Saucy Jack

The women have drawn attention to themselves and some of the pub's other patrons are looking at them with loathing. This would not be particularly significant – whores are of their nature abhorrent to respectable society – but for the fact that Jack the Ripper is in the Horn of Plenty. No one marks him. The truly terrifying thing about the Ripper is his normality; his facelessness. He is not the anti-Semitic caricature of Leather Apron. Neither are his eyes are black, nor does he wear a sinister cloak and top hat. He does not carry a silver-topped cane.

Which one is he? Is he the fifty-year old bearded butcher by the bar, laughing and joking with the landlord? Or the pale earnest looking fellow near to Nell and Ginger, whose clothes are rather too-well made for Whitechapel? Or is he the surly, dark man, scarred across the face, who sits alone supping at his ale? Not a single man among the crowd in the Horn evinces any sign of madness nor of uncommon, fiendish malice.

And yet he is here. And he's getting restive. He hasn't killed in a month. He's planning something big. Something that will get him recognised as the premier artiste of death, and lift him above the guileless butchery of the Nickel Street boys. Something that will get everyone's attention.

*****

"You disgust me!" says the whitefaced, earnest young man, who has overheard much of the lewd talk of the prostitutes. "How can you sit there and spout forth such wickedness! You deserve only damnation!"

"That isn't," Ginger says quietly, forcefully, "what Our Lord said to Mary Magdalene."

"You dare defame Christian dogma with your impure lips and tongue! I'm starting to think that the Ripper has the right idea. The world would be well rid of the whole misbegotten lot of you."

"Steady on, son," urges a quieter, older man sitting close by, "we are all God's creatures after all ..."

"These are not God's creatures! They belong to the Devil's dam! Their very breath is noisome and sulphurous!"

"I wonder what brings a creature of such purity to Whitechapel on All Hallows Eve, Nell," says Ginger theatrically, full of gin. "Doesn't he know its ill repute?"

"I ..." the young man falters and falls silent.

"Thought so. You came chasing a bit of tail yourself didn't you?" Ginger is angry now. "Tell me sonny, are you disgusted with us or with yourself? Perhaps you are appalled at the fact that our saucy talk gave you a hard on?"

"Ginger ..." Nell says placatingly, worriedly.

"How dare you?" The pale young man becomes still paler. He stands up, quaking with rage. "I hope the Ripper takes your bowels!"

"That's the second time you've mentioned that craven cunt!" Ginger bellows. "You know why Jack the Ripper cuts whores? He's angry. He's angry because his prick doesn't work. He can't get it up. So he uses a knife instead. I'm not afraid of that piece of shit!"

Does the Ripper hear her?

The barkeep notices the disturbance and hurries over. "Right you two," he says to the streetwalkers. "Out! I won't have you disturbing my respectable customers!" Before he can lay hands on either of them, the two get to their feet and walk out of the pub with as much dignity and poise as they can muster. It is pissing it down now.

They go their separate ways, looking for customers in the dirty, London rain, and then both retire to bed. Both will dream of Jack the Ripper.

*****

Friday 9th November 1888

Midnight finds the ladies at the Ten Bells. The Ripper is also there, standing silent in the corner, resolved tonight to show the world his superhuman talent for death. Ginger has just finished a late supper of fish and potatoes, washed down with vast quantities of gin. She is fairly in her cups, and has already commenced her drunken habit of loudly singing Irish folk songs. Her voice isn't bad notwithstanding its unsteady, boozy tenor. She sings with rather a shaky tone but holds the tune:

"Come all ye maidens young and fair
And you that are blooming in your prime
Always beware and keep your garden fair
Let no man steal away your thyme"

She then gets to her feet in a futile attempt to lead the swarthy and unseemly patrons of the Bells in the rousing chorus. Carrotty Nell paws ineffectually at her to quiet her, but Ginger brushes her away, and then belts out with all her soul:

"For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
Along with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind."

The landlord is not amused by these antics. He has no time for spirited folk singing, and brusquely, without a word, he bodily escorts Ginger from the premises.

"Wha' you doing?" says the inebriated Miss Kelly. "Get ya hands off me!" She finds herself unexpectedly in the street, where a light, chilly rain is falling. Nell has followed her out, hurling abuse at the gruff, churlish barman. Ginger blinks uncertainly a couple of times and then resumes her song as if nothing has happened.

