Edward Lane's Argosy Ch. 01

" 'All cats grey at midnight'," Edward quipped, quoting his Uncle Pete while sipping his drink.

"Precisely. A useless ring, a dusty old manse, and a bothersome title are poor recompense for this denial. And all in an effort to make me 'comfortable'. So I ask you, Mr. Lane," she said, nearly quivering, "would you care to bed me?"

"I . . ."

"Make me your whore, Edward," Lady Trey's voice commanded, firmly.

"It's just . . ." he stumbled.

"For the sake of God, do not force me to beg!" she finally exploded.

Edward was quite out of his element, here. He had plenty of experience with the carnal arts—since two of his fences were also pimps, he'd celebrated a hefty haul with an all-night indulgence a time or three. And he'd seduced his share of the aristocracy, too, as well as their servants. But this situation was unique, in his experience, and the dangers were subtle.

But there was no denying the effect of Lady Trey's plea on his manhood.

Quietly, he rose, setting his drink on the table. He placed another few logs on the fire and stirred it while he thought. Then he returned to Lady Trey's chair and studied her face, which was collapsed in an expression of despair.

"If you're going to be my . . . whore," Edward said, quietly, "you will be spared nothing."

"I ask nothing less," she said, simply.

"There will be no screaming for help," he instructed. "There will be no denial . . . of anything. Every depraved act will be mine to do to you at will. Agreed?"

"For the love of God, yes!" she almost yelled.

Edward grinned and silently unbuttoned his trousers, finally releasing his thick cock to the open air. It hung there, unseen, in front of her face and he felt a lewd charge surge through him at such a brazen display.

"Say the words," he commanded. " 'Cock.' 'Cunt'. 'Fuck'. 'Frig'."

"Hard, long cock, wet juicy cunt, long glorious fuck, and . . . frig me, dear?"

He stifled a chuckle at that. "How about . . . suck?"

"Suck?" she asked, curious.

"It's something the dockside whores do," he informed her. "It's when you take . . . oh, well, easier to show you, I suppose," he said, and grabbed the back of Lady Trey's head and pulled it forward.

She resisted the sudden touch and startled—then his cock clumsily touched her face and she transformed. Hungrily, greedily, she took it between her lips, once she knew what it was, and for the next few moments Edward was the recipient of a lifetime of pent-up passion. She was clumsy and inexperienced, and several times she was more forceful than Edward's manhood would have preferred, but the enthusiasm was so great that minor issues of technique were incidental to the experience. Edward reveled in the pure carnal satisfaction of the moment, and noted that his hostess' sightless eyes were blissfully closed as she passionately serviced his weapon with her aristocratic lips.

He was proud of his prick, of course, not just for its size—a full seven and a half inches—but for its form. He had a pretty penis, his friend's sisters and scullery maids had often said. Well-proportioned and formed, it now delighted at the deft tonguing it was receiving. It was all he could do to avoid ending the evening prematurely, so ardent was Lady Trey's fire.

"Am I doing it right?" she asked, when he pulled away.

"Exceptional," he confirmed with a smile. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were an airship station whore servicing the five-fifteen from Luxley."

"Greater praise I've never heard," she giggled drunkenly. "I cannot believe I actually put a cock in my mouth!"

"You almost had more of the experience than I intended," he confided, idly rubbing his length in front of her in a way that would have been lewd, had she been able to see him. As it was, it was twice lewd for her blindness. "Any more and I'm afraid I would have spilled my seed prematurely."

"Is it . . . healthful to do such a thing?"

"Not if you are to get properly rogered," Edward quipped. "But as far as swallowing the ejaculate—well, by all scientific accounts, it is not only completely untoxic, but many foreign lands see it as positively beneficial! There are whole barbaric lands where such a thing is not just common, but expected. Or so I hear."

"Then why spare me?" she asked. "Unless . . . that would end your play for the evening."

"Oh, I'm virile enough," Edward bragged. "Two, three, even four courses in a night, if I'm of a mood."

"Then spare me nothing!" Lady Trey demanded, passionately. "Push your cock into my mouth until you release fully—I beg of you! Just swear to me that you'll continue our interlude . . . or not . . . but I have never tasted a man's seed, and if the residue on your instrument is this delightful then spare me not the rest!"

"Well, if you're certain . . ."

"Are you always so polite with your whores, Mr. Lane?" she asked, sensing his hesitation. "When I invited you to use me, and swore that I would expect no less, I figured that you would be more . . . robust about the matter."

"Fortune favors the bold," Edward said with a sigh as he pulled Lady Trey's head back to his cock. For fifteen delightful minutes she pleasured him with her mouth, learning what aroused him the most along the journey. At some point her left hand stole out of the quilting and wrapped around the base of his shaft while she practiced tormenting the head with strong suction and an agile tongue.

Taking her wish to be treated whorishly at her word, when he found himself once again close to climax he abandoned all pretense and grabbed her blonde locks, using them to propel his pecker deep into her mouth and into her throat. She struggled minutely as he did so, but soon abandoned herself to the depraved act. Edward fucked her face with long, glorious strokes, and she reveled in every moment.

"At last," he gasped, "I arrive!" and pumped a massive torrent of seed into her mouth. Lady Trey struggled at first, but then complacently accepted his offering, swallowing heavily.

"That," she said, as his cock slipped from between her lips, "was wonderful! I never knew one could perform so on a cock!"

"Not many can," Edward sighed, "and all too few do. Most wives find such sports . . . distasteful."

"They are idiots, then," she sighed, contentedly. "If I had known . . ."

"Oh, there are greater pleasures than that ahead of us—though I won't mind revisiting the practice. Until then, there is still something that lingers high on the agenda."

"And that would be?"

"Your cunt, my lady," Edward said, kneeling before her chair, his cock still out and beginning to dangle as it enjoyed the post-orgasmic repose. "It needs tending."

"But did you not just climax? Surely you will need a few moments to recover."

"That is not the only way a whore's cunt can entertain," Edward said as his hands found Lady Trey's slippered feet—and began climbing upward. She gasped at the shock of the cool air as much as the stranger's touch on her limbs. But instead of drawing away, she spread her legs lewdly, reclining in the chair in such a way that her fundament was much closer to the edge of the seat. Edward's hands slipped up her knees to her thighs, under her night dress, and was gratified to learn that under all of those quilts Lady Trey still maintained a girlish figure—and had seemingly forgotten her underthings.

Her golden triangle slid closer and closer to Edward, who allowed his fingers to tug and play at her pubic hair. Her skin was shot through with goosebumps as he touched whole realms that had forgotten the feel of manly hands. Lady Trey's spine writhed as he began his spiraling descent towards her womanhood, stroking first her knees, thighs, and belly while she shook and gasped. The pungent aroma of her arousal filled the room. Mixed with woodsmoke and the smell of gin, it was a heady odor, but one Edward found enchanting. He used one of his deft fingers, so used to picking locks, to fondle her mound of venus with all the skill he possessed. Then he bent his head and suddenly began licking her folds.

Edward's experience with cunnilingus had begun while still in school, on one of those fortunate holiday outings he'd taken with his far more affluent mates. This one was to the seashore, where William Dover's father, the wealthy Baron of Gorey, had a holiday estate the size of a small village. The luxurious quarters and dozens of servants had made a profound impact on young Edward's ideas about good living, particularly when a comely lass three years older—the maid responsible for the guest rooms—had caught each others' eye. The maid had seen Edward as a ticket out of her servile surroundings, and had succeeded in seducing the boy in short order. Once she learned of his diminished estate, she contented herself with showing him how to pleasure her properly. Edward had used that arcane knowledge on his host's youngest daughter three nights later, and had won an admirer for life on that account.

Since then he had practiced the art whenever the occasion warranted, although he rarely licked whores. Now Lady Trey had full benefit of his education, and she thrashed and writhed as his tongue pleasured her in a way no man had ever dared. Edward, mindful of his audience, did his best to ensure a long and delicious course before she came upon his tongue—and when she did eventually have a cataclysmic orgasm, he expected her to cry for him to stop. When she didn't—but put her left hand on his head and pushed him further into her nexus—he redoubled his efforts, sucking and licking and feasting on this neglected womanhood as if he were a starving man at a Christmas banquet.

Over and over again he pleasured her, until he lost count of the number of times she had called on Providence and released a fresh gush of juices into his thirsty mouth. She was sweet and clean, tasting like a ripe pear. Her golden fleece was soon soaked with his saliva and her effusions. Only when his jaw ached as much as his prick did he finally relent.

"It's better for women, as I understand it," he said as he caught his breath.

"Oh, God in heaven, that makes up for many injustices to my gender!" she declared with a beatific sigh. "I have never . . . even with my husband . . . even by my own hand . . ."

"Well, I can't say I'm finished yet," Edward sighed, rising on his haunches until his cock, erect and throbbing once again, lay nearby her seething, sopping cunt. Her juices had thoroughly wetted the skirt of her night dress, perhaps even staining the chair, and the smell of sex clung to the quilting like a pall. Edward lined up his cock with her opening and pushed forward boldly, filling her half way before he stopped and re-adjusted his stance. Then he was buried in her sweet, hot confines to the balls, and Lady Trey could not have been happier.

"OH, God yes, fuck me, fuck me, Edward, fuck me like a common whore and make me your tart!"

