The Victoryans (continu'd) (505 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesLabels: fiction
Rating: 1.46 on 23 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Flash Harry (View user info) at 2008-08-19 11:08:36 EDT
Part the First? http://www.ubersite.com/m/118140
Part the Second...
There are fewer sounds more relaxing than the gentle snoring of a harlot (she that is snuggled toastily into Benson's underarm), mingled with gentle flatulence (from that mischievous Blitheringshire) and the distant yawn of the bell o' Big Ben, but such pleasance cannot last long in an environment as heinous as a 19th century brothel. Just as a complimentary breakfast of crust, cherry jam and scalding hot coffee was served to those patrons that had stayed o'ernight, the naughty devils, a great clattering arose from the adjoining room; and from a low doorway stumbled a bleary-eyed, bedraggled shell of a man, clutching his groin and emitting a low, guttural moan. Colonel Walter Benson eyed this fellow with a curious, sideways glance, while the racket awoke Stanley Blitheringshire from his lazy slumber. Both men furrow'd their handsome brows and watched curiously...
The newcomer staggered through the doorway, tripped over the drunken, comatose landlord who formed a corpulent island in the centre of the room; and clattered to the dusty floor with a wail, having grabbed out desperately with a hand towards Benson, and succeeded only in tipping a surf of coffee down his naked arm; for he was quite shirtless. His bare torso was riddled with scratches and bite-marks, focused mainly around the shoulders and on the small of his back, and his nipples had been chewed raw. Thick, angry bruising ran up both sides of his ribcage, as though he had found himself in mortal combat with a mighty serpent, who had tried to squeeze the very air out of him. His eyes bulged wildly as he scrambled upright once more, cast a bitter (yet faintly simpering with amour) glower back towards the doorway from where he'd lurched, and burst through the exit, blinking into the world outwith, limping like a jockey and rubbing his jaw as though it ached.
After a moment, another figure appeared in the doorway; a figure of such profound impression that our boys, Benson and Blitheringshire, began immediately to piece together the injuries they had seen on the recently-departed man, and jointly surmised that he had in fact been a damned lucky sod. Colonel Benson, being a man of refined upbringing and exceptional manners, narrowed his grey eyes appreciatively and pouted his manly lips as he started at the feet: unclothed but for a smattering of sparkling rings and bejewelled anklets. He wondered at the defiantly spread, gaudily-painted toes; his glance moved up slowly, 'cross long, shapely legs that might've been carved from ivory, and glinted with a menacing tinge of Negro. The thighs, when he finally got so far north, were like perfectly-sculpted sabres, strong and lithe, firm and smooth, hidden slightly though they were beneath a semi-transparent gauze which was tied carelessly around the siren's waist.
And what a waist! It curved in o'er delicate hips, so neat that the Colonel silently wagered that he might fit both hands around with a fingertip to spare, were he able to leave alone for a moment the arrogantly brazen, deliciously-paunched stomach that glew bronze in the dim light. Finally, Benson reached that point which Blitheringshire had not once managed to tear his eyes from!: the delectable bust, straining 'gainst the flimsy silk of the negligee that contained it with such poise, peering at the men with rebellious teats that cried out for release. For a moment (it might have been an hour, let's face it, with these perverted souls), all eyes remained on that appetizing bosom...and then, with a distracting cough, the lusty tart attracted all attention to her fiery stare.
As one, the leering duo parted their lips and gasped friskily. If the body of this scrumptious kitten had been stoking fires within their groins, then her face flavoured that passion with a cautious pinch of respect. Her features were classically half-caste: wide, chocolate-coated eyes, calculating 'neath fluttered lashes, centred around a button, flat-bridged nose, which seemed to draw the eyes down to the real heart-stopper: lips so soft and springy and strategically parted so as to offer the merest glimpse of the pink wet tongue they guarded.
Benson and Blitheringshire, having fairly gawked at the whore for more than was decent, met briefly one another's stare across the room; an unspoken rivalry instantly created through their mutual hankering for the half-caste Goddess. The sepia slut waited patiently for them to complete their thorough assessment of her packaging, curled a long, shapely leg around the doorframe and purred (in an exotic accent that neither man could place), "Ah was about to go home, but ah s'pose I could fit one o' you boys in just now, if you like? Who'll come wit' me into Fanny's boudoir?" She curled her tongue salaciously around the last word, her voice dripping into the men's heads like caramel, warming their hearts like latté, and igniting their most base sensibilities like a flare.
Naturally, both men leaped to their feet and shouted over the top of one another in an outpouring of entreaties and promises and declarations of intent. They pointed and pleaded so much that the drunk in the middle of the floor rolled over and snarled viciously, biting thin air with a sick crack of his remaining teeth. The two men were quickly chest-to-chest, arguing their case for Fanny's remaining appointment. Benson argued that Blitheringshire was an unshaven pig, a lazy-eyed oaf and probably couldn't afford the leggy delicacies of this treasured maiden; the rogue's reply was that the Colonel had just finished with another (more pointless) tramp, was too much of an Etonian toff to even appreciate such a spectacular female strumpet in any case, and wouldn't he be better off buggering off home to read Wilde, what-what?
Fanny listened to the debate with mild interest, licking her lips as the two hunks quarrelled o'er her goodies. Finally, she silenced the din with a raised hand (heavily-decorated and capable of a vice-like grip, by the way) and stoked the fire of the argument with a carefully-weighted pronouncement that "Ah'm in no mood for a boy; only a man will keep me interest'd at such an hour. And were you pair men, ye'd have taken this outside already, and ah'd be upside down an' legs akimbo wi' the victor. In short: fight, or beat it."
With both men eager to seem the manliest, cries of "Bigad, I'll fight!" and "Outside wi' ye, fiend!" went up from both as they bundled out into the bright morning sunshine. The street was sparsely populated, and the wily minx, who covered her splendid shoulders up with a beige-coloured shawl, followed them. The ground around their feet was thick with sawdust and soot, but they faced one another from a few paces, their faces set grim and determined with manly endeavour.
(For the touts out there, Blitheringshire is the heavy favourite in a straight-laced boxing match, while I'd take Benson anyday with a rapier, or a sneaky cheat. He might be a man of title and fine rearing, but that just means he's been privy to all the most dastardly of dirty tricks).
Stanley James Blitheringshire rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully, and eyed up his opponent briefly, before setting his fearsome stance; left foot forward, fists clenched tightly and hovering carefully afore his precious countenance. I'll show this pretentious, tight-trousered little twit a thing or two, thought the renowned pugilist.
Colonel Walter Smythe Benson, meanwhile, looked around amiably, arms outstretched. Where on earth are the swords, he thought to himself. But before he could make further enquiries, Fanny had declared the bout started, eyed up both fighters with a final, hungry stare (bloodlust made her frolicsome), and taken her seat on a low, stone wall; Benson barely had time to understand what had happened before Blitheringshire was atop him, fists swinging and swishing expertly, and the Colonel was on his buttocks, stunned and pummelled, with the distinct metallic taste of blood on his tongue.
"Hah!" roared Blitheringshire in triumph, silently relieved that the Colonel was such a hapless boxer. "Give in, ye dope, or I'll swell that pretty face o' yours up so's to make ye Merrick's twin!" Benson, furious at himself for being so easily bundled over, sprang to his feet and pinched his fists together before his face, mirroring his foe. He danced around impressively, shuffled his feet in the sawdust and bobbed his shoulders like he'd seen it done down by the docks; but whenso'er he threw a punch, Blitheringshire stepped out of it, or ducked it, or simply watched it float harmlessly past his nose with a derisive snigger.
"Ye've all the aim of a Frenchmen, and the potency of Fawkes!" grinned the boxer after another futile volley of the Colonel's punches tore clumsily through the air. "Give it up, man; else I'll seat you again."
"Never!" cried Benson in heroic defiance, but before he'd had a chance to gauge the effect of his bravery on Fanny's support, Blitheringshire battered him with a devastating attack. Two stiff swipes into the ribs brought the Colonel's guard down, before a third well-placed fist caught him in the gut. Doubled over and wheezing, Benson took two stinging jabs to his nose, before a final fully-swung hook to the left temple sent him crumbling to the ground in silent humiliation.
Blitheringshire stood over his fallen foe and tutted audibly. "I'll be takin' th'appointment, then, wi' sultry Fanny over yonder. You get yourself to bed an' sleep it off, daft swine," and sauntered slowly over to the delighted harlot, who clapped and coo-ed and threw off her shawl, draping her half-naked splendour across the wall like the trophy that it was, stretching her legs and arching her back and curving her limbs in all the right places.
Benson, however, battered and confused though he was, refused to accept defeat in the matter. He rolled sideways, reached out for a large potato that lay a few feet away from him (potatoes lay often in the streets, since the greengrocers discarded any rotten items from their carts rather haphazardly, for horses or tramps or children to eat) and quickly calculated the windspeed; for the Colonel might not have been much cop in a fistfight, but by gum could he throw. He'd been the pride of his school cricket team, renowned for a ferocious lash and deadly accuracy, and e'en represented his county a handful of times.
Struggling to his feet, he closed one eye over, caught the brute in his sight, and whipped his right arm round with textbook grace. The potato soared silently through the air, glinting in the morning sunshine, reached its apex, and bore down on Blitheringshire like a mailing pigeon. Benson watched his rival flirting with the whorish negress at the door of the brothel, thought for a moment that he might miss; but then the potato fell, as though plucked from the sky by the gods, and landed plum on the target's head with a satisfying crunch. Benson watched with delight as the fragments of the vegetable fell to the ground, Fanny looked around, bewildered, and Blitheringshire paused, buckled at the knees and then collapsed in an unconscious heap.
The Colonel jogged over to the brothel victoriously, where Fanny was doubled over with laughter, tears dribbling down her smiling face, and her naked breasts swinging back and forward in perfect harmony.
Meanwhile...back at the Palace, breakfast had been served, the Queen had made a great public display of declining to eat anything, as usual, by course of her bereavement (although she had smuggled a slice of toast and a pot of marmalade beneath her dressing gown for later), and the household was going quietly and sleepily about its daily routine. Little Edna, she of the plump virginity and loyal decency, busied herself making the beds and ensuring that all the lavatory seats in the Palace were down, when she was summoned to the Queen's drawing room by the tinkling of a bell. This was unusual, but not unheard of, so she quickly washed up (one can't have an audience with the Queen all grubby-faced, you know), straightened her clothes, fixed her hair and rubbed a little perfume behind each of her plump little earlobes.
The Queen sat with impressive solemnity when Edna entered the drawing room, all stately sobriety and nasal gesturing. This was the Queen in her middle age; the attractive, button- nosed brunette of her youth long since grown out, and her profile was that of an impassive, sincere, hook-nosed penguin. Her eyes had grown grey and shrewd, her rotund body shrouded eternally in black (both as a sign of her mourning in perpetua, but also because dark clothes were a symbol of wealth and power and privilege. Dark clothes needed dye, which was expensive, and only those with remarkable fiscal capacities could afford it. Witness the beige-coloured shawl worn by Fanny, earlier, for proof).
Edna sat silently, waiting for the Queen to speak, which she finally did, in her high-pitched, perfect accent: "When one reaches my age, dear, one cares little for how one is perceived by others. Particularly by those lower down the social scale than one." She peered down that famous beak of hers to emphasise the point. "So, I shall be brief, and care not how you judge me for what I am about to ask of you; after all, I am your Queen, and you will serve me just as your mother so faithfully did for all of her life." Edna nodded meekly. "Since my beloved Albert passed on [she fits this into ever conversation, at least once, by the way], and given that I am in Act Three of my life, I have come to the realisation that I will never again birth a child. I cannot tell you, dear, how disappointing I find this. I adore children, and while I care not overly much for the mechanics of pregnancy, I think this little Palace of ours could rather do with the delightful pitter-patter of infant feet, hmmm?" Edna nodded in agreement, rather wondering where the old bat was going with this, but a knot that tightened her stomach and threatened to bring her breakfast back up forewarned that is was probably not an entirely good thing.
And on that cliffhanger, let us abandon our tale for the moment, to savour the boundless possibilities of what might lie behind the Queen's strange utterances, and speculate breathlessly on what has become of our likely duo, Benson and Blitheringshire, last seen battered and banjoed, respectively, and all for the dubious honour of coupling with the delectable (although devious) whore, Fanny; and wheezing between the chocolate charms of her pythonic thighs...
User Reviews
Submitted by bullslinebacker (user info) at 2008-08-21 05:55:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Four of you, two glasses, if you don't mind sharing......
10:54am = Pimms O'Clock
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-08-21 05:50:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Hmmm, quite.
Submitted by bullslinebacker (user info) at 2008-08-21 05:49:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Indeed.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-08-21 05:44:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
How very incisive of you.
Submitted by bullslinebacker (user info) at 2008-08-21 05:29:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-08-21 04:06:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by bullslinebacker (user info) at 2008-08-21 08:55:26 BST (#)
Ranking: -2
blah, blah ,blah too long, boring and full of gayness.
Blah.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This story was an experiment to see if the users on uber were actually literate.
The results of the two pipsqueaks below correspond perfectly with my hypothesis...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ha!
My review was an experiment to see if you would respond with a 'this post was an experiment' retort.
Ha!
Sucker!
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-08-21 04:06:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by bullslinebacker (user info) at 2008-08-21 08:55:26 BST (#)
Ranking: -2
blah, blah ,blah too long, boring and full of gayness.
Blah.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This story was an experiment to see if the users on uber were actually literate.
The results of the two pipsqueaks below correspond perfectly with my hypothesis...
Submitted by bullslinebacker (user info) at 2008-08-21 03:55:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
blah, blah ,blah too long, boring and full of gayness.
Blah.
Submitted by traxadron (user info) at 2008-08-20 21:28:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Blow an Englishman in New York you fagot!
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2008-08-19 20:28:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'd say this was a "delight" to read, but that might sound gay. Your powers of description are without equal. I didn't think you could top the first installment, but you did. This is fucking great!
Now I'm going to get stoned and read it again.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-08-19 18:50:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
interesting.
Submitted by myshit (user info) at 2008-08-19 18:17:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by MudWhistle (user info) at 2008-08-19 12:46:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't read this...I mean I tried but its just not interesting, like most of your stuff I feel like pulling my fingernails off rather than reading it.
but +2 so I don't come off as a dick *erase*
Submitted by BobSandwich (user info) at 2008-08-19 18:12:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn son, You sho is good at writtin shit.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-08-19 15:43:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The levy has been broken.
Submitted by Quint (user info) at 2008-08-19 14:45:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-08-19 13:37:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OK...I won't "streak break", you silly little poofter.
--
I will.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-08-19 13:37:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OK...I won't "streak break", you silly little poofter.
But I did not read this.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-08-19 13:10:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
battered and banjoed
----------------
And.... How very dare you?
I do not just go banjoing any old geezer dontcha know!
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-08-19 12:57:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-08-19 12:47:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fantastic!
Submitted by MudWhistle (user info) at 2008-08-19 12:46:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't read this...I mean I tried but its just not interesting, like most of your stuff I feel like pulling my fingernails off rather than reading it.
but +2 so I don't come off as a dick
Submitted by SullyThePirate (user info) at 2008-08-19 12:42:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by FALLEN (user info) at 2008-08-19 12:34:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah,
I didn't read this.
but you're good for it.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-08-19 11:42:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good stuff
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2008-08-19 11:23:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment