The Adventures of Penny Dreadful

Grunting with passion the Count pushed Penny down upon the bed and made to part her legs wide.

"No," said Penny, pulling the Count down on to the bed next to her, "allow me. My way is better."

She swung herself up and over his hips, pausing, poised above his erect shaft. She took him in her hand once more, and let herself subside a little, until his glans was rubbing over her velvet hole. His head fell back and he groaned, but a second later he seemed forced to action by her teasing, taking hold of her firmly around her waist. He held her steady and sallied upwards, meeting but a momentary hindrance before Penny's lips parted and admitted him and he thrust smooth and deep inside her, a loud moan bursting from her.

He felt so tight inside her, and she clenched upon him, holding him firmly as she became accustomed to him. He was indeed bigger than her prior amours, his girth stretching her beautifully and quite robbing her of breath, but then she rallied, placing her hands flat upon his chest and lifting herself, until but his very tip remained within her. She held herself thus, and then sank down again, pure ecstasy permeating their every part as he elevated his hips to meet her downward movement, the soft skin at the base of his shaft kissing her labia momentarily, before she rose again.

And thus, they proceeded. Penny played him artfully, raising her arms and holding her hair in place, the Count pressing more and more primally against her. She used her body as in instrument for their mutual enjoyment, angling herself so that his thrusts caressed her inner walls, his glans tense and sensitive and his gasps growing in intensity. This was the heart of the lessons she had received the previous year -- to be on top, in control, and to allow the man just enough delight that he strived all the harder.

She moaned, and he grunted, and he seemed to swell inside her as she undulated and rode and squeezed increasing pleasure from him, until she felt an unexpected quickening. She looked down at him in surprise, for she had only heard of this possibility, never experienced it. But there it was, and she begged him not to stop, to go faster, to hold her on his cock and to spank her bare behind and she clamped herself around him as the bliss enveloped her until at last, with a shuddering cry, she fell forward, trembling, spasms rocking her.

The Count, of course, had yet to finish, though for the moment he merely moved gently inside her, stimulating tiny ripples that spread outwards and made her simper weakly. After a short time, however, he began to renew his efforts, and at that Penny gathered herself and made her move. She lifted herself off him, despite his despairing protests, and then gave him something better to focus upon. She slid down his body, still purring from her own release, until his rod was level with her face, and then before he knew what was happening, she took him in her mouth.

Penny savoured her own flavour upon him for a moment, and then gave him her all. Frau Aufguss had been most specific in this, ensuring that all the young ladies in her academy, from the age of nineteen, had learned first upon vegetables before then putting theory into practise, as it were, with as many young men of the neighbourhood as they could entice. Penny had been a star pupil, much in demand, to the extent that when the cadets in the officer academy in the valley below learnt that she was going back to England, they held a wake. So now, she pleasured Count von Lipschitz with every trick she knew, stroking him as she clamped her lips over his corona, holding him in place and running her tongue around him. He grunted, he groaned, he tried at moments to retreat, the sensations were so intense, but Penny had him.

She paid attention to every part of him, cupping him, and running her tongue along the underside of him, and then welcoming as much of him as she could within her mouth once more. And when she sensed he was coming close she slowed, allowed him to subside a little, before she redoubled her efforts. In this way she kept him on edge, near hyper-ventilating, for almost thirty minutes on the clock, until he could take it no more and she had to finish him or leave him be.

Taking pity on him, she enclosed him once more and stroked him vigorously, until at last she felt him stiffen. He arched his back, and thrust his pelvis upwards as he cried out, and she took him from her mouth, fondling him still, as then a stream of cum shot forth from him in a great ejaculation. This first was followed by another, and yet a third, the Count having quite lost control, and now Penny took him in her mouth again, tasting his last great gout and pushing him down even as he sought to pull back from her, until finally he collapsed into the mattress, drained more than he had ever been before.

Penny laid her head upon the Count's chest but he, seemingly incapable of speech, could only place his hand feebly upon her shoulder as he slipped into a deep slumber. She smiled, remembering the office cadets who showered her with gifts, and compliments, who fought duels over her, such silly, delightful young men. And to think that some of them even begged for her hand in marriage! Such foolishness...