"Once I had a bunch of thyme
I thought it never would decay
Then came a lusty sailor
Who chanced to pass my way
And stole my bunch of thyme away."

This time Nell lends her strident voice to the chorus, singing just offkey, but with enough enthusiasm for the both of them.

"For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
Along with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind."

"Quit making that fucking racket!" A man yells from his window. "Some of us is trying to sleep!"

"Back to work I s'pose," says Ginger, unheeding of the criticism. "The night is yet young."

Unnoticed, a figure slips out of the Bells and into the anonymous dark of Whitechapel.

It is very chilly indeed, even for November, and Ginger instinctively draws her red shawl closer about her. She bids Nell goodnight and staggers off down Dorset Street, leaving Nell to walk alone down Commercial. When she has walked a few dozen paces she resumes her song. Nell watches her amusedly as she weaves her way down the street.

"The sailor gave to me a rose
A rose that never would decay
He gave it to me to keep me reminded
Of when he stole my thyme away.
"For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
Along with all its flavours ... Oh hello there!" she says to a man who has approached her, he is stout and short, and carries a pail of beer. Nell fondly watches as her friend, bareheaded in the chill November wind and rain, in her linseed frock and tight-drawn apron totters onwards with customer in tow. With a laugh and a shake of her head, she addresses herself to walking briskly down Commercial, hoping to meet a john, not only for the money but also for some warmth.

*****

Nell has a busy night. It is not for nothing that she is known as the prettiest little whore in Whitechapel. She takes them up against the grubby walls and fences and feigns her enthusiasm. Finally, at about half-past three in the morning, she decides to head for home. As she walks, mentally tallying her earnings, she passes a shadowy figure lurking in a doorway. Quietly, he steps out when she has passed and stalks along behind her.

"Excuse me," he says awkwardly. She jumps and turns, and sees a pale, ungainly youth of nineteen or twenty.

"Yer startled me," she says, then she peers at him closely. "I knows you. You railed at me and Ginger the other week in the Horn! Changed your mind 'ave yer. Per'aps we scarlet women ain't so bad after all." She laughs.

The youth flushes and turns to walk away. Nell calls to him and bids him stop. She does so partly out of pity, partly out of good commercial nous – he looks like he will pay well.

"Look I was coddin' you mister. There's no shame in it. I reckons you must be getting married soon, and you're worried about the bridal bed and 'ave come for me advice. Is that the size of it?"

"Yes," he says eagerly if unconvincingly.

"Well, then, yer'd best follow me back to me 'umble abode and out of this cursed cold air and we'll talk shop."

They are not far from Nell's room, and she brings the youth up quietly, fearful of disturbing the disapproving landlord. She turns the key in the lock, and brings the young man into her Spartan, yet somehow disheveled home.

"'Ere we are young sir. Make yourself at 'ome." She lights the pre-prepared fire, as he takes of his coat and hat and throws them into a corner. She has done well tonight and can afford to. "So yer a virgin are ya?"

He nods mutely.

"Well there's nothing to be afraid of. We women won't bite yer," she says dispassionately, before adding saucily: "Unless yer ask us to."

The lad looks terrified. Nell chuckles inwardly. He's so green, she's going to enjoy showing him the ropes. Wordlessly, she shrugs off and then steps out of her frock, standing before him in slip and short stay. The latter forces her breasts up and together, emphasising her cleavage.

"There," she says, "that's much more comfortable." Her nervous client, stares helplessly at her bosom. "You like 'em?" she asks, unfastening her stay. "Why don't you take a closer look at 'em." She beckons him forward, and he comes towards her as if compelled. "That's right. They won't 'urt yer."

He comes so close to her breasts that she can feel his hot breath upon her. Gently but firmly she pulls his face into her bosom. He gasps to be up against her warm, supple flesh. She holds him there for a few moments, and he stays perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe. At length, she releases him and he comes reluctantly away.

"I'll take the rest of me clothes off now, and yer can take a good look at me." She throws off her slip and stands naked a little way from him for his inspection. He takes in the curve of her neck, her delicate shoulders and round, full breasts. His eyes stray netherwards across her plump belly and down to the unruly red hair that goes every which way above her cunt. He looks now at her legs, her well-muscled thighs and smooth, white shins. His prick is so hard that it is causing him pain, straining against his trousers.

