Dunyazad: Tale the Sixth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh ... kill him," said Dee, meditatively.

"And what are we to do with his body?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>< >< ><

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

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

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

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

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

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

>< >< ><

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I know you?"

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

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

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

"You destroyed the ring!"

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

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

The man raised an eyebrow.

"Starting now. Get me that cloak from by the door -- it's a long walk home."

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

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

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

Appendix - Dramatis personæ to date (roughly in order of appearance)

Thornton Cox - Narrator

Lucy - a 'seamstress'

Saint George - a sort of ride

Sir Richard Francis Burton - an explorer and translator of erotica

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

King Philip IV - a king of France

Bonifacius Papa VIII - a pope in Rome

Lola - a madam

Charlotte - a 'seamstress'

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

ʻAlāʼ ad-Dīn (Aladdin) - an adventurer

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

Alexander III of Macedon - a conqueror

Jane - a maid at The Catacomb

'Centurion' - a customer

Horsetailed woman - possibly a courtesan at The Catacomb

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

Ney's guest - possibly a courtesan at The Catacomb

'Curate' - a customer

Curate's guest - possibly a courtesan at The Catacomb

'Nubian Princess' - a courtesan at The Catacomb

Blonde - a customer

George - manager, later partner in The Catacomb

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

Great Tom - a bell

Elderly Matron & Elderly Man - sightseers

Lance - a guard at The Catacomb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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