After waiting some minutes, Penny was certain that the Count was fast asleep. She slipped out from under his arm and looked fondly down upon him for a moment, feeling a distracting tingle grow within her. She pushed it down, for she had more pressing matters -- if she were bent on villainy, and had her target in the palm of her hand, where would she hide her means of victory? She dismissed the question, though, almost as soon as it rose in her mind. She was thinking all a-wrong. The correct question was, if she were as self-assured as the Count, and had her target in the palm of her hand, where would she hide her principal weapon?

The answer was obvious, and she went to the carved Chinese chest at the end of the bed. She examined it briefly, and glanced at the padlock then smiled. Of course! She pulled the key from her cleavage and inserted it in the lock. It fitted, naturally, and she turned it. Lifting the lid of the trunk she saw she had struck gold. Within were bags upon bags of seeds, and many neatly stacked papers and notebooks. She withdrew one and scanned it rapidly, stopping only for a moment when the Count snuffled and turned, her heart quite stopped in brief panic at the sound.

She waited until she was sure he was fast asleep and read on, confirming her suspicions, the Count's florid handwriting detailing his experiments in genetics that led to his development of a hybrid tea plant with tea leaves that tasted of carbolic soap. The notes detailed his distribution plan, also, giving names of his agents in Kenya, and India, and Ceylon. As she read on, the simple brilliance of his conception became clear, for each of his agents was to grow the seeds to maturity, then under cover introduce the plants into the plantations. The plants, mimicking their honest fellows, would not be detected, and their foul leaves would be harvested with the good. Once mixed together, if but one leaf in a hundred was from the Count's hybrid plants, the whole stock would be tainted, ruined.

He was but days away from setting his scheme in motion, and he was in London to pass the seeds to a contact who would then send them overseas. It was an infamous plan, clearly close to completion but, she smiled to herself, he was nearer now to total defeat. Glancing at the sleeping Count, who had so recently propelled her to such unanticipated heights, she pondered whether he could indeed be brought to the good. But no, there was too much jeopardy. So, she quietly removed one of the small bags of seeds and closed the chest, locking the padlock and returning the key to her cleavage.

Hurriedly, she stole from the room, the Count now snoring softly, and she returned to the parlour. She dressed rapidly, barely able to make her fingers answer in her excitement as she fumbled with the buttons on her bodice. Once done, though it felt like an age later, she was able to slip silently down the stairs to the hallway. Upon the table the servant had left her hat and cape in somewhat slovenly manner, and glancing back along the hallway to his quarters she caught a glimpse of him in the lamplight, his head slumped upon the table in front of him, an empty vodka bottle before him. No doubt he would pay a severe price for his dereliction, but she had no time for sympathy.

Penny let herself out onto Grosvenor Square, determined now to get to Dulwich, and put her evidence in front of Miss Burlington. It was quite dark, and even the electric streetlights only provided intermittent pools of light. Counter-intuitively, she found herself growing more nervous with every step away from the Count's house, awaiting the hue and cry.

She looked back over her shoulder as she hurried, but she saw only stillness and then, as she looked forward again, a tall figure stepped out of the darkness. She wanted to scream but her voice failed her, and in a panic she looked about her for a place to flee or an ally to come to her rescue, but she was totally alone. At the final hurdle she would fall, and she fumbled on her person for some item she could press into a weapon of last resort.

"Calm yourself!" said the dark figure, and in a moment relief was flooding through Penny. For it was Major Virtue in front of her. She let out a trembling breath, and came close to swooning. In a moment the Major had a strong arm around her, supporting her and fanning her with his free hand.

"Did the scoundrel hurt you, Miss Dreadful," he asked in urgent tones.

"No... no," Penny managed, "nothing was done that hurt me. I merely feared, at the last, that I was undone."

She exhaled once more, but now she was more composed and excitement was rousing her, for only she knew of their victory. Tell the Major she would, without question, but she wanted to deliver the victory speech with some skill. She thought for a moment, and then reached her hand down the front of her dress, retrieving the Count's key.

"You will need this, Major," said Penny, handing it to her saviour, "it is the key to victory."

The Major was nonplussed at this, and Penny smiled at his confusion, wanting to spin this moment out a little longer.

"The Count slumbers aloft, and he shall not wake I think, not until tomorrow," said Penny, "and in his room there sits a carved chest. That key opens it, and within you will find his papers, his plans, and most pertinently, more of these bags of seeds. We have him!"