"You like what you see?" says Nell with a twinkle in her eye. "Touch me. Go on. Don't be shy."

He stumbles towards her and tentatively places his hands upon her tits. He squeezes them lightly, pressing them together, testing their properties.

"You can be a bit rougher if you like."

He cups them more firmly now, feeling her nipples stiffening against his palms. He pinches one between his thumb and index finger and tugs at it.

"Ooh! Ouch!" says Nell, though it doesn't much hurt. "I said 'a bit' rougher. Them's attached to me you know!"

He doesn't care. He is intent on exploring her body, in possessing it. He continues to tug hard on her tit with his left hand, and, as he does so, he places his right up between her legs, feeling her soft, fiery red bush against his skin. He begins to maul at her warm, wet flesh. Awkwardly, inexpertly he frigs her.

" 'Ere," says Nell, "let me show what's what down there." She extracts her left nipple from his grip – it's starting to feel quite sore – and pulls away from his clumsy, groping hand. She sits down upon her sole, rickety wooden chair by the fire. She feels the skin on her backside cling to the wood. She spreads her legs wide apart. "Now," she says to the awestruck virgin, "pay attention." She peels her cuntlips apart and he kneels down between her legs, his face very close to her exposed womanhood, he feels drunk at the sight of it, and at the smell of it.

"The little 'ole," says Nell the sexual pedagogue, "that's where I pee out of, see. And the bigger 'ole below it, that's where you gets your pleasure. I'll let yer into a secret an' all. You sees that fold of skin at the top of me gash?" He nods. "It's like an 'ood. There's a little nub what dwells in there. And she's very sensitive she is. A woman likes to be touched there. But you've got to make sure she's ready for it. You've got make sure she's good and wet. Touch me." He lays his hand upon her.

"See 'ow it feels damp. That's what 'appens when a woman gets excited like. When she thinks about a man's 'ard cock. Or when a man plays with 'er jugs and kisses 'er. Push yer finger up inside me." He does so, fumblingly forcing his index finger through the larger hole. He is surprised at how hot she feels. Nell sighs with delight. "Another finger." He withdraws his index finger, her wetness trailing from it, and puts it back in again together with his middle finger. Nell stretches to accommodate him. He spreads his fingers apart gapping her wider, peering inside her.

She moans. "Now feel this, this'll excite yer," says Nell and he feels her cunt contract around his fingers, squeezing them together. It relaxes and then the muscles clench again around his embedded fingers. "That's a talent that is," Nell smiles. "Many a gentleman would give 'is right arm for an 'ore what could do that. Push another finger inside me."

He hesitates. "Won't that hurt you?" he asks.

"Oh, you are green!" Nell exclaims, laughing. "We can push babies out of there! Some johns are so funny: 'Watch out Nell, my cock is 'uge, it might tear your cunt apart.' Ha! Will it buggery! There never was a man's cock yet what was as big as a baby's bonce!"

Reassured, the young man pushes a third finger inside her. He rotates his hand slowly back and forth. Nell's juices are freeflowing now over his hand. "Now you're getting the idea, sonny Jim! Arch your fingers up, push against the roof of my cunny. Back a little. Ooh! That's right, there! Women 'ave a tender spot round about there. Tickle me inside. Flex your fingers. Yeah! That's nice. Now, I won't ask you to do this, but a lot of women like a man to use 'is tongue to please 'em. Take your fingers out of me."

He does so, his fingers are drenched with her secretions. "And fondle that fold of flesh I mentioned earlier. That's right that's the one." After a few moments of his attention, Nell's little button emerges from its hood. He places his thumb upon it and slowly rotates it. "That's the spot!" enthuses Nell. "Now, you wrap your tongue around that part of a girl and she's yours. Plus, licking a woman's cunny 'as another advantage. If she's slow to get moist enough for you to comfortably stick 'er nob in 'er, then by licking 'er, you can be sure that she'll be slippery enough for yer to have your way with 'er.

"Now," she says standing up and thereby ending this portion of his education, "let's 'ave a look at your equipment." She motions that he should get to his feet and he complies.

