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Venus Verticordia

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Wragg134 said:
Barb looked down from her cross at a policeman. “Is it me,” she wondered, “or are policemen getting younger these days?” He looked barely old enough to shave. He couldn’t have been more than twenty.

The policeman also looked up at Barb, though he wasn’t looking at her eyes. This august custodian of law and order stared, wide-eyes, at her chest, and said “Cor, Blimey! ‘Ere, Stan! Look at this.”

“Flippin ‘eck!” agreed Stan. “Just take a dekko at them knockers!”

Unfortunately for them, their Sergeant was within earshot. “Oi!!! Will you two clowns stop gawping at that woman like a pair of lovelorn whippersnappers? Get her down!! NOW!!!”

“Yes, Sarge!” Stan fell over the steps that Rossetti had left nearby, but eventually got them and himself the right way up again, and climbed up and started picking at the knots securing her wrist.

“NUMBSKULLS!” bellowed Sarge, “Do her feet first! If you loose her wrists without untying her feet what do you think will happen? She ain’t got wings, you know! And cover ‘er up, fer Gawd’s sake! She ain’t decent, like that! Gawd Almighty, if ‘er indoors could see me now!”

“Sorry, Sarge!” and they fell over each other in their rush to fetch a blanket. Barb sighed, but she was conscious that her face was very red.

The sergeant lumbered over and regarded her, critically. “Oo do you fink you are, any road? Jesus Christ?” He crossed himself to ward off the results of his blasphemy.

“No, I don’t. Actually, next week I shall be the Countess of Cruxton!”

“Will you indeed, Miss? And next week, I shall be the King of Siam! Countess, eh? I suppose you think you’ll be dining with ‘er Majesty, next week, too? Well, Luv, I’ve got good news for you, because you are indeed going to be a guest of ‘er Majesty! You’re under arrest, you are, or you will be as soon as these two berks ‘ave sorted out those ropes!”

“Under arrest? What for?”

“Gross indecency. Two months ‘ard labour. If yer lucky!”

“But….but….my wedding!”

“There ain’t gonna be no wedding, sweetheart! Just mail bags for you to sew.”

The coppers were still fully occupied with the knots, but eventually they managed to get her down. She pulled the blanket tightly around herself, and glared into the eyes of the sergeant. “Now listen to me, my man! I was posing for a piece of high art, to be displayed in Cruxton Abbey, as a wedding gift for my husband. I realise that you will struggle to understand that, but let me assure you that it is all perfectly innocent and perfectly legal. So listen very carefully indeed. If you arrest me, as you suggest, my fiancé will see to it that you will spend the rest of your career directing the traffic in Piccadilly Circus! Is that understood?”

“Fiancé, my arse. You’re one of them slags from the Mile End Road, I’ll be bound. Nice try, lady. You can try that line on Old Slave! Take her away!”

“At least let me get dressed first! Who’s Old Slave?”

“That blanket will do! Get!”

“You’re making a big mistake! Who’s Old Slave?”

“GET!”

They manhandled her down the steps, and shoved her, roughly, into the back of a prison carriage. The door slammed shut behind her, and the carriage lurched into motion. Inside were Tree, Eulalia, and Rossetti.”

“Senator!” she cried. “What is happening?”

“We’ve all been arrested,” grumbled Tree. “It’s an outrage!”

“What for?”

“They think I’m a notorious criminal known as the ‘Racing Rodent’!”

“And they think Eulalia and I are his accomplices!” declared Rossetti. “Me! Dante Phlebas Rosetti! Why would I steal my own paintings?”

“I’m afraid,” commented Eulalia, “that the British policeman is not noted for his high standard of intelligence.”

“You don’t say?” muttered Tree.

“Anyway,” asked Barb, “Where’s Repertor?”

Stupidly, they all looked around the inside of the van. “I don’t know,” admitted Rossetti.” I haven’t seen him since before the police arrived.”

