– What’s this?
– Open it and see!
Lorraine knew it was money. She saw the large notes and estimated it was about a thousand pounds. – Great, she said, sticking the envelope in her bag, – Nice one.
The little bitch loves the folding stuff, Perks thought contentedly. He drew closer to her and let his hand fall onto her knee. – There’s a lot more where that came from, I’ll tell you that, my little beauty … Perks gasped.
– Aw aye, Lorraine smiled. Her hand went to his groin. She opened his flies and put her hand inside. She found his testicles and squeezed. Perky gasped. He was in heaven. She squeezed some more, then some more, and heaven started to become something else. – You ever touch me again and ah’ll brek your fuckin neck, she grinned until his radiant smile vanished and her forehead crashed into his nose at full force.
Lorraine was gone, leaving Perks holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose with one hand and massaging his crushed testicles with the other. He sat for a while trying to compose himself. – Good God, he moaned, starting up the car and heading for the flat. I like them feisty, but not that damn feisty, he thought balefully, his hands trembling on the wheel.
A session watching some of the old videos cheered him up. Particularly the one with Candy, his favourite. She would do anything at all for a price, which was exactly how a good whore should be. Too many of them had predictable thresholds, a bloody disgrace to their profession, he mused. No, he’d have to get in touch with Candy again soon.
When Perky Navarro returned home in higher spirits, he noted with a satisfied glee that Rebecca’s manuscript was expanding. Strangely, Rebecca was contracting. This diet-and-exercise regime they had put her on had worked wonders. Stones had been shed. She dressed differently, and even seemed different in a more fundamental sense. People were commenting. She was now more than two stone lighter than she had been at the time of the stroke. Her face looked back to normal. These changes were interesting to Perks, but the unfamiliarity was slightly unsettling and intimidating. He even found himself aroused by her presence one evening, and suggested that they forego their separate rooms to sleep together for the first time in about three years. – No, darling, I’m far, far too tired, I must finish this book, she told him.
Never mind that, he thought, the manuscript was coming along nicely. She’d been knocking out the words. This consoled him. She had taken to keeping her study locked, for some strange reason. But that evening when she said she was going out, which she seemed to be doing more and more often, she left the door not just unlocked but wide open. He picked up the document and read.
14 Untitled – Work In Progress
Page 56
It had been a sad time for all at Radcombe House since the death of Lady Huntingdon. Lorraine, now acting as the mistress of the house, was greatly concerned with the state of mind of the Earl of Denby, who had taken to drinking heavily and frequenting London’s opium dens. The great lord showed such lassitude of spirit that Lorraine was glad to hear that his good friend Marcus Cox would soon be returning to England with his regiment.
On his return, however, Marcus, too, seemed a changed man. The war had taken its toll on this dashing blade, and he had come back with a fever. On meeting the officer, Lorraine was happy to find, though, that Marcus was determined that his Lordship’s pain would be eased without recourse to spirit-sapping bad habits.
– Denby must be taken out of London, he said to Lorraine. – We should all go down to the ancestral home of Thorndyke Hall in Wiltshire. He must be taken out of himself and his melancholy, lest it destroy his soul.
– Yes, a spell at Thorndyke Hall would help to raise his spirits, Lorraine agreed.
Perky put the manuscript down to pour himself a large Scotch. He nodded approvingly as he thumbed through a few more pages. This was ideal. Then, the text seemed to change. Perky could not believe his eyes.
Page 72
Inside the large barn some miles from Thorndyke Hall on the road to the village, they had blindfolded the thirteenth Earl of Denby and bound his hands behind his back. His erect penis poked through a slit in the long white tunic he wore which covered his chest, stomach and thighs.
– Give me an arse, damn you! He drunkenly roared as a cheer went up from the crowd gathered in the barn.
– Patience, Denby, you blood, you! The Earl recognised the voice of his friend Harcourt. He was now hungry for sport, hungry to prove himself in this wager.