She loosens his belt and then pulls his trousers down, his underwear following immediately. So he stands, his pants and trousers round his ankles, atop his shiny new shoes. Nell coos appreciatively at his cock, which stands proudly up, throbbing slightly. It is about seven inches long and thick around. Nell reckons she couldn't get her hand around the shaft of it, though she does have small hands, which is a boon in her line of work; it makes her clients' cocks seem bigger.

"Your fiancée is a lucky woman."

"Who?" He has forgotten the pretext for his visit to Nell's place. Nell just smiles and is discreet. She she grasps his dick, testing her theory as to his girth, and attempts to wrap her fingers around him, squeezing him hard as she does so.

"Aaaah!" gasps the young man, and he comes, his cock juddering as it sprays semen over the crouching whore's neck and tits. "Oh God, I ... I'm sorry," he says, suddenly ashamed and blushing deep red.

"I 'aven't finished with you yet," says Nell impishly, and before the man has a chance to stutter any more apologies and explanations, she takes his waning prick into her mouth, and sucks the remaining come from its tip. He gasps. She passionately tongues his head and then takes his softening manhood deeper inside her mouth, determinedly trying to restore his erection.

She moves her head back and forth, her tongue lashing now against his shaft and now against his head. She grazes him with her teeth, lightly nibbling upon his helmet, holding it in place as she fiercely tongues the little red lips of his pisshole. He can feel himself getting hard again and it aches a little, but he does not want her to stop. She takes him deep inside her mouth, almost to the back of her throat and then out again. In and out. She is fucking him with her face.

She takes his cock out of her mouth and pumps it vigorously with her fist and then she hungrily gobbles it down again, before repeating the process, pulling the foreskin mercilessly over the purple head of his dick, before sucking it deep into her mouth.

After a few minutes she desists, having miraculously recovered his hard on.

"There," she says. "Good as new." His cock and his balls pain him, but he doesn't let on. She pushes him hard on the chest, and he trips on his trousers and falls back onto the bed. She springs on top of him and splays her legs either side of his hips. Rubbing his chest through the fabric of his silk shirt with both her hands, she reaches behind her, grasping his cock and guiding it into her cunt, as she sits back on her haunches.

She begins to twist and writhe on top of him, sitting on him, her vaginal muscles clenching and unclenching. She bounces up and down, determined to get her pleasure from her inexperienced client and to give him a fuck to remember her by. Grinding her hips against him, breathing in broken, sobbing gasps, she reaches behind her and takes his balls in her hand.

He has forgotten the pain he was in, and is giving himself entirely to the sensations instilled in him by this skilled, remarkable whore, who rides him as if he were a bucking broncho from a wild west show, when, in fact, he is scarcely moving at all.

Nell realises that she will have to do all the work, and sets about gyrating and twisting and rocking with renewed vigour. She toys with his balls with one hand, and the other flies to her clitoris, flicking at it as she fucks him so wildly that she threatens to break the stolid, workmanlike bed.

She is determined that she will climax. She looks into his face which is currently fixed in an expression of startled obeisance. His light blue eyes rove this way and that, and upon his lips there is the trace of a smile. His cock is buried deep inside her, and she forces herself against it, pressing it into the roof of her vagina, building up a friction as she bobs up her down. She ceases her assault on her clit, and moves both her hands to her breasts, tightly squeezing her nipples and kneading them together.

"Oh fuck, yeah," she says as she feels her orgasm building, fixing her thoughts on the fact that this is his first fuck. Hers is the first cunt he'll come into. She doesn't desist from her energetic antics as she climaxes, her juices erupting from her and coating the young man's cock and bollocks. Instead, she rides her orgasm, surfing it like a wave, prolonging it, her cunny clenching and unclenching around his hard shaft all the while.

"Oh, yeah, come in me! Come on, yer mollie, what yer waiting for? Come in me now, or I'll 'ave to charge you extra."

The slick heat of her pulsing cunny around his cock proves enough for the young man and he has no trouble following the order, his come filling her.

"Oh yes!" she cries, drowning out his manly groan. Her orgasm subsides and she gets up off the man, his cock falls limp and lifeless to one side.

"Phew! That was fun," she says and she commences gathering up her clothes.

"Thank you," says the man through his heaving breaths.

"Don't mention it. And I doesn't come free you know."