Penny smiled a broad smile and held up the bag of seeds she had taken, revelling as the realisation dawned upon the Major.

"But how did you know I was here?" she said.

"Miss Dreadful, you took a most foolhardy risk," said the Major, but he couldn't hide his admiration, "but fortunately your servant, Martin, heard you depart and roused himself. Looking down into the square he saw you enter a coach, and noted the coat of arms upon the door. Worried for your safety, he telephoned to Miss Burlington. Thus alerted, we suspected it must be the Count's coach, and we knew of his lodgings. And so, I am here. I wished to force entry, but Miss Burlington's orders were to use caution. It seems these orders were wise. But how did you gain your knowledge?"

"Feminine wiles, Major," said Penny, "and for now let us leave it at that. You may be certain that you can force entry now, for there is only one old drunken servant asleep downstairs. The chest must be confiscated at once, and then he will be quite vanquished."

The Major nodded, then turned to look into the darkness. He gestured, and from the shadows four burly henchmen appeared, all in long coats and black derby hats. They formed on the Major, and as a phalanx they approached the Count's house. Penny watched from the corner as they ascended the stairs and, not standing on ceremony, stove in the door. As they entered at the double, Penny smiled and turned away, skipping a little in the moonlight as she made her way back to Berkeley Square, listening for nightingales. All was now well with the Empire, and thus, the world.

* * *

In his private bathroom in a rather large manor house near Odense, on the island of Funen in the Kingdom of Denmark, a thin, fastidious middle-aged man of precise demeanour meticulously attended to his Hungarian moustache. He trimmed errant hairs and turned the points, then applied wax and turned the points once more, paying intense attention to his image in the mirror, cursing softy in Basque, an affectation learnt at his great-aunt's knee, when a hair resisted his manipulations. Faced with such rebellion he would begin again, continuing until his efforts resulted in perfection.

On this occasion, however, he was interrupted by an apologetic knock on his bathroom door. His eyes widened dramatically, a cast of fury only contained with a supreme effort of will, before he exhaled with a forced calmness, a technique gained through meticulous study at the Dhanksey Monastery in the high Himalayas.

"Yes?" he managed, restraining himself only with difficulty from reaching for the Adams revolver he kept permanently by his side.

"I am most dreadfully sorry to interrupt you," croaked the old attendant, aware of the lethal peril he was in and inwardly cursing the fact that he had drawn the short straw, "but we have received a communication from Madame Knappert in The Hague."

"Very well," said the man, barely mollified, "does success attend our endeavours?"

"Regretfully, no, sir," the old man winced, fully expecting to feel a searing pain and hear, at the last, the report of the revolver.

"Count von Lipschitz has failed?" said the man, not taking his eyes from his reflection.

"Indeed, sir. It appears he fell prey to the attractions of... a woman."

The man exhaled heavily and laid down his moustache scissors with terrifying calmness.

"I presume that the woman was sent by that blithering oaf, Commodore St George and the brains of the operation, Miss Burlington?"

"It appears so. The young lady was able, by some ruse, to gain entrance to the Count's chambers..."

"He held the door wide and ushered her in with some urgency, I'll warrant. There is no need to resort to euphemism."

"Just so, sir," nodded the attendant, "and she was then able to subdue him and locate all the samples and the formulas, and all the Count's notes."

"And then, of course, Miss Burlington sent in the cavalry to confiscate the lot."

"Just as you say, sir."

"I would love to have that woman in my power, if only for a day. I would make her sing a pretty song and be grateful to do so. But she is too well protected."

"Yes, sir," said the old man, "on that matter we have notice from Madame Knappert that another of our agents tasked to observe the woman has disappeared."

"And the young woman who so discombobulated our incompetent count?"

"A Miss Penelope Evelyn Dreadful, niece of the fourth..."

"Baron Dreadful!" the man exclaimed with some vehemence, "I should have known that disposing of that disreputable old rake wouldn't be the end of it. Very well, we shall have a reckoning with Miss Dreadful, you may depend upon it. I expect a paper detailing our options on my desk by the end of the day."

"As you command, sir."

The old attendant departed, and as he did so the man picked up his moustache scissors once more, and with the light of fanaticism in his eyes, returned to this interrupted grooming...

The End