“BASTARD!” spat Tree. “The bastard!” he repeated. “He’s set us up!”

"Who's Old Slave?" asked Barb.
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Tree will have the buffoons hung from the yardarm!!!
 
Wragg134 said:
“They think I’m a notorious criminal known as the ‘Racing Rodent’!”
Click to expand...

Of gentlemen of ill repute
There are none reportedly quite so cute
As the rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent

The Metropolitan Constabulary
Would send the rogue to Calvary
If they could but lay their hands upon
The rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent

They seek him here
There seek him there
Tis true they do seek him everywhere
In the hope they shall find
The rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent
 
RacingRodent said:
Of gentlemen of ill repute
There are none reportedly quite so cute
As the rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent

The Metropolitan Constabulary
Would send the rogue to Calvary
If they could but lay their hands upon
The rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent

They seek him here
There seek him there
Tis true they do seek him everywhere
In the hope they shall find
The rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent
Click to expand...
:duke:

:clapping::clapping::clapping::clapping::clapping:
 
RacingRodent said:
Of gentlemen of ill repute
There are none reportedly quite so cute
As the rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent

The Metropolitan Constabulary
Would send the rogue to Calvary
If they could but lay their hands upon
The rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent

They seek him here
There seek him there
Tis true they do seek him everywhere
In the hope they shall find
The rashing, dashing, law be smashing
Racing
Rodent
Click to expand...
110412_wanted.jpg
 
Wragg134 said:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune will not often have to spend the night alone, and so it was for Tree. Barb had a few more nights of freedom and she was close enough to her marriage to be unconcerned about any consequences of a night of passion, and so she really let her hair down. Tree, for his part, expected to put 140 years between himself and any consequences, and he had managed to get himself pretty horny watching Rossetti and Eulalia earlier. So it was that a very good time was had by them both, and the only people who didn’t have a fantastic night were the unfortunate guests in the surrounding rooms.

Barb had had so many orgasms she’d lost count, and by now he’d got her tied to the four poster, which she was enjoying immensely. Tree’s tongue had just made contact with her clitoris once again, and she was helpless to resist. Not that she had the slightest intention of doing so, in all her life she’d never met anyone who could work her clit like Tree could. He was a clitoral impresario, a maestro of the female genitalia, as artistically accomplished with the anterior labia as any concert pianist with a grand piano. The performance built through growing cascades of pleasure, a true ode to joy climbing to a grand crescendo of release, and Barb shrieked with the sheer delight of yet another orgasm.

She thought she was spent. But Tree wasn’t. And he knew that it was time to bring this magnum opus to a grand finale. Barb could not believe her own body could generate such joy, as the energy of his passion and the intensity of his thrusts caused yet more reaction in the depths of her pelvis. “Oh, God, I don’t believe it! It’s happening again!” Tree believed it, and, as he felt the rhythm of her final orgasm he came himself. He released her bonds, then they collapsed into each other’s arms and finally the neighbours could get some sleep.

“God, I wish you were the Earl,” she murmured, after a few moments.

“Wham, bam, and thank you ma’am?” queried Tree.

“That’s about it. Still, he’s got a huge….estate. I take it you’re married?” she asked, hoping for a negative.

“I am, yes….”

“Damn. Oh well. England expects every gal to do her duty. Even the ones from Minnesota. Can I…”

“No, Barb, I’m sorry, you can’t.”

“Why?”

“I, er, travelled some distance to get here.”

“So did I!”

“Yes, but I have to go back!”

“Damn,” she repeated. “But when I visit the USA…..”

“Barb, I’m sorry. It’s complicated.” How could he explain that she was well over a century older than him?

“They all say that. Love you and leave you. Bloody men. Still, it was fun. Night Tree.”

“Night Barb.”

She got out of bed, dressed, but she kissed him before she left. At the door she paused. “Tree?”

“Yes, Barb?”

“Will you introduce me to Rossetti tomorrow?”

“Sure I will. My carriage will collect me at eight.”

The door closed softly behind her.
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Just catching up here ... Apparently Tree played me like a piano in that bed chamber. Ok, let's suspend disbelief and say it happened ... well kind of happened anyway. Glad to know, in any case, that he knew where to find my clit. Enough of this. On to the next epi.
 
Wragg134 said:
If Repertor was surprised to see the future Countess of Cruxton joining the party he showed no sign of it. If Tree had but known it, Repertor was somewhat older than he looked, and had long since ceased to be shocked or surprised by anything.

Barb chatted to Tree about inconsequentialities en route to Rossetti’s studio, a fly on the wall would have believed them to be mere acquaintances, and would never have guessed at the wild sex in which they had been participating only hours before.

“Oh, Senator, just look at that hat!” She pointed out an innocent pedestrian as they passed as though she had committed a capital offence against headgear. “I wouldn’t even wear that to Ascot!”

“What or where is Ascot?”

“It’s a horse race.”

Tree loved women. As previously observed, he was a connoisseur of the female form and something of an expert in how to please them. But even he wouldn’t go so far as to say that he understood them. He considered asking what the hell hats had to do with horse racing, but at that moment the carriage swung through the gates and they drew into the yard which housed Rossetti’s studio.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle from inside as Repertor knocked, but after a short delay Mr Rossetti himself answered the door. Behind him Eulalia Wilding was rearranging her down, and behind her, still swaying slightly, was a large cross.

“Good morning Mr Repertor, Senator Tree….Good morning, Ma’am!” He took Barb’s hand. He loved women quite as much as Tree did, and Barb was one beautiful woman. You could almost see daggers flying out of Eulalia’s eyes.

“Mr Rossetti, may I present Miss Barbara Moore, engaged to the Earl of Cruxton?” Tree effected the introductions. Eulalia relaxed when she heard the word ‘engaged’,“Barb, this is Mr Dante Phlebas Rossetti.”

“Please, call me Phlebas! What can I do for you?”

“Well, Phlebas, my fiancé is a great admirer of your paintings, and I would like to present him with one as a wedding gift?”

“Well, I should be delighted, Miss Moore. I have one or two here, or would you prefer a commission?”

“Barb, please!” She looked around at the paintings, but nothing really appealed.

“Something a little more….personal, I think.” She stated.

“Could you paint her portrait?” suggested Tree.

Rossetti looked at him as though he’d uttered a profanity. “A PORTRAIT, sir? You come to the great Dante Phlebas Rossetti and ask him to paint a PORTRAIT? How dare you, sir?”

Tree looked nonplussed, being completely unaware of art etiquette. “My apologies, I….”

Repertor coughed, discreetly. “Might I suggest….?”

All eyes turned to Repertor.

“Well, if Miss Moore is to be the Countess of Cruxton, how about a painting showing some crux? Performed in a classical style, I see the Countess, on her cross, perhaps with the Coliseum crowd in the background. ‘The Martyred Queen’, perchance.”

Barb looked shocked. “Me? On a cross?”

“Well, it was merely a suggestion….”

“Wearing what, pray?” there was a dangerous edge to her voice.

Repertor looked at her fine costume. “Perhaps you are slightly overdressed for the cross right now, but…”

“You want a great big picture of me, stark naked, on a cross, in the front hall of Cruxton Abbey? For every guest to see the moment they walk through the door?”

“Well, as I say, it was only…”

“Bloody good idea, Repertor! I think you’re a genius! ‘The Martyred Queen!’ I love it!”

Without another word, she began to shed her clothes. A lengthy procedure, for a 19th century lady, but soon accomplished, with a bit of enthusiasm, and a bit of help from a slightly bemused Eulalia.

Phlebas fetched a set of short steps, and he and Eulalia proceeded to crucify the naked Barb. Eulalia tied her wrists to the cross, and Phlebas did the same with her feet, so that her feet were tied flat against the wood of the cross.

She wriggled slightly, in an attempt to get comfortable, discovering in the process that ‘comfortable’ is not a word you can apply to any form of crucifixion.

“How do I look?” asked Barb, with a groan.

“You look truly splendid!” stated Rossetti, beginning to sketch. Tree, Eulalia, and Repertor nodded in agreement.

That was the moment when, with whistles blowing, about a dozen policemen burst into the studio.
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Nothing shy about my behavior in this episode. Oh me? Naked on a cross for all to see? Just one second while I strip. Now where should I rest my body? Against the wood? Ok. Careful the ropes are cutting into my wrists... Hey, where did all those Bobbies come from?
 
Wragg134 said:
Barb looked down from her cross at a policeman. “Is it me,” she wondered, “or are policemen getting younger these days?” He looked barely old enough to shave. He couldn’t have been more than twenty.

The policeman also looked up at Barb, though he wasn’t looking at her eyes. This august custodian of law and order stared, wide-eyes, at her chest, and said “Cor, Blimey! ‘Ere, Stan! Look at this.”

“Flippin ‘eck!” agreed Stan. “Just take a dekko at them knockers!”

Unfortunately for them, their Sergeant was within earshot. “Oi!!! Will you two clowns stop gawping at that woman like a pair of lovelorn whippersnappers? Get her down!! NOW!!!”

“Yes, Sarge!” Stan fell over the steps that Rossetti had left nearby, but eventually got them and himself the right way up again, and climbed up and started picking at the knots securing her wrist.

“NUMBSKULLS!” bellowed Sarge, “Do her feet first! If you loose her wrists without untying her feet what do you think will happen? She ain’t got wings, you know! And cover ‘er up, fer Gawd’s sake! She ain’t decent, like that! Gawd Almighty, if ‘er indoors could see me now!”

“Sorry, Sarge!” and they fell over each other in their rush to fetch a blanket. Barb sighed, but she was conscious that her face was very red.

The sergeant lumbered over and regarded her, critically. “Oo do you fink you are, any road? Jesus Christ?” He crossed himself to ward off the results of his blasphemy.

“No, I don’t. Actually, next week I shall be the Countess of Cruxton!”

“Will you indeed, Miss? And next week, I shall be the King of Siam! Countess, eh? I suppose you think you’ll be dining with ‘er Majesty, next week, too? Well, Luv, I’ve got good news for you, because you are indeed going to be a guest of ‘er Majesty! You’re under arrest, you are, or you will be as soon as these two berks ‘ave sorted out those ropes!”

“Under arrest? What for?”

“Gross indecency. Two months ‘ard labour. If yer lucky!”

“But….but….my wedding!”

“There ain’t gonna be no wedding, sweetheart! Just mail bags for you to sew.”

The coppers were still fully occupied with the knots, but eventually they managed to get her down. She pulled the blanket tightly around herself, and glared into the eyes of the sergeant. “Now listen to me, my man! I was posing for a piece of high art, to be displayed in Cruxton Abbey, as a wedding gift for my husband. I realise that you will struggle to understand that, but let me assure you that it is all perfectly innocent and perfectly legal. So listen very carefully indeed. If you arrest me, as you suggest, my fiancé will see to it that you will spend the rest of your career directing the traffic in Piccadilly Circus! Is that understood?”

“Fiancé, my arse. You’re one of them slags from the Mile End Road, I’ll be bound. Nice try, lady. You can try that line on Old Slave! Take her away!”

“At least let me get dressed first! Who’s Old Slave?”

“That blanket will do! Get!”

“You’re making a big mistake! Who’s Old Slave?”

“GET!”

They manhandled her down the steps, and shoved her, roughly, into the back of a prison carriage. The door slammed shut behind her, and the carriage lurched into motion. Inside were Tree, Eulalia, and Rossetti.”

“Senator!” she cried. “What is happening?”

“We’ve all been arrested,” grumbled Tree. “It’s an outrage!”

“What for?”

“They think I’m a notorious criminal known as the ‘Racing Rodent’!”

“And they think Eulalia and I are his accomplices!” declared Rossetti. “Me! Dante Phlebas Rosetti! Why would I steal my own paintings?”

“I’m afraid,” commented Eulalia, “that the British policeman is not noted for his high standard of intelligence.”

“You don’t say?” muttered Tree.

“Anyway,” asked Barb, “Where’s Repertor?”

Stupidly, they all looked around the inside of the van. “I don’t know,” admitted Rossetti.” I haven’t seen him since before the police arrived.”

“BASTARD!” spat Tree. “The bastard!” he repeated. “He’s set us up!”

"Who's Old Slave?" asked Barb.
Click to expand...
Now, to begin with it's not nice to refer to them as "knockers" ... Where did that term come from anyway? Second these clowns make the Keystone Cops look like an elite police force. Third, wearing nothing but a blanket is no way to be transported to jail. And fourth, damn it Tree get your cotton picking fingers out from under my blanket!
 
Wragg134 said:
When an artist’s place of work must be a-raided (be a-raided)
A policeman must rely upon his wits (‘pon his wits)
His career has little chance to be upgraded (be upgraded)
If he looks too long upon the model’s tits (model’s tits)

His feelings he must absolutely smother (lutely smother)
He resists those twinvitations to have fun (to have fun)
I’ll take one consideration….with another (with another)
A policeman’s lot is not an ‘appy one (nappy one).


(I've never heard boobs called 'considerations' before :doh:)
Click to expand...

"Tits" is scarcely more polite a term for them than "knockers". Why not just call them "breasts"? Show a little class. And "considerations"???? What the hell is that?
 
Barbaria1 said:
...wearing nothing but a blanket is no way to be transported to jail...damn it Tree get your cotton picking fingers out from under my blanket!
Click to expand...
Honestly. You're in an English paddy wagon. Some decorum, please.
Is this how the American Senate behaves? :doh:
What does it matter if she likes it? Where would the Empire be if people just did things because they liked to?:p:confused:
Think of England. No, I didn't mean it that way! :rolleyes::oops:
 
Jollyrei said:
Honestly. You're in an English paddy wagon. Some decorum, please.
Is this how the American Senate behaves? :doh:
What does it matter if she likes it? Where would the Empire be if people just did things because they liked to?:p:confused:
Think of England. No, I didn't mean it that way! :rolleyes::oops:
Click to expand...
Well yes, U.S. senators are notorious for getting caught with their fingers in the till ... If you get my drift ;)
 
Hmm, could you sit still there, Barb, head this way, that's it!
I just want to capture the way the blanket drapes over your kno... err your ti..... err, your splendid figure! :D
 
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Barbaria1 said:
"Tits" is scarcely more polite a term for them than "knockers". Why not just call them "breasts"? Show a little class. And "considerations"???? What the hell is that?
Click to expand...
That, Barb, is showing a little class! :rolleyes:
 
My first character part in a story, thank you Wragg.

Wragg134 said:
Two months ‘ard labour. If yer lucky!
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But I seem to be an enigma wrapped in a conundrum (am I the judge? am I the gaoler? quit thinking ahead, OS, and have some consideration for the prisoners, at least Barb has been threatened with mail-bag sewing, I was deliciously imagining her and Eul, in a quarry, chain gang, sweating, breaking rocks, naked........)
 
old slave said:
My first character part in a story, thank you Wragg.



But I seem to be an enigma wrapped in a conundrum (am I the judge? am I the gaoler? quit thinking ahead, OS, and have some consideration for the prisoners, at least Barb has been threatened with mail-bag sewing, I was deliciously imagining her and Eul, in a quarry, chain gang, sweating, breaking rocks, naked........)
Click to expand...
It's a lovely idea. But surely the sewing of mailbags does not require any particular dress code. :D
 
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