Edward didn't comment—he was focused on plunging her tight recesses as fully as possible. While the angle left something to be desired, the unbearable pleasure of being surrounded by her buttery folds was too enticing to consider changing. He was taking his pleasure, now, taking it unmindful of her own—but despite his inattention, Lady Trey seemed to be drinking in the delicious thrusting like a woman dying of thirst. Her left hand clung to his neck as the blind woman sought to push her cunt harder and harder against his staff, sinking it deeper and deeper into her. Her mouth found his, finally, and they kissed, the taste of gin mingling with the taste of lust on their combined tongues.

How long he thrust into her, he did not know. Her passion, her desperation fueled his own need to possess this blind beauty, and if the Imperial Guard had burst into the room with one of their magnificent rolling iron fortresses, Edward would not have likely noticed. He hammered away at Lady Trey's neglected pussy until his knees ached and his back protested at the angle, but even as one roaring climax after another washed over her, he persisted in his duty. Only when she slid down enough to entwine both legs about his buttocks and force him fully into her did he finally succumb to temptation and fill her with spunk.

He withdrew and nearly collapsed in her lap in one movement, so exhausted was he by his effort. She stroked his hair and cooed wordlessly as she, too, recovered from her reverie. It was only when Edward felt something cool and metallic touch the skin of his neck did he start.

"What the hell?" he called in surprise. Lady Trey suddenly looked guilty, and hid her arms under the quilt. Confused and curious, Edward traced a line down her right sleeve until his hand discovered that her arm . . . ended just below the elbow. Not quite ended, he revised, as he felt the smooth, cool metal that continued, down to dainty metallic digits.

Lady Trey raised her right hand slowly into the gloomy night, revealing a slender, feminine, but utterly mechanical prosthetic.

"You have found me out," she sighed. "My other infirmity. My sight was not all I lost in the accident. My 'dear husband' had the kindness to have this made for me. Pure silver, at least on the outside." While she talked the hand whirred as the fingers moved. "He got the best clockwork maker in the city to build it. You remember the old Celtic story of King Nuada? The one who had a silver arm?"

"I tended to stick with Classical literature," Edward demurred. "But I think I've heard the name."

"Nuada was king of all the Celtic lands. Until he lost his hand in battle. Under Celtic law, he could not be king anymore. But his smith forged a brilliant silver hand in recompense for his loss. My husband tried to do the same. Now that I am . . . no longer fit to be a wife, he's grafted this obscene toy to my stump in an effort to make up for . . . everything. He thought it was pretty."

"It is," Edward admitted, his mouth slack with wonder. And indeed the device was a work of art in its own right, a delicate tribute to the master who created it. The fingers had been polished smooth, but the back of the hand and the palm were etched with elaborate geometric patterns.

"It's an abomination," Lady Trey pronounced, flatly. She held up her left hand in comparison. As dainty as her silver hand was, it seemed clumsy and awkward compared to her natural hand. "I despise it. But it has its uses. Seduction, however," she said, wryly, "is not one of them. It inspires pity—moreso than my blindness. And it inspires a horrid fascination I'd just as soon be without."

"So . . . how did it happen?" Edward finally managed to bring himself to say.

"If you want that story, Mr. Burglar," she said, straightening up and reclaiming her dignity by smoothing down her quilts and the skirts under them, "then you will have to return tomorrow night."

"Burglar?" Edward said, trying to interject the proper note of confusion and denial in his voice.

"A gentleman would have knocked, even if he was certain no one was home," Lady Trey explained. "And come through the front door. A burglar, on the other hand, no matter how polite, would only use the back door and try to enter silently. Unfortunately for you, my hearing is adept since I lost my sight. I'm certain you're some kind of aristocratic rogue, down on his luck, and found Tudley House an easy mark. My husband's absence is well known, and my presence here . . . not so well known. The truth is, Mr. Lane—if that is your name—that I've been wondering how long it would be before such a lure proved irresistible. Not to the local footpads—they'd never try something like this. But a clever fellow from the city, he might."

"Madame, I assure you—"

"Don't bother lying, Mr. Lane, I can hear it in your voice," she dismissed. "I don't fault you for it. For all I know, this house is scattered with gold and jewels—for all the good they would do me. No, here are the conditions of your parole: you will sleep here, tonight, in my bed. In the morning you will pleasure me again the way you did a while ago. By dawn's light, however, you must escape back to whence you came, before my maid arrives. Return again at dusk, and make me your whore again tomorrow night. Afterwards, I will tell you the whole dreary story, and let you pick your choice of whatever shiny bauble strikes your fancy from my husband's collection. Or . . ."

"Or . . .?" Edward asked, tacitly accepting her pronouncement without actually admitting he was a thief.

"Or I can show you something really worth stealing. Something to make you as rich as an Earl, a dozen times over. Wealth, boundless adventure, a journey to the ends of the Earth. You won't find it by ransacking the house, though, I warn you. So you will return tomorrow and fuck me soundly, and then we shall see about your future, Mr. Lane. Is that agreeable?"

"How could a man ask for anything more?" Edward said, quietly.

What had he gotten himself into?