Chapter 23: The Young Earl

"He claims," the glowing girl said when we paused to drink some wine and rest our tired genitals and aching backs, "to be some sort of a lord or earl or something."

"Does he now?" I asked, bending to kiss her large, white breast with its upright thrust of a nipple in a pink circle. She was a young one, but she loved to swive. I wondered where the good Madam had found her since she was pure alley cat in bed despite her regal bearing in the drawing room. Dressed to kill, her chin held high and shoulders back, you might have mistaken her for some over-privileged daughter of the nobility, but once you got her unclothed and aroused, she was vixen and viper, a tireless and overheated young woman of no morals, wild imagination, supple joints and nearly insatiable needs. And she had a tongue like a curry comb.

"I met him at one of the general's soirees," she said, pulling my head from her chest by yanking my queue. "His story rings true." Her swollen nipple jutted out redly, erected by my tongue's attention, puffy and pebbled.

"Sounds like a fairy tale to me, complete with evil uncle and black-clad kidnappers. It's got everything but a witch."

"Well, you ought to talk to him." She kissed me sweetly.

"I'm busy," I said, pulling her onto my lap and spreading her legs outside my thighs. She held on to her half-filled glass and smiled and sipped as I tried to get my rearing ram back into her tiny crevice and wrinkled lips while she wiggled and waggled on my knees, bouncing with pleasure and anticipation as my engorged member succeeded only in stimulating her fluttering one.

Finally she drained her glass, leaned back to set it down and then rose and let her pouting nether lips gobble me up. She reached between us and grabbed my thick stalk as she had before, gritting her teeth as my massive root began throbbing and rearing in her narrow but well-lubricated tunnel and my face, mouth open and tongue extended, disappeared between her jutting young boobies.

Her grip on my shaft made her fist constantly rub her mound, and she came almost at once in a long series of trembling spasms while I slid back and forth. It was really odd to feel my heavy-veined hide held tightly while my ridged spear of thick gristle rammed fiercely in and out beneath it. Scabbard and sword, scabbard and sword was all I could think as I filled her repeatedly.

Finally, with her head back, moaning at the ceiling, she released my spike and let her arms hang loosely. I thrust up into her, lifting her whole quivering body from my legs with each rigid extension, withdrawing almost until the head of my prod was at her sucking lips and then ramming it into her quim again, shaking her whole glorious frame despite my grip on her bottom, and then again and again until I exploded, moaning like a fool with release while she juttered about like a rag doll, her large breasts quivering as if made of pudding, moaning, "More, more, more."

Then I went off to find the young man who claimed to be a nobleman of some sort. With the girl's directions, I discovered him in the back room of a dingy tavern, elbow deep in a wash bucket. I had to admit that he did look like one of those upper-class wastrels despite his ragged clothes and broken boots. When he had finished his load of platters, plates and trenchers, I bought him an ale and sat him down for a talk.

He quickly told me his sad story, which he had obviously repeated many times. He had been orphaned at the age of two and his estate and title had been put in the care of his father's drunken brother, who now styled himself the Earl of whatever-it-was and claimed that the rightful heir, the youngster I faced, was dead. "Five years ago," the young man said, keeping his voice low, "when I was but fourteen, he drugged me and delivered me to a ancient spirit who put me on a ship to the colonies, and I was sold off as indentured despite my pleas and protests, seven years servitude."

"How did you end up here?" I asked.

"I was working in the iron mines, down in Maryland, and one night I just ran off. I couldn't take the cold and hunger any more, the beatings, the brutality all around me, the sodomy. Some of my fellow miners wanted to use me as a woman. Sometimes I was afraid to fall asleep."

"How did you meet Brenda, that pretty little dark-haired imp with the long neck and the big boobs?"

"The boss hired us out for the night. Hard to believe, but she flirted with me at the party, and we talked for a bit in the cupboard. She's the prettiest thing I've ever seen. She even kissed me."

"So you told her?"

"I tell everyone I meet. Somehow I've got to get back home and claim my title."

I thought the boy was going to cry. "You'll have to go to court, if you can get there," I guessed aloud.

He nodded.

I explained what I did and even told him of Brenda's role in prying information from the high and mighty. He was astonished, perhaps frightened.

"Can't believe it," he said, "that pretty girl."

"Men tell girls all sorts of things," I said.

"Mostly lies," he said, and he smiled for the first time. His employer called him back to the kitchen, and we parted as I promised to do what I could for him. I returned to Madam Von R--'s, told her his sad tale and waited while she considered.

"Doesn't really do us any good, does it?" she said with her usual practicality.

"Might in the long run," I said. "We can use the support back in England you know, if he is what he says and if he ever gets there."

"How old is he?" she asked.

"About twenty," I told her.

"Bring him around," she said, "I want to see this lost soul, this earl in waiting. I might find a use for him."

So I discovered where he slept, roused him early and brought him to herself. She examined him as one might evaluate a colt or hunting dog, made a wry mouth, and said, "If I dressed him up properly, he might just do."

"Beg pardon?" the boy said, his face nearly crimson after the madam had felt his thigh and let her forefinger trace the line of his resting member.

"We've needed a young man in our work. Might do us both some good. You could spread your story, perhaps find a patron to get you passage back to the Old World, the Mother County as they style it, and we could wheedle some useful information from those who might whisper in your ear, both men and women." She stood back and looked him up and down. "You ever been buggered?" she asked him.

He sucked in his breath and shook his head.

"Too bad," she said with a sad smile. "Ah well. Can't have everything." She rang her small bell and told her maid to fetch Brenda. The girl quickly appeared, so quickly that I suspect she had been listening at the pocket doors, and bounced with pleasure when she saw the young man.

"After you bathe this boy," the madam said, "and take care of whatever other physical needs he might have, take him out and buy him some clothes, a small wig and some decent boots. Oh, and a really good waistcoat, the kind a macaroni might wear."

Brenda grabbed the youngster's hand and hurried him from the room as he made his bowing thank-yous. I was sure he would be well served before he saw the street. I was about to leave, my duty done, when the old lady held my arm.

"I've got a special job for you," she said sweetly. "One I am sure you will thank me for." She rang her tinkling bell again. "Get Julia," she told her curtseying maid.

"Julia?" I said.

"Um, a new one," said the madam. "From the city. The British occupied her house, tossed her father in the gutter and used her shamefully for about a month, and then one of my people heard of her plight and smuggled her out. Ah, here she is."

She was thin, svelte is a better word I suppose, elegant and quiet, dark-haired and long-legged. Her silky hair hung down her back to the curve of her buttocks. She had a regal look but was very sad-eyed. I took her hand when we were introduced and she gave me a tiny smile. "She has been here nearly a week," the old lady was saying, "and her health is restored, I believe. She certainly eats well. So it is time for her to get to work, help us win our independency."

I waited.

"Well, get along. The only men she has known," she eyed me hard on that word so I would not ask what it meant, "have abused her. She must understand that sort of behavior is not the norm. I want her to like men, most men at least. Only a fool trusts all of you."

I nodded and mentally licked my lips.

Julia and I, obviously, could not be seen in the public since I looked like a backwoods ruffian and she like a bespoke princess, so we dined alone in a small room, an alcove near the kitchen while the madam entertained the nabobs. We talked of the weather and the fashions, of the war and the sea. She slowly calmed and let me hold her hand. "Do you understand what the young women who work with the madam do?" I asked.

She nodded and kept her eyes down, her hands in her lap.

"Do you think you can do that, make yourself wanted by a man, pry information from him even if you must lie with him to do so, let him use you, sexually I mean? And pretend to enjoy it?"

She nodded again, and then looked up at me from the top of her eyes.

"You have the advantage of being very pretty," I said. "Do you know that?"

She smiled at me and started to shake her head no. I reached across the table and stopped her, my big hand holding her chin.

"Come," I said, "you can watch me shave. We must do as the good madam asks."

"Ah," she said, "I always enjoyed watching my father shave. Poor father." She sniffed.