There were three wooden platforms in front of Denby. On one there was a bound, gagged and naked girl, on her knees with her buttocks sticking in the air. On the next platform, there was a boy in an identical position. On the third, a large, hardy blackface sheep was trussed up and gagged.
A series of pulleys were connected to the platforms, thus allowing for alterations in the height of the participants in the wager. Harcourt had instructed the men to make appropriate adjustments until the anal orifices of the three creatures were positioned at a similar height, lined up to meet Denby’s engorged member.
Harcourt whispered in his ear, – Remember, Denby: boy, girl and sheep are no strangers to buggery.
– I well know the circumstances and history of all the little creatures concerned, Lord Harcourt. Are you losing your confidence, old friend? Denby mocked.
– Foo! Not a bit of it. You see, Denby, I firmly believe that you are nothing but an old humper, incapable, particularly after imbibing wine, of determining what it is you are in congress with, Harcourt said with great smugness.
– I shall have a wager on my friend the Earl, Marcus Cox said, to more cheers from the gathered bucks and bloods, dropping a florin in the keeper’s hand.
The woman was proving the most difficult to restrain. A normally compliant servant-girl, and no stranger to the attentions of many of the present gathering, she nonetheless began to panic under the sensory deprivation caused by gag, ropes and blindfold.
– Hush, my sweet one, Harcourt whispered, straddling her and pulling her buttocks apart as Denby’s cock prepared to penetrate. As he roughly greased her anus, sliding in his finger, he noted a nervous tightness he had not experienced in this young wench since he had personally broken her in. Surely, despite their experience, both the sheep and the boy would also display such nerves and the contest would be even.
Harland was relieved to see Denby’s organ slide in with little resistance. He was glad that he’d picked this one, serviced anally from eight years of age, as her sphincter muscle yielded easily.
– Mmmm, Denby smiled, continuing his push, then thrusting savagely for a while.
After a few more strokes he withdrew without spilling his seed, his penis still erect.
Harcourt stood over the boy and held his buttocks open, applying the grease with more care and tenderness than he had shown to the girl. This boy was his favourite and he harboured a concern that Denby might put him out of commission for a while with the ferocity of his fucking. Steered by his manservants, Denby’s blood- and shit-stained member found its target. – Damn you … he gasped, as the boy – who, like the girl, had been subjected to anal attentions from an early age by his master – groaned under his mask.
– The next one! Denby roared, withdrawing to a cheer.
With a look of slight distaste, Harcourt straddled the sheep and a man apiece held each of its back legs. He examined the smoothly shaved area around the animal’s anal passage. He then had one of the men grease the orifice of the animal.
Despite the strength of the manservants who held the animal, it would not yield readily to Denby. He struggled inside as the creature twisted and bucked, the men endeavouring to hold it still. Denby pushed harder, his face reddening as his cries filled the air. – YIELD, DAMN YOU!… I AM THE EARL OF DENBY! I COMMAND YOU TO YIELD!
The animal continued its struggle and Denby could not control his elation.
– I AM DENBY … he shouted, his sperm pumping into the creature.
Cheers went up as Denby withdrew
to gasps, and composed himself.
– Well, Denby? said Marcus Cox.
Denby let his heavy breathing calm down. – I have never more enjoyed such a wager, Sir, and never had the pleasure of such a wonderful tup as that last adorable creature. No blindly docile beast of the fields bred for slaughter could have responded to my promptings in that way … nay, it was more than a common coupling – the spiritual communion I enjoyed with that delicious and most rapturous creature transcended all bounds … there was a meeting of minds, of souls … this delicious communion was all too human.
The bucks stifled their laughter as Denby continued, – That last one, that beautiful fuck, it was either the pretty wench or the obedient house-boy … it matters not. I know that the creature is destined to be mine. I state now that I will pay the master of that third one the sum of one hundred pounds for the services of that ride!
– A handsome offer, Lord Denby, and one which I am bound to accept.
Denby immediately recognised Harcourt’s voice. – The boy! I knew it! That lovely young boy! One hundred pounds well spent! Denby said to great laughter. Sheep, girl and boy, in that order! That was it, I’ll wager!
There was a short silence followed by a volley of hysterical laughter. As the blind was pulled off him, Denby let out a sporting roar. – My God! The sheep! I don’t believe it! That beautiful stoical beast!
– Gentlemen! Harcourt raised his voice with his glass, – Gentlemen! As one who has little time for the parlour controversies of idle theorists, an interesting social point has surely been proved here! Let our friends in the legal profession take note! Buggery is buggery!
The farmhands sang in a lusty chorus:
Some men they loikes wimmin
some men they loikes boys
but moi sheep’s warm and beautiful
an makes a barrin noise.
Perks let the manuscript fall through his fingers onto the floor of the study. He picked up the phone and got straight onto Rebecca’s publishers. – Giles, I think you should come over here. Straight away.
Giles recognised the panic in Perky’s voice. – What’s wrong? Is it Rebecca? Is she all right?
– No, Perks sneered, – she’s not fucking well all right. She’s very fucking far from all right.
– I’ll be straight over, Giles said.
15 Perks Is Upset
Giles wasted no time in arriving at Perky and Rebecca’s Kensington home. He read the manuscript with horror. It got worse and worse. Rebecca returned later that afternoon and came upon them in the study.
– Giles! Darling! How are you? Oh, I see you’ve been looking at the manuscript. What do you think?
Giles, in spite of his anger and anxiety, had been preparing to soft-soap Rebecca. He detested writers; they were invariably tedious, self-righteous, fucked-up bores. The ones who had artistic pretensions were by far the most unbearable. That’s what had happened to the silly cow, he considered, far too much time to think in that hospital, and she’d gone and got fucking art! Confronted by her illness with the prospect of mortality, she wanted to make her mark and she wanted to do it at the expense of his profit margins! However, nothing could be gained by irritating her. She had to be seduced, to be wooed into seeing the error of her ways. Giles was just about to launch into an ‘interesting new direction, darling, but …’ speech, when Perky, seething with anger, got in first.
– Becca, darling, Perks said through gritted teeth, – I don’t know what you’re trying to give us here …
– Don’t you like it, Perky? Don’t you find it more racy, more … raw?
– It’s hardly a Miss May Romance, darling, Giles lisped.
– Now, Giles, it’s full of realism. One can’t, how should I put it, live with one’s head stuck up one’s fanny forever, can one?
It’s the medication, Perks thought. The old girl’s finally lost her marbles.
– Darling Rebecca, Giles implored, – Do try to see reason. He started pacing up and down, moving his hands expansively. – Who reads your books? Mumsie-Wumsie, of course, she who doth hold the entire fabric of our great society together. She who does all the essential maintenance on the chappie who goes out to work, she who rears the kiddies. You know her, you see her all the time on the washing-powder adverts. Yes, she works ever so hard; and like the slaves in the field she does it with a smile on her face and, yes, a song in her heart! It’s a dull, thankless life of drudgery, so she needs a little escape hatch. Oh, yes, afternoon telly helps, of course, but what is the real sweet little pill that makes it all bearable? It’s getting out Rebecca Navarro’s Miss May novels and escaping into that beautiful world of romance and gaiety you so passionately re-create. All the mumsies and the young mumsies-to-be need that.
– Precisely, Perky nodded sternly, – you go introducing buggery and revolution into things and those valium-headed bovine tarts will be throwing down their books in horror – and then where will we be?
– Do tell me, darling? Rebecca teased.
– On the fucking street selling The Big Issue, that’s where! Perky roared.
16 A Bugger In The Scrum
Nick Armitage-Welsby picked up a loose ball on the edge of the scrum and accelerated, weaving deep into opposition territory, deftly swivelling past two desperate tackles. The small crowd at Richmond experienced a tingling of anticipation, as Armitage-Welsby had the pace and power to go all the way to the line. However, with the opposition rearguard in disarray, Armitage-Welsby weakly passed to a colleague then collapsed onto the mud.
