.”

“And yet you still live.” The tone suggested that this could be a temporary condition.

“Indeed - for many a year. But not for so long as you, my lady.” As he spoke, he approached.

“Do I know you?”

“No - but once I met one like you, an Ifrit. Perhaps your sister.”

“Yesterday I fucked a human witless. Perhaps she was your sister.”

Scar Face laughed. “Fair enough. For what it’s worth, I was reasonably sure you would survive the furnace,” he said.

“You destroyed the ring!”

He nodded. “It was my idea. I hoped by doing so I could release at least one of us from our curse. So - you are welcome. Welcome to destroy me, too. Failing that, though, I would be pleased to serve you however I may.” With this extraordinary speech, the man bent on one knee before me with only the faintest nod of servitude.

I felt Dee’s rage ebb, and as it did the roiling liquid fire in which we stood began to cool and fade. “It seems you are now the leader of these black-cloaked men -however many remain. We have ... uses for mercenaries.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Starting now. Get me that cloak from by the door – it’s a long walk home.”

As she spoke, we shrank, until I was a small naked girl in the middle a wooden loft. Only the charred planking gave any hint of what had just happened.

I shivered, and Scar Face hustled to fetch Oakley’s thick woollen cape. He managed to wrap it around me without actually staring at me. “My name is Charles, my Lady. Charles Sinclair. My coach is at your disposal.”

I still shook, from the cold and the shock, and I heard Dee’s voice – the little one inside my head. “This one is well formed – and I feel a sturdy lingam against our hip. Let us go home.”

Fin

Appendix 1 - Dramatis personæ (roughly in order of appearance)

Thornton Cox - Narrator

Lucy - a ‘seamstress’

Saint George - a sort of ride

Sir Richard Francis Burton - an explorer and translator of erotica

Roland St Clair - an elderly don, curator of the Arthur Arbuckle Oriental Museum

King Philip IV - a king of France

Bonifacius Papa VIII - a pope in Rome

Lola - a madam

Charlotte - a ‘seamstress’

Dunyazad - a Jinniyah (i.e. a female jinni or genie)

ʻAlāʼ ad-Dīn ( Aladdin) - an adventurer

King Sulaymān (Solomon) - a king of Israel and a son of David

Alexander III of Macedon - a conqueror

Jane - a maid at The Catacomb

‘Centurion’ - a customer

Horsetailed woman - possibly a courtesan at The Catacomb

‘Marshal Ney’ - a customer (probably no relation to the field marshal of Napoleon’s Grand Army)

Ney’s guest - possibly a courtesan at The Catacomb

‘Curate’ - a customer

Curate’s guest - possibly a courtesan at The Catacomb

‘Nubian Princess’ - a courtesan at The Catacomb

Blonde - a customer

George - manager, later partner in The Catacomb

Ruth - Jane’s older sister. A courtesan at The Catacomb.

Great Tom - a bell

Elderly Matron & Elderly Man - sightseers

Lance - a guard at The Catacomb

Peter - a guard at The Catacomb, sapper and in-house cocksman

Sir Harry Paget Flashman - a Rugby school bully and later a brigadier-general & hon. pres. Mission for Reclamation of Reduced Females.

Queen Victoria I - a queen of England (and empress of India)

Caliph of Abbasid - an unnamed caliph (possibly Abū'l-ʿAbbās Aḥmad)

Lord Oakley - head of the Black Mantles. A villain.

Charles Sinclair (Scar Face) - a Wanderer and soldier of fortune

Also sundry Black Mantles, policemen, whores, and other citizens of London.

About the Author

I’ve always felt that erotica tends to take itself too seriously – a stick up its collective bum, as it were. For my part, I find the whole bumping of pelvises thing to be intrinsically comic. Fun in other ways, too - but still. I started out trying to write parodies of the genre, and discovered that a whole lot of exaggeration was needed to get beyond the standard fare. So I settled for a serving of perversity with (hopefully) a bit of humour on the side. It took me a while to notice that there were some recurring themes that were a bit ... sideways. The most consistent thread you'll find here is transformation. Not the furry hentai sort; more the sort of thing that Greek and Roman mythology revels in. I find there's nothing like a meadow full of nymphs and satyrs to get the blood stirred.

About This Edition, Including Author’s Disclaimers

Dunyazad - A Victorian Adventure, involving Templars & a Jinniyah (a jinni of the female persuasion); plus Sex, Violence and Cheap Brandy. Each chapter Concludes in an Exciting Cliffhanger.

Warning: this story contains fantasy (including physical transformations and improbable genitalia) plus occasional incest; also the requisite couplings involving men, women, a being composed of flame and air, and sundry toys.

The author offers the following additional disclaimers: Flying sequences were performed by professionals and should not be attempted at home. All actors are professionals - not necessarily that kind. Certain of the acts depicted herein - including girl on girl, girl on boy on girl (etc), as well as thaumaturgy, villainy, and rumpty tumpty in multiple permutations may, if you prefer, be taken as having been simulated. Do NOT try the positions described herein at home without a reputable Kama Sutra to hand. It has helpfully been pointed out that many are anatomically impossible. By chance, the author has actually studied anatomy, and concurs with that assessment. This is why magic (or undiscovered science, which is perhaps the same thing) has been invoked to explain unlikely organ sizes or plumbing arrangements, not to mention the whole transformation thing mentioned above.

Cover Image: Léopold-Émile Reutlinger - Colette - “Pause Songeuse”

Table of Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Appendix 1 - Dramatis personæ (roughly in order of appearance)

About the Author

About This Edition, Including Author’s Disclaimers

Other Wicked Bedtime Stories by Cordelia Speedicut: