A thread of trouble running through the whole site.....
She loves it really. Her bottom is, after all, rather widely admired.He knows better ... demerits will fly
Excellent!
It's great to have you writing again, Jolly!
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The Old Firm
- Thread starter Jollyrei
- Start date
A thread of trouble running through the whole site.....
It's great to have you writing again, Jolly!
RacingRodent
Consul
Are you trying to imply Barb's bottom is as wide as a bus there, Wragg?
Are you trying to imply Barb's bottom is as wide as a bus there, Wragg?
Snarky Squirrel!!!
Thanks for saying that. I do like to try to get things so that people are happy with their portrayal.But I think your account of my reactions and responses under Torture
is very believable, I can imagine myself as you've portrayed me
Well, as you know, the "muse" comes and goes. In this case, I may be getting closer to who the mysterious "employer" is, and what the motivation of all this turns out to be. I really think I should work that out (as I've been saying from about page 1 of this).It's great to have you writing again, Jolly!
Jon Smithie
Tribune
A very clever and enjoyable story, Jolly. I look forward to the next chapter.
Section 5:
About 20 minutes and a change into dry clothes later, Wragg and Windar were comfortably installed in Wragg’s study on the second floor of the ancient Abbey’s main keep. Cruxton Abbey had been founded in the earliest days of Christian missionary work in England, and started as the Cruxton parish church somewhere in the dim history of the Saxon princes of Mercia. There was a wall somewhere, Wragg thought, that probably dated back to about the year 800. It had been made an Abbey when the local priest, a Father Reynulf Wragg, had decided that doing everything himself was less fun than having a bunch of people around to do things, and so he brought in a bunch of young men and women to help do things. The things he had them do were, for the men, mainly construction of a bigger church, dormitories, a library, and at least two levels of basement.
That was in the 1200s, under Reynulf’s successor, Raymond Wragg. Most people didn’t notice that Raymond was decidedly Norman in his dress and comportment, while Reynulf had been Saxon, despite the notion that both, and indeed all the Priests and Abbots were supposedly from the same family line. It was rarely noticed by historians that Reynulf’s tenure as Abbot had been almost impossibly long, and Raymond did his best to ensure that his own tenure was not as long. He was alleged to have been killed by Vikings in 1270, after a reign of only 93 years. Raymond’s successor, Rainier Wragg came, seemingly out of nowhere to repulse the Vikings, with the aid of the many young men who had been working on construction, as well as some mysterious Amazon women. For driving the Vikings out of Cruxton and its hinterlands, the King endowed the Abbey properly as a permanent seat. Rainier thus became the first true Abbot of the Abbey, and all the young men and women suddenly found themselves in holy orders as monks and nuns.
The monks were put to work building, and Cruxton Abbey assumed its now familiar form as a fortified castle and bulwark of defense for the church. There were rumours of strange happenings at the Abbey throughout its history, but Rainier and his successors noted that nuns were, after all, women, and there was nothing particularly mysterious about women getting pregnant occasionally. The Abbey was certainly good at financially supporting the town of Cruxton, and whichever Wragg was in charge was good at staging elaborate festivals, usually featuring the burning of a witch, or the hanging of some criminal (often several criminals, and it was even better if they were women), and holding public floggings of offenders, especially if they were young and attractive. So Cruxton Abbey became known as a seat of culture, order, and justice in an otherwise unpredictable time.
Henry VIII showed up to disband the church part of the Abbey at some. Rees Wragg, the latest Abbot, welcomed the King sympathetically, and pledged the considerable resources of the Abbey to the king’s service. The king was suitably impressed by the number of armed young lads, as well as the visiting army of mysterious Amazon women, all of whom seemed to hold Rees in high regard. Henry, following a night of negotiations that culminated in a protracted visit to the nuns’ dormitory, declared that while the Abbey would no longer serve any religious function, Rees Wragg would be elevated to the peerage as first Earl of Cruxton.
The Abbey became the new seat of the Wragg family, which suited Lord Rees, since it meant that having offspring would no longer conflict with church doctrine. The old cathedral was converted to a banquet space, and life continued. Lord Rees, unfortunately, did not last the year, but was suddenly replace by the second Earl, a Lord Rupert Wragg whose tenure was instrumental in establishing the Abbey as a key fortification, and removing it successfully from most maps of England. Exactly how he did it is not clear, and he retained his seat in the House of Lords, but as one might have noticed, if anyone had paid attention, it seemed that everyone knew there was a town and Abbey at Cruxton, and many people had certainly met Lord Wragg, but nobody, including the King’s cartographer, knew exactly where the Abbey was.
In a country where RAF jets fly over almost every inch of it in a week, not one had ever flown over the Abbey itself.
The current Lord Wragg (who looked remarkably like his predecessors) and Windar knew where the Abbey was, and the study they were in was well appointed with oak panelling, bookshelves, various brass objects of no apparent use (found in all good gentlemen’s studies), and a globe that opened to reveal a brandy decanter. It had leaded glass bay windows that looked out onto the gardens. There were also two posts in the garden, with chains attached, in case anyone got bored. Wragg and Windar each took a large club style leather armchair and tried to relax.
“So, you think it’s only a matter of time until we’re in trouble,” said Windar.
“Yup,” said his lordship. “Not a chance they’re going to let her go. They’ll be here as soon as they know where “here” is.”
“No chance Eulalia will hold out and not tell them anything?” asked Windar.
“I think we better not count on that,” said Wragg. “She did give me this, after all.” He pulled the small inlaid wooden box out of his jacket pocket. It still looked quite unremarkably like a small wooden inlaid box. “We need to get Barb’s memory back. I feel that she’s our only real hope at stopping them, and whoever hired them.”
“If we stop Jollyrei and Phlebas,” said Wragg, “I think we’re in the clear. Nobody who has their own muscle hires those two. Too unpredictable.”
“Unless what you want is uncontrolled precision carnage,” said Windar. “Gods, man!,” he added, “the service here is terrible. Where’s the chap serving drinks?”
Wragg looked at Windar placidly. “You’re supposed to be the butler, dear fellow.”
“Oh, right,” said Windar. He got up and opened the globe, which contained rather more than just a brandy decanter. Both men were shortly in possession of a large whiskey.
“I wonder what the girls are up to,” said Windar.
“No you don’t,” said Wragg. “You’re trying to keep your mind off of what the girls are up to, as am I. Unsuccessfully.”
* * *
Messaline, Erin, and Barb followed the bath with the ritual rubbing down with fluffy towels. This was followed by the use of a lot of pleasantly scented oils and lotions that only women know the real value of. I strongly suspect that this value has to do with how many senses the use of them can awaken at once. In any case, at some point in the proceedings, Barb said, “Gaaahh!”, and meant it.
Messaline was an Amazon warrior of considerable renown and skill. What people seem to focus on is the bit about Amazons fighting like berserkers, the way they always seem to be there when Cruxton Abbey needed defending from Vikings or the Internal Revenue, and the entirely false notion that they cut their one breast off to use their bows. They fail to notice that Amazons are also well versed in the use of lotions, oils, shampoo, and various lubricants, and can probably kill with “kindness” as easily as they can run a dagger through your exposed nether parts. It really depends on their mood.
Messaline was in a very good mood. She was demonstrating a number of things you could do just with your tongue, using Barb as a subject. Barb lay on her back, immobilized by extreme nerve induction, her legs splayed helplessly. It was at this point that she likely said, “Gaaah!”, if you must know, but it’s really not that important. She was reaching that point where a woman’s muscles all tense involuntarily, and at the same time had one of her fingers pressing deeply into the soft warm wet parts of Erin.
Erin herself was rapidly reaching ecstasy herself. This was in part because Barb was increasing pressure to some very sensitive tissue, but also because Erin considered Barb to be a princess or queen, someone who she had pledged to protect, and felt that receiving pleasure from her was almost disrespectful. There is nothing like feeling something is a bit naughty to really bring out some effects.
Wragg and Windar walked into the room just as the three women were entangled in a mutual shuddering tangle of legs, breasts, fingers and tongues. There was now no doubt left as to what the girls were doing. There was also no doubt left that parts of Wragg and Windar had definite ideas about joining in.
At roughly the same time there was a collective exclamation of delight from the entwined 3 women, who collapsed in a three pointed formation with their legs still entangled in the middle, and they lay there sweating and breathing hard in a really rather attractive manner.
“I hate to interrupt, ladies,” said Wragg, trying to maintain control over his voice and not betray the effort this took, all things considered, “but…”
There were three yells of surprise, and a hasty scrambling for bedclothes, resulting in a kind of unkempt tent formation with three heads, one dark haired, one blonde, and one distinctly red staring at Wragg and Windar in a decidedly unwelcoming manner.
“What are you doing here?” yelled Messaline. “This is a private women’s boudoir and…”
“…and we didn’t ask for your company,” said Erin.
“It does happen to be my house, though,” said Wragg, wondering why that suddenly didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Honestly, Reynulf Wragg would not have put up with this, he though, although Raymond probably would have, considering how helpful the relationship with the Amazons was. Come to think of it, Messaline and her Amazons, and Erin and her Elves, were probably not things he wanted to lose now either.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a bit preoccupied with getting Barb’s memory back, and you know, our overall safety…”
“So, did this help?” asked Windar.
“Barb certainly seems to remember something,” grinned Erin.
“She’s lovely,” said Messaline.
“Yes,” said Windar, “but loveliness aside, does she remember anything else?”
“I am Queen of the Elves,” said Barb. “I don’t know how that’s possible – I can’t remember. I’m not an Elf.”
“You are our queen,” said Erin, “because we choose to follow you. You led our rebellion against the old queen.”
“I feel I need to remember that,” said Barb.
“Perhaps, if intense emotional experience helps,” said Messaline, “a physical shock might also bring out her memories.”
“I have just the thing,” said Wragg, grinning somewhat wickedly. “Windar, be a good chap and open the south cellar, would you?”
“With pleasure, milord,” said Windar.
“What are you two up to?” asked Barb suspiciously. Erin looked a little suspicious as well.
“I want to participate too,” said Messaline, “if you are suggesting what I think.”
* * *
Some distance away, and much, much earlier (by a few centuries at least), Eulalia hung naked from her X-shaped cross and stared in fascinated horror at Phlebas testing the heat of a glowing red poker. He smiled at her.
“You’re not seriously thinking of using that now, are you, Mr. Phlebas?” said Jollyrei.
“I thought I might, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Why shouldn’t I.”
“I would not presume to dictate your job, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei reasonably, “but I wonder if the timing is quite right. I mean, as in music, there is a question of building to a crescendo. That sense of ever increasing tension and…”
“You mean, do something less drastic before the poker,” said Phlebas.
“Well done, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.
“I could try a whip,” said Phlebas, “or perhaps these hooks.” He produced a small box of barbed steel hooks from his pocket. “Always wanted to try them.”
“I am glad you have the opportunity,” said Jollyrei. He sat down at the table and poured what was left of the tea into his cup. “Show us what you can do, Mr. Phlebas.”
Eulalia whimpered as Phlebas took a hook between his thumb and forefinger. He poked it experimentally with his finger. He looked at it quizzically, and then drove it forcefully into his own thumb. He seemed satisfied as the barbed hook lodged in the meaty print of his thumb. He tugged on the hook. It seemed uninclined to come out.
“They’re good hooks, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Excellent,” said Jollyrei. “Are you actually going to demonstrate their value on Ms. Eulalia, or is this a solo interlude only?”
“I can’t seem to get it out of my thumb,” said Phlebas.
“I see,” said Jollyrei. He got up from the table and walked to where Phlebas stood in front of Eulalia. Phlebas looked slightly embarrassed.
“This might hurt,” said Jollyrei.
“Okay,” said Phlebas. Jollyrei took the end of the hook and gave a quick yank. The hook came out, ripping Phlebas’ thumb as it did so. Phlebas gave no visible sign of discomfort.
“I had to test it,” said Phlebas. “Can’t go using things unless you know what they do.”
“Have it your way,” said Jollyrei. “Shall we carry on? Now, Ms. Eulalia, it is time for me to ask another question, but before I do, I seem to recall that I was going to allow you to ask one of your own. Now is the time. Do you have a question you wish to ask us?”
“What does your employer want from Barb?” asked Eulalia. It was all she could do to keep her voice low and level, watching Phlebas and his hooks. She knew this was going to get worse.
“That is difficult to say exactly. Our contract is simply to ensure that the lady Barbara is extinguished. Sadly you are collateral damage along the way, but we must do what we can in the line of business,” said Jollyrei. “Now it is time for my next question.”
“You didn’t fully answer my question,” said Eulalia.
“I gave no undertaking that I would do so,” said Jollyrei. “I only promised generally to answer, but did not say that you would like the answer. Now, pay attention. “Are there any defences around your cottage that might hinder us in our little quest to reacquire the person of the Lady Barbaria?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Eulalia. Phlebas stuck the barbed point of a one inch hook into the side of her left breast, close to the nipple, but not through it. The point seemed to break the surface of aureola slowly. Eulalia let out a gasp of pain and then a small scream as Phlebas pressed the point past the barbed end, leaving it buried in the soft flesh. Eulalia panted for breath.
“Pray continue,” said Jollyrei to Eulalia. “You were saying…”
“There are no magic spells or soldiers,” said Eulalia. “There’s nothing at the cottage that can stop you.”
“Now we are getting somewhere,” said Jollyrei. “And where would our mutual friend, Lord Wragg, take the Lady Barbaria for safe keeping?”
“Funny term, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Safe keeping.”
“It is, isn’t it, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Safety is, as always, a relative state. We await your answer, my dear,” he added to Eulalia, “with bated breath.”
“Probably a long way away,” said Eulalia. Phlebas pulled on the hook in her breast, making her gasp.
“He has a house somewhere in England, or some-when, doesn’t he?” said Jollyrei. “Would he take her there?”
“I don’t know,” gasped Eulalia.
There was a ringing sound. Jollyrei looked around in exasperation and then went back to the table. He opened the lid of a small chest and pulled out a telephone receiver.
“Phlebas and Jollyrei,” he said, “the Old Firm at your service. How may we help you?” He listened for a moment. “Yes, this is Mr. Jollyrei speaking. Oh, it’s you, sir. Yes…no, we haven’t got her yet, but we do have someone who is helping us with our investigations.”
Phlebas experimentally stuck a hook in the interior of Eulalia’s upper thigh. She shrieked as the barbed tip pressed into her.
“I see, sir,” said Jollyrei. “Well, if you think that’s…no, I understand perfectly (he said this through gritted teeth). We will of course, respect your wishes and direction. Yes, of course, you are the client. No, thank you, sir. Our pleasure. Good day.”
He hung up by putting the telephone receiver carefully into its chest and closing the lid. He stared at it, clearly trying to maintain control over himself. Then he picked up the chest from the table, crumpled it like a paper box between his hands, and tossed the remnants of chest and telephone into the well.
“Who was that then,” asked Phlebas, experimentally adding a hook to Eulalia’s right breast. She shrieked again, and then sobbed as Phlebas pulled on the hook experimentally. He took out some pliers from his pocket.
“That was our employer, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “He seems to think that we are being somewhat slow in our fulfilment of our contract.”
“Can’t rush professionals, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“I know that, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, picking up a whip. “But our employer seems to think that speed is of the essence.” He lashed out with the whip, leaving red streaks across Eulalia’s stomach, tearing the skin. Eulalia screamed.
“She also does not see the point in questioning Ms. Eulalia further,” growled Jollyrei. He lashed the whip again, down across Eulalia’s breasts. Eulalia stiffened on the cross as small drops of blood appeared on the pale skin. “Says we are wasting our time!” said Jollyrei. He lashed a third time down Eulalia’s breast the other direction. She screamed and thrashed and twisted on the cross.
“Wasting time!” yelled Jollyrei. “Can you believe it?”
“Doesn’t make sense, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas calmly. “We use time, but we have all the time in the world to use. We don’t waste it. Things take the time they take.”
“Anyway,” said Jollyrei, “we have new directions. I’m afraid Ms. Eulalia does not figure into them, and our employer is concerned about her continued existence. I am going to finish my tea. You may entertain yourself as you see fit. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
* * *
“Now,” said Wragg, as he attached Barb’s hands into the manacles hanging from a large ceiling beam in the south cellar, we’ll see what some physical excitement can do for that memory of yours.
Barb looked skeptical, but let him lock her wrists in place. After all, Messaline was already hanging naked beside her from the same beam, and she trusted Messaline.
The cellar was a bit musty, and was lit by torches in the wall. Actually, that was just for show, she realized. There were torches, but they seemed to have a gas flame. The real light was provided by cleverly concealed electric lamps built into recesses in the walls and ceiling, giving the place a medieval ambience, without the inconvenience. The floors, she noticed, were clean swept flagstone.
“Not even any cobwebs,” she said.
“They tend to make me sneeze,” said Windar.
“Now, let’s see,” said Wragg. “Don’t want to do damage, but want to have some impact…ah, this should do it.” He picked up a whip made of supple leather.
“What are you doing with that?” asked Erin. She had declined the offer to hang her from the ceiling as well. Elves, she said, do not allow themselves to be manacled. She managed to say this while standing completely naked and unarmed. Wragg had only shrugged.
“Are you going to be all day?” asked Messaline. She seemed to be somewhat excited. “Let’s get on with this.”
“Let’s get on with what?” asked Barb.
Wragg let the whip flash through the dungeon to make contact with Messaline’s upper back. Messaline let out a gasp of pain that still somehow sounded happy.
“Hey, wait a second,” yelled Barb. She struggled against the manacles.
“No, Barb,” said Messaline, “just let it happen.”
“Let it…” she saw Wragg lining up for a lash across her back. “Oh shit!” she said.
“You’re sure this will help,” said Erin to Windar.
“Can’t hurt,” said Windar. Messaline glared at him.
to be continued...
About 20 minutes and a change into dry clothes later, Wragg and Windar were comfortably installed in Wragg’s study on the second floor of the ancient Abbey’s main keep. Cruxton Abbey had been founded in the earliest days of Christian missionary work in England, and started as the Cruxton parish church somewhere in the dim history of the Saxon princes of Mercia. There was a wall somewhere, Wragg thought, that probably dated back to about the year 800. It had been made an Abbey when the local priest, a Father Reynulf Wragg, had decided that doing everything himself was less fun than having a bunch of people around to do things, and so he brought in a bunch of young men and women to help do things. The things he had them do were, for the men, mainly construction of a bigger church, dormitories, a library, and at least two levels of basement.
That was in the 1200s, under Reynulf’s successor, Raymond Wragg. Most people didn’t notice that Raymond was decidedly Norman in his dress and comportment, while Reynulf had been Saxon, despite the notion that both, and indeed all the Priests and Abbots were supposedly from the same family line. It was rarely noticed by historians that Reynulf’s tenure as Abbot had been almost impossibly long, and Raymond did his best to ensure that his own tenure was not as long. He was alleged to have been killed by Vikings in 1270, after a reign of only 93 years. Raymond’s successor, Rainier Wragg came, seemingly out of nowhere to repulse the Vikings, with the aid of the many young men who had been working on construction, as well as some mysterious Amazon women. For driving the Vikings out of Cruxton and its hinterlands, the King endowed the Abbey properly as a permanent seat. Rainier thus became the first true Abbot of the Abbey, and all the young men and women suddenly found themselves in holy orders as monks and nuns.
The monks were put to work building, and Cruxton Abbey assumed its now familiar form as a fortified castle and bulwark of defense for the church. There were rumours of strange happenings at the Abbey throughout its history, but Rainier and his successors noted that nuns were, after all, women, and there was nothing particularly mysterious about women getting pregnant occasionally. The Abbey was certainly good at financially supporting the town of Cruxton, and whichever Wragg was in charge was good at staging elaborate festivals, usually featuring the burning of a witch, or the hanging of some criminal (often several criminals, and it was even better if they were women), and holding public floggings of offenders, especially if they were young and attractive. So Cruxton Abbey became known as a seat of culture, order, and justice in an otherwise unpredictable time.
Henry VIII showed up to disband the church part of the Abbey at some. Rees Wragg, the latest Abbot, welcomed the King sympathetically, and pledged the considerable resources of the Abbey to the king’s service. The king was suitably impressed by the number of armed young lads, as well as the visiting army of mysterious Amazon women, all of whom seemed to hold Rees in high regard. Henry, following a night of negotiations that culminated in a protracted visit to the nuns’ dormitory, declared that while the Abbey would no longer serve any religious function, Rees Wragg would be elevated to the peerage as first Earl of Cruxton.
The Abbey became the new seat of the Wragg family, which suited Lord Rees, since it meant that having offspring would no longer conflict with church doctrine. The old cathedral was converted to a banquet space, and life continued. Lord Rees, unfortunately, did not last the year, but was suddenly replace by the second Earl, a Lord Rupert Wragg whose tenure was instrumental in establishing the Abbey as a key fortification, and removing it successfully from most maps of England. Exactly how he did it is not clear, and he retained his seat in the House of Lords, but as one might have noticed, if anyone had paid attention, it seemed that everyone knew there was a town and Abbey at Cruxton, and many people had certainly met Lord Wragg, but nobody, including the King’s cartographer, knew exactly where the Abbey was.
In a country where RAF jets fly over almost every inch of it in a week, not one had ever flown over the Abbey itself.
The current Lord Wragg (who looked remarkably like his predecessors) and Windar knew where the Abbey was, and the study they were in was well appointed with oak panelling, bookshelves, various brass objects of no apparent use (found in all good gentlemen’s studies), and a globe that opened to reveal a brandy decanter. It had leaded glass bay windows that looked out onto the gardens. There were also two posts in the garden, with chains attached, in case anyone got bored. Wragg and Windar each took a large club style leather armchair and tried to relax.
“So, you think it’s only a matter of time until we’re in trouble,” said Windar.
“Yup,” said his lordship. “Not a chance they’re going to let her go. They’ll be here as soon as they know where “here” is.”
“No chance Eulalia will hold out and not tell them anything?” asked Windar.
“I think we better not count on that,” said Wragg. “She did give me this, after all.” He pulled the small inlaid wooden box out of his jacket pocket. It still looked quite unremarkably like a small wooden inlaid box. “We need to get Barb’s memory back. I feel that she’s our only real hope at stopping them, and whoever hired them.”
“If we stop Jollyrei and Phlebas,” said Wragg, “I think we’re in the clear. Nobody who has their own muscle hires those two. Too unpredictable.”
“Unless what you want is uncontrolled precision carnage,” said Windar. “Gods, man!,” he added, “the service here is terrible. Where’s the chap serving drinks?”
Wragg looked at Windar placidly. “You’re supposed to be the butler, dear fellow.”
“Oh, right,” said Windar. He got up and opened the globe, which contained rather more than just a brandy decanter. Both men were shortly in possession of a large whiskey.
“I wonder what the girls are up to,” said Windar.
“No you don’t,” said Wragg. “You’re trying to keep your mind off of what the girls are up to, as am I. Unsuccessfully.”
* * *
Messaline, Erin, and Barb followed the bath with the ritual rubbing down with fluffy towels. This was followed by the use of a lot of pleasantly scented oils and lotions that only women know the real value of. I strongly suspect that this value has to do with how many senses the use of them can awaken at once. In any case, at some point in the proceedings, Barb said, “Gaaahh!”, and meant it.
Messaline was an Amazon warrior of considerable renown and skill. What people seem to focus on is the bit about Amazons fighting like berserkers, the way they always seem to be there when Cruxton Abbey needed defending from Vikings or the Internal Revenue, and the entirely false notion that they cut their one breast off to use their bows. They fail to notice that Amazons are also well versed in the use of lotions, oils, shampoo, and various lubricants, and can probably kill with “kindness” as easily as they can run a dagger through your exposed nether parts. It really depends on their mood.
Messaline was in a very good mood. She was demonstrating a number of things you could do just with your tongue, using Barb as a subject. Barb lay on her back, immobilized by extreme nerve induction, her legs splayed helplessly. It was at this point that she likely said, “Gaaah!”, if you must know, but it’s really not that important. She was reaching that point where a woman’s muscles all tense involuntarily, and at the same time had one of her fingers pressing deeply into the soft warm wet parts of Erin.
Erin herself was rapidly reaching ecstasy herself. This was in part because Barb was increasing pressure to some very sensitive tissue, but also because Erin considered Barb to be a princess or queen, someone who she had pledged to protect, and felt that receiving pleasure from her was almost disrespectful. There is nothing like feeling something is a bit naughty to really bring out some effects.
Wragg and Windar walked into the room just as the three women were entangled in a mutual shuddering tangle of legs, breasts, fingers and tongues. There was now no doubt left as to what the girls were doing. There was also no doubt left that parts of Wragg and Windar had definite ideas about joining in.
At roughly the same time there was a collective exclamation of delight from the entwined 3 women, who collapsed in a three pointed formation with their legs still entangled in the middle, and they lay there sweating and breathing hard in a really rather attractive manner.
“I hate to interrupt, ladies,” said Wragg, trying to maintain control over his voice and not betray the effort this took, all things considered, “but…”
There were three yells of surprise, and a hasty scrambling for bedclothes, resulting in a kind of unkempt tent formation with three heads, one dark haired, one blonde, and one distinctly red staring at Wragg and Windar in a decidedly unwelcoming manner.
“What are you doing here?” yelled Messaline. “This is a private women’s boudoir and…”
“…and we didn’t ask for your company,” said Erin.
“It does happen to be my house, though,” said Wragg, wondering why that suddenly didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Honestly, Reynulf Wragg would not have put up with this, he though, although Raymond probably would have, considering how helpful the relationship with the Amazons was. Come to think of it, Messaline and her Amazons, and Erin and her Elves, were probably not things he wanted to lose now either.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a bit preoccupied with getting Barb’s memory back, and you know, our overall safety…”
“So, did this help?” asked Windar.
“Barb certainly seems to remember something,” grinned Erin.
“She’s lovely,” said Messaline.
“Yes,” said Windar, “but loveliness aside, does she remember anything else?”
“I am Queen of the Elves,” said Barb. “I don’t know how that’s possible – I can’t remember. I’m not an Elf.”
“You are our queen,” said Erin, “because we choose to follow you. You led our rebellion against the old queen.”
“I feel I need to remember that,” said Barb.
“Perhaps, if intense emotional experience helps,” said Messaline, “a physical shock might also bring out her memories.”
“I have just the thing,” said Wragg, grinning somewhat wickedly. “Windar, be a good chap and open the south cellar, would you?”
“With pleasure, milord,” said Windar.
“What are you two up to?” asked Barb suspiciously. Erin looked a little suspicious as well.
“I want to participate too,” said Messaline, “if you are suggesting what I think.”
* * *
Some distance away, and much, much earlier (by a few centuries at least), Eulalia hung naked from her X-shaped cross and stared in fascinated horror at Phlebas testing the heat of a glowing red poker. He smiled at her.
“You’re not seriously thinking of using that now, are you, Mr. Phlebas?” said Jollyrei.
“I thought I might, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Why shouldn’t I.”
“I would not presume to dictate your job, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei reasonably, “but I wonder if the timing is quite right. I mean, as in music, there is a question of building to a crescendo. That sense of ever increasing tension and…”
“You mean, do something less drastic before the poker,” said Phlebas.
“Well done, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.
“I could try a whip,” said Phlebas, “or perhaps these hooks.” He produced a small box of barbed steel hooks from his pocket. “Always wanted to try them.”
“I am glad you have the opportunity,” said Jollyrei. He sat down at the table and poured what was left of the tea into his cup. “Show us what you can do, Mr. Phlebas.”
Eulalia whimpered as Phlebas took a hook between his thumb and forefinger. He poked it experimentally with his finger. He looked at it quizzically, and then drove it forcefully into his own thumb. He seemed satisfied as the barbed hook lodged in the meaty print of his thumb. He tugged on the hook. It seemed uninclined to come out.
“They’re good hooks, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Excellent,” said Jollyrei. “Are you actually going to demonstrate their value on Ms. Eulalia, or is this a solo interlude only?”
“I can’t seem to get it out of my thumb,” said Phlebas.
“I see,” said Jollyrei. He got up from the table and walked to where Phlebas stood in front of Eulalia. Phlebas looked slightly embarrassed.
“This might hurt,” said Jollyrei.
“Okay,” said Phlebas. Jollyrei took the end of the hook and gave a quick yank. The hook came out, ripping Phlebas’ thumb as it did so. Phlebas gave no visible sign of discomfort.
“I had to test it,” said Phlebas. “Can’t go using things unless you know what they do.”
“Have it your way,” said Jollyrei. “Shall we carry on? Now, Ms. Eulalia, it is time for me to ask another question, but before I do, I seem to recall that I was going to allow you to ask one of your own. Now is the time. Do you have a question you wish to ask us?”
“What does your employer want from Barb?” asked Eulalia. It was all she could do to keep her voice low and level, watching Phlebas and his hooks. She knew this was going to get worse.
“That is difficult to say exactly. Our contract is simply to ensure that the lady Barbara is extinguished. Sadly you are collateral damage along the way, but we must do what we can in the line of business,” said Jollyrei. “Now it is time for my next question.”
“You didn’t fully answer my question,” said Eulalia.
“I gave no undertaking that I would do so,” said Jollyrei. “I only promised generally to answer, but did not say that you would like the answer. Now, pay attention. “Are there any defences around your cottage that might hinder us in our little quest to reacquire the person of the Lady Barbaria?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Eulalia. Phlebas stuck the barbed point of a one inch hook into the side of her left breast, close to the nipple, but not through it. The point seemed to break the surface of aureola slowly. Eulalia let out a gasp of pain and then a small scream as Phlebas pressed the point past the barbed end, leaving it buried in the soft flesh. Eulalia panted for breath.
“Pray continue,” said Jollyrei to Eulalia. “You were saying…”
“There are no magic spells or soldiers,” said Eulalia. “There’s nothing at the cottage that can stop you.”
“Now we are getting somewhere,” said Jollyrei. “And where would our mutual friend, Lord Wragg, take the Lady Barbaria for safe keeping?”
“Funny term, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Safe keeping.”
“It is, isn’t it, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Safety is, as always, a relative state. We await your answer, my dear,” he added to Eulalia, “with bated breath.”
“Probably a long way away,” said Eulalia. Phlebas pulled on the hook in her breast, making her gasp.
“He has a house somewhere in England, or some-when, doesn’t he?” said Jollyrei. “Would he take her there?”
“I don’t know,” gasped Eulalia.
There was a ringing sound. Jollyrei looked around in exasperation and then went back to the table. He opened the lid of a small chest and pulled out a telephone receiver.
“Phlebas and Jollyrei,” he said, “the Old Firm at your service. How may we help you?” He listened for a moment. “Yes, this is Mr. Jollyrei speaking. Oh, it’s you, sir. Yes…no, we haven’t got her yet, but we do have someone who is helping us with our investigations.”
Phlebas experimentally stuck a hook in the interior of Eulalia’s upper thigh. She shrieked as the barbed tip pressed into her.
“I see, sir,” said Jollyrei. “Well, if you think that’s…no, I understand perfectly (he said this through gritted teeth). We will of course, respect your wishes and direction. Yes, of course, you are the client. No, thank you, sir. Our pleasure. Good day.”
He hung up by putting the telephone receiver carefully into its chest and closing the lid. He stared at it, clearly trying to maintain control over himself. Then he picked up the chest from the table, crumpled it like a paper box between his hands, and tossed the remnants of chest and telephone into the well.
“Who was that then,” asked Phlebas, experimentally adding a hook to Eulalia’s right breast. She shrieked again, and then sobbed as Phlebas pulled on the hook experimentally. He took out some pliers from his pocket.
“That was our employer, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “He seems to think that we are being somewhat slow in our fulfilment of our contract.”
“Can’t rush professionals, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“I know that, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, picking up a whip. “But our employer seems to think that speed is of the essence.” He lashed out with the whip, leaving red streaks across Eulalia’s stomach, tearing the skin. Eulalia screamed.
“She also does not see the point in questioning Ms. Eulalia further,” growled Jollyrei. He lashed the whip again, down across Eulalia’s breasts. Eulalia stiffened on the cross as small drops of blood appeared on the pale skin. “Says we are wasting our time!” said Jollyrei. He lashed a third time down Eulalia’s breast the other direction. She screamed and thrashed and twisted on the cross.
“Wasting time!” yelled Jollyrei. “Can you believe it?”
“Doesn’t make sense, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas calmly. “We use time, but we have all the time in the world to use. We don’t waste it. Things take the time they take.”
“Anyway,” said Jollyrei, “we have new directions. I’m afraid Ms. Eulalia does not figure into them, and our employer is concerned about her continued existence. I am going to finish my tea. You may entertain yourself as you see fit. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
* * *
“Now,” said Wragg, as he attached Barb’s hands into the manacles hanging from a large ceiling beam in the south cellar, we’ll see what some physical excitement can do for that memory of yours.
Barb looked skeptical, but let him lock her wrists in place. After all, Messaline was already hanging naked beside her from the same beam, and she trusted Messaline.
The cellar was a bit musty, and was lit by torches in the wall. Actually, that was just for show, she realized. There were torches, but they seemed to have a gas flame. The real light was provided by cleverly concealed electric lamps built into recesses in the walls and ceiling, giving the place a medieval ambience, without the inconvenience. The floors, she noticed, were clean swept flagstone.
“Not even any cobwebs,” she said.
“They tend to make me sneeze,” said Windar.
“Now, let’s see,” said Wragg. “Don’t want to do damage, but want to have some impact…ah, this should do it.” He picked up a whip made of supple leather.
“What are you doing with that?” asked Erin. She had declined the offer to hang her from the ceiling as well. Elves, she said, do not allow themselves to be manacled. She managed to say this while standing completely naked and unarmed. Wragg had only shrugged.
“Are you going to be all day?” asked Messaline. She seemed to be somewhat excited. “Let’s get on with this.”
“Let’s get on with what?” asked Barb.
Wragg let the whip flash through the dungeon to make contact with Messaline’s upper back. Messaline let out a gasp of pain that still somehow sounded happy.
“Hey, wait a second,” yelled Barb. She struggled against the manacles.
“No, Barb,” said Messaline, “just let it happen.”
“Let it…” she saw Wragg lining up for a lash across her back. “Oh shit!” she said.
“You’re sure this will help,” said Erin to Windar.
“Can’t hurt,” said Windar. Messaline glared at him.
to be continued...
windar
Teller of Tales
Are you sure that wasn't Stan Goldman in costume?
When Moore is your only hope, you might as well quit.
I don't think you're wasting your time...
It didn't hurt me a bit...
It's good to see another chapter, Jolly.
Why am I always the last to know?
I need some time to complain...
Owwwwwwwww
Jerk
An absolutely delightful read, Jolly! Well worth the wait!
“We use time, but we have all the time in the world to use. We don’t waste it. Things take the time they take.”
Quite right, too.
Nice work, Jolly. Delicate work around the questioning of Eul, less is more and all that. I liked it (even if she didn't).
So our employer is a woman. Hmm, who could it be?
Quite right, too.
Nice work, Jolly. Delicate work around the questioning of Eul, less is more and all that. I liked it (even if she didn't).
So our employer is a woman. Hmm, who could it be?
Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
Brilliant work so far.....love the time portals,kinda reminds me of something...
Something to do with a Blue Box,that's bigger on the inside and never in a fixed point in time...occupied by a very strange person. (who keeps changing appearance... )
Something to do with a Blue Box,that's bigger on the inside and never in a fixed point in time...occupied by a very strange person. (who keeps changing appearance...
)
Dammit! Really? I thought I'd changed that. Unfortunately, there are a few "she's" that did not get changed to the masculine. It seems our employer is of ambiguous gender.
This is a bit annoying.
windar
Teller of Tales
As long as they pay their bill, what's the difference?Dammit! Really? I thought I'd changed that. Unfortunately, there are a few "she's" that did not get changed to the masculine. It seems our employer is of ambiguous gender.
This is a bit annoying.
Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
Brilliant work so far.....love the time portals,kinda reminds me of something...
Something to do with a Blue Box,that's bigger on the inside and never in a fixed point in time...occupied by a very strange person. (who keeps changing appearance...
For the benefit of those who haven't figured it out yet.... lol
That's a long way back in the Wragg pedigree!
Sigh....
But... but... must we wait for the next episode?
No worries, Mr Jollyrei. We are in your hands.
She often says that when she sees me.
I learned a great deal that I didn't know about Cruxton Abbey! Deeee-licious chapter, Jollyrei!
Oh, most enjoyable - my squeaks and squeals give a pretty good impression of strong to severe discomfort,
men - even heartless interrogators - tremble and go weak at the knees when a girl screams...
a pity they didn't get to use the hot irons, maybe next time....
though I am experiencing a mild attack of existential angst.
men - even heartless interrogators - tremble and go weak at the knees when a girl screams...
a pity they didn't get to use the hot irons, maybe next time....
though I am experiencing a mild attack of existential angst.
It's all one can do to keep writing.
We must see what Mr. Phlebas has in mind. As to the existential aspects, you are in good hands (all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding).
Author's note: The next section is a bit, well, graphic - more so than my usual standard. I did check with people involved to see if it crossed lines. Mainly the lines it crossed were mine, it seems.
In conversation with Phlebas, I think the general conclusion was that IRL we're both really quite nice gentle guys that any girl would be happy to introduce to their mum. In this story, we're total vicious bastards. Crux forums is interesting that way. It's a funny old world, eh?
In conversation with Phlebas, I think the general conclusion was that IRL we're both really quite nice gentle guys that any girl would be happy to introduce to their mum. In this story, we're total vicious bastards. Crux forums is interesting that way. It's a funny old world, eh?
windar
Teller of Tales
What did you guys have planned with her and her mum?
Here I'm a cranky old wise-cracking guy. In real life.....more or less the same.