He was dead on arrival at St Hubbin’s Hospital, the victim of a massive cardio-vascular accident.
The body lay on a trolley in the hospital morgue and was eagerly inspected by Freddy Royle. – Oooh ar, that’s been a good un! Ung loike an ars boi the looks of things … He prepared to take a closer look.
– Eh, Freddy, Glen said warily, – we got this new pathologist geezer, this fellow called Clements, and he … eh, hasn’t really sussed out the way we do things here. He’s on duty later on, and he’ll want to see our friend, so sort of go easy on him.
– Yeah, aal be noice n gentle wif you, won’t oi me ol vlower? Freddy smiled and winked at the corpse. He turned to Glen, – now are you goin to be a lad and look out zum noice ztring vor Vreddy?
Glen huffed and puffed but rummaged in a drawer and produced a ball of string. Let Freddy do what he wanted, Glen thought. He was going out with Yvonne tonight. The cinema, then out clubbing. He would buy her something nice with Freddy’s cash. Perfume. Expensive perfume, he thought. To see her face when he gave it to her. That would do him.
Freddy took two splints and tied them around the corpse’s flaccid penis. He then stuck a rectangular biscuit tin between the dead man’s legs, balancing the splinted cock on top.
– Just wait vor this little beauty to go n zet, with that there rigour martiz, then we’ll have ourzelves zum praber vun! Freddy smiled.
Glen made his excuses and went into the ante-room.
17 Lorraine And Love
Lorraine had been spending a lot of time at Rebecca’s. She had helped her with the manuscript. They had been to the British Museum, to Cardboard City, through the Underground stations where mothers begged, holding up malnourished children. – I saw them do that in Mexico City about ten years ago, Rebecca sighed, – and I always thought: that could never happen here, never in England. You want to look the other way all the time. You want to believe everything, that it’s all a con, a fake; you want to believe everything but the truth.
– Which is that they’ve no money to feed their kids and the Government don’t give a fuck, Lorraine sneered, – they’d rather make sure that the rich have got miles more than enough.
Lorraine was so hard sometimes, Rebecca thought. It wasn’t good. If you allowed those who would brutalise you to make you hard, then surely you’ve lost to them. They had achieved their goal. Romance was more than her creative imagination. Surely there had to be room for romance, for true romance?
Romance for everyone, and not just from the pages of a book.
These thoughts pounded through Rebecca’s head as Lorraine went back to the nurses’ home. She too had concerns. She hadn’t really talked properly to Yvonne for ages. She had been avoiding her since that night at the club. She was now going out with that Glen guy, and she seemed so happy. When she got back to the home, Lorraine heard some house music coming from Yvonne’s room. It was that Slam tape she’d given her ages ago.
Bracing herself, she knocked on the door. – It’s open, Yvonne said.
She was alone when Lorraine entered. – Hiya, Lorraine said.
– Hi, Yvonne replied.
– Listen, Yvonne, Lorraine began, then started talking quickly, – I came to apologise about how I was in the club that time. It’s really weird, but I was so E’d up and emotional and you just looked so fucking cool and gorgeous and you’re my best pal and you’re the only person who never gives me a hard time …
– Yeah, that’s all good and well, but I ain’t, you know, like that …
– The thing is, Lorraine laughed, – I don’t know if I am either. I was just going through a downer on men … oh, I don’t know … maybe I am, I don’t know where the fuck I’m coming from! When I kissed you, I was treating you like guys treat me … it was out of order. It was weird, but I wanted to see what they felt. I wanted to feel how they felt. I wanted to fancy you, but I didn’t. I thought that if I was a dyke, then it would be easier, at least I’d know something about myself. But I couldn’t get aroused by you.
– I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted, Yvonne smiled.
– Thing is, I don’t seem to really fancy guys either. Every time with one of them has been a disappointment. Nobody does it for me like I do it for myself… Lorraine put her hand to her mouth, – what a fuckin weird cow, eh.
– Just ain’t found the right one yet, Lorraine. It don’t matter who it is, a bloke or a bird, you just gotta find the right one.